Eternal Shadows

Eternal Shadows

Kate Martin

Copyright © 201
2 Kate Martin

All rights reserved.
  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including information storage or retrieval systems without the written permission of the author, except for within reviews, wherein brief quotations are permitted. 
This book is a work of fiction.  All names, characters. places, and incidents are either a product of the writer's imagination or used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to  actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales is completely coincidental. 

Cover design by Steven Novak
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Dedication

For Mom and Dad, who gave me the space and freedom to get where I am today.

Thank you to Sara J. Lyon, Tricia Tighe, Daphne Riordan, and Taylor-Lynn Weiss, who read every single incarnation of this book.

And to Alexa, Camryn, Emily, Lauren, Molly, and Renee, who were so excited for me they made up a little song and dance.

Prologue

“What if there was a war and no one came?”

Silence spread out over the next few seconds, the only sound the familiar buzz of the phone at my ear.

“What kind of assignment is this?” Sara’s frustration was clear in her voice, causing a sharp ping to come across over the connection.

Only when I was certain she was done screeching did I put the phone back to my ear. “Typical Mr. Olson. He’s always concocting strange things like this. He did it when I was a sophomore, too.”

“Well, then I’m doubly glad I didn’t end up with him twice like you did.”

“He’s not that bad,” I said, all the while staring at the cursor blinking on the blank screen of my laptop.

Sara groaned yet again, and I heard her rustling around in her room across town. Curfew was in effect, so the phone was our only hope of getting through this assignment together. “What are you going to write? You know more about this stuff than I do.”

“Not really.”

“Kassandra, please. The war practically takes place inside your house.”

“If war is meetings and phone calls behind closed doors, then yes.”

“So then what are you going to write? I wish no one would show up to this stupid war any more. Then maybe it would freaking end already.”

“Write that.”

“You’re not helping me.”

“I have my own paper to write, you know.”

Sara continued to babble on, thinking out loud until she came to some conclusion that made sense to her. It was how she worked, how she always worked. I didn’t really need to respond, she just needed someone to talk at. In the meantime, I could think everything through on my own.

A war that no one came to. Intriguing, I had to admit. Something my father would never stand for. He believed in fighting for freedom, fighting for what’s right, and fighting to achieve peace. Sometimes that didn’t make sense to me.

But, he was the general, not me.

He was the one charged with looking after the whole New England sector, setting curfews and other public laws that kept the population safe and generally free from the scourge of war that had been raging on the other side of the world for the better part of the last five years. Or ten. Or even twenty. It depended on what expert you were talking to. My theory, a bunch of past wars over renewable energy and terror had all lumped themselves together, and then just never ended.

My mother would’ve probably been the best one to ask about this topic. She had been a relief worker, traveling all over the world, bringing people what they needed to rebuild and live. Until she was killed. My parents as a couple seemed impossible. But, even five years later, I could remember the way they looked at each other. That was really all the explanation needed.

But I digress. War. No one to fight it. Yeah. I was more a fighter, like my father. In fact, he and I often practiced our fighting skills with each other. Hence my bad mood, the dinner plate beside my bed, and my door being locked. Dinner had been fun. Our housekeeper, Anne, had finally just separated us.

“Kassandra.”

“Huh? What?”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“I never listen to you.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s nice.”

She kept talking—something about my lack of listening skills—but I wasn’t paying attention. Light poured in through my front window, accompanied by the sound of a car, then the engine cutting off. Someone was in my driveway. And it was nearly one o’clock in the morning.

“Sara, I gotta go.”

I hung up as she questioned me, tossing my phone on the bed and making my way to my window.

A black car, illuminated by the automatic lights outside our garage. A blonde woman got out of the driver’s seat, while a man no older than thirty got out of the passenger’s side. Two more climbed out of the back, both men; one way too young. New to military life—because they were definitely military, the uniforms made that quite clear. Although, they didn’t look like any uniforms I had ever seen before. Not Army, not Navy, or Marines, or anything else I could name. The oldest of them, the second to have climbed out of the back, glanced up at my window as he shut his door. We made eye contact, and the burn scars all across the right side of his face made me cringe.

