We weave among trees, make our way down a steep-ish hill, and walk beside a stream for a while before Dalton leaps over it. It’s probably been close to a half hour since we left the cabin behind when I catch a whiff of blood. The same blood I smelled outside Sophia’s dance class, and the same blood I smelled on Scott.
Dalton looks back at me expectantly.
I point at my nose and nod.
He gestures ahead and taps his ear.
When I concentrate on listening, I can make out a soft slurping. My eyes shoot open wide. He’s feeding! I extend my fangs and make a nibbling gesture.
Dalton nods and waves for me to follow.
We creep up a steep slope, and the overwhelming stink of rotting meat hits me. It’s all I can do not to gag and choke. Fortunately, I don’t have to breathe. At the top of the hill, Dalton crouches behind a fat tree. I scoot up next to him and peer around the opposite side of the trunk.
A short distance ahead of us, my ripped-to-bits ex-boyfriend is crouched over a dead deer like some kind of ghoul. Eight or nine other deer of various size lay in a pile nearby. He totally looks like a creature out of Left 4 Dead. Not far from the pile of deer, a mess of wooden planks is probably an attempt to cover an old well shaft or something. I bet that’s where he’s been spending the daytime.
Dalton whispers, “Seems like he’s got his head on straight.”
I point at the hole. “Plenty of wood, and a pit.”
Scott freezes like a spooked animal.
“Well, go on,” says Dalton.
“Aren’t you coming?” I ask.
“This is an expensive suit. Don’t worry. He’s only a Scrap.” Dalton makes a shooing wave. “Besides. I’m the sensei. Go, wax on.”
“What?”
“You never saw Karate Kid?” asks Dalton.
“Umm, no. Geez, you sound like Dad. What is it with old guys and movies?”
Scott stands, baring fangs. Deer blood drips down his chin.
Oh, I am so done with this asshole.
I push my claws out to their full length and launch myself out of the trees. Scott snarls in anger, but he’s too slow to get an arm up before I plow into him. My claws tear into his chest and shoulders. We crash into a tree, which splinters at his back. Having learned a painful lesson last time, I back up a step and throw him aside before he can open me up.
Scott spins through the air until he crashes sideways into another tree with a crack, though I can’t tell if it came from bone or wood. After clinging to the trunk for a second, he slips to the ground and lets out a low moan.
Dalton snickers.
“What?” I ask.
He gestures at me. “The way you’re snarling and growling. It’s cute. Like a little woman trying to lift something too heavy for her.”
I glare, but don’t have the time to say anything back before Scott charges me, murder in his eyes. To avoid him, I zip straight up into the air, letting him stumble by. He can’t stop himself, and plows headfirst into another tree. Furious at Dalton’s condescending remark, I swoop at Scott, spinning myself around in midair and kicking him as hard as I can, aiming for his head. His attempt to dive away isn’t fast, but it’s enough to protect his face. My sneaker smashes into his pectoral and launches him off his feet. He goes spinning off to the side, eating dirt thirty feet or so away and bouncing over himself a few times before he slides to a halt. Pleased with myself, I stop hovering and land.
Dalton winces.
“How’s that for ‘little woman’?” I ask with a hint of snarl in my voice.
“Beautiful.” Dalton gives me the thumbs up. “You were holding back. Just cheesed you off a bit for that last little nudge.”
Scott groans in agony and mutters, “Bitch,” while crawling over to a tree he uses to pull himself upright. Bones creak and crunch in his torso as they knit back into shape. He kinda looks like a half-inflated life raft blowing up the rest of the way.
“Yep. That’s me, the bitch. How dare I be mad at you for killing me. Boys will be boys, right?” I hurl myself at him again, but he ducks my fist.
My punch shears bark off the tree―and most of the skin off my knuckles. A rain of pinecones falls around me. I’m too angry to feel the injury, and my flesh grows back in a few seconds. Snarling like an angry cougar, I swipe at Scott with my claws, faking high. My feint works, and I rip a huge set of gashes down his left thigh.
He catches me with a backhand across the face that throws me a few feet away to the ground. I spring up on all fours and glare at him.
