by Tanith Frost
“No, I’ll go,” Naya says, and heads up the stairs without being told where Hannabelle went. “We’ve done this before.”
Genevieve bares her fangs at Naya’s back, but there’s no menace in it. I get the feeling this little drama plays out a lot. This small group has been together a long time, like siblings never allowed to leave home. If things get dull enough that they feel like some excitement, they surely know all of the buttons to press to upset each other.
My sister and I were the same way. I haven’t thought of Gracie in ages, but can’t help it now. Her bright blue eyes, her stubborn, freckled face. God, I hated her when we were kids. And I’d do anything to see her again now.
“What do you think?” I ask Lucille. “Where did we come from, if Genevieve is wrong?”
She scowls. “I think it doesn’t matter,” she says. Daniel crosses his arms, obviously pleased. “I think what matters is what we do with ourselves. We’ve been dealt a hand. Who dealt it doesn’t matter, as long as we play it well.”
I think of her and Hannabelle in the kitchen, Lucille prattling on and laughing while Hannabelle offers quiet smiles and thoughtful glances, both of them working to create something, to add to a world that wants nothing to do with them, and for some reason I want to cry.
Because Genevieve isn’t wrong about our nature, even if our origin is in question. We may control ourselves and aim for a do no harm approach, but it doesn’t change what we are. We feed on life. We cause pain. We are, at our core, a bastardization of life, light, and whatever shred of good resides in the human soul. And the best aspects of light—love, compassion, deep connection—only seem to weaken us.
Faint pain pounds at my temples, and I force my jaw to relax. I asked. I wanted this.
Painful truth is better than safe ignorance.
“I like that,” I tell Lucille. “The idea of choice.”
“Thank you,” she says, and smooths her hair back. “The unicorn in the attic told me once, and I’ve never forgotten it.”
The smug look falls from Daniel’s face.
Edwin’s door creaks open, and he emerges wearing a perfectly tailored leisure suit. I’ve grown accustomed to his wildly varied attire over the past few days, but this is above and beyond anything he’s shown off before. He always looks perfectly suited to some era, and completely out of place in this one. The gold chain around his neck glitters in the dim light, drawing attention to the open V of his shirt and the dark chest hair beneath.
Eat your heart out, vintage John Travolta.
He fiddles with a cigarette, but doesn’t bother asking us to light it. He’s obviously been listening in, waiting for his opening.
“It doesn’t have to be that big a deal,” he tells Genevieve, and she scowls at him. “Lions hunt and kill. What else are they good for besides shitting on the savannah and making baby lions? They evolved. They fill a niche. Why do we have to be different?”
“Lions are alive,” Genevieve points out. “They’re part of a food… thing.”
“Chain,” I offer.
Edwin tucks the cigarette in his mouth and turns to me. “We’re part of a food thing, sweetheart. We just happen to be at the top.”
He saunters toward the stairs and descends. He may have his flaws, but Edwin certainly has a flair for exits.
Genevieve raises her sculpted eyebrows at me. “Told you they were tricky questions.”
She watches as Lucille makes her way toward the sitting room, as though she’s forgotten the conversation.
“But then, what else do we have to occupy our minds with?” she adds, apparently to herself. She heads off to join Lucille and Trent, leaving me alone with Daniel again.
“Satisfied?” he asks.
“Hardly. But it’s nice to know the old ones are as confused about it as I am.” I wonder whether the elders—the real elders, the leaders, the ones the world hasn’t left behind—know for sure. Maybe Daniel’s right, and they have no more idea than the living have.
I turn to Daniel and touch his hand. “How are you so okay with not knowing?”
He brushes my hair away from my face and tucks it behind my right ear, then trails his finger beneath my jaw as he studies my face, his gaze lingering on my lips.
“As I said. I prefer to appreciate what I have here and now. Who or whatever created us and set us adrift without a map can go fuck themselves for all I care.”
“Such language,” I whisper, and reach back to open my bedroom door. “Care to take that filthy mouth elsewhere?”