And then the feeling came. An icy creep along the back of my neck. People talk about the hairs standing, goose
bumps, things like that, but this wasn’t the same. Ever since I could remember this odd sense of impending doom had plagued me. And it was never wrong. Never. The worst had been the time it had woken me in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and hardly able to breathe. Two days later we got word that my mother had been killed.

I hated that feeling. I hated being right.

I heard the knock on the door, both through my window, and through the walls of the house. My father, apparently, wasn’t asleep either. Already downstairs, he went to the door. I crept to the top of the stairs, cursing each creak of the old house I normally loved so much. I had to hear. People came to our house in the dead of night, that wasn’t unusual, given my father’s position, but not in black cars, and not in military garb I couldn’t identify.

The man who had gotten out the passenger side—I could now see that he had three brass diamonds across his left shoulder—flashed some sort of badge, said a few words I couldn’t quite make out, and my father let him in.

They all went to the dining room and shut the door.

I made my way down the stairs and pressed up against the wall so I could overhear. Their voices were low, but I caught snippets.

“We want to bring an end to this war, General Thomas.”

“As do I.”

“And yet in all these years the militaries of the world have done nothing but foster hate within each other. We can end this. All we need is your consent.”

The urge to sneeze kept me from hearing what came next, but once I had successfully controlled the impulse that would have gotten me into a world of trouble, I heard the stranger say, “You are making a mistake.”

My father laughed. “I don’t think so, General Lucas.”  He said general as if it was a fraudulent title. “I’ll never surrender my country. I know what all this is. I knew you would be coming.”

“You are only one man, and you are not the only commander hearing this offer tonight.”

“I’m sure I won’t be the only one giving this answer.”

A quiet moment passed. My own breathing suddenly seemed far too loud in the dark.

“I will give you one day to reconsider.”

“I won’t.”

“You have the day regardless. I will return tomorrow night.”

I scrambled for the shadows, attempting to duck behind the table in the hall, when I heard them head for the door. I was unsuccessful. The light from the dining room poured into the hall, and each stranger glanced my way as they walked to the front door. The last of them, the youngest, let his gaze linger. His blue eyes, so deep and familiar, haunted my dreams that night.

I had hoped to put the fighting my father and I did so well behind me, but breakfast ended up a repeat of dinner. Irritatingly, he seemed more furious that I had eavesdropped than anything else. “You’re not listening to me. I am trying to tell you that I got another one of those feelings last night, and—”

“Kassandra, enough. I’ve had it with your overactive imagination.”

“You never believe me! Why can’t you ever just believe me? I’m not making it up. I wouldn’t make it up.”

“Enough. You shouldn’t have been listening. You’re a child and this is far beyond your understanding.”

“In a few days I’ll be old enough to join the military, not that I ever would. You can’t call me a child forever. Just think about what they’re offering. Peace, right? How can that be bad?”

“Peace through tyranny and dictatorship. No. I won’t surrender my country to that. And this conversation is over. There are things going on that you don’t understand and that you can’t know about. Leave my job to me.”

With the urge to rub the skin right off the back of my neck, I stormed out of the house without another word to my father. I wanted to try talking to him again after school, but he had locked himself in his office and Anne was under orders to keep me away.

That night only one of them returned. The one I presumed was the leader. I pressed my ear to the door again, not caring if anyone caught me this time.

The same offer was made. Step down, relinquish control to this new division.

My father refused.

“Last night,” the stranger said, “you mentioned that you had been told to expect us.”

“I have more connections than most.”

“Interesting.”

“I would rather die than surrender my country to the likes of you.”

“Don’t make it come to that.”

