Deathless (The Vein Chronicles Book 2) Page 24

  I glared at him. “Here, time me,” I ordered, not waiting for him to get out a stopwatch or a phone. He could count; he was hundreds of years old, after all. “‘Isla, due to some fucked-up creation story that is a mix of gods, fairy tales and the plot to a fucking HBO show, I am the brother to the very same king of vampires who once asked you to be his queen and is now hiring you to investigate a war that may get you killed but will also give you the chance to kill the family intent on raping you for your spawn on the occasion of your Awakening,’” I blurted.

  Then I glared at him. “You weren’t timing,” I accused. “But I’m guessing that was under a minute. And I even threw in some little gems of my own, you know, artistic license and all that. I think I improved the original that you and your brother performed not hours ago. I bet the reviews for mine will be glowing.”

  “He asked you to be his queen?” he seethed.

  I gaped at him. “Of course that’s all you got from that. So I’ll tell you what I told him. I’m not in the market for a crown to be gained through marriage. I don’t like the thought of something messing with my hair or my undeath like that. So no to the queenship. And being any sort of trophy for a vampire to own and possess and shine like a little toy. I’m something that can be fought for, sure, but I can’t be won. Although it turns out I can be lost. And congratulations, sir. You may be one of a few freaky-deaky versions of slayer vampires, but you’ve got yourself the title of being the first man, vampire, slayer or whatever to have lost what can’t be won and to have broken what I thought either didn’t exist or was too broken to be smashed and warped any more than it was.” I paused, holding his eyes and welcoming the hurt, from both him and myself. “Obviously, I was wrong.”

  I tossed the bottle on the ground, sending it smashing on the floor because it felt like the right thing to do for dramatic effect. Then I jumped to my feet, meeting his eyes. “And I swear to everything that is unholy, if you say another fucking word to me right now, I’ll forget even my own survival in order to kill you where you stand,” I promised. And at that point, if he had, I would have.

  Why not sacrifice the only blood I could survive on? Considering I’d already sacrificed the heart I didn’t even know I had to him.

  He didn’t speak.

  And I turned on my heel and left him.

  But not for good. Because I needed blood to survive.

  And if there was any moment in history that I resented that fact even more, it was right then when I stumbled out of a bar with an inebriated body and a broken heart, like countless humans before me.

  It was only natural that the blows kept coming. That was how it worked, after all.

  I smelled the blood before I saw him. Even if my diet was slightly altered to men I loved who in turn were lying pieces of shit, I still knew blood like I knew shoes.

  And I still knew this blood.

  “No,” I whispered before the elevator doors had even opened.

  And then I stepped out of the elevator, even though I didn’t want to. I knew what was waiting for me at my front door.

  But there was no other choice.

  I may have made an exception earlier to run for survival when there was no other choice, but I wasn’t going to make a habit out of it.

  Not when there was still a difference between running for survival and running for cowardice. I was not a coward. Cowards were the people who knew how cruel and stark reality was and refused to look it in the face. Did everything humanly possible to avert their eyes, in fact.

  Since I was inhuman, and not a coward, I did the opposite.

  I stared at him.

  For a long time, I thought.

  It felt like a long time.

  And immortals measured time differently; long was only relative for how long you were alive considering time on this planet was short for mortals.

  When time was infinite, long was… long.

  There was blood.

  Obviously. There was always blood in death, whether you could see it or not. But there was blood this time.

  Mainly because they wanted to send a message, and in a society of vampires, blood was the easiest and most logical way.

  But there was also blood because I knew Lewis fought. Hard.

  Even though he was past his prime when the strength of a mortal was at its most. Even though he was likely overworked, hadn’t slept and taken by surprise.

  He still fought.

  Because I’d taught him what little there was to know about fighting an immortal who could snap your neck as easily as blink. I’d informed him of the odds, which didn’t exist at all, when he’d requested I show him something.

  “Don’t need to kill them, Isla. I’m not a stupid man. I’m aware of when I’m bested. Cops have to be like that, husbands have to be like that. Guess all humans have to be like that to a point. Some are just too stupid to realize it. I’m not stupid, so I’m not gonna think that a couple of well-placed moves or bullets is gonna get me anywhere but dead if it comes to that. Just need to know that as a man, a husband, a father, a cop, and a human, I’m gonna leave this world with a bit of dignity, and hopefully at least the blood of the person who took me from that mingled with my own.”

  And he was right.

  I could smell it. Smell didn’t have a temperature; I was sure most scientists—human ones, at least—would argue that.

  Smell was smell and touch was touch.

  But vampires had it different than that. With heightened senses, everything melded into one another, as everything was connected in a way.

  Human blood was warm, by characteristic and by smell. The heat of it gave something warming about the scent. It’s aliveness. Vampire blood, on the other hand, was chilled like a displeasing cold glass of wine.

  And it was on him.

  I could smell the differences in temperatures, but unlike a wolf, I couldn’t distinguish identity by blood.

  Merely species.

  Merely alive or dead.

  You didn’t need vampire smelling skills in order to know Lewis was dead.

  Just eyes.

