Wraith's Awakening (Para-Ops) Read online

  He hesitates. “No. You're human. Sort of.”

  “Sort of? What does that mean?”

  “It means,” the girl sneers, “you're not human anymore. You're-”

  “Candy!” We both start at Jonah's yell. He looks appalled. Panicked. “You can't just blurt it out! She just awakened!”

  For a minute, goth girl-Candy-hesitates, then waves her hand. “Well, I'm sorry, but I don't have time to cater to her feelings. She needs to get the hell out of here fast. The sooner she knows she's dead the better.”

  I recoil, then laugh. Dead. Yeah, right. A little tired, maybe. Cold. In need of a really good dye job. But dead?

  “Okay, fine,” I say. “Since you don't want me going out the front, I'll go out the back.” I turn, having seen the back door beside the bathroom that would likely lead me into another alley. “But I'm not doing it for you, crazy girl.” I glance at Jonah over my shoulder. “Thanks for the bathroom and the clothes. I appreciate it. Now I've really gotta-”

  Jonah's eyes widen, warning me. Before I can turn back, however, I run into something heavy and solid. Automatically, I raise my hands to steady myself and end up grabbing two sinewy arms just as someone grabs mine, too. As I'm lifted, I open my mouth to scream, but the man carrying me immediately shoves my face into his chest, muffling the sound. Vaguely, I'm aware of being jostled as he runs.

  He enters a dark room and puts me down. I see a shadow of a man-a very tall man-crouched next to me. I will myself to move-to crawl away from him if I have to-but even as I tense his head whips around. I moan in terror at the silver glow of his pupils. Those eyes peer at me from the darkness, demonic and deadly, as he leans down close-close enough so I can just make out the hard features of his face. When he speaks through clenched teeth, telling me to shut up, I have no intention of disobeying him.

  His teeth are even more disturbing than his eyes. They're white and strong and two of them are fangs that look sharp enough to rip through steel. Biting down on my frozen skin won't require a whole lot of effort.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Crazy goth girl's words are bouncing around in my head like a bionic jumping bean. I'm not about to give her talk of Other-creatures and vampires and dead women walking any credence, of course, but I have to admit this guy has me a little freaked out. I shift, but I can't help it-when he looks at me with narrowed eyes, I cower. Just for a second, but enough to make me mad.

  I raise my chin and sit up, prepared to act unafraid but also ready to kick him between the legs if he makes a move toward me. No way am I letting the guy get a grip on me again. Having my throat ripped out might be the result of me fighting back but-

  He sighs. “I'm not going to rip your throat out. But kick me in the nuts and I'll definitely have to rethink that.”

  My body goes rigid.

  Did he just-?

  Yes, he had. He'd read my mind. Was he playing a trick on me? Did he know Candy? As I remember those fangs of his, I ask, “Are you-”

  “No, I'm not playing a trick on you, yes, I know Candy, and yes, I'm a vampire. Now shut up before they hear you.”

  I shut up. I mean, at this point I feel I have no other choice. Here I am with a scary-ass dude who claims he's a vampire and can read my mind, and he's hiding. Common sense tells me two things: 1) he's not hiding from Jonah and Candy; and 2) whoever he's hiding from, I'm probably not going to want an introduction.

  He sighs again, as if he's still reading my mind and is quickly losing patience. To show my own annoyance, I slither farther away from him, which turns out not to be the greatest idea. All I've done is backed myself deeper into a corner behind some shelving. There's a mattress on the floor with some sheets and a pillow, only the sheets feel like silk and they're pulled taut.

  Either Jonah provides excellent turn down service or this guy-vampire-is exceedingly fastidious. I open my mouth to ask him if he's sleeping there-I know, not the most intelligent question since common sense tells me he is-but I am interrupted by shouts and a crash from outside.

  My first thought is for Jonah and how nice he was to leave me clothes, and Candy's concern because he'd been helping not only a vampire but “them” who are somehow associated with me. My second thought is whether the military police that Candy had spotted are still accompanied by the patriotic old lady and if so why I hadn't seen her torch and pitchfork, for this certainly has all the makings of a witch hunt. My final thought is, oh shit, this isn't a witch-hunt but a vampire hunt and I'm right within striking distance.

