"I'm not so certain about that Jody fellow. I was getting an uneasy feeling about him, so we decided to look for you," Opal began. "Jules has the venison in case you're hungry."
Cameo faked a smile, "Sounds good." The idea of eating a smoky deer carcass made her mouth dry. "I'm fine for now, though."
"You gave in to it," Jules whispered into her ear as he caught up with her.
She met him with a hard look. He smelled good. "Yes." And then she strode away from him, walking in step beside Black Opal instead.
* * * * *
It was night. The three of them crouched down under a small clump of pine trees off the path. There was a patch of ground there, a small bed of pine needles to sit on.
Jules hunted around in his shoulder-pack for the smoked venison that the innkeeper's wife had packed for them.
"How much farther do you think, Cameo?" Opal asked, too exhausted to open his eyes. He leaned up against a tree trunk, shivering.
She saw two ghosts wandering around the tree beside him, both of them wearing the clothing donned by the patriots during the Shandow Rebellion, the red sash, the berets. Her eyes moved to watch his pained expression, and she wondered if he felt any guilt at all about his part in the rebellion. So many people put to their deaths, and yet Opal remained, seemingly, unapologetic about the entire thing.
"Not far now." Her tone was without emotion.
Opal opened his eye; it was red with exhaustion. "Is something wrong?"
She laughed a little. She had just killed a man to drink his blood, she was seeing ghosts, and she was certain that Edel had been there when she murdered that man, certain that she had felt him touch her arm. It was so solid, so ... real, and now she was beginning to suspect that Edel was following her. No, nothing was wrong. He'd never believe her if she told him. He'd never really understand what she had seen or felt. "No."
"Cameo ...."
"Hmm?" she muttered, turning toward Jules.
He lifted his eyes. "I didn't say anything."
She furrowed her brows. "You sure?"
"Yes," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
She locked eyes with him. There was a bitter, amused smile playing on his lips, daring the cold facade she wore to a battle of wits, or other she supposed. Cameo could only guess what she looked like at the moment, probably confused ... at worst, unstable. She felt irrational. Taking that man's life to drink his blood ... what a waste. He wasn't like others she had slain; he wasn't a mark for the Association, her old employer. He wasn't even in her way. He was weak and bleeding and an easy target for her bloodlust, and that was all.
"I hate to be a bother," Opal began, "but do you have something to drink? Alcohol, perchance?"
This brought her around. Cameo realized that she and Jules were still staring at each other. He seemed to be attempting to read her expression when she looked away and pulled the flask from her boot. "It's just water, I'm afraid."
He tipped his head back, biting his lip, and released a sort of unhappy moan.
"I still have some of the tincture."
"All right .... I suppose so."
"You're going to put him to sleep?" Jules was clearly annoyed. "We still have a long way to walk."
"Do you have any alcohol on you?"
"No."
She fished the ceramic flask from her pack and pressed it to Opal's lips. He pulled away unhappily, teeth gritted.
"Cameo ...."
"What?" She glanced to her left, from where she was certain the voice had come, but there was nothing. No one. This time she had heard the voice as a whisper in her ear, a male voice, clearly, and yet there was no one to her left, just empty snow-covered ground and black forest.
Jules looked up from his dinner again, searching for whatever it was that was bothering Cameo, his amusement at her expense turning to concern.
As she focused on the darkened woods, she saw a ghostly figure moving toward her. It was at first a silhouette, and then a woman, a frightful woman with a grin on her face.
She staggered backward, "Go away!"
The ghost vanished, and as it did Cameo saw a sudden vision of Jody Fitzrory and the hunters from the tavern, with muskets in hand.
Cameo leapt up and spun around suddenly.
Jules dropped the venison and stood quickly, pulling a pistol from his belt.
A gunshot rang out, echoing across the stark wilderness.
The pistol dangled from Jules' fingers as he fell back against the clump of pines.
Opal had fallen asleep at the base of the tree. Cameo grabbed him by his lapels and dragged him behind the trees.
