Deamhan (9 page)

“Where?” He squinted, peering down the street.

Orange streetlights bathed the two in shadows, but from the length of their hair, Veronica knew exactly who they were.

“Quick. Let’s go this way.” She gripped Murphy’s arm to spin him around.

“But the apartment is that way, Veronica.” He pointed down the street in their current destination.

Just as they turned, the two figures quickly appeared in front of them.

Before Veronica could react, Brandy grabbed Murphy by the neck, lifting him several inches off the ground. Branda spun Veronica around and wrapped her forearm around Veronica’s neck.

Murphy gasped and his eyes bulged.

“Now, where were we?” Branda whispered in Veronica’s ear.

Murphy balled his fist and stuck Brandy across the chin.

She smiled. “Oh, he’s a keeper, sis. I love a fighter!”

 Murphy swung again, but she caught his fist in her palm.

“What the fuck?” Murphy’s eyes swelled from the pressure of Brandy’s grip.

“All the things I can do to him, sister.” She slapped Murphy across the face. Even in the shadowy night, his cheek burned red with her palm print.

A surge of pain shot through Veronica’s already-sore neck. She tried to fight, but her strength was no match for Branda.

“What do you think, sister?” Brandy’s eyes scanned Murphy’s head from head to toe. “Do you think he’ll like me?”

Branda sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t care. As long as I get to play with her.”

Brandy’s smile slowly dissipated. “You never care about what I want.” As if he were an afterthought, she abruptly released Murphy. He dropped hard to the concrete, coughing and rubbing his throat.

“Of course I do.” Branda’s gaze didn’t leave Veronica who continued to struggle.

“Then why don’t you care?” Brandy stood next to her sister. She placed her hands on her hips. “If you care, let me have her first.”

Branda quickly eyed her sister. “You have him, Brandy.”

“But . . . I . . . want . . . her!”

In a flash, Brandy’s eyes shifted away from her sister and down the street. Then she looked over her shoulder and back to her sister. Veronica noticed her alarmed gaze. Dread was the last thing she’d ever expected to see in the eyes of a Deamhan.

The sound of breaking glass broke the air. Something or someone was there.

“Brandy, what is it?” Branda asked, exposing prolonged canines.

A gust of warm wind blew past them. Branda’s grip loosened. Veronica fell to the pavement. She quickly crawled toward Murphy.

Dark blood oozed from a slit on Branda’s neck. It rained down her chest, splattering the ground in front of Veronica and Murphy. Branda reached for her neck, rubbed her gash and examined the reddish black fluid. Blood spurted from every orifice from her face; like a jet stream, it poured out her nostrils, mouth, ears, and eventually her eyes. The skin around her ear-to-ear wound turned black. Like intricate spider webs, the discoloration spread until it covered her skin.

Her head hit the pavement, followed by her body. It crumbled into little pieces before finally disintegrating before their eyes. Murphy jumped to his feet and pulled Veronica back to avoid the cloud of dust and pool of blood.

Brandy screamed and, with Deamhan speed, dashed across the street, disappearing around the corner.

“What the—what the hell was that?” Murphy coughed and gagged as the wind picked up, blowing ashes across the street and into the air. “Veronica, what the hell was that!”

How could she explain? At that moment, no words could describe what they saw. I guess this was what being protected meant.

“We need to go.” She pulled a wide-eyed Murphy down the street toward Palm Oaks, clutching the crumpled envelope to her chest.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Alexis straightened her shoulders, jutted her chin, and yanked opened the door. She strode past a makeshift cross nailed to the wall holding a gagged and tied human woman. She stopped short, inhaled the scent of blood seeping from the lacerations on the woman’s breasts and stomach. Tiny razor blade cuts covered her legs. The victim breathed erratically. The wounds weren’t deep, but effective to cause pain.

“This one is dying,” Alexis called out. “She’ll need food soon.”

More human bodies laid scattered in the back room. Some were in the first stages of decomposition while others were passed that. Near the back wall, five Deamhan held down a scantily clad woman. She kicked valiantly, fighting against her handlers. They pinned her arms and legs to the floor and they sunk their teeth into her soft flesh. An amused smile tugged at Alexis’ lips. The victim’s sobs and whispers fell on deaf ears.  

