Page 2 of Heir of Ashes

He gave that mocking, condescending smirk again. “I like you. Very brave, very courageous,” he said, and I noticed his voice carried a British accent. Of course it did. I bet he was turned at a time when native Americans were the only humans in these lands.

“You can’t have it both ways,” I replied, pushing off the door and taking a step forward. I unwrapped the scarf from around my neck. “First, you’re sniffing my fear like premium cocaine, and then I’m brave and courageous? They don’t work together.” I took another step and tossed the scarf on the dresser to my right.Just two more steps to go.“Now, like I said, this room is already taken. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.” I pointed a thumb behind me, my hand jerking when a vicious kaboom blasted the air.

His lips twitched, but the humor didn’t reach his cold eyes. “You know why I am here, little one?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

I was glad he deemed me neither worthy nor dangerous enough to get up from the bed. He remained calm, relaxed even. I shrugged, took one more tiny step, and stopped cold when his eyes narrowed into slits. He didn’t look like an emaciated dude anymore. He looked dangerous, his eyes gleaming with merciless intelligence and awareness.

Scratch Plan A.If I couldn’t get close enough to strike him unaware, I needed a new strategy. Time for Plan B. Now, I just needed to figure out what Plan B was.

“I’m here to take you back. Enough playing the damsel in distress. If there’s anything you wish to bring along, then go ahead and start packing. You have five minutes.”

“What makes you think I’ll go back?” I asked, my mind whirling for a solution.

He showed me his teeth. Straight, nice, white teeth. It wasn’t a smile or a sneer, just … teeth.

“I have some papers for you to sign before we leave,” he said, shifting his attention back to the magazine, as if my compliance was a foregone conclusion. “A disclaimer granting the Scientists full rights for the next ten years …” He flippedanother page. “Hmm-mm. Nice shoes.” Flip. “During this ten-year period, if you give them your full cooperation—”

I lunged at him, talons out, aiming straight for his throat. I didn’t know if a stake through the heart was the right method to kill a vampire, but decapitation was a surefire way to end anything—living, undead, animated, or whatever it was they called a made vampire.

I hit something hard and for a fraction of a second thought I hit the mark. Just a fraction of the second it took for my brain to process his bony fingers around my wrist, exactly where the fur and padded paw gave way to human skin.

I didn’t even see him move.

Without hesitation, I lashed out again with my free left talons, but he was just as quick this time around, trapping both my wrists in a vise-like grip. I kicked out in desperation, my boot connecting with his shin even as I wrenched my hands back with all the strength I could muster, slicing his hands with my talons.

He howled, letting go of me and getting up, fangs out. I stumbled back, and without losing momentum, kept going for the closet where I stored the broom I used to clean my room so Marian wouldn’t need to. As weapons went, it was pretty lame, but it was all I could come up with in the moment.

Despite the head start and the fact I was fast, I’d taken only two steps before he tackled me from behind, slamming me to the hardwood floor with a force that knocked all the wind out of me. I thrashed, trying to free my legs, but he was strong. I managed to gain a few inches and kicked out, eliciting a gratifying grunt of pain. Not waiting for him to recover, I put all my strength into my upper body and clawed my way toward the closet, dragging him with me, and grabbed hold of the doorframe. Every inch I gained was a battle, my body straining against his grip as I kicked and shoved with every bit of leverage I could find.

“Stop it,” he snarled, his voice guttural, his hold tightening around my legs.

Hope flared when my fingertips brushed the handle of the broom. Then something sharp pierced through the fabric of my pants, into the muscles of my calf. I stiffened when the vampire began sucking. That was how vampires controlled their prey and made them slaves: by drinking their blood.

A cry of despair and outrage tore from my throat as I pulled myself again with renewed determination, the frame of the closet creaking with indignation, the vampire’s fangs tearing through my muscles like scissors through paper. My hand brushed the handle of the broom again, but it slipped away. Finally, my left foot came free, and I stomped on his head once, twice, the muscles of my calf shredding with every kick.

My leg slid, though his fangs still sucked, caught on a frenzied feeding, now embedded in the tendons of my ankle. The pain was so overwhelming, it almost outdid reason. I pulled myself again, crying out with the agony of tearing flesh. I reached for and grabbed the broom, and with a herculean effort of will, twisted my upper body and began thwacking the vampire on the side of the head until the handle broke and I had a makeshift stake.

