Vermilion Lies

by L. D. Rose

  Or a monster.

  Finally, the boat caught, staying put as waves continued to rock it unsteadily. He cut the motor, the grating sound dying away while the ocean’s bellows amplified behind it. A gust of wind whipped past, harsh and cold as it scraped at Cindel’s face and yanked at her hair. Her eyes felt dry and grainy, her skin coated with a sticky film of moisture, and all she could taste was sea salt.

  Turned out she didn’t like the ocean after all, or yachts, or anything involving boats for that matter.

  The hybrid sat there in silence, gun leveled at her, his single eye watching her. Fatigue and weariness showed on his battered face, carving lines around his mottled bruises and tightening his lips into a thin slash. His skin was sickly pale from blood loss, his breath shallow and uneven as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

  At some point during the trip, his good eye had changed, the pupil constricting to reveal his humanity. Even out here in the gloom, its color shone a brilliant, stunning blue. His mouth had changed too, losing its fullness, and he suddenly didn’t look like her anymore. A damaged human emerged, no longer the deadly predator who single-handedly defeated a strigoi.

  Cindel couldn’t help but find the transformation remarkable. She’d never seen anything like it—what a clever deception.

  Was his human form real? Or the mask?

  “Get up.” He tilted the gun’s barrel, motioning for her to stand. His vocal cords sounded as if they’d been minced to pieces. “Off the boat.”

  Uncertain, she hesitated, with no idea of where she was. “Let me help you—”

  “Just get off the boat,” he snapped, but the sting behind his words had lost its venom. “I don’t need your help anymore.”

  Cindel nodded, her heart thudding against her ribcage. She supposed she should be thankful he hadn’t dumped her in the ocean, although her usefulness seemed to have run out.

  Standing on wobbly legs, she gripped the edge of the boat, swinging one leg over, then the other, sitting on the lip before dropping into the freezing water with a muted splash.

  She’d ditched her shoes long ago, the heels more of a burden than anything else. Broken shells pricked her soles and sand rushed between her toes, seaweed grasping her ankles with thin, fragile fingers. Waves charged at her legs while she treaded toward shore, sparing the hybrid a glance over her shoulder.

  He’d already moved to the edge, the pain apparent on his face. Instead of taking his time, he simply threw himself off the boat as if to get it over with, weapon still aimed at her but wavering when he struck the water. As expected, his injured leg gave out, sinking him to his hands and knees.

  Although the urge to aid him overwhelmed her, Cindel kept her feet planted and her fists clenched at her sides.

  Run now before he kills you.

  But he promptly recovered, cursing and grimacing as he dragged himself to his feet and retrained the gun on her.

  Keeping his eyes locked on her, he limped out of the water, shivering, wet, and appearing miserable. “Move,” he growled, indicating the empty street.

  A flicker of hope kindled inside her as she complied. Maybe he wouldn’t abandon her here after all. Wrapping her arms around herself, she trudged ahead against the bitter wind, squinting as sand attacked her eyes. Her skin hummed, a tingling sensation buzzing along her nerves. Soon the sun would rise and her body warned her to seek shelter as quickly as possible.

  Maybe that’s his plan. He’ll wait until dawn and then he’ll watch you burn.

  The hybrid directed her across the road toward a group of tattered buildings. Cindel’s pulse fluttered in her throat, but she did her best to ignore it, bare feet slapping on asphalt. She didn’t ask any questions since he wouldn’t answer anyway. If she resisted him, he would kill her, no matter how hurt he was. He was too fast and too strong, even for a strigoi like Enzo.

  She wasn’t a warrior and she certainly wasn’t a fool.

  To her relief, he guided her into one of the buildings and she halted at the main door. When he closed the distance between them, the air shifted behind her as he pointed the gun at her head.

  “What’s the holdup?”

  “I can’t enter.” She raised her hand to the psychic barrier keeping her out, just far enough it barely grazed her skin. The ward was strong, glowing fiercely, enforced with energy beyond human means. The power felt electric and glacial, the wall solid as stone. “I need to be invited in.”

  “No one lives here.”

  “You’ve claimed it.” She repressed the urge to look at him lest he pull the trigger. No sudden moves.

  The muzzle hit the back of her scalp as if he’d read her mind, and her breath caught. “How do you know the barrier is mine?”

  Cindel cleared her throat. “It feels like you. Your energy, the same power you used to break the glass on the ship. It wears your signature.”

  He remained silent for a beat then grumbled a curse. “All right, how do I let you in?”

  “You have to disengage the barrier,” she said, bracing herself.

  The ward strengthened in protest, the force of it nearly shoving her away. Frigid and angry but not half as cold as the power he’d generated on the yacht.

  “And how do I do that?” Irritability seeped into his voice.

  “I’m not sure. I can’t create a barrier so I don’t know how to let one down.”

  She could marvel later about how he unknowingly shielded himself, even with vampire blood coursing in his veins.

  He pressed the barrel harder against her skull, and all she could do was focus on breathing, fear ticking down her vertebrae. He didn’t need any more reminders of what she was.

  “What’s the matter, leech, you’ve never coerced a human into letting down their guard?” His tone was ugly, hateful.

