Broken Heart Town 2 - Don't Talk Back to Your Vampire

by Michele Bardsley

  His mouth dropped open. Then his lips thinned and his silver eyes went flat. "Leave it to a woman to find a compliment in the fiercest of words." He put his hands together and the sparkling gold light sword reappeared. "Get out of the way, Eva, and let me put the poor soul out of his misery."

  "No." I whirled around, my heart pounding—from confronting the scary lycan or telling off vampire royalty, I didn't know. I kneeled in front of the hairy, smelly creature. "There, there. It's okay. What's your name?"

  The lycan stared at me, a gleam of intelligence in his dark eyes. He pointed to his mouth and shook his head.

  "You can't speak. Okay. Then think it."

  Faustus.

  "Faustus."

  Images filtered from him: his struggle among dark-robed figures, taken into a shadowy room that smelled of antiseptic, forced onto a steel table and bound with thick chains. Syringes took out blood and others injected the substance that had turned him into the mutated lycan.

  "He was turned into a hybrid against his will." I looked at Lorcan and flinched at the steely expression in his eyes.

  The lycan's roar warned me. I whirled around in time to get swooped into his big, furry embrace. I yelled, "Let me go!"

  The lycan released me instantly. Experimentally, I pointed at him and said, "Sit."

  His big butt hit the ground. He looked up at me like he was a puppy instead of a murderous Bigfoot.

  "Stay."

  Lorcan grabbed my elbow and yanked me out of Faustus's grasp. "What the hell is going on? How do you know about him? How can you make him obey you?"

  I tapped my temple.

  "Glamouring does not usually include telepathy," he said.

  "You've seen the nightly act, Lor. Animals love me. This might be crazy, but I think I can communicate with animals who can also take human form. Or who were human at some point."

  Lorcan looked at me as though I'd plunged his glittering sword into his heart.

  "Are you okay?" I asked.

  "Of course." He shook off whatever was bothering him. As Lorcan studied the lycan, I thought about Lucifer. I'd heard her thoughts—they were very human. If my hypothesis was correct, then she had been a human at some point. And if that was true… who was she?

  Then Lorcan touched my elbow and nodded toward Faustus. "I can't transport all three of us. Will he follow you?"

  "I don't know." I looked at the lycan. "Where do you want to take him?"

  "My brother's house. It's closer than the compound, and it has suitable… facilities."

  I looked at Lorcan. "I won't let you hurt him."

  "I figured that out after you threw yourself in front of my blade." His hand drifted to my hair. I felt his long fingers stroke my temple. "Beheading is one of the few ways to kill a vampire."

  "I know."

  "You are either brave or foolish."

  "Probably both." I felt unnerved by Lorcan's gentleness. It was like being touched by velvet wrapped around a sword point—one slip of the velvet, and I'd be cut by the sword. I stepped away from him. How was I supposed to react to his touch, to the look in his eyes? I had no doubt he was still angry with me. I was angry with myself. I'd used up my allotment of dumb decisions in my lifetime; I shouldn't have tried to rescue Lucifer without help.

  "I'm sorry," I said.

  He blinked at me. "What?"

  "Do you only recognize an apology when it comes from your own lips?" I smiled to soften the reprimand. "I endangered myself by coming out here alone. I'm grateful you showed up and prevented me from doing something really stupid." I swallowed hard, filled up by emotions I couldn't name. "Thank you."

  He stared at me, his silver eyes mercurial. "You are welcome, a stóirín."

  I looked at Faustus. We're going to help you. Get up, okay? The lycan got to his feet, then grasped my hand lightly with his large, furry one, as if he realized his strength might hurt me. Of course, he couldn't really hurt me—a vampire healed quickly of most injuries.

  Expectant, we both turned to Lorcan.

  "We'll walk," he said. He strode around us and we followed. Vamp vision allowed me to see him clearly and I must admit I admired his backside. My heart hitched as I thought about what Lorcan must look like without his clothes. Although I'd seen his yummy chest, I couldn't help but think about the rest of him. Then I felt so guilty about picturing a four-thousand-year-old monk naked that I redirected my thoughts to all the tasks that awaited me in the library. But then my eyes coasted down Lorcan's well-defined back and his… oh, my. Black really accentuated his—no, no. Bad Eva.

