Vampires and Sexy Romance (21 page)

She lay there on her back, not moving, her eyes closed.  Lucy crawled over to her and shook her, calling out her name, though her voice was hoarse.  No response.  She felt for a pulse and thankfully found one, then leaned down until she could hear her breathing.

Thank god.
  Lucy looked around, felt in her pockets for her phone—it wasn’t there!  She’d forgotten it.  Damn it!  She felt the pockets of Abbey’s black cargo pants; lots of pockets, but no bulges big enough to be a phone.

I’ve got to get her out of here, Lucy told herself.  She just had to choose: go and get help, or try and drag Abbey’s unconscious body to safety.  She felt like she’d been hit by a truck, but she so didn’t want to leave Abbey there alone.  Not with what just happened.  Who knew what was coming?  And truthfully, she didn’t want to come back to this place for anything.

So Lucy stood up, feeling her head pounding and pitching on top of her shoulders.  She held her head for a moment until the world stopped spinning.  A few deep breaths and she opened her eyes.  The night fog had cleared a little, but she still couldn’t see the perimeter of the grave yard.  Which way had they come in?  

Crap!
 

She leaned down to grab Abbey under the arms when she heard a crack, the kind like a limb getting split off a tree by lightning.  Lucy gulped and looked up.  There directly in front of her was a hand covered in dirt and clumps of grass, sticking out of the grave of James and Julie Adams.

~*~

Lucy felt a cold stabbing fear in her gut.  It wasn’t that horrible pulling feeling anymore.  No, this was pure, undiluted fear.  If she weren’t so tired she might’ve screamed, she might’ve turned and ran, right then, forgetting about Abbey lying unconscious and defenseless at her feet.  But she was both exhausted and acutely aware of what was going on around her.

It was a chaotic mess.  It wasn’t just Abbey’s parents digging themselves out of their graves, the cemetery was vibrating with activity—not life…just two hundred corpses rising, clawing their way out of their coffins.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

And if the rather nasty state of James and Julie Adams freshly animated corpses was any indication of what was to come crawling out of the rest of the graves, Lucy was glad she’d already thrown up the contents of her stomach.

Covered in dirt, stitches clearly holding their flesh together over their faces, Mrs. Adam’s head had obviously separated from her shoulders, the stitches bulging since her entire head lulled to the side.  They hadn’t bothered trying to stabilize or reinforce the neck.  Lucy hoped, for Abbey’s sake, that the funeral had been closed casket.

Mr. Adams had had the top of his skull chopped off, and they had simply stapled it back on top of his head.  And as he stepped out of his grave, his suit wrinkled and caked with soil, Lucy saw that his left leg was crooked—probably broken during the accident.

Lucy couldn’t keep her eyes on Mr. and Mrs. Adams.  It wasn’t their disturbing appearance…it was that corpses were breaking through the ground all around her.  Some faster than others, some almost completely skeletal, some almost looked like they were in good enough shape they could’ve passed for living.  Must have been gentle deaths, and the embalming procedure had frozen them that way. 

But most were stooped, rotting bags of mottled flesh, oozing fluids and eyes bulging or drooping out of their sockets.

Lucy fell to her knees beside Abbey, trying to shake her awake.  If they ran they might have a chance.

Are they zombies?  If they are, will they eat us?
  Lucy cried out Abbey’s name. 
Or just our brains?

Suddenly Abbey’s eyes snapped open, she gasped and brought her arm up over her face, moaning.  And then she was screaming.  She’d caught sight of a zombie crawling out of his grave—there was only half of him left.  She scrambled to her feet, spinning around, gasping between screams, looking to Lucy, her terrified eyes barely registering her.  But then she just stopped screaming, stopped moving, wasn’t even breathing for a moment. 

“Momma…Daddy?”  She gasped and gulped breath as she started to stagger toward her parents’ animated corpses.

Oh god.
  Lucy reached out and tried to grab Abbey, caught her elbow and dragged her back to her.  Abbey tried to push Lucy away, but Lucy wouldn’t let go.  Abbey turned on her and pushed again.  “Let go of me!”

