All That Bleeds (2 page)

“Yes, because I expect us to do something,” she said, the irritation rising in her voice.

A flicker of movement drew her eyes to the screen. The creature attacked again. The red violet eyes were wild. And merciless. The victim’s bloodied body fell to the creature’s
feet. Alissa’s stomach churned, and she had to swallow against its rising contents.

Be strong! Don’t let Clark see weakness.
She turned from the screen, clinging to her composure.

She pushed back a strand of hair that had come loose when she’d raced down the hall. “We have to do something,” she whispered.

“The silver and iron bullets bounced off it. The creature is invulnerable.” Mr. Clark shook his head. “I would still face him if you weren’t here, but you are. If I open the door and he catches the scent of your blood, he’ll be on you in seconds once I’m dead. You know a muse’s blood is irresistible to the Damned.” He paused. “Nothing but Mr. Xenakis’s direct order will make me open that door.”

“But the demon could stay until everyone is dead,” Alissa argued, holding out a hand to implore him. “We can’t wait. Please. You have to let me try.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Until more Etherlin Security officers arrive, it doesn’t make sense to engage it. This demon started its rampage in the Varden, and the ventala didn’t manage to kill it. ES needs to come out in force to defeat it.”

“It started in the Varden? I wonder if someone there raised the demon and then lost control of it. I guess that shouldn’t surprise me.”

The ventala so often displayed bad judgment. They were too driven by impulse and their thirst for trouble.

Mr. Clark shook his head in disgust. “We had our chance to rid the world of them. We blew it.”

Alissa frowned. “They are part human.”

“So what? I’m in favor of capital punishment for human sociopaths, and ventala—even generations down the line—are more like vampires than people. Natural born killers. Given the chance, they’d recreate the Rising. I guarantee it.”

She stiffened at the thought of another Rising. It had been one of the darkest times in human history. In the early 1950s after so many people had already died from the Spanish flu epidemic and in the world wars, shapeshifting vampires in bat form had envenomated and drained millions. Initially,
people hadn’t realized that the bats were vampires. They’d thought that people were dying from a new type of plague for which bats were the vector.

Eventually, the truth was suspected as un-mutated vampires hunted in the wake of their shifting counterparts, but no weapons were effective against the predators. Human losses were massive. When the muses inspired the development of the V3 ammunition, humans finally began to fight back effectively.

Afterward, the tide of human fury had been boundless, and savvy vampires lacking the “Bat Plague” mutation had stopped hunting and tried aligning themselves with mankind by taking human lovers and having children with them. It hadn’t saved the vampires; it had only created a new race of bloodthirsty creatures for the world to contend with: ventala.

A tremor rocked the house, and they looked up at the screen. A figure in black strode into the ballroom. He shrugged off a black duster coat, letting it drop in his wake without slowing his stride.

“Merrick,” Mr. Clark mumbled.

“Who’s Merrick?” Alissa asked, staring at the dark-haired man on the screen who wore sunglasses despite the late hour. He stopped about twenty feet from the creature, then slid a knife from the sheath on his hip. He was tall and broad, but the monster was enormous.

Mr. Clark leaned forward. “He can’t be serious. That blade looks like it’s made of ivory. It’ll crack long before it gets through a demon’s hide.”

Merrick’s lips moved, and Alissa bent over the controls and pressed a button to unmute the surveillance system.

To the people, Merrick said, “Get out.” He nodded to the door, but when they inched toward it, the demon roared and they froze. “Go ahead,” Merrick said, even as the creature crouched, ready to attack them.

Merrick clucked his tongue, drawing the demon’s attention. “Come, Corthus. I’m your dance partner.”

“What’d he just say?” Mr. Clark asked.

Alissa blinked, realizing that Merrick had spoken to the
creature in Latin. She’d translated his words in her head without thinking. “He’s goading the demon.”

“Not for long,” Mr. Clark said grimly.

Without warning, the demon sprang forward. Alissa gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Merrick slid away, and the demon’s claws smashed a chair but didn’t get a piece of the man who continued to taunt him. As he fought, Merrick’s unflinching confidence and strength amazed her.

