Pretty When She Kills (2 page)

Chapter 1

“Fuck you!” Amaliya scowled, feet set apart, hands on her hips.

“Nice language,” Cian chided her, smirking as he perched like a bird on a leaning tombstone in the center of the cemetery.

“You call this a nice evening out?” Amaliya narrowed her eyes at him.

She had been lured out of their comfortable spacious apartment to the east side of Austin, Texas under false pretenses. Cian had promised her a nice night away from the hubbub of the downtown area. She had assumed they would be hanging out at one of the dive clubs, or maybe one of the small venues run by theater groups that were located east of I-35. Instead, they were standing in the middle of a very old cemetery at a little past midnight.

“We’re away from the hustle and bustle of downtown just like you wanted,” Cian said, grinning. His chestnut brown hair was ruffled by the wind. It was not as long as it had been for a while. He had chopped it off to a more manageable and stylish length, but it looked good on him. His keen hazel eyes, heavily fringed with dark lashes, clearly projected his amusement.

“I even dressed up!”

Well, technically, she really hadn’t. The jeans were clean, the black platform heels with lots of straps were not too scuffed up, and her black corset-top had actually been hanging in her closet and not strewn on the floor with the rest of her laundry.

“You look beautiful,” he said, flexing his hands. He held a dagger in each one.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Later.”

“Ugh!”

“If you don’t practice, you’ll regret it. You need to have control of your power.” Cian stood up on the crooked headstone, easily balancing.

“What if the neighbors see us?” Amaliya looked over both shoulders through the clusters of thick trees dotting the graveyard, then across the street at the darkened houses.

“They’re all asleep; the street lamps don’t even reach this far, but...if it will make you feel better...” Cian closed his eyes, concentrated, and exhaled.

Almost immediately a thick mist billowed up from the ground, slithering around the old graves, and floating up to form a protective curtain around them.

“Show off.” Amaliya dug her heel into the ground, flexing her foot slightly. She was agitated by the whole night. She had wanted a nice evening out with Cian, pretending they were actually a couple, and just not the only two vampires in the cabal of Austin that were under constant threat by outside forces. Ever since her arrival in Cian’s city, she had been trouble for him. She knew it, he knew it, but they had fallen hard for one another. In a weird way, they were family because The Summoner had created both of them. Incestuous family, she supposed, since they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Unless she was mad at him. Then she just wanted to punch him.

“You need to practice, Amal. If we’re attacked, I need you to be able to protect yourself.”

“I killed The Summoner! That has to count for something!”

Cian stared at the daggers at his hands. “Well, it does. But there are greater monsters in the world.”

Amaliya barely saw him move, his action was so swift. She ducked, but the blade nicked her as it passed. Blood trickled from her wounded arm as she crouched in the mist, ready for his next move.

“You hit my tattoo!”

“It’ll heal.” Studying the tip of the remaining dagger, Cian said, “But the point is, I hit you.”

“Grazed me. It’s just a flesh wound.” The blood sluiced down her arm and dripped from her fingers.

“You should be faster than that.” Cian’s Irish brogue was seeping through his words. He wasn’t happy with her.

Amaliya felt like ripping off her shoes and hurling them at him before stomping home. She never asked to be a vampire. She never asked to be a necromancer. Hell, she had never asked to fall in love with him and shack up in Austin. She hated that she was trapped in the city since she had killed The Summoner. Other vampire cabals had a keen interest in her power. With the threat of The Summoner removed, the other powerful vampires were not very happy with the idea of his progeny remaining alive.

“I am fast,” Amaliya protested. “I just don’t want to be-”

The blade glinted for a second in the moonlight and she flung her hand up before her. The ground around her gave way as a corpse exploded out of the unmarked grave on which she was crouched. The dagger slammed into its chest and the very old, decayed body shuddered.

Amaliya reached out and touched the zombie with her bloodied fingers. The mildewed fabric and desiccated form beneath her fingers didn’t disgust her as it once would have. She felt an affinity to the dead now. She felt a kinship with them, compassion, almost a sense of belonging. As her blood touched its flesh, the corpse took on a more human appearance. It was an elderly black man. Inclining his head toward her, the zombie awaited her next command.

