Breaking the Skin

by P. Jameson

  “I know. Fix her,” Hatch demanded.

  Drak cocked his head to one side, his eyebrows furrowing. “You can’t mean that.”

  “Of course I mean it,” he growled. “You do it right now, damn it. Right now, or I’m out of this for good. You understand? Losing her will break me.” His voice was sand over gravel. Emotion leaked from him but he didn’t give a fuck.

  Pain registered on the Daybreaker’s face. “You don’t understand what you’re asking. She will hunger as I do, as we all do. And now, with the banks depleted… it will be even harder to change her. Don’t force this upon her because you are too weak to say goodbye. Let her go, and we will have revenge on whoever did this.” His voice warbled, sounding inhuman as his eyes shimmered once again.

  But revenge wasn’t good enough. Nothing was, except Hazel living.

  “Do you think I give a fuck about revenge?” Hatch hissed. “You do something for her, now. You save her. If you don’t… then you aren’t the man I thought you were, and you’re no better than them.”

  Drak stiffened, his silver eyes narrowing to slits, but Hatch held his ground. There was only one way to save Hazel, and he didn’t care if it left her thirsting for life blood all her goddamned days. Her living was all that mattered in that moment. They’d deal with the rest later.

  “Her heartbeat slows,” Drak choked. “Give her to me.”

  He pulled her into his arms and began walking away.

  “Wait, wait!” Lola cried, but he didn’t slow. “Where is he going?”

  Hatch stood on shaky legs and gently pulled Lola up with him. She faltered on that hurt knee, so he bent and lifted her into his arms before following Drak. They bypassed Hatch’s truck and stopped at a black SUV with dark tinted windows.

  “Drive,” he told Hatch as he slid into the backseat with Hazel’s limp body.

  Hatch helped Lola into the passenger seat, securing her safety belt, and then ran around the front of the vehicle to the driver’s side.

  Starting the car, he asked, “Where to?” and was stunned when Drak answered, “My home.” Drak’s “home” was personal and hidden and not where he spent the majority of his time. He had a penthouse in downtown Tucson where he stayed. Where Hatch had visited him often for business. But his home… it was a mansion built into the side of a mountain in the desert past the city borders. It was a good thirty minutes out.

  “Isn’t that too far away?” he asked, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road just in time to miss the emergency vehicles arriving on the scene.

  “Yes,” Drak said shortly.

  “Will she make it?” Lola’s quiet question echoed the one floating through Hatch’s mind.

  “No,” Drak answered, his words stiff and tinged in sadness. “She won’t. Upon the last beat of her heart, I will give her my blood and make her like me.”

  “Like you…” Lola murmured. “A Daybreaker.”

  Hatch watched in the rearview mirror as Drak met her gaze solemnly. “Yes. She will trade one dismal existence for another even more dismal. Our future shines bright like the day, they used to say. But they were wrong. Damn wrong.”

  Hatch pulled his eyes back to the road heading out of the city, and hoped like hell his friend was wrong about Hazel’s future.

  Chapter Six

  Lola’s body ached as they bumped down a dark dirt road just past the city limits, but her pain felt insignificant compared to what was happening to Hazel. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the Daybreaker holding her in the back seat, and she didn’t care if staring was rude. All decorum was out the window right now.

  His words churned through her mind, heavy with warning.

  He was going to turn Hazel into a Daybreaker. Using his own blood.

  Lola’s heart fluttered radically at the thought. With her own mixed upbringing, she knew a lot about Daybreaker history. But she didn’t know it was possible for them to turn humans with their blood. Let alone turn them at all. The ability had been lost over the years, and had been tossed into the pile of traditional vampire lore that didn’t apply to Daybreakers.

  Though they were often referred to as vamps because of their blood drinking, Daybreakers were, in reality, quite different.

  They were born, not turned. Not since the beginning. Or so she’d thought.

