Violets are Blue

Chapter 90

"Holy shit! Holy shit!" The words exploded out of Jamilla's mouth. Then she smiled. "Jesus. I don't believe it." She stared down at the huge, fierce animal that had tried to kill me and was now lying at her feet.

I pushed myself up, forced my legs to move. I took tenuous steps back to where she and Kyle were standing. The cat lay twisted across the width of the tu

"Are they down here in the tu

"I haven't seen anybody. Just footprints, and the cat. Let's go," I finally said.

The tu

"I sent men toward the perimeters of the property, about five or six hundred yards out. It spreads us thin," Kyle said. "I don't like it."

I didn't answer him. I was still shaky, not quite over my bad moment of truth with the tiger. My heart was pumping like an engine pushed to its limit. I wondered if I might be going into shock.

"Alex?" Jamilla spoke. "You with us? You okay?"

"Just give me a minute. I'll be fine. Let's keep going."

Soon we could see the faintest glimmer of daylight up ahead. That was hopeful. But where were we coming out of the tu

"Can't tell how far it is," I said. "Or what's between us and the light."

My hip brushed against something. Then my shoulder. I jumped back and my whole body shuddered. But it was only a valve sticking out from the tu

Then I could see part of the scene outside — a couple of cypresses leaning away from the wind, a streak of soft gray sky.

It wasn't far, maybe thirty or forty yards. Usually, the most dangerous part of a raid was breaking in, but now it was getting out of this dark tu

I turned to Jamilla and Kyle and whispered, "I'll go first."

I knew I was better with a gun than Kyle, and I was physically stronger than Jamilla — at least I thought so. Besides, this was the way it had been the past few years: Gary Soneji, Casanova, Geoffrey Shafer, now the Alexander brothers and their Sire. I always go in first. How long am I going to keep it up? Why am I doing this?

"Don't forget, they're human," Jamilla said. "They bleed too."

I wanted to believe she was right. I moved forward quietly, quickly. I hesitated at the mouth of the tu

I don't know why, but I yelled at the top of my voice as I burst outside into the light. No words, just a loud scream. Actually, maybe I do know why — I was afraid of these two killers, of their merciless cult, of the Sire. Maybe they bled, but they weren't human. Not like the rest of us.

I was in a pocket chasm surrounded by low-lying hills. I saw no one out there. No sign that anyone had been there recently. They had to have come this way, though. The tiger must have been in the tu

Jamilla and Kyle came out of the tu

I heardit before I saw anything.

Then a black pickup truck came roaring around the side of one of the hills. It was headed straight for me, and I had a choice: dive back into the tu

I held my ground.

Chapter 91

The faces of the killers glared through the curved windshield of the truck. I raised my gun, held it as steady as I could. Jamilla and Kyle did the same. The black Ford truck kept coming fast, almost as if they were daring us to shoot.

So we fired. The windshield splintered. Bullets pinged off the roof and hood. The roar of the guns was deafening in my ears. The acrid smell of cordite filled my nostrils.

Suddenly, the truck stopped, then shot into reverse. I kept shooting, trying to hit the driver as the target distanced itself, the vehicle backing away, veering left then right then left. I took off ru

I couldn't let them get away. We'd come too far, gotten too close. These two would kill again, and again. They were madmen, monsters, and so was whoever had sent them on their mission.

Jamilla and Kyle were climbing up the steep, grassy terrain a few steps behind me. The three of us seemed to be moving in slow motion. The pickup truck was weaving wildly, its rear end fishtailing. I was hoping, praying that it would flip as it climbed in reverse up the steep side of the hill. I heard the grinding of gears, and suddenly the truck flew forward. It was coming at us again, picking up speed.

I went down on one knee, aimed carefully, and put three shots into the windshield. The glass was filled with bullet holes.

"Alex, get out of the way!" Jamilla shouted. "Alex, move it! Now! Alex!"

The pickup kept coming. I didn't move away. I put a shot right where I figured the driver had to be. Then another.

The big black truck was almost on top of me. I thought that I could feel heat from the engine. My face and neck were in a hot sweat. I had the irrational thought that a vampire can only be killed by a stake, fire, or by destroying its domain, where it sleeps during the day.

I didn't believe in vampires.

I believed in evil, though. I had seen it enough times to believe. Thetwo brothers were twisted murderers. That's all they were.

I jumped sideways just before the pickup would have run me down. I rushed down the hillside behind the truck. I was hoping it would flip — and then it did. I felt like shouting.

The truck bounced heavily on its side, then on its roof — then continued to roll over several times. Finally it stopped, resting on the driver's side, teetering slightly. Black smoke coiled up from the engine. No one got out at first.

Then the younger brother climbed out. His face was streaked with blood and soot. He didn't speak — just glared at us, and then he roared like an animal. It seemed as if he had gone insane.

"Don't make us shoot you!" I shouted at him.

He didn't seem to hear. He was in a blind rage. Michael Alexander wore long, sharp canine fangs, and they were bloody. His own blood? His eyes were red. "You shot William! You killed my brother!" he shrieked at us. "You murdered him. He was better than all of you!"

Then he charged — and I couldn't bring myself to shoot. Michael Alexander was insane; he wasn't responsible anymore. He kept growling, frothing from the mouth. His eyes were wild, rolling in their sockets. Every muscle on his body was tightly flexed. I couldn't kill this tortured man-child. I braced myself to tackle him. I hoped I could bring him down.

Then Kyle fired — once.

The shot struck him where his nose had been just an instant before. A dark, bloody hole appeared at the center of his face. There was no surprise or shock — just sudden obliteration. Then he crumpled to the ground. There was no doubt he was dead.

I had been wrong about Kyle — he could shoot. He was an expert, full of surprises. I needed to think about that, but not right now.

Suddenly, I heard another voice. It was coming from inside the pickup. Someone was trapped. William? Was the brother alive?

I approached the overturned vehicle slowly, gun in hand. The engine was still smoking. I was afraid the truck might blow.

I climbed onto the teetering wreck and managed to pull open the bent door. I saw William — shot to death, his face a sorry, bloody mask.

Then I found myself staring into the angriest, most arrogant eyes. I recognized them immediately. It was almost impossible to shock me anymore, but this was another jolt. "So you're the one," I said.