The Eternal Kiss: Vampire Tales of Blood and Desire

Falling to Ash by Karen Mahoney

THEO WAS LATE. It had been almost a year since she’d seen him, and he couldn’t even be on time.

Moth growled, shifting her gaze to the moon so she could enjoy the cool rays as they bathed her pale skin. Moonlight was her favorite thing in the world—apart from brown eyes on a good-looking guy. She pulled her sunglasses down onto the tip of her nose and surveyed the alley, wondering what the hell had happened to Theo. She tapped her foot impatiently, enjoying the clicking sound the steel toe-caps of her boots made on the sidewalk.

Anything to avoid thinking about Mom’s memorial service tomorrow. Well, not so much the service itself—she was far more afraid of facing her father. Her lips tightened as she remembered the last time she’d seen him; fatherly love had been the last thing on his mind. Her mother had been gone for a year, and yet her dad couldn’t care less whether or not his middle daughter turned up to remember her.

Moth swallowed and pushed those thoughts away, instead admiring the pure white skin of her slender arms as she stretched them above her head. It wasn’t like she’d ever been much for tanning, even before she became a vampire. She could still walk in daylight, but not in full-summer and never without some cloud cover or buildings to shade her. As each year passed, she noticed how the sun bothered her a little more; even SPF fifty wasn’t always enough.

Pushing the cheap plastic sunglasses back into position, she leaned against the back door of Subterranean and wondered why they couldn’t have met inside the club. It was ten-thirty on Saturday night—the place would be crawling with vampires, and she might even see some familiar faces. Despite her desperation to get away from this place, she’d been lonely the past few months.

And then Theo was there, sliding out of the shadows and gliding toward her with the cat-like grace she was so familiar with. His beauty never failed to take her breath away, even though she hated the knowing gleam in his eye as he touched her cheek in greeting.

Moth glared from behind her shades. “You’re late.”

“And your manners haven’t improved.”

“I was in Boston, Theo. Not a finishing school for naughty girls.”

Theo raised his dark eyebrows and grinned his wicked pirate-smile. “Now there’s an idea …”

Moth pushed the sunglasses up onto her head, balancing them among the thick black waves of her long hair. She knew that her silver eyes would be glowing brightly in recognition of her sire, but she couldn’t bring herself to show him how happy she really was to see him. He hadn’t earned that right—not since the day, ten years ago, when he’d stolen her innocence and made her a monster.

He reached out for the shades and snatched them before she could stop him. “Why are you wearing these ridiculous things?”

“My eyes keep glowing and the contacts hurt.” She nodded up at the moon. “It’s almost full.”

“You haven’t been feeding.” Theo’s tone was filled with reproach. “If you had, you wouldn’t have this problem.” His own eyes were currently light gray, his vampire nature hidden behind centuries of rigid control.

Moth glared. “I’ve fed more than enough.”

He sniffed. “From blood banks. It’s hardly the same thing.”

“You said you wouldn’t push me on this.”

“I haven’t pushed you on your eating habits for almost a decade. Perhaps I should start.”

She scuffed her boot on the ground, deciding that a change of subject might be a good idea. “Why are we standing out here, anyway?”

Theo leaned against the wall and pushed his hands into the pockets of his custom-made jacket. His black hair was shorter than she remembered it, the curls resting neatly around his ears and stopping short of his collar. People often took them for family, which amused Theo. He liked to pretend she was his little sister—it gave him a sick charge.

Just as Moth began to wonder if he was going to answer, he met her eyes. “I don’t want anyone to know you’re back. Not yet.”

She frowned. What the hell was he cooking up now? Wasn’t it enough that he’d dragged her into the city for a meeting, just because he knew she’d be back for her mother’s service? “You promised me a year of freedom, Theo. My time’s not even up, yet. This isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, my lovely.” His eyes were like stone, his mouth unsmiling.

“But you promised,” she said, hating herself for showing weakness. She wrapped her arms around her body, as though she could hold back the pain that began to gnaw at her belly. Being around Theo always made her feel hungry—that was one of the reasons she’d wanted to get away from Ironbridge in the first place.

“I have a job for you,” Theo said, breaking into her thoughts. “It’s something very special. Only my little Moth would do for this one.”

Ten months into her … vacation, and he wanted her for this? To steal something? That’s all he ever wanted her for. “This is such crap. You don’t need me—it’s just an excuse.”

His eyes grew wide and mock-innocent. “An excuse? For what?”

“To get me back. You’re not happy unless you’re controlling everyone around you.”

Theo’s face hardened and Moth felt the familiar tug of power in her chest. He owned her, body and soul—if she still even had a soul—and she hated him almost as much as she loved him. Right now, maybe she hated him more.

