Dawn of the Vie (Immortal Aliens Book 1) Page 15

  “Just so we’re clear, you only get one shot. If you miss, then I get to do with you as I please without you protesting every five minutes.” His dark, predatory stare burrowed into me.

  I sucked in a breath. “Are you really serious?”

  “You doubt me.” His face softened, yet his glare didn’t diminish.

  “Vie aren’t exactly known for honesty,” I said.

  “If it helps, I don’t actually plan on killing you. I need you to last as long as possible.” He reached to his side and pulled out my stake. He tossed it over. “You’ll be needing this.”

  I fumbled it but held on.

  A half-smile tugged at his mouth. “I’m quite sick of you giving me ultimatums. Let’s do this and be done with it. Then maybe you’ll be reasonable and do as I say.”

  Tremors erupted through my body. I gripped the stake so tightly my hand ached.

  “I can hear your heart hammering away. Better try to calm down or you’ll bleed out too quickly when I bite you.” His nostrils flared as he exposed his fangs.

  I retreated on reflex. The backs of my legs hit the couch, and I plopped on the cushion in an aimless flailing of limbs, dropping the stake. It tumbled to the marble floor.

  Alex leapt over the coffee table and landed on me, our faces inches apart. I froze under his stare, immobile. He tore my shirt collar, exposing my jugular. Commands whizzed through my brain—move, push him away, get the stake—but my body didn’t respond. He paused long enough to sniff at my neck before tearing at my flesh like a wild dog taking down a rabbit. Intense pain flared out from his bite, searing through my head and shoulder. A drawing sensation pulled at me as he drank, each gulp stealing my life.

  I gurgled, staring at the ceiling as the room spun in circles. Darkness swirled around me. He said he didn’t want to kill me. I clawed onto that, even as I died.

  A flash of red crashed against Alex, knocking him to the floor. Margaret. She ground him into the floor.

  “What are you doing?” she growled.

  “Didn’t hear you come in, Ripper,” he replied.

  Alex easily tossed her aside. She landed in a heap in front of an antique vase while he flopped on his back and spread out his limbs. He grinned and laughed, pulling at his hair. Clumps of it fell out and fluttered to the floor. The stubble of his beard grayed visibly.

  Clots, he did get older.

  “Alejandro!” Margaret scrambled to him. She slapped him across the face when he didn’t answer.

  He laughed harder. “I’m… aging. It’s real. He’s real.”

  “No, Alejandro, why? Why let him poison you?” Margaret sobbed.

  I watched this unravel before me, a hazy observer, anchored and locked in my dying body. He’s real. Did he mean me?

  Margaret turned her attention to me. “You little bastard. How dare you take him from me?”

  She rushed to me in a blur of hair and fangs. Her eyes blazed with emerald rage, so much darker than Cara’s. “I’m going to snap every bone in your body.”

  With one arm, she hurled me across the room. My spine smacked against a concrete pillar. I bit my tongue on impact and ricocheted to the floor. Everything below my waist tingled then went cold.

  Her spike heels clicked a deathly sound, like a ticker counting down my last seconds. She didn’t have to make noise, but it seemed to please her. The satisfied twist of her hips made it obvious.

  Alex body-slammed her and pinned her to the floor mirroring how she had body-checked him. He anchored her hands above her head while straddling her body. “You are not to touch him. I’ll tear your arms off if you do.” He looked at me. The lines of his face had deepened considerably. “Are you hurt?”

  All I could do was blink and groan out a wheezy, “Yes.”

  Alex hissed at Margaret before leaping off her. She crab-walked to the wall, mouth slack with shock.

  Like a father tending to an infant, he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the couch. He staggered a bit before dropping me on the blanket.

  Margaret crawled to the chair, a tense ball of deadly beauty. “Why choose him over me?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand, but I need this.” He brushed my hair out of my eyes, almost lovingly. Totally gross. Guess he liked having a personal blood bag to abuse whenever he felt like it.

  And I couldn’t lift a finger to stop him.

  “Do you want to die?” Margaret sobbed.