  As we left the woods and headed across the cemetery, I asked Lorcan if I could use his cell phone. I called Tamara, but she didn't answer either her cell or the library's phone, so I figured she was in the shower or listening to her music at eardrum-busting levels. I left two voice mails and returned the slim electronic device to Lor.

  "What the fuck is going on?" asked Jessica. She glanced around the living room, which was roughly the size of Manhattan, and blew out a breath. "Whew. She's not skulking around. Stupid Cussing Jar! Jen's made a mint off me this week."

  "Luckily, you married a rich man," said Patrick.

  He draped an arm around Jessica's shoulders. They looked so good together. I admit I had felt both joy and envy when Jessica and Patrick fell in love and married. I hadn't dated much and I could count on three fingers how many men I'd invited into my bed. I hadn't thought that I was missing all that much until I saw the kind of love that could be had by soul mates. I sighed. Soul mates. There was no other word to describe the bond shared by Jessica and Patrick.

  "She can talk to animals—animals who have a human side," said Lorcan. He stood between the huge red sofa and the big walnut coffee table. I stood behind the monstrous furniture, next to Jessica and Patrick.

  "You can mind-meld with animals? That is so freaking cool!" exclaimed Jess. "Would you tell Glitter to stop shitting by the fence?"

  "I… uh, that's gross. Sorry, but I can't command animals."

  "Well, hell. She does it on purpose, y'know. Never the same spot, but always by the fence, and I've ruined more than one pair of sneakers thanks to her."

  "Jess," I said, "I can't discuss proper poop etiquette with a horse."

  Bored with the conversation, Jessica stared at the man sitting on the couch, apparently content to watch the big-screen TV. "Hey, son of a monkey butt, why are you here again?"

  Johnny turned his baby blues on his host. His lips hitched into a sexy grin. "TV."

  "Captain Obvious," she muttered.

  "Mo chroi," said Patrick in a very patient voice, "shall we turn to the business at hand?"

  I felt the power of Patrick's stare on me. I squirmed, feeling as though I'd been sighted by twin silver laser beams. "His name is Faustus?"

  "Yes," I said. "And I still think sticking him in the laboratory was… was… a tramontane act."

  "A what's-it?" asked Jessica.

  "She thinks we were wrong to put him in the containment unit," clarified Lorcan.

  "Oh." She looked at me, hands on her hips. "Hybrids don't have the ability for human speech. Stan said something about vocal cord corruption or… what?" She waved dismissively. "C'mon. It's our sweet little Evangeline, not Hitler. Sheesh."

  "You might as well let me in on it," I said. "I met Faustus last night, too. Only he had two others with him. Did you capture them, too?"

  Patrick studied me, looking like a math professor trying to figure out a troublesome equation. "When Lorcan contacted us, he failed to mention that you had been part of his reconnaissance."

  "I wasn't. I was—" Searching for a rogue wolf. I smiled weakly. Think before you speak, Eva. Words unspoken are easier to swallow. Sage advice from my mother—I wished I'd remembered it five seconds earlier. Lor apparently wanted to keep me out of whatever was happening. I looked at him, hoping to figure out his motives. As usual, his expression was stoic. "Uh… er… Lor didn't mention our meeting in the woods?"

  "Now
it's a meeting," said Jess. She threw her hands up and joined Johnny on the couch. "I married a vampire. A rich, sexy vampire. Is my life easier? No. I'm ass-deep in lycans, my mother isn't speaking to me, my kids want a dog—hey, was that CSI? Go back. No, the other way. Damn it, Johnny, give me the remote."

  He handed over the TV remote control.

  Patrick touched my shoulder. "You're from the Family Romanov. You have the ability to glamour. Obviously your psychic powers are different now that you're a vampire. Rare is the Turn-blood who has your kind of abilities."

  "You mean not everyone is a pet psychic?" I asked.

  Jessica snickered.

  "There is only one other vampire I know who has similar abilities," said Patrick.

  "What's his name? Maybe we can compare notes."

  "Koschei Romanov," said Lorcan. "The founder of your Family Romanov."

  While I digested that bit of information, Lorcan turned to his brother. "I know what you're thinking. And I do not agree."

  "She has a unique talent," Patrick countered. "And she may be able to help us. In fact, she is probably the only one who can."