I started chanting “please, please, please” to myself, hoping my father would change his mind. All the while that terrible chill on my neck grew colder and colder.

Nothing changed.

I was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to catch my silent tears when the stranger emerged from my dining room. He stopped and looked down at me. A flicker of memory arose and I realized I had seen him years before. At a charity ball my father, and other generals, had been obligated to attend. I’d taken particular note of him because he was so young, and because I had never seen him before.

He looked exactly the same.

Just as he opened the door to let himself out, he turned back and smiled at me.

Fangs.

Chapter One: Unimaginable

I’d been awake for hours. I’d lost the exact count, but I guessed I was going on at least twenty-five hours since I’d last slept. Dad thought I’d been studying for my psychology exam, but I couldn’t concentrate on that. I’d been on the internet searching for something else, been at the library investigating something much less scientific.

The computer screen glowed in the darkness of my room, the webpage I had open colored black, red and white. A bit stereotypical, but so far it seemed the best informed. There were close to a dozen comments from random readers who claimed to have encountered vampires over the past few months. Most believed their government had been taken over by the creatures.

Sounded familiar. Or at least probable, after what I had seen and heard.

Books covered my floor, some open, others marked with sheets of loose-leaf paper or bookmarks. My bed had become an extension of my desk, holding all the print-outs and handwritten notes I’d made over the last very long day. I’d read everything I could find. I’d compared and contrasted each fact, each myth. Legends from all over the world littered my head, jumbling together into something indiscernible. But that’s why I had all the notes.

While I doubted half of what I had found was anything near the truth, the other half seemed at least plausible. The feeling of something terrible looming on the horizon had yet to dissipate.

I stared at the crude wooden stake that lay on my desk next to my laptop.

Every legend was different, but staking showed up in quite a few. I figured it was one of my best bets. Besides, most things would at least be slowed down by a large piece of wood being rammed into their chest.

I heard a creak I recognized. Our house was old, a contemporary of the Mark Twain house right down the street, and I knew every inch of it. Someone was at the bottom of the stairs. My father had gone to bed hours ago.

I glanced nervously at the garlic I had hung above my door and suddenly felt stupid. Better safe than sorry, though. It certainly couldn’t hurt anything. Aside from the pleasant fragrance I tried to keep in my room with candles and oils.

Another creak. Top of the stairs. My room was three doors down the hall. Dad’s was the second. I’d snuck out earlier and tacked some garlic cloves around his door as well, along with crosses and a few drops of holy water I had managed to acquire. What else could I do? He refused to listen.

I’d fight at least.

A soft thud, almost like footsteps, then silence.

I grabbed the stake and hopped over the sea of books, pressing my back up against the wall beside my door.

I shook so hard I had to concentrate on not dropping my only weapon.

My doorknob turned.

I held my breath.

The door opened, and I paused one short moment, wanting to be absolutely sure it wasn’t my father or Anne checking in on me.

Then I struck.

By some miracle I must have surprised him, because the point of my stake jammed through his chest a good two inches before he stopped me. He hissed—in pain, I hoped—and grabbed my wrist. The pressure he applied forced me to release my hold on the stake and I buckled at the needles of pain that ran up my arm.

He cursed, holding onto me with one hand and assessing the damage I’d done to his chest with the other. Blood covered his shirt, but he didn’t seem slowed in any way. With his other hand he took hold of the stake and pulled it free of his body. He tossed it aside, then gave me an annoyed look. “You’re smarter than we gave you credit for, Kassandra.”

Ice coated my spine now. He knew my name.

“Drop dead.”

He snorted, then stepped farther into my room, taking me with him. He threw me onto my bed, my not-so-helpful notes giving me multiple paper-cuts. I started kicking and screaming, hoping to wake the house. The vampire grabbed me again and pressed his hand over my mouth. He was strong. Too strong. My fear choked me, silencing me more effectively than his hand.

I wasn’t conscious of much after that.

