Beautiful Death (7 page)
Thinking about hot women while pressed up against the backside of another man—awesome.
After another ten minutes of accelerated red-light running the pair reached their destination. Or what Tristan hoped was their destination. He wanted off the crazy Ash ride. The dude was driving like a he was filming for a Wachowski Brothers film. That and without a jacket Tristan had started to shiver. Okay, okay, so being pressed up against the guy bothered him too.
As soon as Ash stopped and got the kickstand down, Tristan was off the back, locked in epic battle with the helmet. Ash dismounted with the grace of a professional dancer and switched the machine off, leaving the key behind. In the middle of nowhere, who was there to take it? Tristan concentrated hard on not looking Ash in the eye as the other man moved towards the house. He was still feeling weirded out about holding him around the waist. Oh yeah and then thinking about a beautiful, seductive woman that looked like him while pressed up against his lean, curvy back tightly.
“God,” Tristan groaned under his breath as he balanced the helmet on the motorcycle’s gas tank.
Ash was almost to the front door already. Not that they needed to use a door to get in. Fire had taken a big chunk out of the side of the house. Inside were the skeletal remains of a living room set. The rest of the house was overrun with weeds and discarded garbage from the kids who used it to get stoned. No one had lived there for years.
So why were they there?
Tristan jogged to catch up to Ash’s hurried pace. “Dude, what’s the rush?”
“It knows we are here.”
“Uh, what?” He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck at Ash’s ominous tone. “What do you mean
it
?”
“Vampire,” Ash answered, as if it were a dirty word, a curse, something so bad that you would get called your full name and scolded by your parents no matter how old you were.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…”
The look Ash shot him said he was indeed not kidding. Tristan gave him a look back, letting him know he didn’t buy it, but inside, below the tingle around his navel, he was a little worried. What if Ash was telling the truth? What if all those outlandish things really existed?
Shit.
When they reached the front door, Ash brought one of those slender, leather-clad legs up in a quick kick. The wood shattered, sending broken splinters and dust inward.
A snorted sort of snicker shot out of Tristan’s mouth. Guess they weren’t hiding the fact that they were there. “That’s one way in.” He expected a sneering look for his comment, but the one he received was pleased. Ash was enjoying himself.
Ash looked into the dark interior and yelled, “I know you are here!” He lowered his voice to a husky sort of growl. “I can smell the blood from here.”
Tristan looked to Ash again, wide-eyed. His face was masked by the shadows of the building but he could clearly see the dark smile.
Inside, the floorboards creaked loudly announcing their progress through the house. To the right a narrow stairway with no railing led up. Most of the steps were broken and burnt, proving a hell of a trip up, or down. To the left they passed the open side of the house where the living room had been. The whole place reeked of mold and smoke, and looked like it was ready to come down any second. He wondered how safe they were.
“Wait,” Tristan whispered. Ash kept on walking, ignoring him. “He-ey,” he hissed and reached out. He grabbed the edge of Ash’s kimono sleeve, pulling him to a stop. The other man turned, expression clear of any emotion as he looked up at Tristan. He snapped his hand back to rub his palm across his pants. He’d broken out into a sudden cold sweat, though it wasn’t hot inside the house. He didn’t know why he stopped Ash, only that he felt an overwhelming sensation suddenly. Something told him, “bad, evil. Stop.” But more than that, “danger.” He didn’t understand the feeling, couldn’t even begin to explain it, only that he’d had it once before, more than a year ago. Right before the car accident that killed his family.
Ash’s eyes softened and his lips almost curved into a wry smile. Without saying anything, he turned away and started towards the back of the house again. After a few seconds of gathering himself, Tristan followed behind, sticking close to Ash. Still, he couldn’t shake off that bad feeling. He was ready to leave. Screw talking to whoever they were supposed to, coming here was a bad idea. He just knew.
They reached a doorway and that was when Tristan noticed Ash had pulled his katana at some point. He stopped and let the armed man go first into the next room. Ash disappeared past the threshold. Fifteen deafening silent seconds later, after there was no screaming or sounds of anything trying to eat Ash, Tristan let out the breath he’d been holding and followed in after him.
There was no one there but them.