  "It's not fair to ask her."

  "Oh, you are speaking for her? Are you claiming her as your sonuachar?"

  Lorcan's mouth dropped open. Then he clenched his fists, his eyes molten silver with fury. "Go hifreann leal."

  Patrick grinned. "If that's the case, deartháir, then you cannot speak for her."

  "I have an idea," said Jessica as she popped up from the couch. "Why don't you stop talking about Eva like she's not here and ask her if she wants to help?" She rounded the couch and stood next to me. "Hey, feel free to tell 'em to go to hell. They have this really outdated idea of chivalry. It's cute sometimes, but mostly it's annoying."

  Patrick's gaze stayed on his brother. "Ná glac pioc comhairle gan comhairle ban."

  "Hmph! Is mink a bhris béal duine a shrón." Lorcan relaxed, his fists uncurling, but his eyes were still ablaze.

  "What did they say?" I asked Jessica.

  "I don't speak Gaelic, but I do speak Patrick. It's a good bet that he said something placating yet sarcastic. He's good at that. Mr. Patience sounded pissed—so I'm going with 'Fuck off.' " Jessica grinned at her husband and her brother-in-law. Then she looked at me, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She pointed toward the double doors that led to the living area. They were open, so we could see the large foyer, the massive staircase, and the single door—which looked like it opened into a bank vault—underneath the stairs. "Here's the deal. We decked out almost the entire basement in science stuff. Stan about had an orgasm when we finished construction. If Linda didn't bring him meals, he'd forget to eat. Anyway, the lycan is there. He has developed a bad attitude. I don't need to hear him say, 'I want to kill you' to get his meaning."

  "The other two must have a hiding spot around here." Patrick rubbed a hand across his forehead as if warding off a headache, which was a human habit. Vampires didn't get headaches. "From the tests Stan has managed to do so far, we've confirmed he has the taint."

  The Consortium had told everyone that the Wraith leader, Ron aka Ragnvaldr, had infused the blood from murdered lycanthropes into vampires suffering from the taint. Ron had discovered not the cure for the taint but a way to combine vampires with lycans. The effects had been unexpected and terrifying. The problem was that the creatures weren't always controllable.

  In June, several of the mutants had attacked townspeople. Only one had survived, and only because Lorcan had Turned her. My undead heart squeezed at the thought that more of these hybrids were on the loose.

  I looked at Lorcan and wondered how he'd been cured. He had been a big, hairy beast when he'd killed me. What had the Consortium done to rid Lor of the taint? Infused him with lycan blood, that's what.

  "Why did it work for you?"

  Lorcan didn't pretend that he didn't know what I was talking about. "I'm one of the oldest vampires in existence, so I had the ability and strength to withstand the process. I was drained of blood and I fasted for as long as I could. Then I was infused with special blood donated from live lycans."

  "Special?" I asked, wondering which lycans had donated their blood for the experiment.

  "Ever hear royalty and nobility called 'bluebloods'? Well, royal lycans literally have different blood from common lycanthropes," said Jessica.

  "Who donated the blood?" I asked, unable to quell the question.

  Jessica looked at Patrick, who nodded consent.

  "Damian, Darrius, and Drake are royals. They donated the blood to cure Lorcan and they're still donating blood for our attempts to create a cure for everyone.

  "The Wraiths haven't figured out how Lor was cured—they just think they have. Stan's been experimenting with a formula using royal lycan blood to cure the taint, but it's a long way from working. Meanwhile, Ron the Dickhead gets a sick thrill outta turning tainted vampires into rampaging lycans."

  "He does more than that," said Patrick, grimacing. "He's creating minions to do his dirty work."

  "How can you tell a regular lycan from a hybrid?"

  "A true lycanthrope is a shape-shifter. He turns into a four-legged wolf. He has the ability to shift whenever he chooses. A hybrid is two-legged and hairy, like Bigfoot. He doesn't shift because he wants to—the lycanthrope blood changes him. He can't change back."

  God, it sounded awful. Ron was truly evil to take a vampire already dying from the taint and make him spend his last moments on earth as a monster.

  "You can help us prevent more suffering," said Patrick. "If we can find the other lycans, we can track Ron. We need to shut down his experiments, not only for the sake of Broken Heart but for all parakind."

