| |
Maysun tossed her keys onto the long table inside the motel room door, where they nearly slid under a television bolted to the fake wooden surface. Before her, in the tall, age-spotted mirror, stood a vampire whose exhaustion had aged her two decades in the last two days. I suppose dying will do that to a person, she thought, settling onto the edge of the bed.
She needed to rest before they set out again. The Source might be a limitless store of power and energy, but she was not.
The bright canary-yellow cinderblock wall dividing her room from Amara’s had been painted recently, and the smell of fresh paint still hung in the otherwise stale motel air. She supposed the intent was to lend the space a cheerful atmosphere despite its shabby interior. Instead, the bright hue only emphasized the contrast between what was new, and what was not.
The thought of her daughter next door with Perry raised conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she knew Amara was physically and emotionally stunted, a woman frozen in time—or, at least, as close to it as one can get. Judging from what she’d gathered from the Source, Amara’s mental age had gained perhaps one year for every five years since the day David and his gang had tried to take her. That would make her...
Eighteen. A perfect age for Perry, if he wasn’t maturing, either. Which he wasn’t, physically. He looked perhaps twenty, but he was closer to thirty-seven, and who knew how old emotionally? Amara looked like a woman but felt like she’d scarcely reached womanhood. Perry looked young for her, but he was closer to her “age” than any man she’d been with in adulthood.
On the other hand, Perry had a history of harming Amara badly. He’d run with David, took part in the day Amara was nearly turned, and never left David’s side. Why hadn’t he turned his back on his sire? Or stood up to him and said he wouldn’t share in Amara’s torment anymore? Why had he never defended her, if he cared about her at all?
Maysun shed her clothes and laid down. I’m not here to psychoanalyze my daughter’s life. I’m here to protect her. I got her into this by choosing to give her life without knowing how my power might affect her. It did, and now it’s up to me to keep her safe.
It took several minutes before her turbulent thoughts subsided. Failing to clear her mind might be deadly to them all. She forced her mental debate out of mind.
––––––––
THE FIVE STEPS TO THE bed were too far to walk. Perry turned and backed Amara to the table along the motel wall. Without taking her lips from his, she sat down and wrapped her legs around his hips, pressing his body to hers.
They scrambled out of their clothes, barely paying attention to how they disrobed, so intent were they that something—anything—was touching one another; her hands on his lips, his cheek on her stomach, her mouth on his chest. Amara thought about birth control for a fleeting moment, then realized he was a vampire—she’d be willing to bet he was incapable of fathering a child. Not to mention his body would have healed itself of any STDs.
What am I worried about? We’ve done this before, right? He’d said they had, but she didn’t recall it. It felt like the first time to her, and from his zeal, it felt that way for him, too.
It thrilled her to discover that he was as faultless without clothing as he was with: muscular chest, narrow waist, perfect limbs, and gentle hands. His pale skin was an exciting contrast to hers.
Once divested of clothes, they discovered the table wasn’t conducive to their plans. Perry hoisted her easily from the tabletop and carried her to the bed.
Amara’s heart hammered in her chest. Perry’s body was cool to the touch, a testament to his lack of life, and yet he was so vital! Everywhere his cool hands touched her brought fire to her skin, and when he caressed her most intimate parts, she cried out with pleasure she’d never experienced with another lover. Within minutes, using his hands and mouth, he’d sated her urgent needs, and she set about satisfying him.
She directed him to put his back against the headboard, swung a leg around his body, and mounted him. Once he’d penetrated her, her body shuddered, and she knew another orgasm was imminent. She resisted the urge to ride him at a frantic pace and bring the climax on quickly, but her willpower only lasted so long. Once Perry put a breast to his mouth, then the other, the impulse to finish again won over.
Sensing her pending orgasm, Perry put his hands on her hips and urged her on, matching her rhythm. Amara felt wild, primitive, mad with need as a strange stretching sensation emerged above her eyeteeth. As the wave of pleasure crested, Amara found a new longing joining that of her orgasm. Although she didn’t understand what she did, even as she did it, Amara lunged forward, her lips clamping on Perry’s neck as her teeth broke his skin. Blood trickled into her mouth and down her throat, and it was the most delicious thing on earth.
As one, she and Perry reached an earth-moving finish.
David had never seen Jude’s home, so crossing the threshold to the Table’s cavernous former meeting place in Atlanta satisfied an itch in his life, filled in a mental picture that had been blank for years. This was where his sire had met with his immediate subordinates. The infamous Table. No doubt it looked different then. Milling vampires waiting for direction spoke in small clusters around the room, but there was no furniture, save a handful of barstools, no art on the walls, no sense that the room was used anymore.
