Death’s Sweet Embrace Read online

  Death’s Sweet Embrace

  A Dark Brethren Novel

  TRACEY O’HARA

  For David,

  who is the ink in my pen

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter 1 - Angel Heart

  Chapter 2 - A Bad Day

  Chapter 3 - Dead Man Running

  Chapter 4 - Stone-Cold Dead

  Chapter 5 - Into the Lion’s Den

  Chapter 6 - A Beastly Rescue

  Chapter 7 - The Rise of Darkness

  Chapter 8 - An Apple for Teacher

  Chapter 9 - Lover Come Home

  Chapter 10 - The Ghost of Darkness Past

  Chapter 11 - A Clash of Titans

  Chapter 12 - Gladiators

  Chapter 13 - Brotherly Hate

  Chapter 14 - Prime Time

  Chapter 15 - Blood

  Chapter 16 - Lovers Lost

  Chapter 17 - Murder Most Bloody

  Chapter 18 - Draconus Nocti

  Chapter 19 - Family Ties

  Chapter 20 - To Err Is Inhuman

  Chapter 21 - Return from Oz

  Chapter 22 - Angel in Disguise

  Chapter 23 - Taste of Blood

  Chapter 24 - Sweet Betrayal

  Chapter 25 - Dance with the Devil

  Chapter 26 - Poison Dreams

  Chapter 27 - Beautiful Evil

  Chapter 28 - Agent Down

  Chapter 29 - Can’t Pick Your Family

  Chapter 30 - Girls’ Night

  Chapter 31 - Danger Signs

  Chapter 32 - The Belly of the Beast

  Chapter 33 - Sisterly Love

  Chapter 34 - Innocence Lost

  Chapter 35 - Deal with the Devil

  Chapter 36 - Double the Terror

  Chapter 37 - Silent and Deadly

  Chapter 38 - Time’s Up

  Chapter 39 - Terror Finales

  Glossary of Terms

  Acknowledgments

  By Tracey O’Hara

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1 - Angel Heart

  The excited babble of female voices floated down the hall toward Gideon. He turned and faced the wall, then pulled a mop from the cleaning cart and began running it over the already shiny floor, pretending to clean.

  What are they doing here?

  The academy didn’t open for classes until this evening. The institution was still officially closed for the holidays.

  As two girls neared, he tugged the brim of his cap down over his forehead, keeping his head low as he continued to mop. They walked by without even a glance in his direction, too lost in their own self-important chatter. Maintenance men were invisible, especially janitors, which suited him just fine.

  The girls soon disappeared around the corner, talking and giggling, totally oblivious to his presence.

  “WELL DONE, MY CHILD.” Ealund’s translucent form floated across the floor, his ethereal beauty reflecting on the shiny black tiles.

  With a quick glance to make sure the girls were gone, Gideon dumped the mop in the cart and pushed it toward his original destination. The incorporeal apparition glowed, his pellucid form surrounded by a silver-blue aura—and Gideon’s heart ached just looking upon such unearthly beauty. Ealund only showed himself to Gideon.

  He was the image of angelic magnificence with waist-length gold hair floating around his head, pale flowing robes, and terrifyingly exquisite azure eyes—all that was missing were wings. And yet, Ealund’s presence of absolute and pure evil almost brought Gideon to his knees.

  Apart from the girls, the hallways were deserted. He kept his head down and peered at the security camera in a corner just above a classroom door. They’d been set up everywhere around campus after the first murder several weeks ago, but he had the schematics and knew how to get around most of them.

  “HURRY, MY CHILD,” Ealund intoned. “TIME GROWS SHORT.”

  Gideon wheeled the cart to a stop and checked the corridor before pulling out the maintenance master key to unlock the heavy wooden door. With one last check, he entered and pulled the cart inside, silently closing and locking the door behind him. Anticipation bubbled up from the pit of his stomach; he wanted to feel the warm blood spilling over his fingers.

  “SLOW DOWN,” Ealund’s rich voice echoed out of the surrounding air—the resonance deep and dark, sending a clammy chill across Gideon’s skin. “FOCUS, MY CHILD. FOCUS YOUR MIND AND LET ME GUIDE YOU.”

