by Lily Luchesi
It wasn’t just the clothes that were disconcerting her, however. Something was wrong. Something felt off. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember what happened before she went into the coffin. It came back to her slowly, like a dream: everything that had happened with Fiona, the hybrid werewolves, and Miranda, the psychotic vampire who had nearly killed her with her own blade.
She touched her neck and felt no scar, which was odd, considering the blade was doused in holy water. Those always left scars. She checked the rest of her body and realized that all of her scars were gone, even the ones she’d had for years. Her tattoos looked very faded, because the scar tissue below the ink had gone away like her other scars.
“Am I dreaming?” she asked aloud. She pinched herself. It hurt. She saw her shoes near the door and put them on, wondering what day it was and what had happened after she’d become unconscious during the battle.
Still, even before she opened the door and was nearly blinded by the artificial light from the fluorescents, she knew there was something off. Something was very wrong with the way she felt. It was like…everything was clearer. She could see easier in the dark, move easier even after being injured, and she could even smell things from further away than she used to. She could hear the heartbeats of all the mortals inside the building and feel all of their auras like an extension of herself.
To top it off, she could never remember craving blood so severely.
There was a bathroom in her room, so she went back inside to make sure she looked all right. It seemed like a trivial thing, but something was telling her she needed to look in a mirror. She looked in the glass and expected to see her pale, heart-shaped face, plump lips, and dark eyes surrounded by the halo of black hair that was probably in desperate need of a flat iron.
What she saw was nothing. A scream rose and died in her throat before she could give voice to it. She felt like it was choking her. Angelica was an expressive person, but never was she one for dramatics. If anyone could have seen her then, they would have cast her as Ophelia and given her a Tony and an Olivier.
Her hands covered her mouth (not that anything intelligible was exiting it) and she fell to the ground, bruising her knees that healed a second later. Her eyes that could see much better than a cat’s now saw nothing, not even the smooth Italian tile beneath her. Her head was spinning and she felt dizzy. She worked at controlling her breathing so she wouldn’t pass out…even though now she didn’t think she was even capable of fainting.
“It’s not possible,” she whispered. Her voice sounded odd to her ears. Too loud. Too rich. She made a small cut in her arm, and it healed up faster than before. Blood didn’t even begin to seep out. Since she was starving, it was easy to make her fangs release, but this time it wasn’t just her canine’s that elongated: it was her whole mouth, just like a real vamp’s did. A bunch of little fangs protruded and surrounded the usual long canines. She felt blood seeping from her gums as they got used to the new fangs breaking the tissue.
She was turned. After two hundred years of learning to accept she was a vamplet, and her recent investigating into becoming a full vamp, she had been changed without permission.
Who had changed her? Was it Miranda? That made no sense. Why would Miranda want to turn her? Had Fiona gotten some nefarious idea in her mind? Too many questions to which she had no answers. She needed to find the one person who could give her answers…if he didn’t run the other direction when he saw her, that was. Before she went there, she needed food, so she opened the refrigerator and grabbed two bags of B-positive. She didn’t bother warming them—she was too hungry.
In a matter of seconds, both bags were drained and put in biohazard containers. She was still hungry and didn’t want to think about it. Usually, a bag a day was sufficient to slake her thirst.
With shaking hands and a dread-filled heart, she exited her room, determined to find answers.
***
Detective Daniel Mancini was in his own temp room at the PID, reading a book and continuously checking his watch. According to the doctor who had given Angelica her life-saving blood transfusion, she should be awake by the third day of burial. This was day three and the sun had been down for about an hour with still no sign of her. He was getting worried that the procedure had somehow not worked and she had died instead of turned.
He wanted to get up and go check, but the doctor had advised him that Angelica would need to be alone at first waking. She’d be hungry, and a human in the room could be in grave danger. Danny knew Angelica would never consciously kill him, but if she was that hungry…it might not matter who he was, just that he was a warm blooded body.