“Who paints their kitchen red?” Tristan mumbled under his breath. As he looked around, taking in every inch of the space, he realized it wasn’t that the room was painted red, but that it was covered in blood. Raw meat scattered across the entire kitchen—the floor, the walls, the countertops—stuck to every surface. It looked like someone had tossed a rack of raw meat into a blender and turned it on high, forgetting the lid. There was just so much carnage. And as he met the cloudy brown gaze of a single, extracted eyeball sitting on the countertop directly across from him, he realized what he was looking at.
Oh fuck. It was a person.
Tristan took a step back, but couldn’t turn away. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, the smell of blood overwhelming. He could almost taste the salty tang of it in his mouth, coating his tongue like a full bodied wine. His breath came in and out of him too fast. He wished he hadn’t eaten dinner so recently, he really wasn’t up to seeing it again.
Damn, he knew he should have left when he had the chance. He never once imagined that he’d see something like this in his lifetime—a human ruined to nothing but dark meat and crimson liquid. He wanted to turn away, to run from the horror of it, but he couldn’t. Not anymore. He was its unwilling captive.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked up. There was no reason to, but yet, there it was and he did, and oh god he wished he hadn’t. Blood and bits of meat clung to the ceiling like bad fright house decorations. His breath caught when he recognized a shape in the meat as a fingertip. He quickly looked away and some other little horror caught his eye. He watched in revulsion as a thick chunk covered by a scrap of skin slid slowly down a cabinet front, leaving a slick crimson trail. He tasted bile in the back of his throat when he recognized the meaty bit as a breast.
So, it was a woman.
The dismembered body part made a heavy plop into a puddle, splattering congealed blood across the floor. He put a hand to his mouth, half covering his nose. He wasn’t sure if it was to mask the smell or encourage his gag reflex to behave.
Oh my god, what the fuck did this?
The frantic thought hit Tristan’s forebrain as a scream he couldn’t let out.
Ash’s whisky voice sounded softly nearby. “The vampire I seek. Come.”
Tristan swallowed hard, dropping his hand away. He whispered, “Yeah, but, does this vampire really know—” He had started to turn his head to look at Ash, but another monstrosity caught his attention. Bile burned the back of his throat as his brain translated too quickly what he’d seen. Set out on a sooty plate, as if waiting to be served, was another eye, the color indistinguishable from across the room. With it, there was a heart, still dark with blood and another body part Tristan was very familiar with.
There was a man too.
Something solid and firm touched his arm and the panic overtook him. “Oh fuck!” Tristan jumped back and hit the wall near the doorway, heart pounding and head throbbing with the new rush of adrenaline. He sucked in air as fast as he could, letting it out faster as he tasted the foulness of the air. The place was suddenly toxic, threatening to kill him, or at least take his sanity. He managed to look up and find it was only Ash’s hand on his arm. The other man was staring sympathetic eyes at him, almost as if willing him to calm himself through his composed demeanor.
“We shouldn’t be here,” Tristan whispered.
“The wisest words I have heard from you yet.” Ash’s expression was as cold as the hand he held onto Tristan’s arm with.
Feeling defiantly himself again, Tristan stared down at the hand with too long fingernails, making sure Ash knew he was annoyed. The other man scoffed, snapped his hand back and retraced his steps out of the room. Without a second’s hesitation, Tristan followed him and stopped to take deep breath outside the kitchen where the air felt cleaner.
By the time Tristan got his shit together, Ash was already halfway up the rickety stairs. Tristan stopped at the bottom, looking up. “I’m going to laugh when you pull a Humpty Dumpty on those stairs.”
Ash harrumphed and took a sudden leap up, skipping three steps and landing on the top floor. All he needed was a fancy little finishing move like they did in gymnastics.
“Show off,” Tristan muttered. Ash was already out of sight, lost to the darkness that was the second floor. Tristan let out a resigned sigh as he made his attempt up. One of the steps about halfway up broke under his weight. He cursed under his breath, but managed to avoid putting his knee through the wood. He frowned at the big hole left in the middle of the stairs wondering how he was going to get back down without breaking a leg. Definitely didn’t want to do that again in his lifetime.
After he managed to get to the top of Fuji, Tristan stopped for a breath. But then there was a shriek from the back of the house, followed by a loud bang and a grunt. He didn’t see it happen, but there Ash was, plastered to the wall three feet from him. What was left of the wall had dented inward, cradling Ash’s still body. Dust had fallen over him, coating him in pepper colored powder. And then there was red. Coming from his mouth. Tristan’s entire body ran with gooseflesh.
