Possession-Blood Ties 2 (2 page)

The thought depressed me, so I put it aside. I swiveled my desk chair around and leaned back. “Seriously, why are you watching me?”

“The nightmares.”

I shrugged, hoping to pass off my terrifying dreams as a regular occurrence. “I have a lot of nightmares.”

“You said his name.”

Nathan wasn’t my first sire. Cyrus, whom I only knew as “John Doe” when he’d attacked me in the hospital morgue, had made me a vampire. He’d also nearly made me dead when I hadn’t been willing to satisfy his twisted desires. When I’d turned to Nathan and the Voluntary Vampire Extinction Movement for help, Cyrus had removed one of my two hearts—a strange physiological trait unique to vampires—and left me bleeding to death in the alley behind Nathan’s building. When Nathan found me, I’d already died. He’d revived me by giving me his blood, and it’d had the desired effect—I was alive, after all. He just hadn’t realized he would “re-sire” me.

He’d already had a deep-seated hatred of Cyrus. Now, as my new sire, he felt it ten times stronger. He hated if I even mentioned my first sire in passing. The evil, antagonistic side of me couldn’t help but do it now. “Maybe my dreams about Cyrus are a subconscious thing to rile you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s the same excuse you use for leaving the cap off the toothpaste.”

He was right. He’s usually right. Damned sire’s intuition. I shut off my computer monitor and leaned back in my chair. “I’m guessing you have some sort of theory here.”

“Not yet. I was hoping to form it while you tell me—in detail—about these dreams. Then I was going to cut you off with a big, dramatic exclamation, something along the lines of

‘aha!’ at which point you’d find yourself impressed and slightly aroused by my genius.” He shrugged. “But now, I guess I’ll just settle for the detail part.”

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms across my chest. “I never see his face, but I know it’s him.”

Nathan nodded, indicating I should continue.

“There aren’t any colors except blue.” I bit my lip. “The watercolor kind of blue I remember from when I was…dead.”

A deep frown creased Nathan’s brow, a sure sign I’d piqued his interest with my story.

“Are you sure it’s not your super-conscious working through that night?”

When I had those dreams, I always saw the same things. The bright orange cat that had

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passed my splayed body. The thick shapes of the shadow people coming to claim me. I didn’t bother Nathan with these memories. My brief death—the second one—had traumatized him enough. “Cut the psych bullshit. You think I’m having these dreams for a reason, don’t you?”

He let out a long breath as his mind searched for nonanswers. “I suppose it could be some residue of your former blood tie to him.”

“But why now?” I shook my head. “It’s been two months. What could have happened to reactivate the tie now?”

Nathan stood, trying—and failing—to look unconcerned. “It could be anything. I’ll have Max do some digging in the Movement files.”

The Voluntary Vampire Extinction Movement was a harsh, totalitarian organization demanding the death of vampires who didn’t live by their strict code. Nathan had been on probation for seventy years for killing his wife, though it hadn’t been entirely his fault, and by siring me he’d broken one of the cardinal rules: preventing the inevitable death of a wounded vampire. Rather than wait until they found out and killed him, Nathan had chosen to go outlaw. But he maintained ties to Max Harrison, the only other vampire who knew the circumstances surrounding Nathan and me.

I smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled with the assignment.”

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Nathan said cheerfully. He no longer hid the fact he lived to make Max’s life hell. “Well, the sun’s long down. I’d better get downstairs and earn my keep. Are you going to work tonight? I’ve got some inventory that needs cataloging.”

“As tempting as it sounds, no.” I’d clocked enough unpaid hours in Nathan’s occult bookshop to last several lifetimes. If I never saw another Book of Shadows or packet of herbs, it would be too soon. I gestured to the computer. “I need to finish this before it drives me insane.”

“Likewise.” He made a face. “Next time you want to do some crazy experiment, use someone else as your lab rat.”

I heard the door shut behind him as he left. Usually, he locked it, but I heard no telltale jingle of keys.

