Blood Hunt: The II AM Trilogy, #2

By Christopher Buecheler

Two Majors cut off the vampire Abraham's head, reduced his remains to ashes, and scattered them to the winds. Now each night she wanders New York, freed from the chains of heroin addiction but longing still for her lover Theroen's kiss, the taste of blood on his lips, the echo of his thoughts in her ears. There are other vampires out there; she knows it, and so she hunts.

Tori Perrault spent a dozen years living in the woods, stalking her prey in the dark and killing without mercy. Now, she too has returned to humanity and struggles to come to terms with all that has happened. Her parents' love smothers her and life seems empty. She spends her nights in the bottle and in the company of strange men. She doesn't know that she is watched, until the fragile life she has rebuilt is torn from her and she is dropped suddenly into a world she never knew existed.

Rhes Thompson and Sarah Taylor have never met a vampire and never want to. All they want is to help their friend Two, who falls further away from them with each passing day. They have all but given up when they are thrust into a world of madness, death, and politics beyond their understanding. Now, they must abandon their concern for Two and worry instead about saving their own lives.

Blood Hunt is the highly anticipated sequel to the popular urban fantasy novel The Blood That Bonds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Buecheler
• Release date: Aug 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465736741

Christopher Buecheler

Christopher Buecheler is a web designer and developer, an author of both fiction and non-fiction, a student of mixology and brewing, a player of guitars and drums, a follower of professional sports, and a fan of of video games, genre and mainstream fiction, and horror movies. He lives a semi-nomadic existence with his amazing wife Charlotte, and their two cats: Carbomb and Baron Salvatore H. Lynx II. You can visit him at http://www.cwbuecheler.com

Book preview

Part I

Chapter 1

Voices in the Dark

Tori Perrault shifted position, arched her back, thrust her hips. Breathing hard, she glanced down. Tangles of dirty-blonde hair, dark and damp with sweat, framed the edges of her vision, swayed with the motion of her body. A droplet caught briefly on her lower lip and trembled there, reflecting what dim light there was in the room, then fell to burst on the chest of the man below her. Occupied as he was, he didn’t notice.

Tori felt him gripping her buttocks, pulling her against him, straining. Her lip curled in an unconscious snarl as she tilted her head back, eyes closed, trying to focus. Trying to feel. The sweat, more a response to the room’s heat than to either exertion or stimulation, rolled down her body.

Oh, Christ, baby … he moaned, his voice high and weak and strained, and Tori knew he would finish soon. She tried to tamp down her annoyance; he was almost done, almost there, and she was still here. She was just starting to get into it.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t his fault. She required so much effort, so much time. Her body had spent twelve years in a heightened state of sensory awareness beyond human conception; was it any wonder that this return to something resembling normal felt empty and dull? It would take time for her to adjust to her current state – perhaps even years. Surely, though, her ability to feel would return eventually.

The lump of muscle below her had short brown hair and dark eyes, and if she’d known his name at the beginning of the evening, she had forgotten it since. Burned away by alcohol, perhaps, or apathy. Maybe he’d never told her. She didn’t care now, knowing that he was nearly there – she just wanted it to be over.

Here it was. His hands clenched tight with a pressure that might have been painful to someone else, and he thrust deep within her and held there. His breath caught and he leaned his head back, baring his throat, groaning. Tori could see his veins throbbing. This is the part where I tear your throat out, she thought, a bright flash of adrenaline streaking through her, there and then gone. No, not that. Not anymore.

He let out a long, groaning exhalation, and Tori felt liquid warmth flood her. A moment more and the hard thing inside her began to go limp. She leaned down, kissed him once, and rolled off without ceremony. She sat staring out at nothing as he groped for tissues, heard the scrape of a lighter as she reached for the bottle of cheap tequila on the nightstand. She drank from it directly, coughing a little.

He tapped her shoulder. Smoke?

Tori accepted one of the two lit cigarettes he held, put it to her lips, dragged, still staring at the far side of the room. The sheets pooled in her lap, leaving her breasts exposed; she could feel the man glancing at them from time to time as he sat beside her, saying nothing. Tori sat. Smoked. Stared.

Good? she asked after a while.

God damn, baby.

Good. Stop calling me baby.

Uh … ‘kay.

What’s your name again?

Tom.

You gonna be here when I wake up, Tom?

Tom was silent. The right side of Tori’s mouth, the side he couldn’t see, lifted up in a brief smirk.

That’s what I thought, she told him. You left your ring on the sink. Don’t forget it.

Oh. Didn’t think you saw that.

I see everything. Tori flicked ash into an empty glass on the nightstand.

You pissed?

Not about that, thought Tori. She told him no.

Cool. Tom yawned, stubbed out his cigarette, and rolled over on his side, facing away from Tori. Within minutes he was asleep. Tori sat. Smoked. Stared.

