Forged in Flame (2 page)

“Is everything okay, Jay?” She stepped back into the room and set a canvas bag on the counter with a smile that lit up her green eyes.

“Yeah.” He glanced up, thinking about the work he had to do upstairs. “Why?”
 

“You just seem distracted,” she said with a shrug as she picked up his items and dropped them into the bag. Jayson didn’t reply. Emily held up a roll of duct tape, eyed the plastic sheeting and laughed. “Doing some painting?” When her neighbor remained silent, she continued, “Because this isn’t the right kind of tape. You want that blue stuff that won’t rip up the old paint.” She turned and gasped. Jayson stood right beside her. “Shit! You scared me!” She clutched a hand over her heart and laughed, trying to ease the tension while punching his left upper arm with her free hand.
 

The laugh died in her throat, cut off as something in the air shifted and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Emily’s breath caught in her throat while tension stretched out in front of her. Her eyes drifted to Jayson’s lips.

Emily expected Jayson to move, but when he didn’t, she stepped back. His movements mirrored hers. His presence invaded her space. Something was different about him. When she opened her mouth, ready to tell him off, Jayson’s fingers closed around her throat. He squeezed just enough to restrict her airway, he wanted this to be slow. Enjoyed giving her the illusion that she might escape.
 

God, his hand is like ice
. The thought slammed into her consciousness and stayed at the forefront of her mind as her whole body trembled. She tried to scream, but when she drew in a breath, he increased the pressure, a sinister smile curling his lips to reveal sharp, white, fang tips.
What the fuck?
She twisted in his grip, clawing at his hand with her nails. The initial spike of terror gave way to the cold, hard reality of dread.
 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” He eased the pressure on her throat as he leaned in and took a long, deep breath. Emily drew in a shaky one and kicked, catching his shin. Jayson didn’t even flinch. “Now, now, don’t you want to play nice?” His smile widened, flashing the full length of fangs. “Come on, Em, if you behave,” his cool lips brushed her cheek, “you might even enjoy yourself.”
 

She kicked out again, this time connecting with the breakfast bar. Stabbing pain shot up her leg, and she raked her long fingernails down his arms feeling cool blood well up under her fingers.
 

“Decided not to play nice. That’s okay.” He shook his head and lifted her a few inches off the ground leaving her toes just brushing the floor. “
They
told me I should make it quick. The more time I take with my victims, the higher risk for getting caught. I’ve wondered what it would be like to get caught. Shall we try?” Jayson leaned in and nipped at her earlobe, hissing with pleasure as one fang nicked her skin and a drop of her sweet blood touched his tongue. He eased back toward the curtained off area that served as Emily’s bedroom. Taking a deep breath, filling his lungs with the familiar floral scent associated with her, it mixed with the sharpening tang of fear. She fought to remain alert, feeling her limbs grow heavy as darkness crept in at the corners of her eyes. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt…” Jayson laid her down on her bed and stroked her hair while Emily slipped into unconsciousness, “…too much.”

Stretching out beside her, Jayson stayed on the bed for several minutes, listening to the steadily increasing rhythm of her heart, feeling the warmth of her skin under his touch. A stab of jealousy ran through him as he listened to her heartbeat. He knew he needed to act fast if he wanted to be done before she woke.
 

Moving with vampiric speed, he returned to the kitchen and retrieved the roll of duct tape from the bag Emily had left on the counter. He went back to the bed, turned her onto her stomach and bound her wrists. Rolling her to her back, he secured her legs at the ankles and knees. Jayson stood and walked to her wardrobe and opened the doors, rifling through her clothes until he found a couple of silk scarves. He used one to blindfold her and placed a soft kiss on Emily’s lips before using the second scarf to gag her.
 

“Sit tight, princess, I’ve got to take care of a few things. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” She groaned and started to stir in her bindings. Satisfied that his prize wasn’t going to escape, Jayson turned his attention to the apartment he’d once lived in one floor up, and the unfortunate corpse he’d left behind.
 

Emily woke to darkness, her mind fuzzy; she blinked, feeling something dragging against her lashes. Her whole body ached, even her mouth and jaw. Both arms were asleep, tingling numbness from her shoulders all the way to the tips of her fingers. She tried to roll back onto her side, to find a more comfortable position, but although her muscles responded, something held her in place. Talking to herself always helped her think things through, but now words escaping her mouth were nothing more than garbled nonsense.

Events of the evening rushed past her conscious mind, and although she knew it would be muffled, she screamed and strained against her bonds. A knot formed in her stomach, and Emily knew she had to escape if she was going to survive. She twisted her hands, hoping to find a way to slip free, but the tape stuck to her skin and flexed with each movement. No matter how hard she tried to pull her wrists apart, the layers of duct tape wouldn’t rip. She let loose another wordless scream, as loud as possible, hoping someone would hear. Desperate, she tried to remember if she’d left the window open. She struggled, searching with her fingers.
 

Please, please, please. There has to be something, I’ve got to find something that I can use to cut myself free.
Her muscles burned, wrists ached but her fingers found nothing more than the soft cotton sheets she loved to snuggle under after a long day. She sagged against the bindings, giving in to the hopelessness that swelled inside her like a malignant tumor.
That’s what I get for keeping my sleeping area too neat.

Fear and hopelessness settled over her like a shroud, and Emily rolled to her side, sobbing until her throat ached. After a while, exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she slipped into an uneasy sleep.
 

