Emma (Dark Fire)

by Cooper, Jodie B.

  He ran his tongue down dangerously wicked looking fangs, licking them in anticipation.

  Repulsed, her body tensed, mutely screaming in terror. Her death was moments away and she couldn’t move. She strained against the odd compulsion thrumming through her brain. Her body didn’t budge, remaining in a frozen limbo.

  Sharp pain slashed through her finger as the pixie bit her. “Run!” the tiny girl screamed. In a flutter of sparkling wings, the pixie streaked away.

  The pain was just enough to break the freak’s tight hold on her brain. Her single thought mirrored the pixie’s action. She jumped up, and threw herself into a mad dash toward the forest behind her. Never once did she consider fighting the deadly creature with the face of an angel. She knew her only chance at living lay in outrunning the fanged creature, the vampire.

  Over the thrum of her heart, she heard his laughter. It was dark and ominous just like the earlier thunder. The sound made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, prickling in animalistic fear.

  Dodging around mushroom trees and lunging over bulging roots, she tried not to spare any energy wondering where in the world all the freaky stuff came from or why all of it had been dumped in her lap.

  Nearly to the edge of the tree line, the tip of her sneaker clipped a thick, purple root. She stumbled. Crying out, she threw her hands outward and tumbled to the ground, landing near the base of another giant mushroom. She rolled, but he was nearly there.

  Running her hand across the rough ground, she frantically searched for something she could use as a weapon. Her hand grazed a smooth, hard surface. Not having time to be picky, she clasped the giant thorn in her fist.

  His hand clenched around her arm, jerking her around to face him as if she weighed less than a rag doll. Inhuman strength stared her in the face. She’d never had a chance at freedom; he’d just let her think she was escaping.

  His dark hiss surrounded her, one filled with anticipation.

  She glanced into his eyes, watching in sick horror as the tiny red vessels covering his eyes multiplied, growing thicker. The mass of veins pulsed with the beat of his heart.

  He smiled. Up close, his fangs appeared much sharper.

  His face blurred.

  She rapidly blinked, trying to clear her vision. The movement didn’t help.

  His features seemed to melt, shifting as if water flowed down his face. His appearance firmed. No longer did he appear a gorgeous young man. Unkempt blond hair dangled into his face. His large nose, which perfectly matched his mule-shaped face, flared as he inhaled. The intensity of his gaze increased. He looked hungry.

  Crouching above her, he sucked in a lungful of air. He held it, appearing to savor the sensation. “Hmmm, I love the smell of fear. It coats the skin making the kill so much sweeter.”

  Like a physical blow, the words struck her, terrifying her. Her desperate need to survive urged her toward action before the vampire had time to bite her, but her desire to live was stronger than her fear so she forced herself to wait for the perfect opening.

  She flexed her fingers around her makeshift weapon. Old and gray, the banana-sized thorn must have fallen from one of the mushroom trees. Its sharply pointed end curved upward like a thorn from a rose bush, while the flat base fit into the palm of her hand.

  The vampire focused on her throat. He didn’t seem to notice the weapon she held at her side. Either that or he arrogantly ignored it.

  She glanced toward the forest, desperately needing a diversion but it didn’t look like one would stumble out of the forest at just the right moment. She would’ve welcomed anything, even a bear. Choking back another surge of fear, she knew she would have to make her own distraction.

  She bit her lip against a surge of uncertainty and stopped struggling against the vampire.

  Looking up at him, she boldly caught his gaze. “Want a taste?” She aimed for a husky, seductive voice, but her question squeaked out of her throat.

  He paused. Confusion flitted across his face before he carelessly shrugged. “I’ll be taking more than a taste when I rip into your throat.”

  Acting terrified, she pretended to drop in a dead faint, while slipping the thorn in front of her.

  “Dammit, I hate a fainter,” he said amid a snarl. “They go limp and there goes all that fear enhanced sweat coating her skin. I like the skin moist and fresh, not limp.”

  The edge of the thorn bit into the tender skin of her hand. The thought of killing someone, even a monster, terrified her. She briefly closed her eyes, praying for strength.