  The first of them came to exist by way of a light magic spell. One of a coven of three Sorcera was consumed by a seductive dark magic. The only way to save her was to break her connection to magic for good. To do this, they used her love for her bear shifter mate as an anchor to life, and let her die long enough to enact a spell to bring her back as something other. The result was a being that needed living blood and the power of the greatest star in the galaxy, the sun, to survive. What ensued after that day led to a race so prominent, their numbers were nearly equal to those of humans. Shifters, however, were another story.

  “What was that back there?” Lola asked. “Why would anyone blow up the blood banks?”

  Hatch glanced up at the rearview mirror then to her. “There is a faction of Daybreakers who have gone sideways. They don’t want to follow the rules of blood drinking, and they want to make it hard for anyone else to as well.”

  “Skins,” Drak said. “We call them Skins because they drink from living vessels.”

  Lola frowned. “Living vessels?”

  “Regular humans,” Hatch confirmed.

  Oh, shit. Here she thought her work at the bank had been keeping Daybreakers from going rogue, when reality was, some of them already had. And why? Just on principle? To be able to say, look at me, I can do whatever I want.

  “Have they hurt people? I mean, before tonight.” But recalling what she’d seen in the dosing room, she already knew the answer.

  Drak nodded sadly. “Many.”

  Lola swallowed the lump in her throat. “They’ve killed?”

  “Without regret,” he confirmed. “And I fear Tucson isn’t the only city that was targeted tonight. This was a structured, coordinated hit meant to damage as much of our resources as possible and force us into survival mode.” He glanced down at Hazel. “Now there will be another one to feed.”

  Her head spun with the new information. It felt like she’d been launched into a whole new world. One where peace between the races didn’t exist. One like her grandpa had warned her about.

  “It’s time,” Drak said, his voice hard.

  Before Lola could take a breath to speak, he’d shoved the sleeve of his shirt up, exposing his wrist, and brought it to his mouth. There was a brief moment for his fangs to extend, and then with a soft hiss, he ripped into his own flesh. Red spurted out, dripping on the front of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. Quickly he pried open Hazel’s mouth and pressed his bleeding wrist to her lips.

  She didn’t move, and Lola wasn’t sure if she should expect her to. Maybe Drak was full of crap and changing humans by serving them Daybreaker blood was hogwash.

  Drak held his wound to her mouth for what seemed like a million years when it was really only a few minutes. Lola watched his eyes roll back in his head before fluttering shut, and opened her mouth to alert Michael that he was losing consciousness. A human would grow weak with blood loss. A Daybreaker would too.

  But she noticed the subtle movement of Hazel’s throat. It was a single bob in the column of her neck, and then empty seconds before another one. And another.

  Lola glanced at Drak. He wasn’t fainting. He was relieved, or… something.

  His eyes opened and he stared down at Hazel while she continued to slowly sip his blood, still unconscious. His gaze went soft and his other hand brushed blond strands away from her pale face.

  Lola looked away. The scene was suddenly too intimate. She felt like an invader.

  “We’re here,” Michael announced, pulling the vehicle to a stop.

  “Good,” Drak murmured. “Because she’s coming to. We need to get her inside.”

  “Her name is Hazel,” Lola said, trying to
be helpful.

  “I know.”

  But of course he did. He was friends with Michael. Michael obviously knew Hazel. He’d called her name when Lola was dragging her from the bank. And he’d told Drak he couldn’t live without her. Losing her will break me.

  For the first time, all those details registered clearly, and Lola’s stomach dropped.

  She looked back at her friend whose eyes were flickering, trying their damnedest to open. Was Michael the man who’d made Hazel cry and brought her to Lola’s door with wine?

  Lola swallowed down the pain rising in her throat. It was weird how heartache could manifest so physically. How it could climb your esophagus and choke you out cold with hardly any effort.

  Drak pressed his sleeve tightly to his open wound before reaching for the door handle. It got Lola moving for her own door. By the time her legs were out, Michael was there, trying to help her.

