Whiteout (Aurora Sky Page 8

  Little pig, little pig, let me in. That’s right, the she-wolf had come calling.

  Don’t cha just love irony?

  I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting to see Dante waiting behind me, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Footsteps creaked from within, approaching the door. I listened to them until they stopped. I put my hands in my pockets, thumbs brushing over the surfaces of the phone and gun.

  “Who is it?” a male voice asked from the other side of the door.

  “Anna,” I called out. “Pixie dropped me off. Did your friend Pierce let you know I was coming?”

  There was no answer. Instead, the door opened and a man with thick dark brown hair and bushy eyebrows peered out. He was old. In his early thirties, at least.

  “You Arlo?” I asked, looking him up and down.

  The man looked over my shoulder. “I didn’t hear a car pull in.” As he spoke, I noticed sharpened teeth like his pal Nelson’s. I suppressed a shudder.

  “Pixie dropped me off at the end of the road. She was in a hurry.” I brushed my shoulder against my chin as though it didn’t concern me. “So are you Arlo?”

  “Yeah.” He stepped aside. “Come in.”

  Arlo left the front door open and retreated into the cabin. He didn’t wait to see me enter.

  I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. The interior wasn’t cold. This wasn’t what I’d expected. Could Arlo have secured a cabin with plumbing as well as heat? Now this was more like it. Funny how something quaint and rustic could feel inviting with the addition of heat.

  I moved slowly into an open living/dining/kitchen area. Warmth enveloped me the closer I moved into the room.

  With his back to me, Arlo stood at a wooden counter by a rectangular dining table with chairs.

  “You must be cold from your walk down the drive,” he said. “Would you like a cup of hot tea?”

  Oh, how that sounded good, but I’d been drugged before. Fool me once.

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  Arlo turned just enough to look at me. “Are you sure? I found a wide selection: jasmine, rooibos, chai...”

  I felt a tight pain in my chest. Tea made me think of Joss. I had a difficult time picturing him inside a holding cell, especially considering his reclusive nature.

  I shook the thought away. Now wasn’t the time to dwell. “I’m good.”

  “Go on and have a seat by the fire.”

  Arlo lifted a kettle off a gas stove and poured steaming water into a mug. I looked from him to the main room before walking to the cast-iron stove. I passed a long wooden coffee table and a fabric couch, its brown cushions worn but not ripped.

  Once I was three feet from the stove, I turned, facing the room.

  Arlo stepped over to the couch, holding a steaming mug. “Sure you don’t want this?” he asked, lifting it.

  My eyes narrowed. “I’m sure.”

  He sat on the couch and took a sip, followed by another. Guess it wasn’t drugged. But better safe than sorry.

  “How do you know Pixie?” he asked.

  “Through a friend.”

  “Then you must know Nelson, as well.”

  “Yeah, I met him. Once.” The corners of my lips twitched, but I forced myself not to smile.

  Arlo set the mug on the coffee table. He tapped his finger on his thigh. “What was your arrangement with Nelson?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What did he give you in exchange for blood?”

  I stared at Arlo in confusion. My experience around vampire groupies was severely limited. I thought they enjoyed being bitten for the novelty of it, not as a bargaining chip.

  “Drugs?” Arlo prodded.

  “Cash,” I said.

  Might as well get what I could off him. It wasn’t like he’d need it after I put him down, and it would make a nice little donation to the Vampires Against Drinking and Dying cause. Sure beat grave robbing or constantly looking to Giselle for handouts.

  “How much?” he asked, his bushy brows furrowing.

  “Fifty dollars,” I said, uncertain. What was the going rate for a quick suck? Plenty of women allowed vamps to bite them free of charge just to experience the rush.

  Arlo leaned forward, grabbed the mug, and stood. Wordlessly, he walked into the kitchen and set it on the counter.

  So far he hadn’t tried to attack me, but that didn’t mean I’d let my guard down for a moment.

  Arlo walked past the couch, stopping in front of the entry and blocking the way to the door.

  He looked me over. “Are you warm enough? I got the fire going just for you.”