I see everything, she had told him, and it was true. There was little that escaped Tori’s notice. When your eyes could read newsprint from across the room and your mind could recall events as a series of detailed snapshots, it was hard not to notice everything. The trick for Tori wasn’t paying attention, but making herself stop.

She closed her eyes to focus on her body, still stuck in a state of arousal she no longer wanted. Rapid heartbeat, hard nipples, warm and wet between her legs. She supposed she could try to finish the job herself, but the prospect seemed unappealing. She instead went to the bathroom, cleaned off the mess that Tom had left, and returned to the bed without waking him.

Across the room was a window, facing out into an alley. Across the alley was the blank face of a brick wall, illuminated only by the dim glow from a streetlight somewhere near the front of the building. Sitting in the dark, staring out the window, Tori could make out each individual crack in the masonry. She passed the time by counting them.

The warmth between her legs began to fade, finally, and Tori took another swig from the bottle, willing sleep to come. Three quarters of the alcohol was gone, and Tom had barely touched it. A woman her size should have been hanging over the toilet right now, or heading for the emergency room. Tori’s head swam a bit, but she was far from drunk. She smirked again. Drank again. Sat. Smoked. Stared.

She was glad Tom would be gone when she woke up. It was better when it went this way. Tom had what he wanted from her, and Tori had escaped from her parents for an evening without needing to play the awkward morning-after game. She had no more desire to feign any sort of connection with Tom than he did with her.

Somewhere his wife was lying cold in her bed, waiting for him, and he was here, asleep in a motel next to a strange girl he’d just fucked. Tori supposed this should bother her, but it didn’t. She found it difficult to care about the wife, or about Tom, or about anyone else for that matter. She cared for her parents, annoying though they could be. Then there was Two, more of a sister than any biological relation could ever have been. After that, who? Rhes and Sarah? Molly? Surely they were wonderful people, but Tori had known them so briefly that she sometimes had a hard time picturing their faces.

The friends she had once known in Ohio were all new people. Gone or grown. Married. Raising families. Tori had existed in a kind of suspended animation for the past twelve years, and they had passed her by. Her body was still twenty-one. They were all in their mid-thirties. The girl who had once promised to someday stand as Tori’s maid of honor was dead, killed in a car accident. She had left behind a husband, two daughters, and a house.

Tori glanced at Tom and felt guilt, though not about his wife. No, it was for her parents; they would be wondering where she was. Her mother especially. At times like this Tori felt remorse, but it would be a different story when she was home. She was fighting with them more and more often, frustrated by their concern, smothered by their love. It had only been six months since her return after more than a decade of darkness and madness and death. Was it right for her to feel so constrained, so pressed upon, or was it simply a selfish reaction to good intentions?

Tori sat. Smoked. Stared. Eventually her body cooled. Eventually she slept.

* * *

She woke gasping, sweating, shaking from a dream that she couldn’t remember. It was still dark, still night, and she grappled with panic, disoriented by her unfamiliar surroundings. After a moment, memory filled the darkness: Tom and the motel. Right.

He was gone. She could see that the other side of the bed was empty, but even without the light leaking in from the street, she would have known. There was no warmth there, no sound of breathing other than her own, which was slowly returning to normal.

Tori ran a hand through her long, golden semi-curls, tousled and damp with sweat. A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand told her that dawn was still more than an hour away. Plenty of time to get home, sneak quietly in, and catch a few more hours of sleep before work. This was not an uncommon occurrence; Tori needed very little rest, perhaps four hours of sleep each night. Her body seemed to want no more.

She slid out of the bed and moved to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, relieved herself of the night’s alcohol intake. When she was done she stood for a moment, naked, posing for the mirror. She had the sort of waist and hips that mannequins and magazines made every young woman pine for, though few could ever hope achieve. Bright blue eyes, full breasts, her only visible blemish a strawberry-colored birthmark on the inside of her left thigh. The blood had erased everything else. Baby, she thought, you oughtta be in pictures.

Tori knew she was attractive, and knew she was lucky to be so. She understood this in a way that was detached, not arrogant. It was useful to be attractive, but beyond that it was not of great importance to her. Tori had seen too much, known too much, lived too much to hold such concerns. Far more interesting, in her opinion, were the secrets hidden behind her form. She flexed, looking herself over, searching for any sign of what she was. There was no outward evidence of her interior strength. No bulging muscles stretched her skin, no veins stood out like roadmaps.

There was no indication that the naked woman in the mirror before her, long-legged and shapely, could bench-press nearly four hundred pounds. No sign that she could run a six-minute mile without becoming winded. There was no sign at all of what she had been for twelve years, no exterior hint of the changes that more than a decade of vampirism had made to her physiology. Abraham’s blood had worked within her, changing her, and those changes had not entirely reversed after her return to humanity. It had been too long, the blood too strong, for its marks to be completely wiped out.

