Page 2 of Fated In Blood (Nocturne Vampire Clan #1)

2

EVANGELINE

T hree months later, I limped down the broken sidewalk toward home, hands jammed deep in the pockets of my worn leather jacket, shoulders hunched against the chill. The empty street reeked with the stench of piss and vomit, oily rainbows shining in the puddles.

Barely a block from Valentine’s, the heavy tread of two pairs of boots fell in behind me and adrenaline kicked up my heart rate. My wet laces slapped like gunshots against the tops of my soaked tennis shoes, since I wasn’t allowed to wear boots in the ring anymore.

An unfair advantage , Vincent claimed.

Unfair advantage, my ass . Blood seeped from the open cut on my cheek, the bruise on my thigh throbbed like a motherfucker, and I was still five blocks from my apartment.

The footsteps behind me sped up.

Tonight was perfect for an ambush, cold enough to keep the college crowds in the bars until closing, and fog clogged the air, thick enough to magnify the tread of those heavy, stalking steps nipping at my heels, like wolves tracking a fawn.

Could I have picked a worse night to be out?

Probably not, as a cold, sleeting rain began to fall.

I broke into a limping run then made a hard right at the bookstore, a desperate, sloppy move, rubber soles slapping loudly through puddles until I reached the alley’s dead end, a solid brick wall too high for me to climb. Fuck . With nowhere to go, I faced my pursuers, heart jolting in my aching chest.

Two vampires, one dark, one light, like both sides of an evil coin.

Their perfect skin glowed luminous in the dim light, hooded eyes reflecting the slivered moon, hair falling in long, elegant waves around their shoulders, as if every curl was sculpted by an artist’s hand. The darker one was taller, heavier, the other pale, slender, and lean.

Beautiful, deadly predators, and their ravening grins told me one thing.

They meant to play with their food before they ate me.

My instincts stretched out through the fog and freezing downpour, down the dark alley out into the vacant main street. There was no one out in this weather. No one to save me.

No one to hear me scream.

I let go of my fear, terror spilling through my blood like acid, heart pounding as fast as the rain lashing my face, every panicked breath perfuming the air with frantic desperation. They prowled closer, herding me deep into the shadows.

Until I lost sight of the streetlights.

Until the greed in their faces consumed me.

“What have we here? A wee little lamb, all alone.” I licked the fresh droplet of blood from my busted lip, copper blooming in my mouth while I sized them up. They gave off that shivery aura of immortal power, moving with an unnaturally smooth gait, feet barely touching the ground.

“A lost lamb who smells like heaven.” The darker, more refined one, with the tailored suit and handmade Italian shoes, followed that red drop beading up on my lip with the intensity of a wolf, his gaze sharpening.

I tried not to roll my eyes at their outdated prattle.

That right there was the problem with vampires. They lived forever, but they never matured. So basically, I was dealing with two bloodsucking twelve-year-olds.

Capable of tearing me apart and drinking me as dry as a juice box.

The blond one’s nostrils flared wide the second he caught my scent, fangs bursting from his pale gums like wicked knives, turning his elegant face grotesque. “Ambrose, please let me go first tonight. She smells absolutely delicious. I must have a taste.”

“Waiting is half the pleasure, though she certainly does smell delectable, Spencer,” the dark-haired one murmured, stripping off his gloves. His hands were white as freshly fallen snow, fingers terminating in long, pointed nails meant for carving through skin and flesh.

Spencer. Every cell of my being went taut, the name— that name—carving a path through my soul.

I was worn down from my earlier fight, and these two were capable of ripping out my beating heart with their bare hands as easily as scooping a pit from a peach.

But adrenaline flooded through me like liquid strength.

Spencer drew another long, shuddering breath, his thin chest puffing out dramatically beneath his brocade vest. “My God…what is that delectable aroma, Ambrose?” Lifeless blue eyes caught the light as he stepped forward, hands working convulsively at his sides.

I cowered down—the very image of a weak and helpless human.

Vampires could smell me a mile away.

To their overly sensitive noses, my scent was undeniably addictive, something I’d discovered three months ago and had used to my advantage ever since. My distinctive smell—some potent mixture of hormones, sweat, and chemicals—had become my secret weapon.

The deadliest weapon in my entire arsenal.

Maybe I ate too much sugar, maybe my blood was richer than the average human’s, but whatever the difference, I was irresistible to these blood suckers.

I attracted them like moths to a flame, as it were.

And since I was still bleeding from my earlier fight, they’d fallen in behind me like panting dogs, saving me the trouble of hunting them down.

The sweat, my bloody lip, even the adrenaline from my very real fear were weapons. Weapons I wielded mercilessly, like I’d soon wield the sharpened edge of my blades.

But…

I braced my feet against the wet pavement and dropped my tense shoulders, forcing my muscles to loosen and my tight chest to relax as I sucked in a deep breath of cold spring air, clearing my head.

