Caprice E-Book

Lorelei Bell

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

The Dark World has placed a bounty on Sabrina’s head, and a rogue vampire intends to claim it.

A relaxed holiday gathering is interrupted when Sabrina is attacked by a demon in disguise. Stripped of his power, disgraced vampire Bjorn Tremayne takes advantage of the melee and seizes the opportunity to escape with Sabrina.

Pursued by both Vasyl and the dutiful Nephilim, Bill, Sabrina has to rely on her instincts to survive. But can she fulfill her destiny?

Leseprobe

Caprice

Sabrina Strong Book 4

Lorelei Bell

Copyright (C) 2014 Lorelei Bell

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover Design by Melody Simmons from eBookindiecovers

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Acknowledgments

John N. Zingale, who identified big tail-finned cars, ('59 Cadillac de Ville), and parts of the engine compartment.

Chris Brown for helping me with the Latin name for my albino undead vampire.

To the people on WMD (Writers of Mass Distraction/Writers Mayhem) Facebook group who have all been supportive and helpful.

Special thanks to:

John Gill— formatter

Shelly Arkon, my #1 beta reader. Chocolate Hugs!

Jennifer Wydert for being the #2 beta reader, friend and fan!

To all the many friends I've made over the past year at Facebook group Writers Mayhem

I also want to thank all my fans for reading my Sabrina Strong Series, and a special thank you to those of you who have made comments, posts, or reviews about this series on your blogs, @ Amazon, Facebook (Fans of Sabrina Strong series group) and elsewhere.

Dedication

To my husband, Dennis

I couldn't keep going without you!

Author's Note

As I am always looking for something new to throw into Sabrina's crazy world of angels, demons, vampires, and so forth, I thought an explanation of this next new vampire might help you as you delve further into this work.

Astral Vampire:

A being that moves through the astral plane and/or subtle reality and feeds off the energy of others. Astral vampires can be wholly nonphysical entities, or they may be living, physical beings who have the ability to move and interact on nonphysical levels of existence. According to occultist, Dion Fortune, an astral vampire is created when a particularly powerful magical worker resists death and perpetuates this unnatural existence by preying upon energies of others.

Chapter 1 - Angels, Demons & Vampires

“You're cooking the gravy too hard!” Grandma Rose grumbled, peering over Constance's shoulder.

Constance rolled her shoulders. I knew that move, she did it whenever my brother made some sort of remark she didn't like, and instead of making a come-back, she did the shoulder roll. Meanwhile she struggled with her inner turmoil. I'm probably the only one who caught on since I'm clairvoyant and also sensitive to emotions—an empath. She wasn't one to argue with anyone if she could avoid it. Especially when in company. In this case it was her husband's grandmother making the snotty remark. I thought Constance had the patients of a saint for all she put up with. Especially today of all days.

Thanksgiving aromas overpowered me. I wiped the sweat from my brow and wanted to strip the sweater off, but resisted. Underneath I only wore my new cranberry camisole, so with company here that wouldn't go over well. Plus Grandma Rose would not appreciate all the skin, I'm sure. The kitchen was small, cramped with one too many people in it, and a hot oven. It didn't help my stomach ached from hunger pains. My only job now was to watch the dinner rolls in the toaster oven. Easy peasy, right? My brother, Randy had the honor of carving the humongous turkey that had been baking since some ungodly hour this morning. It now “rested” on the counter top under a tent of aluminum foil. There were two different stuffings: traditional, and some sort of cranberry thing. I would eat the traditional one because Constance, my sister-in-law, was the only person I knew who baked it inside the turkey—like my mother always did—it was really moist.

“You'll get lumps!” Grandma Rose said, hovering near the stove.

“Grandma, I've done turkey gravy dozens of times, this is perfect!” Constance wore an exasperated look on her face. Yep. She could take no more grousing from anyone, especially grandma.

“It's too thin,” Grandma griped again, glancing down her nose at it through her glasses.

Constance swiped a wayward strand of her honey-blond hair out of her eyes, paused in the stirring of the gravy and gave Grandma one long blink—which means 'back off'. Beads of sweat popped up on her brow. It had to be eighty-five degrees in here. “You just said it was going to get lumpy.” She began stirring again.

Grandma Rose harrumphed and stomped out of my sister-in-law's kitchen. A collective sigh of relief filled the kitchen once she disappeared through the threshold. You wouldn't know she'd had hip replacement surgery only two weeks ago. When asked where her walker was, she'd said that the doctor had given her some new treatment and wouldn't elaborate. But she did have a slight limp.

The buzzing of the carving knife stopped again, and Randy glanced over at us. “She seems to be getting worse every year,” Randy said, shaking his head.

“You mean her hip?” Constance asked.

“No,” he said in a low growl. “Attitude.”

“Did it seem like she was just a wee bit more snarly than normal?” I asked.

“A wee bit?” Constance snorted, then glanced up at the doorway of the kitchen warily. In a low tone she went on, “She's become more of an old bitty as the years drag on. Today is no exception. She berated my driving the whole way over here!”

I couldn't help snicker. My favorite grandmother was, of course, Grandma Tess, my mother's mother. But she lived in South Dakota, and, being a snowbird, she was already down in Arizona for the winter. Someday I promised her I'd go and visit her. It would be nice to experience the desert at Christmas—no snow and palm trees.

I was hanging out in Constance's kitchen not to get away from Grandma's scowl, but to stay away from Bill Gannon, who had been invited by my own brother. He came to the door a half hour ago. My brother didn't know Bill was the descendant of Nephilim. But he was aware of Bill's amorous designs on me (which would remain unrequited, thank you), and had extended the invitation of Thanksgiving to both Mrs. Bench and Bill. Mrs. Bench, my next door neighbor, was a card-carrying witch and Bill's supposed grandmother. Supposed because I had a feeling she had no idea he wasn't really her grandson, but a very good dupe. I'm rarely wrong, and although I couldn't get a read from either of them, I had this Knowing that Bill was not who he said he was, which turned out to be correct.

