Pretty When She Dies (Pretty When She Dies 1)

Once more he was a new man. He wasn't sure what accent to go with. The British one was rather boring to his ears now and he pondered a German one or maybe Russian. The American accent was terrible in his opinion. The Texan one even worse. But he rather liked Texas. It was huge and truly a land unto itself. He marveled at its difference from the rest of the United States and how it changed from one border to the next. He liked its diversity and he loved its people. They were stubborn and rebellious and he thrived on that energy.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out quickly. “Racho? ?”

“Got it done. I left the package outside of Shreveport just like you said,” a deep, husky, but very feminine voice said.

“Excellent. ”

“They should find it within a few days. I hid it just good enough, but not that good. ”

“Well done, as always. I may swing by and see you soon. ”

There was bemused laughter on the other end. “You should. You owe me. ” And she hung up.

Racho? was the only progeny he had actually established a relationship with. She was from the bayou outside of New Orleans. He had found her as a runaway slave, making her way to freedom. He had, of course, given her the ultimate freedom. Unlike his other fledglings, he had made her to keep with him.

At the time he was bored and in need of a companion. He had adored her dark skin and luminous maroon eyes. They had remained lovers for years until he had grown bored and freed her to her own existence. She had a cruel streak to match his. Perhaps he had twisted her into what she was, but he remembered how she had driven her stolen dagger into his gut to eviscerate him when he had found her in the swamp and knew it had been within her all

along.

He walked on, his white-blond hair floating around his shoulders, past the street musicians trying to make a buck, and the myriad of people rushing about to the various clubs before the fateful two o'clock last call.

Now that Racho? had planted the real Professor Sumner's body in Shreveport, he would be able to put that time behind him. He had only spent four months as the professor, but they had been enjoyable. Twisting the minds of those wonderful adult students as they looked at him anxiously for morsels of knowledge and truth had been delightful.

Of course, Amaliya had been the most wonderful one of all. Hopelessly lost and drifting, unaware of her strength and her unusual beauty. At first he thought her unremarkable, but she was one of those people who slowly emerged from the shadows the more you learned about them. The dimmest of all the lights had grown to blind him and he had to take her.

It was ironic that she had fled to Austin and found Cian so easily. The girl had glorious luck. So far she had been in surprising control of her faculties and had evaded several disastrous scenarios. When she had gone for the security tape in the motel office in Dallas, he had actually been quite impressed. What she had not realized was that she did not even show up on the tape. It was part of their cursed existence. But it had impressed him nonetheless.

Calmly turning down an alley way, he made his way into the more dimly lit areas of downtown. There were many homeless in Austin and it was always easy for him to find servants. He needed at least a few of the dead to strengthen him and be his guardians during the day. With Cian entering the stage, he would need to adjust his plans.

“That's a good girl,” he said to the young woman pressed up against the side of the building and hidden in the darkness.

She moved toward him, with little jerky movements. Out of the entire family he had slaughtered earlier tonight in their mansion overlooking the lake, she was the only one he had spared a brutal death. He had slacked his thirst and need to destroy before he got to her and realizing he needed her as intact as possible, he had feasted off her inner thigh and left her neck unmarred.

So far she had been a good girl, helping him move the pieces of her family down into the laundry room where they would remain until he was done and burned the place to the ground. He had been amused to see her struggling to carry the heads of her family in one hand and drag her father's torso with the other. She had cried the whole time as she slowly bled to death, only kept alive by his power. Now she hovered between life and death, more dead than alive. By morning she would be truly dead and he would lose her valuable voice.

“She hasn't come out of the loft,” the girl whispered. She was dressed in jeans and a pink top. Her hair was done up in a ponytail and she looked quite pretty. She shouldn't be moving or talking in her condition, but the steady pulse of his power kept her from collapsing.

He had posted the girl outside of the loft as a precaution. It had been a wild chance that Amaliya would find Cian, but as her luck seemed to be obscenely good, he had to be sure.

“Jenny-”

“Jeanne,” she said softly.

“Yes, Jeanne. You look like a Jeanne,” he said with amusement. “Anyway, good girl. You did well. ”

“Will you let me die now?” she whispered.

“No. Not yet. When dawn comes,” he assured her.

Her pretty pink lips trembled and he drew her close and kissed her forehead. “Come now, darling. It's not so bad. You're serving a higher purpose. ”

“My family-”

“Are dead. And soon you will join them and all will be well, correct?”

The young woman nodded, her expression stricken, yet muted. “Yes. ”

“You did very well calling me and letting me know she has arrived. Very good. I am proud of you. ” He smiled at her warmly and enjoyed the little shiver that ran down her body. “Now, I want you to go home and sit down in the laundry room and wait for dawn. Sit with your family and keep them company until you can join them. ”