Sire (4 page)

Caitlin opened her eyes. Liam was crouched on the edge of the roof, looking at the street below. Apparently heights didn't bother him at all. Caitlin was afraid to even get near the edge. "Right about what?" she asked.

"I'm going to ruin you," he said without looking up.

Caitlin took a step backwards, and tried to casually take her cell phone out of her pocket. "What do you mean?"

Liam walked toward her. "You know exactly what I mean, Caitlin." He reached up and touched her cheek; Caitlin flinched away. "You're beautiful, you know. You might be the most beautiful girl I've seen in this city, and I've seen a lot of beautiful girls. But it can't last. It never lasts, no matter what anyone tells you."

Caitlin was back peddling toward the door now. "Look, I don't know what you think is going to happen tonight, but I told you, I just wanted to look around the club. Actually, I didn't even want to do that, I just wanted to get my friends back stage."

"Poor girl," Liam said, almost to himself. "You still think you have a choice in all of this."

Caitlin turned and ran, jumped down the stairs, and yanked on the heavy door. It didn't move. She pulled again and again, throwing all of her weight into it, but it it didn't even budge.

"It's locked, Caitlin," Liam said. He descended the stairs slowly, one at a time. He was waving a ring of keys at her.

"I'll scream," Caitlin said.

"Yes, you will. Eventually." He reached out, and Caitlin turned away, but he only took the phone from her. "And you won't need this," he said, and crushed it in one hand.

For a moment, fear froze her. A single tear welled up in her eye. But then she hit the door, gently, with one hand. Hit it again, a bit harder. Then she turned and slammed it with both fists. "Help! Help me! Help!"

Liam took hold of her wrists, and turned her around. "Look me in the eye, Caitlin."

She did, and the world swam around her. Liam's eyes were as deep as Michael's. Deeper. And she had the same sense of losing herself, of drowning in the pools of his eyes. She wanted to scream, to fight, to hit him and tear the door open and run away, but her body wouldn't cooperate.

"That's a good girl," he said. "That necklace. Is it silver?"

"Yes," Caitlin said. She was terrified, but the words came out mechanically.

"Take it off."

She felt her hands move up to her throat, felt them undo the clasp. Felt them drop the silver chain on the ground.

"Good girl." He ran his fingers gently over her now-bare neck.

"What, what do you want from me?"

Crimson circles appeared around his irises, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Everything."

And then the circles expanded, filling the whites of his eyes with blood, and his irises became as black as his soul. The color drained from his face, leaving it as white as death. His teeth became sharp points, and the canines lengthened into gleaming fangs.

He lunged at her, and she felt his teeth tearing into her flesh.

Caitlin tried to scream, but her body wasn't listening to her any more.

Chapter Two

Alexis snapped her cell phone shut. "Nothing," she said. Her lips were pursed, and her eyebrows were knit together. "Where the hell did she go?"

"She probably took off with that guy. Hell,
I
almost wanted to take off with him. The guy was hot." Evan said.

Alexis raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because that raises some interesting possibilities."

Evan cracked a smile. "I like to keep people guessing."

"But,
if
you were to wander off to have hot, sweaty mansex, you'd at least call before you ditched me, right?"

"Hell, I'd invite you."

"That is the correct answer. And apparently a courtesy Caitlin doesn't feel the need to extend." Alexis made a frustrated little grunting noise. "Dammit, I want to get out of here. Where the hell
is
she?"

"Look, she's not your responsibility. The college runs a bus here until three AM. It comes by every half hour. She might have to sit in someone's vomit, but she'll make it home."

Alexis looked around, trying to decide what to do. Finally she said, "oh, all right. Are you guys ready?"

The band had finished, and there were people scurrying across the stage, tearing it down. But there was still recorded music playing, and people out on the floor. Bethany and Garret were out there, too, Bethany with her arms around his neck, and Garret with his hands on her waist. They were staring into each other's eyes.

"We'll take the vomit bus home," he said without looking. "You guys go ahead."