Vampires take the bond between sire and fledgling as seriously as humans do the bond between parent and child. Normally, Nathan was frighteningly overprotective of me. I tried to push aside the feeling that something might be wrong. Those thoughts were like poison ivy. Once you scratch it, the infection spreads and grows. I didn’t need to spend the night on pins and needles, jumping at the slightest sound. I flipped on the monitor, hoping to lose myself in medical jargon, but I couldn’t concentrate. My unease grew, my palms began to sweat and my stomach tingled. I ticked off the symptoms in my mind and only then recognized my body’s reaction. Fight or flight.

The primitive response to fear had slowly built in me, but I was in no immediate danger. My heart did a panicky flip-flop in my chest as I stared at my reflection behind the words on the screen. My pupils had dilated. My face began to morph into monster mode. I stood, willing myself to calm down. There was no reason to feel this way. Unless it was the blood tie.

Nathan.

I ran from my room, knocking over my desk chair as I took off. Our apartment was on the

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top floor of Nathan’s building. The bookstore was in the basement. I tore down the stairs as fast as I could, gripping the rails as my feet tripped gracelessly over themselves. The door at the bottom seemed light-years away. I burst through it and onto the street. The chill air of the early spring night took my breath away. Then pain took it, and I gave up hope of getting it back. The blood tie was gone. Not in the way it felt when Nathan simply hid his thoughts from me. That was like a brick wall. This was…void. If the tie were a length of cord stretched between us, one end had simply gone slack.

Nathan was dead.

I clutched the wrought-iron rail as I edged toward the top of the stairs descending below the sidewalk. Moonlight illuminated shattered glass at the bottom. Whatever had gotten to Nathan had broken the window to get in.

Get a weapon. Get help. My heart overrode my rational mind. I needed to get to my sire. I took the stairs down two at a time. Inside, the light at the back of the store flickered in its death throes. Broken, powdery fluorescent tubes littered the floor. Occasional sparks sputtered like snowflakes from broken wiring overhead. The tables that usually displayed tasteful arrangements of crystals and tarot cards and other New Age bric-a-brac were utterly destroyed. They lay in splinters on the ground, crushing the merchandise they’d once held. To my right, the glass case in the sales counter had been smashed. I knew Nathan kept an ax in the cupboard behind it. I moved in that direction as quietly as I could with glass crunching beneath my shoes. Something shuffled in the labyrinth of bookshelves behind me. The noise froze me for an instant as I weighed the distance to the door against the odds I’d be able to effectively defend myself with the ax. I dismissed the notion of running. I couldn’t leave Nathan behind, not if there was even the barest chance he might be saved. I sprinted the last few steps to the cupboard and retrieved the ax. I tried to force some courage into my stiff fingers as I gripped the handle. Whatever had broken in was still in the shop.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The thing hiding in the shadows growled. The clock behind the counter chimed. I jumped. The creature sprang out at me. My head bounced off the hard floor as the thing brought me down, and nasty fireworks of pain exploded in my vision. The smell of Nathan’s blood, usually a welcome, familiar perfume, filled my nostrils with a sour tang, and I gagged. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and my muscles tensed as I tried not to vomit.

The weight of the thing pressing down on me lifted. I opened my eyes in time to see it leap behind the counter, its noisy respirations nearly drowning out the repeated chimes of the clock.

“Nathan?” I shrieked, barely recognizing my own voice for the panic in it. I screamed his name again. There was no answer.

It became starkly, startlingly clear to me: Nathan couldn’t come to my aid. I was alone with this creature, and woefully unequipped to defend myself. A loud snarl sounded behind the counter. In a split second of sheer terror, I threw the ax that way. It hit the cash register and bounced to the floor, out of my reach. Alone. Woefully unequipped. And blindingly stupid.

I didn’t have long to worry about it. The creature leaped over the countertop and tackled

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me. My breath escaped in a loud whoosh, and I looked up through a haze of pain at the thing holding me down.

A man. A naked, bleeding man.

The creature hadn’t killed Nathan. The creature was Nathan. His face twisted in a feral snarl. His eyes were cold and devoid of recognition. He gripped a shard of blood-drenched glass in his fist. Bloody symbols marred his arms and chest, and I realized with a fresh wave of nausea that he’d carved them into his own flesh. He bent his head toward me, and I turned my face. He leaned so close his breath stirred the hair at my temple, and he sniffed me. With an audible snarl he raised the glass shard high above his head.

