chapter FIFTEEN
“Who the hell are these people? I want more. Where’d they come from. I want to know every God damned thing about them!” Brian Schemellie sat tense on the edge of the chair. Steve, his right hand man, stood behind him with tweezers and antiseptic in hand. “Son of a bitch!” He growled as Steve poured the burning liquid over his torn back.
“Whoever they are, we’d better find them and soon, Steve said.”
For the next hour, he painstakingly picked tiny pieces of glass from his skin. Another of the men paced behind him. “It really f*cked you up, man.”
Brian cut his gaze at him, the thoughts about to purge from his mouth vile. He drew in a haggard breath, blew it out. “I want you to find out everything you can on this man. It’s got to be the same one from before. The last one. I don’t know who’s with him but find out. Somebody’s got to know him. Where the hell is that other one we stowed away?”
“Buried in the basement in a wooden box, but--”
“Get him out. Revive him. Do whatever you got to do, but find out who this f*cker is.”
“But the other one’s gone boss. I was trying to tell ya,” Paul said and took a step back. “Got out some kinda way.” He hunched a shoulder.
Brian screamed a throat full of explicit words, stood, grabbed his shirt from the arm of the chair and stormed from the room. He held up a hand and silenced Angela when she opened her mouth. “As God is my witness, I will kill you with my bare hands if you utter one word.”
He slammed the door behind him. He paced to the street and back. Pain rippled through his muscles. He’d stopped counting the pieces of glass and buckshot when the agony permeated his mind. Whoever this man was he was going to pay and pay dearly. They’d lost two people with this last episode. Not to the death but to the cause. Sure it was all right when they had the upper hand, but now that the fight had resistance they ran like scared puppies. He kicked the newel post on the side of the porch and walked back into the house.
His gaze scanned the people standing in the room. What a haggard group. Bandages adorned heads, arms, and faces. Soot and smoke covered the rest. Oh, yeah. These people would pay for this. Who did they think they were?
* * *
Denver hadn’t spoken to him since he’d awakened. She was dressed and sitting on the opposite side of the room in front of the window, her face void of all emotion. He tried to read her but one glance at him and she shut it down as tight as a drum.
“Are you going to give me the silent treatment all day?”
She didn’t answer, but instead, lifted the cup of coffee to her lips and took a tentative sip.
“Denver.” Dragging the blanket around his waist, he stepped over to her, touched her shoulder and squeezed. “You know I’m right.”
She rolled her shoulder to remove his hand, stood and stormed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
“Shit.” Damn it to hell and back. He knew he was right.
She could get angry and she could fight him as much as she could but no way was he going to let her die because she was too stubborn to see what was right in front of her face. By God, she was a vamp. Vampires need blood to sustain life. Sure, she’d lived an eternity on pig and cow blood but it wasn’t the same. He saw the difference in her eyes, felt it in the beat of her heart, the texture and scent of her skin. She radiated energy and power after feeding from him.
At first he thought it was the rush but then evidence was there. Each time she tasted him her eyes glowed, became brighter. Her muscles were toner, her skin smoother. She wanted to ignore the changes that were happening because he knew they frightened her. She didn’t want to understand why she felt so much better.
Reed knew she’d held the answers deep down toward the core of who she was. However, now it was surfacing and he wasn’t going to let her bury it again. She’d worked hard at bringing light to his eyes and he was going to reciprocate, whether she wanted it or not.
There was nothing better than human blood, and if it meant him losing every drop coursing through his body, he’d freely give it to her to make her whole.
He moved over to the bathroom, slapped his flattened hand on the door and waited for her to open it. She didn’t. “Open the door, Denver. Let’s talk about this.” He knocked again. “Open the damn door!”
She swung the door open, pushed past him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“The hell there isn’t.”
Denver moved over to the dresser and tugged the drawer open. She started pulling out the few items she had and stuffed them in her tote.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“Can’t let you do that.”
“Try to stop me.”
“Watch what you ask for.”
“We’ve danced that waltz before, remember?”
He walked over to the bed, tugged his pants up his legs, and slid his feet in his sneakers. His anger so palpable he could taste it at the back of his throat. He dragged a hand over his head, paused at the nape of his neck and massaged the tight muscles. His gaze trailed her as she moved around the room, barely touching him as she passed. He understood it, but he hated it. For the first time in his life he needed someone… her.
