Vermilion Lies

by L. D. Rose

  He didn’t sense anything remotely close to human.

  Still crouching, he sidled around the rack into the open space, aiming his gun with the full intent of pulling the trigger. But when he grasped the sight before him, Dax’s breath stalled, his muscles momentarily paralyzed, his mental reflexes failing him as a fuse blew somewhere in his brain.

  A female vampire, who looked no older than eighteen, hovered over a fallen male lying in a pool of blood. The male was alive, reaching up to touch the girl’s face with a shaking hand. She held him with his dark head cradled in her lap, her blond hair draping over him like a curtain, as if protecting him from further harm. The pain and agony etched into his young features was heartrending, but it was nothing compared to hers.

  Tears welled in her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks in scarlet streams, splashing on his forehead, his mouth, his chin. The boy brushed her hair back, coloring it with his blood as he tucked the strands behind her ear. Repressed cries wracked her body, but she didn’t make a sound in fear of being heard. When she finally noticed Dax, she turned her obsidian eyes on him, the whites stained with her bloody tears, her lips quivering, her muscles trembling.

  She didn’t bare her fangs, made no attempt to defend herself, showed no reaction to the muzzle pointed between her eyes. She simply stared at him, her enemy, eyes pleading with him to help her, to save her mate, to do anything but let the boy die.

  A vampire crying. Mourning. In love.

  Dax had never seen anything like it in his entire existence.

  An image of Cindy flashed before his eyes, tied to a chair, dried streaks of crimson marring her slumbering face, a monster with the guise of an angel.

  Yes, you have.

  Without warning, a shot rang out, a sensory explosion in the silence. The girl’s head snapped back violently as blood and matter sprayed all over the sundresses on the clothing rack behind her. Her body went limp, flopping backward as the boy screamed, an awful sound of anguish that branded into Dax’s mind for all eternity. A second shot. The boy’s face was intact one minute, shattered the next.

  For a horrified moment, Dax thought he’d pulled the trigger; that his body had somehow reacted of its own accord. But when a big hand clamped down on his shoulder, he nearly leapt out of his skin, gasping like a man waking out of a coma. He instinctively turned his SIG on the offender, finding Kayne looking back at him from the end of the barrel. The Irishman raised his hands in surrender, one armed with a nine-millimeter S&W, the other empty with fingers spread out wide.

  “Whoa, hey lad,” Kayne said, green eyes narrowed in his roughly hewn, bloodstained face. “Ease up.”

  Dax stared at his comrade blankly as the implication of his own actions, or lack thereof, settled in his bones. What the fuck is wrong with me? Here was Kayne, dropping bodies without thinking twice, while he’d failed to do what he had to—again—because he couldn’t comprehend what he’d seen. With only one exception, he couldn’t believe vampires felt emotion. Not true, deep emotion like love, fear, and loss the way people did. The way humans did.

  The way he did.

  Not to mention a leech could’ve waltzed right up to him and blown him away while he was distracted.

  “Dax?” Kayne’s brogue cut into the din of his thoughts. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Dax put up the gun and rose to his feet, his knees unexpectedly weak. He shoved a hand through his hair and blew out his breath, trying to reset himself. “I’m fine. Thanks, I don’t know what came over me for a second there.”

  Still eyeing him warily, Kayne clapped his shoulder again. “We’ve got to run. This place is about to blow in,” he checked the dial of his watch on his inner wrist, “four minutes and twenty-four seconds. Unless you want to barbecue with the parasites, I suggest we hightail it out of here.”

  Dax nodded, resisting the impulse to sneak a final look at the couple. When they’d arrived earlier, Kayne rigged the store’s gas line to explode with a smidgen of C4 and a detonator. The Trinity leader loved to blow shit up at every opportunity, and the more complicated, the better.

  “All right,” Dax said. “Let’s go.”

