by Stella Blaze
Gabriel’s scent was all over the girl. And worse, she smelled lust and longing in that trace of him. He wanted her. He wanted her enough that she stunk of it.
Now that didn’t mean love. Delia knew that it didn’t. But what it did mean was that his body wanted to cheat on her. And added to the obvious amorous intentions of the girl, Delia had snapped. She’d wanted the girl dead—not scared, not whimpering for her life, but dead.
But Gabriel and her stupid brother, Vin, had interfered. Gabriel had fought for the girl, and Delia had been more than hurt over that fact. She’d been devastated. And no matter how much he swore that he did not love the girl, she could indeed see it in his eyes. It wasn’t just lust, for that scent had waned during their battle in the alley. But he could not hide the truth that blazed from his very soul. He was now in love with another.
And as Delia searched his eyes, finding this new horrific truth there, she also saw another truth. Though there was still love in his eyes for her—and maybe he was still in love with her—there was pity too. And that pity had sealed it for her.
She’d trusted her heart to a filthy, stinking werewolf, but no longer.
She lied when she told him she believed him. She lied when she told him she trusted him. After all, he’d made every lame excuse imaginable not to lay with her that night. How stupid did he think she was?
So she’d kept to the shadows, following him, unable to trust herself to not kill the girl if she just stalked her. And then the two had wandered out onto the porch, their want and need for each other as thick and obvious in the night air as their adoration of each other was to the eye. And all that she’d gleaned before the kiss against the porch railing.
Delia heard thunder pounding in the background—a storm, or avalanche, some natural disaster. But she could hear their breathing rise and quicken, even their hearts pounded loud enough that she knew their pulses were nearly in sync.
Delia had wanted vengeance. She’d wanted to attack Gabriel right then and there. How dare the dog think he could do this to her! She was a warrior, second in power only to her father, and this mangy mongrel thought he could hurt her like this. To choose a mere mortal over her.
A single hot tear escaped from her left eye. Delia snapped closed her eyes and clenched her jaw shut, pushing back the emotion that threatened to turn her into a sniveling, crying wreck. No, she was a warrior, weeping wouldn’t change things, and would not make her feel better.
Yet vengeance against her enemies would.
She pondered following Gabriel, and then pushing a tree down in his path. When he got out of the car she would take him, hard and fast… well, maybe she would torture him—get some real satisfaction from his death.
Unfortunately, the mere thought of killing Gabriel sent a cold, bitter chill through her entire being. She knew there and then that she couldn’t just kill him. She loved her wolf. But she did want to hurt him.
Physically? Or just psychologically? Maybe break his heart as he had broken hers.
Now that sounded promising.
And how better to break a heart than to kill what it loved? The thought of ripping the girl’s throat out, or better, her heart… oh yes! That was a lovely thought. Rip out Lucy Hart’s heart, watch her life drain from her face, lapping up her fear like a river of blood, later gifting that heart to her unfaithful love. Maybe she’d gift wrap the little piece of meat—a box with metallic red wrapping paper, and blood red ribbons and a bow.
Delicious.
But not enough… no, his betrayal was far worse than killing that stupid human could pay for. She wanted him to know, for the rest of his inadequate life, that his heart’s desire was just out of his reach.
Yes! If he would not be hers, and she had to live with that fact as evidence, then Delia would make sure Gabriel shared the exact same lifelong agony. Her plan formed in her mind, as glittering and cool as the night that enveloped her. Yes, so easy. But the girl wasn’t just a human. She’d been immune to Delia’s mind control—something she hadn’t encountered in a human before. And, infuriatingly, she’d demonstrated influence over Delia’s body, holding her back from killing her outright. Though it had visibly drained the girl to pull off such a trick, Delia would need to be careful, sneaky. Not only capturing her, but in keeping her captive.
Turning a human took time… an entire night and day, to be exact. She needed privacy and safety—somewhere safe from Gabriel, her meddling brother, and where the girl’s power over her would be quelled.
