Blood Warrior (The Arcadia Falls Chronicles #4) (12 page)

I studied him for a moment before
releasing his hand. “Well, you have a purpose, otherwise the
Warrior Angel would not have allowed you to live.”

He turned so that he was fully facing
me. “Apparently, my purpose is you, little Hunter.”

“
Apparently,” I
agreed.

Drew was at my side, having stayed
with me the whole time, he grasped my hand and pulled me away. “We
have to go see what’s going on out there.” I offered Anthony a
smile and let Drew lead me to the street.

Our group was lined up on the
sidewalk, watching the results of Korina’s death take effect. There
were several vampire bodies already fallen, laying haphazardly on
the streets and walkways. Two vampires emerged from a building
diagonal from us, screaming and grasping at their bodies as if they
were being attacked by bees. We watched them stumble to and fro
like drunks and then collapse in a heap of undead flesh.

“
It’s working,” I
whispered.

Drew nodded and slid his arm around
me. “Yes.”

***

Before we headed home, we went to the
Le Pavillon to check on Dahlia. Anthony was fairly sure that she
was from Korina’s line, but we needed to make sure.

We knew that we wouldn’t take down
every single vampire when we killed Korina, but from the looks of
it, the portion we got was massive.

What was left of the entire group
ascended the steps of the hotel, entering with the same caution we
always used. There were bound to be a few stray vampires left and a
lot more soldiers that would be wandering around.

The lobby was full of dead vampires.
Some were slumped on couches and some were laying on the floor
where they must have been standing when they died. There was even
one who had keeled over at the bar.

We took the stairs and headed up to
the suites, figuring that was probably where we would find
Dahlia.

It didn’t take long to locate her, but
she wasn’t in the condition I expected to find her in. She lay on
the bed in the same outfit we’d seen her in earlier, panting and
clutching her stomach. Her eyes widened when she saw us enter the
bedroom door.

“
Well, dammit,” she
breathed as the group formed in front of her. Her eyes scanned each
person and then finally settled on me. “I guess you found a way
after all. Too bad you had to kill a whole vampire line to get to
me.”

I stepped forward a few paces. “I
would have found you. This…” I spread my hands wide, indicating the
death of all the vampires, “was to put an end to what you
started.”

She laughed, but it was
promptly cut off by a fit of coughing. “This was all you darling.
You can make yourself feel better by putting an end to it, but you
and I both know that the world will never be the same again.
You
made the history
books, love.”

I wanted to throw up. And why was it
that people were so obsessed about recording the history of all of
this. I really, really hoped to God that my name would not be
tainted forever in the books children would study at
school.

I slid my gun from its holster. “I
know that you are going to die soon. That much is inevitable, but I
am going to shoot you anyway, just because it will make me feel
better.”

She laughed again. “You have been a
worthy adversary, Chloe. I will give you that much. So come on,
let’s get this over with.” She rolled and flung her arm over so
that she lay spread eagle on the bed. “I accept my death …
finally.” She muttered the last words as I silently pulled the
trigger. The UV round lodged into her chest, causing her to lurch
forward a little bit.

Dahlia squeezed her eyes shut and bit
down on her lip as if she were keeping herself from crying out. I
figured that it was her last act of defiance. She didn’t want to
give me any satisfaction by showing that she was in
pain.

I was all right with that. Just
knowing that she would be gone for sure was enough for me. But, on
the other hand, as I watched the UV light eat through her body,
eroding her skin and flesh, I thought that I would have felt just a
little bit more satisfied about shooting her than I did in the
end.

She died. Her body reduced to a pile
of ash on the bed of a hotel suite.

We left the hotel and my only thought
was that I hoped I never saw New Orleans ever again.

***

We were home.

Three weeks had passed since the
vampire line was eradicated. The governments were now trying to
re-establish itself all over the world. The military was also
rebuilding their forces, and this time they were equipping
themselves to fight vampires.

I was happy to be back in our little
compound. I missed everything about it, but mostly I missed how
safe I felt inside. A few weeks beforehand, I had been certain that
we were going to face our death and that I would never see the
place again. Now that we were back, I was even more grateful for it
than I had ever been before.

Drew and Gavin weren’t having any
strange side effects from the Warrior Angel healing them, but
Zander was another story. He acted like he was depressed and hid
out in his room all the time. I knew that I would have to make a
point to talk with him soon. I had a feeling he was hiding
something from us.

“
Chloe,” Drew strode into
the gym, where I was on the treadmill, with a cell phone in his
hand. “You are never going to guess who is on the phone!” he
hissed.

“
Who?” I slowed the
treadmill down to a walk.

“
It’s the freakin’
Secretary of Defense! They spoke with the board at Arcadia Falls
and found out that it was us who discovered the secret of the
bloodline and took out Korina. He wants to know if we will meet
with him to discuss being a consultant on vampire
affairs.

I wrinkled my nose. “Really? That is
so weird.”

He nodded. “It’s true. Are you
in?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m in. Why not? I
guess our biggest mission ever is going to be to train the world
how to fight vampires, huh.”

Drew laughed and closed the door to
the gym as he lifted the phone back to his ear.

I turned the treadmill back up and
sped back into my happy thoughts of being home, of Drew and of
everything I’d almost lost.

Look for The Arcadia Falls Chronicles
#5 at the end of December 2014

Hint Hint – It will be Drew’s point of
view instead of Chloe.

