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FATAL
RETRIBUTION
A RAINA KIRKLAND NOVEL
Book 1
By Diana Graves
Copyright © 2011 Diana Graves
All rights reserved.
Book cover & format by Diana Graves, www.dianagraves.org
Kindle Edition
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License Statement
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer
This book is a work of pure fiction. Characters, places and incidents are creations of the author’s imagination, and any similarity to people, living or dead, businesses, events or places is purely coincidental.
Acknowledges
To my family and friends, thank you.
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OTHER WORKS
Fatal Retribution
Mortal Sentry
Grave Omen
Deadly Encounters
Toxic Warrior
The Artist: The Serial Series Book 1
The Librarian: The Serial Series Book 2
The Zombie Book: Zombie Book 1
Adult Coloring Book: Dark Whimsy
11
I KNEW IT was a dream. I was wearing only my black bra and panties and lying on the thick underbelly of the forest. Scattered moonbeams broke free of the trees to offer a small amount of light to see by. I caressed my hand down the bark of a log that was lying beside me. Mint colored moss and amber sap crumbled at my touch. The smell of the forest reminded me of Mato. I smiled in anticipation of a passionate reunion with my new vampire crush, and there was no guilt in that thought because I knew it wasn’t real.
I rolled onto my stomach and looked out at the forest. This was my dream and I demanded to see Mato, so I wasn’t shocked when I saw a figure in the dark. It moved like a graceful bird, too fast to be human. Vampire! Mato? No, not him! Her?
She was on top of me before I could react, pinning me between her and the log. She pressed her naked body into mine.
She spoke quietly. “I am Adia of Mort Villa,” she said, her accent was thickly British.
I froze with fear. Her face was hidden from me by some trick of shadow. I could only see a halo of dense golden curls and the beautiful curves of her naked body.
“Please-,” I began, but she stopped me with a kiss, long and passionate. I fell into her cold lips. I kissed her with a fevered panic.
When she rose from me I whimpered. I wanted her to touch me. I craved it more than anything. She came back down to me. She nuzzled my chin and kissed along my jaw until her lips found my neck. I made small noises of pleasure as she bit down and fed from me. I grabbed her then, held her to me. Her naked body was soft and curvy like my own. I would have been happy to die in her arms, but she stopped feeding and left me there, injured and confused.
I put my hand to my neck and felt the hot blood coursing through my fingers. I let her do that! She rendered me powerless. I would have let her drain me dead and loved every second of it. I looked at my hand, wet with my blood. In the moonlight, the blood was thick and red and I screamed at the sight of it. Sweaty, I woke in the dark of my bedroom. I was screaming still, heart racing, and pulse thudding loud in the night’s silence. But, there was no wound at my neck, no blood on my hand. It was a dream only.
12
MY FRIEND, ALICIA and I were sitting in a cozy booth in a dark corner of Kamaria’s Café on seats of worn blue velvet. A Tiffany style ceiling lamp sent yellow light to discolor our appearances. I had my hands wrapped around my usual fancy coffee: grande, soymilk, double shot, caramel, hazelnut macchiato. Can that still be called coffee?
I was waiting for it to get cool enough to drink, and thinking about the dream I had last night. What was Mort Villa’ and who was Adia? My eyes were half open, my mind half aware that Alicia was talking to me.
Alicia had arrived at my house earlier that morning to keep me company at Mom’s request. I didn’t think she should have to spend the day with my gloomy ass just because my mom told her to, so I told her to go home. To that, she said, “Hey, you’re my best friend, and your mom is my boss. What choice do I have?”
Mom left for work before Alicia arrived. I wanted to join her. Cleaning up the back stock would have done well to occupy my attentions, but Mom insisted I take it easy. It was probably for the best because shortly after she left, Tristan called me. He said that he had something to give me, and asked that I meet him at Kamaria’s Café, so there we sat.
Alicia’s drink looked more like dessert than coffee: venti, skim milk, cinnamon, white chocolate mocha with a drizzle of chocolate syrup on a whipped cream top. She wasn’t waiting for hers to cool down either. She had asked for a small cup of ice. After eating the chocolate and cream topping, she slid ice cubes in ever so delicately, so that she could drink it faster. She had offered me her extra ice but I declined.
