Vampire Undone

by Shannon Curtis

  They’d discovered so many weapons, she realized. Some of them were well-known now, two hundred years past Reformation, but some were quite surprising. She paused and had to flip back a few pages. There was a side note to wolfsbane... She trailed her finger down the page, looking for the reference. Wolfsbane, wolfsbane...she nodded her head. Yes, incredibly toxic to lycans, acts as a corrosive to the skin. Yes, yes. Can be neutralized—Natalie halted, her eyes widening.

  Wow. Okay. Um. Well, that was surprising, and yet, holy crap, it made so much sense. She shivered.

  “Natalie,” Grace said quietly.

  “Not now,” Natalie murmured. “I think I have something.”

  “So do I.”

  Natalie lifted the report, turned and halted. Her heart seemed to shudder to a stop, then start again at a thunderous rate.

  A young man stood in the doorway, blood seeping through the white bandage that encased the stump that was once his left hand.

  Test Subject #139, she presumed. God, he looked so young, so haunted, with dark shadows under his eyes and skin stretched across gaunt features, as though he was half starved. His eyes narrowed when he met her gaze. Natalie gulped as his mouth tightened over fangs and a thunderous growl erupted from his throat. He hunched forward and Natalie flinched at the sound of his bones breaking, reforming, as hair sprang up all over his body. Fabric tore as his body morphed and, in seconds, a growling werewolf, one paw missing, glared up at her.

  She swallowed, holding out a shaking hand. It was just a ghost. Just a ghost. “Nice doggy,” she said hoarsely, closing her eyes as the wolf launched at her. Just a gho—Her eyes flicked open in horror as she felt claws sink into her shoulder.

  Chapter 12

  Lucien turned toward the bunker entrance. Was that...? He heard the scream again, terrified and pain-filled, and his throat closed up. He raced toward the dark opening, stopping just short of being fried and flung off the side of the mountain. His heart hammered in his chest. No, no, no. He raised his hands to his head. Damn it. Just like when Mom died. The inability to act, to rescue, to save, ate at him like acid on an open wound. He couldn’t let this end badly, not like Mom. He had to get in there. He had to help Natalie. He glanced back down the mountain. The figures halted, as though they, too, had heard the screams, then he saw them pick up their pace.

  He turned back to eye the bunker. He couldn’t get in there. Natalie was inside, being hurt, being frightened, and yet again he couldn’t do anything to help her, to save her.

  He picked up a branch and hurled it at the cavity, growling as it sailed through the opening. The barrier didn’t stop that from entering.

  A branch snapped behind him and he whirled. The first had arrived.

  “You’re not welcome here,” the man said. He was brawny, broad-shouldered and muscular beneath his plaid shirt and grass-and mud-stained jeans. With a thick beard, a baseball cap and a brutal expression, he looked like a lumberjack spoiling for a fight. He raised a handgun and aimed it at Lucien. Human then. A shifter would just shift and a vampire would just come at him. Only humans kept their distance.

  Lucien lengthened his fangs, growling at the threat the man presented. Natalie was inside and this fool was wasting his time. His eyes glowed with bloodlust. “Leave. Now.”

  The man shook his head. “Nope. This is our mountain.” He cocked the gun and fired, and Lucien dodged the shot. The bullet lodged in the trunk of the tree behind him and he caught a brief glimpse of the carved base. A wooden bullet. He sneered as he turned to face the enemy who was already cocking the gun for another shot.

  Lucien launched himself, changing angle at the last minute as the man withdrew a wooden stake and held it in a defensive stance. The man lashed out. Lucien ducked, punched him in the gut and then danced back. “Give it up,” he told the man. “I’m faster than you. Stronger. Give up and go back.”

  The man shook his head, baring his teeth as he changed his grip and threw the stake at Lucien’s chest. Lucien twisted to the side, avoiding the weapon, then struck out with his feet, catching his opponent behind the knees and sending him crashing to the ground.