“Look, Reed.” Denver stopped, stared up into his eyes. “I can’t do this.” She waved her hands in the air, accentuating her words. “I’m sorry.” She turned and took a step away.
“What is wrong with you?” His voice raised an octave. He grabbed her arm.
Denver, flinched, ducked.
The look in her eyes was just another tear in his heart, a slice of agony in his gut. “Did you think I’d hit you?” He released her arm, took a step back and moved away from her. “Hurt you?” Not ever in his life could he do that, would he do that. “Is that what you think of me?” He stared at her, waiting for an acceptable answer, knowing there wouldn’t be one.
“Reed.” Denver’s eyes filled. She took a step closer to him.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. He grabbed his shirt, tugged it over his head and slammed the door behind him.
* * *
“What have I done?” Denver swiped at the tears streaming down her face. God, she hated it when she cried. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”
She kicked the bed before flopping onto it and burying her face in the crook of her arm. She’d never seen him that angry, at least not with her. Her mind floated back to the expression on his face, in his eyes. Anger. Hurt. Remorse. The muscle in his jaw pulsed to the point where it was visible. If only she could take back her words, what she was thinking. But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. As harsh as they were, she meant every word, or at least she thought she did.
Something had to give. She’d stay and finish the fight for Laura’s sake. For all of the Lycan and vamps these monsters mutilated and slaughtered, but then she’d leave, find her way to another life. She’d grieve her loss of Reed, their bond, their lo--. No, she didn’t want to say those words. It wasn’t love. She’s never found that and knew she never would. What they had was lust, final answer. Now if she could convince herself.
She sucked in a deep breath, sat up and scrubbed her hands across her face in an attempt to remove the tears streaking down her skin. It didn’t work. They continued to flow from her eyes.
Reed’s words permeated her mind. She knew what he said was true. She knew sometimes they were born, sometimes made, and sometimes cursed. She knew she was born a vamp but wasn’t sure it wasn’t a curse as well. Why did she hate herself so much? Why was she taking it out on Reed? The bond they were forging was strong. She couldn’t do it again, fall into the abyss of blood lust. She’d promised herself a long time ago.
But there was something different about Reed. Something she’s never encountered before and that made him dangerous. It made her afraid. He could, if she allowed it, become addictive. Who was she trying to convince. She knew he already had. Her soul belonged to him. She wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for his ambrosia. Food of the Gods.
One wishful taste and her heart soared through the clouds, her mind floated to places it had never ventured, her body rejoiced. With each drop her body, her blood, her muscles grew stronger, more resilient. She’d seen it before and thought she’d pushed it away, out of her mind. But it came back with a vengeance. Now it was on the fore front, the affects of human blood, Reed’s blood, whether she wanted it there or not. One drop of Reed’s blood on the tip of her tongue and she’d lost her mind. She had to do what she had to do to get it back. If only she knew what that was.
* * *
Reed had been walking for two hours. The only sound was his feet pounding against the pavement. He needed to put some space between himself and Denver. The anger that bubbled up into his chest was like a steel band, squeezing the life out of him. No, he wasn’t mad that she wanted out. Who wouldn’t? God, did she really think he’d harm her, hurt her? She’d become his lifeline. Nothing mattered to him anymore other than her, her safety, and her life. The battle he’d forged with the enemy even took second place to what he felt for her.
He drew in a haggard breath, pumped the muscles in his legs and took off in a sprint. He needed to run. He needed to run off the energy pouring out of his pores. Only then his mind would be free to think of what he needed to do, how he was going to walk out of her life when it was over. He knew he would have to let her go. He couldn’t bear the pain he’d caused her already. No way would he bring her more. When it was over he’d let her walk away, out of his life, because he was going to walk away from her as well. He couldn’t live with causing her any more pain.
He slowed his run, gathered his surroundings in his head. Time floated by on a wave of disgust. Nothing worked. Nothing dragged the anger out and he was angry. Angry with himself, everyone. He needed to shift, knowing the force of it would heal him, make him stronger. Stronger. It was such an objective word. He’d accused Denver of not being as strong as she could be, of letting herself grow weak. Hadn’t he done the same thing? Hadn’t he accepted his weaknesses for what they were, or for what he thought they were?
