Rogue Vampires - Vampires Aren't Real Part 4

"Now, now. It's not nice to call names." Vlad yanked my ankle, bringing me crashing down but still inside the silver circle, d.a.m.n it. "Have a seat. Enjoy the show."

"If you harm one hair on those men's heads --"

"Spare me. And shut up." Vlad pulled another silver knife from a sheath so black and closely fitted to his thigh I hadn't seen it before. I really should have. Wicked, curved knife with an edge you could split a Kleenex down the width with. "There will be no talking without permission or I'll be forced to use corporal punishment."

Bad news for me. I can't keep my mouth shut even when I'm not in mortal danger or trying (if failing) to protect my boys. "What are you doing to them? Stuff your 'nothing' where the sun don't shine, fang boy. Look at them! They look like they're on a mix of Quaaludes and v.i.a.g.r.a."

"Close enough, metaphysically speaking." Vlad toyed with his knife, tilting it from left to right to watch it gleam in the candlelight. He started paring his nails. "I'm messing with them, but don't worry. They're having a ball. When I pulled them out of the club, they were in total agreement with the idea of a threesome."

"Under your influence."

"Not one-hundred-percent." He accidentally cut into the meat of his thumb and tched before licking off the blood. "They liked me. They wanted to f.u.c.k me. Just them."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"Jealous?" he mocked me. "Right now, they think they're on a sunny, deserted tropical island, playing in the sand, and oh, by the way, they don't remember you, not one teeny tiny bit. They're happier than they've ever been and you're not part of the picture." His grin turned plain mean. "I'm there. Ooh, the wicked things we're doing together, the three of us. Without. You."

Okay, he hurt me with that one, but since he couldn't have been more obvious about wanting to sink his own claws in I didn't rise to the bait. And I did not cry. I had an eyelash turned inwards. And the cellar hadn't been cleaned in, oh, ever. So there.

"Watch," Vlad whispered.

I couldn't not. Dusty and Warren had sluggishly made their way to one another. Once they touched, their lethargy went bye-bye faster than tickets to a Justin Timberlake concert and they were galloping to the races. A little rough on take-off as it filtered through that they didn't have any clothes to get rid of, but they recovered just fine.

"Oh, yeah." Vlad leaned forward, bracing himself on one slim wrist. Dancer's bones, boxer's hands, pianist's fingers. Really kind of freaky-looking, all in all. I saved the knowledge in case I needed a good insult later and mult.i.tasked between trying to watch my boys while figuring out how on earth to cross a silver circle.

"You're not enjoying yourself," Vlad mock-pouted, glittering with dark humor. "I thought you liked kinky s.e.x games. Oh, but you're thinking there's a difference, right?"

Go me. I kept my mouth shut.

"Good girl, Fido. I feel like fast and dirty. What about you?" Vlad stared at my boys, murmuring something under his breath in a language I didn't recognize. Lots of consonants. Russian, Ukrainian, something along those lines. Point was, as soon as he started talking, Dusty and Warren got their groove thing on as if they were being paid by the drop of sweat.

Anywhere else, any other time, I'd have either been waving a lighter to cheer them on or turned on enough to join in the fun with my own fingers in my p.u.s.s.y. I don't mind playing voyeur.

I just think the performers should have a choice as to audience.

Warren and Dusty are about equal in strength. Looked like Vlad had either beefed Warren up or weakened Dusty from the way Warren knocked Dusty down and was on top of him between one breath and the next. My breath. Vlad, the undead sc.u.m, chortled. "I don't breathe."

If you're reading my mind now -- go to h.e.l.l, a.s.shole, I thought at him.

"I've already got a seat reserved, thank you. Shh. I'm trying to concentrate. Not because I need to maintain any kind of willpower over them. They are going to finish this dance purely because they want to. I just want to watch without comments from the peanut gallery. Peanut. Maybe that's a better name than Fido. Anyway, I don't want you to miss a thing. Face forward, doggie, and keep your eyes peeled."

d.a.m.n vampire. The power of Vlad's suggestion had me kneeling with my thighs parted s.l.u.t-style, hands resting palms-up on my knees, and unable to look away.

Two men doing the nasty is a gorgeous sight. They get rough, holding nothing back. Kill-or-be-killed f.u.c.king is the general rule. Teeth, nails, fists, feet, everything comes into play while they duke it out for dominance.

