Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  Dearg was defiant, but even as she swore to her kin that the Kavanaghs would do nothing, she was alerted to a visitor on the horizon. She went to the parapets, where she saw Caoimh approaching.

  “This is an intrusion,” she shouted down at him.

  His voice rocked the heavens. “This is? What do you have to say about the attack you made on Umbra Montis?”

  She tried to disguise her smile. “What attack?”

  “We know it was you.”

  “That's quite an accusation. Fighting words, even. Did you come here for a fight?”

  “No,” he replied, “but it seems you came to my home seeking a war.”

  “Is that a declaration of it?”

  “It's a statement of the facts. You can lie now, but sooner or later the truth will come out.”

  “Sooner or later,” she replied. “Maybe you'll get your war.”

  “You're not the only magic user out there. We can have a truth-finder after you.”

  “You shouldn't make threats,” Dearg said. Her hand sparked with magical energy. “Does Rua even know you're here?”

  “Consider this a warning,” Caoimh said. “There's a reason why my family rules.”

  “All empires fall.”

  Caoimh retreated, driving back towards the restaurant where he had left Rua and James. Maggie O'Neill asked Dearg if she should follow him, but Dearg felt it was better not to push their luck with him. She had a different plan in mind.

  “We need to do something,” Maggie said. “The blood warden will only get stronger.”

  “He's strong enough already,” their uncle Kieran added, “even if he doesn't know it yet.”

  “Everyone has a weakness,” Dearg said. “Sometimes it's someone else.”

  20

  Dead and Lonely

  “Tell me something,” James said. “Are these other guests here members of your family?”

  “No,” Rua replied. “There are few true members of the Five Families. These here are a lesser breed of vampire. We have an agreement with the government to keep their numbers down, a blood quota, if you will. Because the Kavanagh clan is waning, we are allowed to fill our ranks with these types, but they are a pale shadow of the true vampire.”

  “They look pretty nasty to me.”

  “Looks can be very deceiving, James. By bolstering our numbers, we seem strong, but the ruling family is weak. There's no point lying about it to you. The other families see it, and some are ready to pounce. It's why we need you to be the strength we lack.”

  James didn't reply to that. He'd been hearing a lot about his apparent strength, but hadn't felt any of it himself. He wasn't sure what to say. He also wasn't sure how long he'd last if they discovered he wasn't who they thought he was.

  “Are you hungry?” Rua asked him.

  James glanced around at the other diners, all of them having a liquid lunch. “I think I've lost my appetite.”

  “This place also serves human food.”

  “Is that human food, or is the food human?”

  She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. He thought maybe a sense of humour didn't survive the grave.

  “So, why here?” he asked. “Why not dine back at the ho—eh, castle.”

  “Because Lorcan is there.”

  “Is that not a good thing?”

  She stared at him, and her eyes showed pain.

  “No?” he said after a brief silence.

  “They say it's lonely at the top, but it's even lonelier when you're up there with someone you feel no connection with. I am living a lie. Now I know what it feels like to pretend to be in a happy marriage for the sake of the children, but I do this not for my own, for I have none, and never shall. I do this for the children of men.”

  “Can the dead even be lonely?” James asked.

  “I'm only dead on the outside. I can still feel. Emotion doesn't end with death. Normally those emotions disperse, and sometimes they fixate on a location, but with the undead they fixate on the corpse. They stay with us, just like everything else, animated by the hidden rules governing nature, of which the magicians have long sought.”

  She reached across the table, grasping his hand in hers. The grip was like a vice, even though it seemed like she was trying to be gentle. She stared into his eyes, and she seemed suddenly less grim, now a little vulnerable.

  “I'm lonely, James. You have no idea how it feels. There is the loneliness of the living, which hurts a thousand hurts. But the loneliness of the dead, it hurts a million more. Those you care for perish, and you wish your feelings perished with them, but they go on. If anything, they get stronger. The pain, the hurt, the loneliness—it all gets stronger.”

  “So, immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be, huh?”

  “No. There are pros, don't get me wrong, but there are cons too.”

  “You have Lorcan.”

  She laughed, though it wasn't a mirthful laugh. “I don't have Lorcan, nor does he have me. We don't have each other. We have nothing but a charade, a display. We have the 'perfect marriage' that tradition bids us have, but we only have it in name, not in heart. It is not perfect, and it is barely a marriage at all. It is a bond of convenience, a link of necessity, that we might rule, and so put an end to those dark days of the past. But it is all a ruse, and people are seeing that now.”

  “Why don't you end it?”

  “I want to, and maybe I work against myself to make it so. But this is bigger than us. For us, there are more important things.”

  She paused, glancing around the room to see if anyone was in earshot, then looked at James. “You know, he doesn't even like women.”

  “Could've fooled me,” James replied, remembering how fondly Lorcan seemed to look at Rua.

  “Anyone could fool you.”

  “Sheesh.”

