Pretty When She Kills (Pretty When She Dies #2)(2)

The young men at the girl's muddy feet wore jerseys from the local collage. Their throats were savagely mangled, their limbs broken, their bodies drained of blood. There were four of the fools.

“They dug her up and she ate them,” Prosper decided.

“Grave robbers?” Rachon was doubtful.

“I bet it was a dare. For a thrill. Stupid people.”

The girl's wide, staring eyes were blank, void of emotion, but she was gazing in their direction. Blood slid over her pale skin to pool around her toes. Embalming fluid slid down her thighs, the chemical smell slicing through the cloying scent of drying blood.

“I thought you said she probably wouldn't rise.” Prosper grunted as he sat on a gravestone and wiped at his shoes.

“It's been four days since he buried her. She's just slower to rise than some,” Rachon answered. Out of a hidden sheath in her leather jacket she drew a long wicked dagger with a curving blade. It was perfect for decapitation. She would make this quick, then return home to Louisiana. She found Texas distasteful.

“What will we do with these stupid boys, Rachon?”

“Decapitate them, stake them, bury them with her. The last thing we need is them rising as ghouls.”

“Messy, nasty business,” Prosper grunted.

Rachon stepped over one of the bodies and gripped her weapon tightly. She kept her gaze on the creature before her. The girl's blue eyes were empty, staring, and disconcerting. One swift swipe, a stake through the heart, and the girl would be truly dead. Why The Summoner hadn't claimed this victim was a mystery. She didn't like it. He rarely left his fledglings to rise alone. He liked to watch their struggle, their madness, their need for blood.

“This feels wrong.” Frustration ate at Rachon. What did it mean? The Summoner abandoning this fledgling to pursue another?

“Just finish it. I hate Texas,” Prosper complained.

Lifting her dagger, Rachon braced her feet apart.

Just one quick swipe.

The girl’s eyes shifted to look upon Rachon. A spark of intelligence and understanding broke through the blankness.

“No!”

The pale blue eyes flashed to white.

A cold wave of power roared through Rachon, nearly knocking her off her feet. She stumbled back, trying to keep her balance. The dark power surged around her.

“What the hell?” she cried out.

A hand gripped her ankle in a vise-grip.

“Shit, they're rising!” Prosper exclaimed.

The college boys' limbs jerked and quivered as they struggled to stand. Rachon glanced down at the one grappling with her ankle, trying to pull her off her feet. As the corpse rose to its knees, she could feel its fingers tightening as it grew stronger. She swept the blade of the dagger through its neck, severing flesh and bone. The head rolled away, tumbling into the open grave.

Yet, the fingers locked around her boot did not relent. A few deft swipes of her dagger and the fingerless hand finally released her.

“Rachon!” Prosper cried out. “Is he here?”

“It's her! Destroy the zombies!” she ordered.

Whipping about, she glared at the girl with the glowing white eyes. Impossibly, the newborn vampire had the necromantic power of The Summoner. Rachon had never seen such a thing before in her long life. The pale young woman was trembling with the power spilling out of her. The bone-chilling dark magic clung to Rachon, trying to grip her, or shove her away. Behind her Prosper grunted and swore above the sound of flesh and bone rending and cracking.

The Summoner had sent her here to make sure the girl did not rise. He considered the new fledgling he was pursuing across Texas his newest prized possession. Apparently, he had not realized that he had imbued his newest fledgling with his necromancer magic.

The girl fastened her glowing white eyes on Rachon and thrust out her hand. The necromantic magic ripped at Rachon, trying to pierce her mind and take control. Rachon laughed with delight as the gris-gris around her neck repelled the attack.

“This is fabulous!” Rachon exclaimed with pleasure.

“Kill her and be done with it!” Prosper shouted.

Casting a dark look over her shoulder, she saw that her cousin had ripped the zombies to pieces. His fine Italian suit was flecked with shreds of flesh and drenched in blood. Grumbling, he furiously tossed the bodies into the grave.

Rachon stepped closer to the girl, who thrust both of her hands out at Rachon, fingers flexing as her lips trembled.

“You can't touch me, little girl. I know how to deal with your kind,” Rachon whispered. The fledgling was crazed. She needed more blood and soon, she was also powerful.

Rachon loved power.

With one quick stroke, Rachon sliced open her own wrist.

“Come on, little one. Time to eat,” she said, holding out her arm.

The girl's eyes faded to blue as they latched onto the blood welling out of the wound. With a hungry cry, the girl gripped Rachon’s wrist and clamped her lips over it. Sucking hard, the girl's eyes closed with pleasure.

Rachon slammed the dagger through the girl's back, piercing her heart. Instantly, her body tumbled over, blood still drizzling from her lips.

“She's not dead. Finish her.” Prosper grunted as he disposed of the dismembered bodies.

“No. I want her,” Rachon answered, a smile unfurling on her dark lips. “She's a necromancer just like him. Her power will be my power.”