  Move!

  I gather all my energy and get ready to hurl myself past the guy in front of me but before I can he curses, dives for me, and wraps his arms around my waist. I scream, a long, terrified sound that is abruptly cut off by the impact of my body being slammed into the ground. Vaguely, I hear a male voice rumbling in my ear, telling me to calm down. I try to tell him to fuck off, only I can't catch my breath, so I push and kick at him until he backs away, giving me some space.

  The distance doesn't seem to ease my frantic gasps for air. “Can't-breathe-” I gasp, only to see him, quite unbelievably, roll his eyes.

  I clasp my throat in both hands and close my eyes, accepting I won't be getting any help from him. Why should I? He's a vampire-

  My eyes pop open to focus on him once more. He's leaning with his arms crossed against his chest, watching my impending suffocation with a look of irritation. I feel only a second of outrage before astonishment kicks in.

  I can see him clearly now. He's tall but painfully thin, his cheekbones gaunt and his eyes sunken in a way that clearly radiates illness. Impossible, I think, given the ease with which he'd picked me up earlier, yet I can't deny the way his clothes hang on his frame. His silver hair, however, is shoulder-length and glistens in the sunlight with vitality and health. Eyes with an unnatural glow at their center are otherwise as dark as night. He now looks bored, with one shoulder resting casually against the bark of a tree.

  Sunlight. Tree.

  My wheezing abruptly stops, leaving an awkward silence that is broken intermittently by. . . . the sound of birds? I shake my head and chuckle. Then I start to laugh, a rowdy uncontrollable sound of mirthful disbelief.

  “Thank God,” I mutter as I ease first into a sitting position, then stand. Slowly, I walk up to the “vampire,” who still watches me with narrowed eyes. Lifting one hand, I poke him in the chest with my index finger. He feels real. I poke the tree beside him. The tree feels real, as well.

  I shake my head. “So what kind of whacked out dream is this, anyway?”

  What appears to be a smile flashes across my dream vampire's face but is gone so quickly I'm sure I imagined it. “You think this is a dream, do you, doll?”

  I shrug. “Of course it is. You're a vampire, right?” I reach out and he flinches back slightly, then stops himself. With one finger, I pull back his upper lip to study his fangs. “Nice,” I murmur before pulling away.

  He raises a brow. “Thank you.”

  “And you what, teleported us from that store to-?” Palm up, I gesture to the small wooded grove around us. “Where are we, by the way?”

  “We're in California. Just south of the Oregon border.”

  I nodded. “Okay.” I see a low boulder that looks halfway comfortable and walk over to it. Sitting down, I extend my legs, cross one ankle over another, lean back on my stiffened arms, and wait.

  “So what now?” I ask.

  The vampire straightens. “This isn't a dream.”

  “Uh-huh. Then what is it?”

  Something almost like pity flashes across his face, then he looks at me with an unreadable expression. “Unfortunately, it's a nightmare. One that's only going to get worse for the both of us.”

  *****

  This is a nightmare all right, but I refuse to believe it's real. I'm afraid that my sanity is hanging by a thread already; accepting this is all real would mean it had snapped a long time ago. I mean, in addition to having seen the Terminator, I'm obviously a Star T
rek Fan. Teleporting is something they do on T. V.

  “William Shatner became a reality T. V. star, do you know that?”

  As a matter of fact, I do, but I don't admit it. “Will you stop doing that?”

  “Sorry, but your thoughts are pretty loud. Louder than most.”

  For some reason, I take that as an insult. As if I should be able to control the volume of my thoughts and my loudness is a sign of bad upbringing. Crossly, I snap, “What's your name, anyway?”

  He smirks. “Why? If I'm a dream, what does it matter?”

  “Because until you disappear, I don't want to keep thinking of you as 'the vampire. '”

  He shrugs and the gesture is infuriating. “Again, why? I am a vampire.”

  “Yeah,” I grit out between a clenched teeth. “An annoying one.”