  "You want me to psychically connect to homicidal werewolves?" Terror rippled up my spine. "I poked at their minds last night, but I didn't try to talk to them. Whoever mutated them didn't care about how much they suffered. It was a very painful process."

  "That's unfortunate," said Patrick gently, "but not helpful. We need to know where they're hiding, how many more there are, and if the Wraiths are nearby."

  "Tell her the rest." Lorcan moved around the couch until he stood next to his brother. "Tell her what's going to happen to the lycans."

  "We can't reverse the process." Patrick grimaced. Jessica stepped into his embrace and he drew her against his chest. "Tainted vampires who are starved and then infused with dead lycan blood eventually go mad, either from the taint or from the further mutation of their bodies."

  "If the taint doesn't destroy them," said Jessica, "then the lycan blood will."

  I looked at Lorcan. "And that means…"

  "We must kill them."

  Chapter 9

  "Oh, my God," I said. "You're going to kill Faustus?"

  "We aren't saying that," protested Jessica, but she couldn't quite meet my eyes.

  "Eva, will you help us?" asked Patrick.

  I looked at Lorcan, though I hardly knew why. It wasn't like we were connected. He wasn't my friend, much less my mate—so why did it feel natural to want to confer with him about the decision?

  "You must follow your conscience," he said.

  "Who are you, Jiminy Cricket?" asked Jessica.

  She rolled her eyes. "Eva, why don't you take a gander at the lab? If you get too freaked, we'll skip the Amazing Kreskin show."

  By the time we got through all the security procedures and Stan's explanation of the laboratory experiments and systems, I was ready to gnaw on any available neck. I shouldn't have skipped breakfast. Hunger coupled with information overload was beginning to affect my mind and my body.

  It took eye scans, fingerprints, and voice analysis of both Stan and Patrick to open the thick metal door that led to the prison ward. When it finally swung open, lights flickered on in the narrow hallway and I peeked inside.

  Three large cells occupied either side. It was easy to see inside them; the front wall was floor-to-ceiling clear plastic. The remaining walls were bright white. Sti
cking out from the back partition was a long, thin white slab that I assumed was for sitting or sleeping. The whole place looked like something out of a science-fiction movie.

  "If you're wondering how prisoners pee," said Jessica, "there's a little button that opens up a toilet. Same goes for food distribution. Oxygen is pumped in and recycled through these filter things Stan invented." She pointed to the cell on the right. "The plastic is half a foot thick and is resistant to everything—bullets, acid, claws, fists, fangs… you name it. But Stan used his freakish brain to incorporate sound. You can hear the prisoners and they can hear you."

  I nodded, but I wasn't paying close attention. I could hear Stan's heart beating. Hell, my ears were so attuned to the one human in our midst, I swear I could hear the blood slogging through his veins. My fangs were trying to poke through, but I resisted.

  The cells visible from my vantage point were empty, but if the noises coming from down the hall were any indication, at least one was occupied.

  "I'll take her," said Lorcan. He placed his hand at the small of my back and, with no other choice, I allowed him to guide me down the narrow hallway.

  The moment Faustus saw us, he went crazy. He smacked the clear plastic with fists and swiped it with claws. Spittle flew from his muzzle as he growled and screeched.

  Stop it! I sent into his mind.

  He stopped pounding on the barrier. His huge furry chest heaved as he stared at me. I looked at the scar on his face and wondered when and how he'd gotten it.

  Want out. He punched the wall. Out! Out! Out!

  Calm down. You have food, shelter, and safety. Nobody will hurt you.

  You lie. He moved away and paced. Escaped Wraiths. Betrayers! Die my way. Mine!

  My heart clenched. He knew that his time was limited—that he would die one way or another. Faustus…

  He turned suddenly and pressed his palms against the divider. His dark eyes burned into mine. My mind flickered—like someone turning on a television.

  I saw a man standing in a field. He was not alone, but the background was fuzzy—as if Vaseline had been smeared across a camera lens. The man wore a silver helmet with a red horsehair crest; over a leather shirt, he wore silver armor. The garment ended in long strips, showing off the silver leg coverings strapped on from knee to ankle. His feet were encased in leather sandals. On one side, a dagger hung from his belt, and from the other hung a sword. In his hand he held a long stick.