Relentless (Vampire Awakenings Book 11) Read online

  Relentless

  The Vampire Awakenings, Book 11

  Brenda K Davies

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Epilogue

  Find the Author

  Also from the Author

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 Brenda K. Davies

  All rights reserved.

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  “Do you think you can find her?” Mrs. Abbott asked.

  Dante stared at the picture she’d given him. At sixteen, Julie Abbott was a pretty girl with brown hair and blue eyes. Her cheeks held the pudginess of youth, and the sparkle in her eyes hinted at her mischievousness. She looked sweet and innocent in the picture, but the young girl had gotten herself into something she shouldn’t have.

  “I’m going to do everything I can to find her,” Dante promised. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  Two weeks was a long time to be on the streets alone, especially for someone like Julie who, judging by her home, had grown up in the lap of luxury. It had been a while since he’d been in a home as lavish as this three-story brownstone. The elegant, white furniture emphasized the royal blue and gold throw rug and blue, gossamer curtains on the near floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Do you know why she ran away?” he asked.

  Mrs. Abbott’s blue-gray eyes darted away from him. She wrung her hands nervously in her lap as she gazed over his shoulder. Dante didn’t have to turn to know she was staring at the fireplace behind him; he’d surveyed the room and learned the location of everything when he entered.

  Photos of a loving, happy family lined the fireplace mantle. The attractive couple and their young daughter were all grinning at the camera. They weren’t the strained smiles of a family pretending to be happy together; they were happy to be together.

  So, what changed?

  “My husband died in a car accident six months ago,” Mrs. Abbott said. “Before then, Julie was….” Her voice trailed off as her gaze shifted to the windows. “She was perfect.”

  Outside, a horn honked and a dog barked; it was the most noise he’d heard since entering the home on Beacon Hill. And that noise was short-lived as the street returned to its normal flow and the hum of tires on pavement drifted to him.

  Mrs. Abbott blinked away her tears before focusing on him again. Cut into a stylish bob, her graying brown hair came to a point at her chin. In her early fifties, the elegant pantsuit she wore emphasized her trim figure.

  In the pictures behind him, she could have been mistaken for someone in her early forties. However, the loss of her husband and daughter had created black circles under her eyes and etched deeper lines around her mouth.

  She was all that remained of the beautiful, happy family behind him, and it was destroying her. He’d bet she hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at a time in the past two weeks.

  “I know a lot of people say their children are perfect, but Julie was. Don’t get me wrong; she had her not-so-perfect moments. She can be emotional, hot-tempered, and not always easy to deal with, but she was never spiteful, didn’t do drugs, did well in school, and never broke curfew.”

  The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away the seconds as Dante waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he spoke again. “Are you sure about the drugs?”

  He hated asking the question, especially as a single tear slid down Mrs. Abbott’s cheek, but if he was going to find Julie, he had to know everything.

  Mrs. Abbott lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. She removed a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her bloodshot eyes. “Six months ago, yes. Now, no.”

  She kept her chin held high as she slid the tissue back into her pocket. Dante saw no sign of more tears as she stared at him with eyes that held steely determination instead of sorrow.

  “After my husband’s death, Julie became an entirely different person. I didn’t recognize her, but then, she probably didn’t recognize me either. My husband was the glue, and when he was gone, we both fell apart. By the time I pulled myself back together, it was already too late. I wasn’t there for Julie when she needed me, so she turned to someone else.”

  Dante lifted the small pad of paper and the pen he set aside when Mrs. Abbott gave him Julie’s picture. “Who?

  “I don’t know. I found her diary after she left, and though I swore I’d never read it, I did. I had to know what was going on, what she had been doing, and if I could find her.”

  “You had no other choice,” Dante assured her. She was dealing with enough guilt; she shouldn’t feel bad about invading her missing daughter’s privacy. “What did you learn from it?”

  “I’ll give it to you.” Her shoulders hunched forward before going back once more. “If it helps you find her, I’ll give you anything; money is no object.”