  “No thank you, Michael,” she said as firmly as she could, given how shaken her voice sounded. “I’m good.” She would walk inside on her own even if it killed her. Which it wouldn’t. She could feel herself getting better by the second.

  But he didn’t listen. He reached into the truck, pulling her up and into his arms in one swift move. “I said, call me Hatch. And damn it, woman, I meant it.”

  She would have argued with him, but he was already following Drak. Her eyes widened as they walked past a tall gate to a small door on the side of the massive desert mansion, and all she could do was hold on for the ride.

  Inside, they snaked through a kitchen, a small hallway, and then up a wide set of stairs. The place was dark, other than randomly spaced safety lights so there was no way of knowing if Drak had any decorating sense.

  “Am… I dead?” Hazel’s voice drifted back and caught her ears.

  Lola wanted to answer her but wasn’t sure how. If Drak had turned her into a Daybreaker, then technically no. She wasn’t. Or maybe, technically yes, she was.

  When no one answered, Hazel asked, “Am I dreaming?”

  Drak shook his head. “No. But in a few hours you might wish you were.”

  “You,” she said drowsily. “Otherworldly Charm. It’s you. Fuck a duck, I really am dreaming. I gotta tell Hatch about this in the mornin’.”

  Drak’s steps faltered a touch before he muttered, “Trust me, he knows.”

  At the top of the stairs he paused to look back at Michael. Hatch. What-the-hell-ever.

  “That room will do for you.” He nodded to the first door on the left, and then stalked further down the corridor with Hazel.

  Stopping at the closed door, Michael set Lola’s feet on the floor but didn’t leave a millimeter of space between them. He turned the handle and reached in to flick on the light before squeezing through the entrance and pulling her along with him.

  All the close body contact was making the hole in her heart ache worse. How many times had she wished and day-dreamed to be near him like this, thinking it would never happen? Now that it was, it was marred by the events of the night.

  She wanted to ask him about his relationship with Hazel, but the second the thought ran through her mind, she realized it wasn’t important. Not now, when they’d just come through danger, and Hazel might still be in some. Being almost blown up had a way of cutting through all the unimportant things to get to the true grit. She cared about the woman. Would go so far as to call her best friend, if Hazel would let her. And whatever connection the two of them had, Lola would respect that. She’d have to. It was the right thing to do.

  But he’s mine.

  She forced the thought out of her head and hobbled awkwardly to the bed to sit. It was a mammoth king size, with a thick wooden headboard that was stained a deep mahogany. The bedding looked expensive and for a moment she worried her bloody clothes would ruin it. She didn’t make enough in a week to replace it.

  Looking around, she took in the room. Deep blue wallpaper trimmed in white. Matching mahogany dresser and tables. Brushed nickel lamps with real linen shades. A door to the left led to an adjoining bathroom, which was probably all marble and chrome and hundred dollar towels. No doubt Mr. Drak had little wrapped soaps waiting on the counter for all his guests.

  Beautiful as the room was, this wasn’t her thing. She preferred minimal, frugal, and useful over shiny and glamorous. Maybe that’s why her and Hazel had clicked so well.

  To her surprise, Michael knelt on the floor in front of her, his fists planted on the bed, bracketing her legs.

  “Where are you hurt?” he demanded.

  She stared into his eyes, seeing a rainbow of emotion reflected back at her. He stared, more intensely than he ever had, like he was holding in some impending explosion of feeling. And since she couldn’t define what it was, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be around to experience it.

  “My knee,” she said carefully. “This one.”

  With zero hesitation, he took the leg of her bloodstained scrubs in both hands and pulled hard, ripping it wide open up the seam, all the way to mid-thigh. She gasped at the brutal action, but he didn’t seem to care.

  And why the hell did that make her face so hot? She always wondered about her ancestors. They spoke about animal instincts and urges, but she was different. Her instincts were varied and versatile.

  There was no doubt about it though, Michael’s dominant behavior was turning her on. Or maybe she was just emotionally wild because of the blast. Either way, she would have to be careful.

