Bloodlines (Demons of Oblivion) (39 page)

“You brought us here because—”

I nodded. “Last month when I knew for sure, I suggested Saint-Jérôme when we had to run again. I’d have better luck looking for leads in the right place.”

“Unless they moved her again.”

My eyes closed and throat tightened. “I can’t think like that.”

“Nate...” Peter’s voice softened and somehow managed to sound both gentle and reprimanding at the same time. “I know you. I know you get these things in your head, but...but
why
are you risking us to look for her?”

“She’d do the same for us.” It
almost
felt like a lie the moment the words left my lips...

And then I remembered. That look on her face when Peter merrily recalled her history with no idea about the truth behind it—blue eyes steady, perfect lips in an unmoving grin, trying too hard with the snarky commentary now and then. And I remembered the moments later when the truth came out—for an instant I saw a glimpse of the naive young bride, a few months pregnant, trusting and happy. The girl killed not by the assassin hired to take her life—who turned her into a vampire—but by the man she loved and husband she had nothing but faith in. That innocent girl was a ghost now, hovering in the background, but still there. Still real.

Yes, Zara Lain was a killer. She would sell people out to the highest bidder, she would take care of herself and leave the rest of us behind, and she would do it all with a smile on her face.

But there was a human under all that. A woman who looked at me with crushing relief when trapped under her bed in a room full of sunlight and she realized I’d get her out; a woman who managed to simultaneously be both cocky and insecure as three hundred years couldn’t erase the wounds her husband’s betrayal had caused; a woman who confessed to me the secret of her awakening early as a vampire not to gain anything but to share the burden with someone who might understand.

A woman who, for brief moments, looked back at me with a raw, shared pain that I’d brushed aside over and over because
I didn’t want to face it
. I didn’t want to trust the sympathy in her gaze, didn’t want to break down and
feel
.

We never leave behind the people we were. And somewhere out there Zara Lain had been kept a prisoner for over three months, believing we’d abandoned her—believing we’d betrayed our alliance with her and hung her out to dry. Like Mishka’s betrayal had been another brick in the wall for me, so would it be for Zara if we left her to rot.

And I couldn’t live with myself knowing that.

I had the irrational thought that maybe if I saved her—
maybe
—it would make...make
something
right. Tip the scales. It might ease the ache in my chest, temper the guilt that kept me up every night. Saving her might...fix
me
. Somehow.

For a fleeting moment, her arrogant smirk and bright blue eyes flashed in my mind, and my heart squeezed.

I looked at Peter again. “She’d do the same for us,” I repeated, and knew without a doubt it wasn’t a lie.

He watched me, dark eyes inscrutable. Then a soft smile touched his lips and he nodded. “She probably would. If the job paid well enough.”

I chuckled and it felt
good
—normal even. Like tension eased from my shoulders with the action and the room got lighter.

“I’ll talk to Heaven in the morning,” Peter said. “We can move freer than you can and follow up on leads without our contacts turning on us as often. We’ll help you find her.”

And he didn’t follow it up with, “if she’s still alive,” which I’d be eternally grateful for.

Zara wasn’t dead. And I’d find her.

About the Author

Award-winning author Skyla Dawn Cameron has been writing approximately forever.

Her early storytelling days were spent acting out strange horror/fairy tales with the help of her many dolls, and little has changed except that she now keeps those stories on paper. She signed her first book contract at age twenty-one for
River
, a unique werewolf tale, which was released to critical and reader praise alike and won her the 2007 EPPIE Award for Best Fantasy. She now has multiple series on the go to keep her busy, which is great for her attention deficit disorder.

Skyla is a fifth generation crazy cat lady who lives in southern Ontario, where she dabbles in art, is an avid gamer, and watches Buffy reruns. If she ever becomes a grownup, she wants to run her own pub, as well as become world dictator.

You can visit her on the web at www.skyladawncameron.com. When she’s not writing or being glared at by cats, she’s probably on Twitter. You should ping @skyladawn and tell her to get back to work.

Hunter

Demons of Oblivion Book Two

Predators beware.

Sometimes natural predators need to be kept in check, and for that, there's Ryann David. Orphaned as an infant and raised by an exiled branch of the church to become a warrior for God, she and her fellow members of
Venatores Daemonum
have trained all their lives with only one purpose: destroy all demons in the mortal realm.

But when Ryann and her team are sent to hunt down a vampire who has killed one of their own, a new world of danger, betrayal, and conspiracy greets her. Allied with an irreverent psychic detective and the very monsters she was raised to kill, Ryann will risk everything—her life, her faith, and her heart—in pursuit of the truth as the black and white existence she knew turns a murky shade of gray.

Catch a look at
Hunter
...

The stillness was thick and tense, and the back of my neck prickled with dread. The air had that tinge from the harbor, at first fresh, but something dank and industrial riding beneath. A single bulb burned above me, cutting a small semi-circle of light on the pavement ahead and making the darkness beyond seem that much blacker; the light edged the outline of a body far to my left.

Zack.

My shoes scraped on the pavement, biting pebbles as I pivoted and rushed toward him. I bent down and reached for his throat. He still had a pulse, thankfully, but a gentle shake of his shoulder didn’t return him to consciousness.

I hung there crouched over his body for a moment, blinking, trying to think, struggling to dig up some semblance of instinct that would tell me what to do. Zack and Luke were out. Becky couldn’t fight and she was looking for Jeremiah and Abel—and for all I knew, the vampire had taken Jeremiah out first.

I stood on legs that ached, muscle tears from the night before screaming anew, and looked around. The tall buildings nearby blocked out any streetlights and I couldn’t remember behind which of the dumpsters in the general area I’d stowed my weaponry. The darkness had me at a serious disadvantage: vampires could see well in the dark. Me, for all my training, still had the limitations of a mortal.

