Blue-Blooded Vamp (32 page)

Giguhl looked up, his expression tortured. “And I told her no way. Been there, done that, have the scars to prove it.”

“Good for you,” I said.

He grimaced. “Don’t get too excited. She told me a lot of
stuff. About why she had to break it off with me. About how she still wants my body. I don’t know”—he scrubbed a claw over his face—“she sounded pretty convincing.”

“Of course she did.” I rolled my eyes. “She’s an excellent actress.”

“Yeah, but part of me wants to believe her.”

I was pretty sure I knew exactly which part he was thinking with. “Well, don’t listen to that part. It only gets you in trouble.”

Giguhl shot me a bitch-please look. “I was referring to my heart, gutter brain.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”

“Okay, I’ll admit she still makes the Pitchfork vibrate, but it’s not just about sex. I loved her.”

“It’s only natural you’d be having doubts,” Adam said. “She broke it off with you without any explanation. Of course you’d want to believe she was forced into it. But you have to use your head here, G. If she’s telling the truth and you get back together with her, how long until Mommy Dearest calls her back again?”

The demon stilled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well you should. Do you really want to risk her breaking your heart again?”

He sighed and shook his head. “No.”

I relaxed a fraction. “Good.”

Giguhl flopped back against the chair with a groan. “I don’t understand females at all.”

“Amen, brother,” Adam said with a wry smile.

“Hey!” I protested.

The mancy shrugged. “What? It’s true. It’s like you know from birth how to fuck with our heads. Back before you succumbed to my charms, I didn’t know what the hell was going on.”

“It’s true, Sabina. You were a major tease. Just like Valva.”

My mouth dropped open. “Take that back!”

The Mischief demon grinned at me. “Truth hurts, don’t it?”

I crossed my arms. “Whatever. I’m just glad you’re not getting back together with her. You can do way better.”

“I don’t know, Red. Before she ripped out my heart and stomped on it with her stilettos, I couldn’t believe my luck that such a megababe was with me.” The demon sighed and rose. “Anyway, I’m gonna hit the sack.”

After we’d said our good nights, he lumbered toward his room with drooping shoulders. Seeing it made me want to find the Vanity demon and kick her ass. How dare she show up and screw with his head like that?

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

I shot Adam an innocent look. “Who, me?”

“Sabina, I know you care about him, but you can’t get in the middle.”

I crossed my arms and glared at the floor.

“He’s a grown-assed demon, Red.” He patted my leg and stood. “Anyway, I’m sure nothing will come of it.”

I prayed he was right, but I’d seen the doubt in Giguhl’s eyes when he said he didn’t want to rekindle things with Valva.

I dreamed again that night. Only this time no gods or nightmare versions of my relatives appeared. In fact, I didn’t remember anything about it. But one second I was asleep and the next I opened my eyes as the dream dissipated like vapor.

I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t. I tried to open my eyes but found it impossible.

Paralyzed.

A heavy weight slammed into my chest. The weight crushed my lungs. Panic rose in my throat like bile. I tried to scream, but my mouth wouldn’t work. I willed my hands to move, to hit Adam so he’d wake and help me. But my arms lay frozen and heavy on the mattress.

Breath on my face. Crushing pressure on my chest. Soft laughter. “Don’t fuck me over, Mixed-Blood.”

Through the haze of panic, I recognized Asclepius’s voice.

I tried in vain to fight him off, to dislodge his weight. Hands closed around my throat, icy cold. I choked and screams lodged in my throat like shards of glass. “Because if you do, the vengeance I will unleash on you will make Cain look like a choir boy.”

The hands tightened, cutting off my air. Veins throbbed, desperately searching for oxygen. With every last ounce of strength in my body, I sucked in air and pushed it back out in a mighty whoosh. “Adam!”

The weight lifted, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared. Air flooded my lungs. Feeling returned to my limbs and brought with it a thousand pinpricks of needles. I reared up, gasping and sweating.

