Cursed (2 page)

Model 2 shrugged a shoulder in a non-committal way and toyed with his napkin, a slight smile curving his lips.

Stirring his mocha, Jacob glanced at the brothers every so often, never openly staring (as that generally led to trouble) and wondered what kind of cult they belonged to. A blood drinking one, obviously. What other explanation for that comment could there be? A joke? They had a weird sense of humour. Maybe they watched too many vampire movies and fancied themselves vampire-wannabes?

Sienna would get a kick out of them, for sure. She was into vampires. Of course, she’d want the friendly type, the Twi-hard. He was pretty sure that if there
were
vampires out there, they’d be more into biting first and making friends, like, never. But then, he was more of a
From Dusk to Dawn
kind of guy.

As his inner aeroplane came down out of the clouds again, easing the pressure on his frontal lobe once more, Katey returned with the models’ cakes and showed as much cleavage as she could as she set them down for the two men. Model 1 appreciated the view with a grin just this side of a leer, while Model 2 looked like he was embarrassed by his twin’s attitude.

As Katey sauntered off, Model 1 wiggled his eyebrows at Model 2 and said, “Shall we take her home? She’s cute.”

“You’re such a Lech,” Model 2 said with a shake of his head.

Model 1 sighed dramatically and picked up his fork, waving it around as he said, “You know, sometimes I feel like you’re the father in this relationship, not the other way around.”

Father?
Jacob forgot his caution and openly stared at the two. Nope. They had to be joking again, because sure as shit, he didn’t look old enough to be Model 2’s dad. Brothers definitely, father-son, no. If he looked closely, there was at most two years between them.

“Yeah, well, one of us has to be the mature one,” Model 2 said wryly.

“Lucas,” Model 1 said in a long-suffering kind of way. “Just because we’re over a hundred years old does not mean we have to act like it.”

Model 2—Lucas—was just about to reply when Model 1 realised that Jacob was watching their exchange and elbowed his ‘son’, nodding his head in Jacob’s direction. Lucas followed Model 1’s gaze and Jacob had the sudden sense to look away and pretend like he hadn’t noticed them.

They were obviously insane. Best not to draw attention to himself.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Model 1’s voice, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Yeah, but that’s nuts, right?”

There was a loud sniffing sound from their table, further proving that they were a pair of nutbags. He pretended not to notice and drank his mocha.

“I thought I smelled something bitter,” Model 1 said in a low voice. “I thought it was just the coffee.”

“Yeah, me too.” There was a pause, and then, “I don’t think he knows.”

Model 1 made a rude noise. “Given his obvious lineage, it doesn’t surprise me.” Suddenly the blonde laughed shortly and said, “See, I told you something good was going to happen today.”

Jacob glanced at them again. They were watching him, but not in an intimidating, ‘
I’m gonna bash your head in if you keep looking at us
’ kind of way; more like they knew him. Which was weird, as he was pretty sure he’d never met them before. They weren’t really the kind of guys you’d forget having a conversation with.

“Hey,” Model 1 said by way of greeting the next time he glanced their way.

No help for it now.

Jacob met the ridiculously pretty eyes of the blonde for a moment, gave a polite, “Hi,” and then looked away again, hoping they’d let it drop.

No such luck.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

Before he could politely decline to give these odd-balls his details, the tension in his head increased three-fold, making him feel as if his eyeballs were about to bust out of his head. But, again, there was no pain associated with the feeling, just the uncomfortable pressure.

What the hell was up with that?

The Models’ heads just as suddenly snapped to the left and their green eyes practically glowed with intensity. As if in one choreographed move, they both rose effortlessly to their feet and stepped away from their table, not quite dropping into a defensive crouch, but pretty close to it.

Jacob looked down the crowded street and spotted three men sauntering closer who were eyeballing the two models. They were all dressed in a similar fashion—designer suits of a strange cut—and each one was sporting a vicious grin. Even from here, he could see that there was something wrong with their teeth. As they drew closer, he realised it was due to the enormous fangs gleaming in their mouths like little daggers.

Definitely a vampire cult—and these new guys looked like they were from a rival gang and ready to rumble.

“Knnnooooxxxx,” the tallest of the new arrivals said in a drawn out sound that was full of malicious glee, “you just made my day.”

Maybe the model would exercise some caution and leave it alone?

“Bartlett,” Model 1—Knox, apparently—replied with extreme politeness. “Out for a romantic stroll with your boyfriends?”

Okay, maybe not. It seemed the model was also looking for a fight.

Bartlett turned scarlet at the implication, making Jacob wish he were anywhere but where he was sitting right now. He was too tired to deal with a street fight amongst two rival vampire-wannabe cults. Maybe if he ignored them, they’d go away?

Glancing around, he saw that everyone else seemed to be doing just that. Not one person had looked up from their coffee or plate to take any notice of the gang, even when one of the boyfriends said, “I want first crack.”

“He’s mine,” Bartlett growled in response and made a move towards Knox.

The conflict wasn’t really any of his business, but since nobody else seemed to want to keep the peace, Jacob sighed and picked up his mug, slowly getting to his feet. The group froze in mid-leap and all eyes swivelled to watch him walk around the table. They didn’t seem concerned at all—more like they were waiting for him to get out of the way so they could continue.

He stopped in front of Bartlett and looked the man straight in his muddy brown eyes. The guy was not attractive at all. He had very average features and thin light brown hair that flopped down over his forehead, but what made him truly unattractive was the nasty personality that swam like sharks behind his eyes.

He really hated bullies.

“Look, guys,” he said as politely as could be. “I don’t know what kind of beef you lot have with each other, but I’d really appreciate it if you took your attitude elsewhere.”

