Better off Dead A Lucy Hart, Deathdealer - By Eva Sloan Page 0,84

with power. Every time she touched one the zombies they fell over, shocked and disoriented—yet not returned to the ground. No, the old woman didn’t have the power her granddaughter did…but she had skill and control the other may…no, would never have.

Delia watched as the older woman took charge of the situation, and with remarkable skill used her own granddaughter’s considerable powers to lay to rest every last one of the zombies. It was impressive. Maybe even more impressive than her granddaughter’s near fatal raising of the graveyard.

Delia waited patiently as the old woman chewed her young charges out—making the little Goth-chick witch cry, her tears streaking her face with mascara rivulets. But in the blink of an eye she started to soothe her, as Delia had watched countless human women do over the centuries, by wrapping her arms around her and speaking cooing lies that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. As always, that act fascinated her. No such thing happened in vampire society, especially not in the house of Tokar.

When the grandmother turned and began to lead the witch away, Delia found her chance. The little blood-sack had just stood up when Delia streaked across the graveyard at her. The first blow slammed her to the ground, knocking her unconscious with no more than a breathy yelp. Delia had her thrown over her shoulder and was already out of the graveyard before neither the witch nor grandmother could turn around.

~*~

She could’ve simply dragged her all the way to their destination, yet Delia wanted to conserve her energies. Turning a human to vampire took a lot of blood out of a vampire, and thus much energy. And what if the little blood-sack had some tricks up her sleeve still?

No, she had her wickedly fast sports car only a few blocks away. Dropping Lucy in the trunk, Delia angled herself behind the wheel and drove like hell out of the sleepy little town of Four Corners and streaked through the night, north to Onyx.

The house was on the edge of the small town, bordered by forest on all sides. It had been in her family for ages, and was a well kept secret. Once inside the house Delia knew her plan was as good as wrote. She had nothing more to fear. Once in the house, any member of the Tokar clan was safe. Just close the door, insert the black onyx key and turn the lock. The house wards sealed with the most powerful of magicks. Not even another member of the Tokar family could get in, no less an enemy.

No less a foul-hearted letch like Gabriel.

No, no werewolf could ever make it through the mystical wards that steeped these walls.

Delia tossed the little blood-sack on the floor and drew herself up a seat. After a few minutes of waiting she gave the blood-sack a non-too-gentle nudge with the toe of her boot. Nothing. Humans were just so…fragile. Too bad. Delia was in the mood to play. But she could be patient. She had all the time in the world to bring the little blood sack over. The basement of the house even had a dirt floor, so she could wait out the change in its entirety in the safety of the house.

The scent of the little human’s blood wafted up and made Delia’s mouth water. Maybe it was because the little blood-sack was a necromancer, but her blood held an intoxicating aroma. Delia had planned on messing up her face quite a bit before turning her. There were ways—there was a silver knife she could use, once her heart stopped, and after the vampire blood had started to take hold—to guarantee some rather nasty scars.

Either way, Delia would taste that lovely blood.

She would just have to wait.

Chapter 17

LUCY’S MOUTH FELT STICKY, the coppery taste of her own blood making her nauseous. She moved her head first—a cacophony of pain ricocheted through her skull like a bullet. She moaned, reaching up to hold her head. She felt something wet and sticky, and pulled her hand away. She opened her eyes and saw that her hand was painted red with blood.

Oh god...

She felt her body shake as she lowered her hands and looked around at where she was. A house, dimly lit and sparsely furnished. The smell of old blood and decay pressed in on her. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she saw large, strange symbols drawn on the walls. The windows were all bricked up,