Second Life Read online

  Second Life

  Book 2 of

  the Second Series

  By Emily Reese

  Second Life Copyright © 2016 by Emily Reese

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact: www.writerreese.com

  Cover design by Derek Murphy

  ISBN: 978-1530091928

  First Edition: March 2016

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  EPILOGUE

  Servant of the Three: Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgements

  To KC, for helping me blow things up.

  To Christopher, for knowing how to make my imagination make sense.

  To Kristen L., for not only being a BJJ badass, but teaching me how to write one.

  And to You. We always knew we’d end up here; neither of us would’ve changed a thing. I’m still going to miss you like crazy.

  PROLOGUE

  “What of the list I gave you?”

  “The human is gone, My Lord. By the time we moved on New Orleans, she’d already been sent away.”

  Ari Regulus’s lips pursed and the other vampire’s already bloodless face paled. The effect he had on his people was one of his greatest delights, and Reave was no exception. Regulus had cut that effect into grooves on his servant’s face. Anytime Reave looked in the mirror, or anyone else looked at him they were reminded of the costs of failing their Elder.

  “We’d have been there sooner, but you instructed us to stay undetected.”

  “And the second one?” Regulus asked, waiving away the unsolicited information.

  “She’s still in our territory. So far, she hasn’t caused enough trouble to attract attention, but my men are on standby to pick her up, should you require it.”

  “Not just yet.” Regulus buffed his nail on his Armani suit. “Let’s have her a bit more desperate before we throw out a life preserver, shall we?”

  “Of course, My Lord.” Reave fidgeted.

  “Reave? Is that all you have to say to me?” The tone Regulus used was gentle; the flint in his eyes was not.

  “No, My Lord. The third one is... we’re not sure of her exact location.”

  “Explain.”

  “We know that she took a boat out into the gulf not long ago.” Reave placed a small map of the Gulf of Mexico on the desk before him. “We can track it, but we won’t know exactly where she makes port until she actually does. I have a team on standby, but, —”

  Regulus raised a hand to stop him, watching the scars in his servant’s face stand out on shivering cheeks. “Don’t worry about your team. Just tell me when she docks. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Reave nodded and left immediately, no doubt aware of his reprieve. Once the door clicked shut, Regulus hit a programmed button on his phone and waited while it rang. When the party answered, he couldn’t help the slow grin as it spread across his face.

  “Hello, my Dearest One. Terrible news... and I’m going to need a favor.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  There is a special moment on the cusp of waking, where every muscle is relaxed and opening your eyes is a questionable decision. Mike Monroe was lingering there, forcing himself to remain still in an effort to savor every moment of it. He had been dreaming only a moment before, more than glad to be done with it yet not quite ready for what waking might mean.

  In his dream he was somewhere dark and dank, with a man asking him endless questions. Mike didn’t know the answers and he paid dearly for it, the pain an exquisite burn in his subconscious mind. Then, she burst into the room: an avenging angel with hair wreathed in flame. The fire burned from her eyes as she fixed her gaze on his interrogator. Later, when she gave Mike something to drink it burned as well, so hot he was certain he’d spontaneously combust at any moment.

  The angel fought the man responsible for his torture and won. Mike remembered she’d asked the man a question as he lay dying on the moldy floor. It was something important, but slipped away from Mike’s memory like a silk scarf through his fingers. Once she received an answer, she told the monster, “You don’t deserve this,” and ran a sword through his heart while he screamed.

  But it wasn’t a dream. Or, it hadn’t been a dream once. Once, it had been real. As soon as he acknowledged that fact, the deliciousness of waking was lost in a panic attack and he clenched the bed sheets in his fists as the nightmare of reality washed over him. He had to fight the anxiety, so he started small. Focusing on his breathing, he took in his surroundings. A nicely furnished room with a large bed, an armchair next to a small table, a bathroom off to the side… he was in a hotel room. A hotel room with no windows. The room itself wasn’t familiar, but the style was: he’d shared a room like this not long ago with her.

  Before he could sort through the mess of contradictions swimming around his brain, Mike heard a voice from the door.

  “Good evening Michael. How are you feeling?” The vampire he knew as Ben leaned against the door frame, staring at Mike intently while chewing his bottom lip. He looked the same as before, wearing all black; tight fitting pants, puffy shirt, and shiny knee-high boots. Panic fled in the face of that outfit, but there were more important things now that he was awake. He said the most concerning first.

  “Is Claire alright? Where is she?”

  “She’s fine. I asked how you were.” Ben snapped. His irritation seemed due to Mike, a small muscle ticking in his jaw.

  “My throat hurts,” Mike coughed. “Can I get some water?”

  “Drink this,” the vampire told him and handed him a red plastic tumbler with a straw.

