Морган Райс - Loved

They both knew that, once he found it, he couldn’t take her with her. He would be on the warpath. Likely, back with his coven, in the midst of a vampire war. She could not see a role for herself in that. And yet she could not see a life without him, either.

Things were different between them now. As he slipped his arm around her waist, and held her close, she realized that she had never felt so close to anyone. It was almost as if they were one mind, looking out of the water. She was a changed woman. And she felt that somehow, even if in a small way, he had been changed by last night, too.

This time, on the ride back, they were both silent. Neither obsessed about the latest clue, neither spent time trying to decipher the riddle, to speculate as to where it might be. They were simply content to stand next to each other, to be with each other. Neither felt the need to talk. It was the calm before the storm, and they both just wanted to enjoy it.

Suddenly, Caleb grimaced. His jaw set hard, the way it sometimes did when he was getting ready to fight.

She looked at him.

“What is it?” she asked.

He stared at the horizon, squinting, clenching his jaw. Several seconds of silence followed.

“I sense something,” he said.

She waited for him to add more, but he didn’t.

“What?” she asked, finally.

He stared for several more seconds.

“I don’t know,” he said. “There is a great disturbance. I can feel my people suffering.… I feel…people searching for us. And I feel…we are heading into grave danger.”

As their yacht pulled up into the dock in Edgartown, Kyle could wait no longer. He leapt from the deck, flying twenty feet, and landed nimbly on the pier, leaving the Russian to tie up the boat.

On dry land, he felt better already.

The Russian was quick to follow, killing the engine, anchoring the yacht, and hurrying to catch up.

“Hey, you can’t dock your boat there!” yelled a middle-aged, potbellied man with bright red cheeks, storming up to them. “That dock is private! It’s reserved for—”

Before the man could finish, Kyle grabbed him with one hand by the throat, and squeezed with such force, that he lifted the heavy man off the ground by several feet, dangling him in the air.

The man’s eyes bulged from his head, as his face turned bright red. Kyle grimaced, and then in one motion, threw him off the side of the dock.

The man landed with a splash, far off in the water.

Kyle hope he killed him. He should have squeezed longer.

“Where is she?” Kyle demanded through gritted teeth.

The Russian looked nervously about, trying to get his bearings. He raised his nose and checked the air in every direction.

“If you have lost her, I will kill you,” Kyle said slowly.

The Russian looked again, and stopped in the direction of Main Street.

“She went this way,” he said.

He marched in that direction, Kyle following on his heels.

*

Kyle and Sergei walked up the stairs of the Edgartown whaling church, and without slowing, Kyle kicked in the double doors.

They broke it open with a loud crack, and Kyle marched right through the parlor and into the center of the church, Sergei close behind. They stopped in the middle of the empty room, and looked about.

No one was there.

Kyle reached over and grabbed the Russian by the shoulders.

“I’m tired of this!” he yelled. “WHERE IS SHE!!?”

“Nowhere that you’ll ever find,” came a cool, collected voice from the back of the church.

Kyle and Sergei both spun around.

There stood Roger, in the entrance, staring back calmly.

Kyle sensed the shift in energy, and knew he was facing one of his own. Finally. No more humans to bother with. They were getting closer.

Kyle walk slowly, Sergei by his side.

“On the contrary,” Kyle said, slowly, “you are going to tell me exactly where she is, who she is with, and where she is going,” he said, bearing down on Roger.

Roger took a few steps towards them, then suddenly reached back and hoisted something at them.

Kyle saw it coming, but Sergei was not so quick.

Hurling right at them was a long, tapered, vampire spear. Kyle dodged in time, but Sergei did not. The silver-tipped spear grazed his cheek, cutting through skin, tearing open his cheek before continuing on. It was not a direct hit, but enough to draw a lot of blood.

Sergei screamed out in pain, raising his hands to his face, now covered in blood.

Kyle didn’t hesitate. He took three steps forward, leapt in the air, and planted a hard kick with both feet right on Roger’s chest, sending him flying across the room and crashing into the wall.

Before Roger could get up, Kyle was already on top of him, choking him.

Kyle felt Roger’s energy, and he could feel that Roger was one of the old ones. A vampire so old that his strength had greatly diminished. Kyle outmatched him, and knew he could kill him easily.

He was going to enjoy torturing him. Slowly.

Kyle saw a sudden movement of Roger’s hand, a flash of something yellow, and before he could react, he realized.

Roger had just snuck a suicide pill into his own mouth.

It was too late.

Kyle felt the body go limp in his arms.

In the greatest rage of his life, Kyle threw back his head and screeched, a primal roar that made every windowpane in the church shatter.

Sam was still reeling.

That scene inside the mobile home had been so intense, he still couldn’t process it. That creep.

The knife. The struggle. His cheek. And then Samantha. Killing him like that. It was unbelievable.

Who was she?

As he sat in the roadside diner, across from her in a booth, he looked her over. He was more attracted to her than ever—but also wary now. Cautious. She looked totally relaxed, sipping on her vanilla milkshake, and he couldn’t understand. Was this the same chick? Here she was, this totally cool and hot, awesome chick, who he loved hanging out with—and yet she had also been that crazy, psycho girl that totally killed that creep without even blinking an eye. Had she really killed him?

It had all gone down so quickly, and the place was so dark, he couldn’t even really tell what had happened, exactly. But he remembered the noise, that sickening crack when she twisted his neck.

And he remembered seeing the guy hit the ground, totally limp. The dude looked dead to him. But he couldn’t say for sure. Maybe she’d just knocked him out. But still. How did she do that? That dude was strong. And he had a knife.

For the millionth time, he hated himself. He had been so stupid. Naïve. How could he have really believed him, have fallen for an internet predator? Was he really such an idiot? What was he thinking? He felt so ashamed. More than anything, he felt more convinced than ever that he’d never find his Dad.

On top of it all, he’d dragged Samantha into it. And worse, he didn’t even protect her. She’d had to protect him. How embarrassing. She must think he was a real jerk.

He worried that she’d just take off. He couldn’t blame her.

“You OK?” she asked, looking at his cheek.

He remembered, and he reached up, and pulled off the paper towel stuck to his face. He checked it. The bleeding had slowed—but it still hurt like hell.

“Yeah,” he said, then looked her over. He noticed she wasn’t bruised at all. “So, like, how did you do that back there? I mean, kick that guy’s ass?”

She shrugged. “I studied karate most my life. Hope it didn’t freak you out. But that guy was dangerous, and I didn’t want to take any chances. It was just a really easy move that I did on him. I can teach you.”