  This makes him scowl, which makes him look really mean, which in turn makes me a little anxious.

  “Oh, for pity's sake. We've already established I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Nicholas Coltrane St. Delacroix. I prefer Colt.”

  Nicholas St. Delacroix. It sounds fancy. The name of someone who'd never be caught dead wearing dumpster trash or sleeping on a mattress on the floor, no matter how well appointed.

  Colt's a bit more. . . down to earth, more cowboy, but this dude is no cowboy. No, he's a vampire. An arrogant, bossy one.

  Determined to keep control of our little conversation, I say, “So you're a vampire. You look a little hungry. Why haven't you tried to take a bite out of me? Or are you on a diet?”

  His expression wipes clean and suddenly all I see on his face is a detached coldness. “You might say that.”

  Guilt is a heavy weight on my chest. Great, I think. I hurt his feelings. First, the old lady and now him. Maybe crazy goth girl was right. Maybe Jonah had been crazy to help me.

  “Not crazy, simply idealistic. That'll change in time. He's young yet.”

  The vamp is infuriating, but I don't see how I'm going to be able to shield my thoughts. “So youth is a requirement for idealism?”

  “Most of the time.” He glances at the slim-faced watch on his wrist. The way he holds his arm and tilts his head strikes me as quite. . . . elegant. That's when I notice that his watch is a Movado and likely quite an expensive one. Despite his lack of padding, he reeks money. His clothes are pressed, and the material of his dress shirt and slacks shine a little. I remember the feel of those silk sheets back in that storage room.

  Weirder and weirder.

  “Are you rich?”

  “Why, do you need a loan?”

  Now that he mentioned it, I suppose I do, but we don't seem to have the type of relationship conducive to exchanging money.

  He laughs. Laughs.

  “Oh, please!” I snap. “Get your mind out of the gutter. That's not what I mean and you know it. Besides, I'd prefer you drink my blood.”

  He stops laughing. “I bet you would. Unfortunately, that's impossible.”

  Again, I am unreasonably insulted. Obviously, I'm the sensitive sort. “Why?”

  Once more, he shrugs.

  The gesture makes something inside me snap. I am sick of his dismissive behavior. I am tired of this. I want to wake up. I want to remember who I am and get on with my life.

  I stand and plant my hands on my hips. “No, really. I mean, by the looks of you, it's not like you can afford to be picky. What, exactly, is wrong with my blood?”

  He straightens, looking like he's lost his patience as well. Taking several slow, deliberate strides toward me, he gets so close that I flinch. I take several steps back, but freeze when he speaks.

  “Nothing's wrong with your blood, exactly. You just don't happen to have any.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Sorry, but it's true.”

  “I do so have blood.”

  “You don't.”

  “Do so!”

  He glares at me but remains quiet, stopping our schoolyard banter in its tracks.

  Panic is threatening to eat me alive. I can't deny it-Nicholas-or rather Colt-is the second person-well, third, really-who's implied that I'm not. Living and breathing, that is.

  To prove them wrong, I take a deep breath, then look at him as if to say, See?

  But he doesn't respond. Again, he's got that pitying look in his eyes.

  “This is ridiculous.” Wildly, I spin around, searching for something sharp. My gaze lands on several rocks and I immediately crouch beside them, searching for one with a jagged edge. Finding one, I grab it and hold it up triumphantly.

  No blood, huh?

  I'll show him.

  I hold the jagged tip of the rock over my forearm and pause.

  Colt stares at me, then quietly says, “I'd do the same thing in your position, but. . .”

  “But what?” I breathe.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  With a fierce frown, I shove the rock into my arm and pull.

  It hurts, but not as much as I think it should.

  I press harder when I don't see the telltale red I'm looking for.

  Nothing.

  I fairly slash at my wrists, vaguely thinking if I die in this dream I'll somehow wake up and things will be back to normal. Granted, who knows what normal is, but it's gotta be better than this.

  Still nothing.

  I glance up at him, remembering the big shard of glass in the alley. I'd stepped right on it with my bare foot. I should have bled.

  But I hadn't.

  A low whimper escapes my throat and I drop the rock. I run to Colt and hold my arm aloft. “Bite me,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head.