“Be grateful that you had as long as you did, child. It’s hardly my fault you came back to cry over your mother’s grave. Now, listen to me. Here’s what I want you to do …”

All this trouble for a stupid funeral urn? And why was death such a feature on this trip? Moth shook her head as she stomped through Ironbridge Common and avoided a group of kids who were taking turns swigging out of a bottle. She pushed down the sharp stab of envy somewhere in the region of her heart; she would never do those human things again. She sighed, and tried to remember what it had been like to be a “normal” teenager. If she was being honest with herself, it wasn’t like she’d been all that happy back then, anyway.

It was a mild night and the sky was clear. Summer wasn’t far away—she could already smell it in the air and dreaded the longer days to come. Moth flopped onto a bench under one of the old-fashioned iron lamps that lined the pathways. She tried not to remember the distressed expression on Caitlín’s face when she’d left the city, ten months ago. They’d sat in this very spot and said their goodbyes. Moth had promised to call her younger sister as soon as she returned to Ironbridge, but instead here she was skulking around the Common and wondering if there was any way she could get out of doing this job for Theo.

“Hey, what freak show did you escape from?”

Two guys were standing in front of her, one of them posing with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. She’d been so busy thinking about Theo, and the crazy scheme he’d dragged her into, that she hadn’t even smelled them coming.

Moth tried for the friendly approach. Hey, it was worth a try. “Nice to see you, too, boys.” She grinned, while still managing to keep her fangs hidden. It was tricky, but possible, although it had taken her several years to master the art.

The boys were probably sixteen or seventeen; only a little younger than Moth had been when she was turned almost a decade ago. They wore blue jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts. One of them carried a jacket that caught her eye—it was soft black leather, covered in zips and pointed metal studs. Nice. She wondered how a kid like that could afford such a beautiful jacket.

“Don’t know what you’re grinning at, but you’re sitting on our bench.” This was said around the cigarette, so some of the force behind the words was lost. The guy had short brown hair, narrow eyes, and a screw-you attitude. His slightly hawkish nose reminded her of Theo’s.

Leather Jacket Boy nodded agreement as he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his buddy. He clearly thought he was doing a good job at playing the silent, menacing role, but his scruffy halo of soft-looking blond hair ruined the effect.

Moth sighed and slowly shook her head. “Now, that’s no way to talk to a lady, is it boys?” She leaned back and spread her arms out along the back of the bench. The studded bracelets on her right wrist caught the light.

The smoker leaned over her. “I don’t see a ‘lady’ here. And I said, get off our bench.”

“Can’t you find another bench to make out on?” Moth kept her expression neutral, but she could smell the boy’s anger and it was making her even hungrier.

“What are you saying?” Leather Jacket Boy demanded, his face flushing.

Moth stood in a single, fluid movement. She tugged down her short black skirt and cursed as she caught her fishnets on one of her rings. “Crap. Now look what you made me do.” She glared at them both, remembering too late that the expression would be lost behind her sunglasses. She was tempted to give them a good look at her eyes, but Theo would be pissed and she’d only just gotten back. Probably not a wise move.

She reached out to the dark-haired kid, swiping the cigarette from his mouth. Before he could protest, she pressed the burning tip against her other palm and watched their faces as her white flesh sizzled. It hurt like hell, but there was no way she would show them that—and the burn would heal in a matter of minutes, anyway. Not that these assholes needed to know that.

Both guys backed up a step. “Shit,” the one who’d been smoking said. “She must be high.”

Moth grinned, not caring if she flashed fang this time. “Get lost.” She threw the butt at them, laughing as they shot fearful glances at her.

“Crazy bitch,” Leather Jacket Boy muttered. He grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him away from the bench. “C’mon, Todd.”

Moth watched them through narrowed eyes, clamping down hard on her hunger and keeping the desire to teach these punks a real lesson in check.

“Todd” turned back and gave her the finger.

Ah, what the hell. “Hey,” she called.

She sauntered over to them, swinging her hips and twirling her hair between her fingers. She stood up close to Leather Jacket Boy and ruffled his blond hair. “Nice jacket you got there. Your boyfriend buy it for you?”

“Shut up!” This was from Todd.

Moth ignored him. “Or maybe it was a gift from Mom and Dad. Do your folks know you’re out here, smoking and causing trouble for vulnerable girls like me?”

She grabbed the jacket with ease and made a big show of admiring it. “Lovely piece of work. I bet it was a Christmas gift. Am I right?” She looked at the blond kid and smiled.

“Give it back, or you’ll be sorry.”

“Yeah. Like I was sorry about sitting on your stupid bench,” she replied. “I think I’ll take this with me. Maybe it’ll teach you boys some manners.”

Todd took a step forward. “Give it back, freak.” He lit another cigarette and watched her through those cunning eyes. Moth couldn’t help admiring his bravado—his hands didn’t shake at all. “Maybe we’ll find out how you did that little trick before, see if it works when someone else tries it.” He brandished the freshly glowing cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke at her.