Scott, for the first time since I met him, looks frightened. He books it into the woods.
Crap.
I take off after him. The boy’s fast, I’ll give him that at least. Dalton follows close behind me, griping about branches snagging his suit. I’m sure I could catch Scott if I wasn’t trying to avoid ramming myself into trees. Scott doesn’t care. He collides with any pine he can’t get around, bounces to the ground, and springs right back up. The urge to fly comes and goes. I’d for sure tongue-kiss a tree if I attempted it down here, and if I went above the canopy, I’d lose him.
He hauls ass, peeking back at me every so often with increasing desperation in his eyes. Hah. It’s freaking him out that he can’t outrun me. I pump my arms, trying to overcome my innate fear of a bone-crushing collision while running at what’s gotta be close to forty miles an hour.
Scott pulls a sudden turn, swerving to the left. Seconds later, the sound of an engine comes out of the forest ahead of us. Oh, that’s cute. He thinks he’s going to outrun me with a car. Guess Scraps can’t fly. He leaps over a fallen tree, staggering on landing and almost falling while clutching his clawed-up thigh.
Heh. Hope that hurt, bitch.
I clear the log with ease, gaining ground.
Scott leaps across a large burbling creek, heaving and grunting like the zombie he resembles. Though, vampire or not, a zombie running this fast would freak me the hell out. Maybe two hundred feet later, he dives headlong into a tree, hugging it while hurling himself around in a turn, his claws shaving lines in the bark. I rush after him and we spill out onto a dirt road, the taillights of a rag top jeep a short distance ahead of us.
Taking advantage of the open space, I fling myself airborne in a diving arc, intending to drill Scott into the ground. Flying at 130-something beats running at forty. Seconds before impact, he leaps into the air. I pull out of the dive, but can’t recover enough to avoid crashing flat on my chest in the dirt and sliding.
Oof.
Scott’s not flying, but legs that can run at vampire speed make for a heck of a long jump. He lands on the Jeep’s side, punches the window in, and drags a skinny guy straight out of the driver’s seat with one hand. The man takes one look at Scott’s ripped up face and screams.
A momentary breeze wafts the oh-so-wonderful smell of piss past my nose.
After dropping the limp guy on the road, Scott tears the door off and hurls it into the woods before hopping in the Jeep. Dirt sprays from the tires as he floors it. I scramble to my feet and run over to the unconscious guy, pushing his eyelids open with my thumbs so I can stare into his brain.
You stopped to pee and some drifter stole your Jeep. You didn’t see anything unusual.
“What are you doing?” asks Dalton, strolling up behind me.
“Damage control.”
“Scott’s getting away.”
I stand and raise an eyebrow at Dalton. “‘Scott’s getting away?’ Really? Who writes your lines?”
“What?” Dalton gestures at the distancing Jeep. “He is.”
Shaking my head, I trot a few steps before taking flight. “He’s easier to catch in a car on the road. I can fly after him.”
Dalton’s voice emanates from a little behind and above me. “That’s a Jeep, not a car.”
“Who cares?” I roll my eyes.
“Jeep owners,” says Dalton.
I sigh. What is wrong with men?
After gaining a little a
ltitude, I pour on speed. If I wasn’t so pissed off, I’d adore the freedom of the wind on my face, but right now, all I can think of is death. My death a week ago, and Scott’s imminent second one.
I swoop down, landing atop the Jeep and shredding a hole in the cloth top. Scott snarls up at me as I reach down and grab a fistful of his shirt. He promptly bites me on the forearm.
Ow. Fuck.
Dalton alights on the passenger side, standing on the running board while holding the roof.
Scott clamps down hard, like he’s trying to break my arm off, but apparently, I’m kinda tough now.
“He bit me.” I glance at Dalton. “Is that a problem?”
Scott stops trying to tear my hand off… and starts sucking. Oh gawd, he’s drinking.
“I think he’s feeding from me.” I abandon my grip of his shirt and try to pull back, but his fangs hurt too much for me to put any real strength into the effort.
“Nothing to worry about for you but the pain, my dear. However, if he keeps drinking your blood, he’ll become your slave.”