  Ones that stared into his last glassy unseeing gaze that haunted me more than anything sightless eyes had ever done.

  Maybe it was the eyes that gave me that most amount of pause. The scent of death in the air. The blood. The emptiness in his chest where the heartbeat I’d became accustomed to was.

  Maybe it was all of it.

  Or the humanity that was growing inside me like a tumor.

  Whatever it was, I stood there staring at the body left for me, thinking about the widow created because of me, the fatherless children, the man who had deserved life—if any such individual existed. The pain of that almost doubled me over.

  But then I wasn’t human.

  So I broke my gaze and moved. Purposefully, I stepped over his corpse with a thick throat and opened the door into my apartment. I put my handbag on the vintage side table that was purposed for that alone.

  Hung my coat up.

  Calmly walked to the bar. Poured myself a drink.

  Stared at it, sitting amongst the different bottles on the cart, sourced from Italy especially to go with the décor.

  Well, the latest décor at least, after the last furniture got ruined. I was going to make sure this new lot lasted a little longer. There was enough destruction on the inside; I needed some part of me to have the illusion of something on the opposite side of destruction, even if it was a vintage coffee table and a twelve-thousand-dollar sofa.

  I continued to stare at the drink, although it offered no answers, only memories.

  “Prophecy, eh?” Lewis asked, leaning back, drinking the cheap spiced rum I’d stocked specially for him, despite the fact that it was offensive sitting beside a four-hundred-dollar bottle of whisky.

  I sat on the sofa across from him, my classy drink in my hands. “Apparently that’s the word on the street. Well, not on the street, considering I’m thinking prophecies are meant to be kept on the down
low, but yeah. Witch said it. Book said it. Another witch said it. Apparently that’s the trifecta for future predictions. Sounds legit. If you’re certifiably fucking insane. Which of course, I am, yet I’m not even convinced despite the people around me being so. Which scares me more than pageant toddlers, that the people around me are even more insane than me, just better at hiding it until now.”

  Lewis sipped his drink and I cringed. “And you, an immortal being who can live forever on human blood, breaking the laws of physics as we are meant to understand them, who speaks of demons from hell, witches with the powers of the gods and men who turn into wolves, you can’t believe in something as simple as love?”

  I frowned at him. “Keep up, rookie. It’s not love. It’s prophecy.”

  “One and the same. Love always brings about a future that’s the beginning or the ending of someone’s world. For mortals, it’s usually two people. More if there’re kids involved. Therefore, it’s the beginning. And the end.” His eyes twinkled in a way that made me know he was thinking of his brats. Their photos peppered his cluttered desk.

  “But you’re an immortal being in a world much different than mine, so it stands to reason that whatever love you feel, what you have, that’s going to have a power that reflects its owner. World-changing, world-ending kind of stuff.”

  I gaped at him. He continued to drink his drink. “Wow,” I said finally. “You’re just as insane as the rest.”

  He grinned at me. “I’m thinking you need to figure out a way to get into the institution, considering worlds depend on it.”

  There was a pause. A long one. I’d spent the years reading a lot of different emotions on his face. Mostly when he was around me it was a mix of disapproval, anger, frustration, or a grim sort of amazement. Usually it was mingled with a healthy dose of impatience.

  Apart from the instance of our first meeting, when he was obviously a little rattled, Lewis had never felt fear when I was around him.

  Which was another reason I had a grudging respect for him.

  It was one thing to fear the unknown, the monsters incorporeal and only imagined in the darkness. It was quite another to find out they actually existed. And were even worse because they existed not in the darkness but in the light.

  It took a lot to see that and not feel fear. Stupidity, maybe. Bravery. But stupidity and bravery were kind of tangled up in each other; in order to be brave, one had to be stupid enough that whatever cause they were fighting for was worth dying for. And Lewis had that. It was the warrior look in his eyes. That welcoming of death if it came to that.

  But no fear.

  And as long as I’d known him I hadn’t seen what was in his eyes right then. Not fear, but something akin to awkward nervousness.

  He cleared his throat. “Know you’ve got a few years on me,” he began. I laughed. “A few centuries, grasshopper.”

  He didn’t laugh. He rarely did. But I knew he was laughing on the inside. Of course he was. I was hilarious.

  “Yes, well, despite that, it’s human nature for me to respond to the fact that you’re still young enough to be my daughter.”

  “I was old enough to be your mother when we first met. Or your girlfriend.” I waggled my brows.

  He frowned at me. “Human nature to respond to your looks and lack of any form of maturity to think of you as younger than me,” he corrected. “Because I’m human and because you’re likely to be the most irresponsible immortal being I’ve ever met, I’ve grown up as you haven’t. Became a father. And I think watching my girl grow up made me realize I consider you another one of my children. One who could kill me as soon as look at me, and who swears and murders a lot more than my daughter, who hopefully will never dress like you. But I know I want her to have the spirit you’ve got. So for whatever it’s worth, from a younger man who’s got the years in maturity on you, I’m glad you’re not dead. And I’ll have to make sure that man of yours makes it stay that way, considering he’s a lot more mortal than you and that means I’ll have to forget my badge for a second to get a father’s revenge.”

