Reynolds, DB - Vampires in America 03 - Rajmund.pdf - Reynolds, DB - azuleya

Dedicated with love to a most remarkable woman, my sister Diana

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks first of all to Linda Kichline for her patience and skill and everything she does

to make it all work. And to Patricia Lazarus for once again producing a gorgeous cover

and bringing my words to life so beautifully. To Steve McHugh and Michelle Muto, two

wonderful writers I’m fortunate enough to have as my critique partners. Saying “thank

you” doesn’t come close to expressing my gratitude for their unflagging support and

brilliant input in making this a far better book than it ever would have been without them.

But, I’ll say it anyway . . . Thank you. Thanks to John Gorski for his invaluable input on

police procedure, as well as all manner of weaponry. If I’ve made any mistakes or taken

any liberties with the facts, it’s all on me, never John, who does his darnedest to keep me

accurate. To all the members of the OWG who keep spirits high and creative juices

flowing even when they’re clogged, and to Kelley Armstrong for creating such a great

place for writers. To Adrian Phoenix whose continuing friendship and generous spirit

make me believe there might actually exist something called the greater community of

writers. To all the bloggers and reviewers out there who continue to spread the word

about my vampires, and to all of my readers whose comments and e-mails keep me going

by letting me know there are people in the world who love my vamps as much as I do.

Love and thanks to my wonderful husband for putting up with a wife who stays up to all

hours of the night writing about vampires and other odd things. And finally, this book is

dedicated to my sister Diana whose belief in me has been a constant from the very first

word I wrote. No matter what the world throws at me, I know I’m never alone, because

Diana’s got my back. So, this one’s for you, Buddha. I love you. For contests, teasers and

Vampire Vignettes, visit me at: http://dbreynolds/wordpress.com

Other Books by D. B. Reynolds

Raphael

Jabril

Coming soon

Sophia

Duncan

Rajmund

***

D. B. Reynolds

Rajmund Published by ImaJinn Books, Inc.

Prologue

Buffalo, New York It was totally dark. She touched her fingers to her eyes to make sure

they were open. They were. But the room was like pitch black, like she couldn’t see her

freakin’ hand in front of her face. Her mom must have pulled the stupid blinds down

behind the curtains again to save energy. Regina was all for saving energy, but she wasn’t a

damn bat either. She sat up with an irritated groan and reached for the small lamp near

her bed, nearly falling on her face when it wasn’t there. She frowned and felt around

blindly with both hands, finally hitting something solid. A small table lamp, but not hers.

The first stirrings of unease coiled in her chest as her hand felt its way up the unfamiliar

base to an old-fashioned push-button switch. A press of her thumb yielded a dim, yellow

light. She stared, abruptly wide awake. This wasn’t her room. The strange lamp should

have warned her, but somehow she’d still expected to see her familiar bedroom with the

old-timey furniture she’d inherited from her Gramma Lena and the cheesy posters she’d

bought with her twenty- first birthday money two years ago, the ones she’d thought were

so sophisticated, but turned out to be just weird. But this wasn’t her room; it wasn’t even

her house. So where the hell was she? She blinked, forcing down her fear and thinking

furiously. She’d gone out with friends. Right, okay. Katie’s bachelorette party. But after

that . . . She’d probably had too much to drink. All the signs were there, the sick stomach,

the pounding head. God, had one of her friends dragged her home with them? Had she

been that out of it? A wave of guilt swept over her, replacing the fear and tightening her

chest with remorse. She could hear her mom’s voice lecturing her, saying, “If you can’t

drive, you catch a cab or go home with one of the girls instead. Just make sure you call

me, Regina, so I don’t worry.” She clutched the rough blanket close against a sudden chill

and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet touched a cold, damp floor and she

frowned at the sensation. A concrete floor? She looked up. No windows either. Was this a

basement? She didn’t remember any of her friends having guest rooms in— It all came

rushing back—the lights on the dark street, ice gleaming on the sidewalks. She’d almost

fallen. No she had fallen. She flushed in embarrassment and remembered a strong hand

gripping her arm, keeping her from hitting the ground. She’d glanced up, wanting to

thank her rescuer and then— She jumped as a noise broke the silence, something loud

and heavy, a door slamming into a wall. She froze, listening, expecting footsteps.

She heard a soft sob instead, a woman’s voice somewhere nearby. She stood, taking a

tentative step toward the door which was little more than an outline in the dim light.

