Angeles Vampire Page 8

  I glanced back at Matthew, who provided an innocent shrug. By the time I turned back to Kelly, he was already moving on to bandage Zelda’s hand.

  “I should probably get you home,” Matthew said to me while the other candidates were getting fixed up.

  I agreed, getting up from the stool I’d been sitting on and shaking the good hands of the other candidates. “It was nice meeting you guys.”

  Matthew put his hand on the small of my back and led me into the hallway. My skin tingled from his touch, yearning for it more when he took his hand away, once we were alone.

  “I suppose you’ll want to change first,” he said as we made our way down the hallway, him having to slow down so I could keep up in heels.

  “That would be appreciated,” I said, desperately wanting to shower to rid myself of all the dried blood—but that was something I wanted to do in the privacy of my own home.

  Matthew guided me back to the office I’d originally dressed in and I speedily changed back into my clothes. I rinsed my face and arms, determined to make myself somewhat presentable in front of him. Gazing at myself in the mirror back in my regular clothes, I almost couldn’t tell if the fantasy was over or just beginning. My stomach was twisted in knots with anxiety and anticipation.

  Your search is over. What did it really mean?

  I hung up the soiled dress, once so elegant and striking and returned the silver heels to their box. Rejoining Matthew in the hallway, I was starting to unclasp the necklace, when he stopped me.

  “No; the pendant is yours,” he said. “Usually the dress and shoes would be too, but… well, we won’t try to salvage those. I’ll get you another one.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I insisted, but was rather excited by the thought.

  “As you wish,” he replied with a wry grin.

  I wanted to take my comment back, but instead remained quiet and let my heart sink.

  We traveled down a new hallway—his hand not on me this time—then Matthew hit the down call button at a bank of elevators. The nearest doors opened immediately.

  We descended to level P3 and entered a sparsely lit parking structure. The ceilings were low and our footfalls echoed in the confined space. We marched down a row lined with seemingly identical darkly-tinted Land Rovers on either side.

  Matthew removed a clicker from his pocket and lights flashed, accompanied by a double beep several vehicles away. I was used to still having to use an actual key for Mom’s car, which was more than a little outdated.

  I climbed into the passenger seat. “Do I need a blindfold this time?”

  “Can I trust you?” He glanced over at me again with that burning intensity.

  There wasn’t much left in me to melt. What’s wrong with me? “Absolutely,” I said.

  “Good,” was his one syllable response before taking off and speeding through the parking structure.

  Instead of heading up to ground level, Matthew drove into a tunnel that descended further. There were no outside lights for guidance or emergencies, just a blackness that seemed to extend forever.

  It took at least five minutes to emerge from the tunnel and onto a winding road surrounded by trees. After another mile or so, we merged onto a more significant road with typical divider lines and signage. And a few more miles of driving led us to an armed checkpoint, where it seemed we would be leaving the mysterious True North Society compound.

  The gate lifted and a guard armed with a machine gun waved us through. Matthew slowed as we drove over intimidating-looking traffic spikes.

  I turned in my seat to gaze back at the entry checkpoint and saw a sign that stated: Maximum Security Facility. Department of Corrections. An electrified fence stretched from the checkpoint and disappeared into the trees.

  What is all this?

  It took approximately half an hour to reach my apartment complex. Matthew never had to ask me for directions. He drove directly up to the walkway that led to my front door like he had been there a hundred times. Now I was partially afraid he had.

  He parked against the curb, reached across my lap and opened the glove box. He put my phone back together, then thumbed through the touchscreen, making some adjustments I couldn’t see.

  “There,” he said, handing me back the phone. “Now you can really get a hold of me, and I, you. I’ll expect you to answer when I call. Your candidacy is a serious obligation.”

  “What if I discover this really isn’t for me?” I asked.

  “We’ll discuss that if it arrives,” Matthew said. “But I know what you’ve been searching for and I know we can provide you with the answers you seek.”

  “So, you can tell me about my father?”

  “There are things you must learn before important doors can be unlocked. This is not just about me, but the organization as a whole. I would love nothing more than to tell you everything right now, but we all need to follow the proper protocol. You need to be provided the right context and your expectations must be managed appropriately. Believe me; we have a lot of work to do. But if you put in the time, I assure you, you’ll get your answers… probably more than you bargained for.”

  “Now you’re making me nervous.”

  “I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to prepare you. We’ll be taking one step at a time throughout your candidacy, but each step is monumentally high.”

  “I have to know,” I said. “I’m ready.”

  Matthew gave me a sad smile. “And I’m ready to lead you into the dark, where all the answers have been hidden for years... generations… millennia. Our time together will not be easy, but I’m looking forward to it.”

  I didn’t really know how to respond, so I simply thanked him for the ride and unbuckled my safety belt—but my body still did not want to exit the car. Matthew was gazing at me with a sad, almost hungry look in his eyes. I could picture myself as his dinner, frozen in the tight confines of the front seat—him reaching across the center divider and pulling me closer—and some repressed part of me wanting him to take such a brazen action. There was an invisible force pulling my lips to his and I felt like it was affecting him too. I sat there, stock still in anticipation of his next move. I licked my lips to moisten them.