The cigarettes, the booze, the sex … nothing fazed her, hurt her, made her sick. Tori had not so much as come down with a cold since her return to Ohio. She had slept unprotected with more than three dozen men without becoming pregnant or catching any sort of disease. Sometimes she felt like a superhero. Other times she wondered what the point was. She could not be too overt with her abilities; to do so invited all sorts of unwanted questions. She could drink and smoke and fuck without repercussion, yes, but she spent most of her time trying to hide the gifts that the blood had given her.

This is how Clark Kent feels, she thought as she made her way back to the bedroom. All that time spent pretending not to be Superman. Fantastic.

She was pulling on clothing, nearly ready to leave, when the voice came without warning into her head, overwhelming her thoughts in a rush like a tsunami, the words strung together and incomprehensible, ranting in a nonsense language.

SasemapestrovahPestrovahNankefalsonsaNanaguivesonsa.

Tori stumbled, put one hand against the wall and the other against her forehead to steady herself. When the voice came to her, it was usually as a whisper at the back of her mind. This was direct, loud, and for a moment Tori felt sure her knees would buckle under the onslaught. She made a small cry, closed her eyes, and tried to fight against it.

And then it was gone.

She was sitting on the bed, though she couldn’t remember moving there. Sitting and shaking, the prickly feeling of cold sweat on her spine exacerbated by the rough cotton t-shirt she was wearing. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in ragged gasps.The superhero feeling was gone. Left in its place was nothing more than a scared little girl, nervous and shaking, wondering what was wrong with herself. Tori dressed quickly, glanced one last time around the room, and left.

* * *

Her room was dark and bare and cold, not much more inviting than the motel she had left. There was a double bed on a steel frame at one end, a cheap desk at the other, adorned only with a laptop and a set of speakers. Tori’s mother often pressed her to decorate, but to Tori that seemed as though it would bring an unwelcome sense of permanence. This was not her home.

Tori loved her parents, was glad to be back with them, but could not see living here in their little ranch house, in this forgotten part of Ohio, as anything more than the most temporary of situations. After a dozen years of living in the woods surrounding Abraham’s palatial estate, Tori had come to value both freedom and solitude. The two-bedroom, single-bath house offered little respite from the presence of her parents. She shuddered to think what it would be like when her father retired.

She was pulling her clothes off when the knock came. Great, she thought, rolling her eyes. It would be Mona, of course – her mother. Tori was convinced that her father Jim would someday sleep through the apocalypse. She debated pretending to be asleep, decided against it, and opened the door.

Hi, Mom.

Mona was a short woman, plump from years of hearty, home-cooked meals and no lack of desserts. She had been beautiful once, like Tori, though not nearly so tall, and unlike many beautiful girls she had also been kind and friendly. She still retained a sort of glow about her that made most people feel comfortable. She was the type of woman, Tori reflected, that one thought of when somebody mentioned their grandmother. Kindly and concerned, Mona looked at Tori, and the worry in her eyes was touching.

It’s very late, Tori.

I know. I’m sorry if I woke you … was I making too much noise? Tori knew she wasn’t, knew that Mona didn’t sleep well even under the best of circumstances. Her mother confirmed this.

No, no … I heard the car pull in. I just wanted to make sure that everything was all right.

Everything’s fine, Mom.

Mona’s eyes searched Tori’s face for some hidden truth. Your eyes are all puffy and … and you smell like cigarettes.

Good, Tori thought. Better than smelling like Tom. Out loud she said, I was at a bar.

Until five in the morning?

What could Tori say? I was trying to drink myself blind when I met this guy, and I was horny and bored, and he was cute, so I took him to a motel and fucked his brains out. You know how it is, Mom.

Instead she shrugged, said, We went to the diner for a snack and coffee. Got to talking.

We? Mona raised an eyebrow.

Mother …

I’m sorry, you’re right. You’re an adult and it’s none of my business. I just worry, angel.

The guilt flared back up and Tori sighed. I don’t want to hurt you or Dad. You know that. I don’t want you to be scared. What happened before, when I disappeared, I … trust me, it can never happen again.

I wish you’d tell us more about it. Your friend’s story, it … it doesn’t explain much.

At first her parents had eaten up the explanations that Two and Tori had proffered. It was not until later, after much consideration and, Tori suspected, many sleepless nights on Mona’s part that they had begun to question. Tori felt anger warring with her guilt.

No. There’s nothing more to tell, and you need to forget it, Mom. You can’t let it eat at you. Why won’t you trust me?

I do trust you, dear. I just—

You just worry. Right. Stop worrying.

I can’t.

Tori sighed. I have to work at ten.

Mona frowned. You don’t get enough sleep.

I’ll get what I need, if you’ll let me.