Nothing about his body had changed, but he moved like smoke, curling close and then away. The demon cocked its head and looked down. She saw it then, blackish fluid spraying from the demon’s side. Merrick’s blade had connected.

Merrick smiled at the demon’s startled expression. “Come on. That can’t be all you’ve got. I got up before noon to get here.”

The demon roared and charged again. Merrick slashed and arced away, his motions fluid, almost acrobatic. The demon crumpled, moaning. Its guttural voice protested in Latin. “Impossible,” it said.

“Apparently not,” Merrick replied. His weapon rested casually near his thigh for a moment before he struck again, sinking the blade into the demon’s skull.

Alissa recoiled, her hands in tight fists. The demon stilled.

He made that look easy when all the others couldn’t even wound it. Where did he come from?

Merrick shook his head at the demon as its simmering flesh rapidly rotted into a lumpy puddle on the floor. “Not much of a peach after all,” Merrick mumbled. He turned then and looked around at the bodies before he glanced up into the surveillance camera. He seemed to be staring directly at them, though with his sunglasses on it was impossible to tell for sure. The corner of his mouth curved up.

“You can come out now,” he mouthed.

She blushed, embarrassed that he’d guessed that someone was hiding.

“Bastard,” Mr. Clark grumbled.

“How could he know we’re in here?” she asked.

“He doesn’t. He’s just guessing,” Clark said, walking to the refrigerator at the back of the room. “It’s all over. Sit and have some water.”

“No,” she murmured.

Onscreen, Merrick turned and strolled to retrieve his coat.

Alissa strode to the door and unlocked it, then she darted out and down the corridor before Mr. Clark could stop her. The air from the ballroom smelled like asphalt and sulfur. She grimaced at the stench, but it faded as she reached the foyer.

Merrick seemed taller up close. At least six and a half feet.

Beautiful bone structure.
Even obscured by whisker stubble, she could tell.

“Mr. Merrick,” she said breathlessly. He smelled spicy and masculine. Unaccountably delicious. She was almost overcome by the urge to touch him. Was it the adrenaline rush that made him seem so attractive? She extended her hand. “Please accept my thanks—”

Merrick’s warm hand closed around hers just as Mr. Clark’s voice boomed down the corridor. “No! Let her go, Merrick.”

With his free hand, Merrick slid his sunglasses down, revealing eyes so dark they seemed to have no color at all, as black and gorgeous as midnight.

“This is an unusual party. First, a demon. Now, an angel.”

“I’m not an angel.”

“Me either, as it turns out,” he said with a slow smile, then he opened his mouth slightly to touch the point of his tongue to the tip of a fang.

He’s ventala
, she thought as fear sliced through her veins. Alissa stiffened.

Apparently amused by her surprised reaction to his fangs, Merrick cocked a mocking eyebrow. Alissa tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it. She blinked as the muzzle of Mr. Clark’s gun appeared, pressing against Merrick’s temple.

“I accept your thanks, Miss—?” Merrick’s deep voice hummed over her skin. His breath smelled like mint leaves, making her breathe deeper.

It’s a trap. Everything about him lures in his prey.

“Miss North,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady as her heart beat a riot in her chest.

His gaze flicked to her neck. She wondered if he could see
her pulse throbbing there. Would he sink those teeth into her throat? Bleed her dry? He might, but he seemed so in control of himself. How was that possible if the ventala were just animals in the face of a muse’s blood? She knew she should draw back from him, but she didn’t want to.

Innocence and mystery don’t last long in each other’s company.
It was a quote she’d read long ago. She could taste its warning.
Don’t forget what he is.

“V3 bullets, Merrick. Unless you’d like parts of your brain leaking out of the holes I put in your skull, you’ll let her go,” Mr. Clark said.

Alissa grimaced. She was grateful to have the bodyguard with her, but she didn’t want more violence. “This isn’t how the night should end, Mr. Clark. We’re in Mr. Merrick’s debt,” she said.

Merrick’s smile widened. “Beautiful manners to match the beautiful face.” His low voice sent a wave of heat through her. She was attracted to him. Still. Which was foolish and made her angry with herself.

“I bet your boarding school education was expensive,” Merrick said.