  A chill went through me. “What do you mean ‘just for me’?”

  His shoulders relaxed and he rested one foot in front of the other. He wasn’t fooling me for a minute.

  “You have something I need, so why don’t you be nice, sit on the couch in front of the warm fire, and relax?”

  Yeah? And why don’t you bite me? I wanted to say, except that was exactly what he wanted.

  “All right,” I said, easing over to the couch. I could riffle through his wallet after he was dead. We’d see how much he enjoyed my blood in a moment.

  Once I sat down, Arlo left his post in front of the entry and took a seat beside me. He scooted to my side and pushed the black strands of hair over my shoulder and leaned in, his pointed teeth sinking into my neck.

  I inhaled sharply then exhaled slowly to calm my nerves for the kill to come.

  Arlo’s lips clamped down like suctions over my skin, drawing blood to the surface and into his throat. He released my neck and swallowed. I counted to three in my head. He leaned in and bit down again. A grotesque sucking sound filled my eardrums and I cringed. He sucked so hard my skin ached. This time he sucked and swallowed simultaneously, like a greedy newborn at his mother’s teat.

  I clenched my teeth, waiting for him to ease up and convulse. My fingers fisted. This was taking way too long.

  Oh shit.

  My blood was no longer toxic. The agency’s formula had left my body.

  9

  Resistance Is Futile

  One by one, my fingers relaxed. My chest rose and fell steadily.

  Rather than alarmed, I felt free. More free than I had felt since we’d taken flight from Girdwood. I was no longer human or hunter. I was a vampire. A full-fledged member of the undead.

  Arlo released my neck, giving it a quick lick before facing me. “You have a peculiar taste. What blood type are you?”

  My heart flipped as I considered lying. AB negative blood didn’t automatically make me a vampire. Although rare in humans, it wasn’t unheard of.

  I opted for honesty. The truth was already on his tongue.

  “I’m AB negative.”

  Arlo gave me a hard stare. “Ah. I thought you tasted different.”

  “Different, bad?” I asked, cupping my hand over my neck where Arlo had bitten me.

  “We take what we can get in these parts,” he said. “I’d rather bite a woman with AB negative than a man with O positive.”

  I wondered how long it would take before I could tell the difference between blood types. While contemplating this, Arlo reached for the zipper on my jeans.

  I removed my hand from my neck and slapped his hand. “What are you doing?”

  “Suck and screw,” Arlo said. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  I scooted away. “Not a chance.”

  Arlo looked me over, undeterred. “I’ll give you fifty dollars,” he said.

  “You already owe me fifty dollars.” I stood up and backed away from the couch slowly, my hand slipping under my jacket, fingers touching the gun.

  Arlo stood and grabbed my arm before I could get a grip on the weapon. His fingers tightened at once and he pulled me toward the couch, not wasting time.

  “Let go!” I yelled.

  I pulled away and he yanked harder, forcing my body in the opposite direction from where I wanted to go. Musterin
g up all my strength, I leaned away, attempting to plant my feet on the ground and make myself immobile, but I was no match for a weight twice my own and all that extra muscle.

  It was maddening how easily he overpowered me.

  Arlo dragged me to the couch and pushed me down. No sooner did my butt hit the cushion than he was pinning me down with his weight.

  His heavy breath hit my face. I jerked beneath him. I made a fist and pounded him in the jaw.

  Arlo scowled.

  I pounded him two more times, followed by a head-butt.

  He grunted in pain as my own forehead throbbed from the contact. I pushed at Arlo’s chest, but the sucker’s body anchored my thighs to the couch like a steel trap.

  I twisted from side to side, but Arlo’s weight only shifted and forced me deeper into the cushions.

  His lips drew back, roaring in outrage and exposing the sharp points of his razor teeth. Before he had a chance to attack, I wrapped my arms around his neck and gripped him in a headlock.

  He pulled away.

  I held on.

  He stood up, taking me with him. I pulled him against me as though embracing a friend or a lover.

  With Arlo’s feet now planted on the ground and his hands free, I wouldn’t last long unless I amped up my own attack. My arms were busy holding his neck, leaving my teeth as the most viable option. At least I didn’t have to worry about catching anything. Vampirism had its perks. I leaned forward and bit through his flesh.