So he waited, his hands shaking despite himself. If she was dead…he couldn’t even think of it. Not when they had just been able to get back together. If he could kill Miranda Valdez twice, he would. It was her jealousy that had nearly killed Angelica with Angie’s very own blade. It was also partly Fiona Guilfoyle’s fault, and Danny vowed that, the next time he saw her, she’d die begging and pleading for her life at his hands.
He knew Angie hadn’t wanted to change yet, though he did not know why. He was sure she’d be angry, and she’d have a right to be…if she was okay.
As he was thinking, the door to his room swung open and there was the vamp in question, looking good as new and with a little glow to her cheeks, meaning she had fed. She did not look happy.
“Angie,” he said standing, “are you okay? I was getting worried.” He wasn’t sure if he should go to her or not.
“I am most certainly not okay!” she cried. “What happened to me? Danny, please, tell me that that bitch didn’t turn me.” She stepped closer, her hand automatically grasping his. She was still cold. Apparently she hadn’t had enough blood to make up for three days.
He held her hand and kissed it. Boy, was she going to kill him. He just hoped it would not be literally! “No, she didn’t turn you, Angie. Sit and try to calm down, please. Let me explain.”
She sat, but was by no means calm. He wasn’t surprised. He just hoped she wouldn’t lash out blindly when he told her the truth. She was always a bundle of energy, but now that energy was seeping from her, and his psychic senses weren’t needed as he saw her foot tapping on the tile and her nails picking off their black polish.
“You’ve been out for three days since the fight. Angie, what Miranda had done to you…my God, you were a bloody mess. Your stomach and throat were in ribbons.” He swallowed hard. That had been a difficult sight to witness: the organs leaking out of her abdomen and the blood spouting from her jugular. “She had drank from so many mortals, and even a few rogue vampires; her powers had grown so much. They did an autopsy on her after I killed her. Thankfully, they found the bodies of the dead and no human was turned.”
“You killed her?” Angie asked, surprised.
“I had to choose between saving you and killing Fiona. I’m sorry, Angie, but I let Fiona get away. I couldn’t…I couldn’t sacrifice you to kill her.” He gripped her hand tightly, trembling.
“Danny, look at me,” she said quietly. He looked up. “Never apologize for making a decision according to your heart. We can get Fiona another time. She’s not invincible. I just want to know what happened— if Miranda didn’t turn me, how did I wind up like this?”
Danny felt his blood drain from his face. “Remember what you just told me… When we got you back here, after they fixed me up they let me see you. You were in a coma. The human side of you had died, and couldn’t come back. There was not enough vampire blood in you to keep you conscious. The doctor said they could keep you comatose by feeding you the same mix of human and vampire blood you already had in your system. If I didn’t like that idea, I could kill you and end your suffering. Or…I could choose to have you turned.” He looked up into her shocked and angry eyes. “So I had you turned.”
Her mouth dropped open and she was momentarily speechless. “You…you had me turned? You, after knowing that I did not want to be turned unless it was my choice
? Who the fuck gave you that right, Danny, to make decisions like that?”
“You have no one, Angelica. I was and am the closest person to you, the only person you cared about. They said I was the only one who could make those choices! Had I not, you’d be comatose for eternity! Is that what you’d want, after all this time? To lie half dead and never wake up again?” he countered.
“Apparently what I want doesn’t matter, does it?” she snapped.
Danny grabbed her hand again, wishing she could understand why he had done it. “Angie, I love you. I saved you and let the world’s biggest threat escape. I was not going to see you slowly decay in a hospital bed! I had to make a choice, to let you die or have you live, and I made my choice. I don’t regret it for a second, to have you alive again.”
She stood up, bloody tears staining her cheeks. “Well, good for fucking you, Ned the Piemaker! It’s my life, not yours, and I don’t want to live it like this!”