Standing, Amaliya gripped the dagger and yanked it out of the zombie’s chest. “Sorry. Instinct. Didn’t mean to awaken you.”

The dried orbs that were once eyes, were slowly taking on color. The longer she touched the zombie, the more he would resemble the living. Her blood was life to a zombie. It was the basis of her necromantic power. The Summoner hadn’t needed to shed blood to raise the dead, but she did.

“Sleep,” she whispered.

The zombie closed its eyes and the grave swallowed him.

Staring at the dagger in her hand, Amaliya felt both sickened and enthralled with her power.

“You could raise the graveyard,” Cian said stepping next to her.

“I don’t want to pull a
Night of the Living Dead
,” Amaliya said in a sad voice.

Tangling his fingers in her long black hair, Cian lifted his chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He was an old vampire and at five foot seven they were almost the same height. In heels, she loomed over him.

“You can control them. Don’t ever fear you’ll end up making flesh-eating zombies. Those only live in movies,” Cian assured her.

“But they’ll rip someone apart if I command them.” Amaliya distinctly remembered commanding the dead to do that several times before.

“You can control the dead. It’s your power. No other vampire has such an ability,” Cian reminded her. “You must learn to harness it.”

Amaliya frowned at his words, the old urge to run away playing havoc with her nerves. When things got too rough in the past, she had always run. That’s how she had found Cian after she was made into a vampire. She had fled to Austin and accidentally found him. In many ways, it was the smartest and best thing she had ever done in her life. Yet, at times, she still felt the urge to bolt when reminded of the enormity of her new position in the world of the vampires. She was the inheritor of The Summoner’s terrible necromantic power and the right-hand to the Master of Austin.

Like in Bram Stoker’s
Dracula
, the vampires in the Americas tended to call themselves Masters if they were old enough and powerful enough to carve out some territory of their own. In Europe, Cian said they called themselves king, queen, regent, and even emperor. Amaliya supposed being a ‘vampire president’ sounded dull. Cian wasn’t particularly enthralled with the title of Master of Austin, and he wore it grudgingly.

Years before, in the Seventies, when The Summoner had been playing games in Cian’s life, the creator and fledgling agreed to a pact. If Cian became the master over a city, The Summoner would let him be. Cian had usurped the Austin cabal, sold them out to the vampire hunters, and took over the small college town when the hunters had wiped out the resident vampires. He wasn’t even particularly ashamed of his actions and had even friended the head vampire hunter, Professor Summerfield.

Amaliya was swiftly learning that Cian was ruthless and didn’t really live with any regrets. He did what had to be done and didn’t really worry in the aftermath. She lived with constant regrets and envied him. Her biggest regret was ever going on a date with her professor in college, who ended up being The Summoner in disguise. If she hadn’t gone on that coffee date chances are she’d still be in college and would have eventually ended up marrying sweet Pete back home in East Texas. At times like these she was haunted by a life she would never have.

“I don’t like being the big bad scary necromancer,” Amaliya said at last.

Cian brushed his lips over hers. “I know. But you are.”

Leaning against him, her fingers settled on his waist. She loved the way his body felt against hers. He had been a slave in the West Indies in the 1600’s when he had been made into a vampire. A sparse diet and hard labor had chiseled his body into lean muscle. She, meanwhile, should have lost a few pounds before becoming a vampire. She hated her long waist, wider hips, and short legs. Cian, though, seemed to love every inch of her.

The thought made her blush.

He chuckled in her ear, most likely sensing the flush of her skin and her arousal. The mist drifted around them in big clumps as it slowly dissipated.

Licking his ear, she pressed herself against his body, her fingers sliding under his shirt to glide up over his back.

“We’re here to practice,” Cian reminded her.

“Fuck practice,” Amaliya whispered.

Cian’s lips caught hers in a passionate kiss, his hands cradling her face. He made her crazy for him and it scared and thrilled her at the same time. The caress of his hands, the touch of his lips, the teasing of his tongue, all made her want to throw him down on the ground and ride him until they were both screaming.

His cellphone buzzed between them.

Nipping his lips, Amaliya tried to keep his hand from sliding into his jean pocket to get his phone.