Things would have gone a little smoother, too, if Grandma wasn't such a pain in the ass. She wasn't afraid to tell anyone what she thought of anything, or anyone. She had told Constance her dress was “too young” for her, and then turned on me and asked if I didn't own any dresses—since I'd worn jeans. But in my own defense, they were pressed and had rhinestones on the back pockets. Plus my sweater was new and in fall colors. Afterwards she commented that maybe my new job didn't pay me enough to buy any good clothes. I almost wanted to show her my checking and savings accounts. That was only the first five minutes she'd been here. She then wondered why the girls were allowed to watch the TV too close, and, in a snide way, said that what they were watching was going to ruin them for life. I had blocked her the best I could all my later years of life, as I was doing now.

I'm a touch clairvoyant. Any time I'm with other people, I know things about them without them telling me. At a much younger age, I would blurt things out that maybe they didn't want other people to know about. It was embarrassing. I was embarrassing to my family. So, I learned how to block other people's emotions and what I might read from them. I call it my Knowing.

It was either a hindrance or a help—depending upon which way you looked at it—to be able to read everyone in this house. This included what they may have done in the past, or something that might happen in their future, or something they knew. For instance, I knew my Aunt Shelly worried about being pregnant—at age forty-five. She hadn't yet told Uncle Monte. These are the things I am privy to without anyone so much as saying a word to me. So, when asked why Grandma Rose didn't have her walker, and she had mumbled something about being on some sort of special medication, it didn't quite square with what I was getting at all—which was absolutely nothing from the woman. Red flags had gone up from that moment on. I simply didn't know what was up with Grandma Rose and why I was unable to get a read from her. This worried me far more than Bill being here. I should have been struggling to not get a read from Grandma, but she was as blank a card as Bill—Bill because he was supernatural.

The timer on the stove went off in an irritating pulsating tone. Constance silenced it, by hitting the button with bruit force, making it clank in protest.

My brother looked at her, pausing in his carving white meat and said, “You okay, hon?”

“No!” She mopped her brow with the back of her hand. Wisps of honey-blonde hair dangled out of her twist all around her head, making her look like a cleaning woman straight out of a Charles Dickens' novel—especially with the black and green apron she wore.

“I think the rolls are done,” I said. Constance handed me a turkey-shaped oven mitt, its colorfully spread tail covered my hand. I slid it on and used it to snag the pan of rolls out of the oven. I couldn't help but smile upon inspection of the perfectly golden rolls and shook them carefully into two baskets lined with calico napkins to match the table setting. Constance had done an excellent job of decorating, but that didn't surprise me, since she ran a craft and antique shop in the nearby town of Moonlight. She always did have a keen eye for decorating. Especially during the holidays.

“Wow. I want to slather one with butter and put a piece of turkey on it right now!” I said. And then leave so I don't have to sit by Bill Gannon and listen to more of Grandma's rude remarks.

“Hungry?” Randy teased. He now held the large carving knife ready to cut off a leg from the enormous bird. I wanted to snag it while piping hot and run away with it.

“No.” Instead, I snagged a piece of dark meat off the platter and popped it into my mouth before he could stop me. “I'm starved like I haven't eaten since last week,” I said, figuring a bit of levity was needed in this moment, before we faced the hungry crowd out in the dining room. Besides Grandma Rose and Bill, this crowd included Uncle Monty, Aunt Shelly, and their two boys, Brian and Chris, and my nieces, Tara and Jena. Out of all the special times of the year, this one meal was it for me. I could endure Grandma Rose, and Bill's amorous gazes for this.

They both chuckled, and that was good enough.

Constance turned off the burner. “Well, this is done. Thick, thin, lumpy, it's done!”

We each had our duties: I handed one basket of rolls to each of my two nieces, Tara and Jena. They were cute as buttons in their mid-calf length calico dresses and bonnets. They'd wanted to look like pioneer women for the occasion. Constance had sewn the dresses, and the bonnets had come from her craft store.

“Con, honey, you ready?” Randy asked. He picked up the platter of the cut-up meat—white on one side and dark on the other.

“I'm ready as I'll ever be,” Constance said. She carefully poured the gravy into a large gravy boat and wiped up a drip with a towel. Taking up the handle of the gravy boat in one hand, she grabbed the bowl of mashed potatoes in the other. I had the bowl of vegetables in one hand, the cranberries in the other. Everything else was out on the table.

“Here we come, ready or not!” Randy called, sailing out in front of Constance with the carved turkey on a huge platter. Behind him Constance followed, and I brought up the rear.

“Land sakes! You should have asked us to help you!” Grandma Rose cried, meeting Jena half way.

I surged around the corner, entering the room last.

Randy settled the turkey in the center of the table. “No, we said we're doing the whole meal ourselves, and we meant it,” he said, taking the gravy boat from Constance, while she set a brown ceramic bowl of mashed potatoes down.

Bill stood as if the Queen of England had entered. His eyes zeroed in on me, which made me feel oh-so self-conscious.

He leaned toward me, took the cranberries and the bowl of vegetables from both my hands, and whispered, “You look beautiful tonight.” He settled the bowls in a couple of bare spots on the table.

Uncle Monte watched the exchange. Shelly smiled wide, leaned and said something to her husband. I heard, “Don't they make a nice-looking couple?”

To Bill I said, “Uh, thank you.” My face went hot over what he'd just said, and the fact that my closest relatives had heard it. Where was a fire extinguisher when I needed it?

Bill drew out the chair beside him. I glanced up at him and looked straight into his incredible green eyes, and handsome face with the chin dimple. Bill looked like some gorgeous guy who stepped off the cover of GQ.

“Thank you.” I couldn't refuse to sit next to him, as that would look rude. Besides, all the other seats were taken except for one at the end of the table—which I had figured was left in memory of my father. I bent my knees to sit, and Bill drew the chair forward for me. Okay. This was not something a modern man these days did. They might know to pull the chair out, but usually they didn't move it in for the lady. The fact that Bill used an outdated custom was telling. This left me wondering how old Bill really was. Being a Nephilim, he might be a few hundred years old, for all I knew, though he looked no older than thirty.

“Thank you,” I said, knowing I would constantly be saying that to him tonight. Pass the potatoes, please? Thank you.

Lightning flashed outside the house, followed by a deafening crash, and made the house tremble.

Tera screamed. With quick hands Grandma grabbed the rolls from her before she dropped them to the floor.

