Because the Night

Chapter Fourteen

I wake up screaming, sitting bolt upright on the white, cast-iron bed. A moment later the door crashes open and Lucas is there. He grips my shoulders and studies my tear-stained face. My mind is a mess. The remnants of the nightmare are fading, leaving confusion and fear.

“Skye,” he says in a firm voice. “Look at me. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yeah, I…shit.” I put a hand to his chest and push. He sits back on the mattress, giving me space while I wipe my cheeks dry. Only the dim light from the candles in the parlor light the room. Everything is shadows. “It was just a nightmare.”

He nods.

“I didn’t even think vampires had nightmares or dreams.”

“The mind is a complex thing, sweetie,” says Henry from the doorway. “Trauma can mess with you in all sorts of ways. But you’re safe here with us.”

“Or maybe you don’t feel as secure in this room on your own. That’s easily fixed.” Lucas lifts me and the blanket off the bed. The way he picks me up as if I weigh nothing and carries me around so carefully like I am precious. I kind of need it right now.

“You get that you’re a bully, right?” I ask as he carries me down the hallway back to his bedroom. “I mean, you’ve made peace with that aspect of your personality.”

“Oh, yes,” says Henry, tailing along behind us. “That’s old news. Did I ever tell you about the time in Natal when he—”

And that’s when Lucas kicks the bedroom door shut in his face.

“Harsh,” shouts Henry from out in the hallway.

Lucas sets me on the bed with one of his trademark frowns. He’s wearing a black tee, jeans, and boots. The modern look sure does suit him. Though, he’s so pretty he could pull off anything. I’m in another expensive sleep set made of linen. A flickering white pillar candle sits on the desk. He might have a point; I do like his room. The chunky, wooden four-poster bed and the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. The pictures and so on. How the décor offers hints of his existence through the ages.

“Do you want to tell me about your dream?” he asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “Better to just forget it. What time is it?”

“It’s almost sunset,” he says. “But you should try to go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

“Keep me safe from the demons in my head?” I play with a loose thread on the blanket. And wind up accidentally tearing the thick, woolen material. Just when I thought I had my strength under control. The way that clumsiness remains my chosen undead aesthetic.

He just sits there staring at me all the while. There’s such intensity in his gaze. Like he can read me inside and out; all of my hopes and dreams open to him for perusal. No one has ever been this interested in me. I’m going to miss it when it goes. When his attention moves on to other topics.

“You shouldn’t look at me that way,” I say.

“How should I look at you?”

It’s a good question. One I can’t answer. Or maybe I don’t want to answer. I give my ponytail a nervous tug. “I was jealous about your ex.”

“I know.”

The ego on this guy. I shoot him a dirty look, which of course, achieves nothing. “The human whom I fed from…in my dream, I tore him apart to get at the blood.”

“It’s certainly one way to do it; though, there are less messier choices,” he says in his usual dry tone. “Ones less inclined toward waste.”

“You’re such an ass.”

The edge of his mouth rises in a smirk.

I square my shoulders and take a deep, unnecessary breath. Habits really do die hard. “I need to know if you’re going to be yet another one of those people who like the idea they have of me, but then when they get to know me, they’re disappointed.”

He narrows his gaze on me. Then he stands and walks over to the desk. Among the books and so on sits a blue silk case. This, along with a large white envelope, are what he returns with. He gives me the case first. “Open it, Skye.”

Inside are a pair of diamond drop earrings and a matching necklace with stars. The stones range in size from small to astonishing. It must be worth millions. I don’t know what to say.

“To replace the jewelry that was stolen from you,” he says. Then he gives me the envelope. “These are the documents Helena sent over. They detail your settlement from The Thorn Group.”

“You opened my mail?”

“That’s beside the point. Note the payout you’re receiving.”

I skim the document and wow. There are, indeed, a lot of zeros. “Wow.”

“I was born in a time when women were considered the property of men.”