  Kayne scrutinized him for another beat then moved out, assuming lead as they both rushed back to the employee entrance. Hoping they’d swept the store well enough for humans, Dax scanned the warzone one last time before they vanished into the musty stockroom. The lights popped and fizzled out, plunging the world into darkness before they dashed out the hidden exit.

  Both men burst into the night, the cool air a welcome assault on Dax’s lungs, clearing the dazed fog from his mind. The gleaming black Explorer sat in a sliver of moonlight, the only car in the sprawling parking lot. The engine was running but the headlights were off, steam pluming from the exhaust pipe. They jumped into the front, Kayne in the driver’s seat, Dax taking shotgun, and when the doors slammed shut, Kayne hit the gas, screeching out of the lot and getting the hell out of there.

  Just as the Explorer fishtailed onto Allstate Road, the building detonated. The blast lit up the night like the sun, the sound positively deafening, the blowback nearly rocking the SUV onto two wheels. A wall of heat rolled over them, hot air shooting through the open windows as fiery debris rained down in giant chunks of hail.

  Kayne cursed but didn’t slow, swerving and dodging the fragmented obstacles before a steel beam smashed into the windshield. Both men yelped as glass crunched and spidered, but the shield retained its form. Dax kicked out the laminated panel, the pane thankfully flopping on the hood in one piece and sliding off onto the street.

  He shook himself off, his hearing dull and his ears ringing. If he weren’t deaf by thirty, he’d be thoroughly impressed.

  “Whew,” Kayne exclaimed as he eased back in his seat, escaping Dorchester at full speed and breaking every traffic law known to man. “That was way too fucking close, boyo.”

  “No shit.”

  “What the hell was the holdup? Why were you peeping tom at those leeches?”

  A slow-rising panic tightened Dax’s chest and clinched around his throat. “Had to take out a few more bloodsuckers before they followed us.” His tone belied his sentiments, remaining smooth and even between breaths. “Can’t leave the job unfinished.”

  “They would’ve died in the blast, you know.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Dax forced a smile, thinking of scarlet tears and bloodied sundresses. “I’m sorry, man. I lost track of time.”

  Kayne spared him a sideways look but returned the smile. “No apologies. All that matters is we’re both out.”

  Silence stretched between them, but Dax broke it before it turned awkward. “Ballard’s going to shit his pants.” He chuckled as he dragged a hand across his face, wiping at sweat, blood, and soot. “I wish I could see that motherfucker’s expression when he finds out his boys in Southie have been roasted.”

  “Sliced, diced, then roasted,” Kayne added with a roguish grin. “You did it again, Frosty. I don’t think we’ve cut down this many leeches in a long time. Between Enzo’s posse and this? Fucking deadly, lad. Lincoln and Tiago are going to be delira and excira.”

  Dax warmed at the mention of the other members of the Trinity. “Where are those numbnuts anyway?”

  “Link is holed up in Worcester and Tiago is holding down Brockton. You know how it is, miss one night, everything goes to shit.”

  Dax nodded, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew all too well. He hoped the fellas back home were holding their own without him.

  Christ, he missed them already.

  “Hey, man, can I ask you something?” Dax shifted in his seat toward the Irishman.

  Kayne tossed him another glance at the seriousness in his tone, concern lining his rugged features. “Sure, shoot.”

  “Say Worcester again?”

&n
bsp; Dax burst out laughing at the look on the Shamrock’s face while Kayne whacked his arm and flipped him the bird. “Fuck you very much, lad.”

  “You just sound sooo dreamy.” Dax pitched his voice higher in a poor attempt at femininity, laughing harder as he evaded another punch. The truck veered onto I-93, but Kayne had control of the wheel, cursing to high heaven.

  “You’re lucky I love you right now, Frosty.”

  “Always and forever.” Dax sing-songed and shook his head, finally allowing himself to sag in his seat.

  As the adrenaline high faded and exhaustion set in, the aches and pains of battle intensified to full force. Parts of him stung, others burned, most of him throbbed, and all of him hurt. Wind lashed at the Explorer, yanking at his damp hair and making his eyes water. The air was fresh though, cool, and he simply reveled in the act of breathing as the SUV ate up the asphalt below.

