Twilight Dreams (17 page)

“We're wasting time,” Holly said curtly. “Please, Mr. Ravenwood, just say the words!”

Micah's parents exchanged worried glances; then his father said, “Rylan Saintcrow, please come in.”

An instant later, Saintcrow stood in the middle of the living room. Holly was relieved to see that he no longer held Mahlon's heart and that he had wiped the blood from his hands.

Moving quickly, he untied Micah's family. “All of you, get in the car and get out of here. Go to a hotel. Stay together. Mr. Ravenwood, if you've got a gun, take it with you. Micah will join you tonight and explain everything.”

Mr. Ravenwood regarded Saintcrow for several taut seconds. Then he pulled a rifle from the hall closet, grabbed a box of shells from the shelf, and herded his family out the back door.

“The body!” Holly exclaimed.

“Don't worry. It's gone.” Saintcrow jerked his chin toward the back door. “Maybe you should go with them?”

Holly bit down on the inside corner of her lip, then shook her head. “What do we do now?”

He regarded her a moment, as if weighing her resolve. And then he shrugged. “I'm gonna have a look around.”

She trailed behind him as he moved through the house. “What are you looking for?”

“Just getting a good whiff of her scent.”

“Then what?”

“I drank a little of Mahlon's blood before I killed him.”

Holly grimaced.

“It will lead me to her. Are you ready for this?”

“I guess so.”

“You don't have to come along, although I might need your help if she's holed up in someone else's home.”

Holly swallowed hard, then nodded. “Let's go.”

Saintcrow put on gloves and dark glasses, pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, and stepped outside. He stood on the porch a moment, head lifted, turning slowly from right to left. Was he scenting the air?

Grunting softly, he descended the stairs.

Holly trailed behind him. She had expected Saintcrow to zap them to wherever Braga was hiding out. Instead, they went on foot, following a track or a scent only he could detect. It took them to a part of town where older homes were being torn down to make way for new apartments.

Holly shivered when he came to a stop, not certain if the sudden chill had been caused by an attack of nerves or by the dark clouds gathering overhead. She glanced at Saintcrow.

His attention was focused on the last house still standing. It was a small, single-story dwelling. “She's inside,” he muttered. “Come on.”

Holly knew it was only her imagination, but it suddenly seemed as if the house had developed a dark aura.

She trailed behind Saintcrow. What was she doing here? She wasn't a vampire hunter. If anything happened to Saintcrow, she would be defenseless.

“I won't let anything happen to you.”

This time, she wasn't sure she believed him.

He paused at a pile of rubble. Holly watched him sort through it until he found a short piece of jagged wood that had a sharp point at one end. Wordlessly, he handed it to Holly before approaching the front door.

It opened at his touch.

Holly stopped breathing as he put one foot over the threshold. Tossing her a grin, he stepped inside.

Her mouth dry, her knuckles white around the makeshift stake in her hand, she followed him inside.

“Stay behind me,” he said. “And stay close.”

She could hardly hear him over the rapid pounding of her heart.

They found the vampire in a small walk-in closet. She looked dead.

“You're still against this, aren't you?” Saintcrow said, a note of exasperation in his voice. “You're as bad as Kadie.”

“I don't know how you can do it, just kill her while she sleeps.”

“Would you rather I did it while she was awake?”

“Of course not! But . . .”

“I don't relish doing this,” Saintcrow said quietly. “But she's never going to give up, and frankly, I'm tired of playing the game.”

“Are you worried you can't beat her in a fair fight?”

He snorted his disdain. “If that's what you think, you're sorely mistaken. I'm doing her a kindness by destroying her while she's at rest. It'll be quick and painless. She won't feel a thing. But I'm a patient man, so I'll leave it up to you, Holly Parrish. I can take her heart while she sleeps, or . . .”

He shoved Holly against the wall as Leticia Braga lunged to her feet. Teeth bared, fingers like claws, she attacked Saintcrow, all the while screeching at the top of her voice that he had killed the love of her life.

Holly was too stunned to scream, too terrified to move.

Never, in all her life, had she seen anything as savage as the battle being waged before her eyes. Saintcrow was older, stronger, but Braga fought like a wild animal, biting, clawing, scratching, somehow dancing out of reach whenever it looked like Saintcrow was going to rip out her heart.

And always, Braga screamed her hatred at him.

Just when Holly thought the fight would go on forever, Saintcrow slammed Braga against the wall beside Holly, grabbed the stake from her hand, and drove it into the other vampire's heart.

The sudden silence was deafening.

The smell of blood filled the air.

As though freed from a spell, Holly fled the house as if pursued by the devil and his fallen angels.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Holly glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find Saintcrow in hot pursuit. But he wasn't there. Unless he had dissolved into mist and was, even now, hovering above her like some disembodied spirit.

She ran until she was out of breath, then stopped in front of a liquor store, her heart racing, her mind spinning. What to do, what to do?