My sweet Dusty didn't stand a chance, and Vlad didn't make the defeat any easier on him. Sad as a kid who's had his Game Cube taken away, he stopped fighting and gave Warren the unspoken white flag. Warren bared his teeth, much more of a wolf expression than a human one, and got busy. He dragged Dusty's legs over his shoulders, sc.r.a.ping his b.u.t.t across the stone floor, and lined up a stonkin' huge erection -- was it my eyes or had he, er, grown since I last saw him?

Wait. No lube. Jesus, not even spit. You do not f.u.c.k or get f.u.c.ked dry; it's just common sense. "Don't," I warned Vlad, unable to look away. "You s.a.d.i.s.tic animal, don't you even --"

Warren thrust his c.o.c.k b.a.l.l.s-deep in Dusty's a.s.s. Both men screamed, a mix of agony and ecstasy.

"Beautiful," Vlad whispered. I'd have bet he had half a stock himself.

As for me? Yeah, I did cry that time.

"Stop this," I begged. I'm willing to grovel for a good cause, and no time like the present. They were happy -- ecstatic -- feeling no pain, but they'd hate themselves in the morning. "They love each other. I love them. Don't make them do what they're doing. Stop this!"

"Ah-ah-ah." Vlad waved a finger in my peripheral vision. "What's the magic word?"

Screw pride. "Please."

"I knew you could learn some new tricks. You want this to end? Glad to oblige, Peanutty puppy." Vlad stood, stretched lazily, and strode toward Dusty and Warren.

The instant he reached their sides, Warren stopped mid-thrust and came, both of them shuddering. I think Dusty came too; sensing someone else's o.r.g.a.s.m is usually enough for him.

Then, both Warren and Dusty stared up with the deadness of zombies, no lights on and n.o.body home.

"Separate," Vlad ordered casually as anyone else might order a Big Mac and fries. He half-yawned. "Stand up and face me. Four-eyes, walk into my arms."

I realized too late what he had planned. "No! No, you a.s.shole, don't! Don't!"

Too late. He did. I'm guessing the rush of blood in Vlad's mouth distracted him enough to let me turn my head right after I heard the sound of fangs crunching through flesh and tendons. Sounds like someone biting into an apple, but it's a h.e.l.l of a lot worse.

I heard Warren howl, the sound of a man lost in a tormented nightmare, and I heard Dusty scream.

Then I heard Vlad say, thickly around b.l.o.o.d.y teeth and tongue, "Take a nap, Fido," and that was all she wrote. h.e.l.lo again, unconsciousness.

I didn't wake up for three days.

Chapter Five.

Let me start off by saying no one should ever have to go through what happened next. I didn't wake up for three days, sure, and I had some good long stretches of blackouts, but the rest of the time... I think they call it "twilight sleep." You know you're halfway between snoozing and awake, aware of what's going on around you but not really able to move or do anything of your own free will.

Which p.i.s.sed me off.

I didn't hear Warren or Dusty die their mortal deaths. I'm grateful for that, at least, although Vlad probably made sure I was out during their last breaths so I wouldn't try to save them. As if I could have. When a vampire drains you dry, CPR doesn't really work. If I'd been able to break the d.a.m.ned circle and shift form, I could have bitten or scratched them deep enough to break the skin and pa.s.s on my wolfy nature, but I kind of doubt the lupus maximus works on someone who doesn't have any blood flowing through their veins to spread the DNA change around.

Yeah. I'm fixated on the "dying" part. You're telling me you wouldn't be if you were trapped in a room, totally unable to even hold someone's hand as they cross over? I didn't get a chance to kiss Warren or grasp his hand, to hold Dusty's head on my lap, to smile and lie and promise him he'd be okay.

This is another reason I hated vampires. I'd never met one who wasn't a s.a.d.i.s.tic b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Vlad took the cake, the icing, and the baking pan, though. a.s.shole. I didn't feel his presence in the room whenever I floated in the twilight. Didn't mean he was really gone. I just hoped so.

It took me by surprise when I woke up for real. Not easing out of sleep the way you do on a Sunday morning, looking forward to lazing in bed with the funnies and schlepping around in your PJs until noon. More like the gasp! brand of wake-up call, where your eyes snap open and you see everything around you with crystal clarity. You know you should be freaking out about something, but d.a.m.ned if you can remember what.

Lucky for me, I don't put up with that kind of s.h.i.t. I gave myself a few good hard mental slaps, kicked my own a.s.s (metaphorically) and struggled up to brace myself on my elbows.

