Once Bitten, No Longer Shy by Julie Steimle (to read list TXT) 📖

“Don’t leave us, man.”

Trying to shake him off, Troy gave him a dirty look.

“If I can live as a cat,” Randon said, “you can—”

“I don’t want to be a vampire!” Troy shouted back, sick of arguing this. He pushed off Randon’s arm. “I have been trying my whole life to avoid that.”

“Then why don’t you just go back and keep searching for a cure?” Matthew interjected in his rather frank way.

Troy’s canines were aching. He bit out, “There is no cure!”

They stared at him, all of his friends unwilling to accept that.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I have read everything I possibly could on the subject. The only cure is death. I could have cured the bite. I was so close to finding that cure. But once you are a vampire—that is the end.”

That guy Hanz piped up irritably. “So you’d rather commit suicide? That is completely idiotic.”

Troy bristled. That Hanz was way too perfect. Troy wanted to claw that perfect Nordic face of his.

“And selfish,” Hanz continued. “You could help a lot of people—”

“Shut up!” Troy snapped, unable to take it anymore. “It’s your girlfriend’s fault I am like this.”

That Hanz stared. “Eve’s fault?”

That Thor impersonator had to know. Troy bit out each word. “She was the death angel who was supposed to take my life. And she let me end up like this.”

The group with them went silent, but Troy noticed to his irritation that Tom and Matthew exchanged approving glances—approving of this Eve.

“Eve does not kill,” Hanz said in a softer voice. “She saves.”

But that infuriated Troy more. “Whatever! Take me to the roof and let the sun take me.”

“No…” Randon stared in horror at him.

“I have died!” Troy jerked away. This was the worst. It was not how he wanted to go, but this was the end. Troy massaged his forehead against a headache, trying to explain it them, especially to his best friend who really did not understand as being a witch’s familiar was manageable. Randon could control it and be human most of the time. “As a vampire I won’t be able to abide sunlight. That means I won’t be able to continue my studies anyway. My life is over. I can’t finish my PhD. What do I have left?”

“You have us.” Randon stared more, appalled that Troy would even ask that. Matthew and Tom nodded.

Then meddling Matthew had to put in his two cents: “Rick can get you a good job—”

“I don’t want to be beholden to Rick Deacon!” Troy moaned out, closing his eyes with an ever-louder groan. “He has enough problems.” Which was true. Rick had been dealing with severe problems connected to his werewolf life. He had lost a friend to man-eating werewolves. Rick had nearly been killed himself. The guy needed a break. But also, Troy did not want to owe that rich wolf anything. The guy was wealthier than Creosote and could buy his friends, which was disgusting—but Troy could not say that to his friends who genuinely liked the guy. “The last thing a werewolf needs is to protect a vampire.”

“Werewolf?” that guy called Art murmured. Hanz cringed while Red tugged that Art aside, whispering something to him, probably the fact that Rick Deacon was a genuine werewolf. Listening to him, Art stared in astonishment.

Annoyed, Troy said once more, “Take me to the roof, or I will find another way to let the sun end me. A vampire cannot last in sunlight. And I don’t want to live in the darkness.”

“Troy…” Randon shook his head, grieving. “Please.”

But Troy was set in his mind and there was nothing to deter him.

“Fine,” Tom said, his eyes for some reason searching the room for someone. “The roof. But you are an ass for asking us to do this.”

The doctor standing there stared at them all. His eyes raked to Matthew whom he clearly knew. Matthew had a thinking expression when he said to the doctor, “We need a key to the roof, right?”

Making a face, the doctor nodded. “Fine. But that vampire is not to linger in the hospital. Keep him away from people getting transfusions.”

“We’ll take the stairs,” Matthew said.

Huffing, the doctor went off to get the key.

When he returned, he showed them to a back stairwell which was used by staff only. Troy stared up at it and all the flights to the top, then side-glanced Matthew who obviously thought he was being clever for making them walk the entire height of the building. They would all have pain in the legs when they reached the top—enough to keep Troy from jumping. But as he had said, he was not going to jump. And a long walk before dawn would be a good idea. It would be the last time he would be with his friends before final death.

Matthew and Tom led the group upward with Danny and his friend still carrying the garlic rope. Troy noticed that the guy had stuffed the garlic into a bag and was politely keeping his distance. Randon and Silvia hung back behind Troy and that group. Silvia hissed something at her husband, urging him to make a phone call. Behind him, taking up the rear, was Red, Hanz, and Art who lagged together and talked—mostly for Art’s benefit.

“You shouldn’t do this,” Matthew said as they went up one floor. “Don’t you see how many people want you to live?”

Shaking his head, Troy muttered, “I am not going to entertain this argument. My mind is set. You can still live in the world. But I can’t. I told you, there is no future for a vampire.”

“That’s so pessimistic,” Tom grumbled, hiking up the steps on Troy’s other side. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Troy would have snapped back at Tom, but coming from a guy whose mother had been in prison most of his life, was half imp with so many things working against him, predicted to go blind in the future by Carlos (whose gift apparently was not as inaccurate as Troy wished it was), and was regularly being kidnapped by the Unseelie Court—he did not dare. Tom’s life was even worse than his. Never mind he was also a CIA agent who was valuable asset. Tom had upset the CIA, and consequently was spending more time in his auto shop in his backup career. He had also broken up from the girl of his dreams—Selena Davenport. Troy did not envy him.