“Nathan, please, don’t,” I whispered, but I knew he’d never hear. This thing was not Nathan. It was a monster wearing my sire’s face.

He brought the shard down, and I flinched as it smashed to the floor beside my head. Warm, fresh blood sprayed across my face from his torn palm, and he gripped my chin and forced me to face him. He rasped in a language I didn’t understand, and pushed away from me.

Though I sat up quickly, he was gone before I could see him go. The only evidence that he’d been there were his bloody footprints on the stairs to the street. Trembling, I lifted my hand as if to reach for him. It was wet with his polluted blood. Usually, the smell of Nathan’s blood comforted me. Now, something had tainted it, and the stench made me sick. I covered my nose with the collar of my shirt as I crawled to the door. The broken glass on the floor pricked my arms, but I barely felt it. Like a zombie, I drifted up the stairs to the apartment, ignoring the blood dripping from my cut hands. My presence of mind returned enough for me to lock the door. Then I went to Nathan’s room and sat on the edge of his bed, clutching the cordless phone. I dialed automatically, my gaze fixed on a snag in the carpet near the edge of the runner.

“Harrison.” Max sounded chipper on the other end of the line. I wanted to be where he was, with no knowledge of what I’d just seen.

“It’s Carrie.” I swallowed hard, my tongue too thick for my mouth. “I need you.”

2

Familiar Territory

T he floor was cold, but the air was hot and too bright. Instinctively, Cyrus flinched from the sunlight touching his flesh.

His naked, human flesh.

How humiliating. He didn’t have the energy to rail against the indignation. Fatigue plagued his bones, and hunger gnawed his guts.

As a vampire, he’d equated his need for blood with hunger, but it had been far more than physical desire. Blood hunger was a need for emotional fulfillment, the urge to indulge the most primal drive of his kind. To kill. To control. Human hunger was sadistic in its simplicity. Purely physical agony he hadn’t felt in centuries. What had happened to him?

He winced as he sat up, his muscles screaming in protest, and he collapsed again. Around him, he could make out a cavernous darkness. Above him, a cone of sunlight streamed down, casting a circle of protection, as Dahlia would have called it. Dahlia. If she’d had

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anything to do with this he would rip her pretty little head off her fat shoulders, human or not. As soon as he recovered, he was certain his rage would give him strength enough to take on a whole army of vampire witches.

There were voices in the darkness, but he couldn’t see who they belonged to. Though his vision hadn’t cleared, it was far better than it had been when he’d been dead. Dead. Carrie. The pain of her betrayal came back with surprising ferocity. She’d refused his love, refused his blood. Then she’d plunged a knife through his heart without conscience. He could have almost admired that, if he hadn’t been on the losing end. Closing his eyes, he lay on the hard, cold floor. Marble, he thought. It was funny how things were coming back to him now, piece by piece. Perhaps that was proof of a soul. Memory of past lives. Dahlia had always insisted her soul had lived several lives as assorted notorious historical figures. No, he wouldn’t start believing in a soul now. It would make the whole situation that much more ridiculous. Like the unpleasant stretched sensation in his lower abdomen. He hadn’t felt that in months, but the meaning came back to him effortlessly.

“Hello?” he called to the voices in the darkness, though a crude American “Hey!” might have been more appropriate, considering what they’d done to him. “I need to go to the toilet.”

The voices bickered quietly among themselves, growing in intensity until someone shouted and broke the tension. “Well, then you go and get her!”

“Who?” Cyrus cried, but the noise from the darkness swallowed his words. He sincerely hoped the “her” in question wasn’t one of the pair of vampires that had pulled him back. One had possessed a voice that would put a banshee to shame, and the other had been so gruff and masculine he’d thought for a moment she was a man. A door scraped open, then slammed shut. A bloodcurdling scream of terror set off sparks of nostalgia in Cyrus’s heart, and the door screeched open again. The her in question was apparently terrified. It gave him little satisfaction, as he wasn’t terribly safe and secure himself.