Oh.

Oh, s.h.i.t.

Dusty. Warren.

I screeched like an elephant who'd just seen a mouse and scrambled clumsily around to see if I could spot my guys. Spot them I did, and wished I hadn't. I won't go into really graphic details about the gaping bite marks in their necks or the huge spill of dried blood, but I will tell you how someone -- and it could only have been Vlad -- had arranged them. He'd laid Warren out all ready for a coffin, hands folded on his chest, and even stuck a calla lily through his fingers plus put coins on his eyes. Dead, dead, dead. Dusty was even worse. Vlad had him cuddled up to Warren's side, snuggling them together as if Dusty was only sleeping.

Yeah. I threw up. Nothing to actually void, but my twisting stomach did its best. When the dry heaves stopped, I tried to make myself stop shaking and start thinking. Thoughts raced around to start with --oh, my G.o.d, what do I tell Warren's dad and the eighteen zillion members of Dusty's family? How do I get them out of here without attracting the press? Ambulance chasers, and I don't mean lawyers, will jump all over this mess. Probably what Vlad wants.

Most important of all: how do I track Vlad down and kill him slowly, messily and painfully? The Pack wouldn't help me avenge two mundanes whether they were my lovers or not, or maybe because they were -- had been -- my lovers. From the looks of the silver-dust circle still surrounding me, I could a.s.sume Vlad knew how to deal with weres.

He wouldn't be an easy kill, but I swore on my granny's grave there would be fiery h.e.l.l to pay for what he'd done.

Then I'd bury my boys and wage full-out war on every d.a.m.n vampire I could track down. More or less suicide even for a were, but frankly, if the loves of my life were gone I figured I'd just as soon join them and see if f.u.c.king was allowed in the fields of Heaven.

My plans of death, destruction and glory came to a screeching halt when the unexpected happened.

Warren moved.

"Yipe!" I bolted up, forcing quaking knees to bear my weight. "Warren!"

He groaned, his usual waking-up noise. Warren's okay once he's up and moving, but he hates dragging himself out of bed. "Warren, big man, can you hear me?" I couldn't believe what I saw. How could he be alive?

"I hear you," he mumbled. Reaching up to rub his eyes, he frowned, then flicked off the coins. "Where are my gla.s.ses?"

Er. "Can't help you, hon. I don't know. They might be somewhere in here."

Warren's eyes blinked open. "Where's here? And why did I lose my gla.s.ses?"

Ookay. Could be his brains got scrambled. Mine would have been after what he'd gone through. "No gla.s.ses, hon. Sorry."

"Where are we?" he asked again, turning his gaze over the whole of the room. "I can't see for s.h.i.t without my gla.s.ses, you know that. Just blobby shapes. Gilly?"

In the fading light from that teeny tiny window way high up, probably street-level, the place looked worse than my vague memories had provided. Underground, definitely. Vlad hadn't lied. The air stank sickly-sweet of the burnt mola.s.ses they used to make rum and every surface wore a layer of dust thicker than felt. The candles had long since burned out into stubs and messy spills of wax. Tables and barrels lay overturned and cracked.

I had remembered the torture toys down to a Y, though. Y for Yeowch. They looked worse in natural twilight. Dark red/brown with what could be rust but was probably blood, showing definite signs of serious hard use, and spread around in abundance. Things I hadn't noticed before. Trays of pinchers, vises, knives and a couple of freakin' hacksaws. Some sharp-ended sticks of iron that looked like modified fireplace pokers. Chains, wrist-thick chains.

The Iron Maiden wore the creepiest smile I'd ever seen on anyone living, dead, or carved in statuary. Mona Lisa mixed with Satan. Brrr and geesh.

Time to make with the tracks. "Warren, are you strong enough to stand? I need your help to break this circle."

"What circle?" Warren sat up, rubbing his neck. "Do I have a hickey or something? This hurts like a b.i.t.c.h."

Yeah, I'd pretty much figured it would. "Yup, one h.e.l.l of a hickey." Well, it was more or less the truth, and I didn't want his brain going kersnappety before he broke the G.o.dd.a.m.ned silver circle holding me prisoner. "Crawl this way and wipe a hole through the glittery dust around me. Once I'm free, I'll take care of you. Swear."

"You always take care of us," Dusty said in his sweet voice, first curling tighter around Warren and then blinking sleepily at me. "When's it going to be our turn?"

