Gifts of the Blood (26 page)

And if any other girl so much as looked at him, I would end her.

We trembled. Our hands shook, reaching for each other, clumsy as things newly made. I burned with shyness, hardly able to look at him. Why this? Why now? Why so strangely shy when there was nothing motivating me beyond the desperate need to warm him? I tried for a button on my shirt, shaking like a junkie in withdrawal. He was hardly doing better; he looked as if putting clothes on had been a struggle, let alone taking them off when his strange new body fought him.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I finally admitted. “How to be human with you.” I had managed the whole row of buttons down my shirt and one boot. The air felt icy on my stomach.

He looked worse than pained. He looked as if I’d taken his stars away and left him with the compass instead. And he was still shivering. As I was. “Then let’s not,” he said at last.

“Let’s not what?” I asked darkly. Was this the part where he excused himself, decided he was in over his head, wanted to slow things down?

“Let’s not be human together,” Ethan sighed. His frozen fingers grappled uselessly with the edges of his flannel shirt. I had managed most of my buttons and the other boot. I moved to help him. “We’ll just be us.” His tent-like green and black sodden shirt landed at my feet with a dull thud.

Oh.

Skin. Smooth and chilled, warming slightly under my touch, his skin felt nothing like a statue’s anymore. My face felt warm, and I knew I was blushing. “Just Ethan and Caspia,” I agreed in a whisper. Shyness, like buttons, became easier to navigate, now that there were two of us. “Tell me something.”

“Mmm?” We were easier with each other now, relearning. There is a kind of magic in touching. Mothers know, swaddling newborns or holding them close. Anyone who works with animals knows it, too; the best trainers communicate with their hands. Blankets replaced icy wet clothes around us, creating a nest where our frozen skin could kindle slowly to warmth.

“My eyes,” I murmured. There was nothing graceful about the way we held each other. We were awkward and frozen and feeling our way; Ethan’s elbow dug into my ribs and his head trapped my hair. I thought about complaining but his shaking hadn't stopped. I'm not sure he knew how to control all his movements yet.

“They’ve been silver since you found me,” he told me through chattering teeth. “Like mercury.”

I tugged the blankets tighter around him and wondered whether I should have called 911 after all. “My eyes have been flat gray since I saw you last,” I said quietly. “Like steel.” I ran my fingers through his wet hair and down the curve of his neck. Breath, shallow and rapid, warmed my hand. Ethan’s
breathing.
“I’m so sorry.” A choking sob I couldn’t hold back anymore escaped. “It’s my fault. I know it is. You have to tell me what happened. Asheroth told me…”

“Shh,” Ethan said, his chilled lips directly against my ear. Cold, but soft. I reached for him, greedy and desperate. But how fragile was my new Ethan? I forced myself to pull back. He laughed at me. “Not so fragile as that,” he promised. “And I will tell you what happened. Just not now.” He trembled against me, through our blanket wrappings. “Not here. Only the two of us, here.”

Suddenly my heart was beating very fast. And so, of course, I had to know.

“Wait!” I practically yelled, startling him into stillness. I pushed him flat on his back. “I want to hear your heartbeat.” I seized his hand as I laid my ear against his chest. I felt a slow smile spread across my face, and saw an answering one on his. “Here,” I said, lacing our hands together over his strong human heart. “Didn’t you think to check?”

He shook his head, eyes wide with shock and wonder. “Apparently I have a lot to learn,” he said at last.

“No, you were doing just fine,” I protested, cocooning him in blankets again, pulling his slick skin next to mine. “A whole lot of people never learn to come in out of the rain.”

We learned three things together, that first day of Ethan’s humanity: skin warms skin, silver eyes light darkness, and our heartbeats measured time together, so that we knew we were no longer alone.

To be continued

Keep reading for a preview of
Darkness in the Blood
,

Book II of The Gifted Blood Trilogy,

Coming Spring 2011

If you enjoyed
Gifts of the Blood
,

you’ll love the award winning

Jenny Pox
by J.L. Bryan.

Keep reading for an excerpt!

Acknowledgements:

I’d like to send a massive thanks to:

My students, especially Derrin, Will, Siobhan, and Jordan. You all kept me motivated and (mostly) in touch.