“It’s realistic,” Troy said, achingly lifting his legs up each step.

Both Matt and Tom rolled their eyes. Matthew could hear Troy’s unspoken thoughts, knowing what he had withheld. But Tom could hear Troy’s temptations, which were screaming at him to break away and bite one of them to prove he was now an irredeemable monster. Their blood certainly smelled good. Troy could now hear their hearts beating steadily faster from the exertion of walking up several floors, though he noticed that Tom was not exerting as much effort (Tom had the ability to make himself weigh next to nothing and his heart had an odd almost Latin-cha-cha-cha type beat as if he had two hearts in his chest). He wasn’t showing off and flying up the steps as he normally would, though. Troy was not sure it was because Tom did not want to spook that guy Art, or if it was because he wanted to slow Troy down. It could be both.

“Sounds like a copout to me,” the guy with Danny said.

“Oh, really?” Troy sarcastically shot up to the guy. “And what makes you the expert?”

The guy with the shrunken head glanced once at Danny and said, “I was once a zombie, trapped for several decades without any ability to do anything but obey the man who had cursed me. But I eventually got freed.”

Tom chuckled, though he also looked impressed.

“It is real easy to give up,” that guy said, nodding hard at Troy. “And I was stuck waiting for someone to get us free. But I never lost hope.”

“But you can make fire with your hand,” Troy flung a hand out at him, recalling exactly how hot it had felt being near it. The guy had not even been singed.

“Not back then,” that guy said. He glanced to Danny who was listening silently with a fond nod. “None of us could do that until afterward when we made it home.”

“And had the crystals,” Danny cut in, adding.

Striped-shirt guy nodded. “Right. Before then, we were all pretty, um, what’s the word? Not harmless but…”

“Weaponless,” Danny said, peeking back at Troy. He then shook his head. “You should have gotten a gun license for conceal and carry if you knew you were targeted.”

“What would a bullet have done?” Troy snapped. This guy was some know-it-all.

Danny merely raised his eyebrows. “There are all kinds of bullets. SRA hunters use wood-tipped bullets against vampires.”

“But they do prefer crossbows,” that guy with the shrunken head added as if chatting about the weather.

“Who are you guys?” Troy finally asked. It was driving him crazy.

The guy with the shrunken head restrained his natural reflex to extend his hand for a shake, openly noticing that there was probably still garlic oil on it, glancing at Danny. Danny chuckled and said, extending his own hand to Troy, “Daniel Smith. And that’s Peter McCabe. We’re members of the Holy Seven.”

Comprehension shot through Troy’s brain. His eyes whipped to Peter whom he recognized fully now—from his shark’s teeth necklace and red crystal to his striped shirt and shrunken head. It was the Witchdoctor—pro soccer star of America. He was famous. A lot of people said he was weird in close quarters, but on the soccer field he was one of those guys who would go down in history as a god.

But then the rest of what Danny had said registered in his mind. They were members of the Holy Seven, therefore friends of Rick’s and from Rick’s hometown in Massachusetts. They were also presumably monster hunters way more powerful than those in the Supernatural Regulator’s Association. They would know how to handle a vampire easily.

“Danny Smith?” Troy echoed, trying to sort out his overwhelmed thoughts, “But Silvia said you were her brother—and her last name was Lewis.”

Danny laughed, nodding. “She’s my half-sister. My father remarried not long after my mother died when I was born. And I prefer Daniel, if you please. Silvia calls me Danny boy to make fun of me.”

Oh. Troy nodded.

Peter smothered a chuckle. “I thought you preferred Swift.”

Shooting him a look Daniel said, “Only among the Seven.”

The Seven. Troy sighed, overwhelmed by that thing in particular. But since he was going to die soon anyway, he asked, “I heard a rumor that the Holy Seven were monster hunters just like the SRA, if not more dangerous. What’s true?”

“Who’d you hear that from?” Peter asked, mostly curious though Troy could see he was someone who silently calculated plans of action for the future and was probably thinking up a better way to handle vampires like him.

Shrugging, Troy replied, “Around Gulinger—you’ve heard of Gulinger, right?”

Both Daniel and Peter nodded.

“I’ve been there,” Daniel said.

Troy’s eyes widened.

“We’ve taken people there,” Daniel explained, “for their safety.”

“Oh.” Troy wondered now over what he had heard, if it was true.

“Did How—uh, Rick ever say anything about the Holy Seven to you?” Daniel asked.

Troy’s mouth crooked to the side. All Rick’s Middleton Village friends called him Howie, as his real name was Howard Richard Deacon III. Silvia did it all the time, unapologetically. But clearly Daniel was trying to respect Rick’s insistence on going by his middle name. Troy kind of liked that. He was now even more sorry he was about to die. Though a bit of a know-it-all, Daniel seemed like a guy worth knowing.

“I heard his best friend, Abey, was in the Holy Seven,” Troy responded. “One of the leaders. Is that true?”

Peter and Daniel exchanged mirthful looks, smothering chuckles. They nodded.

“You already met him,” Peter said, gesturing down the stairs. “In the Seven we call him