The eight-year old surged for her mother and wrapped her little arms around Constance's leg.

“Land sakes!” Grandma Rose hissed with annoyance. “It's just a storm.” She slammed the rolls on the table, and a couple fell out. One rolled to my plate and stopped. I picked it up and put it on my plate. Still warm. Where's the butter? I looked for the fancy-rectangular-shaped butter dish. It was too far away. Damn.

Constance looked sharply at Grandma. Dismissing her outburst, she said to Tara, “Oh, honey, it's just a storm. We talked about this before. Remember?” Her hands protectively cupped Tera's head. The little girl had a hard time with storms. Her younger sister, Jena had no trouble at all with them.

“When did it start raining?” I wondered, checking the windows. The outside was totally pitch-black until another bolt lit up the sky and yard.

The lights in the house went out for four seconds, and came back on at half-power. Everyone gasped. A soft amber glow of four candles on the table was the only other light, other than the fireplace in the living room. We all looked up at the weird dim light in the chandelier above. It looked as though Randy had put the dimmer switch on the lowest setting.

“Oh, sh-h—” Randy stopped himself from his need to curse when Grandma Rose shot him an angry scowl. She didn't abide by curse words, and he well knew it.

“Randy?” Constance said, concern in her voice.

“Oh, we got some power,” he placated. “Plus we have candles and the fireplace is going. What more light do we need?”

“Very romantic,” Bill said, leaning toward me.

I gave him a sideways glance, doing my best to discourage him.

“Kinda like being real pilgrims,” Randy said, trying to make the most of the situation.

“The pilgrims didn't have turkey,” Tara said, pulling away from her mother who guided her toward the card table.

“The Indians caught deer, and rabbits,” Chris added knowledgeably.

“Alright, smarty pants,” Randy muttered.

Chris' parents both chuckled at Randy's remark.

“Kids think they know everything these days,” Uncle Monte said.

“It's this Internet crap,” Randy remarked, seating himself at the head of the table.

Constance sat to his right. Next to her was Bill. Grandma sat directly in front of me. Tera and Jena sat at a card table with Brian and Chris.

“Grandma Rose, I purposely left the other end of the table for you,” Constance said to her. This was normally only a six foot table—room for six—until they put the extensions in, and now could seat eight comfortably.

“Bah,” she said. “I'm fine right here.”

Red flag number two. Grandma always sat at the head of the table when she came for the holiday meals. It was some sort of tradition, I gathered, since she was the matriarch of the family. A chill drew up my arms. I might not be able to read Grandma, but my werewolf's sensitivities were tingling.

“Besides, my son would have sat there,” she said, jutting out her chin. Meaning our dad who had died this past summer in a plane crash. I missed him terribly.

“Con, she can sit wherever she wants,” Randy said in a placating voice. “Plenty of room,” he added, which was true. If Mrs. Bench—Bill's grandmother—had come she would be sitting across from me. One place setting was left open, now.

I looked down trying to keep tears from forming. This would be the first holiday we would miss my dad. Bill's hand touched my shoulder in a tender way. I glanced up at him.

“He is at peace,” Bill said, his words meant for me, but the others heard it.

“Darn right,” Randy said, looking directly at Bill. “Let's just think about the things we're grateful for tonight. Okay?”

The candle flames jumped and danced, creating strange shadows on everyone's faces. I hadn't noticed the soft music playing in the background until the silence filled the room. No one said a word. It was almost as if everyone had taken a breath and held it, waiting for something to happen.

I cut my eyes across the table, beyond the center piece of a harvest motif, to Grandma. I thought it odd, but Grandma's eyes looked… red. Demon red. I decided it must be the glow of the candles through her glasses, because when I looked again the red was gone. She smiled at me, creases in her face deepening. Then she looked away. Weird.

Randy clasped his hands in front of himself. “Someone going to say grace?” He looked to Grandma. “Grandma, you want to do the honors?”

Everyone looked at her, since she was the matriarch and eldest person in the room.

I tried to think of what I was grateful for. I'm grateful to be here tonight. There were no vampires, no werewolves. I nearly had a paranormal-free evening, except for Bill. But he was being pleasant and polite—which was annoying in and of itself. As long as he didn't try to abduct me later, this was all good.

Too bad we'd had to put up with Grandma Rose's snarky remarks about Constance's cooking. Normally she would try to instigate arguments between Randy and Uncle Monte on sports, politics and anything else. Oddly enough, she hadn't said a word about any of those subjects tonight, come to think of it. My awareness prickled again. All was not right with the Strong family, and I was having a big problem with this.

“Sabrina? Are you alright?” Bill asked, leaning over to me.

He smells great.He looks great. What's wrong with me? I was trying to remember why I shouldn't ask him over for coffee after we left tonight. It was taking me a long time to debate my pros and cons over asking the off-spring of fallen angels over to my house. One that had basically proposed to me a few weeks back.

Oh, right. I wore Vasyl's wedding ring. I had walked out of the wedding ceremony a few weeks back. Technically, I was not a free woman. Not on paper, at least. I was pretty sure

asking Bill over for coffee would be considered cheating on Vasyl—although Vasyl and I had not actually been together since our wedding night. I'd been a little busy trying to find Lindee in another world. He was angry with me for that and other things. Meanwhile, I'd been trying to get over Dante's death. Oh, yeah. I'd had a busy week that felt like a month.

“Grandma?” Randy prompted again. “You want to say grace?”

Grandma's mouth twitched, her eyes squinting at him as though he'd slapped her. She gazed all around the table, like she'd been outnumbered. She brought her hands up and put them together palm-to-palm, fingers straight. I had never seen her do this before, and it reminded me of how the girls would pray before bedtime when I baby-sat them.

“Dear—eh—Lord,” she began. “Bless this table and this meal. Ah-h—men.” She dropped her hands, looked up, and sniffed as though the task had been a monumental achievement. The whole room relaxed and heads came up from their bows. That had been the shortest grace I'd ever heard Grandma recite in the history of family meals.

