Bitten Beauty (Book 3 Of the Deadly Beauties Live On) Page 3

  “The man has a good point,” Thad grumbles, only halfway paying attention as he continues to lose himself in Roslyn’s neck.

  “Zee is our in-man. If she thinks she can get to him, then she’ll be back.” Deke gives me a pointed look, and I try to remain stoic.

  I’m not so sure I can keep resisting what she’s offering. I’ve never, ever been tempted by witch’s blood before. But now…

  “I need a drink.” Hardly anyone even notices I’ve spoken, so I walk away without worrying about someone catching sight of the way my hand is trembling again.

  The fridge door almost falls off when I jerk it open and rip open one of my packs. I gulp it down, hoping to stave off some of the primal urges inside me that are only growing stronger.

  “Are you really hurting for stronger blood?” Ella’s voice snaps me out of my silent reverie, and I crack my neck to the side while tossing down the O negative blood that usually keeps me away from the brink of losing it.

  “Our main focus should be trying to figure out if she’s under their control or genuinely hurting for Gavin.”

  “You heard what Gage said; she’s looking for an in. The question is why you? So I’m asking if you’re really hurting for blood that’s stronger.”

  “You want the truth or something to ease your mind?” I ask quietly, leaning against the counter as my head lulls back.

  “It’s me, Zee. Just me. No one else will know. I promise. What’s going on?”

  She props up beside me, studying me with an eye sharp enough to know if I’m lying. More proof that young doesn’t mean dumb. Her voice is barely audible to me, so I know no one else can hear us.

  “It’s getting worse,” I confess, feeling like it’s easier to breathe just by saying it aloud. “I think… I think I almost sired a girl tonight.”

  Her eyes widen and a small, surprised breath leaves her lips.

  “You’re serious?”

  I nod slowly, letting that sink in. I almost did to someone else what I hated to have done to me.

  “Are you still considering it?” she asks, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one else has walked in.

  “Yeah. It’s pretty much consuming me. Which means you’ll have to watch me and make sure I don’t do it. No one else can know. We have enough shit to deal with as it is.”

  She grabs a glass from the cabinet, and I watch as she bites into her wrist. My jaw starts to grind when the scent of her blood hits the air, and I stifle a groan as she pours it into a glass.

  “In the meantime,” she says, letting it continue to flow, “you can have my blood. Creature goddess is as strong as it gets, and it’s just as edible as witch’s blood.”

  I almost kiss her in that moment, especially when I drink it down, feeling it coat the need inside me and lock the monster back in the box with effortless ease. Fuck Morgana. She won’t be able to have a hold on me now.

  “You may have just saved my fucking life,” I whisper, drinking the last drop.

  She smirks while refilling the glass, biting into the wrist that has already heeled.

  “Remember you owe me one. And let me know when you’re hungry. No more silent suffering.”

  Loud music interrupts our conversation, and we both head back toward the living room where Dice is holding his phone up, bobbing his head to the beat of the weird shit he’s blasting.

  You and me, baby, ain’t nothing but mammals, so let’s do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.

  It keeps saying that over and over, like Dice has it on a loop, and Thad looks like he’s on the verge of ripping the incubus to shreds. Roslyn’s lips twitch with amusement she’s doing well to restrain, and I exchange a confused look with Ella, who just shakes her head. Karma has to smother her laughter and hide her face. She’s just as weird as Dice.

  Dice starts singing along with the repetitive lyrics until finally shouting, “Hashtag, Bloodhound Gang.”

  “We definitely go insane after living too long,” I mutter.

  Chapter 3

  LEAH

  Yep. I’m a crazy, psychotic, pathetic stalker girl. It’s amazing what someone can learn about themselves. For so long, people referred to me as the “freak,” but I never really was one. I was different, but I wasn’t a freak.

  Until now.

  For one week, I’ve “researched” him—or tried to, rather. He hasn’t been back to the club, and no one seems to want to divvy up information on him.