  Lightning fast, Lucien raced behind him and caught him, one arm snaking around the man’s shoulders as he grasped his chin. “You made the wrong decision,” he whispered to the man. He dipped his fangs toward the man’s neck and smelled the verbena on him just in time. The man chuckled when he sensed Lucien’s hesitation. Annoyed, Lucien snapped the man’s neck. He dropped the body to the ground, staring grimly down at the man. “I refuse to be killed by a lumberjack.”

  His blood chilled as he heard yet another sound, although this one sounded more like a yell than a scream.

  “Natalie,” he roared through the opening.

  * * *

  Natalie screamed as she fell back under the weight of the lycan, the pack on her back breaking her fall. Her shock wore off almost immediately as he snapped at her. She dodged his jaws, grabbed the bloodied stump of a paw and dug her nails into the wound.

  The werewolf howled, reeling back off her. She rolled to her feet and burst out into the hall. She started running down the corridor, gasping in fear as she rounded the corner into the security zone, and saw more shadows materializing down the other halls. She could see eyes glowing red in the dark as the vampires caught the scent of her blood. Could hear the growls and grunts as the shifters morphed into their predatory forms. More alarmingly, she saw humans stumbling along, leaving trails of blood on the walls as they yelled at her. Oh, God. There were so many of them, so many ghosts, and all of them were, fundamentally, royally pissed off.

  She tore down the corridor that led to the main chamber, bumping against walls as the ghosts of the guards tried to haul her back. What the hell? She struggled against them. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Damn it, ghosts shouldn’t be able to hurt the living. She tripped, fell. She kicked off the hand of one of the guards, saw him weave a little. She stumbled to her feet, ran.

  She could hear a low growl right behind her then felt a force hit her square on the back, and she went down. Whatever was attacking her was trying to rip and bite its way through her backpack.

  She struggled out of the straps and took off running again, her hand sliding to her thigh. She glanced behind her. The bobcat that had tackled her seemed to be staggering to catch up.

  Natalie continued to run. She grasped the handle of the machete and slid it out of the sheath as she felt the warm breath of something unreal on her neck. She didn’t look—she just let out a yell as she swung back with all her might.

  She heard the scream, felt the slight resistance as her blade met flesh for the briefest of moments, but she didn’t look back. She skidded around the corner of the hallway, pulling the gate closed behind her. She ran across the main chamber, past the old Jeep, and kept running. Her legs pounded along the concrete corridor, her arms pumped, and all the while dark shadows chased her in her peripheral vision.

  She rounded the corner too fast and crashed into the wall. She could hear the barking, the baying of the wolves behind her, and then she heard the thunderous roar of a bear.

  Natalie swallowed as she felt along the tunnel wall for balance, forcing her legs to move. Each time they attacked her, they taxed themselves, but she didn’t know how long she could stand their onslaught. Her thigh muscles were burning. Sweat ran down the side of her temple, and she slashed with her machete, hearing the pained howl of a wolf this time as her blade caught him. She lifted her other hand to the silver lariat at her neck, giving the quick twist-and-jerk movement that undid the intricate knot. She swung it out wide, using it like a whip to lash at the shadows. The ghosts disappeared in a puff of black at the contact, only to rematerialize moments later.

  “Natalie!”

  She ran toward the sound, panting harshly as the corridor inclined. She could see a lone figure standing
in the opening, arms outstretched. Lucien.

  The dark shadows overtook her toward the end and she sobbed as the massive door started to close. She smashed into a wall as a furry figure hurled itself against her. She raised her machete, felt something warm and wet splatter her shirt, and the wolf sagged to the floor then disappeared in a dark puff of wind. She swung the lariat around, trying to clear a path through the shadows that were surprisingly substantial.

  She lurched forward, forcing herself to run, to lash out at anything that reached for her. She screamed as a claw ripped at her side and she launched herself through the narrowing gap.

  Lucien caught her before she hit the ground and the door swung shut behind her.

  * * *

  Lucien scooped up Natalie, hissing at the contact of silver against his flesh. He glanced down. She clutched her silver chain in her fist. While he watched, she looped the chain twice around her neck with trembling fingers, her eyes wide and panicked as she tried to fight him off.

