Page 30 of Haunted Nightmares
It’s not.
No.
I’m not jealous, I’ve no reason to be.
Iris, though appealing in a cherub choir girl sort of way, holds nothing more than morbid and most likely misplaced intrigue for me.
No attraction, no possessiveness, nothing at all outside of the pressing need to figure out what the bloody hell she is. Because vampire, she is not.
The two begin to move again as Orion drones on in my ear, a bunch of rubbish about witches and the legends surrounding them, and as Iris passes under a street light, two things happen at once.
She glitches again, anothershocker, but I see something else from the corner of my eye.
A few blocks behind all of us, moving within the shadows along the brick walls of the shops, is a hooded figure.
Five foot two or three, maybe even a smidge shorter but stocky as hell and male, judging by the build. The hood and cloak conceal any other features it has but it’s limping very distinctly, almost dragging a foot while doing its best to keep up and remain unseen.
Taking a few steps away from the two oblivious beings on the sidewalk, I move along the roof closer to thisthing,realizing very quickly that I cannot scent it, which is another very bright red flag. And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t support my already insane ideation of witches and magic reappearing after so many centuries without.
“I’ve got to go,” I whisper, interrupting Orion as I watch the creature watching Iris and Nate. “Something just came up. Tell Declan to track my phone.” Then I hang up and stuff it into my pocket.
Because this situation has the potential to force my hand, to make me do something I haven’t done in ages, and it cannot be done while on the phone, or from this height.
And it is going to royally suck if it comes down to that.
Glancing toward the couple again, I see Iris and Nate finish their quarrel then I stay put as they resume their trek to god knows where, the hooded creature giving them time to get ahead before it starts to follow. And after I’ve given it enough of a head start, I jump from the roof and continue on foot a few paces.
Momentarily, I consider allowing the shadows to take me.
Change from this form into wisps of lightless nothing while darting against the wall, becoming the very thing hiding this creature while it stalks its unsuspecting prey. But after using that on those adolescents regardless of the time in between, the energy it takes to do so would make materializing back rather difficult and in turn, fighting for any reason next to impossible.
Zenlothanai might be quiet, and the transfusions might be helping but I don’t trust it’s been long enough to produce any results other than passing out and vomiting up my rot.
And that really only leaves one option if I want to protect Iris.
With an abrupt halt, I pause at that thought.
Protect Iris?
Why on this wretched earth would I want to protecta stranger, an insignificant little flea in the sea of parasites infesting this city? She means nothing to me,no onemeans anything to me, and I’m one wrong move away from wiping out portions of New Orleans at any given moment.
Sowhydo I care what happens to her?
I don’t.
Not really, I’m sure my interest is only self serving because I want to find out what she is, and why this thing is following…
The creature reaches into its cloak, the movement derailing my train of thought long enough to try to get back on track and when the obvious glare of the streetlight bouncing off of something shiny appears by his side, my decision is made for me.
I need to know what she is, what this thing is, and what they have to do with each other.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and summon what little strength I have left after a week of hell. Strength I send through every inch of my body, pushing it through my muscles and veins, my tendons and bones while visualizing what I want to become. And as the shadowy flames start at my feet and quickly snake up my legs, I feel my power surge and consume me. Consuming me, changing me, the blood of Kadoc and the magnificence it holds coursing through my entire being, jolting to life with thousands of years of truemyjak.
The original well of power and strength, our blood-right talents and raw skill. The given name of what those in Xenith’slineage were born with; what we’ve been commanded to suppress for far too long.
What Atticus refused to nurture amongst our clan, and what he banned and all but erased from history for the generations that followed mine.
Our gifts from the creator god himself.