What to do?
What was she thinking? She had a phone and cash in her pocket. She was free!

With fingers that trembled, she located the number of a cab company.

Fifteen minutes later, she checked into a small hotel on the other side of town. In her room, she locked the door, then slumped onto the sofa and closed her eyes, only to snap them open when visions of Saintcrow holding Mahlon's heart, Saintcrow staking Braga, flashed through her mind.

She had a terrible feeling those images would haunt her for days—maybe months—to come.

She plucked Saintcrow's cell phone from her pocket, then paused as another image flashed through her mind. Micah. True, she was anxious to put all this behind her, anxious to go home, but did she really want to leave Micah behind, as well?

She bit down on her lower lip, then shook her head. She'd had enough adventure to last a lifetime. She needed space, time to think. She needed to go home.

Using Saintcrow's phone, she called the airport and arranged for a flight to take her home first thing in the morning. The sooner she was in her own house, sleeping in her own bed, the better.

* * *

Micah woke with the setting of the sun. His first thought was for Holly. Was she safe? And what about his family? Had Saintcrow destroyed Braga and Mahlon?

He bolted upright when he realized Holly wasn't anywhere in the hotel. Muttering, “Where the hell is she?” he stormed into the suite's main room.

Kadie was curled up on the sofa, reading a book. Saintcrow stood at the window, gazing outside, hands shoved into his back pockets.

“Where's Holly?” Micah demanded.

“I don't know. She took off after I staked Braga.”

“Why didn't you go after her?”

“Hey, I'm not her keeper.”

Micah took a deep breath, almost afraid to ask. “My family?”

“I sent them to a hotel for the time being. You might want to call your folks and let them know it's safe to go back home.”

Micah stared at Saintcrow's back. “Do they know about me?”

“I didn't ask.”

“Did she feed on them?”

Saintcrow nodded.

Micah cursed softly. Did his family know the truth about him now? If they did, how could he ever face any of them again? He had lied to all of them for years. How could he make them understand? They would never look at him in the same way. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if they never wanted to see him again.

“Kadie and I are going back to Morgan Creek,” Saintcrow said, turning away from the window. “You're welcome to come along.”

Micah nodded absently. “Thanks.”

“If it makes you feel any better, there's a good chance your parents don't know.”

“Whether they do or they don't, they're going to have a lot of questions about vampires after what happened here. And probably a few suspicions about me.”

“Sucks to be you,” Saintcrow said with a wry grin.

“Very funny.”

Saintcrow laid a hand on Micah's shoulder. “They're your parents. They have to love you.”

“And Holly loves you, too,” Kadie said.

“Just give her a little time,” Saintcrow advised. “She's been through a lot in the last few weeks.”

“Yeah, time,” Micah muttered bleakly. He had plenty of that.

“We'll be leaving for home later tonight,” Saintcrow said. “If you need us, you know where to find us.”

Micah nodded. After giving Kadie a hug, he left the hotel.

Outside, he took several deep breaths, then closed his eyes and concentrated on the blood link that bound him to Holly. She was in a room—probably in a hotel—asleep.

He blew out a sigh of relief. Holly was safe. His main concern now was facing his family.

* * *

On the other side of the world, Leandro Braga was ripped from the deathlike sleep of his kind. He bolted upright, gasping. Pain exploded through his chest, as if someone had driven a stake deep into his heart.

It was followed by an acute sense of loss as the blood link that had bound him to his sister, no matter the distance between them, vanished. It left him feeling oddly empty and adrift.

It could only mean one thing.

Leticia was dead.

He had hated her for centuries, refused to speak to her. As his sire, she could have compelled him to keep in touch with her, to return home, to do anything she wanted. But she had never done so, certain that, sooner or later, he would forgive her for turning him against his will.

Now it was too late. Forever too late.

He fell back onto his bed as the dark sleep curled around him yet again.

He couldn't mend the rift between them, he thought as he sank back into the darkness of oblivion, but he could avenge her death.

* * *

Micah stood in front of his parents' home. A deep breath carried the scent of Mahlon's blood, leading him to believe Braga's bodyguard had died on the premises. Before calling his parents he had gone through the house and then checked the backyard, but he'd found no evidence that blood had been shed there. Saintcrow had been thorough, indeed.

Micah had intended to be waiting for his folks when they arrived, but his courage had deserted him. After calling his folks to let them know the house was safe, he had disconnected the call before his father could ask any questions. And then he had fled the scene, unable to face them. He had spent the last half hour walking the streets, trying to figure out what to say, how to explain what had happened, who Braga was and why she had invaded their home. Steeling himself to face his family's disbelief, their revulsion, when they learned the truth about him.

Shit. Might as well get it over with.

For the first time since he had left home, he knocked on the front door, then stood there, jaw clenched, his whole body tense, as he waited for someone to answer the door.

Fear and uncertainty emanated from the house in waves.