“Sabina?” Adam said, reaching for me in the dark.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and tried to calm down. Swallowing was easier than it should have been given I had just been choked. “I… I’m okay.”

I ran my hands over my throat, my arms, my chest. I really was okay. No pain, no swelling, no bruises. Only the shadowed echo of terror lingered.

“Bad dream?” he asked. Adam was used to my nightmares now. Ever since Maisie died, I had them almost nightly.

I nodded. “I think so.” Now that I’d gotten my breath
under control, my brain was starting to function again. Obviously, Asclepius hadn’t appeared in my bed to choke me. It had been some sort of lucid dream.

“Tell me?” Adam asked, yawning.

“I thought Asclepius was choking me. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t yell for help. His weight was like an anvil on my chest.”

Adam sat up then, rubbing my back. “I’ve had dreams like that before. Rhea calls them the Hag.”

I turned to look at him, rested my chin on my upraised knee. “The Hag?”

“The old legends tell of a night hag who sits on her victim’s chest while they sleep and sucks their life force away. But Rhea said that there’s a more scientific reason. When we dream, our bodies go into this state of paralysis. The Hag dream happens when we wake up too soon and our brain hasn’t switched out of dream mode fully. It’s freaky.”

I sighed. “To say the least. I was terrified.”

“Given your experiences in the dream world, I’m sure it was. Besides, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that Asclepius forced it to happen. What did he say?”

I briefly described the choking sensation and Asclepius’s final threat.

Adam leaned back toward the pillows and pulled me with him. Soon I was snuggled up against his side. He kissed the top of my head. “You’ve had some major shocks lately. Not surprising they’d manifest in your dreams.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But the Asclepius stuff wasn’t just a dream.”

“True. But what can you do? Once we tell Tristan about the deadline, everything will sort itself out. In the meantime, you’ve got to get your head straight for the test tonight.”

“Bael’s balls, you guys! I’m trying to get my beauty rest here.”

I sat up and peered over the side of the bed to where Giguhl slept on the ground. He’d appeared at our door just after dawn. Apparently, his interaction with Valva had freaked him out so bad he couldn’t stand to be alone. We refused to let him get in bed with us but had agreed to let him crash on the floor.

Adam groaned and threw a pillow at the demon. “You could pull a Rip van Winkle and it wouldn’t do any good.”

“Don’t be bitter, mancy,” Giguhl shot back. “It’s not my fault you aren’t getting any action.”

“Yes, actually, yes, it is.”

I laughed and got out of bed. “All right, boys. The sun’s almost down and we need to start getting ready.”

Two male groans followed me to the bathroom. I didn’t bother looking in the mirror. I knew what I’d see. A stressed out chick with pale skin and carry-on luggage under her eyes. What I needed was a long shower, a gallon of coffee, and a major dose of confidence before I faced my father’s next test.

I got two out of the three, but beggars can’t be choosers. Even if the beggar in question might be the Chosen.

T
hat evening, we all stood in the middle of the small graveyard on the western edge of the property. A crumbling stone wall surrounded the plot, and time hadn’t been much kinder to the grave markers. By the entrance, green moss covered a statue of the Virgin Mary like a shroud. The instant I entered the place, the death energy tugged at my diaphragm with a heaviness that felt like dread.

“You’ve proven you’re strong and an adequate fighter,” Tristan was saying. He still hadn’t looked directly at me, which I assumed was an unfortunate result of seeing him naked the night before.

Speaking of awkward, across the way, Horus crossed his hands protectively over his crotch. He’d healed completely thanks to his vampiric blood, but I had a feeling he’d be giving me a wide berth for a while yet.

I narrowed my eyes at Tristan’s characterization of my skills. Adequate? I’d show him fucking adequate.

“However,” my father continued, “in Irkalla, you will not be facing corporeal beings who you can punch or shoot.
You will be facing spirits. Including, I am sure, many who you put there yourself.”

