Mirror: Book One of the Valkanas Clan (15 page)

I gathered up the small embers of anger I’d left smoldering in the corners and focused on them, pouring my remembered rage over them like gasoline. It took only seconds for them to ignite. I shrieked, letting the anger burn out what remained of my fear, and it took me in a heady rush that left me wondering why I’d always tried so hard to avoid getting angry before today.

“You can’t have me either!” I yelled. “No one can!” I added, hoping this melodramatic touch would appeal to his obvious penchant for the stuff.

I felt a faint lick of his rage grabbing at me before mine burned through it, shoving him out. I heard a shriek more painful sounding than my own come from the house, and the two vamps that had been slowly approaching me turned back to assess the cause.

“Grab her!” Cesar yelled, and I took off, glancing back just once to see how many were coming after me. Two more shadows detached themselves from the house and headed my way. Four
total—
I’d just have to cross my fingers that was enough to help without getting me killed in the process.

Knowing I couldn’t afford any more second glances, I focused on the woods before me, fingers crossed that some kind of vampiric instinct would take over and guide me back the way we’d come. As I entered the trees I caught two scents of Tom—a stronger one to my right, and a fainter one, back and to my left. Praying the fainter one marked the way back to the
cars,
I picked up speed and bolted in that direction.

Panic-laced anger pushed me far faster going out than fear and exhilaration had coming in. The trees actually seemed to move by me quickly this time, and I wove between them, trying to ignore the branches lashing against my face and arms. I could still feel Cesar’s consciousness picking around the edges of my anger, looking for a weak spot to slip past. I focused on what a scum-sucking jerk he was, sending vampires to hunt me, tossing away his people like pawns, indirectly forcing me to become someone who talked with ghosts, drank blood, and could never enjoy the sun again. The anger felt good, and feeding it became easy, until it pumped through me better than my previous runner’s high. I actually spared a breath for a laugh when I felt it shove Cesar straight off the edges; I could hear his curses echoing in my brain even after he was gone.

It only took a few minutes before I could smell the faint hint of gasoline and realized I was almost to the cars. Then I heard the snapping of branches close behind me, and the secondary realization that Cesar's vamps could grab me while I stopped to unlock, get in, and start Damian’s Mercedes caused me to glance back, and miss the root that rolled up beneath my feet.

I went down, pain jabbing my ankle, inertia somersaulting me four or five times until I came to a stop.
Ohshitohshitoh
—
someone dove at me, tumbling me over twice more as I dug in my pocket for the pepper spray. I didn’t care that spraying it in such close proximity would likely make me start heaving; I had to get him off of me if I wanted any chance of making it to the car. When we stopped rolling I discovered I was on my side and with my attacker behind me, arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders and upper torso. It left me just enough free play to aim my hand back and hit the top of the can. I held as still as possible, reminding myself I didn't need to breathe. I heard him suck in air as the cold liquid hit his face and then start gagging as his senses realized what it was. His arms loosened and I scrambled forward, spinning around to see if any of the others had caught up with us yet, spray at the ready.

Seeing no-one, but hearing branches whipping back nearby, I sprung back into motion, not bothering to breathe until I was sure I was far enough away not to be overwhelmed by the garlic. I scented the air tentatively, concerned that I might have gotten disoriented in the fall, but the gasoline smell was stronger and coming from directly in front of me. Moments later I saw the faint gleam of chrome, and I darted over to the driver’s side of Damian’s gorgeous automobile, never happier to see a car in my whole life.

I’d just swung the door open when a twig snapped beside me, and I dropped into the seat while aiming over my shoulder, liberally hosing down the nearby trees until the soft thump of knees hitting the ground and the sound of gagging reassured me I could stop long enough to grab the keys.

Hallelujah for German engineering
, I rejoiced when the car turned over immediately. I whipped back out of the overhanging branches, turning as I went so the car would be facing the road. Dropping it back into drive, I turned around—and found myself face to face with the ugliest person—vampire or otherwise—I’d ever seen.