"Everyone's abandoning us," Evan said. He was grinning.

"I feel so alone," Alexis said, smiling back.

"Hungry?"

"God no. I just want to get home."

There was a lot more room in the front seat, which was nice. Evan turned on some music—he was playing the Blue Leaves on his iPod—and Alexis rolled down the window. She closed her eyes while the air cooled her, and ran her fingers over Evan's leg. She felt him tense slightly, and she smiled, dragged her fingers a little higher, and then pulled her hand away.

Ten minutes later, they were back on campus. They were even able to park close to their building, because so many people were still out at the clubs.

Alexis casually took Evan's hand as they walked to their dorm, and smiled when he didn't pull away. They stopped outside the main entrance. Alexis put her hands behind her head and stretched, hoping that the movement was sufficiently languid. From the way Evan's eyes traveled over her body, she was pretty sure it was. "God, I feel so gross. I need a shower," she said.

Evan pulled his eyes back up to her face and pulled his damp shirt away from his skin. "I know what you mean. I'm going to go hose myself down."

"Want some company?"

Evan blinked and licked his lips and moved his mouth, but no sounds came out. Alexis pushed her chest up a little, shook her shoulders just slightly, and raised her eyebrow. "Well?" she asked.

Evan gave a nervous laugh. "Very funny." He looked down at the ground, and then out at the quad, and then at the light hanging overhead. "Well, thanks for coming out with me, um, with us tonight. I had a really good time."

Alexis deflated a little, but gave it one more shot. "Me, too. We should do it again some time." She stood up on her toes and leaned in to kiss him, but Evan got his hip in between them, and gave her an awkward hug.

"Goodnight, Alexis. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure, that's way better than seeing me in the shower," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"I said I'll see you in the morning."

"Great, goodnight." He smiled and waved, still a bit awkwardly, and swiped himself into the building.

Alexis watched the door close. "Are you kidding me? Do you need a written invitation? A map? A sign that says open for business?"

She made a face and dug her cell phone out. No calls, no messages. She sent Caitlin one more text:
We're back on campus. Worried about u. Call me.

"I hope she's all right," Alexis said, then went inside to shower.

***

Caitlin's shirt was ruined.

That shouldn't have bothered her, really. What should have bothered her was all the blood.

Her injury really wasn't that bad, all things considered. The vampire—Jesus, the
vampire
—had bit her on the shoulder, not the neck, and even though it was messy, it wasn't enough to really hurt her. So, bright side?

The wound was ragged, but not very deep. Caitlin moved her arm, and it felt all right. She experimented with moving her shoulder around, but that made her wince. She had hand-shaped bruises on her arms, her hip hurt—probably from being dumped on the floor—and she had a kink in her neck, but again, it wasn't too bad. Not compared to what could have happened.

God, what
could
have happened. A tidal wave of terrible images rushed over her, courtesy of all the stupid horror movies, TV shows, and news reports she'd ever watched. She pictured herself lying in an alley somewhere, her eyes dull and lifeless, her mouth hanging open, a trickle of blood running from one corner. She pictured the swarm of police officers, taking notes, snapping photographs, and tsk-tsking her fate. She pictured her mother, distraught, inconsolable, damning the day they let her go off to college alone, and her father, trying to comfort her while holding in his own rage. She felt like she was going to be sick.

She buried her head between her knees and forced herself to breathe. Losing control wouldn't do anyone any good, least of all herself. If she was going to get through this, if she was going to escape, she needed to keep her head straight. She could panic when she was safe at home.

Okay, she needed to take stock of her situation. The room was huge, nearly fifty feet on each side, and empty. There was no furniture and nothing hung on the walls, just faded outlines and fittings where decorations had once hung. A doorway with no door led to a large bathroom that would have been lavish if it hadn't been covered in dust. There was a fireplace, still littered with cold ashes. The windows were huge and covered in metal filigree. Moonlight streamed in.

