The Dracove (The Prophecy series) (14 page)

“Business?” She opened her eyes, looking a little startled by his words.

“Aye.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have any plans.”

“There’s a small thing I have to take care of I’d forgotten about. It won’t take long, I promise.”
Control it
.

“I’ll be waiting then.” She slipped her business card with her mobile number on it into his hand.

He smiled, gave a quick nod, and walked away. He sat in his car with his stereo turned up to distract his hunger, and watched her leave.

¯
“I’ve searched through time, just to find you…”
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played on the radio. He smiled at the lyrics and turned it up some more. The painting in the back stared at him from the rear-view mirror.
Damn, that could be me
. He laughed, pulled out of the lot, and drove home.

Home
. . . it was such a strange word to him now, something he hadn’t really given much thought to since he left Ireland. He missed her greatly. Missed her lush lands and rivers, and the sweet smell of the crisp air after the rain. Now he lived in a state where it rained two weeks out of the year. During the summer months, the sun beat down onto the desert until almost nine o’clock in the evening.
Good thing the sun can’t kill me
. As the year neared winter, the sun would set around seven, which was about what time it was.

He instinctually searched the shadows, always expecting an attack at any moment—a hard habit to break—but slayers would never think to look for him here. They still had trouble with the idea that vampyres could daywalk . . . those slayers who knew, anyway.

Fledglings, on the other hand, were difficult to convince of the fallacies regarding the sun. It was nothing like movies and books portrayed. He was fine with their beliefs because then only he and a few others could enjoy themselves in the world of light. Quite a few non-believers refused to step outside for fear they would burst into flames, and he laughed at them and their ignorance. After all, who was he to convince them to walk to their death?

Grant couldn’t imagine living an eternity in darkness. For one thing, he loved the Arizona sunset with all its brilliant colors. Each day was a blank canvas. When evening came around, he watched the colors appear—brushstrokes of yellow, orange, red, magenta and purple streaked the sky, usually in that very order. There were so many colors, and they changed constantly. By the time he found them all, the sun would settle into the horizon and the sky cloaked in blue/black velvet, which had already begun to happen.

He pulled onto the circular driveway and stopped in front of the entry. It was a nice sized home in Paradise Valley. A small part of the reason he rented the place was the quietness of the neighborhood.

He pulled the portrait from the backseat of the car and carried the painting inside. He stopped and looked around in the large living room. There wasn’t much furniture yet. He needed to find a good spot for his recent purchase—one where he’d see it every day to remind him.

“Hmm . . . maybe.” He set it down next to the fireplace, where he thought about placing candles inside the structure, since he’d likely never actually burn wood in it. He arched his brow and smiled, agreeing with his decision. He strolled down the hall to the bedroom, softly singing the song he’d heard in the car . . . .

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“I’ve searched through time, just to find you…”
¯

Grant abruptly dropped to his knees and gripped the sides of his head, clutching the hair. The feeling so intense, he couldn’t control the change. He thought he’d had it under control. It wasn’t usually so painful when his hunger struck. Not this soon after feeding, and he didn’t need to feed every day. He didn’t understand. His yells bounced off the blank walls and traveled through the empty house. Pain struck him again. He screamed and doubled over. It was time to do something he didn’t want to do, but he had no damn choice.

It was time for the hunt to begin.

Grant didn’t hunt the way he used to anymore. The ritual tradition just didn’t mean anything to him since he was alone. Cianán would call it going rogue. Grant really didn’t give a shit what the Master thought.

Generally, he’d hunt for sustenance and that was all he needed. It wasn’t something to be done every night, which was why he had trouble recalling the hunt before Rob. Sometimes he’d blackout during a hunt. He hated it and didn’t understand why, but he had no control over it. He did learn, however, killing his prey was an option, not a necessity. Unfortunately, he didn’t realize that option until after the innocent girl whose life he took many years past.

Taking only what one needed was difficult when one experienced the
fretta di morte
. Once one tasted the sweet nectar of life the moment the victim died, it was difficult to relinquish. The taste had quite a unique essence to it.

Not feeding often could become painful for him if he waited too long. He didn’t understand why he dropped to his knees screaming earlier. He’d had such a long run without a spell and he’d fed the night before. Sometimes he could go at least two weeks without feeding and nothing happened, other than the bloodsong growing in his ears until it was unbearable.

To appease the bloodsong, he only searched out those he felt didn’t deserve to live in the world the gods had given to them. A world the gods abandoned long ago. He took those who had abandoned the gods and took up arms with the likes of Crom or the devil. The planet may have become a living hell, such as his life had become over the last six hundred years, but he saw the beauty the gods created, and sometimes beyond it.