Hearing though? That I had. Steps padded across the cement in the distance, heels clacking hard. I hauled the stake from the holster under my pant leg and took off running down the alley.

Ave Maria, gratia plena...Dominus tecum.

Also, please let backup get here soon.

The last of the light glinted on the tip of the stake as I ran, piercing like a weapon of its own. The soles of my sneakers thumped on the ground, announcing my presence even better than shouting would have, and I could think of nothing that would’ve given me an advantage anyway. I potentially faced my death, but I had at least a couple friends on the way, and Jeremiah had experience killing vampires.
Or at least I hope they’re on their way
. The alternative was not a pretty thought.

Hair blew back from my face as I ran and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. A pair of figures ran toward the end of the alley that opened to the street; Lain with her long black braids and short skirt, and the tall leggy other one who had something slung over her shoulder—

Oh no.
“Ellie!” He didn’t stir—she must’ve knocked him out. Why would they kidnap
him,
though?

The vampires halted and turned. My steps wavered but I pushed on, muscles burning, fingers tightening on my stake.

Three meters from them, I slowed to a stop. Rushing toward two vampires when one of them held a civilian seemed like a monumentally
bad
idea.

But you can’t let them take Ellie
.

Dim streetlight from the mouth of the alley filtered through and Zara Lain’s skin stood out, stark and pale, the dark line of her painted lips curving into a smile as she strolled toward me. The tall blonde one began trekking away again, still with Ellie over her shoulder and my heart squeezed.

Lain stopped with her hands on her hips, the vague light behind her emphasizing the hourglass of her figure. “I guess we should get this done.” She sounded bored with the situation already.

“What do you want with Ellie?”

“Um, that’s none of your business. Don’t be so nosy.”

I shifted from foot to foot, watching the other vampire run with her hostage in my peripheral vision, and tried to drag some steel into my voice. “It is my business. Let him go, Lain.”

“Oh!” She sighed dreamily, clasping her hands to her chest. “It’s so nice when they know my name. I take it you would be Buffy?” She sent a glance over her shoulder at her friend. “I’ll be there in a sec, Nic—keep the car running.”

Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus.

I ran at her then, feet light, stake poised, eyes narrowed. I just needed
minutes
—two or three even—to stall her until the others arrived. If I survived long enough, Jeremiah could take over fighting her and I’d get the hosta—

Lain ducked my first strike, moving faster than I could blink. I had no choice but to follow through with the hit, fist swinging; she pivoted around and hit me in the back, striking between my shoulder blades with the force of a truck.

I fell hard, landing flat on my stomach, chin scraping on the pavement. Air left my lungs with a puff and I struggled to get in a breath as I fought my way up again.

Lain’s foot connected with my side, driving into my ribs. Before a cry could leave my lips, I was airborne; flying, rolling, flailing. I hit the brick wall of the nearest building and tumbled to the pavement. The stake left my grasp, spinning away from me, and I gasped, choked, tasting a flood of copper on my tongue.

My eyes squeezed shut, water leaking from their corners, and I curled as my hand pressed to my aching side; she’d hit my right ribs, and I yelped when I put pressure on them. Combined with the beating from the night before, I was far from the top of my game.

I didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to fight. All I wanted was to curl up there until everything stopped hurting.

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.

It’s your job to get up and fight
.
Get UP
.

I blinked my eyes open, drew in a breath, and forced my body to move—forced my arms under me though my elbow scraped on the cement, forced my legs to untangle themselves and my feet to gain purchase on the ground.

Lain sauntered toward me, the thick heels of her black boots clicking loudly. “You must be a newbie. I heard one of yours killed ol’ Dusty last night. Am I to believe it was you?”

I didn’t respond—I wasn’t about to engage her. What was it with these vampires wanting to talk during a fight?

Muscles screamed and my side throbbed but I made it onto my knees. I snatched up my stake, pulled myself up to stand, and prepared to attack again. I feinted left, then threw a strike right, swinging the stake her way—

She batted my arm back and her fingers coiled around my throat; with force that rattled me bone-deep, she thrust me against the brick wall.

Her eyes locked on mine, brows pulling down thoughtfully, and her voice was amused but detached when she spoke. “You’re in an awful rush to get the boy back.” Her grip tightened on my throat, long nails pricking my flesh. “Strange, considering you keep getting your ass kicked. What’s in it for you? Why are you here?”

My mouth was dry as it hung open, struggling to suck in air, and throat was parched when I spoke. “To kill
you
.”

“And what a fine job you’re doing—I’m sure you’ll get a promotion. Now, why were your people sent here after me?”

I drew all my energy into one hard point, balling it up and throwing it into my right arm; I drove the stake up, thrusting it toward her throat, but my movements were slow, clumsy. Lain snatched my hand from the air and squeezed until the stake left my grip and clattered to the ground.

She arched a shapely black brow. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

“You killed one of ours,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

“I kill a lot of people, so I’m not surprised.”

Voices and footsteps sounded at the other end of the alley, back near Alchemy Red, but pinned against the wall I was too sore to feel any sense of relief. One jerk of her hand and she could snap my throat, leaving me broken and crumpled on the pavement.

The vampire smiled at me. “Gotta go.” And she heaved me with both hands, tossing me down the length of the alley.

I hit the ground and blacked out.

Now Available...

Whiskey Sour (& Other Stories)

A Demons of Oblivion Short Story Collection

Whiskey Sour
: One night without protection led to French-Canadian fae bartender Juliette Aubrey catching lycanthropy. Now half faerie, half werewolf, and entirely pissed off, Juliette has the chance for revenge when the last person she wants to see strolls into her bar needing help.