C2 Alex Stone

It's not as fun as you might think, being right all the time.

At the moment I'm literally drowning in how right I was.

Also, that asshole was so not worth sleeping with. I really need to reevaluate my taste in men. Celibacy is looking like a much more valid life choice.

I've left the knife in my gut for now, because taking it out could be more deadly. At least for the moment the knife is stemming the blood loss a bit. Every drop I can keep on the inside of my body is a small win for me.

The water is rising quickly, and I will soon run out of room for my head. I have maybe three minutes until I'm completely submerged with no way to breathe. Because, of course, setting off this trap also closed the exit just as Trevor-the-weasel slipped out with my treasure.

I'll deal with him later. First, I have to get out of here alive.

Think, Alex. Think.

I look around, assessing the space. The water is coming from below. Maybe there's a way out under me? I kick my feet, and the use of core muscles sends shooting pain through my body, but I do my best to ignore it. It's not worse than that time a corpse came alive and bit me. Good thing it wasn't contagious. But damn that took time to heal. And it's not exactly something one can easily explain at the hospital. I had to rely on a good friend of mine to fix me up. A situation that has become commonplace over the years of adventures. My friend is... well, I don't exactly know what she is. But she never bats an eye at my stories, and always have the perfect remedy for the strange injuries and ailments I bring back from my job. There's definitely something paranormal going on with her, but she's a pretty private person and I don't like to pry.

At any rate, she's the reason I'm still alive.

For now, at least.

Despite strong swimming skills (fun fact: I could have been an Olympic contender, but I had bigger fish to fry) I make very little progress trying to reach the bottom. The influx of water is too strong and pushes me away. Instead, I go with the flow and see where that takes me.

Experience dictates there should be some way of reversing this or escaping. Some kind of puzzle to solve. Or monster to fight.

I'm hoping for a puzzle.

The water slams me against a stone wall, and I grip it and let my power flow through me and into the stone.

"Come on, tell me something, anything that will get me out of here."

I have no actual evidence that talking to things makes my power work better, but it makes me feel better, so there's that.

A feeling like lightning surges through my skin and I follow the impulse to where it's stronger, tracing my hands across the wall as I tread water. Ignoring the pain building in my torso, I keep my head above water, so to speak. And then I find it.

The puzzle.

The riddle, actually.

It's already submerged under water, the words etched into the stone in an ancient language that no one in my profession would recognize as human.

Luckily I'm a bit of a self-taught genius when it comes to the paranormal elements of archaeology.

That and my power helps.

I push myself under water, sucking in enough air to fill my lungs as I do, and face the wall. I let my fingers run over the hieroglyphs, feeling the meaning even as my brain translates from my time studying this.

Blood from my blood.

Bone from my bone.

Feed me your life.

Live in your death.

It loses some of its poetry in translation, but you get the idea. I memorize the riddle and kick up to get in some much-needed air as my lungs nearly collapse. The electricity of power is still surging through me, and my head is swimming from lack of oxygen, blood loss, and adrenaline.

It's the adrenaline that's likely keeping me alive at this point.

I suck in air and puzzle out the words I just read.

It doesn't take me long to piece together that this wall wants my blood. Which is great. I might actually have a little left on the inside of my body.

No problemo.

Question is, how do I give it my blood? The water is already red with my dwindling life force. That's not making any magic shit happen. So now what?

I dive back under and feel about the wall for something... anything that could potentially suck out my blood.

See how fun my job is?

Aren't you super jelly?

There's one spot different from the rest. It's a circular groove that looks as if it could move, with the right motivation.

I'm running out of air, so I let my power flow, and it directs me to the right, where another smaller stone is wedged into the wall. Like a button.

Couldn't be that easy, could it?

I press the stone button, and the first groove caves inward, revealing a dark hole.

Blood and bone.

Blood and bone.

Oh shit.

Okay, kids, close your eyes. What comes next isn't pretty.

Because I have a feeling I know how it's going to get my blood, and it's going to hurt like a mother fu—

Well, you get the idea.

I stick my arm into the dark hole.

And then something inside drills down into my flesh and bone.

