Break of Dawn (9 page)

“I wasn’t.” His voice had risen. It shook the ivy trimming the bed. “Breisi has a vested interest in seeing Frank to safety, so when she discovered what was happening with the Friends, she made me promise to keep her active beyond her death if he was still gone.”

“Impressive,” Dawn said.
Acting!
She really was jealous, because he hadn’t denied involvement with the rest of the Friends. Like, all five hundred million of them. “It’s amazing that you managed to remain neutered around at least one of your female hunters.”

Now he sounded as if he were wrestling his temper. “As far as Breisi goes, I knew you were coming, and I waited.”

Her body quivered, hit by his honesty, vibrated by the thought of his restraining himself because he’d wanted her before she’d even shown up.

“Dawn,” he added softly, “you’re more powerful than you know, and Kiko saw this in his premonition—his prophecy, if you will. Some are born to be hunters, like you. Like Kalin.”

“And some show you a better time than others.”

Even before the atmosphere soaked up the comment, she regretted it.

A breeze ruffled around her. “Do
not
denigrate what each of these women has meant to me,” he said, low. Lethal.

She didn’t know why she’d muttered it—maybe because she was confounded by all of this, terrified at what everyone was expecting
her
to be. Little by little, she was realizing that it looked like she might be fighting more vampires after all. Nothing else made sense when you considered Kiko’s premonition with her as the “key.”

Calming down, she nodded in apology. “I respect the bravery of every single one of those Friends, Jonah.”

Silence. Ragged breathing. Darkness.

“Then,” she added, wanting to hold on to this opportunity to get more out of him, “this means that these Friends want to ‘save the world’
and
they want to be with you century after century.”

More silence.

She thought a joke might not be a bad idea to ease the oppression around here. “Is that why Kalin wants to kick my ass? Because you’re her man? That’s pretty redneck of her.”

“I see there’s no reasoning with you.” He made a movement as if to leave.

“Whoa, whoa, you don’t have some get-out-of-jail-free card just because you’re a supercool vamp slayer.”

He didn’t go anywhere, and that was encouraging. In fact, after this meeting ended she wanted to go into every single Friend painting to see how much each woman meant to Jonah: she wanted to check out the lady with kanji symbols on her back, wanted to see what was up with the redhead in silver armor, wanted to investigate the Elizabethan-looking chick. . . .

A flash from Kalin’s Henry VIII adventures knocked at her brain.

Wait. Holy crap, Friends were
old
. So was he.

Numbness overrode everything else. “How long have you been around, Jonah?”

At this, he took a step out of the dark corner. A breath of moonlight skimmed his face, revealing only one golden eye, his black hair. “I’ve fought long enough to conquer many masters, as well as a few Undergrounds. Long enough to see that vampires don’t operate as simply as they used to. Long enough to see how every master and his children evolve in whatever ways help them to survive.”

“Just like you?” There—it was out there now.

He closed his eye.

She should’ve been sprinting away from him at this point. Clutching the sheet against herself, she stiffened, primed to fight or maybe even to welcome him in soothing comfort. She didn’t know. Couldn’t figure it out.

But there was something she did realize. “You came in this room so you could get inside me—isn’t that right? Before the battle. To gain energy or . . . whatever it is you do.”

He nodded, and her heart cracked just a little at his unguarded answer. She hated being needed this much. Loved it, too. Didn’t know what to do with it.

“Will it help you fight?” she asked.

“Yes. You have been building my strength, Dawn.”

She just had to ask. “How did you gain strength before I arrived if you weren’t with Breisi?”

He took a step nearer to the bed. The sheet fell from her hands, pooling at her waist. Against the bodice of her nightgown, her breasts felt raw, sensitized.

“I went a while between teams,” he said. “And I have . . . a variety of survival options, though your power is unlike any other feeding. Since you arrived, I have been in a frenzy, making up for the wait.”

Why was she still sitting here, allowing him to approach, if he’d just admitted to basically feeding off her? Maybe it was because it didn’t sound like he was the type of vampire they’d been fighting. Maybe she didn’t want to call him a vampire at all, since Jonah had never taken her blood.

Or maybe she needed him just as much as he needed her.

Without a word, she lay back against the pillow, watching his shadow block the moonlight as he took another step forward. On impulse, she spread her hair away from her neck, inviting him, even mocking him.

He remained frozen, yet his tone was soaked with an unidentifiable emotion. Then he said something strange.

“Whatever happens in the future, Dawn, know that I am sorry for it.”

What was he going to do—suck her dry at some point, maybe even now?

“Are you coming in or what?” she whispered.

This wasn’t her talking. . . . Couldn’t be . . . Where was her wariness?

Screw wariness.

