Unseen (The Heights, Vol. 1) (3 page)

It wasn’t like there were textbooks on this
kind of thing—not that the lower castes of seers were privy to, at
least. So she’d found other sources of info, on a rack with a big
sign above it that said “Fiction.” They weren’t the most reliable
sources, but a lot of the details went along with what she knew.
Not the happy endings, of course, but a lot of
other
things.

Logan or his roommate probably had more
silver and, since both men were about three times her size, theirs
would be thicker. She stopped before even looking for her phone.
The reason a vamp was lying in her bed right now was to keep her
neighbor from getting wiped. That was her call, and so was not
re-staking the vamp. Bringing Logan into her dangerous stupidity
wasn’t fair.

Even if Addison just asked him to stop by and
shove all his silver under the door, he’d be late for work. And the
kind of punishment a box mother gave might actually be worse than
death by vampire. Probably not, though.

While she chewed on her lip, she considered
her incredibly small amount of options, and then a good one finally
occurred to her. “Mom’s stuff.” Addison had a big storage box
filled with things her mom couldn’t use anymore—there might be some
jewelry in there, and silver went better with her mom’s coloring
than gold did.

The incredibly heavy box was at the very top
of her closet. Most of its contents were souvenirs of times her mom
would never remember again and Addison didn’t
want
to
remember again. A scrapbook filled with mementos and pictures of a
small but happy family. Newspaper clippings—all good news except
for one of them. The kid-sized hospital wristband Addison was
wearing when she woke up even had the date on it—as if she’d forget
the day she and her dad died. Not many pictures from after the day,
though, maybe because he hadn’t been there to take them.

Underneath all of that was a large wooden
box, intricately carved with swirls and suns. She put it on her lap
and opened the clasps on all four sides, oddly nervous about what
she’d find.
Idiot
. Her parents were human, so the worst
thing she’d find would be dirty pictures and—

Eww
. Maybe she should give up now. She
pried the cover off and set it to the side, sighing in relief. Not
only were there no naked pictures, there was silver. Necklaces and
bracelets made from thick strands, stuff that seemed completely
polar from her mom’s minimalist style.

A few charms jingled as she pulled out a big
ball of knotted chain. It would take forever to untangle, but at
least there was a lot of it. So much that if Addison didn’t have
definitive proof her mom was human, and she hadn’t seen the look of
horror on her mom’s face when she caught Addison disposing of the
weres, she’d have wondered.

Rhyse could ignore the pain in his chest. He
could ignore his hunger, for now. But what he couldn’t ignore was
the panicked voice he heard—soft, melodic even in its fear, like
something out of a dream. His weakness left him unable to make out
the words. Until his body had enough time to heal itself, he could
do nothing but lay there. Vulnerable. With an enemy nearby.

It had been centuries since he’d been this
weak—not since he’d been human, a time contentedly forgotten.
Whatever his captor would do, she would do, so he felt no fear, but
he
did
feel anger. Anger that he’d let himself be brought to
this point by an enemy he had not even seen. An enemy who had been
fast enough to put a stake through his ribcage at the cusp of his
phase.

But, he still lived. Hell wouldn’t smell like
synthetic vanilla and the remnants of an extinguished candle, and
the pain would not be concentrated in his chest. If he were in
hell, his torture would be encompassing, unbridled, eternal. So
this wasn’t hell, nor was the voice that of an angel, though it
sounded similar. No angel would come within fifty yards of him
outside the Council, and Rhyse would never be welcomed in heaven.
Therefore, he was still on Earth—halfway to both heaven
and
hell.

This was entirely his fault. Although his
position in the Highworld allowed certain privileges, he abided by
the law—feeding from the source only once per year, then
immediately wiping the human’s mind of the experience. But knowing
that his thirst would increase his pleasure and that of the source
he chose, he had denied himself for days too long. His thirst
distracted him, making him far less observant than usual.

