Shattered (the Spellbound Series Book 2)

Shattered

By Rene Lanausse

© 2014 Rene Lanausse

All rights reserved.

For Leslie,

For inspiring me to take writing seriously,

And for all that you gave

To the world

Part One: The Nephilim

1

             
After the first few times someone tries to kill you, it starts to lose its shock value.

              That’s why I’m not worried in the slightest when I notice the three women dressed in black from head to toe, watching me intently from the opposite end of the subway car. I ignore them completely at first, and chalk up their stares to my paranoia. But when ten minutes have passed, and their eyes are still on me, I assume the worst. I’m not all that surprised; it’s been a month or two since the last time they’ve come for me. I slump back in my seat, trying to ignore the glares of the black-clad trio watching from afar.

              I can tell just by glancing at their arms that they’re spellcasters. They’re human beings capable of tapping into the energy locked inside each of us, and using it to reshape or destroy the world around them. When a spellcaster unlocks their full potential, ancient symbols are branded into their dominant arm with a spell, and I can see theirs from all the way across the train car. One of them catches me looking, and cracks her knuckles. I roll my eyes, and flip to where I’d left off reading
An Abundance of Katherines
.

              When I finally reach my stop, they rise as one, and follow me as I step off the train. They let me get a few steps towards the exit, before one of them grabs my hand, and spins me around to face them. With an exasperated sigh, I ask, “When are you people going to give up?”

              A blonde woman wearing half a dozen black bracelets says, “Our reasons are ours alone. You’d be better off worrying about yourself.”

              With a frown, I stare down the women interrupting the flow of my day. Judging by their obvious spellcaster affiliation, and their choice in clothing, I assume they’re old members of the Penumbra clan. If I’m right, this means they may be coming after me to avenge the death of Selene, their old leader. Roughly a year ago, alongside my mentor, Krystal, and some friends from New York City’s supernatural underground, we settled the differences between Krystal and Selene in Grand Central. I may not have killed Selene myself, but I certainly had a hand in whittling her down before Krystal struck the final blow.

For the most part, the Penumbra clan she once led is now loyal to Krystal, who’s since changed the name to Caelestia. Thankfully, she’s also changed the dress code; I don’t own many black clothes myself, but the goth-inspired attire makes Selene’s last few loyal supporters easier to spot.

              I slip my book into my messenger bag, and set the bag on the ground as I mutter, “You don’t honestly think the three of you are a match for me, do you?”

              “Don’t worry, we’re more than capable of wiping the floor with you.” The train’s doors close, and a low hiss echoes through the empty station as it starts to move. Everyone who’d planned to get off at this station is already well out of sight; it’s just me, and the three women after my head.

              Any normal person would be at least a little scared at this point. But just like the women confronting me, I’m about as far from normal as they come.

              The constant current of energy within me boils to the surface as I prepare myself for a fight. I can feel it coursing through my veins, and funnel a fraction of it into the palm of my hand as I raise it against the three women coming towards me. When I release it, a surge of power flows from my palm, blasting back two of the women; the third was able to throw a shield around herself in time to avoid the attack.

              I smile a little to myself as the woman closes in, her intent to punch me clear in the twist of her torso, the fist raised behind her head. I shouldn’t enjoy getting into scrapes as much as I do, but I find myself enjoying the adrenaline rush every time. At times, it feels more like an elaborate dance than a struggle for survival. The few people who know me well say that I’m too fierce for my own good, but I disagree; if I were a man, they would say it’s perfectly normal to enjoy a good fight. I’ve always believed that a woman’s just as capable of getting her hands dirty once in a while, but I seem to be one of the few who does.

I sidestep the woman’s obvious punch, letting her momentum carry her forward for a split second. Then, I grab her by the back of her head, and smash it into the window of the passing train with such force that the glass splinters. When she staggers back, blinking away the pain, I fling her against the station’s brick wall with another burst of energy, satisfied by the resounding
crack
of her skull making contact with the solid surface.

              The other two women materialize behind me, and I spin to face them, prepared for whatever they plan to throw at me. The two of them release concentrated streams of energy my way in tandem, which I block by using my own energy as a shield. It’s clear that none of these women are on my level; they’re probably much more experienced, but even among spellcasters, I’m in a league of my own. I vanish, and reappear behind my opponents, smashing their heads together before physically throwing one of them into the tracks. With my own energy, I make the tracks come alive, and she shrieks and twitches in agony as volts of electricity course through her body. She’ll be in a lot of pain, but she’ll live… I hope.

              The last of the trio watches in horror as her friend convulses below us, and nearly jumps out of her skin when I grab her by the straps of her black tank top. “W-wait,” she stammers, “Don’t kill me! I’ll do anything!”

              I
could
let her off with a warning, since she doesn’t look like someone I’ve had to fight off before. Luckily, she caught me in a merciful mood. I decide to take her out with a less violent method than the first two, but I still have to intimidate her some. I pull her in close, and whisper, “You should know better than to come after a girl on her birthday.” Then, I place my palm over her eyes, and administer a sleeping spell, guiding her gently to the ground as her body goes limp.

              I pull the electrocuted woman up from the tracks, and lay her in a pile with the others. I may not be the loyalist’s biggest fan, but I don’t actually want any of them to die. I think back to January of last year, when I’d first discovered my powers and unleashed them on a group of vampires, and remember that there’s already enough blood on my hands. I take one last look at the pile of limp bodies before me, and then grab my messenger bag off the ground and head up the stairs to the street.

***

              The adrenaline coursing through me wears off by the time I reach my destination, a tall condo overlooking Central Park. The doorman waves at me as I enter, and I flash him a smile before making a beeline for the elevator. As the floors pass by, I straighten my shirt, wipe the thin sheen of sweat from my brow, check my breath. The usual routine before I come to see him. The silver doors in front of me open silently, and I step out into the hallway, heading for the last door on the left.