Making a mental note to ask why she called him a pie maker, he stood up with her and blocked her exit. It was dangerous to do, now that he didn’t know what she was capable of, but he didn’t care. “Damnit, Angie, I did it because I love you! I know this wasn’t how you wanted to live, okay. I get that. What you don’t understand is that I would rather have thrown myself in Miranda’s way if I could’ve than ever think of facing this life without you.” He put his hands on her shoulders and said, “Had you been mortal you would’ve been dead with no hope of return. I had the chance to get my love back. How many people get that chance?”
She looked up at him, her eyes still leaking. “We do. I don’t know why, but we do. I got you back, Danny, and now you’ve got me back. But I’m not the same person I was three days ago. I don’t know what this blood in my veins will do to me…or what I might do to you. That scares me. I despise being put at a disadvantage, especially by my own body.”
“Look, it scares me, too. I won’t lie. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. You and I against the Underworld.” His hands smoothed her hair and cupped her face. He leaned in and kissed her, noticing the acrid tang of blood in his nostrils as he did. He didn’t care.
Angelica melted into his kiss, and his hands closed around her waist, pulling her to him. He needed her to know that he didn’t care what species she was: he loved her for being her. He loved her laugh and her smile and her sassy attitude. He knew now that that would never change, despite her being full blooded now.
“I love you,” he whispered as he broke the kiss. “You. Not what you are, but who you are.”
“I love you, Danny,” she replied, gently disentangling herself from him. “I love you, but it’s not safe for you to be around me anymore. I don’t know what I’m capable of. Until I know, I need you to remain far, far away from me for a while. I’m sorry, but it’s for your own good.”
Danny watched in numb shock as his love turned and walked away without looking back.
Chapter Two
Have you ever had to walk away from the person you love? Turn your back on them? Bite your lip to stop tears from falling? Force your legs to keep walking so you would not run back to them? Probably not. Angelica Cross had never had to, either. She’d stayed by Danny’s side till he passed away when he was Jonathan Price. When she found him again in this life, she did all she could to hold him as close as possible, even when he seemed to hate her. Her love always came before everything.
This time she had to make the choice with her head, not her heart, as she walked out of Danny’s embrace and locked herself away in her office. She had a lot on her mind and interruptions would not be welcome.
While her personal problems were in the forefront of her mind, they were not what she needed to deal with first. She was still walking and talking, so she needed to fix what Miranda and Fiona broke within the PID. They had no director, and with Fiona still out there, she didn’t have time to interview possible candidates. She had to assume her rightful role as the head of the organization ASAP, while finding someone to be an assistant for when she was indisposed during the daylight.
She picked up her phone and called HR. “Cross. I need you to get Mark Evans from the London office on the next flight out here. I need him to be the new deputy director. And tell him I will not take ‘no’ for an answer.” She hung up, trying to get her thoughts organized.
She sent a quick email down to the Grand Coven to see if they could find Fiona again. Angelica had a funny feeling, however, that no magic trackers could reach Fiona where she was now. After seeing her black eyes and regenerative abilities, Angelica knew that Fiona was no longer a just a witch.
“I can’t believe that she sold her soul. How desperate do you have to be to do that?” she asked herself. She wasn’t dealing with a powerful witch. She was dealing with a witch from Hell. She had hated dealing with demons ever since her first kill: her werewolf ex-boyfriend in the 1830s who had become possessed due to her rejecting him. They were ruthless, much worse than any paranormal creature Angelica had ever faced. Murdering them was always bloody and emotionally scarring. She had never once had to deal with a demonic witch, one who was made, not possessed. This was entirely new territory, and for the first time in her life, she was beginning to doubt her ability to take care of this monster.
She had so much to do, and now she had less time to do it. The dawn would come before she knew it, and it would force her into the unnatural slumber of the fully Undead. There was no way to fight it off like she could as a vamplet. It would take her and hold her hostage until the sun once again dipped below the horizon. She needed a mortal to help her, long before Mark would arrive!
