The Vampire King (8 page)

She was turning him inside out and she hadn’t so much as made eye contact with him. Enough was enough. It was time young Evie met one of her dark heroes up close and personal.

Chapter Six

Charles placed his fingers to his lips thoughtfully. His light blue eyes threatened a glow. He was hungry, but it wasn’t serious yet, and he was pretty sure that he’d just located dinner.

Her type was not his usual fare. When Offspring had to feed to obtain a victim’s last drop of blood, they were required by vampire law to go after people who were either doomed to die anyway or that deserved to do so and that no one would miss, such as the terminally ill and homeless. The Vampire King was far more powerful than most Offspring, and because of this, he could afford to be more choosy. D’Angelo regularly rid the world of criminals – rapists, murderers, psychopaths – and in doing so, also erased the memories of their existences from those who would otherwise care.

Charles did not have the luxury of such powerful mind control. His killing meals were filthy, smelly, and used up. He was accustomed to picking off these victims quickly and efficiently and disposing of the bodies without giving it too much thought. Thinking about it made it worse. It was a necessity, tolerable at best.

But Charles felt strange lately. Ever since he’d looked into Evelynne Farrow’s eyes and delved into her mind, he’d been on edge. Unsatisfied. She’d awakened something inside of him.

It was not fortuitous. She was ultimately meant to die. Roman D’Angelo would fall in love, and then lose that which he cared for. It was retribution, cold and hard and merciless. There was no room for infatuation in Charles’ plan. Yet, it was happening all the same, it seemed.

Now every time Charles thought of feeding, it was little Evie’s slim neck he imagined sinking his fangs into. The glimpse he’d had of her spirit only made him yearn to go deeper and find out more. He wanted to drink her in, both literally and figuratively. To the last drop.

Charles watched his next mortal victim leave the university library. She was younger than Evie, a mere junior in college, but there was enough of a similarity there to pique Charles’ interest and hopefully at least temporarily quell his thirst. Charles was intrigued by the girl’s thick brown hair, not quite as lustrous as Evie’s, but close. She had brown eyes. They lacked the ring and flecks of gold, but again – they were close. And then there was the intelligence.

Evie Farrow was a bright girl. She possessed the mental faculties to keep a vampire entertained for many, many years. In fact, he could see himself taking on the years with her at his side.

It posed a possibility to Charles that he hadn’t previously considered. There were other ways to have his revenge. Evie might not have to die.

Charles stood and made his way out of the library after his young mark. As he exited the building, the night moved in to welcome him, wrapping around him with friendly familiarity. He was Offspring; the night was his natural habitat, all daytime protective spells aside.

With exceptional ease, Charles infiltrated the mind of the woman thirty paces ahead. An anticipatory smile crossed his handsome features, exposing his deadly fangs.

*****

Ramses turned in the rare solitude of his empty quarters and caught his own reflection in the mirror against the opposite wall. It had been a long time since he’d truly looked upon himself. There were no mirrors in the desert, no pools of water to faithfully cast your image back to you.

And he’d been sleeping.

With slow, unnatural grace, Ramses crossed the room until he stood before the tall looking glass. Even at its length, it barely encompassed his impressive height. He stared into the mirror – and the handsome, dark-haired image of Amon, the god of gods, gazed back at him through ancient, fathomless eyes.

Ramses raised his arms at his sides. Wrapped around each generous bicep was a string of black tattooed hieroglyphs, archaic and potent. They were well visible just beneath the edges of the short-sleeved shirt he currently wore. They labeled him for who and what he was.

With slow deliberation, he ran his left hand over the markings on his right arm. At his touch, they lit up one at a time. He watched them glow for a moment, reminding him of older, better days, and then they slowly faded back into deep, dark black.

Once more, he turned to the mirror and took in his reflection. It was a mortal reflection. He always took this form when he walked the Earth. With the form came all of the current knowledge of the human race – its cultures, its languages, its technologies. Never before had so much information hit him so hard, so fast. This day and age was new indeed.

Ramses’ keen gaze trailed over the figure in the mirror, taking in the simple modern garb he wore of a black shirt and jeans and the heavy boots that would have been so uncomfortable in the desert. It had been a very long time since he’d felt the thickness of human muscle and the hardness of mortal bone encasing his form. It was always uncomfortable at first, a touch smothering. But in time, he grew accustomed to the form and could even appreciate some of its attributes.

Mortal women certainly appreciated it.

Ramses thought of this now and frowned. There were several female members in the organization he had recently subjugated. They were strong and fast and unafraid. It pleased Ramses that the women of this age seemed more readily capable of recognizing their inherent potential. It had not always been so, and eons ago, he had wondered whether things would ever change.

But it was not these women who had drawn him to the waking world. They were not why he was here.

He was here for
her
.

Amunet.

He could feel her somewhere out there. He could hear her heartbeat; it was faint, barely there. Each pulse encompassed a day and a night, so slow as to be nearly nonexistent. She was weak, but she was real and awake, and if it was the last thing Amon ever did, he would find her.

Ramses Amon
, he thought.
Ramses
. It was the name he took in this form. It was nearly as ancient as he was. It suited him.

Behind him, there was a tentative knock on his door. Ramses glanced over his shoulder. He waited a moment and then slowly turned to face the door. “Come,” he said softly. It was a voice that encompassed one-one-hundredth the power it was capable of, but humans were sensitive and he had no wish to harm or frighten them.

The door opened to emit one of the very women he had just been thinking of. She was very young; perhaps only nineteen or twenty human years.

“Sir?” she asked, obviously unsure as to whether she should be intruding on his privacy. To her thinking, Ramses was her superior officer. He was new in this position, but had more than proven his right to own it. In that, despite his desires, he had succeeded in scaring the mortals around him to some extent anyway.