Delia closed her eyes as the lights of the Hart girl’s home flickered off, delight flowing through her veins as she saw in her mind’s eye where she would take her. She knew just the place.
“Tomorrow night, you little bitch…” Delia whispered into the wind, her nails cutting into the flesh of her palms, making them bleed. “You will rise vampire. And Gabriel will never be able to make you his bride.”
*
Delia was just about to set the little house where Lucy Hart lived on fire. Since she couldn’t enter uninvited, she would simply and literally smoke the little blood-sack out. But then another human girl had shown up and started rapping pebbles against the girl’s window. How convenient. The human girl had Lucy out the front door and headed out into the woods behind the house in no time at all.
Delia followed, not making a sound, biding her time as the two strode through the woods and then into a graveyard.
Too bad Delia was no longer going to kill her rival for Gabriel’s love. Killing her in the graveyard would have been a splendid memory to have.
But no sooner did she enter the graveyard than she felt it. The little blood-sack’s power, the one that had stopped her in her tracks back in that filthy alley, the one that Delia would neutralize soon enough. But maybe not soon enough. What if the blood-sack had finally noticed her lurking in the background?
But then she saw what was happening. There was an altar set up on the top of a gravestone—and Delia could smell her rival’s blood. They were performing necromancy. Yes, that was the power the girl had, power over the dead. Of Course!
But Delia had never heard nor read of a necromancer powerful enough to possess or control a vampire. That was new and interesting. Delia felt the blood-sack’s power surge through the ground, running straight for her. She jumped, vaulting herself straight up into the air, landing on headstones as she hopped with lightning speed toward the walls of the graveyard. There she perched and watched the mayhem the little blood-sack and her witch friend let loose.
Foolish children, they had no idea what they were actually doing. With as much power as the little blood-sack had, and obviously no skill or control over that power, just walking into a graveyard was a dangerous proposition. Let alone filling the consecrated earth with that power.
Delia knew what was about to happen before it actually did. But she was impressed nonetheless. Grave dirt all over the graveyard started to churn, rotting heads and hands erupted everywhere as the dead gained access to the night air, and freedom.
They were animated, yet uncontrolled. Maybe Delia wouldn’t have to turn the blood-sack, maybe the freshly raised zombies would take care of Delia’s problems for her. No way for Gabriel to blame her for his precious Lucy being eaten by her own creations.
Delia felt a voyeuristic thrill, watching the two girls tremble and scream in horror.
But then a sharp spear of light caught Delia’s eye. Entering the zombie littered graveyard was the blood-sack’s doddering old grandmother. But she was running toward the two girls, swinging a baseball bat that gleamed with power. Every time she touched one of the zombies they fell over, shocked and disoriented—yet not returned to the ground. No, the old woman didn’t have the power her granddaughter did… but she had skill and control the other might… no, would never have.
Delia watched as the older woman took charge of the situation, and with remarkable skill used her own granddaughter’s considerable powers to lay to rest every last one of the zombies. It was impressi
ve. Maybe even more impressive than her granddaughter’s near fatal raising of the graveyard.
Delia waited patiently as the old woman chewed her young charges out—making the little Goth-chick witch cry, her tears streaking her face with mascara rivulets. But in the blink of an eye she started to soothe her, as Delia had watched countless human women do over the centuries, by wrapping her arms around her and speaking cooing lies that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. As always, that act fascinated her. No such thing happened in vampire society, especially not in the house of Tokar.
When the grandmother turned and began to lead the witch away, Delia found her chance. The little blood-sack had just stood up when Delia streaked across the graveyard at her. The first blow slammed her to the ground, knocking her unconscious with no more than a breathy yelp. Delia had her thrown over her shoulder and was already out of the graveyard before either the witch or grandmother could turn around.
*
She could’ve simply dragged her all the way to their destination, yet Delia wanted to conserve her energies. Turning a human to vampire took a lot of blood out of a vampire, and thus much energy. And what if the little blood-sack had some tricks up her sleeve still?