Nope, not exaggerating. The wall is literally getting the blood from my gods be damned bone.

I bite back a scream, because I'm underwater and don't want to drown.

But there's only so much pain even I can handle.

As something sucks out my blood and bone and bone marrow, I feel the walls around me shift. The water begins to move in a new direction.

But I don't stay conscious long enough to notice.

* * *

My consciousness is fleeting, but somewhere deep down I have a sense of time passing. Of heat blazing against my pale skin, burning it. Of clothes turning from wet and cold to dry and brittle. Of sand against my flesh and bugs exploring what they must think is a new carcass.

They might be right.

I can't hold onto my thoughts for long, or my consciousness, but I know enough to realize I'm dying. Well and truly dying.

The dagger to the gut didn't kill me.

Drowning didn't kill me.

But now...

I'm done for.

I'd like to tell you my life flashes before my eyes.

That I see all the magical moments I've lived. A light at the end of the tunnel. God.

Nothing like that.

I do, however, see the one thing I want more than anything in the world.

I see my parents.

Looking just as they did the night they were murdered.

They were so happy that night. Celebrating a lead role my dad landed for a new movie. They dressed up, and I got to wear my fancy new gown, and we went out to our favorite restaurant. We laughed and talked and they listened to everything I had to say about my day, down to the fight my best friend and I had gotten into. (She was playing with another girl in class and I was sad and jealous.)

They gave me advice and helped me feel better.

I thought my life could never be happier.

And I was right. I've never been happier than I was that night.

When we got home, it wasn't immediately clear something was wrong. I could sense something bad was about to happen. I told them. Told them the door to our mansion had warned me. (I didn't have full control or understanding of my powers yet, so I sometimes sounded a bit mental.)

They thought I was tired. That my imagination was getting away from me. They tucked me in and kissed me goodnight. Smiling.

When I woke to the screaming, I knew that was it. They were dying, and I only saw a brief glimpse of the monster who killed them.

Their blood dripped from his lips, staining his teeth.

They lay in a heap next to each other, pale corpses that resembled the people I loved more than anything.

He'd drained them.

The cops were perplexed, but put no stock in a barely twelve-year-old's theories of vampires lurking in the streets of Malibu. It was ludicrous.

But now, as my life slips away, I see them again, as they were when they tucked me in. My mom's blue eyes, lit up with joy, her dark hair falling in waves around her pale face. My dad with his movie star looks, blond and tan, telling me a story, his green eyes crinkling when he laughs.

I'll be with them again. That's not a bad thing, I think. Dying isn't such a bad thing after all.

The pain in my body is fading. The heat from the day has dissipated, and I am bathed in the cool embrace of the moon as I fade away.

I feel my parent's hands grip each of mine. I'm ready, I tell them.

But they fade before my eyes, their faces sad, their arms reaching for me, but not reaching me.

And then they are gone.

A scream tears out of my throat, raw and visceral it claws through my body and into the wide void of life before me.

"Is this normal?" a woman's voice asks.

"There is no normal," a male British voice replies. "But it appears to have worked, so that's good news."

My eyes open, letting in light that feels painfully bright but is actually the dim flames of a fire. I try to sit up, but my body feels as if it's been run through by a herd of angry bulls.

"Easy there. You've been through an ordeal." That same sexy British voice is talking to me again, but I can't see the face attached to it. All I see are stars. Stars dotting a night sky in constellations that are unfamiliar to me.

I feel the man come closer and my body tenses as his arm slides behind my shoulders to help me sit up.

He holds a cup to my mouth, and I realize I am more thirsty than I've ever been in my entire life. Not just thirsty, but like a hungry-thirst. Like I will die if I don't drink whatever is in this cup, because it smells delicious and I'm nearly hallucinating with the promise of its pleasure.

"Drink up. You'll feel infinitely better once you do. Then we'll talk."

I blink. My eyes filling with tears, though I don't know why. Then I drink.

The viscous liquid coats my throat and feels so good going down that I want to sing and dance and laugh, but mostly I want to keep drinking.