  Gideon nodded and slipped off his shoes, taking deep calming breaths as he placed them in the cart alongside his backpack. He wiggled his toes in the thin rubber-soled slippers he’d worn like socks in his shoes.

  “HE’S HERE.” Ealund sniffed the air. “AHH, THE SWEET SMELL OF DELICIOUS YOUTH.”

  The musky, almost feral scent of a prime young male overpowered the stuffy odor of books and knowledge. Gideon stashed the cleaning cart behind the row of bookshelves nearest the door and moved quietly through the maze, guided by the sound of off-tune whistling.

  The rhythmic squeaks of a book cart’s wheels stopped in a row ahead. Gideon flattened his back against the end of a bookcase and then carefully peered around the corner. The boy was tall, much taller than the others. His handcart was nearly empty. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Gideon pulled back and leaned against the solid oak end of the shelving, his heart thundering in his chest—partly in fear of being caught and partly in excited anticipation. The hunt was almost as good as the catch. Almost.

  Gideon’s mouth went dry and his cock hardened as it always did at this point. The hunt began. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on slowing his breathing. The darkness settled the speed of his beating heart.

  Again, the cyclic metallic squeaks of the book cart ruptured the deathly silence in the low-lit library. Gideon chanced another quick look.

  “HE DOESN’T EVEN SENSE YOU.” Ealund sneered, his ghostly form floating out into the aisle between the bookcases. “THE RACES OF TODAY ARE SO WEAK.” It wasn’t the first time Ealund had said this.

  The sound of wheels continued to get further away. Gideon hunched low and ran down a parallel aisle. The creaking ceased again as the boy stopped and picked up a book from the cart. He opened the cover and thumbed through a few pages, whistling the catchy little tune he’d begun earlier, then placed the tome on an upper shelf and moved on.

  “Shit, missed one,” the youth cursed and Gideon heard footsteps turning toward where he was hiding.

  He would be seen. Gideon panicked, not knowing which way to go.

  A loud bang shattered the still semi-silence. With nerves splintered into a thousand pieces, he crouched ready for flight, heart thundering so loud in his ears, he was sure the boy would hear it.

  “What the . . . ?” The boy continued to mutter as he retreated back up the aisle.

  “MOVE!” Ealund screamed in his head.

  As always, Gideon did as Ealund said. In a crouched run, he returned to the opposite side of the row and flattened himself against the shelf end.

  What was that? Gideon thought.

  “A BOOK,” Ealund replied. “I HELPED IT OFF THE SHELF.”

  His answer didn’t exactly comfort Gideon. If Ealund could make books fall, what else could he do? An ember of fear flared deep down, but Gideon quickly dashed it.

  The whistling youth returned to the row Gideon had just left and placed the fallen book back on the shelf before moving to the next row over. Gideon was safe for the moment. He slowly expelled the breath he’d been holding. That was close, and foolish. He unclipped the small leather case attached to his belt and wrapped his already latex-covered fingers around the T-shaped handle of the custom-made push dagger. It fit comfo
rtably between his middle and forefinger, the tiny detachable blade sticking out at a ninety-degree angle. The squeaky cart was moving back to his end of the far aisle and Gideon ducked behind the books again. Then the repetitive sound moved further away into the study area and stopped, followed by the light scrape of a chair.

  Finally, the moment he’d been waiting for. The boy was done shelving books. Gideon had observed this pattern for the past few days and knew that once the day librarian arrived, the boy would go home. His time frame was short, but long enough to do what he had to. His excitement rose.

  The boy’s head came up, sniffing the air, and he glanced around. Gideon ducked lower behind the stacks. After what seemed like a heart-pounding eternity, the boy shrugged and bent his head over a book.

  Gideon waited just a little longer. Careful not to touch the blade, he flexed and relaxed his fingers around the push-knife handle. When the boy seemed engrossed in his task, Gideon made his move.

  He raced from behind the bookshelf on the balls of his feet, his footsteps light and silent. As if sensing something, the boy’s head began to rise but Gideon hit him from behind before he could turn, then slapped a hand over the boy’s mouth before slamming the push knife into the lower part of his neck, right between the C6 and C7 vertebrae. The weapon slid home and the blade detached, just as designed. He placed the remaining knife handle back in his pocket.