The hole in his chest proved he’d become too
complacent. As soon as he’d phased into the alley, he saw the
bodies of a werewolf and a human, both dead. He’d never needed to
call in an unsanctioned kill before, and his marshal was nowhere to
be seen. All he remembered, seconds before he phased, was pain.

Now he found himself in none of his homes,
the alley, nor any other place he’d ever been. His current
predicament would play out in one of two ways. Either
he
would die or his captor would. His strength was returning even now,
though it would be slower without nourishment.

His marshal should have been there, observing
the area, which meant Graham was dead, subdued, or involved. Rhyse
had entrusted his life to Graham for more than a century and had
never noticed a hint of anything but devotion.

It could have been anyone, from any race,
although none but another vampire would have cause. In the North
American zone and almost all others, his kind would always rule
above the rest.

Yet whoever tried to kill him had known where
he would be. So, perhaps he was wrong to trust Graham after all.
Trust was a flaw—one that Rhyse would never again be burdened
by.

Until he recovered, he had no choice but to
find out what the being who’d brought him here wanted. And then,
once he’d healed, he would do what
he
wanted. According to
Treaty law, it was illegal for a vampire to drain another being
completely.

Thankfully, the Prime was bound to a
different set of laws.

~ ~ ~

Tempest & Graham, vampires

“Tempest, wake up.” Graham nudged her,
vampire-style, i.e., really fucking hard.

“I’m up. I’m up. I was just resting my
eyes.”

“Until I met you, I didn’t know our kind
could
sleep in.”

“What can I say? I’m young—I need more sleep
than you old guys.” She slipped out of bed and into her robe. “I
had a long night and no, I wasn’t out drinking. You know how
exhausting it is to wipe a human? Try doing a sextet.” Not that she
was complaining. Her way-better-than-average talent for wiping
minds without being detected had gotten her a spot in the big
house, close to the Prime. An impossible feat for any vampire under
one hundred, let alone under twenty-five. Graham and the Prime
trusted her with almost everything. Probably. They’d kill her if
she screwed up, though. That was something about vampires she was
still getting used to—they could like you and trust you and still
rip your motherfucking throat out.

“Don’t expect it to get better any time
soon.” Something in his tone made her look at him again. His eyes
were dark, his face even more pale than normal, his cheeks hollowed
as if he hadn’t fed in a while.

“Oh wow, Graham, I didn’t think you
could
be unattractive,” she said. “What happened to
you?”

“The Prime chose to take his stipend. I went
to assess the area, like always, but something struck me just
before he was to arrive. It was seconds, Tempest. Seconds. When I
regained myself, I saw the bodies of a werewolf and a human. The
Prime wasn’t there. Nor was he in his rooms or office or anywhere
else I’ve looked.”

All the WTFs going through her mind created a
long pause. “What?”

“I failed him.” Graham opened his shirt and
showed her a faint line on his chest, above his heart, dried blood
covering his shirt and skin. “Perhaps if it had pierced my—”

“Whoa, settle down, boss.” Tempest held her
hands up. “I don’t think you can call it a fail if somebody put a
stake in your chest.”

“He is not here and I am, Tempest. How is
that
not
a fail?”

“Did anyone know he was going to be there? He
doesn't post his feeding schedule on his Facebook page, does
he?”

“I don’t know what that is. But to my
knowledge, I was the only one to know where he was to go. I phased
back here hoping he hadn’t left yet, but he had. So I returned to
the alley to search for signs of a struggle. All I found were the
human and the werewolf.”

She rubbed her lips together. “No…remains at
all? Like, did you look for a vampire-shaped pile of dust?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “How could I have
forgotten to look for the only thing a vampire leaves behind?” he
asked dryly. “If only you had been there to give that brilliant
suggestion.”

“I’m not quite awake yet,” she mumbled. “What
do you want me to do?”

“Help me find him, Tempest. I can’t do it
without you.” Graham was solid and straightforward. The vamp was
smart, loyal, and dependable. Back in her human days, she would've
been on her back for him in 3.2 seconds flat. Even faster for the
Prime. But now, they were both off-limits for a number of reasons,
the clearest being that they didn't seem to be interested in her
for anything other than her abilities. And they were
abilities
, even though some would say ‘gifts.’ As if
somebody gave them to her for her birthday.

