Dead Shifter Walking (19 page)

“Is that how you control people?” he asked
guardedly.

Rolling my eyes, I answered, “I can’t make
anyone do what they don’t want to do. I can only provide my own
emotions that click with their own, amplifying the process. For
example, if you’re angry, I can’t make you happy.”

“But you eased my anger,” he pointed out,
genuinely interested.

I shrugged, meeting his intense caramel gaze. “I
can take emotions from people; suck them, if you will.”

“That gives you power, energy?” he questioned,
raising an eyebrow.

“Quite the opposite,” I answered, flicking a
glance at Kass, “it’s intensely draining. Over the years, I have
built a fairly large tolerance for other people’s crappy emotions.”
I sighed, staring levelly so he understood it was his crap I was
now sealing in a metal ball in my head.

“I thought you all gained your power from sex,”
Logan asked, definitely suggestive.

Lowering my darkened lashes, I peered up at him,
letting just the tip of my pink tongue slip out to lick the side of
my mouth, which he followed like a good little puppy. Leaning
closer, I whispered to his entranced gaze, “I am a master of all
emotions and sensations.” Pulling back, I smiled to his smirk.

We twirled effortlessly around the dance floor,
and I was actually letting him lead, a man who could dance; that
was attractive.

I was about to continue my explanation when a
sharp tap on my shoulder had me turning. “Thanks for keeping him
company; I’m feeling much better,” Lorraine said with a fake smile
as the irritation I had sucked from Logan bubbled to the
surface.

Smiling, I inclined my head before sending a nod
to Kass’s disapproving gaze, followed by a shrug as I grabbed my
clutch and headed out into the fresh night air. Blowing out a deep
breath, I slipped into a cab and relayed Blake’s address, my mind
roving over Logan and Lorraine.

I could understand why he made it to the top of
the shifter pack. What I didn’t understand was why he had chosen a
mate so poorly. Lorraine lacked political knowledge and physical
abilities. Hell, she wasn’t even a support system that he would
need. She could never be an asset in the challenging path he would
undoubtedly navigate on a daily basis.

More importantly, it was none of my damn
business.

Chapter 12

The cabby exhaled twisting cigarette smoke
tendrils from his ancient mouth as he announced my total. I
cringed, handing over the crisp bills to his greasy palms.
Gross.

It was early still, according to Blake’s
schedule, as I pushed open the front door. He did say he wanted me
to come back tonight, but an unlocked door? That had every
instincts I had screaming, and I listened well to those.

Creeping as silently as I could, now that the
creaking door had announced my arrival, I almost went down in a
pool of blood that trailed back to a human with his throat ripped
out. Fuck, the asshole was heavily loaded with military-grade
clothing and guns. I cringed, unclipping the .40-caliber pistol at
his waist, waiting a breath to listen as I straightened back
up.

The one night I leave all my toys at home;
really I, of all people, should know fucking better. My own ass
kicking could wait until I could secure Blake’s health and welfare.
For all I knew, he already had the cleaners on the way over.
Fingers crossed.

The kitchen was empty along with the living room
and parlor as I crept slowly up the stairs, my worry growing
steadily as the blood stains and body count increased.

At the landing, I stepped over the human who had
prepared my grilled cheese sandwich. I had a sinking feeling in my
stomach. Steeling my emotions, I raised the gun, following the
noises coming from Blake’s bedroom.

I could hear him gagging, hear him fighting
growling, and threatening even though it sounded like he was
gagged. Slowly, carefully, I slipped down the hall to the
illuminated doorway as my core cooled and my breathing evened
out.

This was what I was designed for.

Pointing the gun down the hallway, I stepped
over bodies and around pieces of bodies gingerly. There could not
be many left given the carnage. I had counted at least nine dead.
Blake alone could handle that, I kept telling myself foolishly.

Hope is a tricky emotion. No matter what I tell
myself or how I force myself to act, I always have hope, even in
the darkest, sickest nightmares I call my memories, I always clung
to the fabric of hope, although I didn’t always know what it was
called. I don’t give up. I keep hoping, and I haven’t decided if
that is a good or bad thing.