  Arlo screeched.

  Even as he thrashed and attempted to shove me off, I bit harder.

  Blood filled my mouth. My heart sped up as the coppery zing touched my tongue. I couldn’t swallow without easing up, but once I did, the blood would be there waiting. Fresh and warm. Vampire blood be damned—I wasn’t a picky drinker.

  Liquid cannibalism. Why not?

  Arlo grabbed my head and tried pushing me away. When that didn’t work, he punched the side of my face. Next he pulled my hair. My eyes watered in pain. Dick move!

  My hold on Arlo loosened, as did my teeth. He broke away and staggered to the edge of the couch, touching his neck where I’d bitten him and pulling away bloody fingers. His eyes widened as he stared at his hand.

  I swallowed his blood down.

  The front door flew open, hitting the cabin wall with a bang.

  “About time you showed up,” Arlo called out without turning around. “This one’s resisting.”

  The poor sucker must have been expecting Pierce. If he’d bothered to turn around, he would have seen Dante storming toward him, a savage look on his face.

  Arlo’s brows furrowed when he got no answer. As he slowly turned, Dante pulled his arm back and let his fist fly.

  Smack!

  Right in the face.

  The vampire didn’t have time to block before Dante punched him a second, third, and fourth time. Arlo crouched and tried to grab Dante’s leg, but Dante slapped him across the face so hard his head twisted sideways. Arlo fell backward and hit the ground with a thump. In an instant, Dante was on top of Arlo—straddling him on the floor and smacking him across the face.

  I watched, transfixed.

  Arlo dipped his head from side to side, attempting to avert the blows. Other than his feeble attempts at avoiding Dante’s fist, he lay on his back, taking it. I guess he wasn’t used to being on the defensive. Damn predators.

  Eventually, Arlo didn’t even bother moving his head. When I took a closer look, it wasn’t because he was lying back taking it—he was unconscious. Dante had beaten him senseless.

  “Hey,” I said. “He’s out.”

  Dante’s fist froze as he pulled it back, muscles flexing through his flannel shirt. He lowered his arm slowly and relaxed his fist.

  Dante pressed two fingers against Arlo’s neck. “He still has a pulse.” He pulled his hand away and leaned in to look at the bite marks I’d left. Dante’s head turned toward me. “Did you do this?”

  His eyes met mine.

  I ran a tongue over my teeth before answering. “He grabbed me.”

  “And you bit him?”

  “Yeah, I did. He bit me first. It’s only fair.”

  Dante held his hand up to quiet me and tilted his head toward the still-open door. The hum of a car engine rumbled down the hallway.

  “We have company,” he said.

  No shit.

  “It’s probably Pierce. Hauled ass from Fairbanks, didn’t he? Thinks he’s in for a sweet treat.” I batted my lashes mockingly.

  “I’ll handle him,” Dante said.

  I smiled. “Are you sure? I’ve got a mean bite.”

  Dante shook a finger at me. “No more biting.”

  Yeah? I’d like to bite his finger off for trying to order me around. He wasn’t Melcher. He wasn’t my dad. He couldn’t tell me what to do. What did Dante expect when he insisted on denying me the one thing my body craved most?

  The engine outside died. Moments later, a male voice called out, “Arlo?” from the open doorway.

  The figure that moved inside had spiky copper-tinted hair. Light brown stubble covered a strong jaw. He had to be more than six feet tall, and the way his muscles tightened and flexed beneath his T-shirt, he also had to work out.

  Mr. Tall, Toned, and Fatal didn’t notice me the way I noticed him. He was too busy staring at Dante.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  I recognized Pierce’s voice from our earlier call. He hadn’t come close enough yet to see Arlo on the floor.

  Dante smirked. “Name’s Peter.”

  Pierce stopped so abruptly it looked as though his body had hit an invisible wall. Recognition registered over his face upon hearing the name.