I looked around the room. Uncle Monte, with his light brown hair, graying at the temples, smiled at me from Grandma's left side, crow's feet around the eyes deepening. He looked like my dad when he smiled. Aunt Shelly, seated next to him, caught my gaze and smiled too. I'd noticed her super tan was fading since I'd seen her last at my father's funeral this summer. She'd allowed her hair to grow out to her shoulders, and it was highlighted, somewhat like Constance's. It was styled nicely around her oval face.

I glanced over at the card table where Tara, and Jena sat with their two cousins. Normally the girls were well behaved, until they were exposed to a strong influence—like their cousins. Jena had inherited Randy's dark hair and Constance's blue eyes and dimples. Tera was not Randy's daughter, but from Constance's first marriage. Her husband had died in Iraq, several years back. She had remarried into our family and I loved them all.

Chris and Brian were acting goofy, as usual.

“Oh… SNAP!” Brian said.

The girls giggled.

“Oh… snap!” Chris burped.

The girls sniggered harder when Brian tipped over on his chair laughing hysterically.

“Chris! That's enough!” Uncle Monte's voice boomed. Constance and I jumped.

“What's that mean, 'oh snap'?” Grandma asked, looking at Uncle Monty and Aunt Shelly.

“Oh, it's just some silly thing they say. It doesn't mean anything,” Aunt Shelly said.

“Sit up straight!” Uncle Monte said.

“Okay! Who wants dark meat?” Randy's voice boomed.

“Meeeee!” the children chorused. They all popped up with their plates in hands.

“Come over and get yourselves some meat and potatoes,” Randy said to the children, holding out the platter of meat. The four got in line in front of him. “We'll get you all set up.”

The chime of the doorbell caught me by surprise. For some reason my abilities didn't foretell of someone coming to the door, which I found odd. I was actually getting super annoyed by my lack of precognition tonight. No phone or knock on the door has ever surprised me, unless they happened to be supernatural. This sharpened my awareness, though I still couldn't read who exactly was out there. But I had a funny stirring inside. Down low. Oh, hell. My skin became chilled, anticipating any one of the vampires in my life who'd had my blood to be at the door. I moved my gloved hands down to my lap. My gloves were paramount to keeping me from going into a deep trance-like state, or blurting out something that would embarrass everyone. Sliding the right-hand glove off my hand, I uncovered the mystic ring. I received this ring through the cosmos, along with unusual powers as the sibyl. One of the things the ring did was made me resistant to all vampire thralls. Whoever was out there was a master. I tried to imagine Vasyl out there, but couldn't. The alternative was not better by a long shot.

Bill's hand slid over mine, and I yanked it away and glared at him. I needed my hand uncovered. His green eyes met mine, then darted toward Grandma Rose, as though implying something of import.

“Oh, for the love of Pete! Who could that be?” Randy snarled.

“I'll get it,” Constance said, and began to rise.

“No. No… You all go on and eat. I'll get it,” Randy said, and popped up out of his chair and crossed the room like someone had put a fire under him. “Who else did you invite that I don't know about, Con?” I knew my brother was joking, because he made his trademark “haw-haw” laugh—stomping toward the door. The fire in the fireplace, and all the strobe-lightning through the windows helped him find his way to the door.

Then, the lights went completely out, and threw us into almost complete darkness. A breeze from somewhere blew out the candles. A chill ran through me. I turned around to gaze toward the door. Lightning flashed, the brilliance through the windows blistered my retinas, and I was temporarily blinded. But the image of a tall man in the doorway had been burned into my mind's eye. I wasn't sure if I had actually seen it, or it had been a trick of the lightning. Either way, it was scary as hell. Another shiver traveled up my spine. A prickly feeling skittered up my neck and chilled me. My heart thumped in my chest and a Knowing spread throughout my being.

Something was about to happen!

“Don't answer that!” I shouted. But Randy either didn't hear me because of the loud crack of thunder—it seemed the storm surrounded us—or, he ignored me.

The moment my brother reached for the doorknob, lightning flashed for several seconds. He opened the door. A large man's silhouette absolutely filled the doorway. I knew right away who it was. Yep. I'd been right to want to run.

I turned back to the table. My elbows on the table, fingers rubbing little circles at my temples. This can't be happening. I wanted to disappear right then. If only my brother's house rested on a ley line I'd leave in a thought.

Movement across from me brought my gaze back up. Grandma Rose was on her feet, leaning toward me, her eyes blazing like red hot coals. She looked directly into my eyes. Everything happened in slow motion in the next twenty seconds or more.

“Is Sabrina here?” The baritone voice quickly verified who was at the door for me, but I already knew it was Bjorn Tremayne. Local vampire magnate, and my boss. How was I going to introduce him? This is my boss, a billionaire and he's also a vampire magnate from Chicago?

“Yes, she is. We're all sitting down to eat,” my brother said. “We're having Thanksgiving. You're more than welcome—”

“Grandma, what's the matter?” Constance's voice closer to me caught my attention. Alarm in her voice made the hair on my neck go straight up.

“My apologies—” Tremayne's voice tumbled to my ears from the other room.

If he said more, I didn't hear him. All hell broke loose. An inhuman screeching noise pierced my ears. I looked across from me, in the direction of the sound. Grandma's hands reached toward me, her fingers like talons. She lunged at me, knocking over the wooden- turkey-and-pilgrim-guy display. Her hands were around my neck before I could react. I brought up both hands in a reflexive motion to block her, but all I could do was latch my hands onto her wrists. I couldn't break her grip. She was as strong as a man—maybe stronger, come to think of it. She hissed at me, the hellish crimson eyes burning demon-red.

“I've got you now!” she howled gleefully. One would've thought she had won the lottery, or bingo.

Bill was up, grabbing her, but it did no good. He couldn't loosen her grip on me. Constance and Aunt Shelly screamed. Automatically, I let go of grandma's arms and held my right palm up, shoving the mystic ring in her face. “Stop!” Her clutch on me loosened, but she kept coming at me. In her forward momentum, Grandma arched over my head and landed with a satisfying thump behind me. Dishes crashed. Food and liquids hit me in the face and chest. The girls, the women, the men all screamed or shouted their alarm. Someone swore—probably Randy. All I could think of was the girls seeing this and I couldn't stop it from happening. But I had to follow through. I had to end this, but wasn't sure how.