  At all.

  Then again, it is a very private club, so I’m not surprised. What does surprise me is the fact I’m still craving him, as though I’m suffering withdrawals. No one else there would even touch me or look at me for very long. They avoided eye contact when speaking, and went out of their way to avoid even the most accidental of grazes.

  It doesn’t make any sense. None of this does.

  No social media profile for anyone named Zee matches him. A surname would have been awesome.

  Why am I doing this?

  Slapping my laptop shut, I scrub my face with my hands.

  Marilyn walks in with two cups of coffee, beaming like it’s early morning, instead of late at night.

  Marilyn is an easy friend to have. She never asks personal questions about me, because she respects my privacy. She gives me my space, knowing I’m a little different. And she never judges me, not that she has much to judge. Like I said, I’m pretty damn private.

  Never trust anyone. They always betray you. My aunt’s words echo in my head any time I get too close to someone, and it keeps me at a safe distance.

  “This town is sooo incredible. You wouldn’t believe all the lore here. It’s like a mythical treasure trove, and some of the townspeople really believe in this stuff.”

  She hands me one of the coffees, and I pretend like I’ve been researching Pine Shore lore instead of a Pine Shore resident… A resident that might as well not even exist.

  My freak meter is stuck on full-blown obsession status right now. It’s actually a little scary how much this is in my head.

  Zee? What if that’s not a name. What if it’s just Z? An initial for Zachary, or Zane, or Zeke?

  Or what if it’s just a random bullshit letter he gave me because I was just some random bullshit girl who was begging to be bitten?

  “Are you listening to me?” Marilyn breaks through my thoughts, and I inwardly groan.

  “Lore?” I guess, hoping I don’t have to tell her I’ve been obsessing over some crazy guy I met for five minutes.

  “Yes. Sooo much of it. Supposedly this place is full of random disappearances. Lately it’s gotten worse, and there’s been an increase in violence, too. It’s usually a peaceful town with the occasional missing person here or there, but they say it happens every so often.”

  She rambles incoherently when she’s excited. Half of that makes no sense, and too much of it sounds redundant.

  “It’s a good thing that people are missing?” I ask, confused. “And that violence has spiked?”

  She shakes her head while sitting down at the desk and turning on her laptop.

  “No. It’s good that it’s unusual. We might be here during something big. If there’s anyone who is sacrificing people for pagan rituals, we could completely hit all sorts of TV shows. Obviously there aren’t any real vampires or witches, but as you’ve seen, some people take role play way too seriously. This place has a history of strange and unexplainable.”

  Leave it to Marilyn to find the way someone’s death could better her career. She’s not a bitch; she’s just very ambitious. Well, she’s a little insensitive, but still not a bitch.

  “How did you find this place?” she asks me. “Because the people here honestly believe something supernatural exists in a heavy dose. They even think vampires are real. The older the person, the more they believe. That vampire club is one I’ve been seeking out for so long, and you somehow found the town it’s in. That’s pretty amazing.”

  Shrugging, I lean back and sip my coffee. “I
did some research, and it all seemed to lead here. Oddly enough, it just seemed like it’s where we needed to be. I didn’t read about missing people, though. I certainly didn’t read about a spike in violence either.”

  “That’s because they’re keeping it quiet. One old shopkeeper I spoke to says the ones who stir up too much attention always go missing first or they develop a slight sense of amnesia… Like they suddenly can’t remember what they did for a few days.”

  She pops a piece of a muffin into her mouth like all of this is no big deal.

  “Sounds like alien abduction fanatics live here. What about the violent stuff?” I ask curiously, guzzling my coffee now.

  “He didn’t elaborate on that too much. He did say that a lot of new rough-necks—his words—had arrived into town. He hates out-of-towners anyway, so he notices when new people come in.”

  “You’re an out-of-towner,” I point out.