  I blinked at him. Once. Twice. “Well, you’ve got one thing in common with my biological father, at least. You both easily talk about homicide, though his talk is usually about me.”

  A muscle in Lewis’s jaw ticked. “Well, likely that creature isn’t going to say it and if he did it wouldn’t mean much, but I will because it needs to be said. Proud of you, Isla. Despite the fact that you wouldn’t know when to act your age, or any age, you are a good person, despite being a vampire. Despite doing everything you can to convince yourself to the contrary. So how about you fight in this war? And win it. Not just for the human race and because I want my daughter to have a future one day, but because I want both of them to have a future.”

  He stood, draining his drink.

  And then he left.

  And the next time I saw him was moments ago, his throat ripped open so brutally that his white shirt was crimson everywhere and the bones in his neck exposed.

  As were the brutal bites on the rest of his body. Literally ripped apart by the hybrid vampires created for the war where I’d pissed off some key players.

  And where my humanity had obviously became known if such a gesture was made. Of course, that meant I’d have to rip it from my body like the proverbial Band-Aid. Quick and painless.

  Or full of pain. Whichever.

  The smash of glass bottles shattering on my floor made me realize I’d overturned my bar cart.

  Then I realized how comforting destruction felt. How wrong I was before to want something on the outside to contrast the chaos on the inside. So I kept going until everything in my apartment was in ruins.

  Apt.

  Now my outsides matched my insides.

  With less blood.

  The blood was splayed on the front of my door.

  And on the inside of my chest.

  I stared at the room, figuring the blood was covering the ruined sofa too, even if I couldn’t see it.

  And then I stood in the middle of the destruction, reveling in it.

  One single crimson tear trailed down my cheek.

  Then I ripped off the Band-Aid.

  Chapter 15

  One Week Later

  I’d been a busy little vampire in the days after the ‘events,’ as I liked to call them. And I didn’t like to have to call them anything because that would mean I’d have to think about them, and thinking about them came with that strange niggling in the bottom of my chest where my humanity used to be.

  Ain’t nobody got time for that.

  I’d gotten the intel on this human from Dante, who treated me like a human might a dog they were unsure of, wondering if it was going to bite them or not. Which was precisely how he should’ve treated me.

  I was feeling very bitey lately.

  Which was rather inconvenient, considering the only person I could actually bite was the man who’d betrayed me. I’d been avoiding him like open-toed sandals with pants.

  And he’d been trying to find me. I knew that.

  He’d turned up at the office a couple of times. I had a lot of fun watching my security escort him off the premises. But it was rather annoying having to pay their hospital bills when he broke their bones. Then again, it was satisfying pressing charges that ensured he got locked up in prison for twenty-four hours.

  That was until some idiot bailed him out.

  Then I had to go back to avoidance.

  I would’ve gone straight to murder, as was my usual process when it came to betrayal, but obviously I couldn’t murder the only blood bag who was keeping me undead.

  So he stayed alive. For the time being.

  And I stayed clinging to the old Isla who’d murdered her way through Europe. She may not have been happy, or good, or in touch with any form of reality, but she wasn’t plagued with pain. In order to feel pain you had to feel in the first place.

  I wasn’t going to be doing that.

  So I ignored t
he yearning and stubborn bleeding of that mangled thing in my chest.

  I couldn’t avoid him forever, though I did have forever up my sleeve. I was unfortunately rather peckish.

  So after a couple more murders, I’d have to find the courage to meet him. It’d just take a couple of kills.

  I was starting with this sniveling mess.

  He had some connection to the faction of rebels who had been boasting about Lewis’s murder. Planted, of course. There was a plan in place in order to trap me, I knew. They expected this reaction. We were vampires, after all. Vengeance was what we did best.

  And although I may have been known for being borderline insane and unpredictable, if there was anything more predictable than taxes in life, it was vengeance.

  But that was dependent on the humanity they were so very sure I possessed.

  That would be their downfall, not mine.

  I’d gotten the information about a certain human involved in Lewis’s death the day after the funeral.

  So I was feeling a little more homicidal and delicate after watching his widow sob at the side of the coffin that held her husband, as if she might clutch it forever to stop him from being buried in the ground and being dead forever.

  The permanent kind of dead.

  It wasn’t that that rattled me, for this was new Isla. Such common displays of human grief bounced right off me.

  No, it was his daughter, the one he’d once compared to me. She was the one who speared through whatever place inside me could still feel.

  She wasn’t sobbing or clutching her mother, mixing their tears like her siblings were.

  She wasn’t anything. She was just standing there, at the edge of the place where life and death met, staring. Empty. Dry eyes. Not a single sob. Just the quiet kind of sorrow that I recognized even from my spot across the street, away from the wretched mourners.

  It was that sorrow that had me feeling a little touchier. Had me lose my cool and kick down the door to an unremarkable house in suburbia outside New York City and potentially kill a shrieking human woman wearing a house dress with curlers in her hair.

  I was reasonably sure I only knocked her out.