No, she had her wickedly fast sports car only a few blocks away. Dropping Lucy in the trunk, Delia angled herself behind the wheel and drove like hell out of the sleepy little town of Four Corners and streaked through the night, north to Onyx.
The house was on the edge of the small town, bordered by forest on all sides. It had been in her family for ages, and was a well-kept secret. Once inside the house Delia knew her plan was as good as accomplished. She had nothing more to fear. Once in the house, any member of the Tokar clan was safe. Just close the door, insert the black onyx key and turn the lock. The house wards sealed with the most powerful of magicks. Not even another member of the Tokar family could get in, no less an enemy.
No less a foul-hearted letch like Gabriel.
No, no werewolf could ever make it through the mystical wards that steeped these walls.
Delia tossed the little blood-sack on the floor and drew herself up a seat. After a few minutes of waiting she gave the blood-sack a non-too-gentle nudge with the toe of her boot. Nothing. Humans were just so… fragile. Too bad. Delia was in the mood to play. But she could be patient. She had all the time in the world to bring the little blood sack over. The basement of the house even had a dirt floor, so she could wait out the change in its entirety in the safety of the house.
The scent of the little human’s blood wafted up and made Delia’s mouth water. Maybe it was because the little blood-sack was a necromancer, but her blood held an intoxicating aroma. Delia had planned on messing up her face quite a bit before turning her. There were ways—there was a silver knife she could use, once her heart stopped, and after the vampire blood had started to take hold—to guarantee some rather nasty scars.
Either way, Delia would taste that lovely blood.
She would just have to wait.
Chapter 17
LUCY’S MOUTH FELT STICKY, the coppery taste of her own blood making her nauseous. She moved her head first—a cacophony of pain ricocheted through her skull like a bullet. She moaned, reaching up to hold her head. She felt something wet and sticky, and pulled her hand away. She opened her eyes and saw that her hand was painted red with blood.
Oh god…
She felt her body shake as she lowered her hands and looked around at where she was. A house, dimly lit and sparsely furnished. The smell of old blood and decay pressed in on her. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she saw large, strange symbols drawn on the walls. The windows were all bricked up, letting in no light from the outside.
Lucy turned to check out the wall behind her and jerked back reflexively when she saw her—Delia—not two feet away, sitting still as a statue in a straight back chair. The chair was made of black wood, with intricate carvings of leaves and fruit, the feet fashioned into lion claws. The sight of Delia, so close, her eyes as terribly cold as ever, made Lucy cry out, made her lurch away and scramble clumsily to her feet and stagger away from the vampire.
Delia canted her head, watching Lucy’s progress intently.
“What do you want?” Lucy’s voice sounded hoarse and feeble to her. “How did I get here?” And before she finished the question she flashed back to the graveyard, her grandmother and Abbey walking away, and then…
And then Superbitch here tackled me!
Delia patiently sat in her chair as Lucy tried to shake off the effects of the head wound which had left her unconscious in the first place. Lucy could feel where Delia had hit her, like she’d been hit by a baseball bat, and just touching it made her eye feel like it was about to pop right out of its socket.
Delia just sat there, staring, not uttering a word, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. Her makeup was minimal: eyeliner and mascara, a hint of silvery eye shadow, and that smirking mouth accented by iridescent pink lipstick. Added to that she wore a sleeveless black silk blouse and matching skintight leather pants; she looked like a very pretty monster.
Standing, the room started to pitch and spin on Lucy. She felt like she was about to barf. She clamped the hand not covered in blood to her mouth, and choked back what wanted to come out. Squinting shut her eyes, she forced herself to breathe. After a moment the world felt like it had finally stopped spinning.
To Lucy’s surprise, Delia was still sitting patiently in the chair—hadn’t moved a muscle, and she still had that stupid smile on her face.
