Sweet Last Drop

by Melody Johnson

  “On this, I must unfortunately agree with Ian Walker,” Dominic interjected. “We should move this argument inside. Everyone. Now.”

  Bex ignored him to focus on Walker. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

  Walker snorted. “All these years I’ve refused you, but now that I’m here of my own free will, I’m not welcome. Typical.”

  “All these years I’ve held onto the delusion that you would see me and the life we could have together in the light you used to see me, before Julia-Marie died.” Bex shook her head. “I was wrong to hold out for you.”

  Walker laughed. “And after all these damn years, what finally brought you to your senses?”

  “You would have let me die. You had the opportunity to pull the trigger and help me, but you chose to let me die.”

  Walker shook his head in disgust. “Had I pulled the trigger, the creature would’ve attacked us.”

  “But you weren’t torn by the decision. Staying your hand to protect yourself didn’t cost you anything. You were glad to do it. I felt your relief and your hope that you would ‘finally be rid of me.’ Isn’t that how you worded it?”

  “My contempt for you is no secret, darlin’. Never has been.”

  The silence was thick and rotted the air between us.

  “We can continue this conversation just as easily from the privacy of your coven, Bex. We are still open targets here,” Dominic warned.

  Bex didn’t say a word. She nodded regally, and Dominic lowered her carefully to her feet. She didn’t sway or flinch; by her movement and lithe grace as she walked forward, she had finally fully healed from her injuries. Or at least, she’d healed enough that she could mask the pain.

  I, on the other hand, could barely crawl. My breath caught as I attempted to stand, and it was a small attempt.

  Dominic was suddenly beside me on my left. Walker crouched to steady me on my right.

  A low growl rattled from Dominic’s chest.

  “Play nice,” I hissed. I glanced up at the cave’s mouth, wondering if the creature was still there. “We don’t want to encourage its attack.”

  “Nathan,” Dominic said softly. “We don’t want to encourage Nathan’s attack.”

  I pursed my lips. “Just get me inside so we can figure out how to save him, and barring that—” I swallowed, not wanting to give voice to the inevitability of my brother’s fate, but unable to deny the horror of everything I’d witnessed. “—how to stop him.”

  Chapter 12

  The first time Nathan noticed I was high on Percocets, he didn’t say anything. I’d known that he knew by his distant, disgusted expression. He’d never looked at me like that before, and that first time, it slayed me.

  The second time I was high, he didn’t keep it to himself. He asked me if my hip was still in pain. I’d told him the truth: I’d been prescribed Percs for the bullet wound to my hip, and although physical therapy was progressing, the pain was still there. I needed them to ease the edge off while I relearned to walk.

  Slowly, painfully, I struggled through crutches and walkers until I was mobile with a cane, and with each progression at physical therapy, I earned back a measure of control in my life. Soon, I wouldn’t even need the cane, and then life would finally return to normal.

  Nathan waited several weeks before he brought up my addiction again. He waited until I could walk without a cane. He waited until I no longer limped, no longer needed physical therapy, and my only fear was the future threat of arthritis.

  At the time, arthritis seemed a distant threat, one the doctors claimed would likely occur but may or may not be a serious concern. My recovery had been a success. Had I known how little time I’d have to enjoy life before arthritis did develop, maybe I would have lived a little differently. Maybe I would have set goals for marathon runs or rock climbing. Maybe I would have learned to rappel. But marathons and rock climbing weren’t important to me back then. The only thing that was important was my career, which ironically enough, had sky-rocketed, not because of a breakout story like I’d hoped, but because I’d taken that bullet for my friend and fellow officer who’d been on the stakeout with me that night, Officer Harroway.

  The police department was in love with me, and I planned on cashing in every last favor to climb and claw my way to the top of my career, just like I’d climbed and clawed my life back from the grave. I was determined and single-mindedly focused, but I was also undeniably addicted to Percocets.

  When Nathan confronted me about my addiction, I denied it.

