Beautiful Death
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Beautiful Death, Anniversary Edition
Copyright © 2013 by Christina Moore
Cover Photography provided by ShutterStock
Cover Design by Christina Moore
Printed by CreateSpace, an Amazon.com Company
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Author, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Christina Moore, [email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1500670757
ISBN-10: 1500670758
Available in print and eBook
Second Edition, October 2014
DEDICATION
To my ever patient hunnie for letting me terrorize him with my weird imagination and reading everything I shove at him. To my biggest fans and unwavering supporters, my little sister and the Canadian Asian. Also, to the fabulous V.A.’s, Crispin and Steve, for being so effn’ awesome and a source of (aberrant) inspiration.
And for those who are no longer with us...
Wow! It’s been a whole year since the first release of the Uruwashi Series. So much has happened in Tristan’s world, and my own. But we’re here to talk about Tristan, poor blundering, lost Tristan. We still don’t know exactly what Tristan is, but boy are we getting closer.
In celebration of a year of Uruwashi, I’ve decided to release this special edition of
Beautiful Death
. Not only is there a shiny new cover (look at how stunning “she” is), but The Lost Chapter, previously only available online is included, as well as a new short story,
Ash Wednesday
.
If you’re new to the Uruwashi Series there’s a teaser for book two,
Bête Noire
there at the end. And if you’re not so new, you may find that Chapters 5 and 6 from the first edition, “More Than Human” & “Gravity”, were edited into a single, more concise chapter. So enjoy and stick around for more Uruwashi goodness.
THERE were dead bodies everywhere. Skeletons, zombies, mummies, something hairy with fangs... Odoru Shikabane was one of the stranger clubs Tristan had been to. He wasn’t sure what the name meant in English, but the theme was clear: death. He half expected a real bat to fly by or find a guy dressed in a black cape with red lining telling all the girls “
I vant to suck your blood
.” Yep, it was just weird.
Tristan gave a soft oomph as someone plowed right into the back of him. “Hey pretty lady,” he said with a great big smile, looking down at the petite girl gawking up at him. “How’s it going? Ah…
genki ka
?” That was pretty much the extent of his Japanese right there. Well, plus a few curses, but she was too cute to curse at just for running into him.
The girl gasped and then was being dragged off by her friend, saying loudly in Japanese that she didn’t need to get mixed up with a
gaijin
. The small town was more than a little weary of foreigners and as gaijin went, Tristan stood out more than most with his towering height and handsome European features. At least he wasn’t in a skirt like the dude at the bar—it was only a kilt, but still, it wasn’t something you saw every day. At least not outside of Tokyo.
There was one who wasn’t intimidated by the American’s presence though as she wiggled up against him. That would be Shizuka. Her name meant "the quiet one.” Tristan wondered how someone like her ended up with a name like that. Seriously, the woman never shut up. She did a little dance, moving against him to get his attention. Her silly expression clearly said she had something to say—because she
never
did, right? Tristan bent down with a weary sigh. He wasn’t tired of her company really, but he was tired of her going on without being able to understand a thing she said. Even the English bits. Shizuka leaned in close, pressing as much of her front to his, a hand against his chest for support. The other found its way over his hip and grabbed a handful of American ass.
Tristan grinned at the new development, tilting his face into hers and met those gorgeous dark almond eyes. She had been getting all touchy feely with him from the start, but this was more forward, more demanding than before. Maybe she was tired of waiting for him to make a move. He wasn’t shy when it came to flirting, but somehow, he just wasn’t into it tonight. It might have had something to do with the reason he was in Japan to start with. He didn’t belong here. He knew he didn’t, but still he tried to force it. He had to find something normal in his life again. Flirting, drinking and the fun that came after was normal enough he supposed. Somehow though, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
“I get more drink,” Shizuka breathed into Tristan’s ear. She’d been feeding him drinks all night. If it was her plan to get him loaded, she’d have to try a hell of a lot harder than a handful of beers. She shot him a grin full of teeth and danced off towards the bar without another word—small miracle. She made sure to prance around so that her dress bounced up to show virgin white panties, now bright purple thanks to the black lights. Tristan grinned hard and found himself swaying with the pulse of the room, mesmerized by the music, the mass of bodies in endless dance and the sway of Shizuka’s cute little ass. The music picked up, a fast, frantic beat and he was lost to the pounding. He caught himself quickly and stopped, wondering what he was doing. He hated dancing.