  Surging upward, she slammed the hand-sized thorn into the vampire’s crotch.

  The vampire bellowed in agony, flinging her away from him as if she were no heavier than a baseball.

  Screaming, Emma flew through the air, sailing past several trees. Branches slapped at her body, slashing her face. She crashed a dozen feet into the forest, skidding across the hard ground.

  For once, luck was on her side and she landed in a patch of scraggly grass and old leaves. She shuddered in relief; grateful she sat covered in dirt and not filled with holes from the thorn covered tree trunk standing less than a foot away.

  She struggled to her feet as the vampire’s howl of pain echoed through the trees.

  Cursing her own rotten luck, she shivered. She knew his cries would attract more vampires. That was not a good thing. The mere thought of trying to fight another of his kind made her stumble.

  In the distance, a bellow, a true roar sounded. Loud and stringent, the sound grew harsh, filling the air with a wild, savage edge. The noise overwhelmed the vampire’s wail of pain.

  The fury-laced sound jerked her to a stop, nearly knocking her to her knees. A soft cry of fear slipped past her lips.

  Her dark brown eyes grew huge. Terror ripped through her, turning the blood in her veins to ice. Grabbing a tree for support, she held on for dear life. The sapling was the only thing holding her trembling body upright. Blood rushed through her body, thundering a rapid tempo in her ears.

  Whatever made that roar had to be huge, huge as in humongous. There was no way she could fight a creature that big.

  The vampire’s pained groan filled the air.

  Doubt flickered through her. Hesitantly, she stepped toward the meadow. Pushing a limb out of the way, she searched the ground for the wounded vampire.

  Pale as death and shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, his hand reached out to her in supplication. His eyes, a web of shattered red, dug a hole through her. The awful sight screwed his attempt to look innocent.

  Rocking on the ground, in a pool of blood, he beseechingly said, “Come to me, my beauty. Help me. I’ll not harm you.”

  Intense cold filled her mind. A dream-like feeling washed over her and she took an involuntary step forward.

  Chapter - The Hunt

  Angry with himself for allowing the weird green forest to distract him, Tyler snarled under his breath. Once he smelled vampires, he knew his first guess had been correct. The appearance of the odd trees had to be part of an attack by the Southerners.

  Intent on finding the bloodsuckers, he swung his head around seeking the vampire stench but couldn’t lock onto the elusive scent.

  Growling in frustration, he unconsciously tugged on his inborn power. Dorcha sparked to life, increasing his natural sense of smell.

  He turned into the breeze and immediately captured the bloody stench that shouldn’t be there. He trotted forward, silently crossing the leaf covered ground until he found a narrow path winding through the trees.

  Gracefully, he dropped onto his knees, inhaling various unknown scents near the trail’s edge. A new scent teased his nose. He froze. The sweet aroma was as intriguing as the vampire’s smell was infuriating.

  Sucking in a lungful of air, he savored the gentle smell. His dragon rolled in it, demanding more. The scent, a girl’s enticing scent, coated the occasional leaf. She smelled of fresh mountain rain infused with honeysuckle and fire. The dragon part of him grew still as
if hunting. His entire being focused on the girl, on finding the source of the scent that captured his fascination.

  He searched the ground for more clues. He had to find her. Instinctively, he knew the chase might take days, if not weeks, a chase of a lifetime, one that might end in death.

  A boy’s wail of pain echoed in the distance, yanking Tyler’s rambling thoughts to a stop.

  A second scream echoed through the trees. High-pitched and filled with fear, the sound hit him, smashing him square in the chest. The girl’s terrified scream pounded into his brain. He knew it was the girl with the touch of fire and honeysuckle in her scent.

  Fury roared through him. He would allow no one to harm the girl. She was his.

  The possessive thought blew his world, making him pause. He shook his head, unable to figure out why he was more concerned with a single girl than hunting down the vampires.

  He shoved the thought aside and pulled harder on his inborn talent. Dorcha energy surged through his body. His dual nature responded, happy to shed his civil outer shell.