  “I'm not even sure why I'm telling you all of this. I guess I've kept it bottled up for so long. The Danestis came together with my family to organise a peace across Europe, not just here. Lorcan comes from those treaties, not from love. We saw the threat of war on the horizon—and two world wars spawned on this continent soon after—but they would have been nothing compared to the war of worlds we would be waging if we hadn't settled those old family feuds. The Danestis married into a variety of families across Europe so that they could have a say in our affairs, a place at the table, as it were. They were outnumbered by the Draculestis, of whom our own Dublin-born Bram Stoker made so popular in fiction, but with the pattern of allegiances the Danestis formed, they soon outmatched their most hated rivals. Stoker was lucky he found the protection of friends in the Order of the Golden Dawn, for the Danestis despised him and his focus on the Dracul name. They were able to rile up many families over Stoker's publishing of vampire secrets, so that even his descendants are in need of magical warding today.”

  “Wow,” James said. “And here I was thinking it was all fiction.”

  “The barrier between fact and fiction is more blurred than you think.”

  “Yeah, I can see that now.”

  “But you still don't see your own power.”

  “Umm, that's … a little harder to see, yeah.”

  Rua stood up suddenly. “Come with me.”

  James followed her through the kitchen at the back and out into a dark alleyway.

  “What do you see here?” she asked.

  He peered into the darkness, but saw nothing.

  “You have trained yourself to be blind,” she said, “like so many humans have. I suppose it's a way to stay sane in an insane world.”

  “I guess it's too late for me then,” James said.

  “Yes,” she replied, a little colder than before.

  He turned to her, but she wasn't there. He heard the clang of the metal door behind him, and the sound of a lock sliding into place.

  Then, as he turned back to the shadows, he began to see. There was a vampire there, approaching slowly, his eyes filled with hunger, and his fangs ready for the taste.r />
  21

  A Taste

  The vampire seized James by the shoulder and hurled him against the wall. The impact winded him, and he wheezed as he slumped to the ground. He barely had time to fully feel the pain, however, for the vampire lunged at him again, hauling him to his feet.

  At that moment, when James saw the fangs glimmering in the moonlight, and the snarling face, and the red eyes, he thought that it was all over, that his brief experience with the supernatural world was coming to an end. If he was lucky—or unlucky—he could get to hang around as a ghost.

  The vampire tore at the collar of his shirt, sending a button spinning off into the air. Had he still worn the little crucifix, the beast might have been warded off, or at least slowed a little. But there was no chain now, and even the mark the talisman made in his neck was quickly fading. There was no obstacle left between those sharpened fangs and his tender throat.

  Then, as the fangs came close, James found his reflexes kicking in. He moved his arms to block his face, then found himself instinctively twisting out of the vampire's grasp, despite the strength of the creature's grip. He spun under the vampire's arm, turning on the spot, and casting the vampire against the wall.

  Then he backed away, stumbling, feeling suddenly the pain that he had not felt before. He panted, and his heart bashed against his ribs, as if it had become an ally of the undead. He held his arms out before him, ready for the next attack, while his eyes searched out any avenue of escape. There was none.

  The vampire turned, slowly, hunching its back, and snarled even more.

  “You fight,” he said, surprised.

  James was not surprised by that. He was surprised he fought so well.

  “The blood is sweeter after a struggle,” the vampire taunted.

  Then it charged at him, moving faster than any human could. Though James tried to dodge the attack, the vampire caught hold of him and pulled him to the ground. It loomed over him, and clawed at him, and James clawed back.

  Yet no matter what hidden well of fortitude James found within him, the vampire had a supernatural strength that soon overcame him. It pinned his arms, kneeling on top of them, holding him down, until all James could do was wait.

  Then he felt the pierce, the bite. It was such a sharp, sudden pain, that it paralysed him. He opened his mouth to give a cry, but merely caught his own breath. Then he felt that horrible extraction, like the suction of the needle when giving blood. The vampire drank, and drank, until James felt he was going to pass out. Any fight in him vanished, just as it was needed most.

  This was the end. Another sip and he was gone.

  And yet, the vampire stopped.

  Dazed, James turned his head, and he realised the vampire was moving away, and stumbling. It fell over, and got back to its feet, then collapsed again. That should have been him. That should have been his stumble home, or to the hospital, or to the morgue.

  James struggled up a little, onto his elbow, just enough to get a better look. Even as he did, he realised he probably should have been playing dead. Maybe the vampire thought he'd had his fill, that there was no more blood to give.

  No.

  The vampire clawed at itself, cutting great gashes across its skin with its nails. Through those wounds, it looked like it was on fire inside. It screamed, and the cry was blood-curdling, if you had enough blood left to curdle. Its skin blistered and burned, and it patted and clawed at it. Its body smoked, but even through the steam you could see the horror of it all. The vampire crumbled apart like ash, and you could see the skeleton beneath, until there were no more screams, and very little left at all.

  James felt like vomiting, but he was too weak even for that. He heard the clang and screech of the metal door opening, and the clap of heels against the ground. He saw Rua's black shoes, and pale legs, and red dress. He could almost see her black heart.

