Deamhan (10 page)

“You mean Kei’s squabbles.”

“That too.” Lambert kissed the tip of her nose. “Let them burn each other out of house and home.” He dug his nails into her cheek and she gasped, gripping his chest with her hands. “We play it safe and smart, Alexis. That’s what we vampires will do.”

Thin trails of blood flowed from tiny pinholes in her cheek. Lambert dabbed his fingers in her blood and sucked it from his fingers, one at a time.

“What about your human friend, Lambert? The one that lives with the Deamhan?”

“What about him?” Lambert touched her wounded cheek with his finger and gently placed it over her lips.

“You confide in him about The Brotherhood. Does he know that they have returned?”

She slid out her tongue, tasting her own cold salty blood.

Suddenly, Lambert shoved her back, and she fell on top of the corpse. The body was still warm and for a minute Alexis felt her primal instincts surface, urging her to drink any remaining blood in his body. But that meant death for any vampire. His blood was now unhealthy. She watched as Lambert let his silken robe slide to the floor, exposing his rock hard penis and his defectless upper body.  He stood over Alexis, straddling her.

“Right here?” Her sultry smile revealed her approval. With patience that made her ache, Lambert laid his body on hers and slowly, slowly, he entered her.

“Just like the first time.” His fangs dropped as he continued rocking back and forth inside her. “1777. Oriskany.”

“Outside under a clear night sky,” she said, panting between thrusts, “the smell of gunpowder, mixed with blood . . .”

“Screams of dying men.” Her fangs dropped and she bit into her lower lip in pleasure.

He slammed his hips against her. The pressure tore her open and she convulsed as he reached new depths.  

“Oh, yeah,” she moaned. “Only without the hot pokers.”

He slid his hand under the table and pulled out a knife with a long, sharp blade covered in blood.

Her eyes grew wide, and an innocent giggle escaped her lips.

“I have a replacement for that.” He twirled the knife in his hand, like a baton.

CHAPTER EIGHT

By the time they reached Palm Oaks Veronica agreed for Murphy to spend the night at her apartment.

He questioned her the entire way back. His fear disappeared, replaced by a natural curiosity to know what was going on. He sat on her couch, fidgeting his fingers. Veronica locked the front door, checked it, and then checked it again. It didn’t matter how comfortable and safe she felt. Unlike vampires, Deamhan didn’t need to be invited to come into her apartment. She walked over to the window and peeked through the blinds.

“What the hell was that, Veronica?” He jumped to his feet. “She exploded! Well, not like exploded but she turned to ash, right in front of us! Have you seen anything like that before?”

“You should spend the night, Murphy.” Veronica walked to the kitchen. “I’ll make you some coffee.” Still groggy from the drink Chelsea gave her, she filled the coffee pot with water, poured it in the coffee maker, and turned on the power. She leaned against the kitchen counter, mentally unequipped to handle another barrage of questions.

“Are we in trouble?” His eyes widened and his eyebrows lifted. “Should we call the police?”

“No!” she answered, loudly and hastily. She caught herself staring down at Murphy. She leaned her forehead against the cool stainless steel fridge, just slightly out of his view. It wouldn’t hurt to tell him about the Deamhan, she reasoned. He had every right to know, especially since he lived in a city filled with them. Telling him would better prepare himself for what was out there.

Would it?

“Why not?”

“They can’t do anything, Murphy, believe me.” Veronica walked over to the living room and she sat across from him. Nonchalantly, she pushed the envelope Alexis gave her at Dark Sepulcher off to the side of the coffee table.

“What do you mean they can’t do anything?”

“Trust me. They can’t.”

He sat back, looking defeated. “That girl was so strong. I nailed her and she took the hit like a man.” He winced as he rubbed his red bruise. “Better than a man.”

“That’s because she’s not human. They’re strong, even the newly sired ones.”

“All I saw was a shadow, and then the girl holding you started to bleed everywhere. And then the other girl took off”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that!”

“Murphy”—Veronica leaned toward him—“I’m going to tell you something that you might not believe or want to hear. Just promise me you won’t freak out.”

He nodded.

Veronica took a deep breath and she began to explain the Deamhan.