Reed sprinted toward a wooded area he’d spied earlier. The desire to feed surged throughout his body, to taste animal blood on his tongue, taste the fear before the death, the energy of the hunt was what he needed.
Reed scanned the area, sniffed the air to make sure no human was near. Immediately he took off in a sprint, his body moving at a determined wolf’s pace. He leapt over a deep ditch, felt his muscles tear, contort, reform and landed on four paws. The thick black pelt coating his body was welcomed with a heady howl. The escalated heart beat and heat escaping his body brought a peace to his soul he’d almost forgotten. He did what came natural. He ran.
He leapt over toppled trees, discarded trash cans and streams of water. The faint rustling of a bush captured his attention. He stopped, crouched low to assess what lay ahead. A rabbit loped out from beneath the low branches. He wanted more. He needed the anger of the hunt. He started running again, remembering his teen years when his father took him hunting. Deep in the forest where the really wild animals lived, where no one would see them bathed in the blood of the kill.
The large startled eyes of a deer stared at him before scrambling off towards the thicker brush. Reed gave chase. Yes! This was what he needed. Using a falling tree as leverage, he leaped and grabbed the doe around the neck and brought it down. His mouth seeking purchase on its neck, he snapped it without difficulty. A second later his teeth ripped away flesh and muscle. The bitter wild taste saturated his senses. Lifting his head to the sky, he howled and it felt good.
He ran some more. Faster. Harder. In an instant, he realized if he could he would stay in this feral state for the remainder of his life, but knew that wasn’t possible. Panting, he laid upon a bed of leaves and bathed himself. The thrill ebbed into sleep. An hour later he glanced up and didn’t recognize his surroundings. This was dangerous.
He stood staring at buildings, abandoned cars and garbage. He glanced at his hands… his hands, not knowing when he shifted back or how long he’d been walking. Reed glanced down at his body. Thankful he wasn’t nude but didn’t know where he’d retrieved the dirty shirt or pants he now wore. He slid his gaze back up to the obstacles stretching out in front of him.
His mind so occupied he could’ve walked right into the arms of danger. Dark, shadowed alleys blanketed him on both sides. Old forgotten garbage reeked throughout his nostrils. The hiss of a feral cat prickled the hairs at the nape of his neck. Jumbled voices laughed out but it wasn’t a friendly laugh.
Trouble brewed. Just what he needed. Reed slowed his pace to a casual walk. He tried to ignore the three men hovering near the entrance of the alley, but couldn’t. He made eye contact, bared teeth, a low growl escaped his throat for only his ears to hear.
One, at least six feet, towered over another. However short the second man, he made it up in muscle. He resembled a line backer. The third man was scrawny with beady eyes that looked dead, probably from years of drug or alcohol abuse, maybe both. He was the one to be careful of. The wasted mind tended to be more dangerous more crazed and their mind didn’t allow them to care. The smaller of the men pushed away from the wall and took a step toward Reed. He probably should have walked away but his body refused. He stood his ground.
“What cha staring at, punk?” The man’s voice slurred. Reed wasn’t sure if it was from alcohol or drugs. Damn, these men were such easy prey. The deer was a more challenging opponent.
The other two moved closer, strategically placing their bodies in a triangle around him.
“Be-itch, you hear him talking to you?” The glint of a knife sliced through the air. The tall one spoke up.
Reed snickered, wondering why he allowed his mind to put him in this situation. Deep down he knew. A small itch deep inside of him still yearned for the hunt, the prey, the kill and the savor of blood on his senses. Tonight he’d be sated. He blinked and they were on him.
The knife sliced across his abdomen, the tearing of his flesh an icy cold lick of pain, but then it was gone. Fists pounded him in his face. Feet kicked his gut, back. He growled, tossed the men off of him like rag dolls. He grabbed the one with the knife by the hand and snapped it out. The sound of bone cracking and the man’s scream almost made him laugh. He picked up the knife, tossed it out of the alley. Oh, he’d fight, but it was going to be a man’s fight. No more weapons.
“You bald headed mother-f*cker! You’re gonna pay for that!” The short man charged him and he allowed him to take him to the ground. He wanted it to be a fair fight. At least as fair as it could be. Beast against three men, he should have walked away. A fist clobbered him in the neck, stopping the air from entering his lungs. Ouch, that hurt. The line backer had some skills. He grabbed him around the neck, threw him over his shoulders and waited for the third guy.