“Abbey, we’ve got to get out of here!”  Lucy tried to pull her toward the only clear path she could see.  The only way that didn’t have a corpse dragging itself toward them.  But Abbey couldn’t take her eyes away from her parents, and she just kept calling to them, and pushing at Lucy, trying to get free of her.

“They’re not you parents anymore!”  Lucy said.  She shook her friend and turned her to face her. 

Abbey’s eyes flashed, the whites of her eyes huge, her mouth now open in a snarl.  She reared back and slapped Lucy across the cheek, hard enough Lucy lost her hold on one of Abbey’s shoulders, but she kept hold of the other for dear life.  She couldn’t let her get any closer to her parents. 

She couldn’t feel much anymore, there were just too many dead people walking around, fighting with each other.  But she could tell two things: there were no spirits in any of the zombies, just energy filling them, making them move; and she could feel hunger rolling off every single one of them.

Guess that answers the “will they eat us?” question.   

Lucy gasped when she saw a skeletal hand clasp down on Abbey’s shoulder, a rotting face appearing out of the darkness, its teeth flashing as it went for her throat.  Lucy swung her fist and punched the gruesome creature in the face, knocking out one of its slimy teeth.  But just then something grabbed Lucy by the ankle, making her fall to one knee and scream.

A light flared around Lucy and Abbey, scorching the air and illuminating the entire graveyard.  Something whipped through the air, crackling with blurry speed, sending the two corpses attacking Lucy and Abbey flying through the misty air. 

Lucy looked up and saw an unbelievable sight.  There stood her grandmother in her nightgown and robe, her hair braided in a long white rope.  In her hand she held an old wooden baseball bat—the one from the hall closet.  But now it was glowing, shimmering with light. 

“Gram?”

Her Grandmother moved forward and swung the bat, catching a zombie in the back of the head, then smacking another in the teeth, flattening both.  Another blurry movement and she took out another zombie’s legs, sending it clattering to the ground.  In no time her grandmother had run to them, and was pulling Lucy to her feet with unnatural strength.

Lucy gulped when she caught the look on her grandmother’s face.  She was majorly pissed off.

“As impressive as this is…” she waved a hand at the throng of corpses.  “That you can raise an entire cemetery, if you can’t control them and send them back to their graves you’re going to get everyone killed!” 

She grabbed Lucy’s injured hand and Lucy could feel her gram’s power flicker and sizzle against her flesh.  It wasn’t very strong, but it was concentrated, and most importantly, it knew what it was doing.  “Now let’s send all these poor people back to their rest.” 

Lucy could feel her own power rise up again, this time it hurt and burned far more than before.  But it wasn’t as frightening.  She knew her grandmother was going to put everything right. 

Gram raised her other hand up to the heavens.  “Hear me, denizens of this cemetery.  I am Lillian Haveraux, and I command you to return to your graves…now!”

Lucy felt the power flash up through her, rippling over her flesh and pulsing through her hand into her grandmother, then out to the zombies.  Every zombie stopped in its tracks, slowly turned to face Gram, and then just like that, they all started moving in straight lines until they started falling back into their graves.  And amazingly enough, all the ripped up earth and grass just seemed to open up and swallow them, and then settled and smoothed out until even the grass looked exactly as it had before. 

Gram let go of Lucy’s hand and she felt the instant shock of their powers disconnecting.  Her grandmother shot her with the angriest glower.  “You stupid girl!”

“But Gram…I-I didn’t…”

Just then Gram’s eyes lit on Abbey’s still sobbing form, and she shook her head, giving her granddaughter’s arm a gentle squeeze.  “I should’ve known.”

Gram walked over to Abbey, peering down at her with harsh, demanding eyes.  This alone made Abbey shut up.

“Your grandma Donna May and I both told you not to mess with this kind of magic.”

“I had to try!” Abbey cried.

Gram grabbed hold of Abbey’s hand.  She examined the wound and then let her go.  “You’re just a witch.”  Her tone was cold.  Lucy had never heard her voice like that.  “You can’t possibly control a necromancy ritual.  It may be magic, but it is too removed from witchcraft for your kind to do anything but get themselves killed!”