  I didn’t need Percs anymore for my hip, but I was terrified. I’d used Percs as a crutch to survive physical therapy, and I feared that if I stopped taking them the pain would return. I feared that I wouldn’t be able to walk again, I wouldn’t be able to work again, and I’d slide right back down the ladder where I’d started this mess, a lonely nobody, desperate for a breakout story.

  I took Percs in the morning, throughout the day, and before bed. I was high at home, at the office, at crime scenes, and while I interviewed witnesses. I was high when I talked to Carter, Harroway, and Greta, but I wasn’t the only one in denial. Everyone was happy I’d survived. Everyone was excited for my recovery and my return to work, and no one accused me of being anything less than a hero and a damn good investigative reporter.

  No one, except Nathan.

  He knew the truth and refused to look the other way. He flushed the Percs down the toilet, and when I bought more, he flushed those down the toilet, too. We screamed and fought and threatened each other, but nothing he said made an impact on my life because I knew he wouldn’t rat me out to the police. He wouldn’t flush my career down the toilet. No matter what he threatened, I knew he had a steel trap for a mouth, just like me, and he’d let me flush my own life down the toilet before breaking a secret when it mattered.

  Eventually, he gave up. He stopped the interventions and the arguments. He stopped visiting altogether. His absence in my life was like a festering wound, worse than losing my parents and relearning to walk, because this time, the pain of losing him was entirely my own fault.

  I visited his apartment to apologize, but one look through the peephole and he knew. I was high. He wouldn’t let me in. He wouldn’t even crack the door to talk to me. His voice was measured and calm and devoid of expression when he spoke through the door.

  “You chose drugs over me. Over family. I don’t want to see you. As far as I’m concerned, you died from that gunshot wound. Get the hell away from me and stay away. You’re not welcome here anymore.”

  His words were harsh and cruel and tore my heart to pieces. And they were just what I needed. I requested a week vacation from work, flushed the rest of the pills down the toilet myself and never looked back.

  After my parents died, family was everything to me, and Nathan was all I had left. I couldn’t lose him, too, no matter the sacrifice, and although detox was the best thing for me anyway, it still felt like a sacrifice. It felt like dying all over again, but at the end of the week, I was reborn.

  I waited until I’d returned to work and my life was back under control before visiting Nathan again. Walking up to his apartment door the second time was a nightmare. I feared that I’d failed, that he wouldn’t forgive me, that I’d lost him forever just like my parents, and that fear made me sick.

  I knocked. Seconds felt like hours.

  He opened the door and stared at me.

  I couldn’t find the words. I’d practiced my apology the entire taxi ride to his apartment, but when the moment came, I couldn’t speak. My throat was so clogged with fear and tears and regret, I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d found the words, but I didn’t have to. He took one look at me, and he knew.

  He wrapped his arms around me, and I broke.

  “I’m so sorry,” I cried into his shirt.

  “I know. Thanks for coming back,” he said into my hair. His voice was suspiciously rough, too. He forgave me because we were fa
mily, and no matter my crimes against him, if I was genuinely sorry, he’d forgive me anything because that’s what family does. Family stands by your side in the storm, fights for your life when you’re drowning, and forgives you when the tide ebbs even if you don’t deserve forgiveness.

  I looked around at the variety of people—using that term loosely—gathered in Bex’s dining room. We weren’t a family by any means—not in love, selflessness, or devotion—but we’d been brought together as a united force against my brother, the only real family I had left. With the exception of Meredith, my partner at The Sun Accord whom I’d always considered more sister than friend, the people in this room were the only people who had my back.

  I was sitting in one of Bex’s plush dining room chairs, my hands on the table to keep my balance as the room spun and dipped and swirled in dizzying loops around me. I sipped on a glass of apple juice that Bex had graciously offered when it became evident that I was struggling to remain conscious. Dominic had stopped my bleeding, but I was still weak and lightheaded. Looking around at the silent, distrustful tension between everyone—Bex glaring at Walker, Dominic eyeing Bex, Walker keeping his distance from everyone, and everyone here because of me—I felt the last, frayed threads of my ambition to find and save my brother sever under the sharp, undeniable reality of our situation. We were in the eye of the storm, safe for the moment, but preparing for battle, but the battle was against Nathan. God help me, was there anything left of Nathan in that creature worth saving?