  He didn’t like taking money from suffering families, but arguing over it was a waste of time. His clients didn’t trust him as much when he didn’t take what they offered him. However, many of the people he worked for could barely afford food, never mind the rates of a private investigator. So, he took what they offered, and after he found their loved ones, they often discovered their money under their door or tucked into their mailbox.

  For his wealthier clients, he did the same thing, but he also kept some of it. He may not require much to survive, but he had bills to pay too.

  “Do you believe Julie is on drugs?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. The crowd she fell in with after my husband died was so… so… so weird.”

  “In what way?”

  “You have to understand how lost we were after my husband’s death.”

  “I understand what it’s like to lose someone unexpectedly,” he said. “My sister disappeared when I w
as nineteen. Her loss tore my family apart; things were never the same afterward.”

  “I’m sorry. Did you ever find her?”

  “Not yet, but I refuse to give up. I will have the answers one day.”

  He had to believe that; otherwise, the decision he made ten years ago was for nothing. One day, he would learn what became of his sister, Maya, and he would bring Julie Abbott home; those convictions were what drove him out of bed in the morning.

  For years, he’d felt like he was going through the motions of life without really living. If it wasn’t for his relentless pursuit of Maya, and the other missing children he found, he wouldn’t have any reason to live.

  “I’m sure you will too,” Mrs. Abbott said, and when she looked at him again, sympathy and understanding shone in her eyes.

  Only those who didn’t have the answers about a missing loved one could truly understand each other. They knew what it was like to have to bail water out of the hole-filled boat they all paddled. Understood that if, for one measly second, they stopped scooping water out, they would drown in the memories, possibilities, and what-ifs haunting every second of their days.

  “Julie’s new friends were into… I don’t know if it was a cult, a religion, or… or… just fantasy.”

  Her voice trailed off as she twiddled her thumbs in her lap. Dante didn’t push her to continue; he’d established a small bond with the woman when he revealed Maya’s disappearance to her. She would tell him more when she was ready.

  “Toward the end of her diary, Julie started talking about eternal life and never dying and…” She lifted her head to look at him again. “And vampires.”

  Chapter Two

  Dante set his pad and pen down as an uneasy feeling churned in his stomach. This could prove to be a whole lot more dangerous and complicated than locating a girl who was shacking up with her boyfriend or trying to feed her drug addiction. At least then, he only had to deal with humans. Now, he might have to deal with his kind, and he often avoided them.

  “I know it sounds insane,” Mrs. Abbott said. “But I think she truly believes they’re real. I guess it kind of makes sense that after her dad’s death, she would search for a way to avoid death, but Julie was never one for fantasy and make-believe. She didn’t ask for unicorns or fairies on her wall.

  “She asked for flowers instead. Julie loves flowers, especially roses and lilies. So the two of us spent a day painting roses and lilies on her wall. She was so cute all covered in paint and her tiny coveralls and….” She broke off as she shook her head. “Why am I telling you this? You don’t need these silly details.”

  Dante smiled at her. “They’re not silly details to us.”

  He could still recall Maya’s obsession with unicorns when they were kids. She was the exact opposite of Julie; give her all the fake things. Her room overflowed with unicorn pillows, stuffed animals, and so much pink, he cringed every time he walked past it. At six, he was foolishly convinced that putting one toe inside that pink explosion would somehow make him less of a man, so he refused to go into her room.

  “No, they’re not,” Mrs. Abbott muttered. “Did you start pursuing your profession because of your sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “You came highly recommended.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, and I will do everything I can to find Julie.”

  “I’ll get Julie’s diary for you,” Mrs. Abbott said and rose from her chair.

  Dante stayed where he was while he listened to her climb the steps to the second and then the third floor. He’d come highly recommended to her because he’d gained a reputation, and a well-deserved one, of bringing home missing people that others couldn’t find.

  That was partly because his vampire senses had honed his instincts and enabled him to see and learn more while hunting for a lost loved one than a human would see. But it was mainly because of how determined he was to give people the answers and peace denied his family.

  In the few cases he had where he didn’t bring someone home, he at least discovered what became of them. He hated those cases the most. He despised having family members staring expectantly at him and being the one who destroyed their hope.

  He brought more home then he lost, but the ones he lost haunted him the most.