Mona looked at her for a long time, and Tori wondered what it was her mother was seeing. Surely not the daughter she had sent off to college twelve years before, a bubbly, vivacious girl who had been quick to smile and friendly to everyone she met. What must Mona think about this new version of her daughter, the one who was brooding, angry all the time, harsh and judgmental?

Tori looked back, unflinching, saddened by the knowledge that the changes within her must be hurting and confusing her mother, but unwilling to divulge what had happened, how she had become what she now was. At last, Mona dropped her gaze and nodded.

Good night, dear, she said to the girl who had once been her daughter. I love you.

I love you, too, Mom, Tori said. She moved backward, and let the door close with a small thump. She turned the lock mechanism, moved to her window, opened it and lit a cigarette. From the hallway she heard her mother sigh and shuffle off, making her way back to bed.

* * *

Tori worked in a nondescript industrial park in Lima, Ohio as an administrative assistant for a dentist, and her job seemed to her the epitome of everything that was wrong with her life in this place. It was boring, slow-paced, unchallenging, and meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Patients came in. Tori retrieved their files. The doctor checked their teeth. Tori marked down their next appointment date, filed the papers, moved on to the next patient. This kept her busy for perhaps twenty minutes out of every hour.

Most of her time was spent sitting at her desk, answering phone calls and playing solitaire on the single computer in the office, waiting for her next cigarette break. The doctor frowned on the smoking, of course. Tori supposed this was hardly surprising, coming from someone who cleaned teeth for a living, but she also knew that she was better at the job than any of the previous girls he had employed, and probably nicer to look at. She felt safe for the time being, if not content. The job paid her few expenses, bought her booze and cigarettes, and provided a reason to get out of the house and away from her parents. What else was there?

Her father had asked her, once, when Mona was out of earshot, if Tori had ever thought about returning to college. She had been a student in good standing at Syracuse University before her disappearance. They would likely take her back. Did that still interest her?

Tori had sighed, frowned, shrugged. Did it interest her? No. She had spent her two years there cheerleading, taking liberal arts courses, and dating a nice young finance major. She had no further interest in cheerleading, could not think of a single course of study that would hold her attention, and the finance major was now thirty-five years old, divorced, and living with a mistress just over half his age in Manhattan. Besides, Mona would have a heart attack if Tori announced any intention to return to the school from which she had been abducted. Why spend the money? Why deal with the stress? Why bother? There was no point.

Tori wished sometimes that she could explain her ennui. She wished she could articulate the feeling of desperate, hopeless, helpless apathy that seemed to have consumed her since Two’s return to New York. She was here, going through her days mostly by rote, her only real escape the assortment of bars downtown, located not far from I-75 and a reliable source of new, anonymous partners with whom to spend the night.

She didn’t know how to put it into words, this feeling, heavy like a weight around her neck. Nor could she think of any means of escape. She suspected that moving to New York, though the most obvious course of action, would only leave her equally empty and many times as broke. Two was there, and perhaps that was something, but when Tori thought of seeing her friend again some indescribable feeling, half-hidden, impossible to identify or understand, welled up inside her in protest. At these times, faced with this sudden pain that she wished neither to contemplate nor comprehend, Tori would simply turn her thoughts to other matters.

She was on break now, sitting outside in the early September warmth, smoking a cigarette and purposefully not-thinking about these things. Sometimes there were other people out there, in the space between her building and the one next door, smoking and chatting. Sometimes Tori would have to make small talk, a process that did little more than frustrate her. Today there was no one, and that was good. She sat on a stone bench, staring up at the sky, smoking and trying not to think at all.

Nan pareson sa, the voice said at the back of her mind, and Tori barely noticed it. This was more common than the blast that had knocked away her senses at the motel earlier that morning, and Tori had become used to it. She supposed she should be more concerned about hearing phantom voices, even when they were quiet. Tori supposed she should be more concerned about a lot of things.

Nan Kefaleson sa. Nan effriteson sa. Nan afalmeson sa iae vilestro cheo tuvi kashituvre ma vishtati a nav.

Nonsense words in her head, and that crawling feeling of being watched. She had investigated this sensation in the past. It was this, more than the voices, that made her uncomfortable … this feeling of eyes crawling over her, appraising her. It was not like being at the bar. Tori was used to having her breasts stared at, or her legs, or her rear. This feeling was similar but not the same. Greedy and covetous, but not sexual. Whoever was coveting her wanted her for some other purpose.

She had spent time searching, but if someone was out there watching her she had been unable to find them, and eventually Tori had given up looking. If schizophrenia was a side effect of all the changes vampirism had wrought on her body, there was little to be done about it.