Shizuka leaned over the front of the bar and flashed the entire place her rear end and those sexy glowing panties. Everyone was watching her. They were thinking primitive sexual thoughts—well, the men anyway. The women, they all looked like they were about to claw her pretty little eyes out. Tristan chuckled, studying Shizuka’s exposed backside, moving his gaze down the smooth line the back of her legs made all the way to her shiny red heels. She had a great set of legs.
An ashy voice cut through the din as if searching Tristan out, drawing him out of his admiration of the saucy Asian. “
That
is no woman.”
“
S’cuse
me...?” Tristan drawled, turning. “What the f—” His next words were cut off when he saw the person standing behind him. “The hell are you?” he asked, eyeing the soft-faced, shorty with long pale hair that glowed purple in the lights. Dude was wearing a cape. Yep, just like Dracula. But his question wasn’t to the costume. He had no idea if he was talking to a young woman or an older teenaged boy. Guess he didn’t really care. “Look,
Count
. I’m not interested in whatever you’ve got hidden in that cape, so scamper off and hit on someone else.”
If only the loudmouthed American knew all that was hidden within. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so quick to snap. “You misunderstand, Tristan.”
The young stranger’s voice made Tristan flinch back. It was strange, but he felt like the voice touched him, tickled his face. Or maybe he was drunker than he realized. “Howdya know me?” The words fell out of his mouth jumbled, tongue slow and uncooperative. He stopped and clutched his head feeling disorientated. He was sweating, though it had nothing to with the oppressiveness of the club. “You know what, forget it, I’m leaving.”
He turned to go, but the other man grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop.
“I am afraid it is for something rather more urgent than sex. I will only ask for you to come with me once politely.”
Tristan made a rude noise, giving him the look to go with it as he felt a little more himself and jerked his arm away. “Look, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere with you. So why don’t you go find someone else to take home and play your silly vampire game with.”
“You misunderstand,” the stranger repeated sternly. “I could care less about games. I am here to help.”
“Ahuh. Help. I’ve heard that before. Seriously, piss off.”
The stranger let out an annoyed sigh, looked down, brought long fingers up to pinch a thin bridge of nose. Another sigh. “Looks like things must be done the hard way. Again.” When the wannabe vampire looked up again, he was grinning so that Tristan got a flash of press-on fangs. “But the hard way can be more liberating now, can it not?”
Unlike Shizuka, the stranger spoke perfect English and yet Tristan didn’t understand a word of their bizarre conversation. He blinked down at the stranger, wondering what in the hell he—yeah, Tristan decided that kind of arrogance had to be a dude—was rattling on about. He opened his mouth to ask just that when the guy reached out and grabbed his upper arm again.
“You do not have time for this.”
“Wha—” Tristan’s words turned into a small yelp of shock and he stumbled into a girl, spilling her drink all over them both. “Hey!” Tristan yelled over the music as he tumbled along, lead around by his arm like an indignant toddler. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Cries of surprise and groans of anger echoed around the pair as Tristan was dragged through the dense throng of hot, thrashing bodies. He tripped over his own feet, over other feet, over nothing fighting to keep up with the quick pace. He glared at the back of the short man’s head, willing his gaze to burn a hole through him. When that didn’t work, Tristan jerked his arm but it was as if the guy anticipated the movement seconds before it happened and tightened fingers into Tristan’s flesh. He groaned in frustration and tried to plant his feet against the floor, faintly aware that his arm hurt. He pulled back with his full body, thinking the smaller man couldn’t possibly hold on against his larger weight and his sneakers lost traction causing him to fall into a slender back, fingers tangled in silken hair.
“What the fuck?” Tristan muttered under his breath, arm still in the guy’s bruising grip.
The other man looked back, past Tristan. Green and blue lights reflected off his pale skin giving that fucking stupid smirk a sickly complexion. Tristan followed the other man’s line of sight and found Shizuka standing where he had been moments before, a drink in both hands, watching him being dragged off. She didn’t look very concerned.