I quickly stabbed him in the shoulder and, as if he had just now realized I was fighting him, he let go of my leg and shot straight up and away.

I picked the other side of the broom, the one with the bristles—considerably shorter—and got up slowly, almost collapsing when I put some weight on my leg. The vampire reached back, pulling the handle of the broom from his shoulder, his malnourished face contorting in fury. There was an alien redness in his eyes, his fanged, open mouth dripping with my blood. I took a step back, careful to put as little pressure as possible on my right leg. Despite my efforts, I almost passed outwhen the pain zinged through the entire leg like a lightning bolt. My vision dimmed once, and I had to swallow bile twice. If I passed out, I would be waking up inside a cage—if I ever woke up again.

Then all of a sudden, there was no more weight on the mangled leg. My relief lasted for less than a millisecond, the time it took for me to realize I was dangling by the throat, the vampire’s bloody lips about two inches away from my face. It took my brain precious seconds to shift gears and process the fact that there was no longer any distance between us. He was so fast, I hadn’t even seen a blur.

When someone dangles you by the throat, it hurts. It hurts a lot. I felt like my body was trying to detach itself from my head. Gravity pulled me down while his hand kept me suspended. I grabbed his bony wrist, trying to alleviate some of the pressure, and was about to kick him again when I made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

Aside from the alien red of his sclera, the pupils had a thin red line surrounding them. It might have been there before, but I couldn’t remember. Even as instinct screamed at me to break eye contact, I wondered why I wanted to. I stopped struggling, let my hands fall to my sides, and felt my face slacken. I was suffocating but couldn’t give a damn about it. I knew my leg throbbed like a motherfucker, but the pain didn’t register. My receptors had malfunctioned. The vampire put me back on my feet, and they wobbled with the weight, but he wanted me to stand, and for him, I could endure anything.

Mind control wasn’t what I had expected it to be. I was totally there and aware; I knew it was wrong, but I just didn’t care. The vampire’s pupils dilated, swallowing the entirety of his irises before contracting into a pinpoint, trapping me inside. I was mesmerized. The warning in the back of my mind dwindled to a faint echo.

Then something happened. The feel of his control … changed. I could feel him sifting through my thoughts and memories—a tickling-prickling sensation—just as casually as he had been flipping through the magazine earlier. I felt rather than saw him laughing at the comparison inside my head. I heard my inner voice screaming at me to fight back, but I was powerless, fully aware of the violation as he rummaged through my most private memories. I was like a ghost, trailing behind him in a haunted mansion, helpless to stop him as he explored each room—fragments of my life—with detached curiosity.

He saw me as a child, perched on the yellow swing in front of the house, smiling at my mother—a striking blonde in a dark green business suit, her eyes as black as mine. She had just come from work, bearing a gift. I jumped out of the swing and ran to her, hugging her with gratitude and that innocent unconditional love only a child could give so freely. He saw me holding a big teddy bear, felt my joy at the bedtime stories about fairy princesses she read to me.

Images of my life flashed by faster, jigsaw pieces of a childhood long sealed away, kept apart from all the torment and pain that followed and practically destroyed me. Mother taking me to school the first day, the bus that picked me up the very next day, my first-grade teacher, Tommy the boy I used to have a crush on, my best friend Vicky, the trouble we got into together, me falling off a tree I climbed on a dare. Faster and faster, my memories flashed as I grew, and the vampire absorbed everything, relishing my helplessness.

The day the Paranormal Scientists Society came and took me away screaming, while my mother watched helplessly, framed by the front porch while it rained. The first time they threw me in a cell with a rabid wolf. Dr. Maxwell’s angry face the day I spat his concoction back in his face, only to have him inject it into my veins. The indifferent bleep of monitors connectedthrough small plugs all over my chest, as I lay shackled to the cold stainless examination table. Professor Anderson, my so-called tutor during my years in the PSS.

Fear began slowly transforming inside me, growing from a quivering puke-green color … into yellow … into orange … into a seething red. And it wanted to be let go. My fury increased as the vampire delved deeper. I reached inside myself for that mounting anger, trying to seize it, to harness it—and I couldn’t. I tried again, but it remained unreachable, just a hair’s width away. For all the PSS’s claims of me being a super predator, there I was, unable to shield my mind, move my limp arm to punch him, or even twitch in defiance.

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