I woke up in my own bed—I knew it was mine because I have the floppiest pillow in existence—warm, alert, and thirsty.

Then I remembered.

It came in flashes, quick and sporadic, hardly making much sense. Screaming, shouting, hands holding me down. A face; handsome with blue eyes, and framed by dark hair. His teeth sank into my neck and I braced for the pain. But it wasn’t as terrible as I had expected. A pinch, really. The pressure had been worse. His lips locked around my skin as he drew the blood from my body and after that things began to fade once again.

Then the pain had come. It had spread like fire through my veins, curling my toes and arching my spine. I flailed against the cold, hard surface at my back, screaming the whole time. It seemed to go on for hours before I finally gasped and the fire was gone. A second of blissful relief passed, then I began to choke. And just when my lungs ceased their attempt at breathing, I felt pain blossom in my chest.

It had continued on like this, never ending, until I had suffocated, drowned, bled, burned, and experienced what felt like every single other variety of death. Awake and in my own bed, I could feel it all over again, my throat raw from screaming and my nerves shattering at the memories. I buried my face in my pillow and cried. Surely it had to be a nightmare. A bad dream I would dispel as soon as I walked downstairs to have a bowl of cereal with my father before he left for the first meeting of the day. But I wasn’t hungry. I was thirsty.

I remembered the blood. Warm, and sweeter than I would have thought, I could taste it, feel it running down my throat. I wanted to be sick, but the thirst only grew. I threw off my covers and set my feet on the ground. My breathing was uneven, and it didn’t help my attempts at thinking. I didn’t even know what I
wanted. All I knew was that if I didn’t get it, I was going to claw my way out of my skin.

My door swung open silently. Not right. It should have creaked. Though my father had offered many times, I didn’t want it fixed. It was part of the character of the place, part of the charm of living in an old house.

“You’re awake.”

The voice had just the barest hint of an accent I didn’t care to place at the moment. But the face I knew. Dark hair, unnaturally blue eyes, perfect nose and bone structure in general…the handsome face from my nightmare.

“Who are you?” Crap. My voice was thoroughly unimpressive. It sounded like I hadn’t spoken in years. The fact that I couldn’t manage to sit still didn’t help.

“Rhys.”

“What are you doing in my room?” I stood, intending to face him down, but started dancing from foot to foot instead.
Dammit
.

Rhys looked put out. I didn’t care. I wanted to stop feeling like I would go mad if I didn’t get whatever it was I seemed to be craving. “I’m here because you are my charge and I had a feeling you would be awake by now,” he said.

I forced my hands back to my sides so I wouldn’t pull my own hair out by the roots. “What do you mean?”

“You had a strong will to live. It took you almost a week to die.”

To die? “What are you talking about?” My voice sounded even weaker now. My fidgeting lost its rhythm and I fell back onto my bed, catching myself in time to sit. “I’m not dead.” My brain began putting together the puzzle pieces in a way that created a picture I refused to see.

“In a way. Now get up, you need to feed.”

I was back on my feet before he had even finished speaking. But once I was conscious of my movements I resisted. The impulse to do what he said prodded at my legs, but I refused to move any farther. I heard the vampire sigh.

“Don’t be difficult,” he said. “It won’t do you any good.”

I grabbed the corner of my bedside table. My hand shook uncontrollably. “I won’t do that. I can’t. It’s not true.”

His expression twisted into something deeper than simple frustration. I realized I had not taken my eyes off his face since he had first walked in the room.
The revelation didn’t change my gaze. I watched his lips form his next words, not wanting to believe. “You are a vampire,” he said.

“No. It was a nightmare, a bad dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream. You were bitten, you drank blood. You died your mortal death. Now you are awake and I am going to teach you how to feed.”

I was shaking so badly I wasn’t sure how I could still be on my feet. “I don’t believe you.”

Annoyance. That was the next emotion to pass over his timeless face. Pale fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I have to prove it to you?”