              Nobody answers when I knock on the door, and I figure there must be some mistake. I dig my phone out of my pocket, and check the text that nearly got me thrown out of the last final of my spring semester: “Come over tonight, if you can.” Why would he have told me to come over if he weren’t even here? I shrug, and use the spare key he gave me a few months ago, figuring that at the very least, I can watch TV while I wait for him to show.

              I let myself in, and a tiny gasp escapes my lips. All the lights are off, but the hallway, living room, and kitchen are dimly lit by candles arranged on the floor, on tables, on windowsills. Several cupcakes on a plate in the kitchen bear birthday candles as well, already lit, and as I step towards them, strong arms wrap around me from behind. “I’d sing for you if I could,” whispers a familiar voice, “but the least I could do for you was bake. Happy birthday, Heather.”

              I grin, and turn to look up into my boyfriend’s face. Nick looks the same as always; his soft brown eyes, his one-dimpled smile, his ivory skin, these features and more are as familiar to me as my own. I briefly press my lips against his, and whisper back, “You didn’t have to do this.”

              “I know. I just wanted to surprise you, since you already figured out what your mom has planned.”

              I pull away from Nick gently, and observe him carefully. Maybe drinking him in would be the more accurate phrase; he may not have quite the same dark, seductive atmosphere about him as some of the other vampires I’ve met, but there’s still something about him that draws me in. Something that I’ve been fighting to a certain extent for a while, but that I may be done fighting.

              “Well, thank you!,” I tell him with a smile. “I wasn’t expecting cupcakes.”

              “I did what I could. Landon and Krystal were supposed to be here too, but they’re probably helping your mom set up.”

              I bite my lip suggestively, and to clarify, I ask, “Does that mean no one’s here?”

              “Yes… we’re completely alone.”

              “Good…” Since there’s no one around, I lower my bag to the ground, take Nick’s face in my hands, and pull him in closer for a longer kiss. He lets out a note of surprise that gets muffled by my lips, but his arms pull me in closer, and he runs his fingers through my jet black curls. A different kind of adrenaline floods into my system, the kind that sends a shudder down my spine, and makes me crave every inch of the man in front of me. We’d decided to wait for this moment a long time ago, but judging by his eagerness, he’s just as tired of fighting the pull between us as I am.

              I leap into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, and he holds me above the ground effortlessly as our lips part, and the kiss deepens, our tongues meeting somewhere in the space where I end and he begins. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that we’re moving, and then of Nick gently lowering me onto his bed, where he lays on top of me, his lips straying to the nape of my neck. My back arches reflexively, and I bite my lower lip to contain a moan threatening to slip out. Nick’s body tenses, and I can feel him hesitate as a faint scraping sound emanates from his jaw. He pulls away, and his eyes search mine for permission, his pearly white fangs glinting in the light of the single candle on his headboard.

              I nod, and when Nick doesn’t move, I whisper, “Go ahead.”

              Nick lowers his head to my neck again, but this time, just his tongue connects with my skin, and an almost electric wave of pleasure makes my skin come alive. He traces the length of my neck with his tongue, then with something much sharper, without digging in enough to break the skin. As gently as he can manage, he bites down, his fangs driving through my flesh as easily as if it were a thin sheet of silk.

              It hurts about as much as getting a shot at the doctor’s, but the initial pain fades after the first second as he drinks from the steady stream of blood dribbling out. I even let out a small moan as his fangs plunge deeper into my neck, but before long, a sharp pain radiates from the area surrounding the bite. I gasp as the pain intensifies; it’s almost as if fire is spreading through my veins, setting my nerves on edge in a way that I don’t think either of us expected.

Nick pulls away, and watches me, perplexed. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he says. He winces, and clutches at his chest before asking, “Are you alright?”

I’m a little rattled, and breathing heavily, but the pain subsides as quickly as it began to spread.  My nerves are still tingling uncomfortably, but I mutter. “I’m fine. Please, don’t stop.”

“Are you sure?” Nick takes his thumb, and wipes at the twin beads of blood rolling down his chin.

“Yes… I’m sure.” I lean up and press my lips against Nick’s, the metallic taste of my own blood spreading through my mouth. At this point, I hardly care. I want him too badly to stop now. I lift my arms as he reaches down to pull up my shirt, and as the fabric slides across my skin, Nick cranes his neck, and blows out the single candle lighting the room. Now, there’s only us, rummaging in the dark to peel off layers of clothing, his bare skin against mine, my body trembling in anticipation of the moment we’ve both been waiting for. Before we proceed, I whisper, “I love you.”

Nick’s response is just as hushed, just as heartfelt, and fills me with the confidence I need to finally stop shaking. “And I you.”

***

I’d expected to feel different, after. Wiser, maybe. More mature. Really, I’m just sore, and
very
satisfied. Nick and I lay in the darkness for a long time, neither of us saying a word. Right now, there’s no need to speak. I may not feel like I’ve changed any, but I do feel closer to Nick than ever before. I lay my head on his bare chest, its rhythmic rise and fall nearly lulling me to sleep.

My eyes fly open when I remember that vampires don’t need to breathe. His chest shouldn’t be moving at all.

I sit upright, rekindling the candle’s flame with a spell, and watch him carefully, just to make sure I’m not imagining things. He’s definitely breathing, but
how
? I even press my ear to his chest, and that’s when I start to panic. I shake him violently to grab his attention.

Nick must have dozed off, because he sounds half asleep when he murmurs, “What are you doing?”

“Nick, wake up. It’s important!”

“What is it? Why are you freaking out?”

“You have a heartbeat.”