“Yes?” he replied, gesturing for her to enter all the way and have a seat on one of the large over-stuffed chairs inside.

She blushed a little, as all women did in his presence, and fumbled with the door behind her as she shut it and entered. “Sir, you asked that I retrieve the surveillance information from sectors eleven through nineteen. Here it is.” She removed a pack from her shoulder and pulled out a single memory stick, placing the small black object on the coffee table before her.

Ramses nodded his thanks. “You’ve done well.”

“Thank you, sir. You’ll be pleased with the results. We’ve located five more werewolf demons, some very strange energy readings at various coffee shops and their surrounding areas in Portland, and… something else as well.”

Ramses’ gaze narrowed. There were ten thousand things that comment could mean, and only a few of them were of interest to him. “Explain.”

Ramses remained silent for several seconds as he considered her words. And then he nodded, just once. “That will be all. Leave the thumb drive here.”

The girl nodded, stood immediately, and left the room, closing the door once more behind her.

In the renewed silence and solitude, Ramses made his way to the small table and looked down. As he did, a lock of his shoulder-length jet-black hair fell before his eyes. He brushed it aside absent-mindedly.

I believe she was healing someone, sir
.

Amunet had possessed the ability to heal. She alone could erase a mortal wound as if it had never occurred.

Could it be?

If it was her, if there was the slightest possibility that he’d found her, what did it mean that she was in the company of werewolves?

It was the supernatural creatures of the world who preyed upon the mortals that worshipped him and Amunet. Their kind – the werewolves, the vampires, the dragons – routinely slaughtered the innocent in order to satisfy their unnatural hungers, erasing entire lineages as they did so, along with the memories they held that kept Amon and his heritage alive.

When Ramses had recently awoken, he’d immediately sought out the most powerful organization capable of fighting these otherworldly forces. Hunters had existed in one form or another for as long as supernatural beings had roamed the earth to draw their attention and earn their hatred.

Recently, the Hunters had undergone hard changes, experienced various losses, and had all but fallen apart. Ramses found them, drew them together, and within days, he was in charge, his ultimate goal of a two-fold design. He would help the mortals in ridding the world of this constant, evil threat. And as he did, he would hunt the world, right along with his Hunters, in search of his queen.

With fingers that nearly shook as a mortal’s would, Ramses leaned over and picked up the small data recording device. Then, with a quiet resolution and a pain in his heart that felt all too human, the god of gods made his way to the surveillance system against one wall, slipped the drive into its respective slot, and waited for it to open.

Chapter Seven

Evie swallowed the fresh, hot coffee and closed her eyes, thoroughly enjoying the way the liquid burned slightly as it slipped past her lips, over her tongue, and poured down her throat. At once, she felt a little better. It was like magic.

Taxes were coming up and she had a plethora of expenses and she really shouldn’t be spending the exorbitant amount that she did on coffee, but a part of her completely rebelled at the thought of giving it up.
Not this
,
damn it,
she thought stubbornly.
Just leave me this.

Evie carefully sucked in her second mouthful of steaming therapy and was about to swallow when one of the boys at the table behind her said something so foul, a wave of queasiness passed through her. She gulped down the liquid, burned herself a little, and cringed. Her head started to hurt.

And then the air around her shifted. It felt like a sudden charge, as if lightning were about to strike. Evie straightened and turned to glance over her shoulder.

“You. Leave.
Now
.”

Evie’s heart slammed hard against the wall of her ribs and then skipped as if it had hurt itself. Her jaw felt slack, her eyes wide. Her body flushed warm and the breath stilled in her lungs.

A man stood beside the table with the trio of teenagers. All three boys seemed frozen, unable to move as they stared up at him despite the order he’d just given them, and Evie could see why. She could scarcely believe her own eyes. What she was seeing was impossible.

Oh my God,
she thought.

Because the man was the same man from her flashes and dreams.

He was so tall, Evie would place him at six and a half feet. His eyes were like midnight skies, endless and deep. His skin was slightly tanned and touched with olive, unblemished and smooth. His bone structure was strong and perfect, his physique honestly reminiscent of a Greek god’s. His thick, short-cropped hair was the color of a raven’s feathers. It brushed the top of what looked to be a dark gray silk and cashmere blend sports coat, the starched white shirt beneath it open at the collar.

She swore internally. He was sex incarnate, the entirety of him nearly breathtaking in its promising temptation. She somehow took a breath anyway, and when she did, she caught a hint of expensive cologne.

Just like she remembered.

No
, she thought. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be that she’d clearly and perfectly imagined a living, breathing man that she had never before met – because that would mean that she was magic or something. Or that
he
was. What was happening had a logical explanation. She was going nuts. That was all.

Suddenly, all three boys at the table jumped into sporadic motion, their lanky bodies scrambling to push out their chairs. Without a single sound of protest or contempt, the boys rounded the table, rushed through the coffee shop, and filed out through the exit.

The tall, dark stranger watched them leave, but every other set of eyes in the coffee shop was on
him
, Evie’s included.

In the fresh silence, Evie could hear her own heartbeat. At long last, the man looked away from the shop’s door and turned around.

His dark eyes found hers at once and the rest of the world receded. Evie felt herself go very, very still, as if he could shackle her with no more than a look. Thoughts flew from her mind.

She heard her mouth speak without any conscious thought and could only hope it wasn’t saying something damningly stupid.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice a thousand miles away. “That was… pretty incredible.”

The stranger’s dark, dark eyes seemed to sparkle as if she could suddenly see their stars, and a second later, he smiled a smile that once more left Evie feeling breathless. His teeth were perfect, straight and white, and the expression softened his starkly handsome features into the visage of some Michelangelo angel. She felt, in that moment, as though one of the sculptor’s statues had come to life and entered the coffee shop.