Moth acted without thinking—something she did way too much, according to Theo. Okay, and according to her father and her “loving” older sister. She closed her mind to dark thoughts of Sinéad and her dad, determined not to see their disappointed faces.

Instead, she grabbed Todd by the throat and pulled him toward her so fast he lost his footing. She was so much shorter than him, it must’ve looked comical. At the same time, she wrestled the cigarette from his fingers and held the glowing tip close to his sweating face.

“Next time, you get this in your eye.” She took a drag on it and blew a mouthful of smoke directly into his face. “From now on, that’s my bench.”

Moth shoved him away from her hard enough to dump him on his ass. She dropped the cigarette on him then picked up the leather jacket. Dusting it off while she watched the blond boy, who was gazing at her with terrified saucer-eyes, she felt a surge of adrenalin. Part of her hated doing this, but there was a growing part that enjoyed the sense of power no matter how hard she tried to deny it. It helped that she pictured her father’s face sneering at her whenever she played the tough-girl role.

She shrugged into the jacket, testing the fit and enjoying the feel of the smooth satin lining. It was too big, but that didn’t matter.

“Very nice,” she said. “Thanks.”

Leaving them with their mouths hanging open, Moth walked back to the pathway. Heading back into the city, she tried to ignore the gnawing hunger that made her whole body buzz. She’d have to make an extra stop for blood now, dammit.

Theo wanted Moth to steal an urn filled with the ashes of a recently “deceased” vampire. It wasn’t anyone she knew, which was something of a relief, but it was still a crazy assignment. Mainly because this particular vampire was a “master” who had been destroyed by a rogue vampire hunter. And not just any hunter, but one that had become a nasty thorn in Theo’s side during the months that Moth had been gone. Apparently he was a middle-aged man who didn’t look like he could slay a mosquito, much less a vampire, and yet the guy was still at large after destroying six vampires. The most recent victim, Maxim, was an old business associate of Theo’s. Moth didn’t know what her sire wanted with the ashes, but knowing him it couldn’t be for anything good.

Oh, and the urn was currently stored somewhere in the hunter’s apartment.

How the hell she was going to find a way into a super-paranoid vampire hunter’s private home—which was no doubt protected by all kinds of technology and magic—was something that Theo had left for Moth to figure out for herself.

Perfect.

She prowled the perimeter of the apartment block on the eastern edge of Ironbridge, wondering why a killer would choose somewhere like this to hole up. It was too high profile—way too up-market for a person who should, by rights, want to keep his head down and his business private. On the other hand, he probably made a ton of money doing what he did, so why not live in style? It wasn’t like a vampire hunter had a high life-expectancy.

Moth ran her fingers over the cool metal of the intercom, wondering where Thomas Murdoch was hunting tonight.

“You need to get in?” The voice came from directly behind her, and Moth couldn’t believe she hadn’t sensed anybody approach. She was losing her touch.

She swung around to face a young guy, probably similar in age to her—before she was turned—with blond spiky hair and intense dark eyes. She couldn’t tell what color they were, even under the apartment-block security lights, but that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that he was freaking gorgeous. And tall—much taller than her.

The guy activated the electronic entry pad with a black fob hanging from his keyring. He gave her a strange look as he opened the door, probably because she was just staring at him. Moth wondered if she had drool running from the corner of her mouth.

“After you,” he said.

“Thanks.” This wasn’t exactly how Moth had planned on entering the building, but what could she do? She couldn’t be rude, not when he was so goddamn cute, and maybe this would turn out to be easier than climbing the outside wall.

She unzipped the leather jacket and noisily cracked her knuckles, immediately regretting the habitual action. It wasn’t her most feminine trait. She ventured further into the lobby … and slammed on the brakes as she walked past a huge copper-framed mirror. Damn. Way to advertise your undead status. She backed up and waited for the guy to walk by.

He gave her that look again, but headed for the far end of the foyer and hit the elevator call button. As soon as he disappeared inside, Moth scampered up the stairs and headed to the top floor. It figured that a kick-ass vampire hunter would live at the top of a ten-storey building. Luckily for her, endurance wasn’t an issue since turning vamp.

Tenth floor, and the plush-carpeted hallway was quiet. No mirrors here—just ornate wood paneling lining the walls and low-key lighting humming quietly above her head. Moth tried not to think about the stranger who had let her in; his dark eyes seemed to burn in her mind, and it disturbed her that someone who was clearly only human could affect her that much. She’d spent so many years being drawn to Theo that she’d forgotten what it was like to feel a genuine spark of attraction for anyone else. She wondered who the young guy was and which apartment he lived in.

Moth shook her head, reminding herself how furious Theo would be if she screwed up. If she wanted to get out of Ironbridge and enjoy her last couple months of freedom, she needed to succeed. She shivered as she walked underneath an air-conditioning unit that had been left running, glad that she’d changed into black jeans when she’d stopped at one of Theo’s dens for a snack. Thankfully, despite his aversion to “bottled blood” (his name for the hospital supplies some vampires preferred to drink), he didn’t stop his people from indulging their morals.

