2. Dawn
1062 Words
2
DAWN
The new house is a testament to Medieval architecture, tall and castle-like in stature with mismatched gray stones worn smooth by time. It’s a replica, not an original, but it still reeks of history. The air smells of salt.
I stand on the cliff’s edge, my eyes cast down, listening. Three sides of the house are surrounded by cliffs, a steep descent to death, at least for me. The ocean churns below, but it’s only a whisper on the wind from up here. The water beyond the rocks is so deep it appears black. Most vampires won’t cross the ocean if they don’t have to — it takes them centuries to drown. It’s a rough way to go. But I know the vampires who are after us will almost certainly risk it. At least we should be able to see them coming — we should hear them scream, too. Over the last month, my hive has systematically drawn blood from my veins and dripped it onto the rock face. It should hurt them — burn them. The blood of a hunter and the flesh of a vampire do not mix, and there, hanging from the rocky cliff face, they’ll have no way to wash it off. My blood has been spread along the razor wire traps that surround the front of the property as well.
The ability to set traps is not the only reason Markula chose it, though, that handsome Warrior of mine. I turn, dragging my gaze to the stretch of field between the sheer cliffs and the castle-like house we’re currently making a home. Crumbled stones pockmark the landscape. A marble angel weeps near the center of the yard, a little gray dove perched on her outstretched arm. Carved crosses in a similar material spring from the earth at uneven intervals along the span of grass between here and the porch.
Hallowed ground. Other vampires won’t be able to use cloaking against us — those spells won’t work here, so they can’t hide that way. I was worried that my hive wouldn’t be able to use their powers here either, but though they might be slightly dampened, they aren’t gone. It seems that whatever connection we have to one another overrides the holy water once spilled onto the dirt.
Even the house itself was built on a site that used to be a church — burned to the ground with all the clergy locked inside around the turn of the century. Accused of witchcraft. Fun. It’s a good way to invite a Pet Sematary type situation, building a house on a burial ground, pissing off all those dead priests and spirits alike, but I suppose I don’t get to claim the high road with the clergy — I’m full of impure thoughts. I live with a group of sexy vampires, following every lustful impulse I have. Any red-blooded woman would understand.
They’d probably understand my willingness to risk my life a little less, but I’ve never really done things the normal way. I was born with hunter’s blood in my veins, and I’m not sure I’ll ever lose the taste for it. Granted, until a few months ago, I didn’t even know vampires existed, so I spent my time hunting serial killers. Now, I have vampires trying to kill me, instead; the last vamp came after me in the middle of an art show and then exploded into a flock of doves like the star of some terrible B-movie. Claire, that b***h — I can’t believe Markula was married to her once, but at least it was forever ago, back when marriage was just an exchange of property. They didn’t even consummate their relationship. I didn’t see her coming, didn’t even know she was there until I had my blade in her guts.
The air breathes, pushing my hair back from my face, and I sigh with it. Claire’s still out there, biding her time, and that b***h already sent far too many others to kill me. She won’t stop until one of us is dead.
But it isn’t going to be me.
I glare at the angel, and it’s only then that I realize the dove sitting on its outstretched arm is real. It c***s its head at me as if it senses my fury, then flaps its wings, flies off the angel, zips over the field, and dives over the side of the cliff toward the water. I imagine it hitting bottom, smashing to pieces of gray feather and white bone on the rocks below. So small. It probably wouldn’t even make a sound.
“Watching the wildlife? Or just plotting the demise of all fluttering creatures?”
I turn. Silas is approaching from the house — it’s a little irritating that he can read my mind as well as he can. The night I met him, I remember thinking he had a real Sons of Anarchy vibe, but three months later, he feels more like Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall, but with shorter hair. Well, short on the sides and longer on top — all over sexy, just enough to run my fingers through. And those eyes, those brilliantly violet eyes … It’s like staring into a pair of amethysts.
“I’m just watching the birds … for now. They all seem suspicious.” Ever since I watched Claire explode into hundreds of gray doves, even one bird is one too many. I don’t even like squirrels anymore, but I don’t think I’ve seen a single mammal out this way. Even with Markula’s powers to charm any animal into doing his bidding, they apparently have no interest in venturing onto this vampire-infested property, hallowed ground or not.
Silas stops at my side and puts his hand on the small of my back — warm. I never knew vampires would be warm, but there are a lot of things I didn’t know.
“I think it’s time,” Silas says. “Draynor and Markula are down there already, but I don’t think that guy will last much longer.” He blinks at me.
That happened sooner than I thought it would. Figures. There’s always an emergency — someone’s life is always hanging in the balance. It should help that the life at stake isn’t mine this time …
But it doesn’t.
- Writer
