Pretty When She Dies (Pretty When She Dies #1)(28)

“What about those?” Roberto waved to the screen as it once more showed the parade of body bags being taken from the fraternity house.

“They won't rise unless blood was exchanged,” Cian assured him.

“But they could also rise as ghouls,” Roberto reminded him. “More dangerous than a fledgling at times.”

“I don't think so. Modern technology seems to have that phenomenon under control. Morgues, autopsies, and embalming. Pleasant ways to deter the mindless undead.” Cian rubbed his fingers along the curbed armrest of his chair. “Can we contact an independent contractor to deal with it?”

Roberto slowly sat back in his chair looking very thoughtful. His green eyes looked toward the Texas Capital building looming out of one of the windows. “Perhaps. I'll make inquiries. Since the purge of '78, not many want to deal with you.”

Cian shrugged. “You'll figure it out.”

“We could call in Summerfield,” Roberto suggested.

“He died of cancer a few months ago, remember? His son is taking over the hunt. I don't trust the son to keep my deal intact past his father's death.”

“Have you met him?”

“No, not yet.” Cian shook his head once more with disbelief. “I don't care for him to know my face. His father swore my file was destroyed and I believe him. It is best to keep quiet especially to keep Samantha safe.” The thought of his mortal fiancée made him sigh deeply. He had to keep her lovely innocence safe. It was tragic enough she was willing to take him on, despite knowing his true nature. But she drew out the good in him and he loved her for it.

“Find a necromancer if you can,” Cian said after a long beat. “The Summoner's power is all based in death.”

“Agreed.” Roberto rose to his feet, hearing the clear order in his master's voice.

“And keep an eye on the news statewide. If the fledgling is out there, I want to know where it is.”

Roberto nodded and elegantly walked away.

Cian, meanwhile, sprawled in his chair and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Great, just freaking great.”





Chapter Nine


Amaliya felt relieved when Dallas finally faded away into the horizon.

The bus felt warm despite the cold air from the air conditioning vent that brushed over her arm. She sat close to the window watching the terrain slide into the pitch blackness of the night.

Sweeping her hair back with one hand, she looked over at the young man snoring loudly on the seats across from her. There were not that many passengers on their way to Abilene, so the bus was relatively empty. Her feet tucked up on the armrest, she was nestled down in her chair, her back against the window, gazing off over her shoulder at the darkened landscape.

After leaving the motel the night before, she had found her way to another one and settled in for the day. She had picked up a roll of duct tape at a convenience store and used it to tape the curtains shut.

Like before, she barricaded the door. She had slept soundly for most of the day.

Only when her dreams turned dark and disturbing had Amaliya forced herself awake. Sliding off the bed, she had curled up in the corner covered with the comforter, terrified of the sunlight pressing under the crack of the door. She had felt vulnerable and lost. She did not feel safe again until the sunlight slowly faded away and night had come.

Sliding her fingers through her hair, Amaliya tried not to think of the nightmares. They were more memory than nightmare, and she knew it. In the dream, she had been pressed up against the outside wall of the dorm building. The professor savagely bit and pulled at her throat as she struggled. She had fought him valiantly, but he had kept her pinned easily as her blood flowed in a warm gush over her chest. The pain she had endured and her terror still lingered in her consciousness.

Rubbing her eyes, she pressed her lips tightly together. Tonight she felt more...human. Tonight her head felt clearer and she felt more connected to the world around her. Maybe it was being in the bus surrounded by other people trying to get home, but she felt more like herself. And she felt more vulnerable.

The blood lust from the previous night seemed like a dim memory. In fact the whole night seemed like a surreal blur. But it had happened.

She remembered every moment with a hazy sort of recollection. And she remembered how much she had enjoyed her last kill of the night.

Hell, she remember how much she enjoyed the killings in the dorm back at the college.

I could kill them all, she thought, looking around at the other passengers. If I wanted to, they would die at my hands and not be able to stop me.

Finding no solace in that thought, she looked away from the moonlight-drenched trees to the tips of her scuffed boots. Rubbing the side of her nose, she sighed, then started to fiddle with the stud tucked into her nostril.

Amaliya seriously hated what she had done at the frat house, but she was having trouble feeling guilt. It did bother her that she could be causing the same pain that Professor Sumner had caused her. Yet, she liked the feeling that she could take down someone as huge as Rob and not feel an ounce of remorse.

“Seriously f*cked up,” she muttered.

The newspaper was tucked under her legs. It had nothing about Rob's death, but a lot about the slaughter at the campus out East. The rumors of Satanists were getting even wilder. She noted that Professor Sumner was listed as one of the six missing people. She was also classified as missing. The media had printed her driver's license picture where she was twenty pounds heavier with her natural blond hair. It looked nothing like her. For once her aversion of getting her picture taken seemed to have worked for her.