  “But I’m a flirty female after a hot story,” she retorts, winking at me.

  Frowning down at my now empty coffee cup, I stand, sighing as I do so.

  “I need more if we’re going to stay at it.”

  “I’ll come with,” she says, grabbing her purse. “Nighttime is when things really seem to pop. Safety in numbers.”

  She looks giddy, but I’m still stuck in my own head as we walk outside. After grabbing coffee, we walk around the seemingly harmless town. People smile as they pass. Several Wiccan type shops have lines wrapped around the corners.

  This town is like a constant Halloween town.

  “So, here’s an interesting fact,” Marilyn says, reading book as we walk under the streetlights. “A couple of decades ago, this town was littered with accounts of ghost sightings, wild animals running amuck, several power outages, and countless deaths. It all started on one bizarre night, but it took several years for things to calm down. Pine Shore has always been a point of random and unexplainable things that lean toward supernatural occurrences. It also has one of the highest rates for animal attacks and missing persons.”

  “Why would anyone live here?” I muse, feeling distracted when I see one seriously scary looking guy lurking ahead of us in the shadows.

  “Because it’s so cool,” Marilyn gushes, but I’m still too focused on the man lurking in the dark, though he seems oblivious to anyone else but where his attention is focused.

  His eyes seem to be a glowing silver as he watches someone… another man. The man takes his magazine from a stand, and he walks away. The silver-eyed man stands and starts to follow. When the lights hit him just right, my breath catches in my throat.

  Scars mar his face, and he’s tall. Really, really tall. At least 6’5 or taller. He’d probably be fairly attractive if it wasn’t for those scars.

  Leisurely, he follows the man at a casual stride, as Marilyn rattles on more creepy facts about this town.

  “What are you staring at?” she asks me, but I start walking faster, keeping up with the silver-eyed man and the guy he seems to be following.

  “Something is wrong,” I whisper, crossing the street at a safe distance, keeping our impromptu tailing discreet.

  The scarred man pulls a hood up and pockets his hands as the man he’s following ducks into a building. One second the scarred guy is in front of us, the next… he’s gone. Like disappeared kind of gone.

  “Did you see that?” Marilyn hisses, stumbling into me as I stare in wide-eyed disbelief at what I just saw. Or didn’t see, rather.

  My eyes dart around, but no one else on the street seems to have noticed that a guy just vanished into thin freaking air.

  “Yeah,” I whisper shakily, staring up at the building where the other guy walked into. “Come on.”

  She follows me without question, because Marilyn’s curiosity outweighs all else. I’m not normally too curious, but right now, I can’t help but wonder what the damn hell just happened. There has to be a logical explanation.

  The door opens up to a quiet, dark, abandoned house—a very old house equipped with the typical creepy squeaks and creaks.

  “Don’t you dare say ‘hello’ like they do in the movies. Someone always dies when that happens,” Marilyn whispers, gripping my arm tightly as she uses her other hand to tuck her book into her purse.

  “Wasn’t going to announce our trespassing,” I whisper back.

  We slowly walk through the darkness. Vague shapes become tables or chairs or walls when we get close enough to make them out in the pitch black house. Why aren’t there any lights on? That first guy walked in here. I know he did.

  Light music startles us, but nothing but silent fear escapes. We remain quiet and stealthy as we creep through the house, following the sound of the sudden music.

  “What did you find out?” a voice asks.

  Marilyn grips my arm tighter, and we round a corner that has a faint glow coming from a room in the back. Two large doors are open, and we can see into the huge room with ease. Marilyn drags me into another dark room, and we peek around the door frame, watching like stalking psychos as a man circles another man.

  “Nothing. If the queen is here, she’s not in the open. Maybe your sources were wrong,” the guy we followed in here says.

  “Fuck,” the man in a blue suit snarls.

  They both have an air of dangerously attractive. Marilyn even fans herself dramatically to state the silent fact while winking at me. The guy we followed is wearing street clothes, looking like an everyday sort of person. But the blue suit guy looks as though he’s late for Wall Street.