  As a matter of fact . . . “No. I’ve never had to.”

  I’ve never tried.

  He grunted as if he didn’t believe her for a second. Then he released a slow breath, splitting his focus between her and something else. It took several moments but the ward eventually vanished, leaving a residual wintry film behind, as if it still wasn’t ready to forfeit.

  “Try it now.”

  Cindel cautiously pushed a hand through it, the cool film sticking to her fingers like a spider’s web but allowing her entry. “How did you do it?”

  As expected, he didn’t respond. “Move.” That growl again. “Upstairs.”

  She didn’t falter, the dull tingling along her skin intensifying into a sharp prickle, nagging and almost painful. She welcomed the protection, respite washing over her as she climbed the stairs, her feet dipping into blessed carpet.

  Maybe she wouldn’t burn after all.

  He didn’t give her time to look around, sending her straight into the kitchen. The sudden silence was almost eerie after battling nature’s wrath. The hybrid grabbed a backpack from the lounge on his way in and set it down on the dining room table. Windows lined the walls and the stinging sensation on her skin flared back to life, piercing and intense, nearly wrenching a gasp from her throat.

  “Sit down.” He motioned with the gun to a chair in the center of the growing light.

  “The windows.” She curbed the impulse to run. “I can’t—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He hobbled over and drew all the shades and curtains, keeping her in his periphery. The burn eased back into a hum and it would stay that way until she entered complete darkness.

  She wasn’t about to complain.

  He set the chair down in the darkest corner of the room. “Better?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Sit.”

  He seemed preoccupied, his winces and grimaces flashing faster and more frequently. It didn’t occur to her at first, not until his scent wafted into h
er nose, a faint whiff that strengthened as the seconds passed. Under sweat and sea, he smelled like rich, male blood, mint, and bergamot—an intoxicating combination that heightened her senses and made her mouth water.

  Cindel looked at the hybrid with new perspective, tuning into the dark aura radiating from his pores. It eddied around him like a storm, a maelstrom of blue, and the deeper it went, the colder it became, much like the open ocean itself. The lines in his face had burrowed deeper, but his mouth grew fuller, moisture popping on his brow and trickling down the sides of his face. She heard his heart galloping, his pulse pounding, and a tremor shook his hands as he gripped the back of the chair.

  He was hungry. No, not hungry.

  Starving.

  Cindel approached him slowly, carefully, her fangs throbbing in time to their syncing heartbeats. But fear didn’t set the muscle hammering, at least not entirely. Heat curled between her legs at the thought of tasting him, of him tasting her, the illicit images bombarding her mind all at once. She tried to tamp them down, struggled to bat them away, alarmed by the sudden shift in her body’s response.

  God. If she hadn’t fed on that ship, she would’ve mauled him.

  She hadn’t experienced this since—well, since she and Alek had begun their love affair decades ago.

  The hybrid threw his hand up before she stepped any closer. “Stop,” he barked, his pupils dilating rapidly, ebony devouring that beautiful blue. “Turn around!”

  Cindel halted and spun away. Maybe she shouldn’t look at him either. The chair struck the backs of her knees and she fell into it, inhaling sharply. He cuffed both of her wrists in one hand and dragged his backpack across the table with the other, his breath raspy and ragged. She closed her eyes and waited for his fangs to penetrate her throat, his hunger beating at her like a scourge.

  Anticipation seared through her, willing him to submit, if only to stop the tide of darkness from crashing over her, eroding any semblance of resistance she had left.

  When he finally put distance between them, she found herself handcuffed and hogtied to the chair. She’d tilted her head to the side, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat without realizing it. Her eyes drifted open as that black tide pulled away, receding across the shore of her skin and evaporating into thin air.

  Cold disappointment doused the fire in her veins when she spotted him in front of the fridge with his head back, gulping down dark liquid from a bag. It took a moment for her to come to her senses, but when she did, the unmistakable aroma of blood invaded her nostrils, laced with chemicals and pollutants.

  The hybrid was drinking blood . . . from a bag.

  Cindel gaped at him, incredulous. He tossed the empty unit on the floor, red droplets splattering on the pale tile, and grabbed another from the shelf. Ripping off the port with his teeth, he drank loudly as he clutched the fridge’s door for dear life.

  Gulp, squeeze, gulp, squeeze.

  He threw down bag number two, snatched another, repeated. The hybrid fed on cold preserved blood while she sat there, aching for him, ready and willing to give him what he so desperately needed.

  Of course he doesn’t want you. You’re poison to him.

  He blew through four units before slowing down, his movements sluggish with satiety. The mantle of hunger gradually lifted, clearing the fog and sharpening her own awareness. He consumed one more bag before he let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head as bloodstained plastic fell to the floor at his feet.

  Silence filled the space between them while he regained control, his pulse and respirations settling into normalcy. Blood dripped from his mouth onto the tile before he swallowed hard and shoved a hand into his matted, blue-black hair, raising his head to stare at the ceiling.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, feeling terribly unsatisfied.

  “For what?” He still looked up at his invisible sky.

