Authors: Cynthia Garner
Tags: #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Science Fiction, #Erotica, #Literature & Fiction
Vampire's Hunger
Vampire’s Hunger
Book 1 of The Awakening Series
Cynthia Garner
New York Boston
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To the best critique group on the planet: You are my cheerleaders, my support, my sounding board and my friends. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To my editor, Latoya Smith: You always believe in me and I appreciate that more than words can say. Thank you for making my books the best they can be.
To my agent, Susan Ginsburg: You were the first to believe in me and my storytelling, and I’ll always be grateful. Thank you for your awesome support.
Finally, to my family: You love me and let me be what I am without apology. I love you all.
K
imber Treat, one of only a few necromancers licensed by the county of Summit, Ohio, pushed open the door to the Medical Examiner’s lab. “You’ve got a Lazarus for me?” she asked.
“Yep. Let me get ’im.” The Chief M.E. swung open the heavy metal door of the cooler, went inside, and within a few seconds wheeled a sheet-covered corpse into the room. As he did, Kimber took stock of her surroundings. A stenographer perched on a stool nearby, her machine in front of her, fingers poised over the keys. Two burly security guards stood ready, just in case. When the investigation into a murder ran cold and the cops had nothing else to go on, they called in a necromancer.
Most of the time the deceased was revived, questions were asked and answered, and the newly revived was put back to his or her eternal rest. But every once in a while the reaction of the deceased to suddenly being cognizant again was confusion that quickly morphed into frenzied panic. The guards were a necessary precaution.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Homicide detective Carson Bishop moved to stand next to her. He loosened his tie and flicked open the top button of his white shirt, then shoved his fists into the front pockets of his slacks. He tipped his chin toward the sheet-covered body on the metal gurney the Chief M.E. placed in front of her. “Half his face is gone.”
She glanced at him then looked at the M.E. “He can talk, though, right? His jaws are intact?”
The older man nodded. “Yep. Most of the damage is to the upper half of his face.”
“Then there shouldn’t be a problem. Go ahead.”
The M.E. folded the sheet down to the collarbones. “Poor fella. This is what taking a gunshot to the face does to ya.”
Kimber took a bracing breath before she looked down. Dear God. She’d been around a lot of corpses—with her job there was no way around it—but she’d never seen anything quite this bad. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it down and backed up a few steps.
Bishop’s hand came out to steady her. “You okay?”
She nodded. She had a job to do, and the sooner she did it the sooner she could get out of there. “I’m fine.” She moved forward and rested one hand on the corpse’s shoulder. Her palm tingled. Good. Some vitality remained, which let her know this man had been dead only a couple of days at the most. If he’d been dead longer than that, well… With each day that passed after death, the energy dissipated more and more. Then it took a major blood sacrifice—a goat or several chickens—to reunite the soul with the body for even a few minutes. There was awesome power in pain and blood.
But with this poor guy, she could summon his soul by using a relatively small amount, so she’d use her own. Then they could find out who had put him in this state. “What’s his name?” she asked.
The M.E. consulted the file in his hand. “Richard Whitcomb.”
Kimber wondered who he’d been, what he’d planned to do with his life before someone took it from him. There wouldn’t be time to find out. There would only be time to help him through his initial confusion and find out who killed him, if he even knew.
She withdrew the knife she kept sheathed at the small of her back. The hilt was a familiar, comforting weight in her hand. After broadening her stance, she sliced across her inner forearm, a long but not very deep cut, just below a faint row of thin scars. Even though the laceration was shallow, she sucked in her breath at the sharp sting. She walked a circle around the gurney, allowing a miniscule amount of her blood to drip on the floor. Once she’d completed her circuit, she stood inside the circle of power and let her blood drip onto the face of the dead man, making sure it covered his mouth before wiping the blade on the sheet. She slid the knife back into its scabbard. She’d make sure to sterilize it once she got home.
The M.E. handed her a gauze pad and a strip of medical tape. She secured the gauze over her wound and placed her palm on the shoulder of the corpse again. Called by the life essence in her blood, the mists of the netherworld—that shadowy place where all life began and ended—began to stir. So far, so good. Kimber started to chant. “Hear me, Richard Whitcomb. I call you from beyond. I call you to journey from the Unseen to the Seen. By blood and magic I summon you. Arise, Richard. Arise. Come to me now.” She always made sure to use the singular when she summoned someone from the dead. She wanted to make sure she was the only one who controlled them. She’d seen firsthand how horrific a summoning could become when the dearly departed had been brought back by someone using “us” and “we” instead of “me” and “I.”
She’d never make that mistake again.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck lifted. The magic of the Unseen rippled. The soul was almost reunited with the body. Just one more push should do it. “Richard, come to me. Arise, Richard. Arise!”
The palm of her hand tingled where it rested on his shoulder. He was reanimating. “Just a few more minutes,” she murmured.
A surge of power flowed from the corpse up her arm, the energy of the Unseen coursing through her like an electrical charge, making her wince. What the hell? That wasn’t normal. She could usually feel the Unseen but it had never reached for her like this before.
Though her instinctive reaction was to shake her hand, she kept it where it was. But she did take a step back, ready to break contact if she needed to, and thereby severing the conduit of her magic with that of the Unseen.
“Everything okay?” Bishop asked. He took a step closer to the gurney, hand on the gun at his waist, even though she knew that
he
knew bullets wouldn’t stop this kind of zombie. Only the one who summoned him, through her magic and force of will, could compel an animated corpse to return to his eternal slumber. He could pump this guy full of bullets and as long as Kimber held sway over him, he’d keep right on coming. Headless, armless, legless, he’d keep on trying until the necromancer returned the essence that animated him to the Unseen.
“Yeah. Yes,” she said more forcefully. She had a reputation to uphold. This was a little unusual, but nothing she couldn’t handle. She’d been raising the dead ever since her power had manifested when she hit puberty. Almost twenty years now. Granted, eight of those years she’d been under the guidance of a mentor, but still, she had a lot of experience. More than most.
And right now she needed to bear down and put that experience to use. She focused her ability and drew on the Unseen. Another strong wave crashed into her but she maintained her contact with the dead man. “Richard Whitcomb, I summon you by blood and magic. Arise!”
A shudder worked its way through the corpse then pale lids flew open. Or, rather, a pale lid. The eye on the ruined side of his face was gone. Equally pallid lips parted on a groan. His one eye flicked back and forth. Frown lines creased his brow. When Kimber lightly squeezed his shoulder, his gaze skittered to her face.
“It’s all right,” she soothed. “Richard, you’re safe. You can’t be hurt anymore.”
His mouth worked but no sound came out. His eye widened and he jerked against the metal table.
“Richard, it’s all right,” Kimber said again. She’d learned long ago that she needed to keep using the deceased’s name; otherwise they took a much longer time remembering who they were and what they’d been doing right before they died. “Richard, look at me. Focus on me, Richard.”
His head turned and that filmy blue eye fastened on her. His mouth continued to open and close; only now low, gruff grunts came out.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “You’re safe. Be calm.” She felt some of the tension ease from the cold muscle beneath her palm. “That’s it.” She leaned closer. “Your name is Richard Whitcomb. Do you remember?”
He bobbed his head.
“Good.” Kimber was aware on some level of the people around her, but she kept her attention on the dead man. He’d been human, once, maybe he still was, and that meant he deserved her respect. And some dignity. She grabbed the sheet just as it started to slide off to one side, and made sure his nudity remained hidden.
Confusion was still evident in his gaze. She needed to give him time to realize he was dead. Sometimes they got it right away. Sometimes it took a few minutes.