  And the moment passed. He turned his attention back to the world outside the windshield. “You should go,” he said softly. “It’s about that transition from late to early.”

  My temper flared, feeling a stupid sense of rejection. I exited the car without so much as another word. And he drove off with the same cold shoulder.

  I searched my phone and found the contact he’d created. Matthew Mercer.

  I felt childish for becoming angry with him after he’d just given me a ride home. This was another example of me expecting too much, something I knew not to do—and something he was now explicitly telling me I mustn’t. I shouldn’t expect a man of his beauty, age, and sophistication to settle for a kid like me. And he was my new coach, for God’s sake. It was stupid to get upset over this little fantasy.

  My phone chimed and a message bubble popped up on the screen. I swiped the screen and clicked on the message icon, now overshadowed with the number one.

  Good night, Fiona Winter, the message read. I didn’t have to glance at the sender’s name to know who’d sent it.

  A smile crept over my lips as I quietly sneaked inside. I so needed to split an Oreo.

  15

  Matthew

  I couldn’t get my thoughts off all the blood on the stage floor. The fact it belonged to Fiona only made it that much worse. I’d been preparing for this a long time and was surprised how hard I was finding it now. She wasn’t just any other candidate, but I should be able to treat her as such.

  Why is this so damn hard?

  My grip was so hard on the steering wheel, I was afraid I may crush it completely. I was losing control, my foot heavy on the accelerator. If I passed a cop, there’d be quite the pursuit because I’d have no intention of stopping. The Land Rovers were specially e
quipped—like police cruisers—but the Land Rovers had far superior power and technology. The police cruisers could corner better, but I could easily get around that with my driving skills.

  I glanced down at the touchscreen of the infotainment system and considered calling Jezebel. I needed a distraction to get Fiona out of my head—however temporary.

  “Call Jezebel King,” I said. Immediately, I received an automated response, then the sound of ringing streamed through the speakers as her name and number were displayed prominently across the touchscreen. But then her voicemail message began to play. “End call.”

  My foot became heavier on the accelerator as I raced into the foothills. My headlights were the only beacon in the darkness now. I hadn’t passed a car in miles. There was nothing out here but desolate landscape—rolling hills of rocks and tree husks. By the time summer hit, new greenery would emerge, just in time for everything to be burned down. Then the vicious cycle would start all over again.

  Past the initial foothills, I wound up to a higher elevation, the small burned stubs giving way to larger trees until the sky had disappeared as I continued through the thick canopy.

  The True North compound was bordered by an electrified fence, equipped with sensors and cameras all the way around the top of the mountain. The checkpoint was guarded like the grounds within the compound, twenty-four hours a day. Drones provided close-up aerial surveillance, as well as accompanying satellite footage. There was nothing that happened within the borders of the compound that our people were not aware of.

  I pulled up to the checkpoint and lowered my window. “Good evening, Reynolds. Smith.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Mercer,” Reynolds, the closest border patrolman, said with a nod.

  Smith saluted behind him.

  The tire spikes up ahead retracted into the road, allowing me to safely continue. We didn’t want anyone to have the ability to race through the checkpoint, including myself.

  I sped away from it, not afraid of hitting any pedestrians up here. I needed to get home as quickly as possible, needing to dull my hyperactive senses from thoughts and vivid images of Fiona. Her bright and innocent eyes. That shining chestnut-colored hair. The scar streaking down her cheek like a perpetual tear. Her unwavering fight to find her father.

  I parked in the underground structure with the rest of the company vehicles and navigated through the headquarters building—typically referred to as the North Building. No building was marked as having anything to do with the True North Society.

  Outside, there were several other buildings and a vista point near the edge of the mountain where on a clear night you could see the bright lights of Los Angeles. During the day, you could see the Pacific Ocean, all the way out to Catalina Island.

  I crossed the open grounds to the imposing structure of the penitentiary—Silverado State Prison. The large stone outer wall was two stories high and had only one gated entrance. The inner stone structure of the penitentiary was ten stories, the top of which had an even better view than the vista point. The criminal population there was small but reserved for the worst of the worst—the worst of the worst who were not considered high profile cases. The lifers and death row inmates you’d never heard of resided there on the first two levels.

  As I walked toward the gate, it began to rise, operated by guards in one of the turret control stations. None met me at the entrance, allowing me to continue through the outer wall, cross the separated yard, and reach the main building. Floodlights remained on to light the grounds, but much of the lower levels of the penitentiary stood dark—the inmates knowing better than to make too much noise after nightfall.

  Entering the prison, I passed through the metal detectors and security doors without incident; without stopping, I made my way to the emergency staircase, the only way beside the south freight elevator to get to the third floor. From there, I could take the regular civilian elevators to get to the top floor, where my apartment resided.