Lifting her arms over her head, she crooked a finger at him, and he caught his breath. His reaction singed her, burning an inner trail from her chest to her belly. She began to ache, stiff and ready.

He hesitated and, in those few seconds, the weight of his comment about apologizing in advance muddled her brain, sending a seductive rush of anticipation through her. She’d lived her life jumping from high places. This warning thrill was only foreplay.

Then she felt it: the pressure of his essence, though his actual body crumbled to a chair by the window, as if losing its frame. In the meantime, his invisibility lengthened over her, and she moaned under him, feeling every imagined contour, every hard angle.

Phantom fingers entwined with hers, binding her as a ridge pressed between her legs. She churned her hips against it.

Through her lashes, she kept her gaze on his physical body as it sat in that chair. It was like he was watching, and it ratcheted up her excitement. A voyeuristic pleasure. How could he be here and there . . . ?

His essence skimmed what felt like fingers down her inner arms, making her squirm and buck. Not-quite-there thumbs sculpted her underarms, his palms cupping her breasts. Then, with a forceful tug, he tore off the nightgown’s bodice, revealing her.

She gasped, her nipples going hard in the cooled air. The touch of his thumbs circled her, peaking her.

Arching against the pressure, she was reminded of how Jonah had previously come to her like this, earlier in his cell and once before in front of a mirror, where she’d watched invisible hands lifting her shirt, exploring her body. But his tenderness was back, as if he had it all under control now. The kinkiness of the slow, invisible seduction turned up the flame in her stomach, torching her until she shifted in restless agony.

And, just as before, when his essence flared into her, she cried out, sipping him in, enjoying him as he stretched and tore, robbing her of thought and logic.

Feeding her as thoroughly as she fed him.

NINE

BELOW, TAKE TWO

FRANK
, stop being such a stubborn fool and drink.”

Eva stood next to the bed, where her husband was staring blades into her. On the other side of him, a Servant—one of many who always had and always would volunteer their services to their favorite movie star—waited patiently. The girl, an assistant at a hip independent studio from Above, held her collar-length, honey-colored hair back from her neck in hopeful invitation, her gaze on Eva in approval-seeking fervor.

The adulation put Eva slightly ill at ease—being in the spotlight had always done that, even though she would be the first to admit she liked the attention.

No, actually, she
loved
it. Call a spade a spade.

Avoiding the girl’s worship—maybe that way Eva could convince herself that she didn’t really enjoy being the object of it—she focused on Frank. “Baby, you’ve got to have blood to survive. I’d give you a nice long feeding myself if I didn’t have to meet with Benedikte.”

She’d angered him at the word “baby.” But her husband had always traded endearments with her. Back when they’d first fallen in love, back when she’d gotten pregnant with Dawn, back when they’d shotgun married in spite of the frantic advice against it from her handlers. Even when Eva had recently returned Above for her comeback as Jacqueline Ashley, her captive husband had melted under her “baby”s and “honey”s. It’d only been since Breisi died that Frank had gone hateful.

“Frank . . . ?” she began.

He kept glaring, his green eyes tinted with shards of silver now that his hunger was growing; eyes that were framed by age lines that would never grow deeper, his dark hair shot through with strands of mortality that would never grow grayer. Even though he was built like a commando, he wouldn’t be strong enough to overcome Eva—not with her Elite powers. But she had chained him with silver anyway, mostly to make a statement.

He was hers.

“I’m tired of arguing,” Eva added evenly.

“Well,” Frank finally said, “I’m tired, too, Eva.”

Here it went again. With a serene smile, Eva thanked the Servant, dismissing the girl.

But the human had something to add before she left the room. “I’ve taken sick leave from the studio, Ms. Claremont, so I’ll be Below anytime you need me.”

As the eager girl shut the door, Eva kept smiling. But when she was alone with Frank again, she rounded on him.

“I swear, I don’t know what to do with you.” She sifted her hair with her hands, wrapping the long strands into a makeshift bun. Then, sitting on the bed, she offered her neck. “I can let Benedikte know I’m going to be late for our meeting, but that won’t make him happy. And, really, I’m doing all I can not to get on his bad side, Frank.”

“Seems that all Benedikte
has
is a bad side.”

“Would you cut it out?” She switched to their direct Awareness, fuzzy though it was. Frank was stronger than a normal Groupie, since he’d fed directly off her Elite blood.

The Master’s been more than patient with me,
she said silently.
The second he decides to use all his powers to overcome me and look into my head to find out what happened with Cassie Tomlinson . . .

“I know.”