“No, way,” Tristan whispered. “That... that didn’t just happen.” He reached out. “Hey, you dead? Ash w—” His unfinished question turned into a surprised yelp as a dark mass shot out and slammed into his stomach, forcing the rest of the air from his lungs. The thing riding him had ahold of his upper arms, fingers biting into skin and took them airborne and down the flight of steps in one bound. The two hit the first floor in a cloud of dust and a chorus of grunts and groans with Tristan on the bottom. He couldn’t breathe, the weight on him keeping his lungs from fully inflating. His whole body pulsed with pain.
“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned with all the air he had.
There was a husky laugh over him. “Come for a bite, then, love?”
Tristan’s vision cleared and he finally got a good look at the guy with the dirty accent who’d tackled him from inches away. Fear, instant and cold, immobilizing, seized him.
He hadn’t really believed. How could he? Even after all Ash had told him. He hadn’t really bought into it. But now, now...
“Fuck me,” he whispered, “it’s true.”
THE eyes of the monster pinning him down widened with amusement, fangs still red with someone’s blood bared in full relief right in front of Tristan’s face. He had a fleeting thought, a hope that it wasn’t Ash’s blood. The monster was enjoying itself way too much. Then again, it wasn’t the one who ended up on the bottom of that fall. God, did it have an erection?
Tristan had only a moment to react as the vampire reached for him. He gasped and swung out. The angle was bad and his fist was stopped by a hot, hard palm. His hand was lifted and he felt the graze of fangs as the monster tried to bite him.
“Oh shit!” He jerked back, somehow coming out unbitten. Just. The vampire let out an angry roar and reached for him with a clawed hand. He had only seconds to suck in a sharp breath and turn his cheek away, throwing his arms over his face. Nails raked across both arms, shredding his shirt sleeves open. Seconds later he felt the warm burn of his skin slicing open.
“Fucking bastard,” Tristan hissed through clenched teeth as pain sizzled up his arms.
The monster shrieked like a mad animal, swiping clawed hands back and forth across Tristan’s arms, trying to reach his face. Tristan gave a hard shove and it grunted in surprise, tipping back. The vampire’s knees tightened into his side as it rocked back towards him, mouth first. Tristan gasped and jabbed his right hand into its throat. It gagged, looking momentarily disorientated. Tristan felt the frantic beat of its heart under his hand where he pushed against its chest. And as he realized that he had stopped it just short of sinking fangs into his jaw, he wondered how he was going to get out of this mess. Alive.
After a stunned moment, the vampire gave off a shriek that sent goose bumps across Tristan’s entire body and reached for him again. He was helpless, weak under the monster’s strength and he was just starting to understand how out of his element he was. That his fate may be the very same as the two he saw in the kitchen.
He was well and truly fucked.
Instead of fear, hot burning anger welled up inside him. He was so not ready to die yet. The arm holding the monster at bay started to shudder against the weight. He was going to give out any moment and then, snack time. Knowing he had to act now or die, Tristan growled an angry noise and shoved with all his might, lifting the vampire inch by inch until suddenly the weight pressing down gave. The vampire jerked back, grimacing all fang and then dove on him, cutting deep into his right arm with those clawed hands. The blood came out in a gush of heat down his arm.
“God dammit!” Tristan screamed. “Get the fuck off!”
The vampire had him pinned again, with no hope of getting free of its superhuman strength. Tristan saw his future in that moment—the bastard was going to bite him and then shred him into pulled pork, human flavored.
The monster over him laughed, flashing all fang again. “You’s rather amusing, love. We can sees why that fucking whore keeps you ‘round.”
Tristan hesitated, unsure of the thing’s meaning. And yes, it was a thing in his mind. Sure, it looked like a man—messy chestnut hair, graying at the temples like Frankenstein’s Bride, dark eyes, late twenties-early thirties. Sounded like a man.
It
was anything but. It was a monster and it was going to eat him.
It leaned in closer and took in a deep breath. “You smell bloody fantastic.
What
are you?”
“I… what?”