  With a frown, he prodded her sore knee. It was swollen and red with dark purple bruises forming already. Slowly, he slid a hand behind her leg and bent it back and forth. It didn’t hurt too bad. Chill bumps broke out on her skin at his touch, but she tried her best to ignore them.

  “It’s going to be alright,” he said, and the relief in his voice was heavy. “Bruised, but everything is working properly.”

  He was right. By morning, she probably wouldn’t even notice it.

  “Now, let me see the rest.” He moved his hand to her cheek and his frown deepened. “Your face,” he murmured. “It looked much worse before.”

  She let out a short, nervous laugh at his choice of wording.

  “I could have sworn your lip was split right about here.” His thumb brushed softly back and forth over the lower one, pausing just at the corner.

  “Guess not,” she breathed, keeping still as possible.

  His other hand came up to help with the examination, but the gentle grazing was feeling less formal and more like a seductive exploration.

  Michael let out a long breath, keeping his hands on her. They drifted down to her neck and tangled in her hair, and their calloused touch felt so good she struggled not to close her eyes in bliss.

  “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay, Lola.” Her name on his lips made her chest pound faster. Made her want to hear it over and over again. Because when he said it, it sounded important. Necessary. Precious.

  How did he do that, and how was it fair for him to tease her if he belonged to someone else?

  “I… I will be,” she said, struggling to breathe with him so near. But “okay” was a tricky word. It could mean good, alright, fine. Or it could mean adequate. Good enough. Will do.

  She was okay, as in she was doing better than Hazel at the moment. She was not okay, as in she was alright.

  Michael looked at her questioning. “I want to kiss you right now,” he rumbled, and she felt his whole-body tremble through the tips of his fingers. “Need to. Fucking bad. But you won’t even call me Hatch, so I don’t know what to make of this.”

  “This?” she rushed out, her eyes going wide at his words.

  “This. Us. Me and you.”

  Frowning, she shook her head. What was this?

  He swallowed hard, his gaze digging deep like it had earlier in the day. “Don’t you feel something? Even just a little. With me?”

  Her mouth fished open for an answer, but she couldn’t make the truth come out.

  “When you lo
ok at me, don’t you ever wonder if we’re like that unreachable star? A wish wasted because we refused to act? Fuck. Don’t you… do you…” He cleared his throat. “What I’m asking is… do you ache for me, like I do for you? Or is this just my burden to bear. You say no, Lola, and I’ll never mention it again. But I have to know. After tonight, I can’t go another day not knowing.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and she couldn’t make them stop. These were words she’d longed to hear. Months of seeing him at the office, week in and week out. The kind little gestures, the nice words. The deep looks that left so much to interpretation, yet she’d always wanted to believe they meant something. It wasn’t much, but she’d held it all in her heart like a treasure.

  But now… with Hazel hanging in the air… she couldn’t accept it.

  She needed to breathe. Needed to think. Needed space, and he was smothering her with his precious words and sweet touches that set her skin ablaze in the most addictive way. His desert flower and heat scent were all she could get in lieu of oxygen, and she couldn’t answer him without making everything worse.

  So she did the only thing she could.

  She pulled away from him and hurried to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her.

  A shower. That’s what she needed. It was the best place to think. Something about hot water and washing away the cares of the day always left her with a clearer mind.

  Lola began stripping off her bloody and torn clothes, kicking them into a pile in the corner of the granite tiled room.

  Yes, that’s what she’d do.

  Shower.

  Breathe.

  And then answer Michael.

  Or… Hatch. She’d answer Hatch.

  Chapter Seven

  Hatch paced the floor for what seemed like the millionth time. The room and its expensive furnishing made him itch, but that wasn’t what had him restless. It was the noise of the shower running and the amount of time it had been on. They were going on forty-five minutes, and if Lola didn’t come out of that bathroom soon, he was going to pull every last hair out of his head.