Another shot hit above them. The musket ball pinged off of something behind them, knocking down needles and small branches.
"Jules?"
"I'm hit," he winced.
Two more shots were fired, and Jules crumpled.
Cameo peered out into the empty span before them; she had no intention of going out there, where someone, possibly Jody Fitzrory, apparently could see them but they couldn't see him. At least they were hidden now in the darkness of the woods while he was out there somewhere in the snow. He should be easy to spot. She licked her lips and tasted blood. Zombie blood. It was not exactly like human blood; actually, it was better. She felt her mouth vibrating now with the taste of Jules' blood.
"Come on out, Black Opal! It's you we want!" It was Jody. "Of course, I'd be happy to bring in your friends too. Especially Cameo!"
Cameo glanced over at Jules who was doubled over, tangled in the saplings, the scent of his blood filling the air with such sweetness; she craved it. She crawled toward him, abandoning Opal's unconscious form. She could hear a death rattle emanating from his lungs. If he had been human, he would've died, but now his body was healing. Some of the shallow musket balls were working their way to the surface already. Cameo turned toward Jody's voice; she had to move fast.
"Opal?!"
She remained silent. All that time at the inn he had been sizing them up, planning to follow, apparently looking for the bounty money. They shot Jules first; they must've decided he was the biggest threat.
"C'mon boys."
As she watched, Jody and the four hunters from the tavern stepped out from behind various trees and brush on the other side of the path, only ten feet away. They were closer than she'd first assumed and closing as she lay down on her back and pulled two pistols from her shoulder-pack, loading them with supernatural speed, then she stood and shot Jody first.
He was lifted off his feet by the shot, which hit him in the stomach and slammed him into the snow.
Next, she shot down one of the large hunters. He collapsed beside Jody and remained there unmoving.
The other three unloaded their muskets in her general direction, sending a flurry of pine needles over them. Jules was hit again; there was the dull thud of leather and flesh tearing, and the bullet lodged in his stomach. He yelped in protest, suddenly awake again. She pulled the pistol from his fingers and burst from the darkness of their hiding spot.
Cameo was a dark blur as she sped across the snow. She ran right up to one of the men and unloaded the pistol into his neck before he realized she was there. Before he had fallen, she pulled a dagger from her belt and slammed it into the man next to him. He spun around to face her, about to hit her with his musket, but she easily tore the gun from his hands and plunged her dagger into him repeatedly as he grabbed her arms and pulled her down. He fell to his death, pinning her to the ground with his full dead weight.
The fourth hunter was in the distance now. She saw him running back down the path, north, away from this scene of carnage.
She pushed the heavy corpse from her, angry with him, and grimacing she saw Jody squirming in the snow. He'd taken a bullet to the stomach and so was still alive, but miserable. He grasped for his pistol, which had been lost in the snow, inches from him, but now, that was an eternity of pain.
Cameo walked over to him and stepped on his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.
&n
bsp; He looked up at her, shocked at her strength.
She took his pistol from the snow then turned and aimed it at the man who was fleeing—he was nothing more than a tiny figure in the distance now—and shot him as well. The final blast rang out over the forest.
"Jody," she hissed as she knelt down to look at him, "you are so obnoxious, although admittedly quite handsome."
"Am I?" he asked hopefully, covered in blood and snow.
"Indeed." She toyed with the dagger in her hand now. "Yes. I'm going to enjoy drinking your blood, after I kill you."
"No, wait!"
She stabbed him in the chest until he stopped moving, and then there was an eerie silence. Just the sound of Cameo's footfalls in the snow.
She dropped the spent pistol and found Jules lying in the snow, twisted up in the saplings. His eyes opened a crack as she knelt down beside him.
"I'm dying," he said as he mustered a shaky smile.
She ripped open the front of his leather armor easily, as if it were made of muslin. He'd taken four bullets, and his torso was torn to pieces.
Jules glanced down at the mess and groaned a little.
