Waiting for Darkness (Blood Martyr) Read online

  Why?

  “Don’t I affect you? Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking stick! You make me want you so badly I could hardly breathe, make me want you so much I see spots, but you just lie there, cool as the fucking Queen of Sheba, and you have the nerve to try to seduce me.” He shook me, that handsome face raw with emotions I couldn’t decipher.

  Crouched over me, face shadowed, eyes glowing like sapphires set into a rugged cliff side, he made me wish for impossible things. Things not available to those damned by the light.

  “I don’t even know you, Kieran. We haven’t even known each other for twenty-four hours,” I said and mentally congratulated myself on my calm, measured voice.

  “You think that means a damned thing to me?” His voice quivered with ill-constrained rage. "I don't have to know you to know the damage you cause!"

  Caught off guard, I drew in a breath, a remnant of the human past I couldn't seem to shake off, not completely.

  Much as I detested my own existence, I didn’t want to end up as a bloodstain on the floor. Because, despite all the rumors and myths floating around about vampires vanishing in a cloud of ash, we vampires bleed the same as humans, and it is not a pretty sight.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve been watching you.”

  “But why? It’s not like I’m the only vampire in the city. Hell, you were in a fucking vampire club, Kieran. You could’ve had your pick. You chose me. What was that all about?” I hadn’t meant to engage in a shouting match, but once I got started, it was hard to stop. Like a runaway train, I suppose. “And you say you’ve had your eyes on me? Why? What the hell do you want with me?”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. “You’re…you’re not like other vampires. There’s something about you…I can’t explain it. It makes me want you. Makes me want to fuck you until you beg me to stop. Makes me want to hurt you so much you’d die from it.” Voice raspy, his lips hovered inches over mine.

  “I know about vampires. The minute they crawl out from the raw earth, God has forsaken their soul. They’re no longer wanted back in His embrace. But you…you’re different. You’re still pure, untouched. With enough persuasion, I think He’d take you back.”

  I stared at him, all thoughts of sex gone from my mind. “Have you gone insane? Please don’t tell me this is your idea of seduction because it sucks ass and seriously needs work.” I tried to tug his fingers out of my hair without yanking out my scalp, because vampires, contrary to popular belief, do feel pain. “Now let go, before I snap your wrist in half.”

  We both knew it was an empty threat, but I had to do something, had to say something.

  I was grateful when he sauntered to the cherry wood dining table in the large studio apartment I currently called home. I needed the space, the distance to think clearly.

  “I don’t know what it is about you. But you’re like an innocent virgin and an experienced whore all in one. Do you know how many men in this city want to possess that kind of rarity? And in a vampire, no less. I didn’t even know something like you was even possible until one of my pack members told me about the black-haired vampire slut with a habit of breaking little boys.” His lips quirked in a small smile, but it wasn’t the sort of smile that meant anything good. It was the kind of smile humans got when faced with a large, medium-rare steak just off the grill. “At first, it was kind of fun watching you make all those human boys fall in love with you. Do you know half of them still talk about you, even the ones you’ve kicked to the curb five years ago?”

  He laughed bitterly, and for a moment, he almost sounded jealous.

  I didn’t think so. "I still don't know why you're bringing this up."

  “No? Tanith, you touched one of mine. One from the pack. Ellis Newman. I doubt you even remember him.” He looked and sounded tired. Well, so was I. “He was a good kid. Never caused any trouble. Tried to help out the pack the best he could. Then you had to come around and fuck up his life.”

  Ellis Newman. I never asked for names, but I did remember him. Tall, broad-shouldered with deep chocolate eyes. His innocence had attracted me and I fell for his infectious laughter. I took him home and found out he wasn’t a virgin. That he was just as starved for sex as I was.

  I was about to throw him out, but his boy from next door voice had cajoled me.

  “Wait. I can show you a good time. I can be anything, everything you want,” he begged and I, against my better judgment, let him stay. He was a good actor, but he wasn’t good enough. He seemed…dirty to me. As if there was some sort of smut on his soul that just made me sick to my stomach.