“No, no, no,” she complained.

He pressed one last hard kiss to her lips, peered at the number curiously, then answered. “May I help you?”

Amaliya frowned as his expression suddenly became quite dangerous.

“Rachon, this is unexpected.” His Irish accent overwhelmed his voice.

Craning her head toward the cellphone, Amaliya listened in.

“Miss me, dear brother?”

The woman’s voice sent shivers through Amaliya’s already aroused body. It was like rich velvet; soft and sensual.

“It’s been a very long time,” Cian said neutrally.

The throaty laughter was amused and a little cruel. “I would have thought you would give me the courtesy of a phone call when our dear little sister murdered our father.”

“You know I had no love for The Summoner, or his ways,” Cian responded tersely.

“This is true. The relationship between father and son is always complicated, isn’t it?”

“He was my creator, not my father.”

Amaliya pressed her hand to Cian’s chest and he glanced at her briefly. He was struggling with his emotions.

Rachon’s laughter was cruel with its amusement. “You never could run far enough away from him.”

“You never tried.”

“Maybe that is why I hold Louisiana in my grasp and you merely have Austin.”

“You turned your entire family and made them your minions so you could rule Louisiana.”

“I freed them from slavery and made them rulers,” Rachon said sharply.

Amaliya smiled. Cian had hit a sore spot.

“We’ve both done what we had to in order to survive, haven’t we, Rachon?”

“I will give you that.” There was a pause in her voice. “I haven’t called to argue.”

“Then what do you want?”

“To visit you,” Rachon answered.

Cian lifted an eyebrow as Amaliya raised both of hers.

“I see. May I ask why?”

“I want to see our sister. I want to see where our father died. And I want to make a pact with you. I know you have Santos and Etzli stalking your borders. Word is that they are trying to make pacts with Courtney, the new Master in Dallas and Nicole from Houston. You need me.”

Frowning, Cian hooked his arm around Amaliya’s shoulders and pulled her along with him as he headed toward his car. “I’m not certain-”

“You need me, Cian. We both know it. The only thing holding off Santos is the baby necromancer. He was terrified of The Summoner and that is why he left you alone before. Now there is your new pet. Santos wants her. The only reason he hasn’t attacked is because he still doesn’t know what she can or can’t do. How much longer do you think the threat of her power will hold him off?”

Unlocking the car, Cian glanced up and down the street warily.

Amaliya didn’t sense anything, but she wasn’t as powerful as Cian. Nervously, she slid into the passenger seat as he took his place behind the wheel.

“Cian?” Rachon’s voice sounded small and distant now that Amaliya wasn’t snuggled into Cian’s arms.

“What do you know?” Cian asked tersely.

“People talk to me. Powerful people. Sometimes they let things slip.”

Cian slid into the car, his brow deeply furrowed. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“Where?”

“That I don’t know.”

“We’ll talk later,” Cian said shortly. He killed the call and shoved his phone into his jeans. “I’ll need you to summon the dead over distance.”

“What?”

“Can you do it?” His voice was hard and demanding.

Amaliya bit her bottom lip, glancing toward the graveyard. “Yes. I bled in the graveyard tonight. I can do it.”

“We’re going to be attacked. Most likely close to home. They won’t attack here near the graveyard.”

“Are we being watched?” Amaliya knew enough not to look around, but remain casual.

“Yes. Probably by a human servant. They’re harder to sense.” Cian quickly pulled away from the graveyard, speeding down the street.

“Fuckin’ great,” Amaliya muttered. She tried not to panic as she watched the darkened streets of Austin stream past the window.

“We should have relocated to another part of the city. I usually move once a year, but I didn’t want to uproot you so swiftly.”

Cian’s car sped over the rolling hills along streets lined with old houses and mom and pop businesses toward the shining glory of downtown Austin. The neighborhood was mostly populated by a large section of the black and Hispanic population of the city and was much older and poorer. In recent years it had started to undergo a renewal as the middle class bought up the old houses and restored them. College students also made their homes in the small cottage style homes. The occasional mini-mansion lurked on quiet, tree-lined roads, and a few Victorians were hidden jewels in the neighborhood.