  “You,” he said, but it was a struggle.

  “No,” she said. “You. You did this.” She gestured to the vampire's remains.

  “I don't understand.”

  “I knew you wouldn't believe me if I told you. So I showed you. You're stronger than you think. You don't need trinkets and baubles to fend off my kind. No. Your blood is poison to us.”

  “I don't—”

  “Don't worry,” she said, and she was convincing. “You'll recover sooner than most. You're a hardy type. An ancient line. There are not many of your kind left. We killed most of them, until the truce.”

  “And now?”

  “Now you call a truce of your own. Or,” and she paused, running the side of her index finger across her lower lip, so that her fangs dinged the skin, “you kill most of us.” Yet she clearly wasn't talking about herself.

  22

  Invasion

  Lilly was having a quiet Sunday, curling up by the fire with a good book. A magic book, of course. Until she was accepted by a coven, this was her only avenue to learn. It was risky to learn this way without the guidance of someone more experienced, but she didn't have the patience the wait.

  She was just at a really interesting section on invocations when there was a tremendous thump at the door. She perked up, wondering if maybe it was James. She hadn't been able to get through to his mobile, and he hadn't met her for lunch. She listened for another sound. It came swiftly with a thunderous clap. This wasn't someone knocking. It was someone trying to get in.

  She leapt out of her seat and ran to the door, just as it splintered open.

  There, on the other side, stood the O'Neills, with Dearg front and centre, both arms outstretched, as if to announce “I'm here!”

  “You can't come in,” Lilly blurted. “You're not invited.”

  Dearg smiled and tapped a bladed fingernail against the invisible barrier. It shimmered electric blue. Then she looked at the book Lilly was still clutching in her hands.

  “You're a witch, huh?”

  Lilly said nothing.

  “Well,” Dearg continued. “I know some magic too.”

  With that, the vampire immediately began an incantation, and though Lilly was still unschooled in much of magic, she knew instantly that it was a barrier-breaking spell. Normally this wasn't something you had to worry about with vampires. But not Dearg. She was unique.

  Lilly thought for a moment that she might escape from the window, but she knew the vampires would be waiting for her there. They could outrun her with ease. When in a siege, the defender usually had the advantage. But only if the walls held.

  She grabbed her mobile phone and called for James. “Come on, pick up,” she pleaded. It rang out. She tried again, but it went straight to voicemail. She didn't want to think about what might have happened to him. If it was bad, she was probably going to find out first-hand.

  She glanced back at the broken door, where the barrier was breaking. She could see, just on the edge of vision, the glimmer of a giant battering ram, with the face of a gargoyle. Dearg rocked back and forth like the tide, throwing her arms forward for the punch of the ram, then drawing them back to prepare for another strike. The barrier could only take so much of this.

  Lilly frantically searched through her bookcase for some defensive tomes, knocking normally prized books to the floor in the panic of it all. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for, and grabbed the first volume she could find with some protective magic. She cast it open and raced about the room to find her supplies. She got several items on the list, running her shaking finger down the page, until she got to “the heart of a virgin child.”

  “Damn,” she said, sighing.

  The barrier was weakening. She could see the glimmering light flicker, like a candle burning low.

  So she grabbed another book, one she would only use as a last resort. She thought this might qualify. It was a demonic grimoire, with depictions of all kinds of horrible, twisted creatures with many heads and the wrong bodies parts, hybrids of human and animal, and things beyond imagination. She poured a salt circle around her, unsure if tha
t would do, and flicked through the pages until she got to the one she remembered: Evocation of a Dead-eater.

  She read the strange text, the so-called “barbarous words of invocation.” Her voice changed mid-way through, deepening and darkening. The lights flickered and dulled. It almost seemed like clouds were forming in the room.

  The barrier broke, and the vampires stormed in. Dearg walked, but the others ran, charging straight for Lilly. Salt wouldn't hold them back.

  But a Dead-eater would.

  Just as they neared Lilly, everything went pitch black, as if they had been sucked into a black hole. Yet that would have been a mercy. Instead, something came out of one. Lilly felt a sudden fear like nothing she had felt before, worse than anything, worse than what she felt from the vampires. Maybe it was because she felt their fear too.

  The light flickered just enough to see a mangled shape, constantly changing, an arm reaching out of a giant mouth, a mouth forming in the palm of the hand. It was all a twisted mess of nightmares, but it was real, and it was here.

  The creature seized the closest vampire, Feargal, and consumed him. His cries carried on even after he was gone, as if he was now being consumed for eternity. Lilly almost had pity. Almost.

  Dearg swiftly formed her own barrier between her and the Dead-eater, but she didn't stay long to test it out. She launched herself through the nearest window and fled. The other surviving members of her family quickly followed, but the slowest of them, Mark, was caught in what seemed like a vacuum suction, pulled by the intake of the Dead-eater's breath. He reached out to grab onto something, but everything gave way in his hands. Lilly's apartment was falling apart, becoming just another meal for the monster. With it, it gulped down Mark O'Neill too.