  An avalanche of animalistic fury flooded his soul, pushing at the chains of civilized behavior. For a split-instant, he struggled between polite prince and the raging menace that was dragon; the dangerous part of his essence, a part that Tyler had chained since birth.

  The dragon half of his soul fought for dominance, a cold-hearted creature that could destroy the entire forest in a fit of wrath. He eased the tight grip he held on the chains surrounding his dragon half and focused, pushing his willpower into the surging energy that flowed through his body. Retaining his human shape, his golden skin tingled, morphing into tiny black scales that rippled across his entire length. In the blink of an eye, he shifted into wér-dragon.

  Black scaled, his wér shape grew taller, adding pure muscle and mass. Fingernails lengthened and turned black, growing into deadly talons. Silky hair touched his shoulders. Pitch-black horns sprouted through cropped hair, curling above his head. His clothes, weaved with strands of energy laced faerie fiber, shrank into a thin, twisted bracelet wrapped snuggly around his wrist.

  He threw back his head and roared. Guttural and deep, the sound thundered through the trees, warning every living being within hearing to hide from him, warning them to escape if they could, to run if they thought they had any chance of escaping him.

  Rushing forward, the forest flashed past him. Another scent hit him. Fury enveloped him as the breeze brought him the smell of a specific vampire, a filthy leech familiar with hurting others. Distaste and unease colored his thoughts.

  His roar intensified, growing guttural, reflecting a fury born of pain and memories. “Lester,” he snarled through clenched teeth, eyes searching the undergrowth. The one filthy parasite he detested above all others. Lester’s involvement hadn’t been proven, but Tyler knew the boy was responsible for an attack years before, an underhanded attack that killed several, including Marcus, Tyler’s older brother.

  He roared a challenge into the silent forest.

  A flash of movement to his right was all the warning he got. A girl, with long, black hair darted behind several bushes. He paused, and nearly called out a warning. For an instant, he thought the girl was his sister, Lily.

  A breeze swirled around him. The sickly sweet aroma of rotting flesh hit him. The foul, evil scent of corruption and death burned his nose. The sickening smell was a putrid odor he never forgot, a disgusting smell that surrounded zombies, creatures created by Wormwood’s native witches and wizards.

  Birds stopped singing.

  Swinging his head to the left, he inhaled rot.

  He didn’t wait long. A zombie charged him, bursting through the thick growth of trees. The creature, a male dressed in homespun trousers and a twisted multi-colored sash, swung at him. Black hair, clumped with dirt and twigs, swung around wide shoulders.

  In a quick move, Tyler crouched, avoiding the crushing blow.

  Unable to keep its balance, the dead man stumbled. Hitting the ground, the re-animated elf curled its lips in a snarl. The zombie jerked to its knees. Throwing its arms wide the dead creature tried to clip Tyler with a backhanded swing.

  Tyler snorted and easily skipped out of the way. He didn’t need a crushed kneecap.

  Once changed, zombies retained their strength. Even worse, they didn’t feel pain. The only good thing about a zombie was the inability for a re-animated shape shifter to change shape.

  Gnashing its teeth together, the zombie snarled. Film-covered eyes glared at Tyler, reflecting its master’s hatred. Lurching upright, the creature charged Tyler, completely focused on killing him.

  Tyler moved to the side, easily avoiding the slow moving creature. As slow and clumsy as the zombie was, the re-animation process had to be a quickie job. Faster, stronger zombies took at least a week for a wizard to create. A zombie as sluggish as the creature in front of him had to be a single night creation, one made in haste.

  The creature stumbled over a bush. Falling, the dead man floundered on the ground.

  Tyler’s upper lip curled in revulsion, hating wizards and the evil they spawned. Darting forward, he slashed the big elf’s spine in half.

  The zombie collapsed, dropping to the ground like a toppled tree. Rot-speckled hands clawed the ground, seeking purchase, trying to stand. The dead creature howled, but made no distinguishable words. Zombies had no human thoughts, brain dead except for the orders given to it by its master. Nothing of who the zombie was before death remained, not after a witch or wizard drained the victim’s life force.