One of the Ramanga bit into her wrist hard enough to cause an audible crunch. The human shrieked in pain. Moments later, her writhing slowed to a stop.

Alexis rolled her eyes. How many Deamhan does it take to kill a human? Their kind never ceased to annoy her.

The scent of fragrant incense masked the odor of fresh blood. She hated coming back here especially with the Deamhan around. She reminisced about the times when it was just her and Lambert, surrounded by dozens of humans to pick and feed from. They picked and chose their meals in their own hell bent paradise.

Now, Lambert invited the Deamhan to the back room to gorge on their hapless, helpless victims. He accommodated them while ignoring his own kind. He never invited vampires to the room anymore, and she didn’t understand why. He loathed the Deamhan as much as she did.

Sniffing indignantly, she walked past the bartender and a Deamhan who acknowledged her presence with a nod. She passed the remains of a human nailed to the wall, his intestines exposed and hanging from his abdomen with his heart and his lungs nailed to the right of his body. His scrotum was stuffed in his mouth.

She recognized Lambert’s artwork.

Lambert loved to use some of his more unique kills displayed as a fine still life. He used the remains of his victims, contorting their broken limbs and insides as an effigy to the human body. He found the human body to be intricate and complex.

Impressed, Alexis moved on. She found it a waste of time examining the decaying, misshaped bodies of humans. Besides, she didn’t want to press her luck by keeping Lambert, her maker and her lover, waiting any longer. He hated waiting.

She pushed aside the red silk curtain that sectioned off the octagon-shaped feeding room, filled with tastefully placed black beanbag chairs. A nude, hard-bodied man lay atop a long black table in the middle of the floor. It surprised Alexis that vampires, not Deamhan, surrounded the body, picking at it in feast.

 Behind them, observing the melee with a gleam in his brown eyes, stood Alexis’ lover for centuries, Lambert. His shoulder length brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail, hung over his left shoulder. He licked his slender lips, revealing his sharp pointed fangs (not as long as the fangs of a Ramanga, vampire fangs proved to be just as sharp.)

Lambert, his arms folded across his chest, raked his eyes over Alexis’ body. In his hand, he held a white, blood-spotted handkerchief and the silky black robe from the night before. Alexis smirked, remembering the naughty, decadent things he did to her in that robe.

Lambert clapped his hands, grabbing the attention of the bloodsuckers away from their meal. “A time alone with my woman.”

The dejected vampires exited against their will, leaving the pulsating man softly moaning in pain. Alexis slinked toward Lambert, provocatively swaying her hips from side to side as she darted out her tongue to wet her lips.

Lambert opened his arms, accepting her into his embrace. She felt the warm blood on his lips. He kissed the top of her head and he yanked off her pink wing. He grasped a fistful of dark brown hair, yanking her head back and revealing her long, dark-skinned neck.

He dropped the wig to the floor. “Did you give it to her?” he whispered.

“Yes, she has the note.” Suggestively, she stuck out her tongue and curled it upward.

Lambert wrapped his lips around it and sucked violently, causing her to spasm in pleasure.

Tingling heat rushed between her legs and, as if sensing her deep need, Lambert slid his hand into her pants, slipping his forefinger between the throbbing lips of her vagina. A moan escaped from deep within her chest. She didn’t want him to let her go but he did just that, pushing her to the floor.

“You’re losing your edge,” Alexis said through panting breaths. “I remember the time when that used to hurt a little. Now you’re all pleasure; no pain.” She lifted herself from the floor and straightened her shirt.

The human moaned, and Lambert quickly covered his mouth.

“The way this one moans,” he said, shaking his head in disgust, “it annoys me.” He moved his hand over the victim’s nose and looked back at Alexis. “And I really enjoy moaning. Maybe I am losing my touch?”

Alexis let out a deep-throated laugh. “You can always make him your next artwork masterpiece.”

“No. No, that’s been boring me lately,” Lambert replied. “Humans nowadays don’t take care of themselves like they used to. They fill their bodies with drugs, they eat fatty foods. Their blood tastes like processed garbage. So this researcher. What do you think of her?”

“Guileless but interesting.”

“Yes, interesting. She keeps coming back even though it’s not in her best interest.”

