Page 36 of Fated In Blood (Nocturne Vampire Clan #1)

36

EVANGELINE

H alfway to Valentine’s I decided to try dematerializing again, just for shits and giggles, but mostly because I was getting a blister on my left heel.

These boots were definitely not made for walking.

I overshot my target and ended up on the opposite side of town, which didn’t save me any time, but did prove that I could move the same way Riordan and Blake did. I just needed more practice.

I strode down Main Street with my head bowed, hands jammed into my pockets, because it was Sunday morning and joggers usually didn’t wear leather jackets and boots, and the sun was wreaking havoc on my exposed skin.

Valentine’s would be closed to the public, but the delivery doors out back were always propped open—yet another bribe for the fire marshal—so I diverted down the side street and quietly slipped inside.

I was racing against the clock.

Five minutes, maybe, since I’d left Crimson House, and I had no doubt Riordan could track me wherever I went, so long as I stayed within ten miles of Thorndale. But outside of that range, even with the blood bond, he would have a difficult time finding me.

And the further I went, the harder he’d have to look for his precious “weapon.”

“Holy fuck…” was all Vincent managed to get out when I kicked down his office door, as he pushed the girl straddling his lap off onto the floor, leaving his glistening cock—as hairy as the rest of him and a sight I’d never scrub from my poor brain—to wither and fall over limp as I wrapped my hand around his throat and squeezed.

“Car keys.” His eyes swiveled over to the desk, and I scooped up a fancy black leather fob with my other hand. The girl hurriedly gathered up her clothes and scrambled out of the room without a backward glance.

“Not even a thank you. I guess you’re a bad lay, Vincent. What a surprise.” His desk was a pigsty of crumpled papers, unpaid invoices, and piles of betting slips, but my eyes were on the high-end, sleek metal box with the fingerprint screen on the front.

“Money. Now.” He fumbled and gasped for breath while I squeezed tighter, tempted to just snap his neck and do the world a favor. Fucking finally, he dragged the heavy metal box toward him across the debris field, shaking fingers clawing at the blank screen until finally, his index finger made contact with the right spot.

The top opened with a faint, pneumatic hiss, revealing thousands of dollars rolled into tidy little green barrels, lined up like good little soldiers, ready to be put to use.

I scooped up as many as I could stuff into my jean pockets, and when I was done, pulled Vincent closer, trying not to taste his onion-saturated breath. “Since I have no doubt you’ll run to Tyrell the second you can speak, you’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon on ice, so to speak.”

“Please…Evie…I’ll…”

“Shut up, you piece of shit. If I wasn’t worried about leaving a trail of bodies behind, I’d snap you in half and leave you here for Blake and Riordan to scrape off the floor. I doubt they’d have the same reservations about killing you after you sold them out to Tyrell.”

He coughed pitifully when I dragged him from his chair, through the door, to the walk-in cooler. “Forty-five degrees is pretty damn cold. Good thing you have all that hair to keep you warm.”

He mumbled out a sound that definitely could have been bitch before I tossed him gracelessly through the door and locked him in. Fire violation number three—the cooler had no safety release on the inside, because Vincent refused to pay for expensive repairs.

Too bad he’d just become a victim of his own stinginess.

Me? Three minutes later I was tooling out of town in a brand-new Mercedes with all the bells and whistles. A bit flashy for my taste, but the black on black would avoid attention, there was a full tank of gas, and I didn’t have to worry about breaking down.

Fifteen minutes, max, since I’d left Crimson House, I pressed my foot to the pedal and turned left, taking the most direct route out of town, a straight shot on a country road with no lights.

I had to put distance between me and Riordan before he realized I was gone, and when I hit the gas, the chain link fences along the roadside blurred.

Seven hours to Jamestown, but I had to make a few stops along the way.

Nine hours later I coasted into Freemont, Virginia on a full stomach of hotdogs and microwavable burritos, rocking a sugar buzz from my extra-large cherry slushie and hauling an impressive collection of weaponry.