Abbey sobbed.  “I’m sorry…but I had—”

“If you had waited until you’d learned enough from your grandmother, you could’ve called your parents spirits from the nether realm, all by yourself, like any other self respecting Wiccan.”  She got right in Abbey’s face.  “No, you had to trick the first necromancer you came across into this foolishness, and you almost got my granddaughter killed!” 

Abbey wiped the tears from her eyes, her face usually so full of life was stripped of all hope…beaten.

In an instant Gram’s face changed from angry to the gentle warmth Lucy was used to.  She moved forward and took Abbey into her arms.  “Sweet child.  Zombies can’t remember what they were.  They’ve lost the spark of humanity.  Their souls moved on shortly after they died.  So please don’t remember them like this.  Remember them as they were when they were living.”

As always, Lucy was touched by her grandmother’s caring nature.  Even though she’d been angry enough to kill Abbey only a minute ago, she was now consoling her, her arm around Abbey’s shoulders as they turned and started to walk towards the entrance of the graveyard.

Lucy brushed some of the dead leaves from her jeans, just starting to feel a little better.  Still wobbly, but she was a damn sight better than she would’ve been if the heard of zombies had gotten their cold, dead hands of her.

Gram’s such a rock star…

She was going to elaborate on her grandmother’s wondrous qualities, but she didn’t get a chance to finish that thought.  What’s more, she didn’t have a chance to even take a single step to follow either. 

She gasped as she felt it: something cold and dead hurdling toward her from behind.  The darkness of the graveyard made her all the more confused, and she turned in time to see flowing blonde hair and a smiling set of fangs.  Something hurt, and something else knocked her down and was dragging her way—then all went black.

FROM THE SHADOWS of the night, Delia had watched the two on the porch.  She had been such a fool, to believe Gabriel’s word over her own common sense and intuition.  She’d known the instant the girl had stumbled into that filthy little alley behind the Refectory.  She could see passion and the glow of love plainly on her face.  But that hadn’t been what had set her off—that alone, the pathetic attentions of a silly human girl, wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference to her.

What had made the difference had been the smell.  Even through the stench of the garbage and rot of the alley, the scent he’d left on her flowed through the rancid air to Delia, and the meaning of it shot straight through her nervous system and mind, and cracked her heart.

Gabriel’s scent was all over the girl.  And worse, she smelled lust and longing in that trace of him.  He wanted her.  He wanted her enough that she stunk of it.

Now that didn’t mean love.  Delia knew that it didn’t.  But what it did mean was that his body wanted to cheat on her.  And added with the obvious amorous intentions of the girl, Delia snapped.  She’d wanted the girl dead—not scared, not whimpering for her life, but dead.

But Gabriel and her stupid brother, Vin, had interfered.  Gabriel had fought for the girl, and Delia had been more than hurt over that fact.  She’d been devastated.  And no matter how much he swore that he did not love the girl, she could indeed see it in his eyes.  It wasn’t just lust, for that scent had waned during their battle in the alley.  But he could not hide the truth that blazed from his very soul.  He was now in love with another.

And as Delia searched his eyes, finding this new horrific truth there, she also saw another truth.  Though there was still love in his eyes for her—and maybe he was still in love with her—there was pity too.  And that pity had sealed it for her. 

She’d trusted her heart to a filthy, stinking werewolf, but no longer. 

She lied when she told him she believed him.  She lied when she told him she trusted him.  After all, he’d made every lame excuse imaginable not to lay with her that night.  How stupid did he think she was?

So she’d kept to the shadows, following him, unable to trust herself to not kill the girl if she just stalked her.  And then the two had wandered out onto the porch, their want and need for each other as thick and obvious in the night air as their adoration of each other was to the eye.  And all that she’d gleaned before the kiss against the porch railing.

Delia heard thunder pounding in the background—a storm, or avalanche, some natural disaster.  But she could hear their breathing rise and quicken, even their hearts pounded loud enough that she knew their pulses were nearly in sync. 

