Phoenix Fallen (13 page)

Jules stepped out of the bathroom, naked, wrapped only in heat and steam. He glanced at the bed, smiling when he saw Rissa still laying there, face down, her bright hair tossed over her pillow. The sheet was tangled low, leaving most of her gorgeous back bare. He was tempted to yank that down, past the tempting curve of her ass, to move on top of her…

He made himself turn away and grab his clothes. She had an early enough day as it was. And it wasn't like he hadn't gotten to have her last night. Over and over. His lips curved at the memories that made it more than a little difficult to fasten his damn pants. And speaking of memories …something in this room was teasing at him. At his powers.

Jules looked around the hotel room curiously. He hadn't noticed much when they'd come in last night, for obvious reasons.

It was a fairly typical hotel room. Swank enough, decorated all in cool greys and steely blues. Gleaming black furniture with metal accents. Not much personal, except a few items scattered on top of the big dresser in front of the bed.

He wandered over, puzzled by the tingling touch reaching out to him. Rissa was getting up there for vampire, not that she'd like to hear that, he thought with a grin, glancing back at the bed.

But she was. Vamps like Miles were extremely rare. Most vamps were less than two hundred years old, far more common was less than fifty. Despite the myths, immortality wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Few suffered it for long.

He frowned, glancing down at the clutter on the sleek dresser.

The older and longer someone, or several someones, owned an object, the more imbued it became with psychic residue. Particularly if it held strong sentimental value. She had several objects that teased at the edge of his powers now that he stood directly over them. Like a forgotten radio signal, waiting to be picked up again by someone like him.

It was the silver picture frame that drew his eye most. He recognized Rissa immediately, center frame, sexy as hell, even in black and white.

A smile tried to form on his face, then faded as unease ran over the back of his neck, like the brush of ghost fingers. Jules reached for the frame, drawn as if it were a magnet. His fingertips brushed the heavy swirls of silver and Jules' hand started to shake.

He picked it up anyway, grasping it so hard now he could hear the glass grinding against the frame. His eyes burned as images washed over him. Front and center was a face he hadn't seen clearly in twenty-five years. Swirling out of the past, laughing….

Laughing over the screams.

Rissa woke to Jules' voice. A voice that was almost unrecognizable. Harsh, bitter and cold it yanked her out of the warm haze of sleep.

"Who is he?
Rissa.
Who the fuck is this?"

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. As soon as Rissa turned her head and saw him, she dropped her hands. Something was wrong.

Jules was standing in front of her dresser. His feet were bare and his skin was damp. He had his pants on but nothing else. Obviously he'd just gotten out of the shower. She could feel wisps of steam still in the room. He looked all kinds of delicious, but instead of heat, ice was filling her belly. Something was off.

His huge back was bowed, staring at something small he clutched in both hands. His whole body was shaking, she could see the ripples in every muscle.

"Jules. What—"

"I. Asked. You. A goddamn
question.
" He didn't yell, but his words made her jump as if he'd shouted. Her eyes flew to the object in his hands, finally making out what it was. Laureen's picture.

"It's just a picture of me and my sister and—"

"I fucking know that." Yes, of course, he would. His powers. But why did he sound like that? Like he had only the slightest control on a rage so deep it was threatening to burst from every pore.

Something was definitely wrong here. Very badly wrong. Her tummy quivered, chills skittered down her spine. Rissa's fingers twisted into the bed sheets, round and round as her heart started to pound.

"Jules, I really don't—"

"The man you think of so many times when you hold this! The one that scares you so much.
Who exactly
is
he to you, Rissa?"

Her throat closed. "He's my…sire, Jules. Daimen Cross."

He cursed, his fingers clenching so tightly she could see the muscles in his arms bunching.

"
He
made
you
?" The disgust in his voice was a palatable thing. It was as if he had slapped her across the face. She recoiled, backing away deeper into the bed.

"Yes. I …why, Jules?" But she was beginning to fear she knew exactly why.

Please. No, not that.
Please, god, no.

Jules lifted his head, his black eyes blazing. "That man killed my family, Rissa. Your
Daimen
ripped out my mother's throat while I watched. His henchman pulled my three-year old sister out of my arms and tore off her
head.
Fuck!" His voice slammed through the room like a huge, banging gavel,

In two strides, he was at the bed. She shrank from him, terrified. Not of what he would do, but of what was happening. Here. Now.

It couldn't be real. This wasn't happening.

But it was. Tears pricked her eyes.

Jules couldn't seem to uncurl his fingers from the picture frame, but he bent down until his face was almost nose to nose with hers. His huge frame coiled over her in a way she would never have imagined, vibrating with malice and anger.

"Please, Jules," she whispered.

"Shut.
Up."

She bit her lip, but it trembled anyway as she looked up at him. Seeing past the anger in his eyes to the pain.

"Were you
there?
That night. 1989, Rissa. Pointe Coupee Parish. It was early June—"

Rissa's stomach dropped. Her eyes started to roll up in her head. And an endless blackness took her away.

She was so scared. Terrified. Daimen was in a mood like she'd never seen. Wild with a maniac joy oozing from every pore. He practically danced down the dirt path, moonlight glinting on black water and Spanish moss and his white-blonde head.

He'd just come back from a blessed week of absence. She never knew where he went. None of them did. But how Rissa cherished those times when he left. Wishing and praying he would never come back, but Daimen always came back. Whether it was a day or two, or three weeks …

The fucker always came back.

And he never, ever left her alone. Not once in forty years. Jacque and Betty might have let her go. They might've looked the other way. But Docie May …never.