  “I’m not going to die.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to my neck. His fingers shook. “You’ll need a transfusion, Justin.”

  “How many times can you do this?” I huffed.

  “As many as I want.”

  Margaret persisted. “Why drink his blood, Alejandro? Why defile yourself with such a filthy drug? This is lunacy.”

  “Just go.” Alex snarled at her.

  “I hate you when you’re high.” She stormed out.

  Alex stumbled to the armoire, grabbed a bunch of stuff, and flopped next to me. The tremor of his hands slowed him down, but he found my vein on the first try. “Antinocio and Antitoxin.” The combo drug. The secret Martin had shared with me. The drug I’d hoped Alex gave Sammie.

  He tossed the syringe and med ampules on the coffee table.

  “We’ll talk when you’ve recovered.” He leaned into the sofa cushion. The smile returned. “You have no idea how this feels. It’s like my skin is on fire. I feel… everything. Colors, sounds, thoughts all blending together. It’s… beautiful.”

  My stomach twisted on itself. Somehow, I didn’t spew. He wanted to keep this going indefinitely. One problem with his plan: he was immortal and I wasn’t.

  “So, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I have your word, correct? No more resistance, no more whiny begging for your sister, no more asking for release. That was the terms of our deal,” he said.

  I stared at my numb feet. Considering I’d lost the ability to move my legs, Alex needn’t worry about me trying to run. “I think… your girlfriend… paralyzed me.”

  Alex pinched the roof of my foot.

  “Ow!” I winced, jerking my toes.

  He fell back into the couch and folded his fingers over his belly. “You’re not paralyzed, moron.”

  I wiggled my toes some more, relieved. A silly little bit of comfort. I didn’t dare hope for more, not while I stayed here with Alex.

  My judge, jury, and likely executioner.

  Year 75, Month 5, Day 29, morning

  ’d had two chances to kill a Vie. No one else could boast that. And I’d flubbed up my second shot with an uber-fumble. Definitely nothing to be proud of. My eyes shot to the stake on the floor. Out of reach. I clenched my jaw.

  Alex snored while he lay next to me. An odd sound coming from an immortal, a being so perfect and flawless. He rolled on his side, and his forehead smacked my arm. Gray hair flecked the edges of his scalp. Thicker than before, it continued its return to its usual dark brown, changing right before my eyes. He was healing, regaining his youth.

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to pummel him. I wanted my legs to work so I could stand up, fetch the stake, and drive it through his heart.

  Instead, I stared aimlessly at the vidscreen mounted above the fireplace. Alex had turned it on before he’d passed out, stating he wanted to catch up on the news. Instead, he’d crashed after about thirty seconds.

  After a ten minute montage of Abarron’s glory, I almost zoned out. No wonder Vie were bored half the time.

  Vincent Marks appeared, slick hair shining. His elbows rested on a shiny, black lacquer desk while his fingers deftly tapped away at a small flat screen monitor positioned in front of him, working so diligently, selfless in his pursuit of information for his viewers.

  Finished with his typing, he flashed a grandiose smile at the camera.

  Blazes, and people bought every word this clotsucker said.

  He rose from his seat and strode with confidence out of the room, down a brightly lit, white-wal
led hallway, and into a larger space that looked like an operating room. In the center sat a steel table with two large lights on moveable arms hanging over it. A man, perhaps in his early twenties, naked except for a cloth over his groin, lay on the table, his hands, ankles, and chest strapped down. The camera zoomed in on him while Marks narrated.

  “Welcome to tonight’s special, brought direct to you from Abarron Laboratories Annex. Conducting tonight’s experiment is one of Nathan Abarron’s most prestigious scientists, Eliza Roberts. It’s an honor, Dr. Roberts, to witness your work on this male subject here,” Marks said.

  The camera panned to an attractive Vie. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun. A red ribbon wound around her neck as a choker. Beneath it hung a golden locket with the letter A scrolled on its surface. She returned Marks’ smile and handed him a pair of glasses, a long white lab coat, and a mask.