She talked for over an hour, telling him what she knew; the types of Deamhan, how the city was their haven, how they died, and how they were turned. Yet anything about The Brotherhood she purposely skipped.

She told him the real reason why she came back to Minneapolis and how important it was to her to find out what happened to her mother. When she’d finished her spiel, she shrugged, realizing she had nothing left to say. It was now up to Murphy to handle what she just revealed.

Veronica returned to the kitchen for two cups of coffee, giving Murphy a moment alone to process what she’d told him. She filled the sugar bowl from the canister and she watched him stare down at the floor in thought.

When she looked back again, his expression morphed from confusion to concern.

Finally, he turned toward the kitchen. “So those two chicks, were these Deamhan creatures?”

“Yeah.”

“And they’re immortal. They live forever?”

“Pretty much.”

“Stakes can kill them?”

She couldn’t suppress a grin. “They can also die from exposure to sunlight and be beheaded.”

“Like vampires who also live in the city?”

“Yeah.”

“What about garlic?” A look of hope appeared on his face.

“No.” Veronica peeked out from behind the wall separating the two. “Garlic doesn’t work for vampires either.”

“Why not call them vampires?”

“Because they aren’t vampires. They’re Deamhan,” she answered. “They’re different. I mean, I look at them as like distant relatives or cousins of vampires. But they’re different. Even siring a Deamhan is a totally different process than siring a vampire. There used to be tons of them. So many different types. One time, they actually outnumbered vampires.”

“What happened?”

Veronica shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that now they’re like an endangered species. It’s just the Ramanga, Lugat, Metusba and Lamia now.”

“There used to be more?” His eyes widened.

She took a deep breath and muttered, “I believe so. I heard that there were eight clans in total but now, only four.”

“These creatures hang out at Dark Sepulcher?”

“Not all of them. Majority of vampires hang out there.”

“And the main reason you came back to Minneapolis is to look for your mother, right?”

“Yeah.” Veronica walked from the kitchen carrying a coffee, sugar, and cream on a tray.

“Oh.” Murphy soaked up the information like a wet towel. “That explains a lot.”

Veronica stood in front of him. “What do you mean?”

“The people I saw at the club doing weird shit to one another.” A look of confusion returned to his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Veronica said as she handed the cup to him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe there was a chance.”

“I don’t know.” He sipped the coffee and cradled the cup in his hand. “I guess I’m sorry for what you have to go through.”

Veronica opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly interrupted.

“I always thought this city was a little weird.” He chuckled. “Boring, but weird.”

“Well, every city has its secrets.” She drew a long sip from her mug; the hot, sugary coffee warmed her chest on the way down.

“If you need my help with anything, Veronica, I’m here. Unless you want me to kill one of them and—well, I’d have to sit that one out.”

Veronica watched as doubt clouded his face. “Oh no.” She laughed, and he smiled sheepishly, his eyes crinkling in a way that warmed her as much as the coffee. “I wouldn’t do that, Murphy. I’m not here to hunt them.”

“What if your mom is one of them?” he asked. “What if they sired her?”

Veronica swallowed hard. The thought never crossed her mind. She didn’t have a plan if she found her mother sired. The thought of it made her cringe. It wasn’t possible. Her mother was still alive, somewhere in Minneapolis.

“She’s alive. I know it.” She patted his leg.

Veronica stared into her mug, watching the cream swirl into the murky darkness. The attack at Dark Sepulcher wasn’t a setback. She still had to move forward, starting with checking out the burned house again to see if it could have been a Deamhan sanctuary, but she couldn’t leave Murphy in her apartment by himself. She looked at him again as he sipped from his cup then stared down into it. How his beautiful eyes lit up when she described the Deamhan to him and the way his tongue had a sexy way of peeking through his teeth when he pronounced the “th” sound.

“You listening to me?”

Veronica flinched. “Y-yes. I’m sorry.”

“You drifted off there. Where did you go? Are you okay?”

She cleared her throat and felt heat rise into her face. “You can sleep on the couch.” She stood up, took a few steps down the hallway, and then stopped. “I was just thinking. I—I have to go somewhere tomorrow. Want to come with?”