Both of them realized she couldn’t say it out loud. Though Eva appreciated what the Underground had done for her career, she had chosen family over home when it’d come right down to it. In a bid to gain Dawn’s love, Eva had betrayed the Master, nearly thwarting his plan to allow Cassie the Vampire Killer to do away with Breisi Montoya. Dawn had pleaded with Eva to save Breisi’s life, and Eva had even started going through with it.

But, in the end, when Eva had seen how much Breisi meant to her daughter—and Frank, too—she hadn’t been able to carry on. Jealousy had blocked her from keeping her promise to save Breisi’s life—a split-second hesitation that had cost Eva her daughter’s possible affection as well as her husband’s.

Eva continued to use her Awareness with Frank, not wanting to risk voicing their conversation. Though she would know if Benedikte was reaching into her mind, she wasn’t sure if her chambers were bugged by someone like Sorin, who obviously trusted her as far as he could throw her.

Tears blurred her vision as she rested a hand on Frank’s jean-clad leg.
All I’ve ever wanted was for us to be together.

His throat worked as he glanced away.

I’m so sorry about how everything turned out, Frank. But I wasn’t about to stand by while you chose another woman over me.

His skin went a shade paler, and it wasn’t because of any building hunger for blood.
You let Breisi die.

She didn’t feel any emotion besides a longing for her family to be reunited. Shouldn’t she be horrified at that?

Eva could sense Frank’s anger at her nonreaction.

Did you really think,
he thought to her,
that dropping Breisi’s body off in Limpet’s backyard was going to make up for letting Cassie Tomlinson murder Breisi? Do you think Dawn’s going to believe that’s some sign of giving a care?

Dawn. Eva cowered. She’d witnessed the hatred in her daughter’s eyes, the disgust of a child who had seen every terrible thought about her mother confirmed.

Didn’t Dawn understand that this was what Eva needed to do? And that she was doing it to keep the Madisons whole?

But that didn’t seem to matter to Frank—not when he so obviously didn’t want to be here. He was sickened by her, and it wasn’t in her nature to be unloved.

Something broke inside her chest, and Eva didn’t know if it was rage at Frank for pointing out the obvious or disgust with herself. Either way, her frustration brought out the change in her.

Her body crashed into itself, smoking into her ultimate wispy, gorgeously perilous form. Ever since the Master had overfed her during her last infusion, she’d felt invincible and had been taking chances, just as she’d done when she’d carried Dawn and Frank inside her body to get them to Breisi on time. She’d never done that before. To her knowledge, no Elite had.

Now, she thrashed a tentacle-like arm around Frank’s neck, her body like mist, but so much stronger. In her evolved sight, she saw into him, his blood pulsating like red lips on a tawdry bar sign. But his eyes . . . His eyes were like dual judgment days—fathomless and dark with truths she didn’t want to face.

With a cry, she used a cloudy fingernail to cut open her chest. Then she flew to him, opening his lips with her fingers, then pressing him to her self-inflicted wound.

Drink,
she commanded Frank, knowing she really didn’t have to persuade him now. He’d gotten a taste of her blood, which had been made more powerful from the Master’s overkill feeding. Besides, Frank was already so addicted to her that he wouldn’t be able to refuse, rebelliousness or not.

He drank as if he’d never stop, as if he were making up for all the years they’d been apart. He drank in fury, as if punishing her for choosing to become an Elite instead of staying Above and raising Dawn with him.

She withstood every greedy suck, every piercing draw, because she deserved pain. She deserved the reckoning, because with each thirsty sip, more of her was revealed to him
and
to herself: she hadn’t just gone Underground for the sake of providing for her family. She’d come here to be always beautiful. To be always worshipped. It was the ugly truth.

As he drank more and more, Eva’s mind electrified with all the admiring faces of her fans, all the desperate arms reaching out to her at press events, all the cries of “Eva, we love you!” that had fueled her. The faces, the voices thudded, becoming one consuming scream that shredded her apart—

Weakened, she tore Frank away from her, the fragments of her mind like confetti falling to litter the ground. She managed to swirl back into her solid Eva body, panting as she slid from the bed and tried to regain her footing.

Blood decorated Frank’s mouth. A stream of it slid down his chin, a drop hanging before its quivering fall to his dark shirt. He watched her as if he didn’t know her anymore. As if she’d betrayed him with the truth in her blood.

She’d been careless, allowing him to take too much, maybe because he deserved more of her than she’d been giving.

In an effort to seem unaffected, she loosened her hair, but it only fell over her shoulders in disarray.

Can’t see the Master like this,
she thought, running her fingers through the strands.
Not if I want to keep his favor and keep him at bay.
But she knew her days were numbered, because when he found out what she’d done . . .

“I’m going to freshen up, then leave for my meeting.”