I nodded. He was probably right. I’d killed hundreds of beings from several of the dark races over the last fifty-odd years. Chances were pretty good I’d run into a few of them once I reached Irkalla.

“Therefore, tonight’s test will measure your Chthonic skills, or more precisely, your ability to control spirits.”

My stomach clenched. Naturally he’d chosen to test the one area I had the least experience with. Sure, I’d summoned some zombies a couple of times, but one of those instances was a mistake. “I’m ready,” I lied.

Tristan nodded. “Let’s begin.”

When Tristan said he wanted to test my Chthonic spirit-controlling skills, I figured he’d just make me summon a ghost and ask it some questions. I have never been more wrong about anything in my life.

After I announced I agreed to Tristan’s test and everyone had their reactions—some excited (Giguhl and Rhea), some far less enthusiastic (Horus and Calyx)—Tristan had ordered everyone out of the graveyard. Rhea, Nyx, and Adam had stayed but were ordered to stay outside of the graveyard at all times and to not interfere no matter what happened.

Once we were alone, my father turned to me. “Brace yourself.”

He threw his hands in the air and started chanting. The energy rose so quickly it left me disoriented. Black energy rolled into the graveyard like a tempest, swirling with frigid wind and overwhelming power. I put a hand to my head and tried to regain my equilibrium.

I couldn’t see anything. A thick black mist had settled over the graveyard. I waved my hands to clear it. “Tristan?”

No answer. I thought I heard Adam shout something, but he sounded far away. He was only about ten yards, though, so the distortion had to be part of Tristan’s spell.

I shook off every external sensation. Closed my eyes, swallowed the rising panic, and tried to center myself.

A loud cracking sound echoed, like the earth ripping apart. My eyes flew open. My heart thumped a warning. I spun around, desperately searching the mist for some clue about what was happening.

The clue arrived in the form of a skeletal hand. It exploded from the ground and grabbed my ankle like a vise. I fell to my ass on the grave.

“Godsdammit!”

I grabbed a knife from my boot and hacked at the wrist. The fingers tightened, cutting off blood supply to my foot. Because the hand was already rotted to the bone, it didn’t take long to cut through the desiccated ligaments connecting the wrist to the arm. The hand broke away still attached to my leg. I uncurled the bent phalanges and chucked the dead hand across the graveyard.

I scrambled back until my shoulders hit the gravemarker. Using the stone for leverage, I jumped up. Keeping my eyes on the grave, I waited for its resident to emerge from the soil.

That’s when I heard them. Low moans crawled through the mist. The dark energies permeating the air were filled with a mosaic of emotions. Malevolence, confusion, unbearable sadness. The scent of rot filled my nostrils. A cold chill scraped down my spine.

Revenants. Lots of them.

I’d summoned and controlled the reanimated dead
before, but I’d never fought any that someone else had summoned. However, I knew from experience that taking their heads off would kill them. Or rather, rekill them.

I ducked low and took stock. Down there the mist was lighter and I could see several pairs of feet shambling my way. What I didn’t see was a weapon. Besides the small knife in my hand, I had a gun in my waistband, but it would only slow them down. I needed a sword or a scythe or some other large, sharp instrument.

The fog started to dissipate, revealing a slow but determined undead army. Each Revenant’s appearance was more horrific than the last. Rotted faces exposed grayed teeth in sinister smiles. Muscles hung from yellowed bone like beef jerky. Shriveled and blackened eyeballs rattled in sockets. But the worst were the skeletons. One lacked leg bones and dragged itself across the ground by its sharp, bony claws. Another wielded its own arm like a club.

And then there was the moaning—the terrible, soul-jarring moans.

The cloud had retreated until it was a black wall surrounding the graveyard. It blocked my view of Adam and the others—probably to protect them as much as to reinforce Tristan’s order not to interfere—but I could finally see Tristan standing by the entrance. He leaned with his arms crossed against the statue of the Virgin Mary.

“Tristan?” I shouted.