“I’ll throw some clothes on and we can go.”
She went into her closet and put on whatever she grabbed first. The
Prime was missing. That was a big problem. Graham looked as if he
was an inch away from losing it—also a big problem. “What’s the
plan?”

“You spend the remainder of the night reading
as many minds as you can. From all races. The event involved a
vampire, a werewolf, and a human.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a joke.”

“Focus,” he warned. “It involves more than
our race, so we need to look at all of them.”

“Aye, aye, boss.” She slipped her coat on and
headed for the door.

“Tempest? Put on a shirt.”

“Wow.” Boots, pants, weapons, and a jacket
that almost covered her bare breasts. And the vamp hadn’t even
looked at her chest once. Two possibilities—he was gay or… “I'm
losing my touch, aren’t I?”

“I would if I could, Tempest, but we work
together. Perhaps after we’ve found the Prime, I should ask him to
fire you,” he said as he walked out. “If he doesn’t kill me
first.”

Addison had been zoning out for at least
fifteen minutes—not a smart thing to do the way her life currently
was—but at least the silver ball of chain was unknotted now. After
shoving the other stuff back in the closet, Addison peeked into her
bedroom, gnawing on her lip and ready to run if the vamp moved.

“This is bad. Like, very, very bad.”

She rewrapped his wrists and ankles, putting
the heavier chains right on top of the wimpy ones. Not bad. It
actually might be enough, at least until he regained all his
strength. She just had to kick him out before that happened.

And now for a drink.

The blood pooling at the bottom of the
Styrofoam tray ran to one side when she took the steak out of the
fridge. Probably not as fresh as the vamp was used to, definitely
not as human as a pint from the grocers’ blood banks, and
absolutely
not as high-class as they got from blood ‘donors’
or their yearly stipend of free-range blood from unsuspecting
humans. But it was the best she had. Hopefully, it would make him
strong enough to leave without making him strong enough to
overpower her on his way out.

After watching the first few drops fall onto
the tray, she closed her eyes and squeezed the meat, wringing it to
get all that yummy goodness her unwanted guest needed.
So
disgusting.
And next to impossible—only about two more drops
came out. She poured the juice she had into a small glass and
headed into the bedroom.

She’d deliberately never been this close to a
super before, but feeding him was going to have to involve touching
him. His skin was porcelain-smooth and pale, as if he was
airbrushed. His face was expressionless—straight nose, strong jaw,
white bloodless lips. It didn’t mean he was any less dangerous,
though. They didn’t kill with kisses.

This was such a bad idea. Sure, it could turn
out like the story of the lion and the mouse: he could wake up
feeling grateful enough not to murder her. But that was a fable
meant to teach a moral lesson, and vamps didn’t give a shit about
morality.

Actually, this wasn’t a bad idea at all—this
was fucking
insane
. She set the glass down and took a wooden
stake out of the nightstand. In her world, a stake was a far better
weapon to keep on hand than a gun, unless you had silver bullets.
The kind that worked were really hard to get and, supposedly, the
punishment for their possession was severe. But who cared—whatever
it was couldn’t be worse than death. Whether it was coming from the
Council of Supers or from a rogue super out looking for a good time
with a momentarily stupid seer. Like her.

She held the piece of wood with both shaking
hands and placed it over the spot she wished it had hit the first
time. Then she wouldn’t have to do this.

Damn whoever it was who missed. Damn them,
even if they were already damned. This shouldn’t be her
problem.

It was either the vamp or her, and he was
practically dead anyway. Well, he was
totally
dead and
practically dusted, so it made perfect sense to kill him. Then, why
wasn’t she doing it? Because she’d been in a metaphorical fetal
position ever since being drafted into the Heights.

Seers who want to live don’t kill supers.
Seers who want to live keep their heads and stakes down. Seers who
want to live behave…or they don’t get what they want.