When they’d arrived in Atlanta, a handful of remaining Renfields provided Angelo and him with every necessity—a place to clean up, a telephone charger, fresh blood from their veins. Still, David knew he was being used, despite what appeared to be favored status. The only reason Charles kept him close was his bond with Perry, and Perry’s proximity to Amara.
Back in Sedona and around the world, the Shévet ha Dam worked, using cell phones, telepathy, fax machines, and the internet, all hard at work locating Amara. Anything resembling a sighting was given periodically by cell phone. Meanwhile, Charles and David stood at the bar while Angelo poured drinks. David saw no need to top fresh blood with tasteless cocktails, but didn’t want to seem ungrateful or interrupt Charles. Besides, most of the alcohol was gone, too.
David fought the urge to listen in on Charles’ phone call as he passed close by. Whatever he’d been told, the news wasn’t what he’d hoped for.
“Try again,” Charles barked and hung up the phone with an angry stab at the End button.
David fought back an exasperated sound, or any sign that he believed the search was pointless. He accepted the glass from Angelo, but set it down without taking a drink.
“Do you mind if I head outside?” he asked. “I think better outside.”
“Think wherever you like,” Charles said, “but I’m coming along.”
Does he think I’ll try to leave? I’m not stupid.
David pursed his lips, rose up from a barstool, and took the two flights of stairs to the porch. Charles followed, his steps disturbingly silent in David’s wake.
David opened the doors and stepped out under a sky bejeweled with stars. He enjoyed a mild breeze caressing his bronze skin before he tipped his head back and sought his spawn.
No compass directed him, and no spirit left his body. Only his mind traveled, searching the skies for a hint, a scent, any small clue. He discerned a vague direction in the miles that separated them, then the trail went cold. West. Perry was west. He fought back a laugh. He’d found him.
Narrow it down, try to get a more direct answer.
David pictured Perry in his mind, every detail he recalled, but all he got was a strange sense of arousal.
Rage flooded through David. Oh, no. That little bugger better not be doing what I think he’s doing!
“David?”
David concentrated, but it was futile. He felt as if he was banging his head on it until he retracted his focus and returned to his body.
“Well?”
David pointed a finger westward. “He’s that way.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Any more details? A town? An address?”
“No. No more. He’s almost straight west, though.”
Charles headed back inside. This time, David trailed, shutting the door behind them.
“Well,” Charles mused, already heading to the lower level, “it’s a start. And once we get closer, your sense of direction will undoubtedly prove more fruitful.”
David hoped Charles didn’t pick up on his lack of confidence. Perry’s reluctance and taciturnity were growing into outright stealth and evasiveness. It wasn’t a secret that the only thing keeping Perry in his group was his fear of death. His caring for Amara must have grown to the point they now pushed him past giving a shit if he lived or died.
They reached the basement room, and David hitched a finger toward Angelo, who hopped over the bar, leaving two half-filled crystalline scotch glasses on the countertop. David waited to see if Charles had more to ask him, but the man was gathering the Tribe and directing them to the surface.
Together, David and Angelo joined vampires already filing back up the flight of curving stairs and out the front door. The crowd of Blood Tribe members billowed in their wake as the word spread that they had a target. David felt the announcement ringing in his mind as Charles used telepathy to contact his Tribe, and other beings tied to the Maleficence, directing them to follow his lead.
David resented knowing he was only Charles’s bloodhound. Still, living at Charles’s side as a working bloodhound was preferable to being killed for losing track of Amara.
One by one, the Shévet ha Dam rose into the starlit night. Without a word, they waited for David to take the lead, a cloud of predators on the trail of wounded prey.
Move! Move!
They hastened, loped, flew, marched, or drove, racing against a timeline they felt only in their souls from Atlanta, Memphis, Shreveport, Dallas, and all points around. Creatures of all variations, vampires, werecreatures, spellcasters, beings that existed without human labels, all pulled by an inner force the Balance didn’t permit them to ignore.
Time was short, and their motivation compelled them to use any power within them to reach their destination, no matter the cost. They knew that their lives, the lives of their friends, the right to live free of tyranny, all of it hung on this strange pilgrimage.
Some traveled alone, believing they were the only ones of their kind, not sure what force it was that inspired them to make a pilgrimage, but voyaging by a course provided in their wary hearts. Others traveled in packs, the journey of families which had moved by instinct like gypsies for generations to survive. Some came in clans or similar units, bonded by blood or likenesses and motivated by dreams, ideas, visions, signs. They shared one initiative to the core of their being.
Move.
