Chapter Forty-four

As Bram closed the door behind him, he leaned against it, closing his eyes. *Fuck.* He thought to himself. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t get her out of his mind. The way she looked in that dress. Those heels. His heart was still hammering in his chest. He hadn’t meant to get awkward. She had appreciated when he helped her put that shoe on at the store. He’d honestly had no intention of letting things get weird. The moment he touched her though, he’d lost all thought.

Her face had been so close. Her verdant eyes looked at him in excitement and that gasp when he’d touched just below the back of her knee? It had been dangerous. What would he have done if he lost it and Devon hadn’t stepped in? He needed a cold shower. He jumped in, washed up quickly, and got back out. It didn’t help. He put on a pair of boxers and laid on his bed.

The ringing of his phone broke the silence he was wallowing in. It was Tyler. “Hey.”

“I’m so sorry.” Those should never be the first words out of Tyler’s mouth. His blood ran cold. And he sat up. “I swear I didn’t know. This call **is** being traced.” Clicking the phone onto speaker, he went to the closet throwing on the first thing on he grabbed. “I’m at 56th street. 4th building. Basement. There’s an Elder here. Six Ancients. I didn’t know. I swear.” The phone clicked off.

Running out to the kitchen where Izabella was making dinner, he hugged Devon close. An Elder and six Ancients was nothing to scoff at. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. “I have to go. I’m sorry. Tyler’s in trouble. Both of you keep your phones on in case there’s an emergency.”

Izabella looked up at him surprised. “I’ve got Devon. Go do what you have to.” She smiled at the nearly seven-year-old. “Tyler’s okay, right?” She asked, worry clear in her voice.

“I don’t know.” That was the problem. She didn’t even question it.

“Go. We’ve got this.” He looked at her briefly before putting on his shoes. “Update us when you can.” She waived at him again.

He ran out the door. Tyler was the one person he couldn’t lose. More than a friend. More than a brother. There was not a name, nor could there ever be, for what Tyler was to him.

The address he was given brought him to a wharf. An old, abandoned building stood dark, the only signs of life were the flickers of dim light in a few of the windows. Being so close to the ocean left him at a disadvantage. The salty air made it difficult to smell if anyone was close. He wouldn’t be able to find Tyler that way. Bram had decided on his way here, there was no point in dallying. He could sneak around the building and try to get in without being seen. But what was the point? They knew he was on his way.

Three greasy looking men, probably junkies, stood in front of the door. Their idle chit-chat dying on their lips as he approached. “Who the fuck is this guy? A fucking pink fairy?” Bram hadn’t cared about what he was wearing, but as he looked down at himself, he realized he’d put back on the flamingo pink t-shirt and shorts.

“I was expecting a nicer welcome, considering there’s an elder here. I guess he didn’t tell you to expect me.”

“We were expecting a damn legend. Not a fuckin’ fairy.” The tall man with a long purple mohawk snapped. “You can’t possibly be *the* Bram Stoker.” Pulling a revolver and leveled it at him.

Baring his teeth, Bram readied himself for a quick end to this. “You should feel lucky, death doesn’t often come for people dressed in pink. At least you’ll have a fabulous end.” Crouching, Bram lunged at them. Despite them being full vampires, and him only a half, he was far older and more skilled than any of these guys. Pulling out a small dagger, in one deft swing, all their throats were split open. Mohawk shot his gun, but he was so far off from hitting Bram, it was just a waisted shot. Not that a bullet would have done much damage anyway.

The three men gargled, falling to their knees as their blood spewed around them. This wasn’t enough to kill them, but they would panic. It was painful, and they would lose any energy they had. Recovery from an injury like this would take time, and a lot of feeding. These guys were out of time though. Bram braced his foot against mohawk’s shoulder, twisted his head around with a sickening crack, then pulled it from his shoulders with sheer brute strength. The ripped flesh and dangling spinal column dripped gruesomely as he held it up in front of the others. He wasn’t so kind to them. Dropping the head in front of them, to each one, he ripped open their chests and pulled a slow beating heart from their chests throwing the bloody muscles behind him.

Bram grabbed the revolver and wiped it on the cleanest portion of the corpse’s shirt he could before tucking it into the back of his shorts. Then he grabbed Mohawk by the hair and pushed open the door. He had expected more to come out upon his arrival. The quiet only added to the eerie sight of him walking into the abandoned house, severed head in hand, and dripping with blood, all while dressed like a fucking flamingo.

“You got what you wanted. I’m here.” He called into the empty space. He sniffed at the air, but it was stale with the scent of the ocean and heavy with blood. Stopping in the middle of the corridor, he listened closely. There were faint voices, but no one else came out to great him. Unfortunately, the empty space allowed for too much echo. What the hell had Tyler been thinking to come to such a place alone?

Bram walked slowly through the halls, kicking in any doors that he saw, not even caring to try to use the knobs first. The further into the building he went, the more pissed he became. They were playing with him, and he didn’t like it. Eventually, though, he came to a door marked as stairs. Kicking it off it’s hinges, he stepped into the stairwell. Looking up, there were only a few stories up, and no one was there that he could see or hear. So, he held the head over the railing, dropping it down the center. It didn’t have far to go, one or two stories at most, before he heard the wet plop of it hitting the ground.

He gave an evil smirk as he heard someone react, “God, that’s fucking Spike!” Bram rushed down the stairs, and before the men there even realized he was upon them, he had the revolver at one’s temple, pulling the trigger. The bullet logged into the side of his head with a sickening bang, and he fell to the floor screaming in pain. For the other, the dagger lodged in his chest, like a stake to the heart, killing him instantly. Dislodging the dagger from the guy’s chest, he calmly lifted Mohawk’s head from the floor and carried it over to the screaming man. He smelled the iron of the bullet and smiled grotesquely. Special bullets for them. Not enough to kill them, but they certainly would hurt a hell of a lot.

Yanking the man’s head up, he put Mohawk’s face right in his. The man scrambled to get away, but it was no use. He couldn’t. “Unless you want to end up like your friends here, you’d best tell me where you’re keeping my friend.” The man nodded, and Bram yanked him to his feet pushing him through the only exit. The man started slowly down another hall, and Bram kicked him square in the back, “You’d better hurry asshole. I don’t have all fucking night.”