The door to apartment 1016 was at the far end of the corridor, set back in its own alcove. The bright copper handle stood out against dark wood, and Moth’s heart began to pound when she noticed that the door stood open. Just a crack, but she still caught a glimpse of burgundy carpet and a small entry hall through the narrow gap. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and contemplated this whole situation being a setup.

No, that was crazy.

Licking her lips and wishing that being a vampire meant she didn’t have to feel that human rush of adrenalin, Moth edged closer, trying to ignore the fear and excitement pulsing in her stomach. She pushed out with her senses to see if she could smell or hear what waited on the other side of the door. Too late, she caught the sliver of a human scent behind her—it was mixed with something oily and mechanical and utterly unfamiliar.

A sharp pain pierced the back of her neck, and suddenly she was falling … falling to the floor and beyond into darkness.

Moth opened her eyes but immediately regretted it, hissing in pain at the bright light shining in her face. She tried to move, but realized her arms were secured behind her with something hard and cool. Something that, although cold, still burned the bare flesh of her arms.

“Don’t struggle, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Moth squinted in the direction of the male voice, but it was difficult to make out her surroundings with the spotlight aimed at her. The heat was making her skin itch, and her lips were dry and cracked. Someone had removed the leather jacket, leaving her in the tight black T-shirt that displayed a blood-red picture of Dr. Frank N. Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

She almost cried with relief when the solar lamp—or whatever it was—switched off, leaving the room illuminated by flickering candlelight. Very atmospheric. Moth was propped up against a wall beneath the only window in the room. To her left was a large bed covered in a gray velvet throw and, on the other side of that, floor-to-ceiling built-in wardrobes lined the wall. Two small glass-topped tables each held several candles of varying height. A man sat in an armchair to her right.

Moth tried to stand, but realized her legs were bound by heavy silver chains. At least her jeans offered some protection. She frowned, wondering why the silver that she assumed bound her wrists was so painful. Vampires were sensitive to silver, but it wasn’t usually this bad. More like an irritating allergy—and even then, only with really good-quality silver.

She gazed at the suspiciously familiar-looking young man who was watching her. The first thing she noticed about him was that he held some kind of crossbow trained on her, and it was aimed straight at her heart.

He said, “The silver chains and handcuffs are blessed, that’s why it hurts.”

Moth scowled. “That’s just mythology.”

“So, that’s why your wrists are burning?” His mouth twitched. “You must be a girl of faith for it to be so painful. Ironic, huh?”

“Who are you?” Moth resisted the temptation to bare her fangs, just in case he was simply a nutjob who didn’t really know what he was talking about. Considering the blessed silver chains and the crossbow, she doubted that was true, but it offered some comfort while her mind raced to figure a way out of here.

The young guy with spiky blond hair and dark eyes leaned forward as he smiled at her, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. His face was flooded with candlelight.

“You,” whispered Moth.

“Jason Murdoch, at your service. Sorry that Dad couldn’t be here to say ‘hi.’”

“You’re Thomas Murdoch’s son?”

He nodded, looking pleased that she’d figured it out. “Jace. I’d shake your hand, but you’re a little tied up over there.”

Moth was fighting a nauseating combination of fury and panic. This little (Okay, not so little) bastard was Jace Murdoch, son of the vampire hunter that had plagued Theo over the last few months? Theo had assured her it was safe to break into Thomas Murdoch’s apartment at this time of night—he hunted during the witching hour—but there had been no mention of a hunter-in-training sharing space with Daddy. She mentally kicked herself. Hard. Why had she listened to Theo? She should’ve cased the job herself.

Jace shifted position again, leaning back and resting the crossbow on the arm of the chair. A silver ring flashed in his left eyebrow, something she hadn’t noticed downstairs in the foyer. He’d also taken off his jacket and was dressed simply in a white T-shirt and blue jeans, his powerful forearms covered in ink that led her to believe he might be older than she’d first thought. Moth squinted, managing to make out some kind of Celtic band around his right arm—the one that guided the crossbow and was as steady as a rock—and something that might have been a dragon or a phoenix on his left.

“What are you doing here?” Moth was glad to hear that her voice was strong.

He raised an eyebrow, the one with the piercing. “I live here.” Jace must have seen the surprise on her face, because he shrugged. “Well, some of the time. I’m away at school mostly, but I spend whatever breaks I get back here in Ironbridge.”

Moth tested the handcuffs that bit into her wrists. The pain was intense, but she tugged at them again and had to swallow a cry of triumph as she felt something give. Not enough—not yet—but maybe soon. “I don’t know what you’re bothering with school for if you’re going into the family business with Daddy.” She kept her tone light, mocking, hoping to distract her captor.