My writer friends and critique partners-in-crime: Mandy, Alina, Gigi, Warren, and other members of the DC ‘09 and ‘10 workshops; to Ann for her straight talk and encouragement; to Eugie for sheer inspiration; to Mertz, my very first fan and now friend; to the Indies, for kicking butt and taking names; and most importantly to Melissa Marr, who, quite without knowing it, gave me The Sign I was looking for when I needed it most.

Music made my battle with the blank page a little less cataclysmic. To name a few (many of whom look dashing in a bunny hat): Joe Carver of Horse to Water, Glossary, Duquette Johnston/The Gum Creek Killers, The Only Sons, Lucinda Williams, The National, The Moondoggies, Fleet Foxes, Jason Isbell, Magnolia Mountain, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Calexico... did I mention Glossary? I did? Imagine that.

To Grace and Max, who take their unconventional childhood in stride most of the time; to Tony for being the sane one (so far); and to Mom for, well,
everything.
You’re the smartest, bravest, most kick-ass woman I know.

Lastly:

You have the best smile and the coolest hats. Before you I’d never heard The Beatles. You get it about the ocean. You suspect that I actually do believe in magic. You’re my best friend, you always believe in me, you still make me laugh, and the desire to smite women who look at you has not faded one bit. Fifteen years later you’re still Listening. Daniel, thank you for everything.

About the Author:

Vicki Keire grew up in a 19th Century haunted house in the Deep South full of books, secret rooms, abandoned coal chutes, and plenty of places to get into trouble with her siblings. She holds Bachelor's and Master's degrees in English Literature, and is A.B.D. with specializations in Eighteenth Century British Literature, Romanticism, and Race and Gender Theory. She spent the last decade teaching writing and literature at the university level while slipping paranormal fiction in between the pages of her textbooks. She is a fierce proponent of the Indie movement in writing, art, and music.

When not reading and writing about ghosts, faeries, fallen angels, magic, and things that go bump in the night, she indulges her eclectic musical tastes, keeps vampire hours, and adds to her massive stockpile of quirky t-shirts and designer notebooks. She hates to cook and would rather burn the laundry than fold it. She believes that when an author wins the Newberry, he or she gets a secret lifetime pass to Neverland. She still lives in the Deep South with her husband, children, and attendant menagerie, but is pretty sure her house isn't haunted. A person can't be so lucky twice.

Gifts of the Blood
is the first in a trilogy set in the small town of Whitfield, where she has several other paranormal series planned. You can learn more about it and her other projects at:

Website: http://www.vickikeire.com/

Blog: http://vickikeire.blogspot.com/

Darkness in the Blood:

Gifted Blood Book II

Copyright 2011 Vicki Keire

Chapter One:

Chasing Phantoms

I used to break out in a cold sweat when I was terrified.

These days, I break out in Shadows.

I squared my back against one of the sturdy trees of Blind Springs Park and stared up through its branches at the moon. Almost full and only slightly lighter than my quicksilver eyes, it cast just enough light to show the cold darkness snaking between my fingers and creeping up my arms. I closed my eyes and focused on calming my breathing. Dark electric fire crackled between my fingers, racing up my arms and arcing across my neck. It felt like a cross between freezing water and swarms of marching ants.

Once they appeared, only two things got rid of the Shadows: attacking someone or something, or calming down enough that they went away on their own. There was no one in the park but the crickets and I, so the attacking option was out. Lately, it took longer and longer periods of calm to make them go away. I was afraid the day would come when nothing I could do would banish them.

Asheroth had warned me. When Ethan was gone and Logan lay dying, he came to the hospital to warn me. “He taught you just enough to get you killed,” the mad Nephilim raged at me, furious with Ethan for unlocking such a dangerous gift. I hadn’t believed my insane self-appointed guardian then.

I did now.

I knew if I didn’t find a way to control the Shadows that were such useful weapons, they would eventually turn on me or someone I loved. But that wasn’t why I’d come, alone and frightened, to Blind Springs Park in the middle of the night. My little Shadow-summoning problem was just going to have to wait. Calm down, I thought furiously to myself. You’re no good to anyone if you’re a deadly mess.