  “What is it?”

  “Just drink it.”

  Mike wanted to argue, but thought better of it. For whatever reason, Ben was helping him against what seemed to be his better judgment. While it grated on Mike to be so helpless and left at the mercy of someone who clearly could not care less, he put the straw to his lips and drank. Whatever it was, it was damn good. In less than a minute he was slurping around the bottom of an empty cup.

  “Thanks, man. Can I have another?” Mike shook the glass
hopefully in Ben’s direction. Ben sighed and rolled his eyes, taking the glass and leaving the room. “Can’t believe I’m catching grief from a guy in a pirate costume,” Mike muttered.

  “I do have regular clothes, you know. This is my work attire.” The vampire was already back with the tumbler, eyes shooting daggers at Mike from across the room.

  “You’re a professional pirate?” Probably not the best response, but feeling like he was sand in Ben’s shoe—knee high boot—was starting to rub Mike the wrong way. If Ben wanted an irritant, Mike could deliver. “Or you playing in an 80s cover band?”

  His snark proved to be a mistake. In an instant, Ben covered the distance between them and had Mike by the throat, pinning him back down on the bed.

  “Let me make a few things plain to you, boy,” the vampire spat. “Claire asked me to make sure you survived. She said nothing about suffering quips from a petulant child. I would not want to disappoint her.” Ben tilted his head and squeezed Mike’s throat ever so slightly to emphasize his point. “Would you?”

  Mike couldn’t answer, even if he’d wanted to. A stinging tingle radiated from where the vampire had a hold of him, moving out in all directions. It felt as if the circulation was being slowly cut off to every inch of his body, warning bells screaming in his head reinforcing the danger standing before him. Finally, Mike managed a brief nod. The vampire let him go, and thankfully, the painful tingling began to lessen. The two men stared at each other for a tense moment, Ben’s anger still simmering and Mike significantly more respectful. With only a sideways glance Ben shoved the tumbler at him and disappeared.

  Shocked and confused, Mike sipped his drink slowly while contemplating what just happened. To make sure I survived? What does that mean? Where’s Claire? He finished his drink and got up from the bed slowly, feeling the stiffness in every muscle as he moved. What did that asshat do to me?

  He shuffled slowly to the door, and poked out his head, seeing only bare hallway to the right lined with unmarked doors. He walked the fading carpet, letting his fingers ride against the wall, then turned at the end and counted his steps back the other way. The left side of the hall was the same, save that at the very end of the hall there was a door opened to an office. Inside sat a vampire behind a desk, staring back at him.

  “Put on some clothes, before you come see me.” It was the Elder of New Orleans, a vampire named Khale. His lips had barely moved, but Mike heard him clear as day.

  Is it possible for vampires to throw their voices? With them, who knows? Looking down, Mike realized he was wearing only boxers and a t-shirt, neither of which belonged to him. He was pretty sure they weren’t Ben’s either. No ruffles.

  Deciding not to think too hard on that, he turned from Khale’s penetrating gaze and returned to his room to look for his clothes. They were nowhere to be found, but he did find a few items in the dresser his size. He chose a pair of jeans and a long sleeved, gray thermal; not really fit for the heat and humidity of New Orleans, but he was freezing. Maybe it’s because I’m underground. Another question for another time. After a quick look in the mirror, Mike shrugged at him reflection and went to speak with the vampire down the hall.

  In the days to follow, Mike would replay the conversation with Khale over and over again in an effort to come to terms with all that he learned.

  “What do you remember?” the vampire Elder asked him, inviting him to sit, infinitely more cordial than their first meeting. Khale listened intently while Mike did his best to relate what he could remember of his captivity, (glossing over some of the finer details in regards to her,) until he came to the part where she gave him something to drink that burned as it went down.

  “Stop there, Michael. We will need to spend some time on this part of your story.”

  “O-kay.” What the hell does that even mean?

  “The burning drink Claire gave you… it was her blood.”

  “Aw, gross man!” Mike wiped at his mouth, ineffective and late as it might be.

  “If you would please let me finish.”

  “Sorry,” Mike said, “I’ll be quiet.”

  “Thank you. In doing this, Claire believed she was saving your life. And she did, in a manner of speaking.” Khale steepled his fingers and watched Mike expectantly.

  “You have seriously lost me.”

  “Collin waited until Claire arrived and slit your throat, leaving her with the decision of giving you her blood or letting you die. I believe he did this to weaken her; he could have just as easily done it to injure Claire by hurting someone she cared about. Either way, she chose to save you without truly knowing the consequences of her actions.”

  Mike could no longer be silent. “What consequences? She gave me her blood, it healed me up, just like in Ms. Kirkwood's books. Hey, where is she anyway?"