When the cup empties the last of its god-like wonder into my mouth I nearly cry like a child deprived of their favorite toy. What the blazes is wrong with me? I'm never this much of an emotional scatterbrain. Must be a side-effect of a near-death experience, though I've had my share of those and never felt like this.

The dreams I had are starting to come back to me. Of seeing my dead parents.

It stirs an ache in my heart that temporarily replaces my desire for more of that drink.

But then my thirst comes back, and the man holding me up—who's face I still haven't seen—laughs in a very throaty, sexy way as he replaces my cup with a fresh, full cup.

I keep drinking. I don't even care that I don't know where I am or who I'm with or what the bloody hell happened.

I'm happy.

And when I reach the end of this cup, I am finally satiated.

It's then that I notice my pain is gone.

Like... completely.

That's... impossible.

And the dimness of the night suddenly seems as clear and crisp as day, though I know it's still the middle of the night.

What's happening to me?

I turn and prop myself up to face the man who's been feeding me the liquid of the gods. The man with the dreamy British accent. And I suck in my breath when I see his face.

He is easily the most unbelievably sexiest man I have ever seen in my life. And that includes every movie star you can imagine. Take the top three most swoon-worthy movie stars you can think of, blend them into something even more jaw-dropping, keep doubling that until you can't anymore, and you're still not getting the picture here.

This man—who's not wearing a shirt by the way—oozes sex and beauty and charm and charisma. Golden hair like a Greek god. Blue eyes that shine in his face like sapphires. A chiseled chin and a six-pack you could grate cheese on. His smile is the death of me, and the bastard knows it.

"Welcome back to the land of the living. I'm Dean. And you must be the esteemed Dr. Alex Stone."

I feel tongue-tied, but somehow manage to find words. "Yes, I'm Alex. Who are you again?"

He holds out his hand to shake mine, and despite the oddity of it all, my professional manners kick in and I shake his hand.

His smile glows even brighter, if you can imagine that. "Dr. Dean Vane at your service. I must say I was expecting someone older. And... more male."

My eyeballs practically pop out of my head. "You're Dr. Vane? The pompous, middle-aged pseudo-scientist who's been pillaging my finds and corrupting our field with unethical practices?"

I pull my hand out of his, despite how luscious his skin feels against mine, and he chuckles. The bastard chuckles. "I see my reputation proceeds me. I assure you my degrees are real. And only a fraction of what you've heard is true. But you... " he gives me a look like he knows every secret fantasy I've ever thought and is ready, right here and now, to fulfill them. "You are a delightful surprise. Rumor has it you are the middle-aged man creating quite a stir in archaeological communities. I wasn't expecting... this!" His eyes glow with a kind of desire I should be used to in men, but this is different. Very different. And it makes my body stand up and take attention, despite my professional loathing of him.

I struggle to remember my very recent vows of celibacy.

He chuckles again. "Though I didn't expect to find you quite so... well... dead."

All sexy thoughts vanish at his words, as panic wells in me. "Dead?"

"Why, yes. Well, very nearly at any rate. If you'd been fully dead it would have been out of my hands entirely. You had just enough life left that I could bring you back. Though it was a close call. We weren't sure you'd make it even then."

"I... uh... how exactly did you bring me back?"

And then I look at the cups I just guzzled like my life depended on it. And I lick my lips and really taste what it was I've been drinking.

Thick.

Viscous.

Iron and salt.

Red.

Blood.

I pull away from him with reflexes I never had before tonight. "What have you done to me?"

I ask, but I already know. Because I'd long suspected what the enigmatic Dean Vane really was.

Rumors spread.

He only travels at night.

His name appears in journals far older than any human has any right to be.

He targets paranormal artifacts, which is why it's so hard to believe we've never run into each other. But he keeps such a low profile.

Like he has a secret to hide.

He shrugs, as if this is no big deal. "I had no choice really. You would have died."

I look down at my hands, and they are more pale than normal. My skin more perfect than it ever has been. Everything in me feels different. More alive, ironically. More attuned to every scent, every change in the wind, every sound. I'm a predator. A hunter. A monster.

"Did you turn me into a vampire?"