“No!”

His growl rumbled against the air. Even through all my trembling I heard that.

“Get ready,” he said.

Ready for what?

He charged me. In less than a breath his face was no more than an inch from mine. My door was a good seven feet from my bed, not a great distance by any means, but he never should have been able to cover it as fast as he had. I stared into his blue eyes, unable to comprehend what had happened.

“Do you believe me now?”

“Huh?”

I felt something touch my cheek and glanced to the side to see what. His finger. His entire hand was practically at my throat, primed to close around my neck. But it hadn’t. It couldn’t.

My own hand was wrapped tightly about his wrist, stopping him.

I wasn’t a klutz, but I didn’t have reflexes like that. At least, I’d never had before. I looked back at his face, waiting for some sign that this hadn’t really happened. He looked nothing but serious.

“Even young, we have good reflexes.”

I must have looked like an idiot. I was sure my mouth hung open like a fish, and I didn’t say anything for a long time. In the back of my mind, the part that desperately tried to cling to sanity, I wondered at the immense patience he seemed to possess.

Sanity was slipping. But at least I had stopped shaking.

“My father?” If I had been dying for a week…

Something crossed his features—confusion, I think—but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Dead,” was all he said.

I waited for the hysteria. It didn’t come. I suppose shock was the better alternative. I forced my fingers to unwrap from around his wrist, noting absently that he was much warmer than I would have expected a corpse to be. I felt cold. A chill ran through my skin, the same as the depths of winter. I wasn’t nearly as dead as he was. That wasn’t right.

The strange thirst stirred again. I had the sinking feeling I knew now what it was. What I craved.

I distracted myself with thoughts of my father. My serious father, cold and lifeless, just like me. I wondered which of us was really more dead. Probably me. He, at least, had hopefully made it to the heaven my mother had believed in. I was stuck here, a living corpse, the same as the one standing only an inch away.

He dropped the hand that had been poised at my throat. I watched it curiously, or maybe it was just my sanity slipping further. It swung three times before becoming still at his side.

“Kassandra.”

The sound of my name coming from his lips startled me, forced me to look back at his face. Odd, he was handsome, hot even. My teenage hormones acknowledged that. But at the same time he was the beginning and ending of my nightmare. The conflict and confusion that it caused in my head was dizzying. And he wasn’t nearly as pale as I had imagined the blood-sucking fiends would be.

How exactly did one know when they had gone insane? Did the insane know they were insane? Or did that go against the very definition of insanity? I should have paid closer attention in psychology class.

I was babbling to myself. Maybe I could just write it off as shock.

“Kassandra.” The second time wasn’t nearly as jarring as the first. “Listen.” All my internal babbling stopped instantly. I just watched his eyes, and waited. “I can see we aren’t going to get anywhere any time soon unless you focus. The thirst must be gnawing at you. I’ll make it easier on you, but just this once.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, even though I had listened intently to every single word. What he said about my focus was probably dead on.

Dead on. Ha.

Okay, my sanity was definitely in question.

“Stay here,” he said. Rhys said. It was hard to put a name to one of the monsters who had invaded my home. The name made him real. I was still waiting to wake up. But I nodded, in any case, agreeing to stay put. Where else could I go anyway?

He disappeared. Or maybe he was just moving inhumanly fast again. I had read about their speed. Most legends agreed they were fast. Demons who disappeared in the blink of an eye and reappeared somewhere else in the next. But I was one of them now. Why couldn’t I see him move? The stories had never indicated the vampires having a hard time detecting one another. Maybe I just sucked at this. Wouldn’t that just figure?

And just like that he returned. Only this time he gave me more space than before. He was within arm’s reach, but not so close that I could feel every breath he took. Why was he breathing anyway? For that matter, why was I? I must have gone on deliberating silently for too long because he grumbled and took my wrist, placing a warm glass in my hand.