Excerpt from first Episode: "Ghosts" from my "Blood-Mark" series. Coming soon!

BLOOD-MARK

EPISODE 1

GHOSTS

©2013 by Myristica

All Rights Reserved.

ACT I

1-1

Kevin Laredo hated getting into elevators. The feeling of literally being boxed in made his flesh crawl with anxiety and his heart rate increase. Over the years he had taken classes on how to ease away the fear, learning techniques such as closing his eyes and breathing deeply into the need to panic, but they only helped a fraction, never really pulling the fear from him. It helped when other people were in the elevators with him. He could strike up conversations and get his mind off the possibilities of earthquakes or cables ripping, but when he was alone, those fears took point.

He hesitated a moment before deciding he had no choice but to get in and start the breathing exercises.

Pressing the button for the garage level, the door closed, and the car began its twenty-story decent. (Why did his client have to live in a luxury hotel so high off the ground?) Kevin pushed himself against the far wall and locked his gaze on the elevator lights above the door. Eighteen more floors then he could get into his SUV and head back to Sapphire Ridge. Ben would be wondering what the hell happened to him.

As though being summoned, his cell phone rang. Pulling the device out of the case on his hip, he looked at the LCD screen to see Ben calling him. He smiled at the telepathic connection the two shared over the span of… how many years now? Eleven?

"Hey, Ben."

"Where are you? Time's wasting. I'm fucking ready to get drunk."

Kevin smiled. "I'll be there soon. Just finished delivering the bad news to the wife."

"How'd she take it?”

"Unconcerned, considering she was in bed with another woman when I got there."

He could hear the choking sounds coming from Ben and knew the former police detective was forcing down a shot of whiskey. Kevin didn't feel sorry for him. The man should know better than to put anything in his mouth when they talked. Kevin had a tendency to throw Ben some zingers.

Getting some control back, Ben sputtered, "Shit! That's got to be a first for us. Husband having an affair with another man, just as his wife is having an affair with another woman."

Kevin shrugged. "We live in California. The twilight zone was bound to creep into our reality sooner or later."

"Ain't that the truth? Okay, about when can I expect you? The Tiger's Lair has already started happy hour."

"I'll be there in about forty or so minutes baring traffic. No worries. I'm almost to the car. I'll see you then."

"I'll keep a seat warm for you, partner."

Kevin pocketed his cell. He looked up at the lights as the elevator descended the last two levels. As the doors opened he shoved all images of his phobia away, like stepping out of a roomful of clustered cobwebs…

…Directly into the arms of a madman.

A howling yell, a thunderous push, and a meaty arm clamped around his neck like an octopus. Everything happened so fast he almost thought it was unreal.

Ah, shit! All he wanted was to meet up with Ben and down a few beers, drown his blah attitude and hope it would die with the rest of his heart. His life was now suddenly passing before his eyes, and he had no time to think of anything except the hand on his head and the arm around his neck. If he was going to die, goddamn it, he wanted it to be on his terms. Giving that decision over to some fat-assed moron would not be his epitaph.

"I'll break his neck! I swear to God! Back off," the large man shouted, tightening his hold.

His assailant reeked of oil and gasoline, the fumes adding to Kevin's already growing headache.

Cringing, he tried to move, to utilize the self-defense techniques taught him at the Academy, but the guy was too large and positioned in such a way Kevin could not find enough leverage. He would have to wait for the bastard to do something stupid. The pressure on his throat increased. Silly me. Always look both ways before exiting an elevator. They should make that a new law.

He was yanked back and lost what little leverage he had to at least gain a proper footing. The stranglehold tightened. He managed to work his left hand between his neck and the man's arm, freeing some airflow. The man was meaty, but he was mostly fat. The flesh around the forearm allowed some give.

"I mean it, man! Back off!"

Kevin wondered what the man would do if he accidentally-on-purpose pinched the hell out of his pliable fat content?

Probably snap his neck.

Oh, well. It was a thought.

Then Kevin heard a low voice carrying a tone of calm confidence and an almost lackadaisical demeanor. "Whoa there, Benny-boy. You don't want to hurt this guy. We can take this real easy."

Kevin opened his eyes and what greeted them was a vision.

There, not ten feet away, stood a young man in his mid-to-late twenties, wearing tight stone-washed blue jeans, black cowboy boots, a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket. His shoulder-length, curly, sand-colored hair hung loose, but the bangs were short, and Kevin gazed into round dark eyes that stared down the length of a .45 automatic.   