If I’d truly found Spencer Tyrell, then three months of painstaking work was about to come to fruition.

Ambrose, taller and infinitely more arrogant, prowled closer, gliding across the filth-smeared brick alleyway. “You’re right, Spencer, my love. She smells utterly mouthwatering, which means, since I’m the oldest, I insist on sampling her first.”

Spencer’s narrowed eyes darkened to midnight black, and my heart leapt. If they turned on each other, my job was half done, but predictably the spineless bastard shrank back.

“Of course, Ambrose.” A jittery, nervous laugh. “Age before beauty, as the saying goes.”

Ambrose’s lip curled. He hadn’t expected a fight, disgust flashing across his face before he turned back to me. “Let’s get a better look at you, sweets. Step into the light for me.”

God I hated when they called me pet names. Sweets, dearie, love .

I held out one hand beseechingly, reaching into my back pocket with the other. “Please. Please, don’t hurt me. I have money, I’ll give you everything I have if you just let me go.”

God, my plea sounded… rehearsed instead of terrified, but neither of them noticed, too intent on an easy kill. Too full of arrogance to pause their creeping approach to wonder why we were so far off the main road.

Why I hadn’t bothered screaming.

Or running.

“I’m afraid it’s not money we want, sweets,” Ambrose murmured, close enough for me to make out the red veins lining his eyes, the harsh planes of his cheeks tightening as his nostrils flared in anticipation. “We’re after something a bit more tempting than…”

My blade sliced through his aorta a millisecond before severing his larynx, blood misting the air, his last words dull and hardly worth remembering. The razor-sharp edge cleaved sinew and muscle like butter, detaching everything except his vertebrae.

At least he’d stop boring me to death again with his prattle.

I stepped around Ambrose, his fingers scrabbling to close the wound separating his head from his shoulders, and plunged the tip of my knife between Spencer’s ribs, twisting until the tip nicked his heart.

“Silver blades,” I explained, ducking when Spencer clawed at my face with more fortitude than I would have ever given him credit for. “Coated with wolfsbane. Keeps the wounds from healing in all but the oldest Ancients and shuts down your magic for half an hour. You really should have stayed home tonight, Spencer.”

With a wet gurgle, Ambrose crashed to his knees, eyes alight with fear, blood-coated hands thrashing at his throat as if he could somehow shove all that precious liquid back inside himself. Maybe reattach his head.

“Not going to work. There’s too much adrenaline; your heart’s beating so fast it will literally pump you dry. With all that wolfsbane in your system, you won’t heal in time to replenish your blood supply. Who’s the wee little lamb now?” I crouched down on my haunches, watching his body buck desperately in its last death throes.

Rain dripped from my hair and gathered in droplets at the ends of my eyelashes, but I never blinked. No. I watched him fight. I watched him flail. And I enjoyed every minute of his futile battle.

Ambrose would have slaughtered me and drank every last drop of my blood, like he had a thousand innocent victims before me.

His death was faster and far less painless than he deserved.

Of course, I didn’t know how old he was. If he was older than say, five hundred years, he might not be truly dead, since his head was still— barely —attached. Even with the silver, even with the lack of blood, he could rise again.

But not tonight.

When he stopped twitching, I pulled the big silver engraved hip flask from my coat pocket and set it carefully on the ground between Spencer and me, liquid sloshing quietly inside.

The blond vampire pitched forward, face skidding across the bricks, a font of blood spewing from his mouth, narrowly missing me. He pushed up sloppily then foundered, hatred simmering in his eyes. “You missed my heart, little bitch. You didn’t kill me.”

“Only because you and I are having a little chat.”

I had spent a lot of time rehearsing what I’d say to Spencer tonight.

Had spent three long, brutal months perfecting my vampire hunting technique and working out the kinks in my bloodsucker disposal system. But now came the moment of truth, and I was terrified of what was coming.

Whatever Spencer said next would either doom me…or save me.

I met his pale gaze steadily, flipping the knife between my fingers. His eyes flickered in time with every flash of moonlight reflected on the sharpened edge of the blade.

“I’ve been looking for you, Spencer. And now you’re going to answer a question. Lie to me, and I will filet the flesh from your ribs like a fish. Trust me, I will take my time and make you suffer as much as possible.”

Air sawed in and out of his mouth, his horrified gaze fixed on my expressionless face, blue-flecked eyes widening when he realized what he’d missed before.

He was dying tonight.

And this was going to hurt.

I felt delicate as a sheet of glass when I asked, “Eleven months ago, you snatched a human girl from an apartment on the west side of Cleveland. A blonde with a distinctive tattoo. Pink angel wings across her back. Her name was Angelique.” I could barely draw my next breath.

“Where is my sister and is she still alive?”