  When he felt green lasers drilling into his skull, he met the Irishman’s shrewd gaze in the dark. Kayne knew something had happened back there. Even with all the jokes and banter, Dax couldn’t put anything past the leader of the Trinity, and Kayne didn’t have to read minds to sense a shift in the balance.

  Dax tore his eyes away from him before they revealed anything else, focusing his attention on I-93, the massive highway wide-open, empty, and pitch black. He set his jaw, grinding his molars, hating himself for his faults. What was happening to him? Where did this come from? And why now?

  Cindy.

  Her sultry voice whispered through his mind, the answer to all of his questions.

  Whatever she’d done to him, whatever spell she’d cast, whatever lure she’d injected into him, it was liquefying his brain like rat poison. And God, he needed an antidote badly. This had to stop.

  If Kayne found out about her—Blaze, Rome, any of his brothers—they’d kill her without a doubt. They wouldn’t hesitate like he had, wouldn’t sip her venom like he had, wouldn’t fail like he had.

  Dax knew what he had to do.

  And he had to do it fast before he dug his own grave any deeper.

  SEVEN

  She floated in an endless abyss.

  Her hair, once again long and red, billowed around her like a silk curtain, her feet bare in the ice-cold water. She wore an emerald green gown, the Oscar de la Renta Alek had given her years ago, a mermaid sheath that swelled once it reached her calves. Her black satin bands were in place, tied around her wrists and throat, a symbol of her sire’s possession.

  Her whole body was numb as she sank into a murky oblivion. In the distance, a light blinked at her, its color the same bright cobalt blue of the hybrid’s eyes, flashing like a beacon in the dark.

  Wherever the beam touched her, she felt warm, alive, a temporary caress stroking her senses. On, off, on, off, warm, cold, warm, cold. An undeniable desperation to keep that warmth overwhelmed her, and she attempted to swim toward her beacon, maneuvering in the tight dress. But no matter how hard she tried, she could barely move, her legs paralyzed in the watery void as if weighed down by anchors.

  Fear, so much fear flooded her at the thought of losing that light, of it winking out permanently, never to return again.

  Cindel’s eyes snapped open to dusk, the visceral tug of sundown driving her awake. As she slowly lifted her head, her neck cracked and she winced at the sound. Her body felt sore all over, no longer numb as she raised a hand to rub her eyes. Pausing in midair, she stared at her long, thin fingers, her nails short and coated with chipped black polish.

  I should teach you how to play piano, Alek had said to her once upon a time. Your hands are perfect for it.

  Her hands were untied. No cables, no handcuffs, nothing.

  She lifted her legs, extending them out in front of her. The bindings slipped away from her ankles, tumbling to the floor like a pile of dead serpents.

  Someone had set her free.

  She leapt to her feet, vertigo striking for only a moment, but she maintained her equilibrium. All was silent within the apartment, not a sound shifting the still air. Her eyes settled on a bag of blood on the tabletop, lying beside a tall, clean glass. She brushed the perspiration from the label, type O negative, the unit cool to the touch.

  How did he know her blood type?

  Her stomach twisted in response, the omnipresent force of her hunger intensifying at the sight of the crimson fluid. Thirst pulsed in her every cell, a sinister song humming in her veins. But she couldn’t bring herself to accept this offer, to drink the aged, chemical-laced blood.

  The very idea of it made her nauseous.

  She still had another day or two until she needed to feed, and the only way she’d put that stuff in her body was when she had no other option but death.

  Besides, he’d probably poisoned it.

  Tiptoeing over to the window, Cindel pushed the heavy drapes aside to find a fire burning on the distant shore. The flickering flames dwindled, whipped around by the wind, before they blazed bright in the darkness.