  “That you prefer a bag to a vein.” Her tone held no anger or resentment because she didn’t harbor either. She only felt pity for his self-denial.

  She felt sorry for him.

  The hybrid let out a rumbling laugh, the sound both seductive and deadly. “What’s your name, leech?”

  Cindel peered at his back. The gouges in his wetsuit revealed glimpses of a tattoo, but she couldn’t quite identify it. “Cindy.”

  “Cindy,” he repeated, the name sliding off his tongue, sending a shiver down her spine.

  He shut the fridge and wiped his mouth with his tattered sleeve, turning to face her. He’d managed to clean off most of the blood, but not all of it, faint smears staining his chin and cheek. The swelling in his face had subsided and both of his exotic, almond-shaped eyes were now open. Their color had returned to that startling blue, sizzling with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

  “I don’t feed off humans.”

  Cindel lifted her chin, heart rising in her throat. “Neither do I.”

  “Or leeches,” he added like a sucker-punch, injecting the words with malice as he stalked toward her. Apparently, his leg had improved too.

  Slapping his hands down on the arms of her seat, he dragged her to him, the chair screeching with discord. She flinched, his sudden nearness overwhelming.

  “What were you doing on that yacht, Cindy? With a sick fuck like Enzo? Are you his female? His mistress? His whore?”

  Fury lashed at her, painful and hot. “You know nothing about me.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know who or what you are, but whatever this is you’re doing to me stops now. If you don’t end it, I will.”

  Her eyes widened, mortified. “Me? I didn’t do anything to you. You did this to me!”

  Lifting her chair up, he slammed it back down, the impact reverberating through her bones. “Shut. Up.” He snarled with the promise of death. “Or I’ll open these windows and watch you burn like the witch you are.”

  Terror sliced into her chest, but her anger remained true, keeping her still and composed. With her eyes locked on his, she glowered and submerged the fear.

  “I’ve done nothing but help you.” She bared her fangs, snuffing the quaver from her voice. “And yet you treat me like a monster—”

  “Baby, I’ve got news for you.” He inched closer, so close she could lick the blood off his face. “Take a good look at yourself in the mirror. You are a monster.”

  He pushed away, almost knocking her over. Her anger simmered, roaring to the surface and heating her blood.

  “Then what does that make you?” She struggled against her bindings as he walked away, leaving her alone in a dark corner. “If I’m such a monster, then what are you, half-breed? Show me your teeth!”

  “Sleep tight, Cindy,” he called before he disappeared, his tone callous and mocking as his boots struck the stairwell. “Maybe you’ll still be alive by nightfall.”

  She nearly screamed with frustration, writhing in her seat, furious at him, herself, at everything she’d become. Her efforts threatened to topple her to the floor again, so she stopped, her rage draining away and leaving her cold and hollow. An unbidden wave of tears surged behind her eyes and she wished she’d never met the hybrid, never known Taylon, never loved Alek.

  “I’m not a monster,” she whispered into the silence, chin quivering.

  ~ ~ ~

  He didn’t sleep. At all.

  Dax wiped the moisture away from the steamed mirror, leaning in to examine his wounds. Most of the swelling had abated with only a few lingering cuts and gashes. Compression bandages for the flesh wound in his shoulder, several stitches for the knife lacerations, lots of antiseptic, gauze, tape, and a few splints tallied up the damage. All in all, it could’ve been worse. At least he wasn’t dead, right?

  Right.

  Although the blood helped immensely, he didn’t heal like a vampire, but he mend
ed faster than a human. Twenty-four hours later and he already felt well enough to climb back in the ring. If only his brother Kasen, the Senary’s resident healer, would learn how to bottle up his chi so Dax could take it on the road with him, but he wasn’t about to whine about the timeframe.

  He replaced his piercings—two barbells in his right eyebrow and a matching stud in his lower lip. He’d removed them before the mission, and it was a good thing too, because a bloated face and pierced silver would’ve fucking sucked.

  Straightening, he considered his reflection, metal glistening under the dim lights as he ran a hand through his wet, dark hair.

  Show me your teeth.

  Dax set his jaw, his reflection frowning back at him. The vampiress hadn’t left his mind for one goddamned second. Lying in a dead man’s bed, he’d stared up at the alabaster ceiling, waiting for sleep to take hold but the Sandman never came. He couldn’t stop thinking of the leech’s face, of her response to him, of the emotion churning in her onyx eyes; eyes that weren’t supposed to be emotional, eyes that should’ve been empty as coals.

  And he couldn’t rid himself of her scent, incense and cherries, death and innocence, ash and flesh.

  If I’m such a monster, then what are you, half-breed?

  A monster. He didn’t deny it, didn’t pretend otherwise, didn’t sugarcoat it. He was no less a monster than she, just a different kind.

  A very different kind.

  Stop stalling and question her. You’re wasting time.

  Turning away from the mirror, he hit the lights and made his way back to the master bedroom. Dying sunlight filtered through the windows, casting everything in a warm, red-orange glow. He hadn’t even messed up the covers on the king-sized bed, hardly left an imprint behind. He’d spent most of the day pacing around like a man in solitary, working out the kinks in his leg, mind droning with bullshit.