Eyes on Grandma Rose, I jumped to my feet. She executed a roll in her black and white dress (with the hideous bow on the front of the shiny black belt), black shoes and pantyhose, like she were a twenty-something (instead of seventy-something), professional gymnast landing back on her feet. The old woman twirled and turned on me, her fingers talon-like poised to strike once more.

Bill jumped beside me.

“A demon!” he warned.

“No shit!” I said.

“Curses! You little bitch!” the Grandma-demon swore, hands balled into fists. Her bun had fallen out and the hair fell in her eyes. She grabbed the wig and pulled it off a bald greenish head. Red eyes sent daggers at me. Well shit!

The women were on their feet still screaming, grabbing their children, and backing away from the middle of the fray as far as they could.

Monty and Randy were both shouting, and the kids had taken cover under the tables or behind chairs.

Grandma Rose only stood five-three on a good day, but now was somewhat taller than she should have been—she wasn't stooped over at all, either. She dove at me, hands out-stretched, the fingers seemed overly long. My eyes focused on her hands, which were now an ugly shade of mottled greenish-brown, tipped in demonic-black four-inch-long claws. She'd begun to morph into a demon.

“They want you alive or dead,” she said. “Well, I'll make sure you're dead, you little bitch!”

I held up my right hand to thwart the demon-grandma again. It stopped. The demon's eyes widened, realizing I had power over it. My left hand went into my jeans pocket, quickly locating the small vial of holy water. In one quick motion I brought it up and uncorked it with my thumb, and flung it into its face—vial and all.

“Gaaaaahhhhhk!”

The girls screamed.

“What the hell?!”

“Bjorn Tremayne come in!” someone shouted from somewhere in the house.

Voices shouting, bodies moving erratically in the dark, and the acrid smell of burning flesh and brimstone all combined making a soup of horrific smells, and noises that might be heard in a haunted house you paid twelve bucks to get into. I couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on, since it was mostly dark.

A loud snapping, like someone had broken a turkey leg bone, rent the room. Afterwards all went silent.

A blaring flashlight beam swept the room, and settled on Tremayne standing over the demon-grandma, which now was simply a demon in Grandma Rose's clothing. I cringed at the sight of the demonic face and hands. Greenish flesh was revealed beneath the portions of human skin that remained, which had been eaten away by the holy water I'd thrown on its face. The demon was completely revealed now.

“What did you do to Grandma Rose?” my brother asked, alarm in his voice made it crack with hysterics. He looked down at the demon-grandma and still didn't get it. I guess he was in shock and didn't realize it wasn't really Grandma.

“That was no one's grandma,” Tremayne said. “That's a demon.” He looked up at me.

Another sharp snap, it sounded like someone snapping their fingers. At that precise moment, all the lights went on full bright. The magic filled the air, and it blurred my vision for a few seconds.

“Hey toots, your boyfriend here just saved your cute tush!”

Chapter 2 - Running

The obnoxious, but familiar voice, brought my attention to about one third of the way down Tremayne's side. A much shorter man stood next to the seven foot tall vampire. The flat hat, the voice, and the hands flapping at the shoulders—no arms—could only be one person. “That was a Ba'al demon!” he announced.

“Rick?” I said, realizing why I could not read who was at the door. There are four or five creatures that came in under my radar. Demons, vampires, and leprechauns—because he was magical. This explained why I couldn't read Grandma Rose, who was being impersonated by one of the many demons who could look like humans. And, of course Tremayne, who was a vampire, who I also could not detect. Except for maybe that odd twinge of excitement down low. And Rick was a leprechaun—the most magical creature I knew—simply escaped my detection, because he was magical.

I scanned the room for Bill. But he was nowhere in sight. Gone. I couldn't fathom where he might have gone, or why he disappeared, almost as though afraid to be found here by either of the two men who had come through the door.

“Mommy!” Terra and Jenna cried as they surged out from under the table and clung to Constance's legs.

Constance picked little Jenna up and put one hand protectively on Terra's head.

“Sabrina! What the hell's going on?” Randy asked, accusation in his voice.

“Oh, shit,” I said low. To Tremayne, I said, “You guys need to do something. Bjorn? Rick?”

“Rick, do your thing,” Tremayne said.

“Not a problem.” Rick snapped his fingers again.

The magic rippled through the air like a strange reverberating electrifying hum. It made my ears pop. I shook my head trying to rid myself of the annoying sensation. When I looked across the room, everyone was looking at one another in confusion. The demon-grandma disappeared—poof—by Rick's magic. I hope they don't remember that she was ever here. Rick should be able to take care of their memories, too, I reminded myself.

Constance settled Jenna onto the floor, straightened to her full height, and sauntered toward Tremayne. She swung her hips in an exaggerated way and pulled out the pins holding up her hair, fluffing it to a wild mane. Giggles escaped her, and she tipped her head way back to look up at the seven foot tall vampire. Constance had no idea he was over one thousand years old, and had crushed whole villages, pillaging and raping along the way in his former human life oh-so-long-ago as a Viking. She was now under what I would have to say a minor thrall, which would make her hot for him. I say minor because if it were a full-blown one she'd have been doing a pole dance on his leg by now.

Constance gave him a smoldering look and said in a low, sexy voice, “Oh-h, you're a tall drink, aren't you?” I knew it was a combination of the pinot grigio and vampire thrall talking, because she loves my brother and wouldn't think of two-timing him. Especially in front of him.

The men in the room seemed dumbfounded. Eyes glazed over. Ah, yes. Tremayne had put a whammy on them so he wouldn't have to knock them senseless with one fist. I appreciated that. I'd forgotten how Tremayne could multi-task his thralls, depending upon what was going on in the room.

“What the hell are you guys doing all the way out here?” I said, taking in Tremayne's tight faded blue jeans, gray rattlesnake boots, and the large gold belt buckle, inlaid with turquoise, and other semi-precious stones.

“You didn't answer your phone,” Tremayne said, pushing his long blond ponytail back over his shoulder.

“I'm at a Thanksgiving dinner for crying out loud!” I cried, my anger rising. “I was busy!” My hands went out with my exasperation. “You think it's easy to get all this food prepared?” Of course, I'd only emptied a couple cans of cranberry jell into bowls and browned the rolls. Not hard. But then, I wasn't trusted with sharp objects. I guess it was because of when I nearly cut my own foot off with a carving knife, that one year—was that only last year? Cooking was not my expertise either. Other than heating up soup from a can, or simple recipes, I usually made a disaster of things.

