Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between (24 page)

“Speak,” he whispered.

Paul’s pained cries filled the room. His wrists were tortuously raw and open but he continued in his attempt to wrench free. I followed his example, struggling with my own bindings.

Kibwe hoisted the knife by the slowest of degrees. He built the tension, bringing the blade down slow and steady. Paul thrashed pitifully, eyes glued to the sharp metal coming toward his chest. Kibwe lifted Paul’s shirt. He ripped the material and splayed it wide. I could see Paul drawing in terrified breaths, rising and falling in rapid succession. Tiny red dots formed on his skin in a sparse, uneven pattern.

Dear God
. He was sweating blood.

The blade slid into his stomach and Paul cried out. I winced, knowing all too well how deep that pain went. As he had with Jacob, Kibwe tilted his head back, as if pulling the horrible cry into his ears. He started to chant in a language I didn’t recognize as he slid the knife up from Paul’s stomach, toward his chest.

“Yo, fucknut,” I yelled.

If he heard, he showed no indication. I thrashed like a mad woman, yanking and kicking my legs. I felt the warmth of my blood, sticky and thick where the rope had frayed my skin. Paul’s screams incensed me, and I started making my own sounds of exertion, embracing the pain as though it could set me free. When my efforts didn’t work, I relied on sheer desperation. I felt my right hand ease past the rope, the skin stinging like a thousand needles.

I kept staring at the carnage taking place before me. Kibwe was engrossed in his task, dragging the blade through pliant muscle and skin. I bit my bottom lip to keep any sound from escaping when I pulled my left hand free, leaving fresh skin behind.

I only had one option, and it didn’t bode well—I had to rush Kibwe. I didn’t know where my gun was, and the blade in my pocket would take too long to dig free. Since he was the oldest vampire I’d ever encountered, I was playing Russian roulette.

Breaking free, I charged across the room like a deranged battering ram, but didn’t make it far. Kibwe’s hand enclosed my throat, lifting me easily from the ground. Squeezing his wrists with both hands, I thrashed like an injured animal.

Carrying me across the room, he rammed my back into the wall with a dull thud. The heels of my shoes banged against the plaster as I struggled for air, gripping with my hands, fighting to breathe, air and saliva gurgling in my throat. He tilted his head from side to side, studying me from multiple angles, yellowing eyes glowing. Suddenly, his clenched fist came into my vision, his thumb was so close I couldn’t bring it into focus.

“
Cauchemar
,” he whispered as he released my windpipe.

I drew in a huge, ragged chunk of air just as he opened his hand and blew something dark and foul into my face. It smothered me, constricting the newfound flow of oxygen. He let go and my body dropped, legs barreling to the ground as dead weight landed on fragile knees. The burst of agony that should have followed the distinctive snap of breaking bone didn’t follow. I clutched my throat and rubbed my eyes.

The room shifted, the walls taking on new patterns and colors, a virtual paint by numbers with irregular squares and circles that moved and kept me off balance. I swayed but didn’t fall. I closed my eyes but could see everything. Nothing worked as it should, and the harder I tried to bring it all together, the faster my grip on reality slipped.

The ground rushed up to meet me, but the impact didn’t hurt. Worn, green carpet padded my fall, absorbing the impact, and brushed against my face. I lifted my head, heart racing. Fear, panic, and desperation choked me and I watched in terror as Ray’s black loafered feet stopped inches from my face.

“Get off your lazy ass!” Ray’s rough hands grasped my arms, his fat fingers digging in and twisting. “Where’s your sister? And I’m not buying the bullshit about a study group after school.”

“Did you hear me, Rhia?” He slapped me again, harder this time. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

I lifted my head and focused on his nose. I knew not to make eye contact. If he saw my fear, it would excite him. I swallowed, nervous trembling trickling down my back and along my extremities, fingers going numb. I balled my hands into tight fists.

“Where is Jennifer?” His hands caressed my arms in a gesture that was anything but fatherly.

“I…don’t…know.”

“You…don’t…know,” he mocked. His tone changed to a husky whisper. “What should we do to pass the time until she gets home?”

His fingers maneuvered down my arms, gliding behind and gripping the flesh of my back, going lower, grasping the thick portion of my hip and thigh. He closed the distance, his rancid breath hot against the skin on my neck.

I pushed him away and ran through the living room as he roared, “You frigid little bitch!”

Yanking open the bedroom door, I stumbled through and slammed it closed behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut, leaning against the solid wood. My breathing was loud in my ears, resounding in my head.

“Sweetheart,” a gentle voice spoke and I felt something tug my shirt. “Sweetheart, I need you to open your eyes. I need to shine this light into them.”

My body swayed from side to side then shifted roughly as I bounced around. I lifted my lids and gazed up at the bright light shining into my eyes. My lashes fluttered against my cheeks, and I lifted my hands to ease the burning.

“You’re going to be fine.”

I squinted to block out the light. The woman speaking had on a vest with various pockets and a stethoscope around her neck. Her pale skin was lovely, the pink tint on her cheeks and lips natural and breathtaking.