He took Reed mid body and slammed him back to the ground, his head whacking the concrete with a thud. He blinked to shake off the dizziness. To be so thin he had power behind him as well. Reed grappled with the man. They rolled, kicked, punched. For a brief second he wondered about his companions. He had to be careful to not get so wrapped up with one that he allowed the other’s to gain points. He didn’t see them. Had they run? Wimps.
The man grabbed Reed’s arm, twisted it behind his back. Before he could counter, arms were on him, pulling him to the back of the alley out of sight of anyone who might walk or drive by. Voices, more than the three he’d heard before, yelled and screamed. Oh it was clear to him now. The others had gone for help. Now that was just great. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.
Fists pounded in his stomach and face. He tasted blood in his mouth, felt it in his eyes. The hands loosened their grip, allowing him to drop to the ground on his hands and knees. Scrawny guy kneeled in front of him, his face so close the vile odor of his breath made Reed want to retch. His stomach reeled, however, he shook it off.
He grabbed at his Adam’s apple and lifted his face to his. “I know what you are.” His voice mumbled in Reed’s ear. “I’ve had your kind for dinner. Your women for dessert.”
“And what exactly is my kind?”
“Punks, pussies.” The man swung out and Reed allowed it to connect with his face.
My kind. How many a*sholes are there in the world? Reed’s heart pounded. His blood coursed through his veins. Bile tipped the back of his throat. He wanted to rip this man’s heart out, eat it for an appetizer before he savored the rest. He felt his eyes change color and smiled at the sensations blossoming in his body. Reed collected his energy and focused on his hand. He’d grown tired of this fight, bored. It was time to end it. The muscles in his hand stretched, pulled. Bones snapped, contorted and reformed. Blood leaked from under his fingernails. The growl that came from his throat was frightening to say the least.
Several of the men took a step back. Reed didn’t just stand but leapt to his feet. His motion so fast it not only startled his assailant but him as well. His hand swiped out, leaving a trail of blood to splatter his face. The man dropped like a rock, gasping and withering on the ground. He swung around, grabbed the nearest man and tossed him through the air, his body slammed against the wall. Bones cracked and a silencing moan fractured the air.
“What the hell are you!” Someone called out right before the sound of feet scurrying away was the only noise he heard.
“Your worst nightmare.”
He scanned the area; his two attackers lay unconscious in the dirt. He glanced down at his hands. They were covered in blood, the man’s blood. His nail beds were already healing over newly torn flesh. A new type of pain racked his body. A second ago, his muscles were tugging away from his bone, reshaping, his nerve endings rejuvenating at the atomic level. Something wasn’t right. Or was it? Everything had moved in fast motion. It was as if he were in a movie, watching a big Technicolor screen.
Reed dropped to his knees, lifted his head and drew in a haggard breath, then another. His anger dissipated, giving way to fatigue that washed over him, leaving him weak. He stood, wandered over to the men he’d disabled and stared down at him. What had he done? Were they dead? Each man moaned, stirred, easing the tightness in his chest. Sirens blared in a distance. Surely, his attackers hadn’t call the cops. How ironic would that be?
Standing, he wiped his hands down the legs of his pants and wondered how much luck he would need to get to the hotel without being stopped. He was haggard to say the least. He staggered to the opening of the alley, glanced from right to left, and after gathering his bearings he strolled down the street.
It took him less time to get to the hotel than he anticipated. Slowly he opened the door, figuring Denver wouldn’t be there. But she was. Relief, regret, remorse needled him, not sure which one played the most part. He moved swiftly and quietly to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He stood in front of the mirror and inspected his face, his body, and his hands. Bruises had already begun to heal. His knuckles were swollen but the abrasions were almost gone. The entire surfaces of his eyes were solid black, but they were lightening to the natural coloring of human.
He shook his head and turned on the shower, full force and hot. He needed the sting of the blast to remind him that there was still a part of him that was human. He needed something to help him figure out what just happened. Never before had his beast been so strong, so angry or so deadly. He stood under the waterfall and allowed it to pound his flesh. The hot water had a sting to it, slicing across his flesh as powerful as the earlier knife. It felt good.