So, when I heard Blake scream with the tearing
of tissue, I hoped I was wrong about what had happened. Blowing out
a breath, I picked up an unoccupied arm, flinging it down the
hallway with a resounding thud past the open door. It gave the
desired outcome as several additional men, clad in the same
military-grade equipment fanned out from the room.

Too bad I was a faster shot, no hesitation to
kill my greatest strength, if anyone ever asks.

Four went down like jelly, their brains
spattering over each other and the walls. The fifth went back into
the room, firing out. One human, I thought to Blake, this you
should be able to fucking handle.

Sliding right next to the doorframe I waited a
breath until I heard Blake grunt followed by the rapid repetition
of gunfire and a blistering pain in my left upper arm. Not waiting
for an invitation, I flung myself into the room, landing on top of
the last bad human, only to be thrown against the wall. The fucker
should not be that strong, I thought dimly to myself as I realized
I had lost the gun and he had gained a knife.

“Pretty dress, vampire fucker,” he said,
admiring my now ruined borrowed dress. Oops. He shook his head.
“What they got a normal man don’t?” he rasped.

Fucker thought I was human. “Stamina, for one.
Eons of experience for second.” I tapped my bottom lip while I
pretended to think. “Third, they don’t kill innocent bystanders,” I
hissed, bunching my quads as I smashed into him, his knife digging
deep into my stomach as we hit the floor.

Wrapping my hands on his throat, I slammed down
with every ounce of energy I had until I felt his skull split and
the pathetic excuse for a brain slide slickly out.

Grunting, I turned to look at Blake, my horror
having been realized. Stupid, foolish hope.

“Here,” I said, ripping the dress over my
stomach wound as I rolled over to my back.

Slowly, he pulled himself towards me, a mess of
battered and bloodied clothing. Opening his mouth, I saw the
missing fangs, and my heart broke for him.

“Drink; you need to heal,” I said as he looked
mournfully at me with those big blue eyes. I tried to smile,
probably failing as he lowered his still bleeding mouth to my
wound.

He drank deeply as I ran my hands through his
bloodstained hair, my mind already working on a to-do list once he
was finished. Poor Blake, this was a serious blow to his image, not
to mention his body. He would regenerate the fangs, but the process
was painful and long.

It was, however, an extremely effective form of
torture. Something these boys couldn’t have figured out on their
own or the body count would not be so great. The humans had inside
knowledge; the question was, from whom?

Blake leaned against my stomach, looking mildly
better. “They were juiced,” he said painfully, obviously
unaccustomed to the extra space in his mouth.

“On steroids?” I asked, leaning on my elbows and
wincing as my arm protested.

He shook his head. “Vamp blood.”

“Oh fuck,” I said, slipping back down.

…

Mallory was stitching up my stomach wound as the
bodies were assembled on the driveway. Tate had pointedly ignored
my advice to keep this quiet and hide the bodies; instead, he
decided to call out the police. They were incredibly nervous, with
good reason, as they now had first-hand knowledge of the death a
single vampire could deal out.

The press was gathered outside the exterior
gates, which had been shut soon after the police arrived.

Mercer stood up from one of the piles he was
examining, coming my way.

“Ouch,” I hissed at Mal. “I said I was sorry
about the dress.”

She glared at me. “It was on sale,” she said
again, slamming her first aid kit together and shaking her head as
she stood up to head over to Blake.

“Olivia,” Mercer stated tentatively.

“Mercer,” I responded, making no move to get
up.

“Sure got yourself a mess here,” he said,
pocketing his hands.

“Nope,” I responded, looking at him, “you have a
mess here. What I have is a housekeeper and cook who was brutally
murdered by humans.”

He didn’t have a single thing to say to that.
Instead, he turned as Blake and Tate brought her body ceremoniously
out of the house. I sighed, looking back at the press, hoisting
myself up with a groan.

“Where do you think you’re headed?” Tate asked
hotly.

“We need to deal with the press,” I said
understandingly to him. “I have a plan.”

He searched my eyes before nodding. “Your idea
to get the protestors to back off has worked well. I will allow
this.”