  “Easy, minx, I’ve got you,” he whispered. It took a conscious effort to keep his voice low and calm in the face of her panic. He could feel her shaking in his arms. She was hurt. Her clothes were torn, blood seeped from various cuts and grazes. Now was not the time for explanations, though. He had her, she was safe. He could stop mashing this situation with the night his mother died and simply focus on Natalie, on keeping her safe.

  A shot rang out and Lucien ducked, hissing as the bullet grazed his shoulder. Silver. Damn it, these folks were beginning to piss him off. He ran across the trail and jumped off the edge, sailing through the air. His grip tightened on Natalie, who turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. She screamed when she realized they were falling.

  Eyes focused on the ground rushing up to them, Lucien landed in a clearing, his knees and ankles absorbing the force of their landing. He backed up, ran, and jumped again, leaping down the side of Mount Solitude at a speed that the humans simply couldn’t keep up with. Trees, branches, leaves—all whizzed past them in a blur. He heard another shot ring out, heard the bullet thunk into a tree several yards to his right. Natalie buried her face in his neck. He wanted to ask her to drop the machete that rested flat-side against his chest, but he didn’t want to slow down.

  He needed to get Natalie to safety. That desire burned inside him, driving him with each twist, each leap, each step he took. Several leaps later, he landed at the base of the mountain and raced through the undergrowth toward his car. He reached the edge of the clearing and hunkered down low, listening. Nobody was guarding his car. His lips tightened. The fools probably thought he and Natalie would never get off the mountain.

  He jogged over to the car and jostled Natalie slightly as he pressed the button on the key in his jeans’ pocket. He opened the door, placed her gently on the passenger seat and grasped her hands, pulling at them until she finally let go and he could release his neck from her grip. He slammed the door, raced around and in minutes was speeding down the mountain road toward Devil’s Leap. It was the middle of the night now, and most of the lights had been turned off, with only the occasional bar or streetlamp shedding a glow into the darkness. He didn’t slow down, just sped through town and took the turn for the interstate.

  It wasn’t until they were on the blacktop, the ride smoothing out, that he glanced over at Natalie. She was trying to pull her gloves on, but she was shaking so badly she couldn’t fit her fingers into the sleeves. She hadn’t put her seat belt on. He leaned over and pulled the belt across her body and clicked it into place. She was mildly distracted by that, then her gaze slid back to the gloves and he could see her frustration, her confusion. Damn it, what the hell happened? He glanced in the rearview mirror. Nobody was following them.

  “Are you hurt?” He pulled the car over to the side of the road and kept the engine idling, just in case.

  She shook her head slowly, but from the stunned look on her face, he could have asked if she was female and she’d probably give him the same response. Damn it, she was scaring the crap out of him.

  “Natalie, are you hurt?” He twisted in his seat and reached for her, pulling her shirt sleeves up. His heart hammered as he looked for her injuries. He had to help her. Her arms were bloodied, yet when he gently stroked, the skin beneath was smooth. Her shirt was splattered with blood. He swallowed, especially when he saw the ragged, bloody fabric on the side. He lifted the shirt, despite her halfhearted protest, and sucked in his breath.

  She had a nasty, deep cut, but even as he watched, he could see the skin slowly closing, healing, until all that was left was smooth, taut skin. What the hell? She wasn’t a vampire, though, and she sure as hell wasn’t lycan. But she could self-heal? He remembered the conversation they’d had back at her house, how she’d tried to end her life but nothing had stuck. Now he could see why. She was immortal.

  He grasped her hand. It was cold and he could feel the tremors deep inside. She was shaking like a leaf. He gently helped her drag on her gloves. He was relieved that, despite being hurt, she looked like she was going to be okay. Physically. The scent of blood wasn’t quite so strong anymore, now that her injuries were healing. He raised his hand to her face, turning her to him. Her eyes shocked him. The hazel color almost consumed by dark gray, they looked hollow. Haunted.

  “You left a few things out, didn’t you?” he murmured softly, gently.