  “My God, it’s hopeless,” I said under my breath, more to myself than anyone in the room. “I don’t even know the creature he’s become. How can we hope to save him?”

  “I know exactly the creature Nathan has become,” Dominic said. His voice was low, but it resonated in the silence of the hall.

  I met his gaze squarely. “What?” I whispered, shocked. “How do you know?”

  “It’s not just me,” Dominic said, raising his palms innocently. “I believe most of us, with one look at Nathan, would recognize the creature he’s become.”

  Walker stepped forward. “I’ve seen some crazy shit, but I’ve never seen anything like that thing before tonight.”

  “It’s because that thing is an abomination,” Bex hissed. “It needs to be put down.”

  “That abomination is her brother,” Walker snapped.

  “And it needs to be put down,” Bex repeated, a terrible finality in her voice.

  “I know it doesn’t seem possible, but some part of my brother is still alive inside him. It’s not enough to communicate or see reason, but it was enough for him to bite from my neck instead of my heart like he did everyone else.” I met Bex’s eyes. “I think he recognized me—not as his sister, he doesn’t think on a level able to comprehend family and friend from enemy—but his compulsion for human hearts wasn’t enough for him to kill me. Something made him alter his pattern.”

  “Lucky you,” Bex said waspishly, and she looked away.

  I sighed. “What I’m saying is that a part of him might still be my Nathan, and if that’s true, than he might still have a chance. We need to stop him no matter what, I get that, but maybe we can save him.” I cleared my throat, trying to control my emotions. I turned to face Dominic. “And you,” I pointed my finger at him. “All this time, you couldn’t find my brother. You supposedly searched for him throughout the entire city—”

  “I did search for him, and I found nothing,” Dominic said, his voice carefully neutral. “Until tonight.”

  “This doesn’t count as you finding my brother. I found him!”

  “I believe your brother was the one who found you,” Bex murmured.

  I crossed my arms and turned on Bex. “And with one look, you recognized Nathan, too? Because he certainly doesn’t look like the Nathan I knew, and he doesn’t look like any creature I know.” I looked back and forth between Bex and Dominic. “What the hell is he?”

  “There is no official name for them,” Bex said on a sigh. “Most of us refer to them as the Damned. A coven had a serious uprising of Damned vampires years ago, but they’re typically rare.” Bex’s voice turned quiet. “I’ve never seen one in the flesh before tonight.”

  “He’s a coven-turned night blood,” Dominic clarified. “A rogue vampire drained him and attempted to complete the transformation instead of giving him to a Master. Their transformations produce single-mindedly bloodthirsty creatures, incapable of thought or emotion. They only feel the burning ache to slake their thirst, and they specifically crave the blood pumping directly from the aorta.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Rogue vampire? Or did you mean to say rebel vampire?”

  Dominic crossed his arms. “What are you implying?”

  “Jillian once bragged that she could transform a night blood into a vampire.” As the words left my mouth, I realized that the answer to the mystery of my brother’s disappearance had been staring at me all along. “Jillian tried to turn Nathan into a vampire, didn’t she? But instead, she got that… that…” I stammered, struggling for an appropriate word. “…abomination,” I said, finally borrowing Bex’s description.

  Dominic rolled his eyes. “Considering Jillian was executed for her crimes against me and my coven, for her crimes against you, it’s not as if I can interrogate her, now can I?”

  “Swear to me on the sun that you executed her.”

  “Excuse me?” Dominic said, his body suddenly still as stone.

  “You’ve told me time after time and again that she was executed, but you’ve never sworn to it.”