“Anywhere you like.”
His lips are on mine before the door is closed, his hands exploring my curves beneath my shirt. Was I worried he wasn’t interested? He was just waiting for permission.
He’s right, of course. Here and now is all I should need.
A soft thump from above us makes me pause. I press my fingers to his lips, and he traces his tongue over the tips, sending tremors up my spine.
“What was that?”
“Hannabelle and Naya are up there, remember?” he asks. He moves quickly, grabbing my wrists, pinning them against the wall above my head as he leans in to kiss behind my ear. I melt into him, fighting to free my hands only because I like him wanting me like this. His grip on my wrists tightens.
He spent years making me strong. I wonder what it would be like to let go of that, even if we’re only pretending. After a year of standing on my own, surrender and possession seem quite tempting.
Naya can handle things for a while. She and Sean have been doing just fine without me.
I deserve a few moments of release.
Another soft thump. Unease gnaws at me, pulling me out of the bliss of Daniel’s touch.
Fuck it.
“Daniel.”
He growls, only halfway playfully.
“I mean it. I have to check on them. It’s my job.”
He presses his body to mine, offering a clear indication of how badly he wants me to stay. “Don’t,” he whispers, but releases me and sits on the edge of the bed.
I run my fingers through my hair and pull my shirt down. “Don’t move. Actually, do. Be ready for me when I get back. I’ll only be a minute.”
He might be on vacation here, but I’m not. I’ll just set my mind at ease and hurry back. No guilt. Hell, he should be proud of me for this. I’m being really fucking responsible, proving myself.
I step out into the hall, but glance back before I close the door. Daniel’s got the blanket clenched tight in his fists, looking like he’s about ready to kill something.
I wink and shut the door. It’s a good thing I don’t like this shirt. I doubt it’s going to survive whatever comes next.
I hurry up the stairs, distracted by the longing ache Daniel’s touch has left pulsing through my body. I may have survived a year without getting laid, but now that I’ve had a few teasing reminders of what I was missing out on, I feel like I’ve been starving myself.
And there’s a fucking feast in my bedroom.
Goddamn Daniel and his insistence on training me to be responsible and shit.
Everything seems quiet on the top level of the house. It’s just a small landing with two doorways leading off of it, one to a little balcony and one to the storage room. I check outside, but there’s no one there. Morning is too close for our liking.
I listen at the other door for a moment and try to open myself to catch anything that might be in the air, but Hannabelle’s power is too weak for me to have any chance of feeling her. I push the door open.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I begin, and freeze.
Naya lies on the floor, eyes open, staring at the rafters.
And a strange woman has Hannabelle pinned to the floor. Her arm’s raised, ready to plunge a wooden stake into the old vampire’s heart.
Chapter Seven
The intruder jerks her head up to look at me, and her dark ponytail whips back over her shoulder. Her eyes widen as her lips twist into an ugly scowl.
Her distr
action doesn’t last long, but it’s enough. Hannabelle, who was lying on the dusty floorboards like she was already finished, rolls away as I launch myself at her attacker.
The human throws herself into a shoulder roll before I can reach her. She springs to her feet on the other side of the room and draws a massive knife from the sheath on her thigh.
I could move faster, take her down. That is, I could if she were a regular clueless human. But she knows about us. She found this place, risked breaking in at night when we would all be awake, brought one of the few legendary weapons that actually work against us.
Fucking wooden stakes. I don’t know how the hell anyone figured out that the apex hunters of the unnatural world could be taken out by a section of picket fence, but here we are.
She paces sideways, crouching, ready to strike. Grinning.
Then she draws a large crucifix on a long chain from under her shirt.
Maybe she is an idiot, after all.
“Pretty,” I say, moving sideways as she does, placing myself between her and Hannabelle as the older vampire drags Naya behind stacks of boxes. “Pick that up at the mall?”
She flips the good Lord’s head back like a fucking PEZ dispenser and flicks what I assume is holy water at me, drops sprinkling from the tiny hole of his neck.
