The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (16 page)

“You mean the other vampires?” I frowned as my mind worked furiously to remember what I could from my conversations with Garvan, Armando and Chanson. “Since when did they or anybody else do
anything
to you!”

I could feel the irritation literally climb up my throat, forgetting for the moment my disadvantaged position.

“You cannot imagine the wars waged between us for hundreds of years, thousands even. Egypt, India, Atlantis. Your history is but a shallow retelling of our ancient conflicts,” he replied, calmly, despite the sharpness in my tone. “Our estranged brethren have forgotten their natural place in the world, and have manipulated how things are run among humans for many centuries. Their worst abomination deals with you and your kind.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Honestly, I had a pretty good idea, and I’m pretty damned certain he knew this, too. He looked at me, his hellish eyes locked onto my sullen gaze, though I was hopeful he couldn’t sense the depth of my nervousness. If nothing else was clear, I understood that I was an endangered species. Armando and the others had done what they could to stop this other type of vampire from killing me, and stamping out the last of the strange birthmark bearers.

“Yes… you already know, Txema,” he said, the smooth warmth in his voice giving way to a slight iciness. “All you are doing by running is prolonging the inevitable.”

“Running?” I couldn’t believe how he’d say such a thing, since we sat together in the room with no obvious route for escape. I noticed two other cloaked figures standing in the shadows near the room’s doorway. For the moment, what looked like a heavy wooden door was closed behind them.

“Yes, running,” he repeated, his tone much softer. “It saddens me that the last of any race on Earth must perish. Yet, the sooner it ends for you, the sooner we can claim our rightful place in the world!”

A chill crept down my spine, and the soft hairs on my arms rose to full attention. How quickly his delivery went from the edge of compassion to such a sinister musing. It was as if he desired the deeper contempt within his heart to travel across the room and tear its way into me—to destroy me where I sat. I latched onto the absurd notion that perhaps he couldn’t touch me physically, and it was only this contempt that I had to fear—that somehow I could still elude his long, sharp fingers’ grasp despite my close proximity to this inhuman giant.

He sat down and studied me where I sat, his hostile gaze continuing to bore into me. For a moment, he said nothing, allowing his pursed lips to open slightly. Wide enough to where I could see a row of long, sharp teeth kept hidden until that moment.

“Yes, not much longer will I have to endure my enemies’ celebration, their jubilation at finding the last of the Vampire Lovers, their precious ‘
Les Amantes de Vampire!
’”

Ralu’s charms knew no bounds, and, with each snide threat, I grew more and more uncomfortable. It was hard to know how to respond to any of this, but apparently my blank expression wasn’t what he hoped for. In a nanosecond, he crossed the table and was in my face. The stench of decaying flesh filled my nostrils.

That certainly got my attention. Not to mention, I truly hate it when they do that sort of thing.

“Mark my words, Txema. The imposters who call themselves your ‘friends’ will not save you in the end—regardless of the elaborate tales they will concoct, and no matter what immortality ceremony they come up with!” he warned, getting angrier by the second. I tried to scoot back in my chair, but there was no escaping Ralu’s contempt and aggression. “The only way you’ll survive is through our version of the Dark Gift—the one true ‘
salut de sang!
’

I took Spanish in high school, and the only French I understood was the few phrases spoken by my paternal grandmother. I had heard this ‘
salut de sang
’ mentioned before. Though I couldn’t be entirely sure on the translation, I knew that ‘sang’ meant blood in most of the Romance languages, and Grandma Terese used the word ‘salut’ during many of her Catholic prayers—especially the ones her family brought to America from France. She said it meant salvation.

So, this was about ‘blood salvation’, which had something to do with a ‘dark gift?’

Ralu’s widening leer confirmed my basic understanding of what he said, as well as the likelihood that he enjoyed full disclosure of my thoughts and growing terror.

“Surrender your blood and be one with us… become
our
princess—our queen in waiting!”

“Hell,
no
!”

Perhaps my response came out faster than it should have, before I could consider how it might affect my captor and my fate. That’s always been a problem with me. Incensed, his eyes narrowed and he brought up his left hand, armed with long sharp fingernails. His fingers suddenly splayed open. Armed and dangerous.

“Very well,” he sneered, snickering again in contempt.

Before I could apologize and utter a plea for my life, he raked those nails across my throat. A crimson river washed down my parka, spilling through the zipper onto my sweatshirt. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, and worst of all, I couldn’t scream.

I awoke with a start in bed. It had been a dream after all.

The worst frigging nightmare I’d ever experienced!

Relieved, I sat up, gasping for air while I reached for my throat. My hands felt clammy. The room was dark, but at least the air was warm. Reasonably assured no one else was there with me, I stepped out of my bed, surprised by the cool wooden floor beneath my feet. This certainly didn’t feel anything like the worn carpet in my dorm room.

Where the hell am I?

Light seeped through the bottom of a small round window near the bed, and in the dimness, I could make out the outlines of a desk and a dresser in the room. I limped over to the window and lifted the shade.

Imagine my shock to see nothing but blue for as far as my eyes could see! Somehow, I ended up in the middle of some enormous lake or a damned ocean.

Panicked, I scurried over to the door, fearing it would be locked. It wasn’t. I threw it open and craned my head to look down both sides of a deserted hallway. An ornate carpet runner covered the floor, and a row of polished brass light fixtures lined the wall. I imagined the room I just stepped out of might be lined with the same expensive grade of cherry paneling in this hallway.

This had to be a ship, and a luxurious one at that.