Delia had wanted vengeance.  She’d wanted to attack Gabriel right then and there.  How dare the dog think he could do this to her!  She was a warrior, second in power only to her father, and this mangy mongrel thought he could hurt her like this.  To chose a mere mortal over her.

A single hot tear escaped from her left eye.  Delia snapped closed her eyes and clenched her jaw shut, pushing back the emotion that threatened to turn her into a sniveling, crying wreck.  No, she was a warrior, weeping wouldn’t change things, and would not make her feel better. 

Yet vengeance against her enemies would.

She pondered following Gabriel, and then pushing a tree down in his path.  When he got out of the car she would take him, hard and fast…well, maybe she would torture him—get some real satisfaction from his death.

Unfortunately, the mere thought of killing Gabriel sent a cold, bitter chill through her entire being.  She knew there and then that she couldn’t just kill him.  She loved her wolf.  But she did want to hurt him.

Physically?  Or just psychologically?  Maybe break his heart as he had broken hers.

Now that sounded promising.

And how better to break a heart than to kill what it loved?  The thought of ripping the girl’s throat out, or better, her heart…oh yes!  That was a lovely thought.  Rip out Lucy Hart’s heart, watch her life drain from her face, lapping up her fear like a river of blood, later gifting that heart to her unfaithful love.  Maybe she’d gift wrap the little piece of meat—a box with metallic red wrapping paper, and blood red ribbons and a bow.

Delicious.

But not enough…no, his betrayal was far worse than killing that stupid human could pay for.  She wanted him to know, for the rest of his inadequate life, that his heart’s desire was just out off his reach.

Yes!  If he would not be hers, and she had to live with that fact as evidence, then Delia would make sure Gabriel shared the exact same lifelong agony.  Her plan formed in her mind, as glittering and cool as the night that enveloped her.  Yes, so easy.  But the girl wasn’t just a human.  She’d been immune to Delia’s mind control—something she hadn’t encountered in a human before.  And, infuriatingly, she’d demonstrated influence over Delia’s body, holding her back from killing her outright.  Though it had visibly drained the girl to pull off such a trick, Delia would need to be careful, sneaky.  Not only capturing her, but in keeping her captive. 

Turning a human took time…an entire night and day, to be exact.  She needed privacy and safety—somewhere safe from Gabriel, her meddling brother, and where the girl’s power over her would be quelled.

Delia closed her eyes as the lights of the Hart girl’s home flickered off, delight flowing through her veins as she saw in her mind’s eye where she would take her.  She knew just the place.

“Tomorrow night, you little bitch…” Delia whispered into the wind, her nails cutting into the flesh of her palms, making them bleed.  “You will rise vampire.  And Gabriel will never be able to make you his bride.”

~*~

Delia was just about to set the little house where Lucy Hart lived on fire.  Since she couldn’t enter uninvited, she would simply and literally smoke the little blood-sack out.  But then another human girl had shown up and started rapping pebbles against the girl’s window.  How convenient.  The human girl had Lucy out the front door and headed out into the woods behind the house in no time at all.

Delia followed, not making a sound, biding her time as the two strode through the woods and then into a graveyard. 

Too bad Delia was no longer going to kill her rival for Gabriel’s love.  Killing her in the graveyard would have been a splendid memory to have. 

But no sooner did she enter the graveyard she felt it.  The little blood-sack’s power, the one that had stopped her in her tracks back in that filthy alley, the one that Delia would neutralize soon enough.  But maybe not soon enough.  What if the blood-sack had finally noticed her lurking in the background?

But then she saw what was happening.  There was an altar set up on the top of a gravestone—and Delia could smell her rival’s blood.  They were performing necromancy.  Yes, that was the power the girl had, power over the dead.  Of Course!

But Delia had never heard nor read of a necromancer powerful enough to possess or control a vampire.  That was new and interesting.  Delia felt the blood-sack’s power surge through the ground, running straight for her.  She jumped, vaulting herself straight up into the air, landing on headstones as she hopped with lightening speed toward the walls of the graveyard.  There she perched and watched the mayhem the little blood-sack and her witch friend let loose. 