A bit b.i.t.c.hy for Dusty, but I figured he had an excuse to grouch. Warren frowned. "He's got a point, Gilly. We're the guys. We should be the ones taking care of you."

Right about now you're going to be wondering why I didn't put two and two together to get the whole truth. Maybe I was in denial. Maybe I was just too happy to see and hear them to notice the signs.

Either way, my cluelessness almost cost me -- us -- everything.

At the moment, though, all I could think was: for the love of Pete. Men! I rolled my eyes. "You want to be my savior? Go right ahead. Break the silver circle like I asked, and then you can do whatever you want. Carry me off into the night like Rhett toted Scarlett up those stairs. You and Dusty can pa.s.s me back and forth. Whatever. Just get me out of here!"

In retrospect, I really shouldn't have said most of what I did.

Ever seen someone's eyes glow red? I have. I had, before, whenever my luck was bad enough to cross paths with a vampire.

When Warren turned all G.o.dzilla on me, I finally realized the depths to which Vlad had sunk and added a week's worth of slow, painful torture to my plans, should I somehow manage to survive. Bamboo under the fingernails would probably still hurt a dead man. He'd feel pain when I nibbled him like a cob of corn.

Bloodthirsty? d.a.m.n right I was bloodthirsty.

Vlad hadn't stopped at draining my men. He'd gone and brought them over. Go out dancing one hundred percent human, catch four hundred winks, and wake up undead. A vampire.

"Gilly," Warren growled, crawling to me and my silver circle, which suddenly seemed a whole lot comfier and where I wanted to be. Until I remembered Vlad didn't have any trouble crossing the line himself. "Gilly, come out and play."

"I want a turn at the rag doll first." Dusty, who I knew hadn't had a mean bone in his body, made me shudder with the still boyish but murderous purr in his words. "I like dolls. You can pick out their eyes and unravel their hair. Poke around to see what's inside."

My human heart broke. My wolf nature screeched at me to change into something furry with claws and sharp teeth. It's usually not permitted in front of non-pack members, but like when I'd shifted during Vlad's torture, there are such things as extenuating circ.u.mstances. I can't think of a better "break gla.s.s in case of emergency" loophole than having two newborn vampires prowling your way.

Here's something you should know about fresh-raised vamps. They're not really operating on all cylinders, whatever that means. I don't know cars. They're a few fries short of a Happy Meal, a few pieces short of the picture puzzle, not the brightest bulbs on the tree. You get the idea. When they first rise as the undead, they have two things on their mind: feeding and f.u.c.king.

They're not noted for being gentle or cla.s.sy with either, and they sure as h.e.l.l aren't picky as to choice. Usually why a vamp's nearest and dearest end up as the first dish on the menu. Which meant -- "Vlad, you are a dead undead man walking," I breathed, pressing my back to the wall. Evil p.r.i.c.k had seen to it I'd have double the pain. Not only did I have to see the two loves of my life changed into bloodsuckers, but to save my own life...

Aw, h.e.l.l...

To save my own life, I'd have to kill them a second time.

I knew if I let myself think any more or any harder, I wouldn't be able to do what needed to be done. Giving in to the full-body sneeze, I waited to shift into a huge, vicious wolf with its own killkillkill drive and do what had to be done.

Didn't happen. I stayed human. Naked. Vulnerable.

"Come on!" I yelled at myself, willing the change to happen. What had Vlad done now? Had to be one of the "enchantments" he'd gloated about, like the silver collar, applied to the circle around me. I'd shifted before, no problem. Now, when I needed the extra oomph of the wolf more than ever, I might as well have been asking for wings to fly away on or possibly for a burger "my way" at a certain fast-food chain. Doesn't and didn't happen.

To add insult to injury, Warren thought I'd screeched at him. "You're in a big hurry to die." He licked his lips, and I saw a flash of fang.

Dusty bared his own shiny new sharp choppers. Real vampire fangs are not the dainty little points you see on TV. They're a half-inch long with a wicked curve, serrated edges and a slightly blunted tip. They're meant to cause as much pain as possible to their dinners, and you generally don't survive the kind of chomp a hungry vamp delivers.

Deep s.h.i.t time? Oh, yeah. Eyeball level and sinking by the second. I thought fast, but unfortunately stupidly. "Do I get a last request?"

The question confused Warren. He stopped mid-crawl and frowned. "What?"

"A last request. Kinda customary for those who are about to die, hail Caesar."

"Caesar who?"