  “Good evening, Peter,” I said to the impeccably dressed elevator attendant.

  “Mr. Mercer. Good evening to you, sir,” he said, holding the door open to allow me to enter. “Returning home?”

  “Indeed.”

  Peter hit the tenth-floor button with a white-gloved hand. “Can I call anything in for you, sir?”

  “No; thank you. There’s nothing I require right now.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  On departing the elevator, I strolled down the long hallway to reach my apartment, one of only ten on this top level of the penitentiary. Each unit here double the size of those on the floor below, which again were already quite a bit larger than the first few floors above the prison.

  I stood before the retinal scanner, which unlocked the front door once my identity was verified. I heard the elevator ding as soon as I stepped into the apartment and closed the door. I didn’t want to see another living soul until I was able to get my emotions under control—to get the vivid thoughts of Fiona out of the forefront of my consciousness.

  But before I was able to do anything, there was a knock at my door.

  I don’t need this right now.

  “What!?” I yelled, rubbing my temples.

  “Matthew, please open the door,” said a sweet, familiar voice. “Don’t make me stand out here all night.”

  “Go away, Taylor,” I warned. “It’s not a good time.”

  “You haven’t been returning my calls.”

  “Which isn’t an invitation to show up at my door.”

  “You can’t ignore me,” she said, rapping her knuckles against the door again, making me cringe.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, gritting my teeth, feeling like my head was about to explode. I stormed over to the door and flung it open. My finger was leveled right in her face, ready to tell her off, when I caught sight of her.

  Taylor was a bombshell of a blonde, nearly six feet tall in stilettos, and not an inch of fat on her. She wore a long velvet coat that reached her knees, which now hung open, the sash still swinging in midair. All she wore beneath the coat was gossamer black lingerie, a seductive play that would shatter the defenses of most men—but as appetizing as her lack of clothes was, it wasn’t what made me see red.

  There was a small cut on the left side of her neck, with blood dripping down, rolling over her shoulder, and trickling into the contour of her ample cleavage. Her hair was up in a tight bun, so there was no hiding the wound, which was fresh and continued to flow. She held a paring knife in her left hand down by her side, a knife that was still stained with her blood.

  My pulse had quickened to dangerous levels; my willpower nearly nonexistent. “I—I told you it was… over…” I stammered.

  “I know that’s what you said,” she said confidently. “But I don’t believe that was what you meant.” She took a step closer, and instead of stopping her right there, I backed up until she had fully entered the apartment.

  “You need to leave,” I said, but there was very little conviction behind my words.

  “I’ll leave once we’ve both had our fill,” Taylor said, shutting the door and letting the velvet coat splash to the floor around her feet. She wiped two fingers through the stream of blood flowing from her neck and brought them to my lips. “I know what you need. And you know what I need. There’s no use fighting it. I’m here for you.”

  As much as I wanted to wipe my mouth with my sleeve, I couldn’t. I licked my lips and savored her sweet, familiar blood. And I couldn’t stop myself from lunging forward, taking Taylor in my arms, and sinking my elongated fangs into her neck. Instantly, I was engulfed with true ecstasy, drinking deep from the nectar I’d been depriving myself of. And in that moment, I didn’t care—I couldn’t see or feel anything else, only the sweet morsel before me, docile and moaning in my arms as I continued to feed, eager to give me what she thought I needed.

  Without severing our tie, I scooped up her fragile body in my arms and carried her over to the couch to finish the job. Along the way,
the paring knife dropped from her hand.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged, which only fueled the frenzy. But we both knew I had to stop, or else I’d kill her. But knowing it and doing it were two entirely different things.

  By the time I managed to pull off her, she was unconscious on the couch, not a drop of her blood left on her mostly naked body. I watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest as I stood up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Damn you, Taylor,” I said, running my hands through my hair, then let out a scream. I couldn’t even control that.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, which only made me more upset. I fished it out, ready to throw it against the wall, when I saw Jezebel’s name scrawled prominently across the screen. “Damn you too,” I said before punching the answer button.

  “Matthew, I saw I had a missed call from you. Is everything alright?” she asked, not sounding overly concerned.

  “I—I couldn’t stop myself,” I said, my eyes still glued to the ravaged woman on my couch. “I gave into the urge and took a drink.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t answer earlier,” she said. “I know it’s disheartening with how well you’ve been doing. Temptation can cut down the best of us. You know that as well as anyone. You’re only human, as are we all.”

  “Yes…” I said, unable to say anything more.

  16

  Fiona

  “You got home late last night,” Mom said when I got up.

  Even though I had only gotten a few hours’ sleep, it was all I could manage with my mind still reeling from the events of the night before. I didn’t know how to properly process everything that had happened. Luckily, Becca listened as I proceeded with the biggest info dump of my life. She didn’t understand half of what I told her, but that wasn’t the point. I just needed to say everything out loud. Even then, I hardly believed it myself.