The water won’t hurt me, but the utter stupidity of her action could give me pause if I let it. I don’t. It doesn’t pay to underestimate anyone.
I lunge again, faster this time, drawing on my deeper energies. I feel the loss in myself, but it’s worth it as my perceptions and speed reach their peak for a few seconds. I’m on her before she can react, pinning her to the floor before her human mind can possibly comprehend that she’s fallen. I grip her wrist tight, and she drops the knife. I’m less worried about the stake, which is pinned against her side by my knee.
“Ow!”
I snarl and press harder on her wrist, threatening to shatter the frail bones.
I don’t. I probably should, but can’t bring myself to do it.
She screams anyway.
“Who are you?” I demand, but she’s crying too hard to answer. “Besides a fucking idiot.”
Footsteps thump up the stairs, and I don’t have to look to be sure that it’s Daniel. He’s not hiding his incredible power now. Every hair on my body stands on end as I take it in.
I’ve got this under control, but it’s nice to know he’s here. I have no idea whether these people work alone, whether this is just a distraction.
I grab the human by the throat and slam her skull against the floor to get her attention. “Hey. Where are the others?”
She draws a ragged breath. “Fuck you.”
Daniel approaches, and I barely have to focus on him to sense his rage. A twinge of fear pulls at my heart. This woman deserves whatever she gets, yet I can’t help feeling sorry for her.
Maybe Violet was right. I have lost my fangs.
“Answer her,” he says, his voice low and steady, and as menacing as I’ve ever heard it.
He crouches and takes her face in one hand, squeezing until she opens her mouth to yell, then slips one finger between her teeth. He doesn’t flinch as she bites down, instead doing a sweep of her mouth with the fingers of his other hand. He releases her and grimaces as he wipes the spit off on his shirt, which looks like he buttoned it in a hurry.
Guess he was ready for me, like I asked.
I give the woman’s head one more gentle slam on the floor. Bitch.
“She doesn’t seem prepared for this to be a suicide mission,” he tells me, and pats her down from shoulders to wrists, then up her legs—anywhere I’m not blocking with my own body. He stands and crosses his arms as he looks down at her, hazel eyes cold as ice.
She shivers.
“Your boss didn’t give you an out?” he asks, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “No cyanide capsule? No hidden blades?”
“I’m not a coward,” she chokes, and I ease my hold on her neck.
Daniel smiles, revealing his fangs. “You’re going to wish you were.”
She looks back at me, eyes full of fear, but something else, too. Determination, maybe.
“Who are you?” I ask, in a voice that’s nowhere near as murderous as Daniel’s. I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to be good cop here, whether vampires even have that role, but it might work.
“Krystina Koffin,” she snarls, then carefully and slowly spells it for me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. “Did your mother saddle you with that, or is it a stage name?” So much for good cop. Between the beheaded Jesus holy water and this shit, I feel like I’ve fallen into an alternate universe. I don’t know much about the humans who hunt supernatural threats, but this is definitely not what I’ve been led to expect.
She flinches as my fingers move against her throat again. I release the clasp on her necklace and hold the crucifix in the palm of my hand. Her eyes widen.
“This is really fucking disrespectful,” I tell her as I slip the necklace into my pocket. “To Him, I mean. You’re a terrible person.”
Let her believe none of this scares us. Let her believe everything she’s learned about fighting us is wrong.
“You’re a murderer,” she grunts as I rise and flip her over, gripping her wrists tight behind her back.
“Hannabelle,” Daniel calls, his voice far gentler than it’s been so far. “See if there’s any rope in those boxes, love.”
My heart would go still if it were beating. There’s a chance he’s only speaking kindly to the old vampire because he knows hard directions will break her. Still, it’s a shock to know he’s capable of being so gentle, even as the predatory glare he’s casting on our hunter never softens.
After a moment of silence, I hear Hannabelle opening the cardboard cartons, sorting through whatever junk is in there.