Foolish children, having no idea what they were actually doing.  With as much power as the little blood-sack had, and obviously no skill or control over that power, just walking into a graveyard was a dangerous proposition.  Let alone filling the consecrated earth with that power.

Delia knew what was about to happen before it actually did.  But she was impressed nonetheless.  Grave dirt all over the graveyard started to churn, rotting heads and hands erupted everywhere as the dead gained purchase to the night air, and freedom.

They were animated, yet uncontrolled.  Maybe Delia wouldn’t have to turn the blood-sack, maybe her freshly raised zombies would take care of Delia’s problems for her.  No way for Gabriel to blame her for his precious Lucy being eaten by her own creations.

Delia felt a voyeuristic thrill, watching the two girls tremble and scream in horror.

But then a sharp spear of light caught Delia’s eye.  Entering the zombie littered graveyard was the blood-sack’s doddering old grandmother.  But she was running toward the two girl’s, swinging a baseball bat that gleamed with power.  Every time she touched one the zombies they fell over, shocked and disoriented—yet not returned to the ground.  No, the old woman didn’t have the power her granddaughter did…but she had skill and control the other may…no, would never have. 

Delia watched as the older woman took charge of the situation, and with remarkable skill used her own granddaughter’s considerable powers to lay to rest every last one of the zombies.  It was impressive.  Maybe even more impressive than her granddaughter’s near fatal raising of the graveyard.

Delia waited patiently as the old woman chewed her young charges out—making the little Goth-chick witch cry, her tears streaking her face with mascara rivulets.  But in the blink of an eye she started to soothe her, as Delia had watched countless human women do over the centuries, by wrapping her arms around her and speaking cooing lies that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.  As always, that act fascinated her.  No such thing happened in vampire society, especially not in the house of Tokar.

When the grandmother turned and began to lead the witch away, Delia found her chance.  The little blood-sack had just stood up when Delia streaked across the graveyard at her.  The first blow slammed her to the ground, knocking her unconscious with no more than a breathy yelp.  Delia had her thrown over her shoulder and was already out of the graveyard before neither the witch nor grandmother could turn around.

~*~

She could’ve simply dragged her all the way to their destination, yet Delia wanted to conserve her energies.  Turning a human to vampire took a lot of blood out of a vampire, and thus much energy.  And what if the little blood-sack had some tricks up her sleeve still?

No, she had her wickedly fast sports car only a few blocks away.  Dropping Lucy in the trunk, Delia angled herself behind the wheel and drove like hell out of the sleepy little town of Four Corners and streaked through the night, north to Onyx.

The house was on the edge of the small town, bordered by forest on all sides.  It had been in her family for ages, and was a well kept secret.  Once inside the house Delia knew her plan was as good as wrote.  She had nothing more to fear.  Once in the house, any member of the Tokar clan was safe.  Just close the door, insert the black onyx key and turn the lock.  The house wards sealed with the most powerful of magicks.  Not even another member of the Tokar family could get in, no less an enemy.

No less a foul-hearted letch like Gabriel.

No, no werewolf could ever make it through the mystical wards that steeped these walls.

Delia tossed the little blood-sack on the floor and drew herself up a seat.  After a few minutes of waiting she gave the blood-sack a non-too-gentle nudge with the toe of her boot.  Nothing.  Humans were just so…fragile.  Too bad.  Delia was in the mood to play.  But she could be patient.  She had all the time in the world to bring the little blood sack over.  The basement of the house even had a dirt floor, so she could wait out the change in its entirety in the safety of the house.

The scent of the little human’s blood wafted up and made Delia’s mouth water.  Maybe it was because the little blood-sack was a necromancer, but her blood held an intoxicating aroma.  Delia had planned on messing up her face quite a bit before turning her.  There were ways—there was a silver knife she could use, once her heart stopped, and after the vampire blood had started to take hold—to guarantee some rather nasty scars.

Either way, Delia would taste that lovely blood.

She would just have to wait.