He grinned, and this time it seemed more genuine. “You don’t know anything about me, but I know plenty about you.” He stood and grabbed something that had been lying on the floor by his feet. Before she could see what it was, he approached—still keeping his weapon trained on her—and held the mirror up in front of her.

He glanced down, tilting his head slightly, and gazed back at her. “Well, would you look at that? No reflection. Just like downstairs.”

Moth wanted to kick out at him so desperately she could taste it, but he stayed just out of reach. He threw the mirror down and grasped the crossbow in both hands, pointing it higher, this time at her forehead.

Taking a deep breath, Moth tried to catch his eye in just the right way. If she could snare him in her gaze, she might be able to weaken his will enough to get him to free her.

Jace shook his head. “Uh, uh, no you don’t little vampire.” He produced her sunglasses from the pocket of his jeans and slowly approached her from the side. “Stay right there like a good girl. I think you’ll look a lot better in these, when you can’t use those pretty eyes on me.”

Infuriating as it was, Moth could do nothing as he placed the shades awkwardly over her eyes. One side wasn’t sitting properly over her ear, but that was because she struggled despite the crossbow pointing at her head. Surely if he really wanted her dead, she’d already be a pile of ash. Moth tried to tell herself that. It helped.

And, bizarre as it sounded—even to herself—Jace Murdoch didn’t seem like such a bad guy. Well, if you didn’t count the fact that he’d shot her with a tranquilizer dart (or something like it) and then tied her up in the toughest silver she’d ever heard of. And if you ignored the fact that he was holding a crossbow with the razor-sharp bolt locked and loaded.

Right.

Moth bared her fangs and hissed as he backed away, always keeping her in his line of sight. What the hell; might as well go for the whole vampire-show, see if she could shake his confidence.

He assumed his position back in the chair, seeming unaffected by her fangs. She couldn’t help thinking that she probably looked sort of comical, tied up and helpless and wearing a pair of tacky oversized shades.

Confirming her suspicions, Jace grinned. “You look cute, you know that?”

“Screw yourself.”

“That’s no language for a lady.”

Moth shifted position on the hard floor, using the movement to disguise the fact that she’d pulled the chain linking the handcuffs apart a little further. She couldn’t see what she was doing, but she could feel it; every tug shot burning pain into her wrists. Even though she didn’t like taking human blood from a live donor (and she liked the taste even less) she was seriously tempted to bite this guy when she got free. Just to scar him as surely as she would have to bear the scars of silver burns for the rest of her very long life.

Jace said, “You’re not going to get out of those, you know.”

Moth smirked at him in what she hoped was an irritating way. “Why the hell would I want to escape when you’re such fascinating company?”

She watched him as he shifted the crossbow to his other hand while he checked his cell phone. “You waiting for Daddy to call?”

“Cute.” Jace narrowed his eyes. “What’s your name, little vampire?”

What would it hurt, to give him that? “Moth.”

He shook his head. “Your real name. Not your stupid vampire name.”

“That is my real name.” Now, anyway. Now and forever.

He smiled that nasty smile again; not the flash of genuine humor she’d seen earlier. “Whatever you say, Moth.”

“What do you care what I’m called? You’re going to kill me, anyway.”

“You’re already dead, as far as I’m concerned. You were the very moment you were bitten.”

Moth felt something like grief stir in her chest. “You don’t know that. Is that what your dad told you about us?” She swallowed. “Maybe you shouldn’t just take his word for everything, and go find out some of this stuff for yourself.”

“As soon as I’ve got my degree, I’ll be traveling with him. That’s the deal.”

“Hunting with him, don’t you mean?”

He shrugged. “So what? You’re a hunter—you’re all predators. Vamps, werewolves … All monsters kill whatever and whoever they can to survive.” He gave her a hard look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never killed a human.”

She was suddenly relieved he couldn’t see her eyes. Her mouth pulled into a tight line and she wished she were a better liar. “I don’t have to answer to you. You’re holding a freaking crossbow aimed at my heart.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His lip curled. “You can’t even answer the question.”

“I don’t owe you anything. You attacked me and tied me up, and then threatened to turn me into dust. How do you even know how long ago I was turned? Have you thought about that?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Hasn’t Daddy told you? New vampires won’t just disintegrate into a convenient pile of ash. You’re going to end up with a lot of bodies that need to be disposed of. Have you got the stomach for that? How old are you, anyway? You’re just a kid …”

Jace stood, his face twisted with anger. The crossbow trembled in his hand. “Shut your mouth, bloodsucker.”

Moth felt sick, her arms hurt and her legs were heavy against the floor, but she was getting to him. Finally. She tested the cuffs one last time and then pulled, thankful that her silver-induced weakness didn’t stop her from breaking the bonds. The chain snapped, though that still left her wrists encased in the blessed metal. But so what? She could use her hands again, which was all that mattered.