"You're healing." She met his eyes. "A bullet isn't going to kill you."
His head fell back.
She removed the saplings and lowered him to a more comfortable position on the ground, and then she inhaled the bloody perfume before her. Cameo had worked so quickly to kill all of those men so that she could have this moment now. To drink Jules’ blood. One moment she was dazzled by the scent and color of the flowing wounds, the next she had pressed her lips to his slender chest, sucking the blood directly from a bullet hole.
This roused him. His head lolled to one side, and then he realized she was still there, tormenting him. Her mouth against his chest.
"What are you doing? Don't touch me!" He tapped the top of her head with a shaky hand, a hand that was batted away with very little effort on her part.
"Drinking my blood," he breathed, confused.
He was healing too fast. The wound she had been drinking from was closing; the musket ball popped to the surface and fell to the snow. She ran her tongue against the bloodstain that remained there.
He moaned.
This was more delicious than that human blood, and that animal blood she had tried in Lockenwood did not even compare to this ... delicacy. Was all zombie blood like this? If so, how had Haffef held himself in check all these years?
This was like nothing she'd ever tasted. It oozed from the wounds slowly, torturing her, and she moved lower toward that nasty shot that he'd taken to the stomach in hopes of finding a stronger surge of blood flow. She heard his pulse, stronger now, and she cursed inwardly; he was healing. Cameo latched onto the wound, lost in her need for his blood, caught up in the sensation of the constant prickling across the surface of her skin, the flutter in her stomach, and the sound of her name repeated over and over....
There was a certainty in her that ghosts had collected around them, but all that mattered was that throbbing heartbeat, the dreadfully slow pulsing of his blood, and the taste—
"Stop ..." Jules’ voice caught in his throat, and she broke from him, blood dripping out and over her bottom teeth. Jules' eyes crossed as he passed out. He lay there, helpless, a perfect mirror of all that she had been prior to this blood-drinking monster she'd become, and for one moment she was little sorry for him.
Cameo wiped the blood from her chin and shivered at the taste. All around her were ghosts. "Leave me," she growled, and as soon as she'd said it, they walked away. She pulled Jules' winter cloak around him, and licking the blood from her gloves, she remembered that Jody was lying behind her, bleeding into the snow.
She crawled over to his form, still handsome in death, and tore open his waistcoat.
Chapter Six
It was dark, except for a small campfire that Cameo had built. She dug out a spot on the ground for Opal near the fire, removing all the snow, and laid him down in the pine needles on top of her cloak so that the ground wouldn't steal all of his body heat.
She was perched on the edge of a boulder nearby, sharpening her dagger. The fire played against her face, bathing it in a weird golden-red light and losing her again to shadow.
Jules sat up suddenly, completely straight, as if there were a string attached to his spine, and then he rose, stiff and corpse-like. For a moment he remained eerily still, staring out at the dead bodies he saw in front of him, his body a tall, black silhouette against the snow, and then he turned to look at her, his face angry.
Cameo clutched her dagger tightly.
He raced toward her, knocking her hand away from him as he approached.
She moved backward at a supernatural pace, and he moved toward her until her back met with a large pine tree trunk.
"What was that?!" he demanded.
She held the blade at one side, pointed at him, and with her other hand she searched for the loaded pistol that she'd slid into her belt.
"As you said, I gave in to it," she said silkily, which angered him even more.
He tore at his own hair. "I never said you could drink my blood!"
"I know you thought we were friends—"
"I hate you! I hate that fop! I'm here only because I'm compelled to be." He slammed his fist against the tree that she was backed up against, embedding his hand in the trunk for a moment, and as he glanced down he saw the pistol behind her. "You're going to shoot me now?! Fine! Fine, shoot me!"
Her mouth tightened into a firm line.
He pulled his fist back but remained standing close. "What difference does it make?"
She studied his face. He seemed exasperated, and his cooling anger appeared to be turning to depression.