The face of this young man was of both devil and angel, a hard and young beauty, with eyes showing he'd been around the block a time or two. A Zen-like mentality and intelligence poured out of his stance and gaze. Hints of recognition flowed through Kevin. Somewhere in his jaded past this young man had made a blurred mark, staked claim for a mere heartbeat, and then had disappeared like a specter, but where and when the meeting took place escaped him.

For a fleeting moment, Kevin tried to dig into the files of his brain for the answers, but the arm tightened its hold and remembering would have to wait.

"I don't wanna have to shoot you, Benny. I mean, I would rather get us all out of this mess without any bloodshed, but I also can't let you go, either."  

That voice. Damn it! Where had Kevin heard that voice before?

"I'll kill this guy, you bastard," the attacker screamed.

In spite of his fingers prying the choking flesh away from his throat, Kevin felt his airway restrict. Stars flared across his vision.

"You kill him, Benny-boy, and you won't live long enough to see him fall to the ground. I mean it, Cutthroat. You know how good I am with this thing."

Cutthroat? Kevin groaned at the nickname. Oh, geez! This can't be good.

He lifted his gaze again, locking with that of the demonic angel before him, and in a split second of understanding, Kevin knew he would be all right. The look in the gunman's eyes told Kevin all he needed to know. The body language, the stance, the handling of his gun—all testament to the fact this guy was not about to let Kevin die.

And suddenly he remembered. The name escaped him, but Kevin remembered where he had met this guy before.

Three years ago in another world, another life.

The younger man locked gazes with Kevin. He had recognized him too. A smile, a wink, a nod of acknowledgment, and they reconnected.

Kevin's body relaxed. He had trusted this guy before; he would trust him again.

The gunman held out his hands, palms out, clicking on the safety to his .45. "Benny-boy, Benny-boy. You know, your mama should have taught you to follow the rules."

Suddenly his body jerked. The bounty hunter broke into an American Indian dance and chant. As the chant grew louder and louder, the dance increased in tempo.

The performance so confused Cutthroat that the hold around Kevin's neck loosened. He quickly ducked and rolled away as his young savior moved in close enough to unleash a roundhouse kick to Cutthroat's chest.

Kevin joined his ally, and between the two of them, they managed to subdue the flailing arms, enough for the younger man to cuff the meaty wrists. It was a struggle, but the bounty hunter evidently knew how to subdue a man larger than his six-foot frame. No small feat, Kevin surmised, given the younger man's lanky but limber build.

Kevin held Cutthroat steady and grinned. "You always act like you're on crack when taking down a bounty?” he asked.

"I'm gonna kill you, Turner," Cutthroat shouted. "Kill you and cut you up in a thousand pieces!"

Turner! That's the name! Kevin felt the wave of a memory rush forward as the blood came back into his brain.

Turner smiled back at Kevin, ignoring his prisoner's taunts. "It worked, didn't it?"

Kevin shrugged. "Well, it was certainly creative. We've met before. My name's…"

"Kevin Laredo. I know. I'm Vic Turner. Pleased to meet you… again. Seems like I'm always getting you out of strangleholds."

Kevin chuckled.

The two stood, leaving the cuffed prisoner on the ground, and shook hands. Kevin rubbed his bruised throat. "More than pleased to meet you again. Buy you a beer? I mean, you just saved my life."

Vic's laughter flowed over Kevin, both warm and genuine. "True, but I did manage to get you into this mess by chasing the asshole down here."

Kevin let out a nervous laugh, releasing the tension built up in his body from the adrenaline. "Well, in that case, you buy."

Vic clapped him on the arm. "Anything you say there, Cochise."

Cochise? Kevin chuckled again.

"Something funny?"

Kevin sobered a bit, but the smile would not leave his face. "I remember you called me that at the precinct back then."  

Vic shrugged, inconsequentially. "It's a name I use for a lot of people. Just a habit of mine."

The light from Vic's eyes washed over Kevin's body and through his limbs. It brought a sense of knowing, of familiarity.

Kevin had felt an instant attachment to Vic at the precinct three years ago , possibly out of obligation for the young man saving his life, but this second meeting had been auspicious for other reasons. Somehow, he was looking into a younger version of himself. Not very much younger, to be certain, but younger just the same. A younger and less jaded soul was housed in Vic's frame, a soul Kevin had to admit was able to connect with his in just a few short encounters through their lives.

For one brief instant a shiver of electricity flooded through him and then disappeared like a snuffed candle with traces of smoke lingering in the air around him.