  “Thank you. It’s a pleasure having you here, Mr. Marks. Best put these on. Don’t want to get splatter on you.”

  Donning her own pair of glasses and setting a mask over her perfect face, she continued, her dark eyes glinting with calculation. “Emboldened by the Anemie who vandalized the laundry service, this Anemie attempted to break into a Vie apartment complex—”

  “That’s not true!” the man yelped.

  “Silence!” Dr. Roberts barked.

  The man closed his mouth, trapped in a trance. The camera zooms in on his flaring nostrils and the tears swelling in his eyes.

  “A guard caught him in the act,” she said.

  The camera panned out to capture the entire scene.

  Marks rapped the table with his knuckles. “And what is it that you plan on doing with him?”

  “The NCAAR would have us believe that Anemies are individuals with independent thoughts and feelings.”

  “Propaganda to encourage sympathy toward them, no doubt,” Marks added.

  “Precisely. And I intend to prove this is not the case.” Roberts selected a scalpel from the nearby instrument tray.

  My stomach twisted. I averted my eyes.

  The man screamed. And screamed. And screamed. All the while I thought, my fault, my fault, my fault. Sure, I hadn’t asked him to break into an apartment building, but I had drawn Vie attention to the Anemie Menace more by my stupid stunts and now they used it to push their agenda. How would the NCAAR handle this? How would Anemies?

  Bringer of Death, Bringer of Death, Bringer of Death.

  “Please explain what you’re doing now, Doctor.” Marks’ voice rose over the man’s howls.

  I snatched the remote out of Alex’s slackened hand and shut off the madness.

  The front door unlatched. Cara entered, dressed in her jumpsuit, carrying her cleaning bucket. She rolled her eyes at me. Her gaze shifted to Alex, and her jaw dropped. She ducked her head and rushed into the kitchen.

  I sighed. Who knew what she thought of us sprawled side by side on the couch? Alex nestled closer, another snort emanating from his nose.

  I had to try moving. Jelly-muscled and dizzy, I slipped off the couch to my knees, using the armrest to pull myself up. Each movement required my full concentration, and by the time I reached the stake, I was covered in sweat and panting. My pulse rushed in my ears. A transfusion might help after all.

  A hand caught me by the scruff of my neck. My body went airborne. I landed in a heap, yelping in surprise.

  Alex stood over me, fully restored, no signs of aging remaining. He twirled the stake in his hand. A smirk twisted his mouth. “Nice try.”

  “I—”

  He lunged at me, pinning me to the cushion. His arm swung so fast it blurred.

  I pinched my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. The force of his blow burned across my breastbone.

  His breath slapped my cheek. He put more weight against the stake, but not enough to break skin or bone. “We had a deal. One I expect you to fully honor.”

  My heart slammed against my ribs, all too aware of how close it was to getting skewered. “You’re the one who left a stake lying on the floor.”

  “You’d be oppositional to your last breath, wouldn’t you? I could shatter your sternum and shove this thing right through your heart.”

  “Then you’d lose your chatting buddy,” I wheezed.

  He flinched, “This is only a fraction of what it feels like, in case you’re wondering.”

  I gritted my teeth. “I thought you couldn’t feel anything. Besides, don’t you need me for your little experiment?”

  “Shut up,” he snapped. In a flash, he disappeared down the back hallway, where Margaret disappeared before. His bedroom, maybe?

  I clutched my hand to my chest, panting.

  Cara emerged from the kitchen, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “Are you all right? I heard a yell.”

  “I think so,” I rasped.

  “Here, sit up.” She helped me shift to a partially upright position.

  “Ouch.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” She smoothed my hair and fussed at my shirt.

  “Had a change of heart, eh?”

  Her hands froze. “Huh?”

  “Forgot about bashing me in the skull with a bucket?”

  “Oh. That. Sorry.” She tucked her head down, hiding a blush.

  “You don’t have to help me.” Though I didn’t mind her attention. At all.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Let me guess. Alex tranced you to be nice to me?” Surprise, surprise.