That bitch was the only one of them that actually cared about Daimen. Jacque just wanted a strong leader, someone to tell him what to do, who to be. And Betty was terrified of being alone, even though Rissa knew Daimen scared the shit out of her, too.

But Docie May
loved
Daimen. She did everything she could to please him. Rissa hated her. Not for that love of their sick sire, though. She hated Docie May because when Daimen had killed her sister, Docie May had laughed.

Rissa walked behind the two blond heads, one golden, one nearly silver. Her jaw tightened as she stared at Docie May's head. Of course, Daimen hadn't actually killed Laureen. Not the second time anyway. But he was responsible for both her deaths alright.

Daimen had gone back and turned her sister nearly a year after he had taken Rissa at Mardi Gras. He actually strolled into their hotel room at the time with Laureen on his arm, a shell-shocked wraith with wild eyes, as if he expected Rissa to be pleased
.

Pleased.

When Rissa had screamed and clawed at him instead, he'd laughed. "I never had a matched set before, cher. How could I resist?" And when she'd persisted, trying to hurt him in earnest, Daimen had simply slipped inside her and taken over Rissa from the inside out.

Using his awful power to force her to his will, that cold oiliness that coiled inside her soul and blanked out everything but him. He'd done it before, of course. That was how he'd teased her away from her sister and Gloria that first time, the night he'd turned her. She hadn't known why she'd been so compelled to follow him at the time. But Rissa learned. Daimen saw to that. Whenever she defied or refused him in any way. Or any time he just wanted a laugh. She'd feel that touch like snakes burrowing into her skin and it'd feel like he had taken over her very soul.

Usually he kept the game to an hour or two.  More than that and it tended to cause people to start losing their minds. Something Rissa suspected was part of Docie May's problem.

The time Rissa went crazy about Laureen, Daimen had forced her under for an entire night. It had been hell on earth.

Daimen surrounding her, drowning her in his will. His wishes, his desires, his feelings…his. She was his. He told her that over and over until she'd almost started to believe it, unable to discern where she began and he ended.

Less than a month after he brought Laureen to them, her sister had walked into the sun. It was hardly a surprise. Laureen hadn't taken to being a vampire at all. She just sat and stared at everything with those crazy blue eyes, a terrible emptiness there that Rissa couldn't break through. She barely talked and when she had, she just ended up sobbing in Rissa's arms.

Daimen had told Rissa her sister was gone with a hint of malice he hadn't bothered to hide. Watching her all the while with narrowed green eyes, as if daring her to come unglued again. But she hadn't. Rissa just cried… while Docie May laughed. That had brought her out of it long enough for Rissa to tear into Docie May, leaving the other vamp bloody and begging until with a sigh Daimen had gotten up and pulled them apart. Then Rissa had started crying again. For days on end she did nothing else, until in a fury, Daimen had threatened to take over her again, to force her to the most awful, hideous acts for nights on end if she didn't get up and move on.

So, she had. Rissa cursed her own cowardice in not seeking the sun herself. But she couldn't do that. Something hard and stubborn inside her had always refused that option through the years. The long, long years between now and then.

It'd only been since the Reveal that Rissa had felt like she was waking up from that endless nightmare, coming back to a little of herself at last.

People knew about vampires now. There was a lot of hatred, of course. So much hatred…especially towards vampires, who were almost surely the most hated of the shade races.

But she'd seen the television stories. Some shades did work with humans, even a few vampires. They had almost normal lives, or as near as possible. She could be one of those …she could be free.

Soon. Rissa had been getting her nerve up for weeks, steeling herself. Prepared to watch for every opportunity, no matter how small, and
seize
it. Daimen was letting his crazy go even more than normal lately. He hadn't used to kill
just
for fun. Oh, he had always taken pleasure in his feedings, certainly. But they had been feedings, not murder for the pure sake of it. He'd killed more than most vampires, but less than some.

Now though, that was changing. Daimen was enjoying the new freedom of the Reveal, even though so many shades it wasn't freedom at all. That being known for what they were meant these random attacks had to stop, or everything would rebound on them. That if they didn't behave the humans
would
eventually strike back.

Daimen didn't care. Daimen didn't want to behave.

Like tonight. He swaggered up the road, arm in arm with Docie May. Their heads close together, shutting everyone else out. But Rissa could hear him promising her a feast. He'd passed a little family coming home last night, Daimen told her as Docie May giggled. They were camping out in the swamp, poor things. Probably making their way to New Orleans for work. Times were hard for humans just now. And about to get harder for this family. Daimen wanted them. He'd marked their camping spot and they were almost back to it now.

Rissa's heart was in her throat. A family? Daimen had done some sick shit before, but god…

Suddenly, Daimen stiffened ahead of her, his head coming up, sniffing the air. "They're up ahead, coming this way. Everyone off the road. I want to watch for a minute."

He turned to look directly at Rissa, a dare in his eyes. He knew of them all, she was the one most likely to protest, or even refuse outright. But Rissa only bowed her head, obeying like everyone else while inside she was shaking with nerves. She moved into the edges of the swamp, with the rest of them, concealed under a huge old cypress.

She couldn't do this. Daimen had to know that. She wouldn't. Unless he took over her… Rissa's knees went weak at the thought and she had to grab at the mossy old tree to stay upright. Daimen gave her a sharp look.

Just then the family came in sight, moving up the small track the vampires had just left. There was an old man in front, followed by two women, both with a child on one hip. Last in line was a painfully skinny boy of about nine or ten, also carrying a child, this one a girl with braids in a ragged red dress. He carried her piggyback, his feet bare, kicking the road idly as he passed less than a foot from where Rissa crouched, under that big cypress, Spanish moss hanging down in thick grey-green curtains.