Scott gags and releases my arm, then spits blood out the missing door.
I reach both arms in, trying to get him in a headlock. He grabs me, ignoring the steering wheel. Somehow, the Jeep keeps going straight along the road. No matter how hard I try to lift him up and out, I’m not moving him. The metal bar in the middle of the roof is not a comfortable perch to drape over. While I am stronger than him, I’ve got zero leverage hanging upside down. We wrestle for a few seconds while Dalton observes.
“Why aren’t you helping?” I yell.
“You seem to have this handled, luv. Consider it a learning experience.”
Argh!
Scott thrusts a hand up, trying to claw me in the tits through the roof. I throw my body vertical, flying upside down as his claws shred the beige canvas. Trying to drag him out of the Jeep by flying power alone doesn’t work; he’s got too much of a grip. I swing over the side and pull a Dalton, standing on the running board beside Scott, still clinging to his left arm (which is sticking up through the hole in the roof) with a two-handed grip. I pull down on it until the bone between his elbow and shoulder breaks, and the arm flops limp.
Roaring in anger, Scott slams on the brakes.
Dalton and I go sailing, but both catch ourselves in flight. At this point, anyone with a brain would ditch the Jeep and try running again, but this is Scott after all. He tries to run me over, despite my feet hanging at windshield level.
I dodge to the side and come back around to land on the roof. Oncoming headlights make Scott howl. Hah. Idiot probably hasn’t realized he can turn night vision off. I keep my head down and to the side until the black SUV trundles by. It’s not government though; the thing’s too old and beat up.
The SUV skids to a stop, two guys hanging out the windows to stare at a Jeep with a crazy girl on the roof. Hopefully, they’ll think we’re just some wild kids doing goofy crap, since I’m not screaming for help. I thrust my arm down inside and rip at Scott’s chest, my claws scraping over ribs. He groans before grabbing me by the hair and pulling me down into the passenger seat with my ass in the air. For a few seconds, our fight looks more like a pair of drunk seniors attempting to play patty cake, since he’s struggling to drive with one usable arm and I’m upside down.
Dalton opens the door and starts pulling me out.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Scott grabs my ass; I get an instantaneous, terrifying mental picture of his claws ripping me open all the way down my leg as Dalton pulls me out of the Jeep. Before Scott can even cut denim, I stomp him in the side of the head, knocking him away. He almost flies out the driver side door, but his leg catches hold of the wheel. With Dalton’s assistance, I reorient myself to kneel on the seat and press my attack, raking claws.
Blood and seat cushion foam go everywhere, but it’s like the ‘death of a thousand paper cuts’ scene in that Kung Fu movie. I have no idea how to use claws beyond acting like a freaked out cat, so I’m just ripping up his skin.
“You don’t know a bit about fighting, do you?” asks Dalton.
“No,” I scream.
Scott skids the Jeep around a hard right turn where the road hits a T intersection. I grab onto the overhead handles to avoid flying into him. Oh, I’ve had about enough of this. As soon as we straighten out, I lunge, grabbing his head in both hands. He senses what I’m planning to do―again―and blows up in a stream of curses, throwing in the occasional ‘bitch’ or ‘whore’ for good measure. The bone in his left arm’s almost solid again. He grabs my wrists, pulling my arms down like he’s trying to stop me from stealing his hat.
There’s almost no room to move in here, and I don’t have the leverage to twist his head off. We wrestle around for a few seconds before total frustration overwhelms me.
“Die already!” I shout, and ram his face into the steering wheel.
“You sound like a growling hamster,” says Dalton.
“Fuck you!” I roar, and pound Scott into the wheel again.
With a squishing crunch, his face breaks inward. The upper curve of the steering wheel bashes through his eye sockets into his brain. To my utter surprise, Scott goes limp and stops moving.
“Bail out,” yells Dalton.
Without a second thought, I launch myself straight up, tearing the ragtop even more.
Seconds after I’m clear, the Jeep careens off a curve in the road, sails a few feet in the air, and comes down nose first on a slope, tumbling end over end before coming to a halt on its wheels maybe forty feet away downhill. I land at the spot where the tires gouged the edge of the road, watching steam and smoke rising from the Jeep’s front end.