“I like the anticipation of the first nearly scalding but totally tolerable sip,” I said. To which she replied, “Not me,” and began taking large gulps.
The interior of Kamaria’s café was quaint but beautiful, with large Greek tapestries hanging from wrought iron bars. Behind the front counter were double doors that opened to Kamaria’s living room, as the café was also her home. From where Alicia and I sat we could see her sitting in an orange summer dress. My brothers and I were regulars at Kamaria’s. She was like a grandmother to us, and she made one hell of a cup of coffee.
The bells on the door chimed as a customer came through. It wasn’t Tristan, but it did mean that Alicia and I were no longer the only people there, besides Kamaria herself. The woman was wearing a dark blue business suit. Her perfume was strong, the kind that would linger on long after she’d gone. She walked directly up to the counter, and when Kamaria didn’t jump up at her arrival she began making irritating noises, tapping fingers and heavy sighs. When she looked our way I felt her dismiss us as non-human punks. She thought us unworthy of the air we breathed. A common feeling among humans, I was sure. Alicia stuck her tongue out once the lady turned away from us, but in all honesty, we probably did look strange to her. I was dressed in all black, black like my mood, with deathly pale skin, chocolate-red hair and redder eyes. Alicia—well, Alicia’s an ogre, at least in part. She was well over six feet tall with thick earthy-brown skin. She had a handsome face with ridges along her jaw and forehead. Her hair was like spun gold, and her large eyes were as green as the grass in the spring. She was wearing light blue jeans and a brown leather corset that gave her phenomenal cleavage.
“I think I felt more than an emotion just then,” I whispered to Alicia.
“Excuse me!” the lady yelled. Her perfectly painted face turned into a fake smile as Kamaria’s weak bones lifted from the chair, and walked over to the counter.
“What?” Alicia whispered back.
Kamaria’s face wrinkled sourly. “What will it be?” she asked.
“Uh—,” the lady stared up at the large chalkboard menu on the wall behind the counter.
“I think I almost made out a thought. I felt her malice toward us, but I could almost hear her inner voice in my head say that we don’t deserve the air we breathe.”
“Whoa. Try it again,” said Alicia.
The door chimed again, and this time Tristan walked through with the morning sun at his back. He had the top half of his long black-gold hair pulled back to expose all the sharp narrow bone structure of his face. He was wearing jeans and a gold silk button-up shirt. He paused just in front of the door and scoped the room in search of us. So, Wild West. He took off his sunglasses, hung them from his collar and smiled our way before heading to the counter. Tristan felt calm, relaxed and nothing more, no thoughts came to me.
“Nothing,” I whispered to Alicia.
She shrugged, “It was a fluke then.”
“Hey, Grams,” he called out over the lady’s shoulder.
“Hello kiddo,” she said with a smile. “Your usual hun?” she asked. He nodded, and she began to work on his usual sixteen ounce black coffee with a drizzle of chocolate syrup.
Embed from Getty Images
Embed from Getty Images
“Hey!” said the lady. “I was here first. Don’t you think it's good business to serve customers as they come?” She wasn’t wrong, but this was Kamaria’s café, where the customer is never right.
Kamaria gave her a harsh face, “You’re a mean bitch.”
Alicia’s eyes went wide, and she let out a curt laugh before she cupped her hands over her mouth. Tristan looked back at us with a wide smile. Kamaria was such a bad ass old chick. She took no crap. Not from anyone.
“You can’t talk to customers like that!” the lady shouted in outrage.
“I think you better just go get coffee elsewhere,” Tristan said politely. Tristan was right. Once Kamaria decided she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t serve you. It wasn’t the best policy for a small business, but Kamaria never seemed too worried about money.
The lady gave Tristan a flesh burning glare. “This shit hole will be out of business within a week!” She slammed the door hard on her way out.
“Grams,” Tristan pleaded. “You can’t be so mean to every rude customer or you may just go out of business.”