She smoked the cigarette down to the filter in just a few short minutes, wanting to be away from the sensation. The voices were usually weaker indoors, and the feeling of being watched usually left her entirely. She felt a wave of relief and grim humor as she escaped back into the confines of the office building that she had so recently been desperate to leave. Upstairs, a half-finished game of solitaire was waiting for her.

* * *

Her father was out in their back yard grilling steaks when Tori arrived home. She could smell potatoes baking in the oven, and a large pot of corn ears was steaming on the stovetop. Tori glanced out through the screen door, watching her father tend the grill for a moment, then grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge. She opened both and brought them with her out to the yard. The mid-September air was warm, but there was a scent of autumn on the breeze.

Hi, Daddy, she said, holding a beer out for him. He turned and smiled. Tori took her height from Jim, and her blue eyes. His hair, once brown, was now mostly grey. Two years away from sixty, her father was still in reasonable shape, with a broad chest and only the slightest hint of a belly. He was wearing a battered pair of jeans and a grey mechanic’s shirt.

Thanks, sweetheart. How was work?

Tori shrugged. Same old, same old. You?

He smiled. Still got a job. Can’t complain.

The economy in Lima and the surrounding area had been on a downward slide for several months. Many people had been fired, laid off, or transferred. Still more had simply moved on, looking for other opportunities. Tori’s father worked for a plant on the outskirts of the city that manufactured tanks for the military. He spent most of his time maintaining Cold War–era electronics that there was no money to upgrade. It was a relatively safe, stable job, and Tori hoped it would last until he could retire.

I suppose that’s the truth, she said, and she sipped at her beer. It still felt strange drinking around her father, like she was getting away with something she wasn’t supposed to do.

Your mother said you came in late last night.

Jim’s back was to her, so Tori couldn’t read his expression. She grimaced, then took another drink, opting not to respond to the statement.

Don’t want to talk about it? Jim asked, after her silence made it obvious that no reply was forthcoming.

Not really.

We worry about you, hon.

Tori sighed. Why did people always ask if you wanted to talk about something, when they were going to push on regardless of your answer?

There’s nothing to worry about, she told him. I’m a big girl. Believe me, I can take care of myself.

That may be true, but you’re still young—

I’m thirty-three.

No, you are not. Jim’s voice betrayed unexpected tension. There was silence again for a moment, and then her father continued.

You’re not thirty-three. You’re twenty-one, the same as you were when … when you disappeared. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but don’t stand here and deny what I can see perfectly well. I know what thirty-three looks like, what it sounds like, what it acts like. You’re the same girl who went away to her junior year at SU and disappeared.

Not the same girl … Tori managed to keep her voice subdued.

Jim sighed, the sound curiously broken. Defeated. No, I suppose not.

Do you believe I’m your daughter?

Yes. I … yes.

Tori shrugged. "I don’t know what else I can do for you, Daddy. I am your daughter … but not the same one that I was. You say I’m the same girl, that I haven’t changed or grown, but that’s not really true. Just because I look the same doesn’t mean I’m the same inside."

Jim sighed again, drank his beer, refused to meet her eyes.

Did you like the other girl better? Is that what this is about?

She wouldn’t have been shocked if the answer was yes. Sad, perhaps, but not shocked. She knew that Mona liked the other girl, the Tori who had earned a letter on the cheerleading team in high school, much more than this one that had returned to her.

Jim shook his head. No, Tori, that’s not what this is about. I loved you then, and I love you now, different or not. It’s just … we’re so confused, Tori. We’re worried about you, about how you’re living, about what could’ve changed you like this and still somehow kept you the same.

I told you, I don’t know. Two found me wandering around in New York. I don’t remember anything.

Jim looked up now, meeting her gaze. If you could say that to me without looking away, I might have an easier time believing it, but you never have.

Tori considered trying, right there, but knew she would fail. She was not the same girl she had once been, but some things hadn’t changed. She had never been able to look her father in the eyes and lie to him.

Daddy …

Why can’t you tell us the truth, Tori? That’s all we want. I don’t care what it is – I’ll support you through anything, and I hope you know that.

I know.

Then why lie? Or if you’re not lying, why hide so much? Why avoid so many questions?

Tori looked away. You would never in a million years believe the truth.

Try me.

No.

Jim put his beer down and sat on the edge of the picnic table, pressing his palms against his head in frustration. His breathing was haggard; dry and weary. Tori felt like crying. She turned her back to him.

I think maybe I should move out, she said, hating the shakiness in her voice. She hoped that Jim couldn’t hear it, that he wouldn’t try to use it against her to get the truth. It would only hurt them both. She would never tell him about Abraham, about Theroen and Melissa. She would never tell him about the things she had done, the things that she still sometimes did in dreams and memories and fantasies she refused to even acknowledge.

Tori …

"No, listen. I think it’s too much stress, having me right here on top of you like this after so many years away. Too much stress for you, too much stress for me. I can’t tell you! I can’t. If you won’t accept that, and won’t believe what Two and I told you from the start, then maybe it would be better not to have me here reminding you every day."