Jace was much closer now. He seemed younger and less sure of himself. Moth licked her lips and shook her hair out of her eyes, dislodging the precariously perched sunglasses. They hit the ground just as Jace aimed the crossbow at her head. Moth was sure she could hear his heart beating, could almost taste his fear. The hunter’s son probably had a lot to prove to Daddy. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

She smiled at him, despite the fear that fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird. “You’re aiming at the wrong place. My heart’s a lot lower than that.”

She watched, with a curious mixture of anger and compassion, as he swallowed. She could see his throat work as he licked his lips. He was almost in reach of her legs. Almost …

“Nice setup you’ve got here.” Moth braced her palms against the floor. “Your dad must earn a lot of money dusting vamps, huh?”

A single bead of sweat trickled down Jace’s temple. She wondered what it would taste like, whether she would get the chance to taste him.

His foot moved forward—one more step—and it was enough.

Moth moved. She pushed her hands down and flipped her legs up, slamming her bound feet into his knee and hearing the satisfying crunch of bone.

Jace collapsed, howling with pain. The crossbow fell beside him and released its deadly bolt, whizzing past Moth’s ear and landing with a thunk just below the window as it buried itself in the aged plaster. Moth’s momentum had carried her on top of her would-be captor. Her legs were hopelessly bound with those thick chains, but she still managed to roll onto her knees and pin Jace to the ground.

His face was the color of raw putty as he struggled beneath her, surprising her with his human strength despite the injury, but she held him with ease.

“Quit moving around.” Moth smiled sweetly. “You don’t want to hurt yourself now, do you?” She’d just broken the guy’s kneecap, and she knew she was being a cow but … what the hell. He deserved it.

Even without the use of her legs—even with the broken silver cuffs still circling her wrists—Moth was stronger than him. Despite the difference in their sizes, she pushed down on his arms and lay on top of him with her knees resting between his legs. If she pressed her knees in just the right way, Jace was going to be in a lot more pain than he already was.

“So,” she said, with a wicked smile. “Does your father know you do this kind of thing?”

He took shallow breaths. “Of course he does. He trained me.”

“And how old are you?”

“How old are you?”

She cocked her head to one side. “Eighteen.”

“That’s when you were turned. How old are you? Really.”

Moth pursed her lips and thought about playing with him some more. But what did she have to lose? “I’m twenty-eight.”

Jace looked surprised. “You’ve been a vamp for ten years? No way.”

“You’re saying I look younger? Aw, thanks.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

Grimacing as he shifted position beneath her, he sucked in a breath. “No, I mean you seem younger. You act it.”

Moth gave him the benefit of her silver stare. “Sometimes. So, c’mon. Your turn.”

“I’m nineteen.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, I love a younger man …”

“Get off me, freak.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Moth dug her knees in. Hard.

Jace’s eyes rolled with pain and, if it was possible, his face became even paler. “Bitch,” he gasped.

“Says the guy who drugged me—and I don’t know how the hell you managed that—tied me up in chains and handcuffs made of blessed silver, and then threatened to dust me with Daddy’s crossbow.”

“So … what? You’re going to bite me now, is that it?”

“Would you like me to?” Moth could smell his fear. It was intoxicating, and she was already trying to fight the bloodlust rising in her gut. She could feel the panicked drumbeat of his heart as their bodies pressed together. Just because she had an aversion to the taste of blood—especially the fresh stuff—didn’t mean she wouldn’t do what she had to do. Not when it came to survival.

She studied Jace’s pain-wracked face. This wasn’t survival, it was revenge, but didn’t she deserve a little of that? She wouldn’t drain him, of course. She would only take a little. Just a taste …

Moth slid her hands down his solid arms and grabbed his wrists, forcing them above his head. He was powerless. He could wriggle beneath her, but with the busted kneecap he only had one leg that was working, and he was probably in too much pain to do too much damage with it.

His blond spikes had wilted, and sweat ran freely down his neck and onto the carpet. She stared into his dark eyes—his brown eyes—and did something she hadn’t done for a very long time. Oh, the days she’d spent dreaming of Theo and those full lips. But there was something about Jace’s thinner mouth that drew her to him. Even though he was beaten and in pain, the grim determination that pulled it into a tight line spoke of the sort of man he was going to become.

Moth licked her lips and leaned in close.

Jace’s eyes widened as she captured him in her gaze, willing him to hold still, just for a moment, while she pressed her lips to his and delivered the softest of kisses. He tasted of fear and rage, desire and pain, and it was truly delicious. Filled with regret and growing bloodlust, Moth pulled away—she had to get out of there. But first she had to find that damn funeral urn.

Before she could move away, Jace’s uninjured leg suddenly swung around, clamping down on her chained legs and holding her in place as he pushed his lips back against hers.