“Some idiots still think that way today.”

He nods. “I won’t lie to you, it’s an attractive idea. I would like to own you. But you’re not the type to thrive in such a relationship. You would find it claustrophobic and limiting. Nor do I necessarily require such control.”

The way I hold in any and all sarcastic comments. I deserve an award. I am also dying to know where he’s heading with this.

“You have money. And you’ve made friends, vampires who would offer you their protection and assistance. For instance, Leilah is willing to let you join her at the hotel. She would ensure you were not removed from the premises against your will again.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You should know Lev has gone north for now. Nicholas is tracking him digitally through cameras and such. His human servants are moving him during the daylight hours. We believe his maker summoned him. No doubt he’ll eventually return, but the danger to you from that region is not as immediate.”

“What about your brother?”

His gaze blanks. “The hunt begins as soon as the sun sets. I will find him and kill him.”

“What are you saying with all of this?”

“That strictly speaking, you no longer need me.” He pauses. “And should you choose to leave, I would do my utmost to respect that choice.”

I don’t know why I’m smiling. “You would do your utmost?”

“Yes,” he says. “Benedict explained that modern women must have choices. That their rights must be equal.”

“Benedict explained all of that?”

He nods. “It would be difficult for me. But I’ve given it some thought. I believe if I stayed close to you and was able to watch over you, that would fulfill this need in me. For a time, at least.”

“Did you actually just admit to planning to stalk me?”

He lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “The way I am with you is strange and new to me. I cannot explain it, but denying it is pointless.”

“So, what you’re basically saying is that I can leave you, but you’re coming, too.”

He thinks it over and nods. “That about sums it up.”

“Lucas—”

“You should get some sleep. Even Henry has been resting today, and he has centuries on you. Healing takes energy.”

He has a point. But my mind is busy as fuck. “I keep thinking about the instruments of torture they had lined up waiting for me in that place. The knives and hammer and saw are all pretty obvious. But what were they going to do with the salt and the needle and thread?”

“Salt in a wound hurts and it delays healing.”

“Oh.”

“As for the needle and thread…I am not sure.”

“I watched a show once where they sewed a person’s lips shut as some sort of strange punishment.” And just the thought of such a thing sends a shiver down my spine. “So gross.”

“Most anything is believable of my brother. Though, I’ve never heard of Marc doing such a thing.”

“I want you to use me as bait to lure him out,” I say before my courage can desert me.

“What?” snaps Lucas. “No. Absolutely not.”

“We need this to end. I refuse to spend every night looking over my shoulder. Just waiting for him to mess with me some more.”

“Skye, he will be found and dealt with. I promise you.”

“I don’t want anyone else being sent back as ashes in a box, either.”

His lips flatline.

“Using me makes sense. You know it does. We can turn his weird fixation with me into a positive. Lure him into a trap and finish him once and for all.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No,” I say. “I’m not. You said this was a family, and I am supposed to be part of it. So let me help solve this problem.”

His sigh is mighty. “I will consider your offer. But first you will allow Nico and me to track him and attempt to deal with him our way.”

I just nod. It’s the best response I’m going to get for now. “The needle and thread were fine.”

“What?”

“The needle and thread with the torture stuff. They weren’t thick. Wouldn’t you need something substantial to push through skin?”

Lucas just looks at me, saying nothing for a long moment, and then, “Skye, what color was the thread?”

“Black.”

“Like your dress.”

“Yes.”

And he’s gone. It takes me a moment longer to follow him into the bathroom, where my abandoned dress is laying on the ground. Lucas inspects the seams of the garment, and then the hem.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“Not sure. But I’ll know it when I find it.”

“They left one human to guard me,” I say, thinking aloud. “I know I’m only a newborn. But it still seemed weird. Then there’s how fast you found me, and the fact that Marc wasn’t even in the vicinity.”

“Nico tracked the vehicle they used. Security cameras at The Boulevard and CCTV made the process quite quick and easy.”