A familiar voice called out, filled the room, boomed in Tristan’s head. He knew that voice but the language was lost on him. The monster’s grip on his arms tightened enough to make his fingers go tingly. The floorboards shook and a huge cloud of dust puffed up at the base of those dangerous stairs. And born of the cloud was a great raven. Glowing threads of spun white silk fell over a face made of stone, cold and unmoving, pale eyes piercing through the gloom with their intensity. There was murder in those two amethyst colored eyes.
Tristan gasped, and a sudden, violent shiver tore its way down his spine. Ash... he seemed so ethereal, so unreal in that moment. And for the first time since he met the eccentric man, Tristan was afraid of him. This wasn’t the same man that barged into his life two days ago wearing a cape and sour attitude. No, this man was someone,
something
different entirely.
The vampire gave a soft harrumph and turned to Ash, lifting off Tristan enough for him to crab crawl away until his back hit something solid. He couldn’t stifle the shocked yelp that burst out. He hadn’t been really afraid until that moment as the reality of it all set in. There were two dead bodies in the next room and he almost became victim number three. To a fucking vampire.
He slumped back against the wall, cradling his right arm to him. It didn’t really hurt since it was numb up to his elbow, but tomorrow, yeah, it’d hurt like hell. That was if there was a tomorrow for him, if he left that shithole of a tomb alive.
Tristan’s clothes stuck to him where the blood had soaked through. The shirt was already ruined, so he tore off his left sleeve to use as an ad hoc bandage. He winced when he found another deep cut on his left side. Nausea slammed into him and he moaned, letting his head fall back against the wall, shutting his eyes.
“’Bout bloody time your lazy arse got up to come play wit us. Fuckin’ poser.”
Across the room, Ash mumbled an answer to the vampire and then gave off a war cry. Tristan knew he needed to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. His head was spinning. He sighed deeply, feeling some of the tension ease as it flowed out of his body with his blood. And as he sat bleeding out on the floor, his mind wandered. Instead of wondering if Ash was okay, if he would be okay—if he’d live, he started to think about his old friends. His parents. He thought how nice it would be to return home and find them all waiting for him. To discover that all the shit that happened in the past year was nothing but a bad dream.
But then, reality was a raging bitch with PMS. Reality was a nightmare come alive.
Tristan forced his eyes open and rolled his head along the wall enough to watch the brawl. Ash moved with a grace that made him think of that time he took his mom to the ballet. Only Ash’s dance was dangerous, deadly. In opposition to Ash’s graceful dance, was that dirty vampire with the sloppy accent. He was hunched over like Quasimodo, hands distorted into ugly claws, spittle flowing out of his mouth in a silver stream. His movements were rough and clumsy like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. Tristan thought that being a preternatural being the vampire should have been more... graceful. Like Ash.
Ash was mid-swing when he suddenly looked up, meeting Tristan’s gaze. Tristan could have sworn he was smiling at him. He tensed, heart racing. The hint of fear he felt for Ash earlier was taking hold again. There was something very wrong, he felt it with every part of him.
“Hah!” Ash advanced, a forward bound so quick that Tristan almost missed it, and brought the katana down across the front of the vampire’s chest. The cut was deep, but it wasn’t enough to slow the monster down. It gave a frustrated roar and reached out to Ash with that ugly clawed hand.
Tristan wanted to get up. He wanted to help, kick that vampire’s fangs in, but he was going to be sick and then maybe pass out. But, being the idiot he was, he tried anyway. Vertigo slammed into him and he fell back against the wall again, eyes closed to ward off the spinning. His stomach churned all the way up the back of his throat. He felt like he was sitting inside a drying machine. He had only shut his eyes for a moment before he heard a ragged scream. His eyes flew open again and he looked up to find the vampire’s left arm lying on the ground at his feet. He blinked wide-eyed at Ash. The sick bastard was smiling, he was enjoying himself.
Tristan clucked through his teeth and slumped farther down the wall, feeling his blood cool and dry in a sticky mess. “Fuck it,” he muttered. The guy could fend for himself. At this point, Tristan just wanted to be left alone to die in peace.
Ash’s lips curled into a crooked, shit-eating grin and he met Tristan’s gaze. The look in Ash’s pale eyes made him tense. It was a secretive, dark look that said Ash knew something he didn’t. Tristan didn’t like it.