Bartlett’s eyes narrowed to a chilling display of predatory intensity that he’d never before seen on another human being. A shiver actually travelled down Jacob’s spine, and he found himself regretting the decision to intervene.

“Well, well, lookie here, boys,” Bartlett growled, drawing in a deep breath. “A pre-trans.”

Jacob didn’t know if the name was supposed to offend him or not, but from the way the guy was looking at him, he figured it must have been aimed that way. Resigning himself to the fact that there was going to be a fight, and that he was now in the front of the line, he decided he might as well get the drop on the guy first.

Without further ado, he smashed his mug against the side of Bartlett’s head and then kicked the guy behind the thug in the chest. As he landed his boot to the ground, he back-handed the last guy in the face and all three dropped to the ground likes sacks of potato. The whole thing was over with in less time than it takes to say ‘thank you’.

Taking a step away from the three, he glanced around to see if anyone was calling the cops, but, astonishingly, nobody seemed to have taken the slightest bit of notice. They were all still sipping their lattes and eating their oversized muffins, and either having a good old chat with their companion or playing with their iDevices like nothing at all had taken place. Even the streams of people walking past them didn’t so much as glance over as they gave them a wide berth.

What the fuck?

He looked back, expecting to find the three still nursing their wounds on the pavement, but they had risen to their feet and were looking for more punishment. Shocked stupid, he stood there while Knox and Lucas unleashed their fangs of mass destruction and went to work on their rivals.

In his almost twenty-five years of life thus far, he had only ever seen it’s like in the movies. The two models were a force to be reckoned with. After a few expertly thrown kicks and punches, the two of them grabbed their opponents by the hair, yanked hard to the side, and, to his horror, buried their faces in their enemies’ necks.

Jacob looked over at Bartlett who was just standing there watching the fight and rubbing his fingers over the slowly seeping cut on his forehead, smearing blood in the process, a scowl marring his already unattractive face. After a moment, the male’s eyes slid over to him and an evil grin spread his lips wide. Those teeth really were something, and, if Bartlett’s were of the same quality as Knox and Lucas’s, guaranteed to be effective.

Even if they weren’t actual vampires (although he was beginning to wonder, seeing as Knox and Lucas seemed to be drinking their opponents blood?!), he had no doubt that they could still rip his throat out with them.

“You’re going to pay for the day your father defiled our lineage, pre-trans.”

Jacob had only a moment to wonder why the hell the creep kept calling him ‘pre-trans’ before Bartlett was circling around him. If these guys really were vampires, then they didn’t appear to have any supernatural speed or strength, which was really more points in favour of them being part of a wannabe cult than the real deal. Jacob had plenty of experience dealing with humans who had delusions of grandeur so one more wouldn’t prove too much of a problem.

Except for the fact that he was so tired. His energy had pretty much been used up in his pre-emptive strike and even the rush of adrenaline he was feeling wasn’t enough to keep him moving fast enough to avoid Bartlett as the cretin clocked him a good one in the jaw.

It felt like he’d been slugged in the face with a two-by-four. The pain shot up into his cerebral cortex and made him half-blind, causing him to stumbled into a nearby table. The people sitting there shrieked and looked up at him as if his appearance was totally unexpected.

“Watch out!” the older woman snapped in a shrill voice.

“Jesus!” another patron exclaimed.

Oh, so now they take notice?

Jacob shook his head to clear it of the pain and grunted as he was grabbed by the hair and his head was jerked to the side. Neck muscles strained to discomfort, he braced himself for another punch, but what happened next took his breath away.

Pain exploded in his neck as the guy jabbed fangs into the tender flesh; twin points of agony punching into his jugular vein and then retracting just as quick, to be followed by a warm wetness that could have been his blood, or the guy’s mouth latching onto his skin.

He could only gape at the two people sitting at the table who were now looking around with confused expressions on their faces like he’d completely disappeared.

I’m right here!
he wanted to scream.
Can’t
you see the lunatic has bitten my neck?

But he couldn’t speak. The pain was like lava flowing through his veins, and, by the sounds of it, his attacker was downing his blood like it was a pint of beer.

No way! They could not be vampires! They were just strange guys who had really sharp retractable fangs who liked to bite people. But he couldn’t deny the fact that the guy was definitely drinking his blood; that the warm wetness he had felt earlier was now joined by the velvety-soft feel of a tongue lapping at his skin as the guy swallowed again and again.

Although, after only half a dozen mouthfuls, Bartlett suddenly gagged and pushed him away, lending some credibility to his theory that they were just a bunch of crazy people.

Unable to hold himself up because of the pain and shock, Jacob slid to the ground and stared up at the male whose mouth was now covered with his blood.

“Damn pre-trans,” Bartlett spat, pulling a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his mouth, staining the pristine cloth red. “You taste like burnt coffee.”

“You don’t think they smell like that for no reason, do you?” Knox asked, appearing suddenly and stepping up behind the male with the fluid grace of a trained fighter.

As the blonde ripped into Bartlett’s throat, exposing a great deal of red flesh that he would not soon forget the sight of, Jacob lay on the sun-warmed concrete, his hand pressed firmly to the puncture wounds in his neck, Bartlett’s blood splattering all around him like rain, and reprimanded himself for interfering in something that was none of his business and way out of his league. Perhaps next time he felt like death warmed up he should just stay home. He’d always thought himself a pretty competent fighter, and maybe he would have been if he hadn’t been sick, but it was clear to him that he wasn’t equipped to deal with opponents with fangs. Defending against a bite to the neck simply wasn’t in his repertoire of moves. Sure, there were probably a few that would have worked, and if it ever happened again he’d have to try them out, but he felt too slow and uncoordinated to have tried them this time around.