  She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. He wanted to roar; he wanted to rant—but not at her. He wanted to go after what had dared strike her, cut her, bleed her—and rend it limb from limb. He wanted to destroy what had frightened her, what had damaged her, but he didn’t know what that was. He’d seen her run toward him, her eyes wide with terror, flinching as she was cut. He’d seen her being thrown against walls, watched as she’d wielded her machete and whipped her lariat around like some sort of warrior—against the night air. And he’d never felt more helpless, or more enraged, as he’d watch her get hurt. But while ranting and raging would definitely make him feel better, it wasn’t what was desperately needed at this time. It wasn’t what Natalie needed. He exhaled, dredging up some calm from God only knew where.

  “Mind telling me what happened?” He kept his tone low and soothing, injecting what he hoped was the perfect amount of mild curiosity.

  Her mouth opened and it looked like it took a couple of attempts before she managed to make a sound.

  “I—I saw the ghosts,” she whispered. A tear fell, tracking slowly down her cheek, and his heart cracked at the pain and grief he saw in her face. Then her words registered and he tilted his head, his brow dipping.

  “What?”

  “The ghosts. I saw them.” She licked her lips and took a deep breath as she met his eyes, all vulnerable and unguarded. “I—I see dead people, Lucien. All the time.”

  He digested her words for a moment. Ghosts. Dead people. Oo-kay. Not quite what he was expecting. “We need to talk, but not here. We’re going back to the roost. I know we’ll both be safe there.”

  It said so much about her current state that Natalie didn’t protest or try to launch from his car at his words. She meekly nodded and rested her head against the car seat.

  He turned back in his seat and drove the car onto the road. Dead people. She sees dead people. Of course she sees dead people. Because that’s completely normal.

  Not.

  Chapter 13

  Natalie followed Lucien through the hotel reception area. She hadn’t balked when he’d driven into the tunnel. Strangely, after what had happened on the mountain, staying at a roost didn’t bother her as much as it should have. She still wore her machete strapped to her thigh, and she could see the other vampires eyeing it assessingly. That’s okay, let them try. She still had her custom-made lariat lash around her neck and the knife in her boot, but more than that, she had the man walking alongside her. He’d waited for her. He hadn’t left. She�
��d fallen into his arms and he’d whipped her away from danger. She’d heard the shot, felt him flinch. He’d put his body on the line to keep her safe. Now, here, she trusted him to keep doing that, to keep her safe.

  Although he did seem to be operating a little on autopilot. She guessed he was still trying to process what she’d divulged in the car. She touched the shirt she now wore. She was still wearing her gloves, could only guess at the feel of it. It looked soft, comfortable. It was Lucien’s. He’d insisted she take her shirt off. It was ripped and bloodstained beyond repair, and would act like an invitation to the other guests staying at the roost. His shirt felt warm and soft against her skin, and had smelled like him, all sexy male. She glanced under her lashes toward him. He’d left his jacket back on the mountain, along with his pack. Now he strutted through reception shirtless, looking like some fierce warrior god who was ready for a fight.

  A tall man with brown hair stood behind the reception desk, talking to the attendant. When he looked up, his eyebrows rose as he watched them walk by. He then pulled out a card from the supply packed neatly on the desk, typed something into the computer and flicked a keycard across the space. Natalie watched as it spun through the air. Lucien caught it effortlessly, not even slowing as he escorted her through the lobby.

  The cool light shone silver on his skin, and his eyes glowed red at some of the vampires in the lobby as they stared at Natalie. She noticed all of them avert their eyes in the face of Lucien’s stare. He looked...intense. Battle-ready. She knew it; she could see it. He looked fierce and resolute. He guided her into the elevator and stood in front of her, arms folded, glaring back into the lobby and preventing any other vampire from entering the elevator, if they were so inclined. None of them seemed to have a death wish, though, so when the doors closed it was just her and Lucien inside. He stood with his back to her, eyeing the gauge above the doors. She eyed his back. All smooth skin, she frowned when she noticed a red gash on his shoulder. It looked painful. Although it was healing, it was doing so at a slower rate than she’d expect. She placed her gloved hand on his shoulder blade.