Her husband just watched her as she flicked on his television set and headed for the vanity room to run a brush through her blond hair. Her skin was a shade paler than it’d been since she’d overfed from the Master, and her hands shook as she thought about how much blood she’d given Frank, what that blood would do to his young, inferior vampire system. . . .

What had she done in her rage, her sadness at Frank’s hatred?

Or maybe she knew exactly what she’d done, what had
needed
to be done because her husband didn’t seem to love her anymore.

When she finally came out, she found his silver bindings broken and lying empty on the mattress, right next to the indentation that his heavy body had created.

Calmly, oh so calmly, Eva smoothed out the bedspread, sat down, and counted each resigned beat of blood in her veins until enough time passed for her to call Benedikte.

 
 
On the other side of the Underground, a Guard screamed in his manacles as Benedikte and Sorin stood safely away, observing.

Slash!
—A claw swiped in their direction.

Creeenk!
—A barbed tail scraped the cold stone wall with its machete tip, creating sparks and coming just short of Benedikte.

Snap!
—The Guard’s jaws sought a taste of him, too.

That was because Benedikte was wearing his Matt Lonigan body at the moment, enjoying how the Guard was stretching the limits of his bindings in order to get at what it perceived to be human. In fact, to heighten the illusion, the Master had sprayed himself with more essence of human scent, just as he’d done before going Above to do his spy work with Dawn earlier.

“While I’m impressed by this passion,” the Master said, “wouldn’t it be less cruel to feed it now?”

“It is almost time.”

Sorin had a gleam in his eyes. He was loving this. And why not? The Guards were his own Frankenstein-like creations, wrought by the magic touch Sorin had possessed in human life. Benedikte had been attracted to his son’s sorcerer abilities, and they’d come in very handy in this afterlife. Who’d known back then what Sorin would render all these years later?

This particular specimen was Sorin’s newest Guard, a card-carrying waste of life who’d been captured Above because no one would miss it. That made for a perfect Guard—that and the fact that the lowly vampire had the physique of an NFL player. Benedikte, himself, had spied this candidate during an early jaunt Above as “Matt.”

As the Guard’s tail made another bladed attempt at getting to the Master, Benedikte patted Sorin on his back.

“These really are grand beasts. I’m proud of you.”

A smile spread over his son’s face. It was as if Benedikte had handed him the world. “Thank you, Master.”

“Now show me your magic before I meet with Eva.”

At her name, Sorin sobered. Benedikte allowed it to pass.

His second-in-command moved to a corner of the cell, where he’d placed a bowl of cooled blood left over from a feeding. What these creatures ate was nauseating, but that was how it was.

Sorin held the bowl away from his body. “While experimenting, I found an interesting quality in the Guards’ feeding habits—something that I believe has evolved recently, though I am not certain of the reason.”

He approached the Guard. It stopped fussing, its red eyes blazing at the scent of a meal. With its bald head, ultrapale skin, iron teeth, and black-garbed body, the Guard brought to mind a steroid version of the title character from the silent film
Nosferatu
. It had been one of Benedikte’s first film favorites, and he’d gone back to the movie palace several times, fascinated.

“Groupie,” the misshapen creature said, panting. “Groupie blood . . .”

“They have developed a taste for Groupies,” Sorin said. “Even more than humans, I think. It is as if the child longs for mother’s milk since the Groupie is the parent who introduces the bite to a Guard. We shall have to stay aware of that.”

The Master nodded. Sorin had seen to it that Guards had no personal reasons to return Above: no memories or imaginations. And they were the only unwilling participants in the Underground, captured and then bitten by Groupies—relatively weak vampires—in order to keep their powers in check. They could be balanced by the Groupies themselves if it ever came down to it, and they would never be strong enough to threaten any class above a Groupie.

Without fear, Sorin lifted the bowl to the creature’s mouth, allowing it to drink. It devoured, wincing, enjoying to a frightening extent. When it was done, Sorin stepped back.

“Now watch,” the second said. “Watch its eyes.”

It was a thing to behold: the pupils blowing outward like the birth of black holes in space. And in those holes, Benedikte saw something enthralling.

He took a mindless step forward, wanting to see more, but Sorin held him back, more out of excitement than anything.

“Do you see?” he asked.

The Master wasn’t sure what Sorin was referring to, but he wanted to be a part of it. Wanted to dive into those holes and embrace the . . . The what?

“No, I don’t,” Benedikte said.

“Humanity. I recognize it. They are having memories when they drink blood . . . any blood, now.”

A zing of envy hit the Master. “They remember?”

“I believe so. And it is happening even though the creature has been mind wiped. I make certain they are clean slates so they will obey my orders that much more easily. Yet . . . something is happening.” Sorin shook his head. “Naturally, I will have to perform a second mind wipe on every one of them, but first I want to know why this has come about.”