“We’re going to the hospital right now.”

Hospital
. My stomach lodged in my throat. Not the hospital. That meant it was over. That meant they were gone. I started to wiggle and discovered that I was unable to move my neck. I was strapped down to a hard surface of some kind.

A blur of white confused me until I recognized the ceiling above, speeding by in square flashes. Multiple voices assailed my ears, overriding one another. The brightness changed to darkness. I found I could sit up, and so I did, rising from the bed and walking to the door. It was quiet now. I couldn’t detect anyone or anything. I reached out for the tall hospital door, pulled on the silver handle, and stepped through.

It was a dreary day. The sun was hidden behind heavy grey clouds that threatened to empty at any minute. The air was thin as I dragged it into my ravaged lungs, exhausted by hours of crying. The pastor read the final rights and the caskets were lowered into the ground.

Side by side they went—ashes to ashes, dust to dust—my life, my family, slowly descending into their final resting place, entering the cold, dark earth. I stood beside the now-occupied graves and listened as dirt was tossed onto the wood, cracking and sliding, cascading into the ground below.

I lifted my head, fixated upon the battered form of my parents. Dad was beyond recognition. Half of his once-handsome face gone, his cheekbone missing along with the eye socket. Mom’s beautiful long hair was hacked off along one side, revealing a wide gash that ran from the front of her skull to the back. They watched me behind empty eyes, and when I called to them, their expressions remained blank and emotionless.

I covered my face with my hands as tears tumbled down. My chest racked with silent sobs and wails of grief. I heard an odd noise, like a headboard banging against a wall, and lifted my head from my knees.

It was dark.

Jennifer’s quiet begging came through the thin plaster. Ray told her to say she wanted it harder, to please give it to her harder. She said it back, voice cracking. A loud slap reverberated in my ears followed by a harsh reprimand. She went silent, and the repetitive thumping and squeaking of well-used mattress springs followed.

I buried my head into my knees again, praying over and over for God to change me into something else, into some other creature who could escape from the hell that was my life. I huddled as deep into the closet as possible, hiding amidst clothes, shoes, and forgotten toys. Jennifer’s cries mingled with the sound of Ray’s moans. I covered my ears, rocking back and forth, humming as loudly as I dared.

When the door flew open, I freaked out, screaming and shoving back into the clothes. It was my turn now, and no one would be able to stop him this time. Ray always got to me in my dreams.

Strong hands reached for me, circling my arms, drawing me toward the light. I resisted, fighting with all I had. If I lost here, I would lose everything. I resorted to begging and mindless pleading, content to stay hidden in this dark place. My pride be damned.

The hands were firm and insistent, pulling me ever forward and out of the comforting dungeon. The darkness dimmed as an orange glow neared. I pushed back, slamming my eyes closed, unwilling to leave safety behind. A forceful tug forced me away from the comforting cover of darkness. The warm rays of the sun surrounded my body, wrapping me a sheltering cocoon.

“Rhiannon.” Disco’s voice was so very welcome that I crumbled, afraid to open my eyes and see what new nightmare lay in store. “Look at me.”

I shook my head, breathing heavily as tears streamed unbidden down my cheeks. It was a trick. I would open my eyes, and Ray would be grinning back at me.

Chilled hands cupped my face, and I felt his equally cool lips brush my own. I could smell the scent of cloves emitting from his skin, taste his cinnamon-laced breath against my mouth. I tentatively reached out to touch his familiar body.

“You’re safe now.” His fingers wrapped inside my hair and pulled me closer. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

I held my breath and did as he asked.

Molten pools of golden blue stared back at me; the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. My bottom lip quivered, and I gasped for air, fresh tears falling from my eyes. His thumbs brushed across my cheeks and he gave me one of his beautiful smiles.

“Disco.” Sagging into his arms, I released all of the pent up terror and fear. His name had never been so welcome on my lips.

“Do something for me,” he whispered against my hair.

“Anything.”

“Call me by my real name.”

I nestled my cheek against his solid chest, and whispered, “Gabriel.”

He held me securely in his arms, swaying back and forth. The crash of the waves breaching the sand got my attention, and I looked past him. We were at the beach I had visited with my parents. He had brought me to the one place I felt most secure—my happy place. I breathed in the muggy air, tasted the bitter salt on my tongue.

“Is this real?”

“You’re dreaming, but this is different. Not at all like the time before. Something is feeding off your fear and using it against you.” He moved away, holding me at an arm’s length to look me in the eye. “None of this is real, but if you allow it to continue, it will consume you. You’re going to have to wake up.”

“How do I wake up?” A flash of terror seared my chest. What if I couldn’t wake up?

“I’ll help you, but first we need to talk. Everyone outside is trying to get into the warehouse, but something is controlling our people, making them turn against their own. Two of Joseph’s kindred have already been killed. Do you know why?”