Moth’s brain registered a fleeting moment of WTF? as he deepened the kiss. Wasn’t he supposed to be transfixed by her silver eyes? She still hadn’t fully mastered the art of compulsion, but she had some ability. And then she purposely switched off that part of her mind—the part that was afraid—as she enjoyed the moment; it had been too long since she’d been kissed like this. Too long since she had been held and touched.

Moth finally opened her eyes and pulled away. She looked down into his face and he stared back, a dark challenge hidden in the depths of his eyes. His lips quirked in a half-smile, and the movement sent a drop of blood running down his chin.

Before she could control the impulse, Moth darted forward and caught the shining crimson bead on the tip of her tongue. It tasted harsh and tangy, and she shuddered with a mixture of desire and disgust as she swallowed it. She licked her lips and tried to push down the wave of guilt that washed over her. Crazy to feel that way, just for nicking him with her teeth. It had been an accident—heat of the moment.

“If you’d let go of my hands, I could wipe the rest of the blood away.” Jace’s tone was neutral, all signs of pain and panic appeared to have gone. He’d regained his control, just as she had lost hers.

Moth gazed at the new blood welling from the cut on his bottom lip. She released his arms and pushed away from him, rolling to one side and dragging herself across the room and against the wall nearest the door. Her newly acquired leather jacket was hanging from a hook against the dark wood. She grabbed it and tugged it down, ripping the bronze coat hook from its moorings. Wrapping the material around her hands, she gripped the thick silver chains encasing her legs and pulled.

The metal was heavy and tough—even without the so-called “blessing” (which Moth was beginning to suspect was actually some kind of magical warding)—but she was fast regaining her strength.

The chains snapped, the miniature padlocks shattering into pieces and scattering around her on the carpet.

Jace lay exactly where she’d left him. His injured leg was bent at a strange angle and Moth began to wonder if she should leave him there like that. She shook her head. What the hell was she thinking? She was going soft, forgetting what he’d done to her in the first place. One kiss and she’d completely lost her head.

Flipping onto her feet, she shrugged into the jacket and tried to ignore the faint burning sensation around each wrist. Moth approached the would-be vampire hunter and nudged him with the toe of her boot.

“Okay, Van Helsing. Where does your father keep his trophies?”

He coughed and propped himself up on his elbows. He tried to hide a wince as he attempted to lift himself into a sitting position. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, I don’t have time for this. You cost me …” She glanced at the clock on the bedside table and almost gasped. “Two freaking hours?! What the hell did you plug me with?” She narrowed her eyes. “Forget that. What time will Daddy be home?”

Jace glared at her. “He’s never home before dawn.”

Moth felt the tension in her gut ease. “So … The trophy room?”

“He doesn’t take scalps, if that’s what you mean.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ashes, Jace. Where does he keep the ashes?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Yeah, right. Tell me, or I’ll rip the place apart after I take out your other knee.” She gave him an evil grin. “How do you fancy a wheelchair for the next three months?”

Moth was amazed to see his fingers twitch in the direction of the unloaded crossbow. She brought her heavy boot down on it with a satisfying crunch.

“Tick-tock, Jace.”

“Fine. There’s no trophy room.” He raised his hand as he saw Moth about to reply. “There really isn’t. Dad keeps some funeral urns in the kitchen.”

She frowned. “Um … The kitchen?”

“Cupboard under the sink.” He lay back against the floor and closed his eyes.

“Your old man’s a freak, you know that?”

“Screw you.”

Moth couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. She blew him a kiss and pocketed his cell phone and her shades on her way past the armchair. She left the room and quickly checked all the other doors before finding the kitchen at the far end of the labyrinthine apartment.

The kitchen was surprisingly large, square and filled with chrome and modern appliances that didn’t look like they saw much use. The small sink and disposal unit shone under the bright lights, and beneath those nestled the sort of cupboard where you’d expect to find cleaning products.

Except inside this cupboard were at least a dozen funeral urns. Why would a vampire hunter store trophies of his kills under the kitchen sink, of all places? Maybe it was simply because nobody would ever think to look there for his prize stash.

Or maybe Thomas Murdoch was a crazy bastard. What the hell did it matter, anyway? As long as she grabbed the right one, she was out of here.

Moth shuddered as she touched the urns at the front. Ugh, creepy. How was she supposed to know which one Theo wanted? She nibbled her lower lip, her mind straying to the kiss with Jace. He may be the son of a killer, with a serious attitude problem to boot, but he was still pretty damn hot. She should really give his phone back when she left—that knee was going to need a lot of medical attention.

She pushed away thoughts of teen vampire hunters, and instead tried to remember what Theo had told her about the master vampire that’d been dusted. She carefully removed each urn, searching for clues, and breathed a sigh of relief when she thought to look underneath. Each one was inscribed with a date—presumably the date of death. Moth knew when Maxim had been killed, so it was only a matter of minutes before she found the right container. At least, she hoped it was the right container.