  Two hours later, I kicked him out.

  I never heard or saw him again. "Ellis. He had brown eyes."

  Kieran’s eyes frosted over.

  “Remember him, do you? After you were through with him, he changed. Wasn’t the same anymore. A week later, he turned near Wenham Square. It was a Sunday. He killed three kids and two adults before the cops shot him down.”

  His hand tightened around my hair, stretching my scalp, and I couldn’t stop the small mew of pain that escaped my lips. “But you know what? The cops didn’t kill him. You did. You killed him. You got into his head, under his skin, and the only way he could free himself was through death. He didn’t have the courage to take his own life and he didn’t want to die alone. So he took five people with him. Did you know he had a girlfriend, or should I say, mate? Pretty little thing called Kaleigh. Someone told her he’d been with you before he went crazy and she put two and two together. She swore over his grave she’d kill you. Either that or die trying.” He paused. “We found her two days later. Head gone. Was it you?”

  Now that I definitely remembered. “Yes.”

  Kieran nodded. “Of course it was you. But when you got rid of her, no one wanted anything to do with you. Ellis was a popular kid. But you were big. The big, scary vampire with a nasty pair of fangs. So for a while, I just watched.”

  I couldn’t meet his glance. Guilt was not something I was familiar to, but when I felt that strange, almost burning sensation in the back of my throat, the strong taste of metal on my tongue, I almost gagged.

  That I had killed people, more than I could count, more than I could remember, was not a joy.

  “I’m not –’’

  Kieran’s head rose, eyes alert, searching for something.

  I felt the brush of magic soft against my skin, like butterflies running down my shoulders. It was the sound of silver bells on a winter day, but the noxious stink of brimstone and sulfur that made my nose twitch.

  Demon magic.

  Jamison.

  Kieran felt it too; either that or he took my tensed body as a warning. A very grave and urgent warning.

  The door blew in with a muffled thud that echoed though the renovated brownstone and a cloud of ashes rose up from the doorway.

  “Goddamn it, Jamison!” I screamed and was brought up short as I tried to stand up with Kieran’s hand still tangled in my hair.

  “Get. Your. Goddamn. Hand. Out of my hair. Now,” I ground out, too livid to see anything but red.

  Kieran had taken me down to the floor, using the bed as a shield, and while I was a bit touched by his show of protecting me, that didn’t stop me from wanting to play football with his head.

  Hair untangled, scalp tingling, I shrugged on the ruined jacket, trying not to gnash my teeth.

  A head popped around the empty doorway, dark red hair caught back in a loose braid. Jamison was one hundred percent Irish and he looked it.

  “I heard from someone you were at home. Your door was locked, but no one answered and I got a little worried…”

  Voice trailing off, his face creased in worry as he took in the sight of me half-naked and Kieran shrugging on a cable knit sweater that I didn't remember taking off his body. “Um…I came at a bad time, didn’t I?”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted to kill someone so much.

  Not at that point, in any case.

  CHAPTER THR
EE

  “Of all that is written, I love only what a person has written with his own blood…”

  -Nietzsche

  “Jesus, I’m sorry, Tanith,” said Jamison.

  I closed my eyes, really wanting to do him bodily harm. He was one of the few mortal friends I had, but Jesus, sometimes he had no sense.

  It scared me that he was a witch—a damned good one. But those who studied the craft were supposed to have common sense, as it’s a kind of an unwritten prerequisite in the job description. I couldn’t help wondering why someone hadn’t taken his head off a long time ago.

  With the deep purr of laughter behind me, I watched Jamison scuttle into the room, acting uncharacteristically clumsy as he nearly tripped over a low ottoman that sat by the doorway.

  “I’m…I’m really sorry about the door. I’ll...um...I’ll replace it,” he stammered, face red. This was so unlike Jamison I almost forgot to stay mad at him.

  “Yeah,” I said, “You’d better.”

