Wicked Soul (Ancient Blood #1)(2)

I cussed and turned around, leaning heavily against the metal bars. What the hell sort of crazy whack jobs kidnapped people off the streets and locked them in their creepy basement?

I looked at the kid—or guy. A possibly twenty-one-year-old would likely take umbrage with being called a kid.

He still hadn’t so much as cracked open an eyelid at the commotion of getting a new cellmate.

I pinched my lips in a disapproving frown. Nice to see that someone could keep their cool while being locked up by crazies. “Hey, hello?”

Not even a muscle spasm to indicate he’d heard me.

Was he in some sort of trance? Or was he just a complete asshole? I knelt down on the concrete in front of him so my face was less than five inches from his and stared intently at him. “Hello?”

Still no response.

I blew in his face. Perhaps not the most mature thing I could have done, but his complete lack of interest in my existence was just the tipping point. I’d just been kidnapped and manhandled, and he couldn’t even take a break from being all hipster-zen? Hello, damsel in distress here!

A groan slipped past his full lips as he opened a single eye to a narrow slit.

“Don’t… do that.” It was hardly more than a whisper, and his eyelid immediately closed again.

His obvious grogginess scared me. Was he sick? Drugged? Just what on earth had they done to him?

“Are you all right?” My voice pitched shrilly with worry, all thoughts about my own shitty situation vanishing. When he didn’t respond, I slapped him across the face and gently shook his shoulders with both hands to make sure he didn’t slip into unconsciousness. “You gotta stay with me, okay?”

Slowly, both his eyelids cracked open this time, revealing nearly black eyes with just a ring of blue, so much were his pupils blown.

“Shh, little one.” He slowly lifted a hand from his knee and wrapped it loosely around my right wrist. Gently, he pried my hand off his shoulder before he let go again, his hand falling bonelessly back down in his lap. “Have to sleep… a little longer. Until… sunset.”

Bewildered, I moved back a little so I wasn’t breathing right in his face, but I stayed in my low crouch so I could study his blank features for clues. His hand had been very cold against my skin, and even though we were in a basement, it worried me. He clearly wasn’t feeling well, and just what was everyone’s obsession with sunset around here?

His pale face and the fact that he was hardly breathing made me worry he was seriously, fatally ill, and I somehow doubted the creeps who had locked us both in this cage would care to call an ambulance.

I rubbed my face in frustration and tried to recall what I’d learned about caring for possibly-dying people on my one and only first aid course nearly eight years ago. It was then that I realized he wasn’t breathing at all.

“Omigoddess!” My pulse sped up to warp-speed as adrenaline kicked in, but it turned out my instincts were on point even if most of my conscious brain was busy freaking out.

With a swifter movement than was usual for me, I tackled my cellmate to the ground and pinched his nose shut before I put my lips on his and blew air into his lungs.

This time, his eyes opened wide as a cough shuddered through his body.

“Oh, thank the stars!” I gasped as I placed a hand on his chest, relieved beyond belief to feel his chest moving again. “You stopped breathing! You…”

But his chest wasn’t moving.

I glanced from my hand against his completely still torso to his face. His eyes were still open, looking at me as if he couldn’t quite comprehend that a stranger had just tried to perform CPR on him.

But he wasn’t breathing.

And his heart wasn’t beating, either.

It was in that moment that my brain finally decided to arrive at the party.

Sleeps until sundown, cold to the touch, doesn’t breathe…

“Motherfucking fuck!” I flew backward and scrambled away from him until the bars at the other end of the cage pressed against my back, unable to take my eyes off his still form even as his eyes slid shut again.

Mother above!

I was locked in a cage with a… a vampire!





2





I’d always known vampires were real, of course.

Everyone did.

After they revealed their existence to humans in ‘72, everyone had been painfully aware that the undead walked among us.

It was just that I, like most people, had never seen one. And we counted ourselves lucky for it.

I stared at my once-again sleeping cellmate, unable to calm my racing pulse.

Suddenly, my kidnappers’ snide remarks made gruesome sense. They’d tossed me in here to feed him. I was a goddamn snack!

Mother of all things holy, what was wrong with those people? Sure, I’d known they were crazy—kidnapping random people off the street kind of gives off that vibe. But this? Feeding live humans to their… their pet vampire? Who even thought about keeping a pet vampire? And why were they feeding him humans?

I desperately searched the cage for something—anything—to defend myself, but there was nothing. They’d made sure there was nothing in there but him and me. And two hours until sunset.

I’d like to say that I spent the last two hours of my life MacGyvering a makeshift weapon strong enough to take on a vampire, or even meditating over my life’s accomplishments, but I’d be lying.