Cameo felt much the same way as she had when Edel had slammed Jules into a wall: empathy and now guilt. "I'm sorry."
His eyes were suddenly riveted to hers.
She shook her head, "This ... craving ...."
"Is that the problem?" he asked scornfully.
Cameo glanced down at the pistol in her left hand, contemplating her next words. "Of course. I crave blood. You were bleeding." She looked up into his eyes; he towered over her. "I understand how you must feel. You probably want to kill me."
"No, I don't." His expression softened.
He smelled of leather and death ... and blood, and she couldn't stop staring into his eyes, tracing the slight hint of the green iris that had faded there and been lost to the corpse-like haze.
A flash of revelation crossed over her face. She didn't hate him.
The snow crunched under his boot as he took a step toward her.
Cameo didn't move.
He was so close now that she could smell his hair as it touched her cheek lightly; she inhaled his scent and felt his lips press softly against hers.
She understood now. Every single opportunity she'd had to hate him, to take his life, she'd passed them over. For one moment she was lost in that kiss, the warmth of it, the tenderness of it, the sadness flooding from his body and into her own—and then it was over. Abruptly.
Jules turned and walked away from her, glancing back once, his eyes lingering on hers, searching for some meaning in her face, and then he simply moved away from her into the darkness.
* * * * *
Black Opal opened his eyes. He was staring at a smoldering fire. He was cold but also blissfully numb. After a moment of lying there, he realized that his hair was wet, and he attempted to sit up and shake it out. The first mistake was trying to shake it out, as his hair was not only wet but also frozen, and he managed to whip his own face with threads of icy hair, and then there was that more problematic misstep he made when he attempted to steady himself with his broken left hand.
He shouted out a string of obscenities as he collapsed back into the snow.
"Good morning, Opal."
The fop turned toward the bored sound of Cameo's voice instantly. His hair lashed his face as he did so. "Dammit."
&nb
sp; She was sitting on the ground behind him, cutting up a few pieces of smoked meat. "Here, let me help you." She set everything down into the snow as she lifted him up into a sitting position.
"Thank you, my dear." His voice sounded somewhat ashamed. "Have you gotten stronger?"
"Stronger?" Her face was innocent. "No, I don't think so."
"Really? Because that took no effort at all on your part."
"No, it did."
His brows knitted together as though he didn't really believe her, or perhaps he was trying to figure it out.
"Here, I have this ready for you," she said, placing a small piece of venison against his lips.
Opal hated this part. "When will we reach Kyrian?" he asked between bites.
"Soon. It's not much farther now, and I've decided to carry you."
"No!"
She stuffed another piece into his mouth. "Afraid someone will see us?"
The dandy chewed vigorously, hoping to get a word in between mouthfuls. "Cameo—"
"Have something to drink," she said, splashing water into his mouth before he could refuse.
"Where's Jules?"
"Hmm?" She glanced at the blood-soaked snow where Jules had bled-out the night before, and then regenerated.
Opal followed her eyes to the spot. "He's not ... dead?"
That sounded a bit too optimistic for her liking. She met him with a dark expression usually reserved for those whom she planned to murder. "I have no idea where he is."
"He's left? Well, well. This is practically a holiday," he beamed, attempting to ignore the look in her eyes. "Isn't it?"
"Practically." She placed a last piece of venison on his tongue and stood. "Anyhow, I'm all packed up. We need to get moving. Kyrian isn't getting any closer to us. Matter of fact, he's moving away...."
Black Opal stood. "Let's get going."
She stared at him. "Are you sure you don't want me style your hair, fix your makeup?"
"You don't seem to be in the mood for it."
She smiled at him thoughtfully now, “Of course I am. I’m not going to let Francois Mond go parading around the countryside looking a wreck, am I? Couldn’t really call myself much of a patriot then, could I?” Cameo closed the space between them, retrieving her cloak from him, then unbuttoning his duster, straightening it and buttoning it back up again.
Cameo and the Vampire (Trilogy of Shadows Book 3) Page 9