  “Seems like your knight errant has come to the rescue, so I think this is my cue to make a graceful exit. Besides, some of the boys are waiting for me,” Kieran said. He nodded towards the open doorway, where two men, dressed in black with silver buckles, ties, and steel-toed boots, lounged against the door frame. Typical werewolf badass attire, typical werewolf badass pose.

  One of them nodded to his pack leader while the other stared at me with wide eyes. It was moments like this I wished I possessed just a smidgen of Jamison’s power so I could blast the neo-punk trash into the netherworld.

  “What are you looking at?” I asked the one with eyes the size of dinner plates and he ducked his head.

  Well, at least he wasn’t looking at me anymore. That was something.

  Kieran finished buttoning his coat and, with one hand on the doorframe, he winked at me.

  “I’ll contact you in a few,” he said and walked away, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hall. His men followed, and I stood staring at the empty hole where my door used to be.

  Jamison opened the refrigerator and winced at the packets of processed blood.

  “Granted this isn’t the first time I’ve opened your fridge, but every time I do, I regret it. Why do you even have these around? Don’t you get enough through hunting?”

  I threw off the leather jacket and struggled into an off-white sweater. “Jamison, do me a favor. Don’t talk to me until you replace my door, because I am this close to wringing your scrawny neck. Got it?”

  The witch pulled out a bottle of my best Sauvignon Blanc with a small noise of interest.

  “Look, I’m really sorry, but when you didn’t answer the door, I had to make sure everything was all right.” He sighed and flicked his fingers once. The cork slowly twisted in the neck of the bottle and worked its way free, hovering in the air until his hand closed around it. He set it on the counter.

  “I know you’re strong,” he continued, “but you’ve got to be careful. Centennial City is starting to attract more non-human citizens. It’s drawing freaks like minerals to a lodestone. In fact, you’re so strong it scares me shitless when I see you do something humans aren’t supposed to do. But if you’re not careful, you’re going to be up against something you can’t defeat. If I’m not around to bail you out, you’re fucked.”

  “Gee, thanks for the advice, Ma.”

  “Wiseass.” He took a deep pull directly from the bottle and waved a hand in the general direction of the damages. The wooden fragments re-assembled into the apartment door. After it was back in place—locks, bolts and all—he turned to me with a grin. “See? Good as new.”

  “Yes, I see that.” I crossed my arms. “And why did you do that after Kieran left? He already knows you’re a warlock. It’s not like you can cover up that smell of sandalwood with perfume. Anyone with a nose can tell you’re one.”

  He shrugged and took another swallow of the wine as if it was water. “Damn, this is good.”

  “Why did you act like an idiot in front of Kieran and his pack members? Now they’ll think you’re weak. If they do, they’ll try to screw you over. But you’re not. You’re the strongest warlock I know. So what’s up with the act?”

  “What act?”

  I sighed. Jamison was smart, but sometimes he made my head hurt.

  “You know. The whole I’m-cute-I’m-weak-don’t-hurt-me routine. You do it to everyone you meet. I’m the only person who knows how strong you really are. I’ve seen you fuck up a Were. You made that thing explode, Jamison. There aren’t many witches around here who can do that.”

  Jamison set the half-empty wine bottle down and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. That was strange. He was one of the most fastidious and well-mannered people I knew. He was the type of person who would carry around an endless supply of little white hankies. Something was bothering him.

  “Jamison?”

  Not many things scared Jamison, but when something did, it sort of frightened me too.

  “Jamison?” I prompted again.

  He shrugged. “It’s probably nothing,” he said quietly.

  His answer didn’t satisfy me. “I don’t care if it’s not something. But I’d appreciate it if you would talk to me. Maybe it’ll make you feel better. Take a load off of your shoulders.”

  He smiled weakly. “Wow. Tanith Quinn actually trying to make someone feel better. Think I should start calling up the tabloids?”

  “Just tell me. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  He sighed heavily, and as usual, I was caught by his unearthly beauty. “You’re just going to tell me I’m making a fuss over nothing.”