In my excitement to find out where I was, I ignored the fact I only had on a pair of panties and the T-shirt I wore beneath my sweatshirt. But once I saw my reflection in the room’s mirrored door, I hobbled back inside. I found my jeans and sweatshirt hanging on a dark leather chair next to the bed, and when dressed more appropriately, I ventured back into the hallway.

“Hello? Is anybody here?”

Maybe it wasn’t the wisest thing to do, especially without knowing who else shared this vessel with me. There was no response, other than the steady hum from the ship’s engines.

I suddenly thought of Tyreen, worrying about her welfare, as well as Peter’s and Johnny’s. I offered a fervent prayer for their safety, trying not to think of the devastation I’d experience if they hadn’t survived the attack on Massey Hall.

I had to find a way to contact them. My cherished iPhone was missing from my coat pocket, which brought immediate remorse once I remembered that I left it in my backpack in my dorm room.

Just frigging great!

That left me little choice but to explore my surroundings, all the while praying the monster named Ralu or his guardians didn’t jump out from some shadowed hiding place. I decided to explore the right side of the hallway. It could’ve been my superstition to avoid the left, like the silly hopscotch games I played with the kids in my neighborhood growing up. Or, maybe it was because the droning of the engine sounded louder to my left, which told me the engine room was in that direction. Aside from being in the back of the ship, it would be a perfect place to get ambushed, without much chance to hear an attacker sneaking up on me.

Not that it would matter when dealing with a supernatural miscreant.

Creeping quietly down the hall, I soon heard voices and footsteps moving across the other side of the ceiling above. Near the end of the hallway was a spiral stairway that would take me up to the next level. I cautiously approached, while the voices grew louder. The voices were male and all spoke French.

Trying to decipher their conversation would be hit or miss for me at best. I quietly climbed the stairs, careful not to aggravate my ankle any more than necessary. A waiter dashed by the stairway carrying a large tray loaded with pastries. Luckily, he didn’t see me. The aroma of cinnamon and chocolate kindled my hunger.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Ybarra!” a young man’s voice boomed from a bar located not far from where I huddled.

I was near a short gate that opened up to this level, which I assumed was the main one. I had also assumed the bartender couldn’t see me. However, as I peered through the gate rails, the handsome blonde with slicked back hair smiled at me from the other side of a long bar.

He was dressed in a formal black tuxedo with a red cummerbund. The bar’s ornate decor rivaled any I’d ever seen before, even in the ritzy taverns in downtown Richmond or anywhere in Knoxville. Amid the expensive glasswork were rows of bottles featuring the finest liquor brands in the world, many up until then I had only heard of and never actually seen before.

More embarrassed than wary, I stood up and smiled shyly. Understanding just enough French to be dangerous, I offered a demure ‘bonjour’ in response. Blue-eyed with a boyish complexion, the bartender nodded and then looked up beyond my line of vision. For a moment, he carried on a conversation in an unfamiliar French dialect with someone else, unseen by me on the next floor up, perhaps on a balcony.

“Txema ? So, she’s awake?”

The rich, mellow voice traveled easily to me from where this unseen male was, almost directly above me. The use of my native tongue instead of the secretive French surprised me.

“Yes, I am!” I called out to this man, hoping he was as unthreatening and approachable as he sounded. “Who are you?”

Silence followed, which heightened my anxiety. I almost spoke again in an effort to clarify my words and intent, but hesitated. The bartender smiled at me again, and I took that as a good thing while sending forth a silent prayer I was right about him.

“Why don’t you come up here?” said the owner of the voice, closer, as if he leaned over the balcony I pictured in my mind. His English was clear, concise, with just a slight trace of an Eastern European accent. “You must be famished, and we have a wonderful array of delicacies for you to choose from. Mercel will show you the way.”

The man told the bartender in French to come get me and bring me upstairs, based on my loose translation of the words I could pick out. The bartender, who I assumed was Mercel, smiled, came up to me and opened the gate. I stepped through it, surprised at how weak my legs felt.

A glance around me confirmed more of the same exquisite workmanship on the cabinetry, paneling, and floors. The ship was not quite as large as I initially thought. The bow was a mere thirty feet from where I stood, and I assumed the engines I heard marked the stern. So, maybe it was one hundred and twenty feet in length? That would be a fair estimate. A yacht, perhaps; it would still be considered large by that standard.

Mercel led me over to another circular staircase, and once we climbed up to the next level, the mysterious man I had conversed with a minute or so earlier appeared before us. He was strikingly handsome, with mirthful blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. His jet-black hair was laced with thin white streaks along the temples. Seemingly older than anyone I’d met lately, excluding the garish Ralu, he exuded confidence and charisma from where he stood. No doubt heads turned whenever this person entered a room, and I’m sure the swoon of women would be a tiresome event for such a man. He had just enough facial lines to indicate maturity, and his full hairline told me that he couldn’t be any older than forty.

“Txema, it is indeed a pleasure to finally meet the girl who has caused such an uproar in the vampire world!”

He chuckled warmly, and then motioned for me to join him at a large table in the center of the room. Surrounded by windows, the view of endless miles of deep water and the sun behind us confirmed we were headed east. On the great Atlantic. To France? That was the logical assumption.

“If you prefer, Mercel or myself will gladly prepare a plate for you, or you may help yourself,” he said. “It appears you have an injury to your right foot. Would you like for me to look at it? I have some medical knowledge that may help.”

He pulled a chair out for me to sit down in at the table when I waved off his offer about my foot. I couldn’t even remember the last time a male had done that for me, certain it would’ve been my father when I was a young girl.

“Thank you, I will help myself,” I told him, thinking forthright confidence on my part could only enhance my position. “My ankle will be all right… I just need to go easy with it.”