Yes, very expensive. And where did someone like you get educated? Charm school for killers?
Her lips were dry, but she didn’t dare lick them. She wouldn’t tempt him. Her blood alone should have been a temptation that he couldn’t resist. And yet he did, standing there so calmly. How? With a gun pressed to his head, no less.

She swallowed slowly. “If you returned my hand, I think it would ease Mr. Clark’s mind.”

Merrick stared into her eyes. “Mr. Clark’s. Not yours, huh?” The corners of his mouth turned up in a mocking smile.

Be still. He’s toying with you.

“Too bad I was so late to the party, Miss North. If I’d gotten here earlier, I could’ve asked you to dance.” His dark gaze seemed to light her blood on fire.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference. No matter when you’d arrived, I would have had to say no.” She cleared her throat. “Let go of my hand please,” she said more firmly.

“Not a peach to be had,” he murmured, letting her hand
fall from his. He moved past her in an instant, leaving Mr. Clark’s gun pointing at empty air. When Clark noticed, he lowered it.

Relieved, and yet disappointed, Alissa turned to watch Merrick walk through the gaping hole that he’d blown in the front of the mansion to gain entry.

“Why did he come to save us if he’s one of them?” she asked.

“He didn’t come to save anyone here,” Mr. Clark said. “The demon was in the Varden last night, slaughtering them. Merrick came for vengeance. He’s an enforcer. A common killer.”

Alissa stared at the velvety darkness into which Merrick had disappeared.
Certainly a killer, but not common.

Spring 2012

A door slammed, assaulted by the wind that hissed through the house’s east wing. Strands of moonlight stretched toward Alissa’s ankles as she swept down the corridor. She wanted to check on her father one last time before leaving for the Xenakis party.

Her dad had worsened again, which she continued to conceal along with the fact that she was using her magic illegally to help him. If anyone found out, everything she’d worked for would be lost. And so would he.

No one knows, and no one will.

A lone leaf blew across the floor. She walked on, faster, hoping that this setback was temporary, caused by the upcoming anniversary of her mother’s death.

The memory of that day flashed in her mind and Alissa winced. She saw the steaming mug in her small hands. Her mother had been upset, so Alissa had made herbal tea for her. At twelve years old, Alissa already had a keen sense that being a muse involved nurturing the gentle parts of people, not only to foster their creativity but also to soothe their self-doubt. She liked to practice because she wanted to be as great a muse as her mother and grandmother.

Alissa had knocked softly on her mom’s door and announced herself before opening it. At first when she’d seen
the dangling body, she hadn’t understood. The luminous limbs that had been sculpted and painted by countless artists hung limp and lifeless. The face that had graced hundreds of magazine covers was blue and swollen. Not a sound or a breath had escaped Alissa. She’d backed from the doorway and walked, trancelike, downstairs. Instinctively, she’d avoided her father, protective of her mother’s image even while in shock. She’d gone to the garage and found her mother’s driver and Etherlin Security bodyguard, Mr. Sorges. While they were home, he was always there, smoking, tinkering with the car, and occasionally cleaning firearms.

Alissa had told him in a shaky voice that her mother needed help, and he’d rushed inside, taking charge. As the house erupted, Alissa had sat silently in the garage, holding the cooling tea that would never be drunk.

The memory faded, and Alissa tapped on the door to her father’s suite of rooms. In the time before her mother died, he’d jokingly called them kingly accommodations. When Alissa had knocked as a child, he used to call out, “Enter the king’s chambers.” The laughter in his hearty voice had easily traveled through the solid oak doors. She remembered how much fun it had been to slip into his work sanctuary, which had been decorated with rich tapestries and ornately beaded pillows from Morocco and India. Colored scarves in jewel tones had been draped over the chairs and chaises, while netting and silks had dripped from the bed frame, creating an exotic hideaway for a child to play within.

Tonight her father didn’t answer when she knocked, which wasn’t unusual. He was often in his own world now. She pushed the door open and shivered at the gust of cold air. He had the balcony doors thrown wide. Pages blew over the barren floor where there had once been a Persian rug. So many of the room’s comforts and ornamentations had been torn to pieces and burned in her father’s fireplace, as though no matter how high the central heating was turned up, he could never quite get warm.