  “That’s like you swearing to become friends with Ian Walker. It’s unnecessary to swear something that’s already been done.”

  “I know that Jillian is alive, Dominic,” I said, my voice barely audible.

  Dominic crossed his arms. “And how would you know that?”

  “She told me.”

  He was silent for a moment, and when he did speak, his voice was measured and soft. Much softer than mine. He could slice clean through silver with the softness in his voice.

  “You’ve spoken to Jillian.”

  “Not exactly,” I evaded, loathe to admit the truth. “It’s more a one-way conversation.”

  “When?”

  I sighed. “All the time. Lately, every day.”

  Dominic made a strange noise. “Forgive me, Cassidy, but I’m not following. You speak with Jillian every day? Even now, while you’re here in Erin, New York?”

  “I don’t speak to her. She speaks to me.”

  “I don’t know which is more impossible,” Dominic murmured, and it sounded as if he were talking to himself. “You penetrating the depths of my coven, where I’ve imprisoned Jillian, or Jillian escaping from the silver I’ve buried her under.”

  “Kaden escaped from his imprisonment. I wouldn’t be shocked to find that Jillian had escaped from hers,” I said wanly.

  “Jillian has not escaped from her imprisonment,” he snapped, his anger a palpable weight in the air between us. “She is buried deep beneath the coven, under layers of silver and surrounded by rooms into which she is uninvited. Even if she managed to escape her confinement, she would never be able to navigate the labyrinth of that underground unscathed, nor without feeding. It’s been three weeks since she’s had a drop of blood. I doubt she’s even conscious.”

  “I can hear her talking inside my head.” I winced at how crazy that sounded. “So at the very least, she’s conscious.”

  “That’s how she speaks to you? Inside your head?” he asked. Even he sounded shocked.

  I felt small, stupid and crazy, and all my self-doubt—the insanity of hearing Jillian’s voice inside my head, of craving blood, my wasted efforts and dwindling hope of saving Nathan—erupted in a boiling, leveling geyser. When all my other emotions had been drowned by anger, Dominic remained standing, staring at me and waiting on my response. His innocent, inquisitive expression made me want to punch a dent into his beautiful face.r />
  “This is your fault,” I said.

  He blinked. “Pardon?”

  “You were supposed to have excecuted Jillian for her crimes against you and your coven. For her crimes against me,” I said, throwing his words back in his face. I could feel my voice building up to a scream, and I didn’t care if I sounded irrational. It felt good to scream. “Isn’t that what you said?”

  Dominic’s eyes flicked to Bex and then back to me. “I don’t think now is the time to—”

  “You’re right; three weeks ago would have been the time to excecute Jillian,” I snapped. “You wouldn’t allow me to witness her execution because of my ‘weakened condition,’ as you put it, but that was just a ruse. You lied to me.”

  “Cassidy, I—”

  I slammed my fist on the table. “Did you lie to your coven, too? Did they trust you when you assured them that Jillian was dead?” I was on a rant now, and I couldn’t stop. Dominic’s ears had pointed and his fangs were lengthening, and Walker had positioned himself with his back against a wall, as far from the kill zone as possible, but like a derailed train whose tracks led off a plummeting cliff, I couldn’t stop. “You need all the allies you can get to survive the coming Leveling; I wonder how your coven will feel, especially those most loyal to you, when they find out the truth, when they realize that you put them at risk. When they realize that you lied!”

  Dominic gripped my shoulders and pulled me out of the chair to face him, eye to eye. “Jillian was like my sister!” Dominic shouted. His voice was grave and guttural and echoed through the great hall like thunder. “She was my second, the person I would have entrusted with my coven, the person who I entrusted with my life!”

  “And she betrayed that trust!” I shouted back.

  “Consider everything you’d be willing to overlook for your brother. Nathan has killed innocent people. He’s dismembered their bodies, tortured them, and eaten their hearts. His crimes are worthy of excecution, but even after witnessing the horrendousness of his crimes, you ask Bex and I to have mercy.”