  “Sorry, Liam. Maybe you were wrong. If the queen isn’t here, neither is the duster. Why do you want him dead, anyway? Shouldn’t your attention be on the princess?”

  “Duster?” Marilyn mouths, looking at me like I have some clue what they’re talking about.

  “No. I want the duster dead. It took me over a year to get back here after what he did to me.”

  “That’s a lot of juice for a duster.”

  This is the weirdest conversation ever. Maybe we’re being punked. It could be a local game that is played on all the curious, overly imaginative visitors who go sticking their noses into people’s homes.

  “Exactly. Especially a young one like him. That’s why we have to be careful. He’s stronger than he looks. I barely made it away from him alive. Then he did something that landed me in that godforsaken hole. I will find him and—”

  The words are cut short when the guy we followed gasps, and the blue suit guy called Liam whirls around to pale at whatever he sees. The part of the room they’re staring at is hidden from us.

  “Who the hell are you?” Liam asks. “How did you get in here?”

  Something clanks to the ground within their room, and Marilyn inches closer to me.

  “You’ll find I’m immune to most lock-you-out spells,” a foreign voice says.

  I swallow hard, trying to process his words. Spells? These people really do take that shit serious around here.

  “What do you want?” Liam asks, backing up for some reason.

  The guy we followed slowly moves toward the door, but before he can escape, a bloodcurdling scream erupts through the air. Marilyn jumps, and I clamp my hand over her mouth out of instinct before she can make a sound.

  The man howls in pain, even though he seems frozen to his spot. My stomach lurches and my heart thuds in my ears when blood starts oozing from his eyes. His gaze locks on us, and blood starts spurting from his mouth as his body begins to convulse.

  I look away, unable to keep watching, and Marilyn remains stone still beside me as a loud thud hits the ground and silence ensues.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I hear Liam shout.

  “I want you to sit down,” the other voice says.

  I turn back just in time to see Liam struggling with air until his ass is finally planted onto a seat. He seems to be fighting with an unseen force, unable to move against it.

  My eyes fall to the man on the ground who is bleeding from every orifice of
his face as he stares vacantly at the wall. Dead. He’s dead!

  How…

  “I don’t even know who the hell you are? What do you want?” Liam persists, still struggling in vain.

  “I don’t know you either,” the voice tells him.

  My heart slams into my chest when the guy walks into view, and I see the telltale scars on his face, along with the silver eyes. I swear Liam’s eyes ignite with flames, but I’m so far past delusional that I’m not sure.

  “Then why are you doing this?” Liam pleads, sounding close to tears.

  “A little because I can,” the scarred guy says with a dark, scary smirk. “But mostly because I want to.”

  When Liam cries out in pain, the music in the room grows louder, as if to drown out the sounds. I watch in disbelief as a gash forms on Liam’s arm and runs down to his fingertips.

  “Pretty fucking weak if it’s this easy,” the scarred man says, grinning as though he’s getting off on the torture. “Should have never come to Pine Shore.”

  Liam screams this time, and I gag quietly as his chest starts to open up like an autopsy is being performed. The skin peels back, following the line of an invisible scalpel, and Marilyn faints. Fucking faints.

  I curse silently, holding her up as I try to think of how to get us out of here. There’s no way I can drag her out.

  More screams erupt, and a closet comes into view. That’s our only option. That and prayer.

  “Don’t worry, Liam. You still have a little longer left to live,” the scarred man taunts, a twisted sense of humor causing him to laugh. “I plan on taking my time.”

  My stomach roils, and I tuck us away in the closet, shivering and barely keeping from freaking out as a psychopath down the hall mauls and forces out screams from Liam.

  Please, God, get us out alive.

  “Please,” I hear Liam pleading, sobbing as he fights through the pain, though his voice is muffled by the doors and music. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”