  "She's been sent away for the time being. We thought it might help ease your… recovery."

  "Oh. Well thanks, I guess.” Mike sighed and mussed his hair. “Look, let me talk to Claire, okay. Let her know I made it. Giving me her blood... it's a little gross, but her heart was in the right place. So, no harm, no foul, yeah?”

  “Her heart was in the right place, Michael. It’s imperative that you remember that in the days to come.” Khale said gravely, still as a statue.

  “Why?” Mike had the distinct impression that the proverbial other shoe was about to drop.

  “In giving you her blood, she not only healed you… she made you one of us.”

  And there goes the other shoe.

  “One of us? You mean… I’m a…”

  “You are one of us in every sense of the word — you are a vampire.”

  For a moment Mike couldn’t breathe. Then air came in short gasps; he couldn’t get it into his lungs fast enough. The room began to spin, too fast, and finally he puked. Looking down there was only a splat of something sticky and dark on the floor. He remembered Ben, and the tumbler full of liquid he drank… it had been blood — the mess on the floor was evidence enough — and he drank it. Not only that, he drank it and liked it.

  “Oh, God,” was all Mike could manage. His throat felt raw all over again, worse even than when he woke up. He refused to think of what made it feel better earlier.

  “Try putting your head between your knees,” Khale suggested gently. He was now at Mike’s shoulder, leaning in but deliberately not touching him.

  “I’m sorry about your floor,” Mike rasped, “I think I’m done though. I won’t puke on you.” Khale angled his head looking at him curiously for a moment, then followed Mike’s gaze to his hands and their careful placement.

  “I am not worried about a little mess,” he said with a smile, “I must be careful not to touch you.”

  “Look man, I’ve had about as much as I can take here, so whatever else there is with all of this,” he gestured at the space between them, “let’s just get it over with, okay?”

  “There is a vast difference in our ages. Because of this, if I touch you, it would be painful.”

  “Like my body was going to sleep, but worse?”

  Khale looked at Mike sharply. “How do you know of this? Did Claire tell you?”

  “Nah, your boy Ben gave me a taste earlier.” Mike sat up and let his head fall back. A moment later his eyes closed of their own volition; suddenly he couldn’t wait to get back to bed.

  “I will speak to Ben. His temper often gets the better of him.” Khale’s voice once again came from behind his desk… not that Mike heard him move.

  “Don’t worry about it. I might’ve goaded him into it.” Peeking through a cracked lid, Mike registered the exasperation on Khale’s face.

  “I see. The two of you are going to have to put your differences aside. Ben will be overseeing what remains of your transition and it is important that you learn all you can from him.”

  “Transition? The blood and dying part wasn't enough?” Now more awake, Mike leaned forward.

  “You wi
ll need to be instructed in our ways, as I taught Ben and he taught Claire: how to hunt, how to blend in, when to leave, how to function in our society.”

  “Why isn’t Claire teaching me?” Mike had not missed that little piece of information, despite Khale’s efforts.

  “She…” Khale pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “She is having a hard time with the results of her actions. She is glad you are alive,” he reassured Mike, “but she was not sure you would feel the same way, given the situation with Collin and your sister.”

  Mike was silent for a minute. Am I going to be the same kind of monster who took Meghan?

  “I ask you to remember your words from earlier. Her heart was in the right place.”

  “I know that.” Mike wiped his hands down his face, feeling a hundred years old. “I know that. Did she ever tell you what she asked him? What she said to Collin before she killed him?”

  “I wasn’t aware of anything.” Khale responded with a furrowed brow. “We will ask her when she returns.”

  “How long, do you think?” Mike tried to sound off hand about it, but even he wasn’t fooled.

  “Claire often spends time alone; it’s a way for her to cope. We are having a… get together of sorts, of all the vampires within my territory soon and Claire promised she’d be back for that.”

  “Yeah, okay,” The fatigue returned and Mike’s throat ached again. “I think I’m going back to bed. I can’t take much more tonight.”

  “Drink first. I know it’s unappetizing for you, but that will fade. You are a newly born vampire, and need all the strength you can get.”

  From that night forward, Mike didn’t leave the basement. He rarely saw Khale, and Ben seemed to be the only other vampire living there. A few other males visited, yet avoided Mike as if he were liable to implode at the slightest word. He wasn’t that bad.

  Almost, but not quite.

  Knowing he was probably the last person Ben wanted to hang out with, Mike kept to himself. He read every book he could find, watched TV until his eyes crossed, and drove himself crazy trying not to think about how much time he’d lost in the search for Meghan. His only lead was dead and… well, whatever happened to them when they really died. When we really die, Mike corrected himself. Either way, Collin was no more and the only person who might have the answers was gone for who knows how long.