After what seemed like hours, his father opened the door a crack. He looked like he'd aged ten years, but the rifle in his hands was rock steady.

One look at his father's face confirmed Micah's worst fears—his secret was no longer a secret. With a shake of his head, he muttered, “Unless that Winchester is loaded with silver bullets, it won't do you any good, Dad.”

Color washed into his father's cheeks. “I didn't know it was you,” he mumbled.

“Would you rather I left?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yeah.”

Heaving a sigh, his father stepped away from the door.

Micah hesitated a moment before crossing the threshold. He had been so preoccupied wondering what his parents would think, he hadn't noticed that his whole family—minus his nieces and nephews—was gathered in the family room. Damn, all those nervous heartbeats should have warned him.

Hands clenched, he followed his father into the house.

All eyes swung in his direction.

Micah took a deep breath. “I guess those of you who weren't here know what happened,” he said flatly.

There were nods here and there. His father said, “That awful woman, she fed on us.”

Feeling sick to his stomach, Micah nodded.

“She told us she was a vampire.”

Micah nodded again.

“And that you . . .” His father shook his head. “That you were one, too.”

“It isn't true, is it?” His mother's face was pale, her eyes filled with despair. Guilt pierced Micah's heart. Like his father, his mother looked older, haggard.

“It's true.” Micah glanced at his brothers and sisters and their spouses. Some looked at him in disbelief, some with horror, some with pity.

“How did it happen?” his oldest brother, Joe, asked.

“Why didn't you tell us sooner?” Sofia queried with a frown. She didn't seem too upset, but maybe that was to be expected, since she was a big fan of
Twilight
and
The Vampire Diaries
and all things Dracula.

“Is that why we haven't seen much of you lately?” his sister, Rosa, asked.

Micah held up his hand to stay their questions. As succinctly as possible, he told them about Lilith, how he had met her, and all that had happened afterward.

The room was silent when he finished.

And then his mother stood up. “It doesn't matter, Mikey.” Hurrying across the room, she embraced him. “You're my son. This is your home. We are your family, no matter what.”

“Ma . . .” Tears burned his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her.

The next thing he knew, the whole family was gathered around him, his brothers hugging and punching, his sisters showering him with kisses.

Later, they inundated him with the usual questions.

Did he really drink blood? Yes.

What did it taste like? Warm and salty.

Could he fly? In a way.

Disappear? His sisters shrieked when he dissolved into mist.

Did garlic repel him? No.

Did silver burn him? Only weapons, although the metal also negated some of his powers.

Did he cast a reflection in a mirror? Yes.

Was he really immortal? Pretty much.

What had happened to Braga and her companion? They were dead. End of story.

And from his mother: “Where's Holly?”

Micah took a deep breath. “I think she went home, Ma. She had some things to sort out.”

“She's a good girl,” Lena said, patting his arm. “Don't lose her, Mikey.”

* * *

Later, back in Morgan Creek, Micah decided that, all things considered, it was the best night he had spent with his family since he'd become a vampire. He had expected horror, revulsion, rejection. But as far as they were concerned, he was still Mikey, still family. Blood, he thought with a wry grin. It really was thicker than water.

He was thinking about Holly, wondering if he should call her, when his cell phone buzzed.

“Mikey, hi.”

“Hey, Sofie. Is everything all right?”

“Fine. I always suspected you were a vampire.”

“Is that right?”

“Well, not always,” she admitted. “But I did wonder from time to time.”

“Is that what you called to tell me?”

“No. I was wondering, that is, well . . .”

There was silence on the line. Micah grinned, imagining his sister twirling her hair around her finger the way she did when she was nervous, or when she wanted a favor. Like the time she'd wanted him to sneak her into an R-rated movie when she was twelve. Finally, he said, “Spit it out, Sofie. What do you want this time?”

In a rush, she said, “I want you to turn me into a vampire.”

Micah groaned low in his throat. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“No. I've done a lot of research into the subject, you know.”

“Research?” he exclaimed. “Are you out of your mind? You can't research vampires like you're studying for a test. Trust me, little sister, you don't want this. There aren't any sparkly vampires in the real world.”

“Well, duh, I know that.”

“And I know you. Believe me, Sofie, this isn't the life for you. You can't try it on like a pair of shoes and change your mind if it doesn't fit. It's forever.”

“But, Mikey, it looks like such fun! Being able to turn into mist. How cool is that? And staying young forever—”

“Even if I was willing to turn you, which I'm not, I wouldn't do it now. You're only eighteen. Way too young to make such a life-changing decision.”

“But—”

“Just listen to me. If you feel the same when you're twenty-five, we'll talk about it some more.”

“Twenty-f ive!”

“Like I said, we'll talk about it then.”

“Fine,” she said, the pout evident in her tone. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Micah shook his head as he disconnected the call. Of all the possibilities he had contemplated when he finally told his parents the truth, having his little sister ask to become a vampire had never been one of them.