If the vampire of fantasies looked like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, then what blocked my path was definitely the prototype for nightmares. He was massive, looking like the Incredible Hulk’s stunt double minus the green, completely bald, and had deep gouging scars
criss
-crossing his face that made me flinch just seeing them. His nose was more a malformed lump than olfactory organ, and his mouth was displaying a grotesque open-mouthed grin that showcased two curling long fangs and few other teeth beside them. He crouched, and I froze for only a second before another instinct kicked in, punching my foot to the gas. The car rolled over him with a sickening series of thuds and then fishtailed onto the road, spewing gravel.

I glanced in the rearview mirror as I sped away, horrified to see the first vamp I’d sprayed crouching beside the monster I’d just run over, scooping an arm under him and helping him up. As I watched, the giant reached one hand over and popped the arm that had been sticking out at a sickening angle back into place, then put both hands on his chin and twisted until his head once again sat square on his shoulders. As he did this, the first vamp was tying his own jacket around the monster’s leg, as another vamp pulled the Jeep out from the branches.

Crap, they’d jumped Tom’s car already?

I floored it, not eager to see the second vehicle join me on the road. Damian had told me to head towards people, but I realized, streaking through a stop sign and hoping my luck held, that since I’d been buried in the back seat as we came in I had no idea in which direction Nashville proper lay. I fumbled around on the dash, striking buttons at
random,
hoping a car this expensive would come equipped with a handy navigation system that might tell me where to go.

After a few minutes of scrambling, a screen flashed on, and I touched an onscreen button to accept whatever asinine legal warning they required me to agree to before I could use their service.

“Destination, please,” said a pleasant female voice with a hint of British accent.

What should I tell the thing? I couldn’t just say “take me to a lot of people!” I’d never spent any time in Nashville, so I had no idea where its hot spots were, and what would be crowded at—I glanced at the dash—eleven o’clock on a Friday night. Then, as I barreled through another intersection, I had a vague recollection of a colleague at a conference telling me to check out the Tin Roof if I was ever in Nashville and looking for good live music.

“Uh, can you please direct me to the Tin Roof in Nashville, Tennessee?” I asked, feeling vaguely idiotic for being polite to a computer. Maybe it was an instinctual American reaction to hearing a British accent.

“Searching,” the computer replied. “Ten Red Roof Inns have been found in the vicinity of Nashville, Tennessee. Please specify.”

“Crap,” I muttered. Where was some truly idiot-proof technology when I could really use it?

“Was that Red Roof Inn, Rappel Boulevard?” The computer asked politely. “Calculating”

“No,” I yelped. “Um, Stop. Disengage. Cancel!” I continued shouting whatever random synonym popped in my head as I tapped at buttons on the screen. Eventually, the screen went blank, and then restarted on its home menu. Trying to keep one eye on the road, one on my rearview mirror, and one on the navigation system—and wishing vampirism had somehow granted me a more literal third eye—I eventually managed to type in Tin Roof, Nashville.

“One moment please,” the computer said, and I risked a fuller glance behind me. A ways back—I couldn’t tell how far, never having needed to know how to estimate distances as part of my previously unadventurous life—I could faintly make out the shape of Tom’s Jeep. I edged my speed up, hoping to put some distance between us while we were still on a relatively deserted road.

“The Tin Roof, at one five one six Demonbruen Road, is eighteen point two miles away.” Wow, Cesar’s place must really be out in the suburbs.
“Displaying map.”
I glanced at it, noticing I appeared to be in some place called Franklin, and that I’d be getting onto I-65 shortly.
Wonderful.

“In point two miles, turn right onto Cool Springs Boulevard.”

I slowed down slightly, relieved to notice I could no longer see the Jeep behind me—maybe I’d get lucky, and lose them. Surely Damian and everyone had finished things at Cesar’s house by now? Though, crap, it would be hard for them to get to me without Tom’s Jeep. I’d have to hope they could steal a car as easily as Cesar’s goons had.