  “PERFECT!” Ealund crowed.

  It was perfect.

  The boy tried to rise and stiffened—the silver blade, still lodged in his neck, had severed the spinal column. Gideon let him go and reached for the hunting knife tucked inside his janitorial coveralls. The boy folded, falling off the chair and landing on the floor with a heavy thud. His height was not much of an advantage now that he couldn’t stand.

  Gideon sliced away a large part of the boy’s shirt and stuffed it in the victim’s mouth. Whether from shock or disbelief, the boy hadn’t called out. Yet. Once Gideon went to work, he would soon find his voice again.

  “DON’T RUSH IT,” Ealund crooned as he floated toward the boy’s head. “YOU HAVE PLENTY OF TIME.”

  But not forever. The day librarian would be here soon and Gideon needed to be long gone, yet he still had enough time to have a little fun first.

  The boy crawled a few feet on his stomach, his arms having just enough strength to haul his paralyzed body a little. Gideon stalked after him and flipped him over onto his back. With his foot holding the boy’s right upper arm, he yanked at the forearm and felt the satisfying snap of the bones beneath. The gag muffled the boy’s screams as Gideon repeated the break on the left arm.

  The realization he was about to die dawned on the boy’s face, his features twisting in alarm. Gideon reveled in it.

  Ealund’s chillingly beautiful ghostly features glowed a little more brightly as he fed on the boy’s terror. Gideon squatted over the victim and cut away the remains of the shirt before carving the marks into the boy’s heaving chest, then tilted his head to watch the scarring. The silver blocker in his neck not only stopped the boy from moving or transforming, it had slowed down the healing process. The scent of fresh blood tickled Gideon’s nostrils and stoked the fiery lust in his groin. The arms had almost healed, so he rebroke them to new muffled screams from the boy.

  The ghostly figure floated closer, his crystal blue eyes shining. “MORE,” he whispered into Gideon’s ear.

  A shiver of lust danced up his spine. It wasn’t sexual—just the thirst for blood and pain. His skin flushed with heat as he held the knifepoint above the victim’s sternum.

  “DO IT NOW.”

  Gideon complied. The skin parted with ease under the blade he’d honed to a razor’s edge and he cut away at the flesh, the tip scraping against the bone beneath. Before the wound had a chance to heal, he dropped the knife, gripped the rib cage in his hands and heaved them apart. As they cracked and parted, hot blood hit Gideon in the face and slashed crimson across book spines on a nearby shelf. The blood was almost as good as his prize, which lay nestled inside the victim’s chest, beating double time in terror.

  “TAKE IT,” Ealund urged. “IT’S YOURS.”

  Gideon wrapped his fingers around the organ, feeling the life-force through the pulsing beat. Then he lifted it from the safety of the chest, pulling it free of connecting valves and blood vessels. He watched life bleed from the boy’s horrified eyes as he stared at his heart in Gideon’s hands.

  “CONSUME THE SOURCE OF HIS DESIRE. FEEL THAT POWER.” Ealund’s deranged voice sounded frantic with impatience. “DO IT NOW!”

  The heart twitched its final beats as Gideon brought it to his lips. The flesh was silky and metallic, and sweetly marinated in desires of youth. The delicious hot juices ran down Gideon’s chin as he devoured the fresh, young heart.

  “YES, YES,” Ealund crowed, holding out his arms in triumph, floating higher off the floor and seeming to grow more there—almost more solid.

  Gideon finished. He stared down at the lump of bloody meat on the floor, no longer a boy, no longer a victim. Now he was nothing. All that he was, Gideon had consumed. He felt little for the male when it was alive, and even less now that it was dead.

  “YOU DID WELL, MY CHILD,” Ealund intoned. “BUT I NEED MORE. AND SOON.” With those last words, the vision of Ealund dissipated, leaving Gideon alone.

  But he was never really alone.