I already lost my daughter once … you’re going to go away again so soon? Where will you go?

I don’t know. Columbus, maybe. Or Chicago. Or … or New York.

What is there for you in New York?

Two is in New York. She has a life there. She’d help me get started. Your steaks are burning.

Jim stood up, flipped them over, drank again from his bottle of beer. Two. So she’s stealing you away from us again?

The feeling of tears was gone in an instant. Tori turned on her father, furious. "Don’t you ever accuse her of that. She had nothing to do with that."

How would I know? All I’ve heard from either of you, about who she is or where she came from, is lies.

"She saved my life. She believed in me when anyone else would’ve given up; when everyone else had given up. Do you think I’m different now? You have no idea who I was, what I did, how I lived. You have no idea. Don’t you dare blame that on Two."

I don’t know who else to blame.

"Why do you need someone to blame?"

Jim raised his voice for the first time in the conversation, shouting in frustration. Someone took my daughter away from me!

They stood in silence for a moment, and then Jim shook his head. When he spoke, he was under control again.

"Twelve years, Tori. It may not matter to you … those years seem to have passed you by, but that’s almost twenty percent of my life. I’m going to die sooner or later, and I’ll have missed twelve years of watching my daughter grow, and change, and live. I can’t ever have those back. They’re gone. That’s why I need someone to blame. I can’t blame you, and you won’t let me blame Two. You won’t tell me anything else. All I have left is blaming myself for letting you go away in the first place."

Tori felt her emotions turn again, this time as a physical force, something that pulled and tore at her. She shuddered, sat down next to her father, took his hand. Daddy, no. It’s not your fault. What happened to me … it’s like getting hit by lightning.

Jim looked at her again. Tori could read concern, and care, and anger, naked there on his face. At least with the lightning, I’d know what happened.

And I’d be dead. Which is better? Me alive and you not knowing what happened … or the alternative?

You know the answer, Jim said.

Yes. But my staying here is driving you and mom crazy. It’s … not doing great things for me either. It’s probably best that I go.

Have you talked to your mother about this?

Tori laughed, though the sound carried little real humor. "You think our discussions are tense? She and I don’t know how to talk to each other anymore. Not like we used to."

Jim nodded, standing in silence, considering.

Take some time to think it over, he said at last.

I will. I only really started considering it a day or two ago. I might call Two, ask her what she thinks.

She saw her father stiffen a bit at this, but he said nothing. Tori stood up.

It’s really not her fault. I don’t know if you’ll ever believe that, but it’s the truth. The only thing Two’s ever done that’s hurt me was when she left me here, and I know why she did that.

She knew you belonged here.

Tori grimaced, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Temporarily, yes. Not forever. Whether I’m thirty-three or twenty-one, I can’t live here forever.

Jim pulled the steaks off the grill and put them on a plate. Let’s eat, he said, without much enthusiasm.

Will you tell Mom? About me maybe moving out? I don’t think I can … not without fighting with her anyway.

If you want me to, I will.

OK. Daddy?

Yes, sweetheart?

Tori gave him the best smile she could muster, but she knew it had come out sad and weak. She could see in her father’s eyes that it hurt him to look at it, and thought she knew why; it was exactly the sort of expression that the old Tori could never have made.

I’m sorry, she said.

Jim returned her sad smile, shook his head, and glanced toward the screen door that led into the house. There’s nothing to apologize for, baby. Let’s eat.

* * *

Dinner had been a silent affair for the most part, and Tori was glad to be done with it. Mona had returned from a trip to the grocery store, and had busied herself preparing vegetables. As Tori and Jim entered, she had looked at her husband, and Tori had read the glance like a highway road sign. The talk had been expected, and Mona had left them alone for that reason.

Tori had braced herself for a flood of questions, but none came. Instead, there had been a few attempts at light conversation, but nothing sustained. Tori had excused herself after a helping of steak and a small potato. As she walked up the hall, she could hear the soft clink of silverware as her parents resumed eating, still not saying anything. She assumed they were waiting until she was out of earshot, or out of the house entirely.

Chalk one up for Mona, she thought now, changing out of her work clothes and into a comfortable pair of jeans. Her mother was a sweet woman, but rarely knew when to keep her mouth shut.

She could hear her parents murmuring and might have been able to piece together individual words if she tried. It didn’t matter. In the long run, she knew she was right, and her father knew it, too. Mona might never understand it, but there was little that could be done to prevent it.

Tori sat at her computer, idly browsing websites, trying to ignore the noises of her parents’ conversation. She had, for a time, looked carefully for websites relating to vampires, but it had rapidly become apparent that if there were any to be found, they were careful not to reveal it. Most of the people she found claiming to be creatures of the night were little more than angst-riddled teenagers. Of the very few who had sounded halfway serious, all had proven ignorant of a simple test, a single sentence, sent by email.