“That’s my point.”

Lucas pauses and carefully proceeds to unpick a segment of thread. Some stitching that’s not as neat and perfect as the rest around the bottom of the skirt. From within the section, a silver medallion falls onto the ground. There’s some sort of symbol carved into it. With words curling around and around on the other side. I’ve always had a good imagination, but there’s no way I am imagining the bad vibes emanating from the thing. Now that it’s out in the open, it’s like ill will flows freely from the medal.

“What is it?” I ask, leaning in to try and read it. However, the writing is in no language I’ve ever seen. “Lucas?”

“Powerful magic intended to counteract the runes and allow our enemies to enter. My brother and his Russian friends must have paid a pretty penny for it.”

The pieces fall into place in my mind and my lip curls in a very vampire-style snarl. “That’s why they kidnapped me…so they could plant that thing on me and have me walk it right on into the house for them.”

He raises his head, and I feel the tug in the middle of my chest. It’s the sire bond being used—and not just on me. As evidenced when Henry and Benedict stride into the room. “Get ready,” says Lucas. “We’re about to have guests.”

Not even Marc is willing to fuck with the sun. Or not too much. When the attack begins, our nearest star has just met the horizon. I can feel it still warning me to keep my head down, to stay hidden or else. It would take a strong will to ignore it. Either that, or a burning hatred nurtured over a thousand or so years and a shitload of money.

Marc must have hired humans to transport him and his people here and bring them inside out of the daylight. Several large vehicles park in the drive. Some sort of vans or trucks or something. I get the feeling we’re about to be seriously outnumbered. Car doors open and close. But there’s no murmur of conversation. Not a single word is said, only footsteps and the sound of heavy boxes being brought inside the house. With the runes negated, there’s nothing to keep them out.

Had we not found the medallion, they probably would have taken us by surprise. I would, in all likelihood, have been asleep and not heard slaughter and deception in the still and silent corner of my mind. Missed the heightened emotions surrounding these words. All of the anticipation and anger.

The others might well have thought they were just from The Thorn Group. Contractors hired to see to the house or garden. Such workers have been coming and going during the daylight hours. There have also been deliveries. So many deliveries. Items Lucas has asked for or Shirley collected for him over the years. It’s late in the day for humans to be here. But certainly not beyond the realm of possibility.

Lucas decided not to destroy the medallion or throw it out the nearest window. This is his chance to finally face his brother on home ground. He wanted me to hide in a tunnel, one of the secret other exits, until it was over. But they’re going to need every hand they can get. Even a shaky one with little to no experience. Nicholas and Leilah will be here as soon as the sun is fully set. But I have the distinct feeling they’re going to be too late.

My anxiety is as high as can be, despite our home seeming so normal. Pillar candles burn in the lounge room belowground, and a record is playing. Billie Holiday sings oh so sweetly. The heavy wooden door at the back of the basement stands open a hand’s width. It’s a welcoming scene, typical of how the days are spent by family members who don’t need to sleep. Ones who believe themselves safe, care of the runes.

Lucas and I stand to the side of the back hallway. As close as he would let me get to the action. But I can see everything and have a pistol in hand. Something I have agreed only to use as a last resort. None of the family is keen to experience friendly fire. Which, to be fair, could very well happen. However, there’s no way I was willing to agree to being unarmed when we’re under attack.

Then suddenly it begins. I didn’t even hear anyone approach the door. These people are seriously good.

The door opens wider, slowly and silently. And the first of Marc’s assassins steps inside with a submachine gun. He sprays the room with wooden bullets, making crystal and porcelain shatter as feathers and fluff from the furniture fills the air. It’s a fucking mess.

Benedict rises from behind the chaise and a dagger flies from his hand. Of course, the point finds its target, burying itself deep in the creature’s eye. The vampire turns to ash where he stands.