Dalton strolls up beside me, smiling.
“Is he dead?”
“No. Just the vampire version of unconscious.”
I glance at Dalton. “I saw brain stuff.”
He nods. “Yes. It will regenerate… in a few hours.”
My eyes narrow. “No. It won’t.”
I tromp down the hill, following the path of crushed vegetation and chewed up dirt. Upon finding a nice, thick, branch, I break one end off and whittle it with my thumbnail claw into a point.
“What are you thinking?” asks Dalton.
“Car fire.”
“Ahh, yes. That’s rather elegant. It’ll even look like an accident. The authorities are still hunting for him, yes? They’ll close their case as ‘death in horseless carriage accident’ and be none the wiser about what really happened.”
“Dalton?”
“Hmm?” He raises both eyebrows.
“No one calls them horseless carriages anymore.” I look around. “Is this going to start a forest fire?”
He crouches and runs his hand along the ground. “It’s quite damp here. I doubt it. Been raining all day. And the Jeep’s got some distance to any trees. May singe some branches, but the wetness should contain it.”
“Good point.” I step up to the rear end of the Jeep and ram the wood into the gas tank, creating a gusher. “Got a light?”
“Nope. I do my best to prevent any sources of spontaneous combustion from being too near my person. Carrying a tiny tank of butane is like asking for trouble.”
I stare at him. “Do we foom?”
“I’m not familiar with that term.”
“Heh. I mean if we touch fire, do we go up like a dried out Christmas tree?”
“Oh. Not really. We don’t burn much better than humans… though some of the Shadows might do that foom thing. I’ve seen a few who looked pretty dry and crusty.”
I shiver. “Why would anyone want to be one of those?”
“No one wants to be.” Dalton chuckles. “Some simply deal with it. Though the eight-inch claws can come in handy.”
“Are you serious?”
“Aye.” He pats me on the butt in a playful way. “You know how that French beauty told you that you traded off power for looks and being human-like?”
“I didn’t t
rade anything… it just happened.”
He sighs. “I’m trying to make a point. Suffice to say, they go the other way.”
“So they have great power for being fugly?”
“Something like that.”
While gasoline spills out on the ground, I rummage around the Jeep. It doesn’t have a cigarette lighter, but I do find a hatchet in the back along with a bunch of smashed up sample kits full of little bottles containing plants. Guess the limp guy in the road back there’s a botanist or something.
I smack the hatchet at the bumper a couple times until a good enough spark hits the gas and sets it alight. Fearing an explosion, I fly full speed back to the road. Dalton lands beside me and folds his arms. It’s not long before the Jeep is engulfed. I sit on the edge of the dirt road, legs crossed, watching the mangled corpse of my ex-boyfriend disappear behind a wall of flames.
“Are you all right?” asks Dalton.
“Fine, why?”
“You have a lost kinda look in your eyes.”
I shrug. “What kind of look am I supposed to have while watching a guy I thought I loved burn up?”
“You can’t possibly still have feelings for him after what he did.” Dalton sits beside me.
“No. At least no good ones.” I let out a sad chuckle, poking the hatchet at the dirt. “But I still have a couple good memories. It’s weird trying to mesh those moments with who he turned out to really be on the inside.”
The smell of charred flesh rolls over me. Dalton cringes at the stink.
“What happens to vampires after they die again?” I ask.
“Same thing I imagine that happens to anyone. An Academic once told me vampirism is like a long, loopy detour on our soul’s path.”
I glance at him with a teasing smile. “Didn’t you call that ‘soul’ stuff a bunch of nonsense?”
“Aye. I’m merely passing along what was said to me. Though I did see a ghost once, so maybe there is something to it.”
“Yeah. Who knows?” I sit a while in silence, watching Scott’s remains collapse in on themselves. It’s horrifying. As much as I don’t want to see it, I have to. At least I know he’s no longer a threat to my family or me. “I think he finally got the message that time.”
A Nighttime of Forever (Vampire Innocent Book 1) Page 20