I forced myself to focus on my goal: find Asheroth, get help. Breathe, calm, focus. Find Asheroth and get help for Ethan. Ethan needed help much, much worse than I did. And Asheroth was the only Nephilim I knew. He had to have answers. There was no one else.

I silently pleaded with the Shadows to stay gone as I stepped carefully away from my tree trunk. I’d been wandering Blind Springs Park for almost half an hour for the third night in a row. Each night had been as unsuccessful as the night before. And yet, I couldn’t quit hoping that tonight would be the night I’d find him. “Caspia Chastain,” I hissed as I walked, “when will you learn to be careful what you wish for? The only thing worse than not finding Asheroth might be actually finding him.”

I sealed my lips together against the chilly night air and crept closer towards the most deserted part of the park. The nearly full moon overhead cast ragged patches of light through the winter bare trees. I was deeply in, now; branches snagged my long tangled hair and snapped against the leather of Ethan’s black leather jacket. I could imagine what he’d say if he knew what I was doing.

“Are you crazy, sneaking through Blind Springs Park in the middle of the night? Alone? The same park where Dark Nephilim attacked us just a few months ago? When you know there’s still a demon after you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” my imaginary Ethan raged at me.

Amazing how much Ethan and Logan could sound alike when my welfare was the topic of conversation.

“I’m not trying to get myself killed,” I whispered, but I didn’t sound convincing, even to myself. I was well aware that what I was doing was far from safe or even sane. I knew both Ethan and Logan would do everything they could to stop me. Why else had I snuck out in the middle of the night? “I’ve tried every other way I can think of to summon him, and nothing’s worked.” I drew a deep, shaky breath and rocked back on my heels, looking for landmarks. “I need him. We need him. Asheroth. He promised he’d help.”

I needed Asheroth because the man I loved had sacrificed immortality to keep my brother alive. By Ethan’s reckoning, his sacrifice had been more than worth it. He got to live a mortal life with me, and Logan was recovering with a kind of speed and strength that amazed his doctors. So much so, in fact, that we’d checked him out against medical advice because we were afraid the doctors might decide to keep him for experiments.

But for Ethan, becoming mortal was turning out to be a painful, ongoing sacrifice. Even now, he slept restlessly, tormented by fever, headaches, and nightmares. His waking hours were a nightmare of sensory assault as his body tried to process hundreds of new needs, sensations, and information all at once. His mortal body was strong but completely alien to him. He had bruises from walking into things, and we had quickly learned not to trust him with anything sharp or breakable. After Ethan’s second set of stitches, Logan and I had silently replaced all the dishes with hard plastic and wood.

Worst of all, he could feel the empty space where he’d once carried throbbing, pulsing Light. Like an amputee with phantom limb pains, the emptiness hurt him. He never spoke of it. He thought I didn’t know. But I could see the pain in his eyes, and when he slept his drugged sleep, he cried out for the lost Light that had served as wings. I watched him in the night, hating myself as I massaged his knotted muscles. Three nights ago, I’d finally had enough. I started sneaking out, looking for my mad, self-appointed guardian. I was desperate.

It hadn’t seemed like such a crazy plan when I’d dreamed it up in the warmth and safety of my apartment. I visualized the small clearing where I’d first met Asheroth months ago. He and two other Dark Nephilim had attacked Ethan and I. They’d tried to kill each other, and I’d learned about my own Nephilim blood when Asheroth kidnapped me. But none of that mattered now, because Ethan was mortal, and Asheroth had sworn to protect me from an even greater threat, a demon that hunted me.

“Asheroth,” I called softly, as I had the night before, and the night before that. “Are you there?” The wind picked up momentarily, as if in answer, snapping bare branches against each other and stirring the dead leaves at my feet.

Nothing.

“Hello?” I turned in a slow, tight circle, watching the trees for a flash of red leather. “It’s Caspia. If you’re there, Asheroth, I need you.” A sudden blast of wind hit me from behind, whipping my hair around my face in all kinds of crazy directions. Momentarily blinded, I hugged myself against the chill. “I need help.”