  In growing anger, Tyler snarled. Bloody Southerners were creating zombies in Alliance territory, killing innocent elves - and who knew what other races - within the Alliance.

  Striding forward, he slashed his claws across the back of the zombie’s exposed neck. He slashed again and the head tumbled to the side.

  Glaring at the decapitated body, his anger burned brighter. From the dead elf’s dark brown clothes and green-on-yellow sash, the man had been a farmer, one with a mate. The moment the wizard finished sucking the life force out of the elf, the mate would’ve died as well.

  As wér-dragon, it was Tyler’s place to protect the innocent races within the Alliance. Failure burned through him, making him feel sick.

  Above him, a twig snapped. Ducking to the side, he slashed upward with his claws, hitting a vampire as it dropped out of the trees.

  Bernie, a skinny-butt vampire, dropped to the ground, howling in pain. The pimply faced teen rolled on the ground spilling blood from five long slashes across his stomach. The wailing bloodsucker, a fourth-year student and one of Lester’s bullyboys, scuttled backward, trying to escape Tyler’s growl of fury.

  Tyler trotted around the blubbering teen.

  Ugh, he hated vampires, but he couldn’t kill Bernie without good reason. True, the vampire had been working with a zombie and had attacked him, but neither action warranted death. Killing with justification was one thing, but without a darn good reason, Tyler would end-up in front of the council explaining his actions.

  He ached with burning desire to hunt the wizard that created the zombie. He wanted the filthy creature dead. Between vampires and a wizard, the spell caster was the worst enemy. Vampires might be blood hungry, but they were a part of nature, same as other races.

  Witches and wizards were not natural. Twisted and evil, the parasites were not content with the small amount of dorcha energy they were born with.

  The natural, internal energy was enough for a wizard to stay youthful and healthy, but not enough to caste spells. That was the problem; the lack of power was why they became true leeches. They lived off other people’s life force, using the stolen power to fuel spells that destroyed nature.

  A few weeks earlier, the presence of Southerners in the area would have been normal, because vampires, witches, and wizards attended Academy, but not now.

  Late spring break started the previous week. The break would last a full month, and by Academy rule, the sprawling star-sha
ped complex housing the school and dormitories should be empty of students and instructors between terms.

  The school was the largest conservatory of knowledge on Tuatha. From the very beginning, Academy remained a neutral place that welcomed any person, of any race, providing the best education available.

  Tyler had never agreed with allowing the dangerous Southern teens to attend. He believed having blood hungry vampires around the school was too risky for the weaker Alliance races. A Southerner, whether vampire or wizard, could easily kill a nymph, harpy or any single one of the weaker races.

  He smiled, baring his sharp teeth; cold and harsh as a northern winter, the smile lacked all humor. When he reported the attack, the Southerners couldn’t claim they were innocently exploring the somewhat neutral zone around the school and accidentally attacked him, not with a zombie involved.

  Glancing at the blood soaked ground, his duty and his desire clashed. He needed to warn the Enforcers, but not yet. There could only be one choice.

  He hastily swallowed, knowing his priorities were taking an odd twist. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he felt the way he did, but the drive to find the girl was growing stronger. The thought of her alone in the vampire-infested forest, perhaps coming face-to-face with a zombie, filled him with unease.

  Resuming his hunt for the girl, he ignored Bernie’s hunched form as the vampire crawled under a bush.

  Following the girl’s scent, he paused on the edge of a shroum meadow.

  The fresh, metallic scent of blood flooded the air. The reeking smell of vampire intensified. Vampires that lived on a blood-only diet had a harsh stench, one similar to a meat market on a hot summer day. Near his feet, blood soaked the dirt. A bloody shroum thorn lay in a patch of crushed grass.

  He snarled and his eyes pulsed with the beat of his hearts. “Dark Fire!” he cursed. Too late, he was too late to save the girl. He should’ve investigated the instant he heard her first scream.

  The air was thick with the scent of her fear. The bitter odor nearly pushed him over the edge of sanity. Fury surged through him, closely followed by a shaft of regret; the odd feeling of remorse, of desolation, knotted his chest.