READ AN EXCERPT FROM
SAVIOR

A FULL LEGNTH NOVEL BY
JENNIFER MALONE WRIGHT

Sweltering heat emanated
from the searing flames. Alex ignored his blistered skin and burnt
clothes. He plunged both arms into the blazing orange inferno
without a second thought for his own well-being. His hands
frantically flailed until he found what he searched for. He pulled
the charred remains up and hugged them to his chest before he gave
a desperate glance toward the others.

Smoke curled into his
mouth and nose and made it nearly impossible to breathe.

“
Hurry, hurry. Get out
now,” a gentle voice whispered into his ears. “You must go right
now if you want to live.”

However, he couldn’t leave
them behind.

“
Go now,” the voice
whispered more urgently.

Sparks flew when a giant
log broke in half and fell from the ceiling. It crashed onto the
floor less than two feet from where Alex stood. Flames engulfed the
fallen wood and created yet another obstacle.

The voice tried again,
crying out, “Hurry, Alex!”

Alex knew he needed to
move if he wanted to live, but he paused for a moment to question
whether he even wanted to bother. The flames grew while Alex stood
motionless, undecided. Suddenly, a great push from behind thrust
him forward toward a wall of fire.

***

Alex stirred in his mahogany coffin,
one of the best money could buy. He felt the soft, white velvet
lining rub against his cheek, but it didn't comfort him. He panted
like a thirsty dog and writhed helplessly inside the narrow wooden
box.

His eyes snapped open. First, he
checked his hands for burns, but he found none. He groaned while he
became more aware, and realized he'd had another
nightmare.

He sighed, wondering if the recurring
dreams were going to last forever. He reached up and unlatched the
locks he’d installed for his own safety, or at least his peace of
mind. He pushed open the lid and sat upright. His gaze wandered
across the room while his mind tried to fight off the feeling of
dread he had about the night ahead.

In the center of a large stone room
that was buried deep beneath his house, his coffin rested on a
massive stone slab with Egyptian hieroglyphic carvings around its
edges. The carvings read, ‘Death is not but eternal life.’ The slab
and coffin were the focus of the room, with the only other items
being his slippers and a small table that held a candelabra and a
box of wooden matches.

Alex lit a match and touched it to the
candle wicks. A soft glow lit the room and let him safely climb out
of his coffin. When he slammed the lid shut, the hollow sound
reverberated off the stone walls and quickly died. He wedged his
large feet into his slippers, padded to the wide steel door and
punched a series of numbers into an electronic keypad. The door
emitted a soft whooshing sound when the lock released.

Yawning, he stepped through the door
and into a maze of tunnels that worked their way into deadly traps
scattered throughout his underground chamber. Another whoosh
signaled the door locking behind him. With the candelabra in his
right hand, Alex moved through the maze and watched the flickering
shadows play on the walls.

Alex stopped short and blinked. He saw
what he thought was Malcolm's face, shining menacingly in the light
ahead. He held the candles out toward the face, but the image
wavered in the candlelight and disappeared.

Hmmmm
, he thought,
perhaps the night
ahead will prove eventful after all.  

Except for his echoing footsteps, the
tunnels were deadly silent. Once he reached the end of the tunnels,
he faced yet another heavy steel door with an electronic lock.
Again, Alex entered a code on a keypad and exited the tunnels into
a small closet.

Finally, he came to a thick oak door
that simply needed a key. He removed the key from the pocket of his
pajama shirt. Alex unlocked the door, entered the actual bedroom of
his house, and relocked the entryway to the tunnels like he always
did.

More out of habit than concern, Alex
scanned the room with all his senses. Despite popular legend, the
many mirrors in the room reflected his image off each
other.

Alex gazed longingly at the four
poster bed in which he never slept. The thick mattress was clothed
in burgundy blankets with piles of decorative pillows scattered
across the head of the bed. Burgundy and black dominated the color
scheme: black carpet, burgundy walls, and sheer black curtains
shading the windows.

Preferring the softer light of
candles, he bypassed the light switch and went to the dressing
table. He placed the candelabra on the table and picked up a candle
that stood in a golden holder with biblical carvings on its base.
Each time he lit the candle he was reminded of his time in Rome.
The things there were so beautiful he couldn’t resist bringing
something home for himself.

Alex knew his hobby of decorating
bordered on obsessive. He brought back things from his journeys all
over the world to put in his main house in Reno. But his house was
finished.

On top of that, his casinos
practically ran themselves. His place on the Higher Collective only
occupied him every now and then.

He found it an awful feeling, having
no purpose.

He tried to ignore the weakness that
plagued his body with pain, indicating it was time to feed again.
Glancing at his nightstand, he noticed the blinking red message
light on his cellphone. Pushing back the pangs of hunger, he
checked the messages.

Damion’s smooth voice came through the
earpiece. “Hey Alex, I’ve set a Collective meeting for tonight.
Something is going down with Malcolm ... I really don’t like the
feel of it. I think we all need to get together to talk about this
one. Eleven, conference room.”

Clicking his phone shut and throwing
it on the bed, Alex went to his closet and rummaged through his
clothes. With exacting care, he chose a black Armani suit,
complemented by a dark red dress shirt. Dark red was his power
color, and he loved to feel powerful.

In the connecting bathroom he stripped
out of his pajamas. The reflection staring back at him was one that
would never change. Until the end of his existence, each time he
looked in the mirror, he would see a twenty-eight-year-old man. His
harsh Russian features would forever remain without wrinkles, and
his coal black hair would never gray. His eyes, though, told the
story of his age, and even he could see the stories in
them.