  “Anytime you’re ready,” I said, staring down at my fingernails just so I wouldn’t ogle him. “Of course, if you can manage to spit it out before the next century, I would be very thankful. Because, you know, a girl’s gotta eat sometime.”

  He clenched his hands, fighting an internal battle. His shoulders slumped, and I knew he lost.

  “There’s a new hunter in town.”

  I failed to see how that should worry him.

  “Jamison, there have been people targeting vampires since we came into existence. You know that. I don’t know why this one should get your panties in a twist.”

  He nodded. “Yes, but this time….” His eyes locked with mine, and I saw fear within them. “Whoever it is, they’re different. They’re not like any other hunter I’ve ever seen or heard of. And that worries me.”

  “Oh?” I wasn’t worried. What was there for me to worry about? I was one of the oldest vampires in the city. Precious little could hurt me.

  I saw a flash of white teeth as he bit his lip. “This one’s only hunting the Old Ones.”

  The Old Ones. Anyone old, was labeled an Old One. Not very creative, but we vamps weren’t known for our creativity. Not in naming, in any case. I was part of the club, but it wasn’t the sort of club where you got to flaunt a membership card.

  “Is that so?” I asked, reaching for the wine. I was going to need it.

  I understood now why Jamison was having his private wig-out session. Only two types of people could even contemplate doing such a thing. One would be the foolhardy idiot, and the other would be the sort of hunter vampires like me are supposed to fear. Or maybe this person was both types and simply didn’t know what he or she was dealing with.

  “Has this one actually offed anyone yet,” I continued, “or is it just all talk?”

  He flicked a glance in my direction before holding out a hand for the bottle. It had been a while since we stood around, sharing wine, and it felt good. Actually, it made me feel a bit normal and that was a good feeling. I liked feeling normal.

  “Well, I’m not sure if he, she, or maybe it has actually killed anyone, but whoever it is, they’ve taken credit for killing Jonas.”

  “Jonas?”

  “Bedwyr. Jonas Bedwyr.”

  I couldn’t help but feel impressed. “That old relic? You’re kidding.”

  Jamison g
lared at me, apparently upset at my lack of hysterics, which he should’ve known better than to expect. “You’re taking this incredibly well. Jonas was practically a walking boulder. If this hunter defeated and killed Jonas, then I’d say he or she has got more than a fighting chance with you.”

  “The only thing Jonas had going for him was his bulk,” I pointed out.

  Jamison inclined his head in agreement. “Yeah, I know. He might have been a slow motherfucker, but he was hard as nails, and I do mean that literally. While you….” He looked me up and down; it was obvious he thought I was seriously lacking in the body armor department. “Well, no comment.”

  “Thanks for the support, Jamison,” I said dryly and took a swig of wine. It wasn’t half as good as blood, but it wasn’t bad. “If this guy ever comes for me, I’ll be sure to rip his head off and send it to you in a box.”

  “I can’t believe how calmly you’re taking this.” He shook his head and his red tresses shimmered iridescently under the light as though someone had gone through his hair with a paintbrush dipped in melted rubies. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be just a little worried. No one’s going to start pointing fingers at you just because you decided to be cautious.”

  Jamison’s concern touched me and I loved him all the more for it, but sometimes, just sometimes, he made me feel like I was with my mother again.

  “That’s sweet. It really is, Jamison. But if this guy comes, fine. If he doesn’t, fine. Either way, I’ll be prepared for whatever thrown at me. Does that make you feel better?” I asked, trying to pacify him. I figured if I had lived this long, then I was probably going to live for a bit longer.

  More the pity.

  He tilted his head back to catch the last drop of wine before setting the bottle back on the counter. “A little bit.”

  We stood in companionable silence, each occupied with our own thoughts.

  People say that as vampires grow older, we become cockier. That was definitely true. Jamison was worried, but I couldn’t have cared less. If I fretted over every single hunter in Centennial, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else.