“And is it delicious!” Rick vouched, his voice muffled from behind me.

I turned to find the leprechaun seated at the table, eating turkey, a mountain of potatoes with an ocean of gravy in the middle of it. He slathered one of my rolls with butter and bit into it. “Mmmm.” Well, at least someone appreciated my rolls.

Terra and Jenna, who had been frightened to death a few moments ago, now gazed at Rick across the table. Their elbows on the tabletop, chins resting in small fists as they stared with unblinking fascination at the leprechaun. Leprechauns had the ability to enthrall children. They used a fascination spell, was what I understood.

“Salt. Where's the salt?” Rick looked around.

Terra picked up the salt shaker and had to stand up on a chair, one knee on the table in order to set it before him.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Rick said. Then he fluttered his fingers and the salt shaker rose up a little over his plate and shook itself over the turkey and gravy.

The girls oooed at this bit of magic, as their eyes went wide.

“Hey. You don't have any arms!” Brian said, eying Rick's hands, and about three or four inches of wrist that were attached directly to his shoulders because of a birth defect (he never had said what the birth defect was, and I had never asked out of the fact I didn't want to be too nosy). Brian and his brother, Chris, settled in on either side of Rick—but not too close. They planted their elbows on the table, leaning their cheeks into curled fists exactly like the girls. Not quite as fascinated as the girls, but they were gazing at him.

“That's pretty observant of you. And I'll bet you're gonna be a rocket scientist when you grow up, won't you?” Rick said sarcastically, and snorted at his own joke. He stuffed a buttered roll into his mouth, and it was gone.

I licked my lips, envious.

Rick floated the gravy boat over to his plate and it poured brown gravy over the turkey and mashed potatoes. Was he going to slurp it up in a spoon? I was curious, since I'd never actually seen him eat anything more than a cookie. That's when the plate hovered about six inches from the table and Rick managed to work the spoon using the hand with the longer wrist, and expertly managed to get the food to his mouth.

The children chuckled, and clapped.

“Thank ya. Thank ya very much,” Rick did a poor Elvis impersonation.

Turning away from this bit of shenanigans, I asked Tremayne, “How did you know about the demon posing as my grandma?”

“You're a wanted woman,” Rick said through a mouthful, looking back at me. He held a drumstick in his hand.

“This one found you—maybe Ilona had something to do with it, maybe not.” Tremayne pointed toward where the demon-Grandma had landed. A dark smudge covered the area where the body had been. Oh, crap. Constance was going to have a cow over that stain. “It won't be long before others will come hunting and might be more inventive than this one was,” he finished his thought.

“Ilona,” I growled, my anger boiling up. Ilona Tremayne, Eric Tremayne's widow, a.k.a. The Bitch From Hell. Now in charge of the western half of the North American Vampire Association—and for all we knew, she probably held all of North America in her palm. She had been after me from the very beginning, once I figured out she had put Nicolas' scion, Toby Hunt, up to murdering Bjorn's life-time mate, her own husband, and others. He had turned himself into a vampire by ingesting vampire blood on three consecutive nights and began his rampage on me and Tremayne, killing his brother, Eric, and injuring Dante. Only recently she had devised a fiendish plot to kill me while I searched for my cousin, Lindee, in a parallel world by sending Steve Pumphry in order to ensnare and drain me (or hope that I would at some point become a vampire's blood and sex slave in the very least and be stuck on Black Veil). She had also single-handedly brought back hunting humans by vampires on Earth—well at least in America. I really needed to address the problem before it got too far gone. Maybe it already was.

Movement from the next room made me turn to see Aunt Shelly push Constance away from Tremayne, fluff up her hair and then run a hand down her neck suggestively, the other hand reached toward the tall vampire.

Tremayne edged back. Hand up he said, “A-ah-ah. No touching the master.”

Constance giggled and pushed Aunt Shelly harder. My aunt stumbled a few feet and tumbled onto the couch with a startled cry.

“I saw him first!” Constance said and ran her hands down her front in a provocative way, and slid her tongue over her lips.

“Oh, God! Stop that!” I said to Tremayne. “I don't want to see a cat fight over you.”

“I can't help it! It just happens,” he said and shrugged.

“Okay. Just put a chill on them. I'm going to eat before we go. I'm starved… and no demon or vampire, or—” I looked down at Rick who was shoveling peas into his mouth from the large serving spoon. “—leprechaun is going to stop me!”

*

The rain had stopped before I followed Tremayne out of the house and headed toward the last car angled into Randy's gravel drive. The sleek midnight-blue car obviously belonged to Tremayne. It had the classic Mustang look. I was surprised it wasn't black. Yard light bounced off the black racing stripes across its sleek sides. I took in the jaw-like grill and bulging hood. It looked like it was coming alive in the storm's ebbing lightning.

“Nice ride. What is this—a Shelby?” I asked admiring the smooth finish, and the way the rain had beaded up on it. It had a muscular look to it, like it pumped iron. It was more animalish than car.

Tremayne's approach was silent until he used the car remote. Lights blinked on all around the car, making two short beeps of the horn.

“It's a brand new Super Snake Shelby Cobra,” Rick informed.

“My new wheels,” Tremayne said in a low purr. “I've had it six months and haven't had it out until today. Paid a hundred grand for it.”

“Not the best of days to take it out—in a storm,” I chided.

“It's fast,” Rick boasted.

“No doubt.” Although the rain had stopped, thunder rumbled like distant cannons. Lightning shimmered across the car's polished black exterior, as though it were imbuing it with life, like a monster in a laboratory.

“You planning on going to the race track with it or something?” I asked, being flippant.

Rick chuckled. “He could, with this!”

“Get in,” Tremayne said.

I hedged. “What about my car?”

“Leave it,” he said.

“C'mon, sweetheart. It's safe,” Rick assured, chugging around me. “Your Jeep is known to the demons and vampires. You don't want to make it any easier for them find you.”

I watched the shorter, armless leprechaun climb in and disappear into the back.