Swapping the Mercedes out for something more… practical had cost me time, but my new ride had generous trunk space.

Freemont was five miles from the Silverwood compound but boasted two seedy one-story motels, three fast food places, and a supercenter, so this was the perfect place for home base. I checked into a room that hadn’t been updated since the 1950s, sprawled out on the bed, and closed my eyes.

Alone in the silence, I took my first free breath in days.

I’d never even considered the Harpe Dagger when I’d formulated my plan to save Angel. I’d forgotten all about the Silverwood secret weapon, shoving that information down into a box in the deepest part of my mind, along with all my other useless baggage.

A bone-deep horror shuddered through me at the thought of setting foot in that house again, where so many atrocities had been committed, leaving behind scars that nobody else would ever see.

But that dagger would kill Tyrell, even if nothing else in this world could.

And I would be the one to wield the blade. I would free my sister and make things right. Me.

This was the first time I had time to think since the night I went to Tyrell’s to free my sister.

Too much had happened since that night at Darkmore Castle, and more would happen before I had Angel safely away from that monster, but I couldn’t say I was totally sad about how things were working out. Being a vampire definitely had its perks, and while I wouldn’t have chosen this life, there was a certain symmetry in the fact that my sister and I were, once again, the same species.

Both of us vampires. Both of us needing blood to survive.

Just the thought of blood had a different kind of hunger scraping at my insides, but so far, I was controlling my urges, hyped up on my upcoming mission. At some point, need would overpower reason, but that was a tomorrow problem. Tonight, I had to get onto the family property and take stock of the security situation.

There would be at least two guards patrolling the perimeter. Dogs. Tripwires, booby traps, and pressure plates hidden in the yard.

They would have changed protocols a hundred times since I’d left, but some things remained the same. Uncle Ezra would still be in charge of security and Old Uncle Ez was as predictable as the sun and moon. A few nights of surveillance and I’d have memorized his new patterns.

Two days, max, and I’d have that dagger.

Getting to Tyrell would be tricky, especially since Riordan and Blake were on the hunt, ready to scoop me up the second I got within ten miles of Thorndale. But I had a plan for that, too, providing my family didn’t kill me first.

One of these days, I’d have to reexamine my somewhat pragmatic attitude toward death, but the surety of a painful, brutal end had hung over me since the first day my father took me under his wing for “training.”

Like anything, I supposed, I’d just gotten used to it.

I used the rest of the day to hydrate, heated up four enchiladas in the microwave—so yummy—took a steaming hot shower that my sensitive vampire skin wasn’t ready for, pulled on brand-new clothes, strapped on my knives and a pair of night goggles, then covered my hair with a black beanie.

I left the car behind and jogged five miles to the compound, cutting across open fields and white picket fences, bucolic forests and shallow streams. When I arrived, I wasn’t even winded, dropping to my stomach in the thick grass at the western edge of our family property, beneath a grove of ancient hickory trees, their rough bark sloughing off like scales from a dying bluegill.

This wasn’t the shortest distance between me and the main house, but I was down wind, and my position offered a perfect line of sight to the stately house with eight pillars holding up the massive Doric roof that sheltered the second-floor balcony.

White Chapel was built over the ruins of one of Virginia’s first churches, coincidentally also named White Chapel—my family had no imagination when it came to naming things—and this entire property was consecrated over three hundred years ago.

An extra layer of safety because, theoretically, vampires couldn’t enter hallowed ground.

I’d always thought that particular Silverwood superstition to be utter bullshit, but I had to admit, just thinking about setting foot on that mown lawn sent a panicked shiver skittering down my spine.

Would I burst into flames?

Turn into a pillar of ash?

Be able to finally sing in tune? Who knew.

“Hey, Dante. How far is the drive to Missouri, again?” I flattened myself down as my cousin strolled out onto the porch and stretched, arching his back, his belly punching out over his belt. Virgil had put on weight in the twelve years since I’d escaped this place. He was no longer the gangly, mischievous mop head who’d raced through these fields alongside me.