“Chelsea gave her Sensual Appetite. You should’ve seen it!” Alexis shivered in contentment. “It was so much fun sucking it right out of her.”

The victim’s body jerked violently under the pressure of Lambert’s cold hands.

“Fun to watch too.” Alexis closed her eyes. She relived the moment, recalling the smallest details like the bead of sweat that trickled down the side of Veronica’s neck when Chelsea had given her the drink and the look in Veronica’s eyes, thinking that she had somehow been sired.

“Get rid of the waitress.” Lambert pressed harder. The victim’s thrashing turned to twitching, then a final shudder.

“Why?” said Alexis, raising her voice.

Lambert removed his hand from the victim’s mouth and licked the blood from his palm. “She disobeyed me. I told all of them, vampires and humans, that the human is protected by a Deamhan. She’s not to be touched or harmed.”

Alexis huffed. “And since when do the Deamhan tell us what to do? They can’t even follow their own rules.”

“Not our concern.” Lambert wiped the remaining blood on his hands with his handkerchief and tossed it to the floor.

“Fine. I’ll give her a warning. Tell her not to do it again.” Alexis lowered herself on the couch. “Or if you want I could flog her.” A mischievous grin appeared on her face.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Lambert walked behind the bar and grabbed a small shot glass from the shelf. He opened the small cooler underneath, pulling out a metallic flask.

“I would like that,” Alexis agreed. “Very much.” Her mind drifted to the plethora of floggings she and her lover had committed through the centuries. Not once did they bore her, except for the bootlegger they’d caught trying to sell his moonshine in their Speakeasy back in the day. He didn’t scream. Not even once.

“Do what you want,” he said with a lazy shrug. “My only concern are for my club and for you. The last thing I need is unruly Deamhan threatening my already crepuscular atmosphere.” He twisted the lid off and poured the liquid in the shot glass, filling it to the rim.

“Let me kill her.” Alexis repositioned herself on the couch with her legs spread open. “I promise, I’ll make it quick.”

“No.” Lambert downed the shot then poured himself another. He walked back and sat next to Alexis. “Did you not hear me when I said she’s protected?”

Alexis pouted. She didn’t like the way Lambert acted around the Deamhan now. This wasn’t the Lambert she fell in love with. Even as a human, his mercenary lifestyle made him hard, unremorseful. Orphaned as a young boy, he was raised in a mercenary camp and lived his life as a mercenary for hire. Along with his tribe of Celtic headhunters, he raided small villages of his enemies, killing the men and boys, and raped their women and daughters. He beheaded his victims, tied their heads to his horse as in accordance with his religion. Sometimes he offered the heads to the Roman commanders who paid him for his bounty work. Scars from his human life still littered his back and his chest. Only when his teacher was killed by a vampire and Lambert went to seek him out, did Lambert lose his first and last battle as a human.

Of course Lambert loved to battle, to fight. He was born a warrior and he had a warrior’s heart. He also loved the art of torture. He once cut off the hands of a Lugat he had captured and watched as the Deamhan slowly withered away, unable to feed due to the loss of his hands. When Alexis met him for the first time on York Plantation in upstate New York during the American Revolution, he had just stepped off a British ship in the harbor as an immigrant and was in the process of buying his own plantation. He tortured the slaves he bought but when it came to her, she found herself lucky. She enjoyed the pain and the suffering. Maybe she felt this way because of her screwed life as a house servant. Without Lambert, she would’ve never experienced what life had to offer.

Now she had to beg him if she wanted to slaughter any human or Deamhan in Dark Sepulcher. He thought twice about killing and maiming. He was preoccupied with making money than making enemies. It wasn’t the Lambert she grew to love, but she’d do anything for him still. She’d follow him into the bowels of hell if she had to.

“Please, Daddy.” She rubbed her hands on his chest. Calling him “Daddy” usually made him see things her way.

“I told you. She is protected. Someone has claimed her.” He handed Alexis the drink.

“Since when do you follow a Deamhan order?” Alexis devoured the drink. In moments she felt it absorb into her flesh, spreading throughout her body. She closed her eyes and leaned back. “I’ve never understood why you decided to cater to them.”

“You don’t have to understand them, sweetheart.” Lambert lightly kissed her cheek. “You and I both know that the best way to survive in this city is to remain neutral and not get involved in their squabbles.”