Another immediately steps forward to take his place. This time it’s a petite woman wielding her own sharp implements. As evidenced by the throwing star now sticking out of Benedict’s shoulder. But Henry rises from behind an antique credenza with a pistol in hand. One, two, three bullets hit her heart, and she, too, is ash.

It all happens so quickly. To each action, an equally bloody and violent reaction.

One at a time doesn’t seem to be working for them. Or perhaps Marc runs out of patience. Because five vampires rush the room. The first falling at shots from Henry. And the second suddenly has a spear sticking out of his chest. Benedict surges forward with a short sword in hand. He removes a creature’s head from its body with relative ease. But a bullet from another hits Benedict, and he snarls in pain.

Henry drops his pistol and draws a pair of daggers from the leather harness he wears on his chest. It’s like a brutal dance, seeing him and an enemy circle each other. Then knives flash and Henry grunts as a long streak of blood appears on his back. Ouch.

His enemy grins, beyond pleased. They start moving so fast it’s hard to track. Meanwhile, another falls to Benedict’s sword. He strikes and parries with ease, dealing out death with steel. I’ve never witnessed a Viking berserker at work. But the last thing that enemy will ever see is his manic grin.

None of our foes even try to reach me. Makes me wonder if Marc told them he wanted to kill me himself.

Lucas raises his axe and joins the skirmish. The sharp edge of its blade almost tearing the nearest body in two. Such a messy way to kill someone. The blood coating the head of his axe turns to dust in an instant. He was supposed to wait for his brother to appear. To save himself for that fight. But the chance of him standing idly by was never good.

All I can hear is the bang of guns firing and the clang of steel meeting steel. It’s a deafening cacophony. Ash from bodies sits in piles throughout the room. I keep my back to the wall and wait with my gun in hand to see if I can actually help. Though, the three of them are cutting through our enemies with relative ease. Give or take the odd wound from bullet or blade.

Such slaughter is overwhelming. No matter all of the death I’ve seen so recently. That it’s happening here in our home is…there has to be a word stronger than disconcerting. Though, it does kind of sum it up. This was our safe place and now it’s being invaded.

Marc at long last makes his appearance—and yes. This is what I want. For this asshole to have the final death. To be nothing more than an unpleasant old memory. Guess I have gotten bloodthirsty in a few different ways.

He’s dressed in a three-piece suit. Very showy. The way he searches the room and then sneers at me doesn’t improve the situation at all. Should Lucas fail to stop him, the creature is absolutely going to tear me to shreds. And I highly doubt my gun and I could stop one as ancient as him.

“She won’t live to see another night,” he says. “I promise it.”

Lucas’ shrug is nonchalant as fuck. But I am wise to his ways now. Hiding his heart is a given. It’s what this world taught him is safe.

Marc snarls in anger.

The force with which Lucas charges him with his axe is breathtaking. And Marc meets him with a morning star. A type of club with a spiked metal ball attached to the top. Something I have only ever seen in a medieval movie about the crusades.

They’re apparently in no rush, given how long the two have waited to kill each other. Because I can see their movements. Weapons being wielded like they’re extensions of their bodies. Centuries of practice gives the fight a particular grace. Their skill may well be unrivaled by any other, undead or alive. Despite, or maybe due to their dexterity, neither successfully manages to land a blow. And after a minute or two, they step back from the bout, seemingly by unspoken consensuses, and each sets their weapon on the ground.

Marc growls in my general direction. Like he hasn’t got enough going on in his life right now. Then he leaps at Lucas, and the two crash together again. I swear the ground shakes from their fury. Their hands hammer and claw at each other. Demons set loose from Hell couldn’t seek more destruction. The brothers’ hatred for one another is all-consuming. Bone cracks and blood flows, but neither stops or even pauses.

Henry and Benedict must have disposed of the rest of the thugs. Both are wounded, but the rest of our enemies are gone. They don’t interfere in the ongoing fight between the brothers, however. No matter how much I might like them to help. My own complete lack of skill with a gun rules me out, too. Our maker is on his own. He probably wants it this way, but I do not have to like it.