Tucking the ceramic urn under her arm, she prayed she wasn’t going to have one of her clumsy nights. She would have to take the stairs, much as she was tempted to climb out of the window and just shimmy down the wall, but carrying ashes that were over five hundred years old while sticking to the wall Spider-Man style probably wasn’t a good plan. Especially as the contents of this funeral urn—no matter how gross—were her ticket back out of Ironbridge for the next two months.

As she finally left the apartment, wondering how many invisible alarms she’d tripped in the kitchen, Moth dropped Jace’s cell phone outside the bedroom door. Maybe he’d find it before his dad got home. She didn’t have time to do more for him. Theo would be waiting for the urn, and was no doubt wondering where the hell she was.

Moth rolled her eyes. Let him wait—like he’d even care that she had almost been killed tonight.

Except Theo had cared. He had seemed to care a great deal, which left Moth confused and vulnerable when she faced her father the next day.

“I don’t know what kind of deal you made with the Devil, Marie O’Neal, but do you honestly believe I haven’t noticed you’ve not aged a day since your eighteenth birthday?”

Moth—still known as Marie to her family—stared at her father in shock. She wanted to say something sensible; something that would convince him that he was talking crap. Anything that might make him believe she wasn’t the monster he suspected her of being. But the O’Neals were a superstitious bunch, and her father was the worst of them.

“Dad—”

“Get out of my house. Your mother’s been in her grave this past year, so you’ve no business here anymore.”

“You can’t stop me from seeing Caitlín!” Her younger sister would be devastated when she heard what was happening. How could Moth explain this to her without revealing the truth?

Coming home had probably been a mistake, but Moth refused to miss her mother’s memorial service. Apart from the fact that she wanted to be here for that, not putting in an appearance would’ve caused even more questions. She hadn’t been home since Mom died last year, and even back then her father had been insistent that his middle daughter was now living a life of drugs and “God-knows what else.” However, the look of distaste on his lined face—the shadow of fear that lingered in his pale blue eyes—said that he now believed something else entirely.

Rory O’Neal had always been a God-fearing man, thanks to his strict Catholic upbringing by elderly immigrant parents, but he was looking at Moth as though she were the devil incarnate.

He scowled at her. “Caitlín’s old enough to see you on her own time, away from here, and Sinéad feels the same way as I do.”

She couldn’t resist sneering at that. “Of course she does.” Moth and her older sister had never been close.

“Don’t speak about your sister in that tone. At least she didn’t run away after your mother passed.”

Moth ignored him and watched the family’s arthritic dog shuffle around the untidy backyard. She tried not to think about her older sister’s smug expression as she had watched their father lead Moth out onto the porch after the last guest had left. At least Dad had waited until people had properly paid their respects, before disowning her and telling her she was something other than human.

Much as she wanted to hate him, how could she truly blame her father?

Swallowing unshed tears, she shivered in the rapidly cooling shade. She couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to have the sun warming her face. As usual, she sat under cover of the wooden porch as the bright spring day came to a close.

“Do you even hear what I’m saying to you, Marie?” Her father’s voice broke into her scattered thoughts. “You’re not welcome here. Leave us in peace.”

Tears burned in her eyes—the eyes her father had insisted she uncover after the service commemorating Mom’s life and death—and the blue contacts caused her eyes to ache more than ever. Moth clutched her sunglasses between stiff fingers, and resisted the temptation to crush them into dust. She suddenly wished she’d left them back in that room with the wannabe vampire hunter.

A picture of Jace suddenly flashed in her mind, as bright and clear as a newly developed photograph. She gritted her teeth and pushed the image away. He was human, and not only that, he was her enemy.

Moth’s voice was husky. “I understand what you’re saying, Dad. I just don’t know how you can say it to me. I’m your daughter.”

His eyes were blank. “No, you’re not. Not anymore.”

Marie “Moth” O’Neal gazed at her father for a long moment. His face was set in cold, hard lines that she knew would never again melt into a smile—not for her.

Caitlín was the only human being that she could rely on now. She had to learn to accept her new “family;” a family that worshipped the moon rather than the sun, and who didn’t look at her as though she were a monster.

When she had returned to Theo with barely-healed scars on her arms—and the silver handcuffs causing fresh burns every moment—her sire had been furious. Not with her, as she’d feared, but with the young human who had dared to attack his “little Moth.” He had ripped the blessed metal from her wrists without flinching, the mysterious urn seemingly forgotten as he held her in his arms and stroked her hair.

Turning away from the home she had grown up in, Moth tasted bitter ashes on her tongue. Her old life was crumbling around her, but she pinned a fierce smile on her lips as she headed out of the city. She tucked her sunglasses in place, hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulder, and wondered how long it would take her to hitchhike back to Boston.

She had earned her last two months of freedom, and she damn well intended to make the most of them.