It brought back the memory of that moment in time when Kevin's life had been saved, and the hero had never stayed around long enough to be thanked. Vic had been a missing piece nestling into a puzzle long ago labeled incomplete; still full of fractured pieces, none of them glued down to keep them from breaking away.

An unspoken question filled the silence as Vic studied Kevin in return. Would there be more than just a few minutes between them this time?

Vic helped Cutthroat sit up but kept an effective grip on the man's shoulder.

"You took off before I could thank you last time," Kevin said, ignoring the grunting sounds of protest from Cutthroat who struggled in vain against Vic's hold.

Vic ignored him, too. Shrugging, his expression turned solemn. "Well, I'm here now."

A shiver went down Kevin's spine. His skin prickled.

I'm here now.

Those words conjured up another memory of Vic. It was faded, a wisp dangling just out of reach, more a feeling than anything certain, but the insinuation of 'I'm here now' had been the same. Kevin had seen Vic another time between the incident at the precinct and now, but where the second meeting happened remained in the shadows. Maybe it had been just a glimpse of Vic out of the corner of his eye, or maybe just a dream.

He shuddered. Waxing poetic was a talent that had died almost three years ago… when his estranged wife Crystal and his two boys had been murdered. It was a trait he used at one time to put some color into his life while on the job… and at home while trying to maintain a façade of lies. He hadn't done it since the bombing.

"Something bothering you?" Vic asked.

Kevin was about to reply when the cuffed man broke into another tirade. "Kill you, Turner! When I get off on this charge, I'm gonna come find you and rip your heart out. You bastard! You think you can take me in like this? I'll show you later on what it's like to be cuffed. What I'll do when I cuff you to a chair and rip off your clothes…"

The clearly implied threat sent a heavy wave of protectiveness surging through Kevin. He slammed his fist into the guy's gut, forcing him to his side with a loud groan.

Vic shot Kevin a surprised look, but a hint of a grin on those full lips belied any anger. "What'd you do that for?"

Kevin wrung his hand, flexing his fingers. He hadn't hit anyone in a damn long time. "Can't stand people who don't know when to shut up."

1-2

Like a seismic jolt, Thomas Hampton could feel the shift of thoughts warp within his mind. Bloody ribbons festooned his inner vision, and he knew the symbolic metaphor acted more or less as a warning that her claws had been unsheathed and arteries were spilling blood. A group of people were being killed as he stood there; a message to him. She could simply have come after him directly, bypass the subtle hints of revenge altogether, but his blood, or rather undead blood, would never satisfy the vengeful craving now unleashed within her immortal frame.

No. First she would bring him to his knees, make him suffer.

However, it wasn't as though he never expected her to escape. He knew her. And for the first time in over four hundred years terror gripped him. Not for himself, per se, but for what Arina could bring down on all of them; vampire, lycanthrope, elf, dwarf, dragon, fairy… the entire Dimenlien network was at risk.

He stood on the terrace of his high-rise apartment suite, located in the upper-west side of Sapphire Ridge, California. He had chosen this city over other more practical business locations in Southern California for one very simple reason. He enjoyed the view.

Though he couldn't see the green of the hills after winter brought its showers, nor the sunrises that modeled perfect poses for the nature photographer, neither of those things attracted him to this place. It was the view of the city at night that held him here.

The stars shone clearly on this night, particularly after an earlier high wind had blown smog from the atmosphere.

His bloodstained tongue roamed over his white teeth, feeling the familiar sharpness of his incisors. Most vampires acquired this habit: the need to rub their taste buds over their fangs in order to revel in the lingering flavor of blood hours after feeding.

Tonight the blood had been especially rich.

A young and beautiful man had graced his path, and Hampton had lured him home with both hypnotic energy and desire.

The sex had been rough and fulfilling, and when they had brought each other to completion, the young man had bared his neck willingly for Hampton to succumb to his nocturnal hunger.

Still alive, the mortal would wake up in his bed the next morning. He would be weak and disoriented, and with no memory of the night before, but he would live, perhaps to be fed upon another day.

Very rarely did any of the vampire clans kill their source of food. On some occasions, should a victim's will refuse to turn itself over to the trance, or should the vampire take too much blood (either by intent or accident), they were never to leave the body to be investigated by the police. Priority rule number one dictated no evidence was to be traced back to the clans.

The majority of humans believed vampires were myth and that belief could never be revealed as false. Such strategy had kept the vampires safe all these centuries.

Until now. What could keep them safe from another master vampire gone insane and forcing the media to take notice?

To be released soon from Kindle Direct Publishing.