  “Bite me!” I scream. “I need to know for sure. Please!”

  My arm is shaking like a vibrator between us. I stare at it. At the pale, pale bluish flesh covering it. I still feel cold, I realize, even though the sun is beating down on me. I raise my hand to my throat, placing my fingers just under my jaw. I search for a pulse.

  I don't find one.

  Shaking my head, I wait for tears to form. They don't.

  I'm empty, I realize. A hollow shell.

  But part of me still wants to deny it's true.

  I step closer to Colt just before I stumble and fall to my knees. My awful white hair hangs limply, covering my face until I push it back. Once more, I raise my arm. “Bite me,” I plead.

  He falls to his knees in front of me, careless of the dirt that will ruin his slacks. His eyes remain fixed on mine. Slowly, he reaches out with both hands and touches my arm. The pain is slight but instantaneous.

  It zips through my fingers, up my arms and into every fiber of my being. I flinch back, as if he'd shocked me with electricity. The first thing I think is,

  What. The. Fuck. Was. That?

  He pulls away from me, an odd look on his face, but I shake my head and gesture for him to come back to me. “Do it again. Touch me.”

  “But-”

  “Just do it!” I can't keep the urgency from my voice.

  Slowly, he grasps my arms again. This time, the pain explodes in a flash of white light behind my eyeballs. This time, I'm ready for it. I want it.

  I cling to it.

  I tell myself that if I can still feel pain, then there is hope.

  I am alive.

  I have nerve-endings that feel sensation and therefore I have veins that are filled with blood. I have a heart beat. A life force. A soul.

  Please, God, let me have a soul.

  But why does his touch hurt me now, when it didn't before?

  I shake the thought away and urge, “Bite me. Now.”

  When Colt bends his head and sinks his fangs into my arm, I feel the pain surge. When he pulls his head back in order to tear my flesh, just a little, I'm unable to stop my instinctive cry.

  And when he lifts his head, with no trace of blood on his fangs or my arm, I moan, a low, agonized sound. I stare at my arm.

  I feel as if I'm dying, but of course that's
impossible. I'm already dead.

  *****

  After what feels like several hours but is probably closer to ten minutes, I raise my head and look at Colt. He's backed up to the same boulder I'd earlier perched on, only he hasn't sat down. He's standing, his head bowed, his eyes closed.

  “The sun doesn't bother you?” I ask, my voice halting and scratchy as if I haven't spoken is a long time.

  His head lifts and he opens his eyes. The inky wells should look scary, yawning voids of nothingness, but they comfort me. “I'm a vampire with a trace of human ancestry. I'm not a full dharmire, but my human blood-it lets me walk in the sun, even if it doesn't help my diet. And I'm wearing an appropriate sun block.”

  Dharmire? Sun block? Where does he get it? The local VampMart?

  I struggle to get to my feet. Colt moves as if to help me and I quickly shake my head. “No, please. I've had enough pain for the moment and for some reason your touch has become a tad dangerous.”

  With a grimace, he nods his head. “Of course. I'm sorry.”

  Wearily, I walk towards him, then once more settle myself on the boulder, this time with far less aplomb. “Why? Because you hurt me before or because I'm dead?”

  “Both.”

  “Thanks,” I manage to choke out. I drop my face into my hands, then rub at my eyes. They feel gritty and briefly lose focus before clearing. After raising my head, I stare to my right, through the trees at a burst of color in the distance. Lavender, perhaps? But the longer I look, the color seems to gray.

  I remember Jonah's words. No, you're human. Sort of. “So, what am I exactly?”

  “You're what we call a wraith.”

  A wraith. A ghost. A corporeal entity. _God, this woo-woo shit is something else.

  “How come I can't remember who I am?”

  “I don't know. None of your kind does.”

  I jerk around. “My kind? You mean there are more of me?”

  Even as I ask, I feel a surge of hope. Of course. Them. That's what Candy had said.

  “There are a few. Not huge numbers, but there have been occasional sightings.”

  I bite my lip, wanting to ask more about my kind, but needing to get some perspective first.