Mark Evans was a great strategist and hunter from London. She’d met him when he was attempting to hunt her twenty years ago, while she was visiting her home country. After scaring the pants off of him, she was able to talk to him and explain about the PID, and how someone like him would be a good asset. After finding out he was a terrible field agent, he had been assigned a position as a planner behind the scenes and had made a good name for the PID in the UK. A few years later, he became the director of the London office.
Unfortunately, she had no time to wait for him to show up after a nine hour flight. She needed someone there ASAP, but the only person qualified to do the job, she was forcing herself to stay away from him for the time being.
She could easily picture her newly-turned father, Vincent Cross, attacking and killing her mother and his Sire, Veronica Delarue-Cross, right in front of her eyes. It had been more than brutal. Stephen King couldn’t have come up with worse. She was afraid she’d lose it, just like Vincent had. His blood was her blood, which meant that she had as much psycho vampire in her as she did good vampire, like her mother. If her father’s side took over and she killed Danny…she’d walk into the sun. She could never live with herself for being a murderer of innocents, especially not him.
She pressed a button on her phone to page Bart, the armory manager. He knew how everyone in the PID acted in various situations, because he always had to outfit them with weapons. To give someone weapons meant you had to know what they could handle, what they could do. He could give her a recommendation of a fill-in till Mark arrived.
When the tall, strong, and usually angry werewolf got into her office, he was acting like a mouse with a cat in the room: skittish and wary.
“Are you all right?” she asked him, concerned.
He nodded. “I’m fine, boss.”
It’s me, she thought. He’s worried what I’m going to do now that I’m fully turned. Oh, fuck me. “I need your advice. You obviously know my predicament, and that I can’t be here during the day anymore. I have someone coming in from London, but till he gets here, I need someone to temporarily take over for me in the daytime, just for tomorrow. You know everyone here quite well. Who do you recommend, just for a day or two?”
“Well, I think you know who I’m gonna say,” he said, shrugging.
“No, I don’t know, or I wouldn’t have asked you here,�
�� she said. “Who?”
“Detective Mancini. I thought he’d be your first choice, too,” Bart said.
“For…safety reasons I am not going to be near Danny for a while. Give me another name,” she commanded.
Bart sighed. “Look, while I think we’ve got some of the best fighters here, best witches, and best strategists, there is no one here who can do what you and Director Dom did for over three decades. Danny can handle this during the daytime and besides, you won’t be here when he’s here, right?”
Angelica gave him a rueful smile. “It’s a sad occasion when a shifter shows more sense than a vampire. Can you please go to his quarters— hopefully he’s still there —and inform him of my decision and why this is happening?”
“I will,” Bart said. He went to leave, but then turned around and added, “For the record, I don’t think you’re gonna wind up like your old man. If you were, you woulda already killed us all.”
He closed the door firmly behind him, leaving Angelica in stunned silence.
***
Danny was back to pacing in his room. What the good fuck was that? He knew she’d have a hard time adjusting to her new life, but to leave him like that? He had expected her to be mad at him, but why would she lock him out of her life when she claimed she wasn’t upset with him?
A knock at the door make him jump and he told whoever it was to come in, hoping it was Angie, telling him she’d made a mistake. When he saw Bart walk in, he couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Oh. It’s just you.”
The werewolf scoffed. “Good to see you, too. If it makes you feel better about my presence, I’m here on behalf of Angelica.”
“Really? Care to tell me why she basically ordered me to stay away from her? I’m seriously starting to wonder if love is worth this bullshit,” Danny said, head in his hands.
“Loving a vampire is probably the worst mistake any mortal makes, but I digress. In case you’ve forgotten, we don’t have a director, and the only person qualified to fill those shoes has to be in a coffin during the day. She has someone coming in to be deputy director while she ‘sleeps’, but till he gets here, she needs you to keep this place afloat during the day tomorrow,” Bart said.