  Dante really needed to come up with a new alias. Ryker, Nikolas, Eli, Clay, or Torin would do the trick—all literary heartthrobs I wouldn’t mind sucking blood from. Then again, it wouldn’t surprise me if he liked having a reputation among the undesirables.

  Pierce kept his eyes on Dante and Dante’s were on him. It reminded me of the hand-slapping game my friends and I used to play in elementary school—how we used to wait and see who would make a move first.

  In this case, it was Pierce. He spun around and sprinted for the door. Dante barreled after him. He seemed to move at lightning speed, unlike Pierce, whose body moved in slow motion.

  Dante caught Pierce by the hem of his shirt and yanked him back. It made a ripping sound but held firm. Dante had him in a headlock before Pierce knew what had hit him.

  Butterflies swarmed in my stomach and a thrilling sensation rushed through my body.

  Why now? Why the sudden turn-on?

  Maybe Dante was right to tell me to lay off the blood.

  Pierce crouched, freeing himself of Dante’s headlock in the process. He jumped back up, swung around, and punched Dante in the face.

  Dante took a step back, narrowly missing an uppercut to the chest. His nostrils flared.

  Pierce stood with his shoulders hunched, arms and fists raised. Ready. Apparently, he’d opted to fight rather than flee.

  Unlike Pierce’s tense stance, Dante could have been waiting in line for his chance at throwing rings around bottles at the state fair. His expression made him appear annoyed yet eager to wrap his hands around his prize.

  My body shuddered involuntarily. Arctic air from the open door drifted down the hallway and washed over my front while heat from the wood stove tingled my back.

  Dante made no move toward Pierce. He watched and waited. Pierce’s body quivered ever so slightly. Holding his fists up had to be tiring.

  Dante stomped one foot forward.

  Pierce jumped in place and let a fist fly, but Dante held his ground.

  Pierce jabbed the air. As his arm flew forward, Dante slid around and punched Pierce sideways in the jaw. His hands flew to his face and Dante followed up with a knee to the groin. He grabbed Pierce by the back of the head and pulled him into the assault.

  “Ow!” Pierce yelped.

 
; He doubled over, unable to block the barrage of punches and jabs. Dante pounded him in the face and ribs over and over until Pierce collapsed onto the floor.

  Dante straightened up and breathed deep. For a moment, it seemed that Pierce was out for the count like his buddy Arlo—until Pierce flipped onto his side, grabbed Dante’s leg, and yanked it out from under him. Dante’s arms flew to his sides as he stumbled back and fell to the floor with a loud thump.

  Pierce wasted no time getting on top of him. He pulled his fist back and slammed it into Dante’s face.

  Rage shot through me.

  Pierce drew his fist back, ready to strike again as Dante thrashed beneath him.

  “Hey!” I yelled.

  Pierce glanced toward me. Dante shoved him forward by kicking his legs up. Pierce spread both arms out to catch himself before falling against Dante’s chest.

  With his arms momentarily occupied, Dante pushed him over and rolled on top. Quick as lightning, he pulled his leg in and reached for the knife holstered around his ankle. He leaned back, torso rising above Pierce’s body, and plunged the knife into the vampire’s heart.

  Pierce went still almost instantly.

  Dante pulled his knife out and wiped it clean on the hem of Pierce’s shirt. He stood slowly and touched his left cheek with his free hand. The skin had started turning purple.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He dropped his hand. “I’m fine.”

  Dante crouched beside Arlo, blade lifted. “Might as well finish this one off too,” he muttered right before plunging his knife into Arlo’s heart.

  A familiar shudder came over me. I shook it off.

  Dante pulled the knife out and stared at the blade. I waited for him to wipe it clean on Arlo’s shirt, but Dante twisted the handle of the blood-soaked blade in his hand.

  His eyes flicked up to me. “If I weren’t here and it was you holding this blade, would you lick it? Be honest.”

  I eyed the glistening blade for a brief moment before meeting Dante’s eyes. Fine, he wanted the truth?

  “Yes.”

  Deep creases cut through Dante’s cheeks when he frowned. “So you admit that you’re a blood junkie?”

  “You’re one to talk—action junkie,” I shot back.