Once I’d made my turn, the computer informed me I had one-point-eight miles until I should merge with I-65, going north. Once I was on the interstate I was briefly tempted to just keep driving—past Nashville, past Louisville, maybe straight up to Canada to get lost amongst the cold weather and mild manners. The realization that I had no way of changing my identity, however, or getting a job even if I could find a way to change my identity, stopped me.

I glanced back in my rearview as often as I safely could, seeing no sign of any Jeep behind me. Then, just a few miles before my exit, I thought I caught a glimpse of its distinctive silhouette. I leaned closer to the rearview mirror, as if those inches could somehow make a difference, and almost plowed into the semi that decided to take that moment to merge into my lane. Slamming on the brakes and my horn simultaneously, I slid onto the shoulder, half expecting the British voice that had been directing me to pitch in a few pointers about how not to crash into a concrete median. The truck driver realized what was going on and slowed down, and I skated past and back in front of him, passing a few startled cars in the right lane before finding the room to move over just before the exit onto Demonbruen Street.

While waiting for the light at the base of the ramp to change, I kept my eyes on the mirror. Cops or not, I would shoot through that light if I saw a Jeep pull down the ramp. Fortunately, only a few tired sedans lined up behind me. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances at getting caught alone with those guys again. Maybe their original plan had been to simply trap me, but I was afraid that the amount of damage I’d done to the huge one might have pushed him over the same edge the vamp
who’d
drained me had crossed. I sure as hell wasn’t going to count on Cesar’s control to keep me safe.

The Tin Roof wasn’t far from the interstate, easy to spot between the loud music filtering onto the street and the crowd gathered outside it’s front door. I found a parking spot only half a block away and grabbed it. Once the car was off fatigue hit me, and I leaned my arms and head against the steering wheel.

The sound of squealing tires jerked me alert again a second later and I looked up, but even seeing it was just the sound of some drunken idiots and
not the approach of Tom’s Jeep didn’t relax me
. I’d been heads down, eyes shut in an unprotected vehicle when I was still very much in danger; what was I thinking? I fished around the back of the car for my purse and dug out the pair of earplugs I always carried with me—my hearing had been sensitive even before being turned, and I was dreading what that loud music would do to me now—and wedged them firmly into my ears. Then I pulled out my cell phone, sending a quick text to Tom to let him know where I was and what had happened, and dropped it back into my purse.

I hopped out, trying to dust the evidence of my run through the forest off my clothing, wincing at the torn jeans and T-shirt that was definitely not going-out wear. I’d just have to hope the Tin Roof didn’t have a dress code, or that I could charm my way in if it did. I was glad to see it wasn’t one of those wait-in-line-for-a-bouncer-to-decide-if-you’re-hip-enough clubs; I wasn’t sure if any amount of vampiric charm would get me into a place like that dressed like this. Besides, I hated that kind of club.

It only took some slight encouragement (of the ten dollar bill variety, not the willed into submission kind—I was happy to do things the old-fashioned way) to get me inside, where I was greeted by a blast of music and a writhing mass of happy, dancing bodies. I worked my way to the bar, trying to clamp down on the urge to nibble at the nearest neck that the smell of sweat and excitement was stirring up in me. Absurdly, snippets from Looney
Toons
popped into my head—except instead of my mind turning the people in front of me into giant cartoon drumsticks, they seemed more like a tall glass of lemonade might to someone who’d been crawling around in a desert for an afternoon. It was controllable, but very, very tempting. Hoping it would help keep my mind off my less than friendly urges, I snagged the bartender’s attention and ordered
a bourbon
on ice. I had no idea if I could still enjoy the drink or not, but it had been a favorite in life so I figured it was worth a try. I positioned myself at the back corner of the bar, where I could get a clear view of the front door while still having plenty of bodies to distract my pursuers should they come in.