Which is when an unhappy thought occurs to me. There’s a small to medium chance I may have emotions happening when it comes to Lucas. Things beyond irritation and anger and outrage. Because the panic I experience as he faces such peril is extreme. On the verge of a total meltdown on my part. The thing is…I haven’t heard all of his stories. I don’t know as much about him as I would like. And the idea of our time together being brought to an abrupt end is fucking awful. I am this close to messy crying as the two brothers wage war against each other.

Having some sort of feelings for this monster isn’t the worst thing in the world. The idea of us being important to each other. It doesn’t need to mean anything big or unwieldy. This is fine.

Then, a full moment later, as Marc is pummeling his brother’s face, I realize such a thought is absolute nonsense. Just complete rubbish. Because the truth is, I have somehow managed to stumble and fall in love with Lucas. So clumsy of me. But he has my whole, undead heart. I have never felt this way about anyone, living or dead, and I cannot lose him. He has to win. Anything else is untenable.

Just then, Lucas punches his hand through his brother’s chest. Reaching up and under his rib cage to get at his heart. Marc’s face contorts. He shrieks his rage and pain to the room. All of his people are dust, however. There’s no one to come to his aid; no family or friends to help him. He is as alone in this moment as he can be. Lucas all but tears his brother in two. And the bloody body in his hands turns to ash as we watch.

Marc is dead. Deader. And thank fuck for that.

A muscle in the side of Lucas’s jaw shifts, and his cool, clear blue gaze finds mine. Cuts and bruises spread across his skin diminish and change shades. The man has taken a beating. But he’s still here. He’s going to be okay.

We stare at each other for a long minute. There’s a question in his eyes, and for once I don’t turn away or make excuses. It doesn’t matter that we’ve only known each other for a week. Or that there’s an age gap between us as wide as the sea. He wants to be with me, and I want to be with him.

Seems there might be something to this soul mate’s thing after all. I don’t know how else to explain it. The slow smile spreading across his lips is everything. We survived. We really are going to be okay. It hardly even matters that our home is in ruins. Pottery pieces scattered on the ground. Paintings pockmarked with bullet holes. And don’t even get me started on all of the beautiful books. Ugh.

I’m not even as upset anymore about him killing me. Because this new life I am living is kind of great. Give or take the occasional outbreaks of excessive violence, etcetera. He definitely requires further ongoing education regarding consent and equality, however.

“You’re smiling,” he says to me.

“Yeah. We’re okay. We’re still here.”

“Of course.”

Lucas might have taken our winning as a given. But I sure as hell had my concerns. I look around the room. “All of your stuff.”

“I have more stuff,” he says.

“So much more.. I’d like to see your brother come back from that,” murmurs Henry, inspecting the pile of ash at their feet.

Lucas just grunts.

“Oh, no,” says a still heavily bleeding Benedict in a sad voice. “Skye didn’t get to shoot anyone.”

Henry sighs. “That is a shame.”

“She shouldn’t have to miss out.” Benedict is seriously aggrieved. “Why don’t you shoot Henry now? I’ll hold him down for you.”

“Very funny,” says Henry.

I just smile. “No. Thank you.”

“I won’t help you dig the bullets out of your stomach and leg if you’re not nice to me, Benedict. I am warning you.”

Lucas ignores them and wipes the dust off his hands as he crosses the room. He leans down and I reach up, and we meet in the middle. As it should be. No idea how bruised and battered his mouth might be. But I kiss him gently. And the kiss is a promise of so much more. Years and eons and all the rest. I really feel like this just might work out for us.

There’s a light in his eyes as he says, “Skye can shoot someone next time we have another of these get-togethers.”

Benedict just nods.

But I laugh. “Next time.” Then, I stop laughing. “Wait. You’re not serious, are you?”