I didn’t dare breathe when Uncle Dante joined him, two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle and meanness, his boots echoing on the wooden porch as he stomped toward his only son and cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Announce our plans to the whole fucking world, why don’t you?” His raspy snarl brought back all the bad memories. He’d torched his vocal cords the night they’d killed my mother. Dante had taken the brunt of the propane explosion, while my father ordered my cousins to keep Angel and me trapped inside the house while it burned. Just being this close to them planted a hard kernel of hate in my belly, but now wasn’t the time to get tangled up in my own bullshit.

Focus, Evie. Lack of focus leads to failure.

“I wasn’t…” Virgil flinched when Dante lifted his meaty hand again, and I winced right along with Virgil. We’d been trained like soldiers and brainwashed like prisoners, and only after I’d been free of this place a few years did I grasp how damaged I was.

Mom pieced me back together, one shattered fragment at a time. I’d found a sense of accomplishment in keeping her and Angel safe. Had found a few moments of happiness in that house Silas had burned to ash.

But in the end, mom’s kindness hadn’t saved us, and my training hadn’t saved her.

“You never know who might be out there watching, boy. Our enemies are clever and carry the power of darkness in their hands.” Yes, always playing up the pseudo-mystical powers of vampires, although now that I’d experienced them firsthand, maybe Uncle D wasn’t all wrong.

I didn’t dare breathe when Dante’s gaze swept over the darkened fields and the still trees, not even a breeze tickling the humid, stagnant air. I smelled them with startling clarity, the choking aftershave my uncle was partial to, my cousin’s nervous sweat, the fresh shoe polish they’d just used to buff their boots to a reflective sheen.

“Who’s making all that noise?” That fucking voice .

Every muscle froze at the sound of that voice, some deeply ingrained self-preservation response kicking in. I broke out in a cold sweat, stomach churning, heart racing. Nine fucking years since I’d laid eyes on this bastard, and I couldn’t keep my shit together.

Silas stepped out of the doorway, calm as the day was long, pulling on the gloves he was never without, his gaze slowly picking over the fields and trees surrounding their compound.

“I was telling Virgil to keep his voice down. The little bastard never learns.”

Oh, we’d learned just fine, they just always changed the rules.

“Maybe when we return, a few nights in the hole will remind your son of his responsibilities.” Silas’s tone didn’t change, nor his monotone inflection, but I detected glee shivering along every word. Punishing us was his favorite thing, besides killing vampires.

My cousin hung his head, defeated.

I would have done the same. Fighting got you nowhere, and Virgil would need all his fortitude to survive the hole. Even then, he’d emerge a babbling mess.

“Let’s go. We have a seven-hour drive ahead of us. We should be back by Tuesday night, at the latest.” They led a team of heavily armed soldiers toward a fleet of enormous black SUVs, as well appointed as Vincent’s Mercedes, the slamming doors echoing through the night.

When the parade of taillights disappeared, I sagged into the grass.

They’d be gone for days, not hours, and the two most dangerous members—Uncle Dante and Silas—were now out of the picture. I drew a shuddering breath, wondering how I’d gotten so lucky.

Yet, the longer I watched the house, old fears surged up to the surface, like I was ten years old again. After all this time, I thought I’d worked through my fucking baggage when it came to that evil bastard, but nothing had changed when it came to Silas Silverwood.

But things had changed at White Chapel.

Along with the familiar faces of my cousins were plenty of new ones. Scarred and battle hardened, these men reminded me more of my father than anyone else, keen eyes scanning every blade of grass, automatic weapons locked and loaded.

Uncle Ez had grown more cautious, running extra patrols, overlapping the shifts, and giving little opportunity for an opening.

Even so, I stayed until dawn, noting the timing and length of every shift and the number of dogs patrolling the grounds, calculating and recalculating my chance of success before the sky lightened enough for me to give up and head back to the motel.