“Hello,” she whispered, wondering if the other person could hear her. She reached for the

door knob. “Hello?” she said again, louder this time. A heavy footstep scuffed in the

hallway and she snatched her hand back, holding herself tightly. Her heart was racing

suddenly, her breath fast and shallow, making her lightheaded as she strained to hear. A

key rattled and the unseen woman began to cry, louder now, pleading. Regina stumbled

back onto the bed, pulling her feet up, wrapping her arms around her legs, trying to be

small, to be invisible. The woman began to scream . . .

Chapter One

Sarah Stratton’s eyes opened, a scream filling her throat, choking her as she fought it

down, as her hand slapped the switch next to her bed. Light flooded the room and she sat

up, her gaze taking in every familiar detail. She inhaled, a deep sucking breath that was

more of a sob, like in her dream. “Stop it,” she told herself. It had been a dream, a

nightmare, nothing more. The darkness, the terror—they weren’t real. Not this time. Hot

tears flooded her eyes and she dashed them away angrily. Climbing out of bed, she

stumbled over to her closet. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep, she had to

get up soon anyway. She had two classes to teach and blue books to grade. Might as well

get an early start, get in her morning jog, maybe have a real cup of coffee at the local

Starbuck’s instead of sleeping that extra hour. It wasn’t because she was afraid of the

dream, afraid the fear would come back, the helplessness— “Stop it, Sarah,” she repeated.

She pulled on her winter jogging clothes with quick, sharp movements—warm leggings, a

sweatshirt over a sensible athletic bra. It was nearly spring, but she’d learned the hard way

that cold weather lingered here in Buffalo, especially in the mornings. She twisted her long

blond hair into a secure ponytail before bending to lace up her shoes. Downstairs, she

grabbed her warm windbreaker from the closet and zipped her cell phone and ten dollars

into a pocket, adding her keys once she’d locked the front door securely behind her. She

paused for a moment to adjust to the freezing air, noting the slick spots on the short

walkway down to the street. The girl in her dream—Regina she’d called herself—had

fallen on a walkway much like this one. Sarah shook her head adamantly, refusing the

memory. A dream, she reminded herself. She did a few warm-ups, leaning against the old

wooden railing, stretching her hamstrings. The light was still burning on her landlady’s

side of their shared porch, but it was too early for even that industrious lady. But not too

early for Sarah. She took the stairs down at a quick jog, stepping to the side and running

across the dead grass to avoid the slick pavement. On the street, she settled into her

regular pace, legs pumping smoothly, breath easing in and out in a steady rhythm, her

body warm despite the icy morning. And finally, she permitted herself to think about the

dream and what it might mean. It had been years since she’d had a nightmare that bad,

the kind that brought her awake screaming, that brought back the cold and the damp, the

despair . . . the wisp of humid breath over a bare cheek, the heat of a hand as it reached

to touch— Sarah stopped in the middle of the empty street, breathing hard,

her heart pounding. She bent over, hands on her knees, each breath a gasp for air. “Hey,

you okay?” She jumped at the man’s voice, nearly stumbling as she backed away, eyes

wide. He raised his hands, palms out and took a step back. “Sorry. I just thought—” Sarah

forced a smile, trying to look normal, but she could tell by the look on his face that it

wasn’t working. “No, I’m sorry,” she said, fighting to even out her breathing. “I didn’t hear

you coming. Yeah, I’m fine. Bad night last night.” The other jogger nodded, clearly not

believing her, but anxious to get away from the crazy lady. “If you’re sure—” “Yeah. Yes.”

She waved him away. “Thanks for stopping, though. I appreciate it.” She began to walk

slowly, hands on her hips, cursing her own stupidity. She didn’t even look up as the

helpful man jogged past, not wanting to see the concern, or the curiosity, on his face. The

dreams, the damn, stupid dreams. Why were they back? And why now?

Chapter Two

Her office was too warm. Coming from California, it was always a surprise to Sarah

that people on the east coast kept their rooms so warm. It made her drowsy, which only

reminded her she’d gotten up an hour early this morning, and why. She hunched

determinedly over her desk at the university, trying to keep her eyes from crossing as she

read what passed for freshmen college essays these days. Low music played in the

background, a golden oldies station, playing tunes from the sixties and seventies, the

songs of another generation that somehow spoke to her soul. But not even the sweet

rhythms of Motown could soften her disgust with the essays she was reading. What did

they teach these kids in high school anyway? Half of them couldn’t spell worth a damn

and most of the other half had the vocabulary of a thirteen- year-old. Granted, most of

them were only taking her World History class because they had to, but— A phone rang.

She’d already picked up her desk phone’s receiver before her brain processed the fact that

it was her cell phone ringing instead. She dropped the landline receiver with a disgusted

Reynolds, DB - Vampires in America 03 - Rajmund.pdf

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