Fangs For The Memories. Kathy Love
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Only a vampire could sneak up on another vampire.
“Hello, Rhys.”
Rhys didn’t speak for a moment. He couldn’t. Shock mingled with the warmth of the blood in his veins.
“Christian?” He knew he was looking at his brother, but he couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen his middle brother in—over a hundred years.
“Yes.”
Rhys started to cross to him, to pull him into a fierce hug, but his brother’s words stopped him.
“You still can’t kill, can you? At least not a pathetic mortal.”
Rhys frowned, letting his arms fall loosely to his sides. “What?”
Christian strolled to the once more unconscious man. He peered down at him with a slight grimace tugging at his lips, then turned back to Rhys.
“I just came to tell you, and I’m sure you will be pleased, Lilah is well and truly dead.”
Rhys wasn’t pleased. He hated Lilah, but he knew how her death would affect Christian. Christian had loved the vampiress with his whole existence. If vampires could truly love.
“Christian, I’m sorry.”
His brother laughed humorlessly. “Are you? Are you really?”
“I know how you felt about her.”
“Mmm.” Christian nodded, moving to slowly pace around Rhys. “And you knew how I felt about her when you went to her bed, too. You knew how I felt about her when you allowed her to bring you over. I would imagine you even knew how I felt about her when you drained her, over and over, until she was nothing but a mad little vampiress—made insane by being brought to the point of death too many times.”
It was on the tip of Rhys’s tongue to point out it was hardly his fault that Lilah had a proclivity for a vampire’s version of auto-eroticism. The observation would only serve to hurt Christian and make his brother further believe that Rhys had truly wanted Lilah. He’d wanted Lilah only once. After that, he knew her for what she was—a greedy, selfish, violent vampire.
He’d tried to make Christian realize that what he’d done, he’d done as retribution for the way she’d hurt his family, for cursing them. Lilah had needed to pay.
Christian had never believed him—about any of it. But Rhys felt the need to tell him again. To do otherwise would be like relenting that Christian was right.
“Christian, I never meant to hurt you. I meant to punish Lilah—for you, and Sebastian and especially for Elizabeth. For destroying our family.”
“Yes, so you’ve told me.”
“It’s the truth.”
“No, the truth is Elizabeth had consumption. She was too weak to cross over.”
Rhys couldn’t believe Christian still accepted Lilah’s lie. Lilah had killed their baby sister out of spite, out of petty anger for not getting what she wanted—Rhys.
“You can keep believing what you want, Chris. But I am the one telling you the truth. I always have.”
Christian finished circling around Rhys and stopped directly in front of him. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Lilah’s gone.”
Rhys nodded, hoping maybe now that she was gone, they could mend their badly severed relationship.
Christian started back down the alley toward the street.
Rhys took a few steps after him. “Do you think we will ever be able to end this?”
His brother turned, and cocked his head as if he was considering the question. “Yes, I think we can end it tonight.” And with that Christian flew toward him, so quickly his movement was almost invisible.
Rhys didn’t even have time to brace himself for the hit, before he found himself slammed against the side of the building. Bits of concrete rained to the ground around them.
Rhys dug at the hands at his throat, but Christian held him there with little difficulty.
Rhys knew that under regular circumstances he and Christian were about the same strength—created by the same vampire at nearly the same time. But tonight, Christian had anger on his side, blind fury that could make him extraordinarily strong for a brief time.
Rhys clawed at his brother’s hands.
Christian stared at him, his eyes black, the entire irises and nearly all of the whites gone. Nothing but an empty blackness.
“I should have done this a hundred and eighty-five years ago.” Christian’s voice sounded deeper, harsher, like the growl of an animal.
As Rhys still struggled, his brother went for his throat, ripping into the flesh, taking half his throat in the first bite.
Despite the savageness of the attack, Rhys felt no pain. He continued to struggle—until Christian bit him again on the other side of his neck, and Rhys felt the blood and energy being sucked from him.
Christian didn’t intend to simply teach him a lesson, to show his strength or humiliate Rhys.
No, Rhys thought as he began to fade into oblivion, his once much-loved brother intended to kill him.
Jane shifted from one foot to the other and chewed at the corner of her nail. She’d carefully searched the sidewalk and even the gutters, but she hadn’t found the rings.
Now she was back at the bar, and her nerve was waning. She hadn’t even worked up the nerve to get close to the bar’s front entrance, much less the alleyway.
She tugged at her nail a moment longer, then dropped her hand to her side and straightened her shoulders. She had to look. She’d never forgive herself if she lost her parents’ rings because she was scared. She’d come this far. But just to make herself feel better, she slipped her hand in her coat pocket and pulled out the cylinder of hair spray. With the small can held out in front of her, she approached the bar, scanning the ground as she went.
When she reached the entrance of the bar, she heard a sound. She froze and clutched the hair spray tighter.
There it was again. The sound of someone gagging—no, gasping.
Her heart clattered against her breastbone, and she held her breath. The sound came from the alleyway.
She considered turning and running, but her feet were paralyzed.
Another gasp, and the faint sound of a struggle.
She pulled in a slow, quiet breath, sure the person or persons in the alley would hear her.
Another wheezing gasp, which Jane was fairly certain didn’t come from her, then silence.
Jane tilted her head, listening. Somehow the silence was now more unnerving than the scuffle and the strained breathing. Silence might mean whoever was in there struggling was now unconscious or—dead.
What if Joey was attacking another woman? She couldn’t live with herself if she just stood by and listened while another woman was getting hurt.
But maybe it wasn’t anything. Maybe she’d been hearing things. Her stressed, overactive imagination playing tricks on her.
She looked around. The street was deserted. And the bar was dark. She had no idea what time it was, but it had to be late.
Taking another steadying breath, she repositioned the hair spray in front of her. Cautiously, she crept to the alleyway. Clinging to the side of the building, she peeked around the corner.
The alley appeared empty. Nothing but blackness and that small, dim bulb burning over the back steps. Relief washed through her, and she sagged against the wall.
Then she saw it, just a faint movement, the shift of shadows, and a man’s face appeared.
She