When a cool hand brushed up against her throat and along her chin, she let out a high-pitched shriek, recoiling from the contact. She rolled on her back and dug her heels into the mattress, trying to get away. Jayson’s laugh drifted down to her as his hand stroked a chilly, gentle path over her body. She shrank back from his feather light touch. One moment later, a hand wrapped around her throat. The other continued to explore her body.

“Hello princess. You didn’t think I’d forgotten about you, did you?” The pressure from his fingers increased, grinding tendons against cartilage. Emily whimpered and struggled against his grip even as her head began buzzing with decreased oxygen. “Hush, hush, sweetheart,” he cooed in her ear. “You should know better than to hope that making noise will bring help. These walls are damned near soundproof, thanks to old Mister Jackson.” He paused and eased the pressure on her throat.
 

All she heard were her rasping breath and heartbeat thundering in her ears. She forced air into her lungs, sucking in as much oxygen as possible.

“Now, sweetheart, you have a choice. You can cooperate with me, do as I say. Follow that plan, and I
might
allow you to live to see the sunrise.” Jayson’s fingers trailed down her collarbone and over to the center of her chest. He leaned in close, shifted his grip and closed his lips over the visible pulse in her throat. He bit down, letting his fangs sink into the vein. Jayson moaned as the liquid flowed into his mouth, filling every recess. Her blood delivered a strong kick to his gut like a particularly strong drink. Feedings always provided him with energy, but hers included an extra high. The sharp tang of fear raced through him making every inch tingle with excitement. Years of pent up longing and unspoken desires filled her blood with rich, bold flavors that flowed over his tongue and down his throat.
 

He pulled back after one mouthful, moaning as he decided to prolong the experience. Jayson dragged his tongue over the wounds to seal them before sitting back and taking a deep breath. Being careful not to break the skin, he shook his head and nipped her earlobe again. “If you choose to fight me, I will still take what I want, but there will be a lot of pain involved for you.” His fingers traced her chin with a gentle lover’s touch.
 

Jayson stood and waited, studying her. On the bed, Emily struggled, fighting against the tape and bindings. He remained silent, watching her body twist and her brow furrow as she screamed in frustration and thrashed from side to side. He fought to keep from laughing while a fresh spike of her terror assaulted his psyche. “You can keep trying to escape, sweetheart, but know this, should you manage to free yourself, I will find you and be displeased. You won’t like the outcome if you make me angry.” He spun on his heel and exited the curtained bedroom area.

2 - San Francisco, CA – September 16, 2012

Daniel Young slipped into the apartment building, then paused just inside the front door to take a deep breath. The other vampire’s scent permeated the hall. He frowned as he drifted toward the stairs. A tenant approached. Not wanting to be remembered as seeming out of place, he paused again by one of the interior doors, shifting his weight as though waiting for someone in the hall. Out of the corner of his eye, San Francisco’s Enforcer noticed a young man with blond hair rushing past. He frowned as the air around him stirred, the scent of the Renegade mixing with the unmistakable scent of death. When he heard the building’s front door slam, he walked up to the second floor.
 

Half an hour later and back on the first floor, Daniel stood over the young woman’s corpse and swore with creative vehemence in his native German. The fetid scent of death and first stages of decay mixed with the overpowering cologne the other victim had insisted on wearing.
The victim hasn’t been dead very long. It’s only a matter of time before the human authorities find both her, and the dead man upstairs.
Forcing such useless thoughts from his head, he knelt and examined the body.
 

The victim had been laid out on the bed, raven hair fanned across the pillow, cloudy emerald green eyes staring at nothing. Her killer dressed her in a pale blue nightgown made of lace and some filmy material that did little to hide her curves. Her arms were crossed over her torso, the left hand on top of the right. Dark bruises and ligature marks dotted the exposed flesh.
This was not an easy death. He played with her before draining her dry. Gods know how long it went on. The corpse upstairs smelled a full eight to twelve hours older than this one.
Daniel ran a hand through his hair and knelt beside the bed. “You bastard,” he said, brushing her eyes closed with his fingertips and whispered an ancient prayer to the Gods of the dead that the world had forgotten.

 
Upstairs the man’s apartment looked as thought it had been ransacked by thieves, but Daniel knew better. Her neighbor’s death had been quick, and from the mess left behind it looked as though the murder hadn’t been planned. With the woman, he enjoyed taking his time. It took planning, and he had played with her. The Enforcer frowned and stepped back so he could see the whole room as the killer had intended.
 

“Why did you take your time with this one? What was special about her?” Daniel asked though he knew no answer would be forthcoming. Shaking his head, he stepped back to the body. “Please forgive me for this.” He reached for one of the two daggers he carried in wrist sheaths and with a swift, sure stroke cut deeper into the flesh, obscuring the bite marks on her neck. Daniel didn’t know how but he was certain that there had been more bites, each its own brand of torture, but those wounds had been sealed using the vampire’s saliva.
So, why remove all traces of some bites but leave the last ones? Is this the fatal bite? Did you leave it as a way to mark her as yours even in death?
 

Daniel stood and turned his attention to the apartment. Nice, but nothing too fancy, small and decorated with an eclectic mix that spoke to either an artistic personality or non-existent budget. Pulling on a pair of soft leather gloves, he started looking through the stacks of scattered papers that covered almost every flat surface in the place.
 

Gods, I hate this part.
That’s when he came upon a photograph of the young woman. Surrounded by smiling friends and family, the photographer caught her in the middle of blowing out candles on a cake. Daniel didn’t take time to count the candles. It wasn’t information he needed, yet. A full media report on this death would flood the airwaves and be plastered across newspapers soon enough.