Daniel finishes the pat-down, and Krystina winces as he runs his hands over her ass.
“Don’t take it personally,” he sneers. “You’re not my type.”
Hannabelle approaches with a roll of silver duct tape. “All I could find,” she says.
Daniel rips off a length of tape and twists it into a rope that he binds Krystina’s wrists with, following it with a solid layer of tape that covers the knots and keeps her arms together from mid-forearm to fingertips, then repeats the process on her ankles.
I stand and stretch my legs, which have knotted up. I’m used to running and tackling, but not pinning and controlling. I’m out of practice.
I leave Krystina under Daniel’s supervision and check on Naya. She’s alive, and I’m thankful for that for reasons that go beyond caring about her safety. Naya will be one of us someday. That means that there will be a short span of time after her death when a vampire can drink her blood, draining her completely, to allow her transformation to occur. If we miss that window, she’s lost.
Daniel did it for me. He said it was the most horrible experience of his life or death, and I doubt he’d step up to do it again. Maybe I’m selfish, but I can’t see forcing myself through it, either.
But I like this human. I want her to be one of us.
Naya’s dark brown eyes flutter open, then close again.
“Stay with us, now,” I tell her. “Where does it hurt?”
She grunts. “My head is killing me. I don’t know what happened.”
Hannabelle crouches beside Naya and takes her hand. “We were talking. Suddenly this person was here. She hit Naya on the head. I tried to run. I…” She trails off.
“You didn’t fight her?” I ask. Not accusing. Just inquiring. Hannabelle seems like a gentle soul, but she’s a vampire. She’s strong.
“No,” she admits, but says nothing more.
When I look back at Naya, she’s watching Hannabelle with what I think is understanding. She looks sad.
I won’t ask now, though I’m curious.
“Hannabelle, can you help Naya down to her bed? Wake Sean, gather the others, and
come get me if anyone is missing.”
She nods and helps Naya to her feet. Then the petite vampire scoops her caretaker up in her arms as though the grown woman were no heavier than a child.
She falters a little as they leave the room, but her physical strength clearly outstrips any power I feel in her. She could have fought.
Daniel closes the door behind them and motions for me to come closer. We’re as far away from Krystina as we can be in this room. We can see her, and she’s shooting us death glares, but it’s all the privacy we’re going to get.
“I have so many questions,” I say, barely whispering. Daniel’s hearing is good enough that I have no worries about him not catching every word, and I don’t want Krystina knowing how ignorant I am.
“So do I,” he says. “This is troubling on many levels. Not just how she found us and why she attacked when she did, but where she came from. Maelstrom hasn’t dealt with serious hunters in decades. Nor have other clans, for that matter.”
I trace my fingers over the bulge of the hideous, useless crucifix in my pocket. “You think she’s serious?”
He raises his thick eyebrows. “I didn’t say competent or clever. But she would have killed Hannabelle if she’d had time.”
My stomach sinks. What if I hadn’t fought my urges and come up to check? I almost ignored my responsibilities, lulled into complacency by the illusion of safety.
I made the right choice this time, but it was a close thing.
“Do you think there are more?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “We had a problem with them long before your time. We’d hidden for long enough that people had stopped taking the supernatural world seriously, outside of fiction or small pockets of conspiracy theorists who had it all wrong anyway. The clan system seemed to be working as planned, allowing us to rebuild our population and fly under the human radar. But there are always rogues, always cracks in the walls. A few groups of humans figured things out. They were quiet about it, which made them all the more dangerous.”
“What happened?”
He rolls his shoulders back and looks at Krystina. “We killed them,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, then drops his voice again. “Tough as rogues, some of them, and we lost more than a few vampires before we flushed them out and finished it.” His eyes grow distant, like he’s remembering. It doesn’t look like a pleasant memory. He stalks toward Krystina, and I follow. “I don’t know where this one came from, but I’m willing to bet she’s the tip of the iceberg. They’re like cockroaches. If you see one, you can bet there are a hundred more in the shadows.”