I raised an eyebrow at the use of the word
allow, but didn’t push it; he had a lot on his plate tonight, so I
cut him some slack.

Hobbling my way over, I reached the guard, who
looked like an ex-Marine, and nodded to him. Surveying the crowd of
reporters, I realized I knew nothing of the faces in front of me.
Turning to the tall human, I asked, “You follow the news at
all?”

He looked down at me, his stony features not
changing at all. “I need someone who will tell the facts and not
write something fear-based.”

He turned back to the crowd, and I thought he
was ignoring me, but he called out, “Chin, front and center.”

From the back of the crowd, a short slightly
overweight Asian woman in a gray dress suit came forward.
“Yes?”

Tall and stony looked down at me. “I want you
and one camera to come in,” I said to her. She hesitated for only a
moment before her cameraman slipped a camera over her neck, taking
away the audio equipment. Once stony was satisfied she had nothing
else on her, including her cell phone, we moved back to the
bodies.

Chin was silent, so I began, “The humans were
loaded up on vampire blood, as it is becoming common knowledge it
increases strength and healing abilities.”

“What are the long-term effects of that?” she
asked nervously.

I shrugged, regretting it as my stitches moved.
“Vampirism,” I said matter-of-factly.

She stumbled, staring at me. Stopping, I gave
her a moment to adjust before continuing, “So, the humans were
juiced up and broke into a local vampire’s home, killed his human
helper, and began torturing the vampire.”

She nodded and I gestured to the bodies,
hesitating again before she snapped pictures.

“You were here the entire night?” she asked
above the camera.

“No, I arrived from a party mid-torture,” I
stated tiredly.

“How do you know it was the humans and not the
vampire who killed the helper?” she asked, gaining confidence.

“The vampire kills look like this,” I said,
pointing out the row of bodies. “The human had bullets shot through
her,” I said sadly.

“You sound upset about one housekeeper dying,
not the dozen here,” she stated more than asked.

“I am upset she was killed for doing nothing
wrong, but was just an innocent bystander. The rest made their
choices and this,” I motioned to the bodies, “was the
consequence.”

“Many would argue that was the just fate of
someone who worked for the vampires,” she said, done taking
pictures yet still staring at the bodies lined up and the few in
bloody piles.

I shook my head. “That doesn’t seem fair or
just. It’s just sad such fear exists.”

Chin nodded, and I walked her back to the
gate.

Looking back at the flashing red and blue
lights, I heaved a sigh as Blake and Tate were in a heated
conversation with uniformed officers, Mercer offering no advice or
assistance. For a brief moment, I gave thought to helping, before I
remembered that the vampires caused this mess, and I went to sit
with Mal on the steps to wait it out.

“You could go help,” Mal said, not bothering to
look over at me.

“What would the fun in that be?” I asked,
cringing as my newly formed stitches pulled.

Slapping me on the back, she stood. “Then come
help clean the mess.”

I huffed, staring up at her grumpily. “Alright,”
I conceded.

Between Mal, me, and the several vampires who
had drawn the unfortunate clean-up duty, we had the house back in
fighting shape a few hours after sunrise. Blake had not been back
inside yet, and I was mildly worried. Following Mal outside, I
ignored her pointed glare at her bloodied, torn, and now
bleach-stained dress.

I wasn’t going to change and ruin my own
perfectly good clothing.

Only Mercer remained outside, the bodies having
been hauled away by the coroners. Blake’s blue eyes were streaked
through with blood from the stress and pain of being defanged. He
needed sleep. Sliding up next to him, I slipped under his shoulder,
wrapping my arm around his waist and bracing my legs wide for the
extra weight he pushed onto me.

“We are done, Mercer,” I said, turning Blake
toward the house.

“Not until I say so,” Mercer demanded, hauling
me back around.

I smiled wickedly at Mercer, slipping out as Mal
took my place under Blake, and I stepping right into his personal
space.

“Step gingerly, Mercer; you’re pushing the
buttons of a vampire who could use a fresh kill, and I might be
willing to give it to him,” I said, pulling back to see the whites
of his eyes. He quickly stepped back.