"I know the Eresh-Chen," she had told them, and not one of them had responded with anything other than puzzled curiosity. Tori knew little of vampire society, but even in her previous, animalistic state, she had picked up enough to know that this was important. Theroen’s blood, passed on to Two, had meant something. A real vampire would have known that the term existed, if nothing else. A real vampire would have responded with more than confusion.

Eventually Tori gave up on the computer, stood in front of her mirror, put on eyeliner. She knew she shouldn’t be going out, not with her parents already concerned, not on a Thursday, not when only two days had passed since the last time. It didn’t matter. She needed to be away from here, needed to go somewhere with music and smoke and alcohol. The conversation with her father had left a tense knot inside of her that demanded the touch of skin against skin. Maybe tonight she would find someone who would be able to satisfy her.

She looked herself over in the mirror, half listening to the murmurs in the background. Mona and Jim discussing the fate of their daughter, no doubt. She wondered how much Jim would divulge of what she’d said, and how much he would keep to himself. In the end, she decided it didn’t matter. Satisfied with her appearance, Tori left the room.

The voices stopped immediately, and she walked through the living room in silence. As she neared the door, Mona asked, Are you going out, Tori?

Tori rolled her eyes, turning to face her parents. Yes, Mom.

We had hoped you would stay to talk.

Not sure that’s a great idea tonight.

Mona looked to Jim for support, but he shrugged. Maybe she’s right, hon. Let it sit a while.

Her mother looked pained, but after a moment her shoulders slumped a bit. All right. Well, be careful, dear.

I will.

Tori could feel both pairs of eyes burning into her as she turned, opened the door, and stepped through it. The cool night air was a relief. Inside, the murmuring voices started up again.

* * *

The week bled into the weekend. Tori spent most of her time outside of work at bars and motels. There was little pleasure to be had, but she seemed unable to stop, propelled into these activities by a need within her that she couldn’t identify. Was this life? Was this the way she would spend the rest of her days? Trying to get drunk? Trying to get off?

On the following Monday night her parents held what felt to Tori afterwards like an intervention, and she supposed that feeling wasn’t too terribly inaccurate. They had to have guessed what she was doing with her nights; if not the boys, then at least the booze. What else was there to do in the evenings but drink? Tori had no friends to speak of, and she wasn’t the type for bowling leagues.

It began as Tori was leaving for the bars. The atmosphere at home had grown decidedly worse over the course of the past week, due not to the conversation but to the lack thereof. The house seemed draped in silence since her talk with her father the week before, as if both sides were waiting for the other shoe to drop, but neither wanted to be the one to drop it. Her mother must finally have become tired of waiting. Tori didn’t think Jim would ever have gotten around to it without his wife’s prompting.

Tori, we’d like to talk to you, Mona said as Tori left the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Do you have some time?

Tori knew in an instant what was coming, thought about arguing, decided against it. This had to happen sooner or later.

OK, give me a minute to pull on some clothes, she said, and headed for her bedroom. She could feel Mona watching her go, and Tori allowed herself a moment of annoyance. It wasn’t as if she was going to bolt directly for the front door should her mother’s eyes stray.

Jim and Mona were waiting for her in the living room, sitting together on the couch. Tori looked at them for a moment, apprehensive, before sitting down in a recliner that faced them.

All right. Bring it on, she said. Jim looked away, as if uncomfortable with what was about to happen, but Mona seemed undeterred.

Your father and I think we’ve waited too long to talk to you about your behavior, Tori, Mona said. She was pitching her voice carefully, trying to sound stern without being too judgmental. Tori, who could pick up vocal nuances unnoticeable to most people, could hear that her mother was nervous, but determined to go on. She kept her own voice neutral in her response.

OK.

Mona pressed on. You go out drinking a lot, even for someone as young as you are.

Jim stirred for a moment at this, then settled. Tori nodded, shrugged, said nothing.

Mona continued. It’s not that we want to run your life. You’re not a child … you can do what you want. But we’re very worried about you, Tori. You drink, you don’t sleep, you come home at all sorts of hours and refuse to tell us anything about where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing.

Mona was gaining steam as she spoke, getting on a roll.

You’re smoking all the time now, there’s no sense in hiding that. You’re never in a good mood. When you’re home, you’re either asleep or brooding. You hold down a job, but you clearly don’t like it.

Clerical work isn’t exactly a stimulating career, Tori interjected.

It’s not a career at all, and you know it, Mona replied. It’s just something you’re doing because you feel like you’re supposed to. Tori, that’s our point … this life you’re living, it can’t be healthy for you.

Something about this struck Tori. It was the truth, of course; her day to day actions couldn’t possibly be good for her, and yet …

It hasn’t hurt me yet, she said.