He saw that beauty in Kylie earlier. In the way she walked. The way she smelled. In the way she looked at everything around her with those beautiful green eyes. He could tell she held a similar view of the world and saw its hidden beauties. But why wouldn’t she? She was an artist like him. He sighed and wondered if Kylie was the reason for his sudden craving.

As much as he disliked his way of life, he enjoyed the hunt on few occasions. It was something difficult to get used to at first. He disliked getting blood-drunk, although it felt incredible. But sometimes the
fretta di morte
could be overpowering. When he was drunk, so to speak, he wasn’t alert, and he should be at all times. It was the reason the hunt was done in a flock. He’d made a mistake the other night and it almost blew his cover. Even if Robert hadn’t bumped into him, he still would’ve followed him out to his car after seeing the man’s interaction with Kylie. It surprised him he didn’t find Cianán stalking the bastard as well. However, he couldn’t allow his emotions to get to him again. He couldn’t be sure the slayers wouldn’t search for him, even in the desert. One never knew where they’d turn up. He’d never hear them approach during the
fretta di morte
. They could easily overtake him in that state.

Slayers, he would kill without thinking twice about it, if in the right frame of mind. It was self-defense, really. He hadn’t had one find him in a very long time. In fact, he ran into the last one, and she was in search of another—Cianán, to be precise.
Crazy bitch.
But, it was better to be safe than sorry, even if he lived in the Valley of the Sun.

The cold wind rushed over his face and whipped her fingers through his sleek black hair. He closed his eyes for a moment; enjoying the soothing sensation it brought him.

His mind drifted back to a time when nothing bothered him. A time when no one chased him, no one feared him, and he was happy with his love. A time that seemed so long ago, and yet, like he was there yesterday. He needed to get back to his homeland, to cleanse his soul, if he still had one. He really didn’t know whether he possessed a soul or not. And he would not leave Kylie until he found out what Cianán was up to—

A loud bang brought him from his thoughts. He scanned the streets below. A man shot another man, robbed him, and ran down a nearby alley.

They make it so easy
. Grant shook his head and swooped down after him.

He landed quietly in an alley opposite the one the thief ran down, and he jogged over to the man lying in the street. He knelt beside him. Maybe he could help, maybe he couldn’t. It didn’t matter; he could already smell it. The human’s eyes were open, but there was no life behind them. He’d been shot in the heart. Grant shook his head and wondered if the man had a family. Sorrow swelled in his chest for them. He looked at the man lying in a pool of his own blood, his nice business suit bloodied and dirty from a scuffle. The scent called to him, but he wouldn’t take it. Not here, in the middle of the street. Someone might see him. And it wasn’t right, feeding on the poor man.

Hunger streaked through him, making it difficult to resist the spilled blood.

“At least you can die.” He looked up from the man lying in the street toward the alley where the other had run. He quickly scanned the surrounding area. Not a soul in sight. Grant stood, and noticed the blood on his hand. He stepped over the body licked the blood from his fingers, and headed down the alley.

With the taste of fresh blood on his tongue, his vision changed and his fangs grew. His long black coat flapped in a gust of wind that kicked up around him. The shadows enveloped him. His eyes glowed with a bright blue hue, though all he saw was red—warmth.

He stalked his prey into an abandoned warehouse, and hid within the shadows upstairs. The thief rifled through the wallet he’d stolen, dropping unwanted items to the dusty floorboards. When the man pulled a few bills from the wallet, he yelled.

“
Chingada
!” His voice echoed and he scanned the area, panic striking his features in the dim light.

Grant felt his desperation, heard his thoughts,
May God forgive me
.

The thief drew in a deep breath, and looked to the floor at the mess he’d made. He picked up the credit cards and pocketed them. He’d only have a short amount of time to use them. He picked up the license and, along with the wallet, placed them in a crack in the wall. He turned to leave and stepped on something small and insignificant to him.

Grant let out a low whistle.

The thief searched the shadows, but he found nothing. He shook his head, and headed back the way he came in. Grant whistled once more before he could get to the stairs. Grant watched the thief attempt to focus on the darkness. The man’s eyes widened with shock and fear. The thief quickly drew on Grant and pointed the shaking gun barrel at him.

“Do you always kill for a mere few dollars?” Grant nodded toward the multi-paned broken windows littering the wall near the thief. He stepped forward.

“Stop!”

He stopped and tilted his head to the side. “I’m just curious as to why?”

“Cause I fuckin’ felt like it,
puto
.”

“Interesting lie.” Grant smiled. “Didn’t find what you were looking for? You seem to be upset.”

“Maybe you have what I’m looking for, eh?” He slowly walked toward him, gun pointing at Grant’s head. “That’s an expensive coat you’re wearing.”

“And perhaps you have what I’m looking for.”