Ash dove. The vampire’s right leg burst in a spray of blood. The monster screamed and spit nonsense noises, toppling on his feet as he reached for the gaping wound with his remaining arm. Darkness filled Ash’s pale eyes as he stared calmly at the screaming vampire. Then he growled a dangerous noise and kicked the sole of his boot into the wound he just made. The vampire screamed and tumbled backwards. He had only just hit the ground when Ash leapt on him, straddling his stomach and pressed his sword down over the vampire’s heart. The vampire cried out underneath the smaller man and kicked his good leg in defiance. He never even thought to swing out with his last arm, free at his side. Some vampire. Moron.
That crooked grin that Ash had was shining brightly as he leaned over the vampire. Ash swiped a bloody hand across his forehead, pushing his hair back and leaving red smeared across his face. “Now,” he huffed. “Was all of that really necessary? Making me go out of my way like that. And look what you have done...” Ash motioned towards Tristan but never looked up. “You almost killed him. And you made me bite my lip when you threw me. That was just uncalled for.”
“Bollocks,” the vampire spit back. “Y-you disgusting traitor. You and your pet bitch can kiss me shiny bloody arse!”
“Fuck you, pal,” Tristan muttered.
Ash leaned closer, putting him only a few short inches away from the vampire’s face and pushed down on the sword to make a small pool of fresh blood around the tip. The vampire screwed his face up, giving off a low, painful hiss and finally remembered he had an arm to use as he reached for Ash.
“Please,” Ash scoffed and slapped the blood stained hand away. “Now, Aaron, that is no way to treat an old friend, is it?”
They know each other
? Tristan thought. What the hell. A heads up would have been nice—you know, the fact that he was friends with a
vampire
, one who would so happily reduce a human to blood and scraps of meat.
Tristan managed to look down at his right arm even though his head felt like it was stuffed with wet jeans. The blood had soaked all the way through his makeshift bandage and started to drip down his legs. Another wave of nausea and vertigo hit him, and he swayed, shutting his eyes and let his head fall back. His face was going numb and soon it would spread to his ears and then he’d pass out. Part of him wanted to stay awake just to hear what the vampire had to say. The other part just wanted to fucking sleep.
“You know why I am here,” Ash said, sounding pleased.
“Aye, fancy a go at me cock again, eh love? God, you was always good wit cock.”
Ash grumbled a few words in another language and pressed down on the sword, making Aaron groan in pain. “Tell me.”
“We don’t know what your bloody on ‘bout, stupid tart.”
Ash made an angry noise and punched him in the face with his free hand. Aaron’s nose burst into blood and he groaned, but didn’t try to get away. He only smiled.
“You never were a good liar, Aaron and you are making me very angry.”
“Oooh, shame on us. Far be it for a lowly
cur
like us to make the great Ast—”
“Shut up!” Ash screamed and hit him again. And again. When he was done pounding in Aaron’s face, he sat back panting. He took in a few deep breaths and his demeanor went to quiet calm again. “Tell me, tell me now. What did the pythia see?”
All of the vampire’s sarcasm was instantly gone. Aaron’s face fell and his dark eyes widened. “N—no, no. H—how does a bloody stupid arsed wanker like you know ‘bout that? Who told you?”
Ash titled his head to one side and gave Aaron a look. A look that said Ash obviously knew more than he should have. “You really are the lowest of the low, Aaron if you do not know the answer to something so simple.”
Aaron gave a wet laugh and shook his head against the dusty floor, his hand opening at his side. “Fucking cunt. Always thought you was pretentious like.”
Tristan let out a long sigh, wishing he knew what was going on. He had no idea what they are talking about or what a pythia was and what it had to do with him. He would have asked had he the energy.
“Well?” Ash asked, tilting his head to one side, still inches from Aaron’s face.
Aaron smiled, showing off those small fangs he flashed Tristan earlier. “Go fuck yourself, love.”
Ash sighed and withdrew his sword from Aaron’s chest as he sat upright. “That answer displeases me in a way you will never understand.” He stood with a leg to each side of the vampire, keeping him pinned in place. He gave his sword a quick cleaning flick and returned it to its sheath it without taking his eyes from the man, the monster at his feet. Ash made quick work of tying his hair back from his face, still ginning that crooked smile and then pulled the tantō.
“All right, love,” Ash said, mocking Aaron’s accent perfectly. Only he sounded even more effeminate than before. If Tristan didn’t know any better, he would have said there was a woman in the room. “Remember, you asked for this.”