Kamaria handed Tristan his coffee. “She was impatient, and she gave Raina and Alicia a nasty look, and then tried to tell me what to do with my own café. What kind of weak bitch do you take me for, boy?” She crossed her arms over her bony chest.
Tristan just nodded. “You’re right, Grams,” he smiled. “Thanks.”
“You are welcome,” she said, and carefully lowered herself into her chair. Tristan opened his wallet and pulled out a crisp twenty for the tip jar. Kamaria considered us family, and would never take cash from us, so we put what we could afford to in the tip jar as payment.
Tristan scooted into his seat next to Alicia, took the lid off of his cup and started blowing at his coffee. Alicia couldn’t keep her eyes off him, and I had to admit that for some reason it annoyed me. Did I feel Alicia wasn’t good enough for Tristan or the other way around? Or, was it the age thing? Tristan was just a few years from thirty and Alicia and I just became old enough to drink alcohol. I didn’t know for sure, but it felt like jealousy for some reason.
“What do you need to give me?” I asked Tristan to end the silence that had built up since he sat down.
He took a small sip of his coffee before he reached deep into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a flyer. “Seth had me stop by the Bastion last night to talk to someone. I picked this up for you,” he said. He handed me the flyer over the table.
In bold lettering, it read, “You and Immortality, instructor Damon. Classes will be held every weeknight from ten to midnight. Registration is not necessary. Just walk, fly or crawl in at your own discretion.” There was a silhouette of a man on the back and an address, phone and fax numbers below it.
“Damon is the guy Seth’s having me talk to. He’s a—shrink and he’s also the teacher of Bastion’s Life as a Vampire in America class. You don’t have to go until you’re already a vampire or about to become one, but Seth said you might benefit from it.”
“I still can’t believe this guy attacked you guys for no reason, and now Nicholas and Michael are vampires and you’re infected, Raina!” Alicia growled.
Tristan nodded. I could feel the hatred building in his mind, threatening to overflow into actions.
“How are you feeling?” asked Alicia gently.
“Besides wanting to dig a hole and call it home, or get to know the cold underbelly of a large rock, I’m fine.”
“What does it feel like to be a living vampire?” she asked.
I had to think about that one. It kind of felt like a constant caffeine rush or sugar high. My body felt ready, ready to run or fight or anything. My mind felt sharp like I was thinking too fast. I also felt emotional. Everything either made me too happy or too angry. But, I didn’t want to say that to Alicia and Tristan. It felt personal, too personal. “Like I should be dead but I’m the exact opposite,” I said sarcastically.
“Will you have powers like vampire do?” she asked. Her face was far too light-hearted for the type of misery I was feeling. I didn’t want to think about that stuff right then. I wanted to think about normal stuff, whatever that was.
I sighed. “Probably, but I don’t know.”
“Are you going to grow fangs?” She leaned forward in her seat, eager for the answer. I tried to feel her emotion but the answer was faint in my mind. She felt maybe curious mixed with envy.
“Eventually,” I shrugged because I didn’t feel like indulging her tactless curiosity any longer. I knew my face was offensive, my eyes were lazily looking out at nothing, and I wore a deep frown. Alicia seemed to get the hint. She sat back and shut up.
“I think Seth was right. You should take those classes,” Tristan said. I rolled my eyes at him, even though I agreed. Mato told me what was in store for me, but I couldn’t trust that was everything. What else would this disease change? Even though my senses were under control, I knew that if I wanted to I could smell, see, hear, taste and feel more than anyone should, at least anyone living.
The conversation didn’t improve. They asked me one probing question after another and I rarely had answers. I didn’t know if I could fly. I didn’t know if my soul was gone now or if it would leave me after death. I couldn’t tell them if I could transform into a wolf or bat. I didn’t have a favorite collective in mind, and I wasn’t saving up for a coffin. Eventually, Tristan left the café. He said he was going to Darkness to see Michael and Nicholas. Alicia left shortly after him, and for a short while, I sat alone with my thoughts.
CHAPTER 13 & 14
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