  In the dim light cast by the fire, a silhouette moved rhythmically on the beach, graceful, nimble, much like a dancer. Cindel instantly recognized Dax as he battled an invisible opponent. Bare-chested, barefoot, he wore loose fitting pants that rippled in the breeze. The temperature outside had to be freezing, but there he was, half-naked and unaffected, fighting furiously against the night.

  She wasn’t sure how long she watched him, hypnotized by his performance. His movements were effortless, fluid, his strikes quick and fatal. He flipped, kicked, and spun with an elegance she’d never seen in any human or vampire. She even had to blink a few times to ensure what she witnessed was real, and not some illusion created by the dying firelight in front of him.

  When he stopped, chest heaving, he bowed his head before raising his eyes to the stars. Her breath had fogged the window and she wiped at the moisture, not wanting to miss a thing. His head snapped in her direction, as if he’d heard her, and she gasped, withdrawing from the sill. The drapes slid back into place, plunging the kitchen into darkness.

  Damn it.

  Her heart pounded a melody as she waited for the space of several beats. Carefully lifting the edge of the curtain, she kept her distance as she peeked out into the twilight.

  He was gone.

  He’s coming for you.

  Panic gripped her, wrapping its claws around her spine, impelling her to run.

  This is your only chance to escape, your only opportunity to get away and survive.

  Heeding her body’s warning, she sprang into action, heading straight for the living room and practically flinging herself down the stairs. When she burst out the front door onto the street, she ran like a madwoman breaking out of an asylum.

  The wind hit her like a physical blow, sharp and frigid, grating in her lungs as she drew in ragged breaths. Cold sand crunched under her bare soles as she dashed in no particular direction, running wherever her legs guided her.

  Where was she going? Where would she hide? She would never survive out here alone.

  And suddenly it wasn’t about escape anymore.

  God, it felt exhilarating to move, to surrender to her instincts and allow them to lead her.

  Darting toward the ocean, Cindel sprinted along the shore as waves crashed around her, the sound tremendous and invigorating. Water sprayed against her skin, salt alighting on her tongue, the ocean bellowing in her ears, and for that split-second of time, she was fleeing Alek again, running through the wintry woods toward freedom.

  Except it would never come.

  She ran until her muscles cramped and her legs numbed, until her lungs burned and stitches tore into every last rib. She ran until she collapsed on her hands and knees, sand chafing her skin as she sank into its support. She took great gulps of briny air, fresh and almost painful in its purity, willin
g her body to settle down. If she’d fed, she wouldn’t have tired so easily, wouldn’t have even needed to breathe.

  But alas, she hadn’t, so she wasn’t as fast or strong or invincible as she could’ve been. Eventually, her muscles released their tension, the stitches diminishing to mere patches of tenderness, and the roaring in her ears quieted into a soft purr.

  Her mind droned, an almost pleasurable sensation buzzing along her nerve-endings as she lifted her head to take in her surroundings. The bonfire was a distant flame of candlelight behind her, and a dock stretched out in front of her, reaching into the sea before dropping off abruptly like a severed limb. Up above, stars glittered like diamonds in a midnight sky.

  She’d arrived at the dead end of the beach.

  The perfect metaphor for her life.

  “That was . . . interesting.” An oh-so familiar timbre resonated over the smashing waves, edged with amusement. She couldn’t pinpoint his location, but he was close. “For a minute, I thought you had a purpose.”

  She scanned the darkness past her damp hair, wet with salt and sweat, strands sticking to her cheeks and chin. Ah, there, sitting on a boulder, elbows braced on his knees. He appeared entirely relaxed, and the only indication of the chase he’d given her was a slight quickening of his breath. He smiled, a slow, sly curve of lips that touched his eyes and made them glimmer.

  Dax raised a pierced brow at her. “Where are you going?”

  Cindel sat up, bare legs folded underneath her, hands coated with sand. She balled them into fists, the grainy, foreign texture abrading her skin. Her T-shirt flapped violently in the wind, threatening to rip itself from her body. She wouldn’t take her eyes off him for even a moment.

  He was fast. Very fast.