I looked up at Tremayne, still unsure.

“What about them? My relatives. Are they going to be safe?”

“I readjusted their memories so that Grandma Rose would not be in it,” Rick said. “Or us.” The body of the demon had become ashes, and we used a dust pan to sweep them into the fireplace.

“Are you sure that Aunt Shelly and Uncle Monte and their boys won't remember?” I hoped that Grandma Rose was okay, wherever she was. The demon's decomposition—a sooty smudge on Constance's dining room floor—might be one of those mysterious “accidents” from the meal. Someone would be blamed for knocking over a potted plant, I simply knew it.

“Done,” he said.

“What about my brother, his wife and kids. Demons might come—”

“Relax, toots. I put a premo ward on your brother's house,” Rick assured, poking his head out from between the front seats. “No vampires or demons will be able to get within a half a mile of it.”

“Get in!” Tremayne growled. “We haven't got all night.”

Lightning flickered and thunder crashed around me. I screeched. Leaping toward the open car door, I landed on black leather seats beside Tremayne. They practically folded around me in a most sensual way. The new-car smell tweaked my pleasure centers. There was something terribly sexy about a new car smell to me. This wasn't any car, either, but a high-end Mustang. My heart raced with anticipation.

I belted myself in automatically.

“Buckled up?” Tremayne asked.

“Yep.”

I looked back to Rick. He hadn't buckled up yet.

“What about him? Shouldn't he get his seat belt on? You know there's a new law about it.”

Tremayne gave me a withering look. “Really, Sabrina? You're worried about a leprechaun?”

“I'm fine, sweetheart. Don't listen to him,” he said in a mild tone.

“What's his problem?” I asked Rick over my shoulder.

“Aw, he's been grumpy all night.”

Tremayne turned the key in the ignition. The engine started up with a loud snarl, then evened out to a low growl, making my heart pound a little harder. It sounded like a tiger spotting a gazelle, about to pounce.

“Holy shit!” I said, feeling my adrenaline jump. “What's under the hood?”

“It's a Ford Racing V-Eight,” Tremayne said with a smirk.

“Eight hundred horsepower with 590 pound-feet of torque. It's got dynamic adjustable dampers, lowering springs, turned stabilizer bars, and front strut tower brace,” Rick rambled off like he was a car dealer. “I call it his babe car.” I had no idea what he'd just said, or what any of it meant, but I was impressed on the looks alone, and the sound of the engine.

Tremayne chuckled.

“Wow.” My eyes studied the steering wheel wrapped in black leather. The hand break and shifter separated the two front seats—and what was wrong with me thinking that looked sexy? Tingling sensations began in my lower regions. Holy crap, down girl!

When the lights came on, the dash lit up like a Christmas tree. The tachometer was huge and I watched the needle jump with the revving of the engine. My heart throbbed in time with my lower parts. I wanted to drive this baby myself. My hand itched to touch the shift leaver, feel the thing growl in my hand. Tremayne released the hand break, and shifted into reverse, backed up, and then revved it up, making it growl deeper, and bumped out of the drive, and onto the gravel road, the tires trying to grab for purchase like a cat clawing its way out of a jungle. He took it slow over the gravel roads, but like a race horse, this thing wanted out of the cage—I could feel it.

“It should be called Tremayne's Vamp Mobile,” I joked, turning my head to give Rick a wink.

“Just wait until you see what this thing can do on the open road,” Rick said.

Was it me, or did Rick suddenly sound like he was getting along with the big vampire? That was really odd.

“What I don't get is how you knew to come to my brother's place,” I said.

“A little birdie told me,” Tremayne said before a chuckle rumbled from him. “I've got spies and snitches everywhere, sweetheart.”

“When you left your house you ran the risk of being attacked because you're not protected, girlfriend,” Rick informed. “Your brother's place had no ward on it until now.”

“Leprechauns know when you've moved out of their range of protection,” Tremayne explained, looking back and forth between the two of us.

“I'm surprised you didn't figure out something odd was going to happen,” Rick said.

“Well, I did feel something weird was happening with Grandma. But I didn't expect her to be a frigging demon.” Or, maybe I'd always suspected she was at least part demon. It was unfair of me to think that way. But really, the old woman had always been nasty and hard to get along with. However, it went to reason that a demon had chosen her as his pattern to imitate. She had taken an issue with my dad and I after my mother died when we quit going to church. For five years she had not spoken to us. Then my dad died, and she was at the funeral. She barely said anything to me, but she had given me a hug. Didn't it say somewhere in the Bible to forgive trespasses, or something? (Oh, duh, the Lord's Prayer was where I remembered that from. Whatever.) Not only that, but I knew she never liked my mother. According to my abilities, she had not wanted them to marry. Hard to keep that from me whenever she was around.

“What happened to my real grandma?” I wondered. Of course, only because she was family, I was worried.

“Can't you get a read on her?” Rick asked.

“No. We weren't… close.” I would have to get to the bottom of things at some point later on. I'd had no reads about it, which scared me. “I'm not getting anything. I'd need something of hers in order to know where she is.”

“Why don't you call her tomorrow?” Tremayne suggested.

“I will,” I said. If I called her out of the blue, she might react negatively to my wondering how she is, and on the day after Thanksgiving. I wasn't close to her at all, and really never was. She had said nasty things about me and my abilities. I was certain she was afraid of me.

“Where are we going?” I asked after we headed down the gravel road in the general direction of my house.

“First to your place,” Tremayne said. “You'll pack a bag of everything you need—”

“A bag! You mean as in traveling?”

Tremayne glanced at me. “Yes. I explained this in the house. You're in danger if you stay at your house or anywhere.”

“Why?”

“They know where you live, sweetheart,” Rick chimed in behind my head.

“But I thought I was protected,” I argued. “You put a super duper ward on my house. You said yourself not even a flea could get in.”

“That's just it. The house is protected. If you step out, go to the store, that's where they can get you,” Rick said.

I frowned. “Even if I have protectors with me? My ring? My dagger?”

“So, you're saying you'd want to explain how your dagger wound up into someone's heart who looks like their grandmother?” Tremayne asked.