  He grabbed the backpack from the cleaning cart and retrieved a large ziplock plastic bag from inside. With quick, well-practiced movements, he peeled off the blood-soaked coveralls, wrapped the hunting knife in it, and placed it in the plastic bag along with his feet coverings and cap.

  He took from his pack another plastic bag with a dampened towel inside and wiped the remainder of the blood off his face and hands, then threw the rag in with the soiled clothing and sealed it shut.

  He took the last plastic from his backpack, which contained a clean set of coveralls, socks, and cap and slipped them on. He walked around the library, wiping here and there, removing all traces of his presence until no evidence of him remained on any surface. With one last look around, he picked up his pack and placed it in the pushcart, then wheeled through the library door before locking up. He had five minutes before the day librarian was due. Wasn’t he in for a surprise today?

  Gideon tugged his cap forward to hide his face and moved off down the hall, slow and casual—whistling, as had the boy, the same tuneless melody.

  Chapter 2 - A Bad Day

  Kitt’s boot heels tapped lightly on the faux marble floor of the NYAPS campus main hall. Academy students were gathered in several groups, calling out and waving to one another, laughing and talking. It had been a while since she was a student, but she still remembered what it was like, and this time she’d be in front of the class. Kitt’s stomach rolled with nerves, and nausea made her skin prickle. The discomfort quickly passed, only to be replaced by the growl of hunger.

  She glanced at her watch. Maybe she could grab a quick bite from the cafeteria before going to her new office to prepare for class. There were several Animalians in the scattered groups, but none had the distinctive black and silver-white hair of a snow leopard felion.

  Kitt could hear a bit of a buzz, people whispering in hushed tones and looking around in a guarded manner. But it was probably just a lot of first-day jitters. Like hers.

  One last, quick scan of the faces didn’t reveal the twins, though Oberon had told her they’d spent the holidays with the Pride on the reservation near the Adirondack Mountains. Maybe it was for the best she couldn’t find them; she wasn’t sure she was ready to meet them yet.

  The twins.

  Her daughters. The children she couldn’t see because of the fallout with her people.

  Except they weren’t children anymore. They were young women.

  Anyway what would she say to them? What would they say to her?

  As Kitt passed the trophy case, a number of people were pointing at a shiny new trophy on display
front and center and she stopped to take a closer look. It belonged to the latest all-state Shadow-combat champion, Mark Ambrosia. Even she, who was usually too busy to keep up on current events, had heard of the young human sweeping the amateur Shadow-combat circuit by storm.

  The trophy case was impressive. Lots of photos, medals, and trophies on display. Not surprising, the New York Academy had the well-earned reputation as one of the most prestigious institutions of its kind. Both the physical and academic achievements showed the merits of the programs offered here—and why she was thrilled to be the new lecturer of parahuman forensic pathology. As Kitt reached the elevators, she glanced down.

  Oh no.

  She transferred the heavy winter coat to her other arm and twisted to look at the thick globs of mud splattering the leg of her new trousers.

  Just great.

  As she punched the elevator button, she shifted the bag on her shoulder and the strap gave way, spilling the contents of her handbag over the floor. A few of the onlooking students snickered and her face heated. Embarrassment plus. She hoped none of these kids were taking her class later tonight.

  “Having a bad day?” a male voice boomed from above and the looming shadow dropped.

  It was great to see Oberon DuPrie’s friendly features smiling down at her. And she couldn’t help returning a smile as he helped her pick up the scattered belongings.

  “You okay?” he asked, passing her a hairbrush.

  “A bit nervous,” she admitted. “It’s my first time at the front of a classroom.”

  He dumped the last of her things into the handbag sitting on the ground and swept her up in his huge arms. “Damn, it’s good to see you here, Kitt.”

  “Oberon, put me down,” she squeaked with embarrassment, slapping at his massive arms of iron.

  He set her back on her feet, his black knee-length leather coat creaking with the effort. “Now, is that any way to talk to the friend who helped you get this job?”

  She sighed and looked up as his seven-foot frame loomed over her. “Sorry for taking my bad mood out on you. You know I love you like a brother, especially since . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to bring up Dylan’s murder. She was so sick of death. “Anyway, that does not stop you from being a pain in my ass.”