Tristan huffed at her indifference and stumbled again, almost falling. There was a hard jerk on his arm and then he was being propelled forward. Hands slapped down onto his back and he went stumbling head first into a door painted blood red. His free hand went up to catch himself but he slipped, falling against the cold metal. He cursed loudly when his thumb pulled back at a bad angle—it was a miracle he didn’t dislocate it. The slurred words were barely out of his mouth when the stranger kicked in the long push bar with his heavy boot, making the door spring outward. Tristan was falling forward again, only to come to a sudden stop. Hard fingers dug into his ribs from behind as the guy grabbed him. Just as he thought the short shit decided to play nice, there was a deep grunt and then Tristan was airborne. He had seconds to think that the cold outside air felt good and then his right shoulder slammed into a dumpster. He cried out and tumbled backwards onto his ass. The ground was cool and wet through his jeans. The tang of blood filled his mouth where he’d bitten into his cheek.
He shook his head and mumbled, “Pretty strong for a scrawny little bitch.” He wobbled to his feet, turning to face the man who was now standing outside too, back to Tristan. “Look, asshole, I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but you don’t need to be a fucking prick about it.” He was talking to the back of his head. The jerk hadn’t bothered to face him while he was speaking. “Hey, I’m talking to you.” He grabbed the thin shoulder in front of him and spun the shorter man to face him. Tristan’s fist was balled and moving towards that stoic expression before he had a chance to think about what his body was doing, a reaction that’d gotten him into trouble more than once recently.
Brilliant white flashed past Tristan’s vision seconds before his head snapped back, his body following the movement. After a moment of disorientation, Tristan realized he was on the ground against the dumpster, again. A tickle above his lip brought his hand up to find blood. He stared at the red dripping down his fingers for a moment, unbelieving and then up to the stranger. “You son of a bitch, who the fuck do you think you ar—”
The back door squeaked and they both jerked to attention. Tristan sighed to himself, thinking that sumo-sized dude who was doing crowd control had seen them and decided to follow them out. He was no stranger to a bar fight, or two, or the inevitable that generally followed. And who knew if the cops around here even spoke English. Guess it wouldn’t really matter either way since Tristan had no idea what the hell was going on. He didn’t have the faintest idea why he was sitting outside on his ass, in a filthy alleyway with a bloody nose, staring up at the short man who gave it to him.
“Shit,” Tristan said with a sigh. He was having a fairly decent night too, that was until this guy showed up. Now, it looked like he was going to end up in jail. Perfect.
The door opened and a beautifully shaped almond eye framed by smooth white porcelain appeared around the edge. Tristan let out a long breath, only half relieved. Shizuka stepped out into the alleyway, her heels making two sharp clicks against the ground. She watched with a cynical sort of smile while Tristan inched to his feet using the dumpster at his back as a crutch. Shizuka slid her hands behind her, leaning against the door as she glided across the front of it to make it click shut under her weight. She grinned broadly, too broadly. It was then he realized she was mirroring him, mocking him. He pushed off of the dumpster and took a step towards her, but not before tripping on his own feet again.
Shizuka stood off the door immediately, mimicking his movements, less the clumsy trip, and took a step towards him. Tristan’s expression shifted into anger as she gave him a huge shit-eating grin. He just about had enough of these two. He wanted to get the fuck out before he really did find himself in serious trouble.
“That was unnecessary,” Shizuka said to the stranger, amusement heavy in her voice as she fought off a laugh.
“It got you outside...,” he answered, “you disgusting filth.”
Now Tristan was just confused. He thought that maybe the guy wanted the girl, but now it looked like that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Maybe it was the beer. Wouldn’t have been the first time it confused him.
“So rude.” Shizuka put hands to her slender hips. “Master teach you no manner?”
The young man grunted a crude laugh, as if it were some terrible joke. “Pitted against that man, I would be the one to teach manners.”
In her native tongue, Shizuka responded, “What do you want, fucking traitor whore?”
The stranger answered in perfect Japanese. “Now are those Shizuka’s words or
his
?”
“You know very well that answer.”
The man gave a heavy sigh. “I am here to stop you from doing this.”
“This one is special.”
“I know.”
“There was a telling,” Shizuka snapped. “He must die.”
“You are wrong.”
“He’s dangerous, As—”
“You have always been wrong,” he snapped, returning to English.
The creature laughed, all giggly and girly.
Tired of being left out of the conversation, Tristan took a heavy step forward, reaching for the stranger. “What, the fuck are you two—”