The door was made of ancient oak, the kind of door you'd expect to find in a very old, stately house, and of course it was locked tight. She tried the handle, which didn't even hint at moving, then shook it a bit harder, then slammed her hand against it. She let out a frustrated scream and punched the stubborn thing, but only succeeded in splitting her knuckles open. She leaned against the wall, unsurprised but still defeated, and fought back tears.

She went to the windows next, and was surprised when they swung open easily. Her heart leapt a little at the thought of climbing to safety or calling for help, but that was crazy. She was on the third floor of a giant house—a mansion, really—and trying to jump would gain her nothing but a broken leg. And she was in the middle of nowhere; trees stretched out as far as she could see, and there wasn't a house or road in sight. She pulled her head back inside, walked to the corner, and sank to the floor.

She sat there for half an hour. She distracted herself by counting the tiles on the floor and tracing the patterns in the marble, and by daydreaming of heroic rescues, the police crashing through the door and rushing in to rescue her, leading Liam, whatever he was, off in chains, his evil eyes and snarling fangs nowhere to be seen.

And then she started to cry.

She cried because no one knew where she was, because no one even knew she was missing. Because no one was coming to rescue her. Because she was trapped in a real-life horror movie, locked in a mansion in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a monster in leather pants to come and turn her into a snack. Because she had no idea how she was going to make it out alive.

So she cried great, heaving sobs, the kind of tears you cry when everything is hopeless and tears are the only thing you have left. She had cried like that twice before: once, when she was three and her puppy Rascal had been hit by a car, and again two summers ago, when her grandmother had passed away.

She cried and cried, tears blurring her vision, snot running down her nose, throat closed off, but no one heard and no one came. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep.

She didn't know how long she lay there, but the moon was still high in the sky when she woke up, so it couldn't have been that long. She used the bathroom and wiped her hands on her pants because there were no towels, then sat back down in her corner. Her stomach growled, and she realized that it had been a very long time since she'd eaten. She tried to push the thought away, because it didn't seem likely that she'd be able to do anything about it any time soon.

Eventually, when she just couldn't sit still anymore, she got up and started pacing around the room. She tried the door again, just in case it had unlocked itself, and leaned out the window, just in case someone was outside. Then she started walking back and forth across the cold marble floor.

She had to get out. Had to. She still wasn't entirely sure what Liam was, or at least wasn't ready to admit it to herself, but she was certain that she didn't want to be here when he came back.

She leaned out the window again, and looked around. There was a vine-covered trellis about a dozen feet away, stretching all the way to the ground, and it looked like it could possibly support her weight. And there was a ledge running around the house, maybe three inches wide, that she could possibly stand on. If she could balance on the ledge and make her way to the trellis, maybe she could climb down and get away ...

There was a whole lot of "possibly" and maybe" in that plan. It was insane. Suicidal, even. Caitlin
hated
heights, absolutely hated them, and the ledge wasn't nearly wide enough. And even if it was, the trellis didn't look like the strongest thing in the world, either. If she didn't fall off the ledge and break her neck, she'd rip the trellis apart, fall, and still break her neck. Either way, it was a stupid idea.

And it was her only chance at escape. Caitlin took a deep breath, bit her lip, and stepped up onto the windowsill.

She shouldn't have looked down, she
knew
she shouldn't have looked down, but she just couldn't help herself. She immediately regretted it. The ground seemed a thousand feet away, and it rushed up at her, sending her head spinning. She grabbed the window to steady herself, closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and tried to force herself to relax.

Pressing against the wall as tightly as she could, and hanging onto the edge of the window like a lifeline, Caitlin took one small step toward the trellis. Then another. And another.

Soon, she was stretched out on the ledge, her left arm straining to keep hold of the windowsill, her right arm reaching desperately for the trellis. She was so close, barely a foot away, but it felt like miles. She leaned right, her fingertips barely staying in contact with the window, and willed her arm to be long enough to grab the trellis, but it was still too far away. She made a frustrated, frightened noise, and let her hand fall back to her side.