“Deamhan search?” he asked.

She nodded slowly. “Something like that.” She chewed her lip then straightened her shoulders. “So you want to come?”

* * * *

Murphy drove his beat up Toyota Corolla down the Hennepin Avenue, heading straight for the ruins in the warehouse district. The car’s left tail light was shattered, and a rope tied to the bumper held the trunk closed.

Driving by Wilkes Cemetery, Veronica looked out the passenger side window quietly, noticing a pile of dirt next to a freshly dug hole. A new grave. Interesting. Before leaving San Diego, she learned that the famous Minneapolis cemetery was already at maximum capacity.

Murphy parked his car across the street from the ruins. He turned down the radio volume and leaned toward Veronica to get a better look at the burnt ruins.

“This it?”

She nodded and opened the door. They exited and walked around to the front of the car. Murphy leaned against the rusted hood.

Veronica crossed her arms, staring at the police tape surrounding the area. The strong stench of smoke burned her nostrils. A pile of blackened wood and small patches of scorched grass and earth in the front yard emitted white wisps of smoke. The site wasn’t grand nor was it anything special.

“This place must of burned good.” Murphy examined the area. “So this was a sanctuary?” His upper lip curled in disgust.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Veronica sighed, realizing she probably shouldn’t have brought him along. She couldn’t forgive herself if Murphy got hurt. Most importantly, Sean would never forgive her bringing another person into her mess. By dragging Murphy along, she disobeyed one of The Brotherhood’s policies, one of the only policies she believed in. However, she wasn’t part of that organization so why should she even care.

“What are we looking for?” Murphy glanced up and down the street before slowly approaching the sectioned off area.

“Anything that might prove this was a sanctuary.”

He ducked under the yellow police tape and picked his way forward, observing the ruins.

Veronica remembered the chattering old woman and glanced around to see if she and Murphy were being watched. She expected to see the nosy neighbors eyeing them through the curtains of their home, but the streets were usually empty at this time of day. She checked her watch. Just past four in the afternoon. They had to be quick and leave in a few hours before sunset, or nosy little ladies would be the least of their worries.

“I don’t know how you can pick out anything in this mess.” Murphy picked up a piece of burnt wood. “What are we looking for?”

Veronica ducked under the police tape. He was right. Besides already knowing the ruins used to be a home, nothing else around them proved it was anything other than that. Nothing stuck out to her; no remnants of a coffin (if the Deamhan even used a coffin). No sign of hidden compartments. Just charred pieces of wood and furniture.

“Be careful. Some of the wood is still hot.” Veronica fanned her blouse as the heat emanating from the ruins warmed her skin.

“What kind of stuff would you find in a sanctuary?” Murphy’s eyes flitted from the debris to the neighborhood and back again.

“Holding cells, lots of extra beds, maybe coffins. A sanctuary is like a Deamhan safe house.” She stood in the center of the rubble and turned in a circle as she carefully scanned the neighborhood and quiet streets. “If we’re lucky, maybe some remains of their victims.” A lone squirrel ran into the road, paused, stood on its hind legs, and stared at them before it ran and disappeared behind a tree.

Murphy nervously jingled his keys. “The cops don’t know about them?”

“No. The Deamhan keep their lives secret, remember?”

“How do you know then? Your mother?”

The Brotherhood. But Veronica didn’t want to tell him about that. “My mother,” she confirmed, turning to walk back to the car. “Would you’ve believed me if you hadn’t seen for yourself, Murphy?”

“No.”

At least he was honest.

“This is some paranormal shit,” he said.  “Like the Men in Black or Roswell. Stuff like that.”

The squealing sound of tires pierced the air. A blue windowless van rounded the corner at breakneck speed, racing down the street. It swerved uncontrollably from left to right before coming to a screeching halt next to Murphy. The van seemed oddly familiar to Veronica. She froze and she locked eyes with the driver, a white male, who glared back from under a black baseball cap.

Veronica rushed back to the car and she screamed at Murphy to follow her. She stood frozen, transfixed on the driver. He obviously wasn’t a Deamhan or a vampire. He didn’t look like a researcher and to her knowledge, there were no Chapters in the city anymore.