  Cara avoided eye contact by fixing the couch cushions. Close enough to a yes. “I’ve never seen him asleep before.”

  “Never?”

  “No. It’s forbidden to enter their rooms. Unless…”

  “Unless what?” I wrapped my fingers around her wrist.

  She shuddered but didn’t pull away. “Does it hurt terribly when they drink you?”

  I swallowed. It hurt worse than anything else I’d ever experienced. “It’s…”

  Her wide eyes locked on mine.

  “It’s not bad.” The lie settled on the carpet like lint.

  “When my time comes, they’ll drain me.” She wiped her eyes. She straightened and stared down at me, her face set. “I have to finish cleaning.”

  “Don’t go.” I reached up with my other hand, but she stepped out of my grasp.

  “I can’t stay.” She pulled a small bag out of her pocket and tossed it on my lap. “Eat.”

  A sandwich wrapped in plastic. “Thanks.”

  She graced me with a single nod before she left.

  Year 75, Month 5, Day 29, night

  lex paced in front of the windows, hands laced behind his back, head down. An hour had passed since his arrival. He immediately settled into walking without even addressing me.

  If Cara were here, I’d have hung out with her while he ruminated, but she’d left before sunset. After the door latched, I sat on the gleaming floor, using the nearest pillar for something to lean against. Much more time on the couch, and I’d rip all the stuffing out piece by piece to occupy myself.

  I had no idea where Margaret was, and I didn’t really care, as long as she wasn’t in the apartment. When Alex and she fought—about me—I became the collateral damage.

  Mom and Dad had been so different together. They were considerate, gentle, and kind to one another. Full of warmth.

  Everything went cold when Mom died, and then dipped to a deep freeze when Dad was killed.

  “You’re deep in thought,” I said, choosing talking to a Vie over reliving such painful memories.

  Alex paused, stared at his reflection in the window, then slowly turned to me. “Where is the world heading, Justin?” A naked honesty hardened his eyes. He crossed the room in less than a second and kneeled so we were eye level. “Well?”

  “You want my opinion?”

  “I did ask you a question.”

  I held his stare, even though my heart quickened. “You all ruined it.”

  He shifted onto his butt. “Humans were well on their way
to destroying the planet. Why is it all our fault? We have eradicated disease, restored order, and restructured the world.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “It is. We’ve created a utopia.” He totally missed my sarcasm. “Then why are we not satisfied with it?”

  Philosophy. Unfreakingbelieveable. I rested my skull against the pillar. “You tell me, Mr. Perfect.”

  “Mr. Perfect?”

  I squinted at him. “Yeah. You’ve got a penthouse apartment, a hot girlfriend—she’s crazy too, but I bet you like it—and you’re immortal.”

  “What’s your point?”

  I dipped my chin down. “My point is that you have everything, so you have no right to complain.”

  “And therefore, because you’ve had such a horrible life, that you do.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re naive,” he replied. His fingers traced over the scars on his hand where his missing pinky used to be.

  “Whatever.”

  “Hmm, right, whatever. Don’t like what you’re hearing, so you dismiss it.”

  I scrambled to my feet and sidestepped him. “If you want to argue, call your girlfriend.” I flopped on the couch.

  He glided into his armchair. “Don’t like debating, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He chuckled. “I do enjoy your expressions. The slaves aren’t as openly emotional.”

  “You’ve tranced it out of them.”

  “Not always.” He drew a hand through his hair. “I think Nathan is going too far.”

  Nathan as in Nathan Abarron? I blinked, reeling from his confession. “Too far with what?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me,” I said.

  “We are vampires, of sorts,” he replied.

  “Back to that?”

  “It wasn’t always the case.”

  “You were aliens first. We’ve discussed this.”

  He frowned. “Not on our own planet.”

  Fair enough. Point one million and seven: Alex.

  “We weren’t always immortal.” He tented his fingers, letting his words settle. And they did. Like a sledgehammer. “Go ahead, ask me, Alex, how did you become immortal?”

  I parroted him like a good little captive. Thing was, I wanted to know how the immortality vaccine came to be.