Lucy staggered away from the vampire, her sneakers making little squeaking sounds as she fell against a wall, and then seeing the front door she ran straight for it. She slammed against the thick, unforgiving wood and clawed at the door knob. It wouldn’t budge. She searched with her eyes and with her fingers for a latch, finding only a key hole.
A dead bolt… emphasis on dead…
Lucy pushed the thought out of her mind. She couldn’t afford to freak out, not now, not when she was locked in a house with a deranged vampire that hated her guts.
I’m so screwed!
Just then Delia rounded the corner and walked with a graceful gait right up to Lucy. She stopped about two feet away, and sniffed the air. “I love your perfume… oh, wait… that’s not perfume… it’s fear.”
“Stay away from me!” Lucy shrieked.
“Did you know,” Delia said thoughtfully, “you can taste fear in blood? It’s like adding curry spice to the mix… but better.”
Lucy gasped when she saw Delia’s teeth slide down into place with a snick, lethally sharp and white as snow. But then she felt that wonderfully familiar heat rage in her skull again, smothering the pain, and leaving her suddenly pissed off instead of scared stiff.
“You skank! Where do you get off?” Lucy leaned forward meeting Delia’s sinister gaze. “Sure, I might have kissed your boyfriend once—”
“I saw you with him just tonight,” Delia said in an even tone. “A porch is hardly a private place.”
Okay, that sucks…
“Multiple times, then,” Lucy amended. “But don’t forget this was all your idea in the first place. If you’re looking for someone to blame, look in a mirror.”
Delia shot Lucy with a look that screamed, You moron!
“Okay, so you can’t actually see yourself in a mirror, but you know damn well what I’m talking about.” Lucy stood up straighter and stared the vampire down again. “Plus, you must be plain stupid. Last time—” Lucy stopped and thought. Last time she could control Delia… sort of. But she had tired quickly. If it hadn’t been for Gabriel jumping in, she’d been vampire tender vittles.
“Last time what?” Delia said, looking curious and psychotic.
Lucy took a deep breath, focused on the annoyed heat burning in her head. “Open the door.” She automatically felt her power radiate out from her, and with it a large chunk of her physical strength abandoned her.
Delia leaned forward looking at Lucy wi
th faux confusion. “Can you say that bit again? I didn’t quite hear you.”
Lucy gritted her teeth, pulling up her power around her, felt it scorch and lick out of her hot and angry. “Let me out of this house, you nasty bitch!”
Again Lucy felt herself weaken. She staggered backward into the wooden door, gasping.
Delia looked as if she were pondering Lucy’s command, rolling it around in her mouth as if tasting the very words. “Nope,” she said with a cheerful chirp. “Don’t wanna.”
Lucy felt the icy fingers of shock and realization climb up her spine. She could call up an entire graveyard of zombies, and she’d been able to control Delia before. What was different now?
The house, Lucy thought. The house and all those weird ass markings on the walls.
“Come on Luce…”—Lucy gulped. Delia had heard Gabriel call her that. And now, hearing it come out of the vampire’s mouth, made Lucy cringe—“Want to try that once more with feeling?”
“It’s the house, isn’t it? The creepy markings on the walls.”
“Now you’re getting it.” Delia paced around her, her eyes laughing. “Guess you’re not as dumb as I thought.”
The annoyed heat flashed in her head again, “Well, I knew it couldn’t be you.”
Delia’s face turned hard and angry.
“I mean, you didn’t paint all these marks. This is just somewhere you knew about. Some secret safe house your family owns. You probably have the mystical power of a doily.”
Delia smiled again. “Safe? No, this house is anything but safe.” She chuckled as she spread her arms out to encompass the entire building. “This is a house of interrogation, a house of torture.”
Lucy gulped reflexively. She didn’t want to know any more about the house. And she certainly didn’t want to imagine the torture visited within these walls. She especially didn’t want to think about what kinds of torture this wacked out vamp would like to dole out on her.