We don’t want it to get to that point.

And what exactly would you suggest I do?

Mona paused, looked at Jim for support. He took her hand, squeezed it, nodded. Mona continued.

We’d like you to see a therapist.

Tori rolled her eyes. Oh, Christ …

It could help, Mona said.

No, Mom. Not happening.

Hear her out, Jim said.

Why? I don’t want to waste your time, or mine, or a doctor’s.

This is hardly a waste of time, Mona said.

There is absolutely nothing a therapist could do for me, Tori said. She could hear anger creeping into her voice, and some small part of her cried out against it, but she seemed powerless to keep it out.

Please, Tori. Jim looked tired and old, a man of fifty-eight having a talk he had hoped never to have with his daughter. Tori tried to force herself to relax.

OK, fine. You want me to see a therapist, and you want me to hear you out. Got it. Go ahead, make the pitch.

The ‘pitch’ is that you’re not healthy, Mona said. She saw Tori take in a breath to respond, and cut her daughter off. "Oh, physically you’re fine. You seem to be in great shape, though Lord knows how long that’s going to continue if you keep smoking and drinking the way you do. It’s your emotional state we’re concerned about, Tori. You won’t talk to us."

"I can’t talk to you," Tori said.

That’s not true, Mona replied.

Tori made a sound of frustration, shook her head, looked to her father for help. Yes it is. Jesus Christ, mom … this isn’t the same thing as when I was eleven and needed a training bra, but I was too embarrassed to ask.

We understand that, Tori.

No, you don’t. If you did, you’d let it go. I’m fine.

You’re not fine, and you need to stop pretending you are. Whatever it is that happened to you, Tori, it changed you. It made you … Mona paused, at a loss for words.

That’s what this is about, really, isn’t it? It’s because I’m different, and because you miss the bubble-headed idiot you sent off to school.

Mona looked as if she’d been slapped. Tori, your father and I love you.

Then stop trying to change me.

We’re not trying to change you. We’re trying to help you.

This isn’t helping.

"We couldn’t think of anything else. We’re scared! We’re scared that you’re going to run off to New York. Behaving like this, in that city, can get you killed. Who will look after you?"

I’m an adult. I don’t need looking after. We’ve been through this … repeatedly. I guess it’s not sinking in. Are we almost done?

Mona was slow to anger, but Tori’s attitude had finally taken her there. Why? she snapped. Are we cutting into your drinking time?

Mona— Jim began, but Tori was already talking over him.

"Yes, Mom, that is exactly it. I’m so very desperate for a beer and a smoke that I simply must abandon this otherwise scintillating conversation. I apologize, do go on! I believe you were accusing me of being crazy?"

"I never said that! Mona cried. I never said you were crazy. Don’t you go twisting my words, assuming things I never said!"

That’d be crazy, Tori muttered. Mona shot her an angry look, but opted to otherwise ignore the comment.

This is not going well, Jim said. Perhaps we should save it for another night.

Tori sighed. Daddy, it’s not going to be any better some other time. If Mom has things to say, then she should say them. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be out of your hair in a week and this won’t be a problem anymore. I can make it faster than that if you want.

We don’t want you to go anywhere, Tori, Mona said.

You may be disappointed, Tori replied.

This sarcasm isn’t helping anything! her mother snapped, and Tori felt anger boiling over, taking control. She let it happen, almost thankful for it.

Fine. I think we’re done here, then, she said, standing up and walking toward the door. She wasn’t ready to go out, hadn’t put on any makeup or even brushed her hair, but this needed to stop before she said something stupid.

You’re leaving? Mona asked.

What else is there to do?

You could sit and talk instead of fighting with us.

Tori paused at the door, her back to them, and sighed. Talk about what, Mom? My job? My friends? My life? It’s … empty. My life is empty, and this place is empty. There’s nothing here for me.

We’re here!

Tori turned to face them. You’re not enough. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but it’s the truth. I love you both, but you’re not enough, and you have to let me go. If you don’t, I’m going to go insane.

It was Mona’s turn to roll her eyes. There’s no need to be melodramatic, she said.

Melodramatic?

Tori felt her eyes narrow, felt her fists clench. She took a step back into the room, grappling with her emotions. Is … is that what you think this is?

What is it about your life that would drive you insane? Mona asked. She was still angry, Tori could hear it in her voice, but there was something else there, too. A

Reviews for Blood Hunt

[peggyk49 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I downloaded The Blood That Bonds: Part 1 of the II AM Trilogy because it was free. I enjoyed it enough to purchase and read this 2nd book of the trilogy, Blood Hunt. As in the first installment, story in Blood Hunt flowed well and kept me interested. I enjoyed both part 1 and 2 of this trilogy so I will also purchase the third installment.