One Immortal - Tia Louise Page 0,13
to be falling for her charms. “Would you like to fuck me?”
She says the words right at my lips, and I resist the urge to break her wrist as she slides a hand over the front of my jeans, over my cock. “Would you?”
A rustling noise scrapes against the stones overhead, and I look up fast—just in time to see another pale figure crawling like a lizard, headfirst toward me from the roof of the tomb. A hideous grin distorts his ghastly face, and his long fingernails clutch the cracks in the grey stones.
Shoving the woman back, I push away from the wall right as he reaches for my neck. Through my distraction, I catch the sound of snarling and growling mixed with hissing and champing of teeth, and I realize Patrick is fighting another one. We’ve inadvertently stumbled into a nest of them, and neither of us is prepared for this.
The thing crawling from the roof is now on its feet, and I can see by his ancient clothes and the tissue-quality of his skin he’s the one. He’s apparently made these young ones to protect him. Otherwise, vampires usually avoid living in groups.
“Call back your slaves,” I shout to the leader. “We’re only seeking information.”
“You don’t order me, boy.” His voice is a scratchy hiss. “You’re in my territory now.”
The hideous smile combined with his rows of sharp, pointed teeth and blood-red lips, makes him look like a sinister, white-haired clown. The woman beside him sways toward me, still smiling as if attempting to hypnotize me.
Patrick lets out a sharp yelp, and I glance fast to see a beefy male vampire has him by the throat. His mouth is open, and his enlarged canines have descended.
In one swift move, I drop to a knee, whipping out the small gun just as the woman lunges for me.
BLAST! BLAST! Her smile transforms into horror as the silver enters her body. Red eyes widen, and she falls back, screeching like a cat. The noise was enough distraction to put Patrick back on top, and he snaps his powerful jaws, throwing his attacker against a crypt opposite the path.
“Patrick, come!” I shout, and he immediately runs to my side. “Stay back!”
We’re slowly walking backwards out of the cemetery. I can only hope these two are his only guards.
The old one doesn’t move. His smile is gone, but he isn’t attacking. Instead, he goes still as a statue, watching us retreat. I have enough bullets if either of them tries to come after us, but he’s letting us go.
Before we round the final corner to safety, I see his eyes tracing, memorizing all my features, and I know this isn’t over.
* * *
Melissa
I’m lying on my side staring into the dark. I haven’t left the bed since we got back from Algiers this afternoon. Elaine has run to the drugstore on the corner, assuring me we’ll get dinner when she returns, but I can’t eat. My stomach aches with emptiness, and despair holds me down against the mattress. I’m unable to shake it off.
We’d taken the Canal Street ferry across the Mississippi River to Algiers Point this afternoon. We disembarked amid beautiful Victorian homes and historic shops. Our objective, however, was deeper in the West Bank community, where the streets were narrow, barely wide enough for one car to pass, and the homes were mostly wooden shotgun shacks.
The live oak trees were thick and low to the ground, and ivy and wisteria covered everything that didn’t move. As a result, the atmosphere was dark and heavy, and the noise of cicadas rose in a shrill screech above it all.
Demeter’s was a red-painted wooden home hidden back off the road under the shade of several trees. Elaine had parked at the curb and taken my hand.
“No matter what happens in here, I’m not giving up.” I knew she was trying to be encouraging, but her words filled me with dread.
A stone walk led to the house, and before we even knocked, the front door opened with a slow scrape. A dark screen kept us from being able to make out the person on the other side, but from the shaky sound of her voice, I knew it was Demeter.
“I saw y’all park at the street. Why you come to Mama Demeter’s house without calling? What you after?”
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Elaine leaned forward into the screen. “I’m Elaine Merritt. My friend Sabrina Hyatt gave me your name, but she said you don’t have a phone.”
“Don’t