My head dipped in resignation. They were right. The demon-grandma looked every bit like Grandma Rose, and sounded like her—to a point. But the disguise was flawless. Until the wig fell off, that is.

“Ba'al demons can look like anyone they want,” Rick said.

“Hey, wait,” I said. “I thought the blood of a Ba'al demon burns like holy hell?”

“Yes,” Tremayne said. “It does. I broke its neck. No blood was shed.”

“So, couldn't any vampire protect me from a Ba'al demon?”

“You were lucky it was only focused on you, it didn't see me coming. I was able to sneak up behind it. Not many vampires can sneak up on a Ba'al demon.”

“How did you sneak up on him, oh wise one?” Rick said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Tremayne smiled. “I can move from one place to another very quickly. Not only that, the vampire has to know what they're up against. They cut off the demon's head, not knowing it's a Ba'al, then they've just kissed themselves goodbye. One drop of their blood on the skin can kill a vampire.”

“And there are other types of demons. If you don't know how to recognize it, you'll fall for its disguise, or won't know how to properly kill it,” Rick added.

“Besides, it won't only be demons after you. Other vampires will be hunting you.”

I was beat down. Convinced my life, which had taken on real darkness in the past few months, sucked worse now.

I also wondered what had happened to Bill. Did he have something to do with the demon being there? No. That didn't make any sense. He realized there was something wrong with Grandma, that was why he gave me a significant look when I sat down and he touched my hand. But where had he gone? Did no one else see him get up and leave? I was too confused, and bringing this up now was simply too much to get into at this point. I actually wanted to quit thinking about it—everything—and get away.

Within ten minutes, Tremayne pulled into my drive. I had remembered to leave the porch light on when I left earlier so I could see to get in. We all hopped out of his wild car and trekked up the steps. A bit of paper had been wedged into the screen door. I pulled it out and unfolded it.

“Love notes from your many admirers?” Tremayne asked sarcastically.

I threw him a scowl, and then held the note up to the light to read it.

Sabrina,

The pack and I went hunting a few weeks ago, and we brought down more than enough deer to last through the winter. Hope you like venison! I put 50 pounds in your freezer in the shop. If it's not enough, let me know.

Hobart

“Oh, it's from Hobart. My werewolf friend,” I said, and left it at that. “He said he left me some venison in my freezer. I didn't know it was on.” I frowned. The chest freezer was kept in my father's shop. I thought it would have been locked, but apparently not. I hoped he'd made sure it was plugged in and turned on. But he would probably know to do this.

“Hobart?” Tremayne asked.

“Yeah. He helped me with getting Dante out of your office when he shifted down into a mouse a few weeks back.”

“I see,” he said, and didn't make any further comment. I didn't know if it was because he knew Dante had died, and didn't want to upset me, or what. I was then reminded I had not given him an update on Dante. Did I want to? Not really. Besides, I hadn't seen Dante since I had been busy in a parallel world called The Black Veil, about a week ago. I wasn't sure if Dante had been able to follow me back, or not. Why bring up something I couldn't explain, anyway?

Not wanting to delve into old news—or worse, my emotional backlog—I located my key from my purse, unlocked the door and pushed it open.

“I'm just going to use the loo,” Rick announced and chugged inside ahead of us. He knew where it was, as he'd been in my house before.

I replaced the key and turned around to find Tremayne still standing at the threshold. It dawned on me he'd never been to my house. A vampire needed to be invited inside. Rick had been the one who'd invited Tremayne into my brother's house. I realized this now. I thought it had to be someone who lived in the house, but apparently they somehow got around that. It didn't matter. I was happy they had acted quickly. It sank in right then: Tremayne had indeed saved my life. Again.

“Please, come on in, Bjorn,” I said.

“Thank you, don't mind if I do.” He took one of his giant steps with those snake skin boots, and now he stood inside my house. Somewhat jittery about that new development, I closed the door. Vasyl would take exception to this. It surprised me he wasn't here in Tremayne's face.

Tremayne looked around, taking in the rooms that he could see.

“Nice tall ceilings,” he said. Yep. I could see where a seven foot man would feel right comfortable under nine-foot tall ceilings.

Moving toward the living room, I flicked lights on. “Just make yourself comfortable.” The envelope door to my bedroom was half-way open. When closed, it actually didn't look like a door, but a wall panel. Made of solid oak, it was six feet wide and seven feet high and hung on casters, hidden inside. Gazing into the room with trepidation, I checked to make sure my bed was made. It was. With a thought, I turned to see Tremayne's head brush the threshold of the living room only a few feet away. “I think there might be some Real Red in the fridge, if you have need,” I offered, hoping to get him at least one or two rooms away from me. It didn't matter that my mystic ring was exposed, the master could make my insides twinge. I didn't like that he'd had my blood—several sips, in fact. That was not a good thing for the human. I was certain this was not going to be a relaxing trip for me—wherever we were headed.

“That would help,” he said on a little gasp. “Your sister-in-law was hot-looking.” His eyes were more jade green tonight, and the pupils were huge. He chuckled, watching my exasperation rise.

“Jeez!” I said. The only reason I had Real Red—human blood in glass bottles—delivered to my house was because in the past I've had different vampires from his vampire camarilla (his assorted most trusted minions), stay with me for protection. Namely Leif and Heath Sufferden. Tremayne Inc. bottled it. That was back when it was illegal to hunt humans, and they had set up an elaborate, and very ingenious donor program. Now that it was legal to hunt humans again I had a feeling he'd probably seen a drop in sales. A week ago I had told the guy in the white van who delivered the blood to my doorstep that I didn't have any need for more, as I hadn't had many vampire stay-overs. Vasyl had not been by to visit either, since I'd been home, but he shunned human blood, anyway. He preferred horses' blood—fresh, not bottled. I know. I'd had a hard time with that, too. But I'd gotten used to the idea, and didn't think about it much. The horses weren't hurt in any way, and maybe they got a little payback like humans did for donating. I was relieved he never needed to drink my blood. But it puzzled me as to why Vasyl hadn't shown up tonight, since I'd been in danger. He was usually posted outside, keeping vigil from the roof top. He should have been in Tremayne's face the moment he got out of the car. But then he'd made himself pretty scarce since I'd walked out of our wedding over a week ago, and we'd later had a row