“It’s the vampire responsible. He can control the dead, even vampires, and he’s been eating the hearts of other’s to take their powers. He wants Joseph’s now. That’s why he took me. He thought I was Sonja.”

“We can’t enter until he’s dead.” Disco’s eyes focused as he tried to formulate a plan. He studied me carefully and asked, “How badly are you hurt?”

“I think I’ve broken my knee,” I answered calmly. There was no reason to worry him.

“It has to be you, Rhiannon. I don’t like it, but if we delay…” He shook his head, clearly angry at the lack of options. He looked up. His steely determination showed through his frustration. “Our kind can regenerate from almost any wound inflicted, but mortal ones are the hardest to heal.”

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

“You are.” His grip on my arms increased and he kissed me. I took comfort in his succulent sweetness, placing it to memory. He pulled away, bent down, and brought our foreheads together. “I’ll be there with you, trust me. Now wake up, Rhiannon.” He shook my arms forcefully and yelled, “Wake up!”

My eyes flittered open, and I stared across the cold, dark concrete. The light overhead reflected clearly, creating a shining path across the room, and I rotated my head.

Paul’s spirit was standing over his body, and Kibwe was holding his now severed heart aloft. The large, silky-red organ was still beating. The necromancer’s back was facing me, but I could see his uneven breathing as he chanted.

I raised my pounding head inches from the ground, shaking the cobwebs loose. My right knee was throbbing, and my wrists stung, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I managed to sit up, finding myself weak and unsteady.

“
I am here, Rhiannon
,” Disco’s voice washed over me, through me, “
And my strength is now yours
.”

The lethargy, weakness, and headache vanished—replaced by strength, power, confidence, and purpose. The change was unbelievable.

I felt indestructible.

Suffused with Disco’s strength and fortitude, I made it to steady feet without a sound. He had finally opened that special connection we shared, unlocking my mark. I searched for a weapon, spying my Ruger and clip beside it on the table. I retrieved both, slipping the pistol into my hand.

Kibwe was lost in a chant, and I watched Paul’s spirit dissipate before my eyes. He was banishing his soul. I didn’t know how I knew that for certain. I simply did. That’s why we couldn’t communicate with victims, they were trapped in limbo. It wasn’t enough to take their lives. He was stealing their rest as well.

I called on my anger and it answered readily, the flame of fury licked under my sternum, spreading outward. I stepped toward the circle, my right leg pain free but lagging behind. Disco was there. I felt him like a shadow in my mind, present, but silent.

Paul’s form was nothing more than a haze. The time to act was now. I steadied the gun, angling the pistol to left side of Kibwe’s back, aiming for his heart. The clip slid quietly into place and I braced my left hand, trigger finger twitchy as I cocked the gun.

Kibwe tried to move with that impressive vampire speed but I started unloading the rounds the instant one slid into the chamber. The clip only held six shots and the small caliber bullets would ricochet all along his insides like a ping-pong table, but it still wouldn’t do the job.

I watched him sag forward when the fourth shell entered his torso, Paul’s heart flopping from his hand into the empty chest cavity it had once inhabited. I dropped the pistol and snatched the shining weapon to his right. The blade was blessed silver, which meant the wound wouldn’t close immediately. I grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. His wide green eyes stared up at me in bewilderment.

“This is for Cash, you son of a bitch.” I flipped the knife to a backward angle, gripped the hilt, and slid the sharp blade into his throat.

The edge was true and sunk deep, gliding through the path of my choosing. Blood spurted and poured down his chest in a thick, steady flow of exquisite red, pooling on the floor below. Flailing hands attempted to staunch his river of life, but it was too late. I continued to push the knife deeper, until I met the resistance of solid bone and scored through it.

He lurched forward and my hand instinctively reached out to stop him, fingers wrapping around the leather string tied to the amulet around his neck. It tore free, dangling from my fingers.

The man before me shrank, reverting to the form of a child. The wound was much worse like this, the head nearly severed but for a splice of bone and flesh. The delicate body flopped on the floor, bubbles of air mixing with blood around the wound, spreading over the floor in a crimson stain.

“
We are coming
,” Disco spoke in my mind and the energy abruptly drained from my body.

I crumpled to the ground, ears ringing as the knife bounced off the concrete in several decisive chinks before coming to a rest beside me. My right knee burned and pulsated. The injury was so severe that my jeans were stretched as far as the material would allow. I opened my fingers and stared at the amulet nestled inside my palm. It glowed like amber, with a tiny black teardrop glistening inside.

Timothy thrust aside the door and barreled into the room. His eyes widened when he located his Master’s fallen body. His scream was one of hate and rage.

His body slammed into mine, smashing the back of my skull against the concrete floor with a crack. I was defenseless, too exhausted to put up much of a fight. I lifted my hands in a feeble attempt to ward off the blow from the blessed knife he now gripped. He slammed the blade into my chest, and I sucked in a painful wail of air. He tried to pull the weapon free, but I grasped his hand, holding the blade in place.

If he pulled it free, I was as good as dead.