#TeaserTuesday

Here’s a little Tuesday Teaser from A Taste So Bittersweet 🙂

*****

@copyright October Weeks 2016

 

Having Tuck in the city was more nerve-wracking than what had happened with Mads. She’d been so close to that slayer … and now she was going to have to face her for the first time in eight years, knowing what she had taken, what she had done. She was well aware that Tuck had mourned both Eden and herself for those long eight years, there was no doubt of that, but what scared her was the thought that Tuck was here as the Ripper, and the Ripper was not someone she wanted to face.

She’d had more than one nightmare in her first few years as a vampire of being hunted by the Ripper. Now here she was…

“Come on, Grim,” the Ripper said, “show me the monster I have to slay.”

“I’m not a monster, Tuck. I’m Fiona, your friend.”

The Ripper smiled, sending chills down her spine. “Friend or not, Fiona, you killed innocents, amongst others. You need to be taken care of.” She raised her sword. Slowly.

Fiona went to her knees, knowing she could not run. “Tuck,” she whispered. “Please…”

Tuck held the sword to Fiona’s heart, eyes crystal and filled with knowing. “I will give you what you want, Grim. That’s why I’ve come.”

“Don’t. I’m not—”

“You are,” Tuck replied softly … and the sword plunged deep.

Fiona shook her head, shivering at that particular nightmare. It was oft repeated, at rest or fully awake.

She tried to push it from her mind, the memories of the nightmares, but could not. It wasn’t just Tuck. It was the thought that other slayers would know she still lived after Tuck had seen her. Slayers were not very forgiving when it came to the killing of their own, and Fiona had done much killing, to both normal humans and slayers.

The slayer in her had screamed not to take those lives, but the vampire who had turned her, who had control over her, forced her to take life after life. Then the bastard let his will on her go, ceased his control on her, and set her free out into the world where he knew she’d kill more on her own, to try and shut the voices off in her head. And she’d heard voices—all the lives she’d taken echoing in her mind, haunting her every move, her every kill. She couldn’t control it, but she knew what she wanted, silence, and she knew how to get it—slayers.

That was why slayers-turned-vampire were tracked so quickly. They actually hunted down the scent of their own kind to end their suffering. She was no different.

She remembered the scent of hunters, the feel of them touching the slayer in her.

A gentle pull persisted as she fed, as she moved. It was deep, in her blood. She knew it well—blood calling blood. It made her pause over her victim, the human chest still heaving, trying to get air, still fighting. That made her want to drink more, and she turned her head back to her victim. The slayers could wait…

She shook the memory before it could get too far. The slayer in her had been very aware that they could still feel her, even at the height of her bloodlust, for the ability to mask her scent completely came long after her turning.

She remembered following the scent of a group of slayers but found herself lured by another, single slayer on her way to that group. This slayer had practically begged her to follow. She had killed two or three humans each night on the trail to this slayer, through each unnamed city and town, the screams of the dead ravaging her mind, more potently with each kill. Each kill made her crave more blood…

Bloodlust overrode everything, the sweet taste of it … oh she could taste it now.

It was so beautifully sweet on her tongue, so luscious and exquisite that she had to have more, so much more. She could never get enough. Just one more kill before the rapture of certain death. Nothing else mattered. Just one more…

Fiona forced herself out of the memory, gripping the side of the tub as she knelt by it as it filled. She heard it cracking and let go, closing her eyes and ordering every muscle in her body to calm, using the sound of the falling water to aid her senses. It was something she had learned growing up as a slayer, and despite how overwhelming the emotions inside of her could become, the exercise still worked.

The last she remembered of any slayer was being rendered unconscious. When she woke, she was in a cell at the mansion. She couldn’t remember if the slayer was male or female, or even if she’d known the person. All she knew was that it was a slayer, and that was the only thing that mattered at the time.

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