  After he became a vampire, he quit the police force and went underground. He rented his apartment under a fake name, didn’t have any credit cards, and his bank accounts were all under his fake name too. Even his clients knew him as Dan Vares instead of Dante Alvarez. The real him ceased existing to the outside world shortly after he stopped existing as a human.

  Under normal circumstances, he probably would have left the city to avoid running into anyone he knew, but he couldn’t leave without knowing what became of Maya. So, instead, he avoided all the old locations where he used to hang out.

  Over the years, he’d run into a couple of his old buddies, but it had only been ten years since he was changed, so it wasn’t a complete shock for them to see him. He could change their memories about seeing him, but what if someone spotted him and he didn’t know it? That could get really interesting or ugly.

  But he still wasn’t leaving without his answers. He’d never believed Maya took off as some people suggested. She never would have done that. They had their problems over the years, but his family was extremely close. She would never hurt their parents in such a way, and she wouldn’t have left him.

  He may have been her annoying little brother at times, but they were also best friends. They were only fourteen months apart, so they’d grown up extremely close. There were times they tried to kill each other, tormented each other, and vowed never to speak again.

  But those times were always short-lived, and an hour later, they’d be playing together again. They walked to school together every day, and as they got older, he rode in the passenger seat of her beat-up Chevy pickup everywhere she went.

  He could clearly recall her in the driver seat, with the sun spilling over her chocolate-colored hair and shining in her onyx eyes. At the top of her lungs, she would belt out the lyrics to some new pop song while dancing in her seat. More into hard rock and alternative music, he always rolled his eyes at her, but somehow, he’d find himself singing along.

  No, he didn’t believe Maya had taken off, but he didn’t believe she was alive either. Still, he would bring her home so he could bury her with their parents, who both passed less than three years after Maya vanished. Before they died, he promised them he would bring her home, and he had to know who took her from them.

  Thoughts of his dead family caused him to lift a hand to his necklace. The old, brass locket with the compass rose on the front was once his mother’s, and it was supposed to be Maya’s. Instead, the locket housed a photo of his parents and one of Maya, and it was his.

  He turned his attention to the sun streaming across the hardwood floors as it shone through the window. The lulling rumble of the passing cars and the songs of the birds caused his mind to wander to the woman he saw at Adler’s piano bar two weeks ago. But then, every chance they got, his thoughts returned to her.

  The haunting melody of her voice, the sweet, cherry scent of her, and her striking beauty had woven a spell around him that he couldn’t break. And he didn’t think he’d break it even if he could.

  He easily recalled the wariness and curiosity in her midnight blue eyes as she looked from him to the picture of his last client. She was a vampire too; he’d recognized that immediately, but he didn’t think she was a killer like some of the others he’d run across. However, he had no way of knowing for sure, and being beautiful didn’t mean she wasn’t deadly. Oleander was beautiful too, and it was lethal.

  Ever since turning into a vamp, he’d learned there were two types of vampires—those who killed and those who didn’t. He stayed away from those who killed; hell, he avoided most of his kind as often as possible.

  That was the reason he hadn’t returned to the bar. He wanted to see the woman again, but
not the other three vamps who were there too. The woman had known them. She went to them and spoke with them; they were her friends.

  Friends, he thought with a small snort of laughter. The concept of friends was so odd to him; like family, he didn’t have friends anymore. He’d given them up ten years ago with his mortality.

  But he didn’t know how much longer he could stay away from the woman. Maybe seeing her would help rid her from his system, and he could get through an hour or two without thinking about her. He should go back tonight.

  So lost in contemplation, he didn’t hear Mrs. Abbott descending the stairs until she was already at the bottom of them. He rose as she entered the room.

  “Here it is,” she said as she strode toward him with regal grace. Despite her outwardly calm demeanor, her hand trembled as she held the diary out to him. “I hope she forgives me for this.”

  “I won’t tell her if you don’t,” he said.

  He took the red, leather-bound book from her but didn’t open it. She was already anxious about this decision; seeing a stranger rifle through her daughter’s most private thoughts would only make it worse.

  Still, he couldn’t stop himself from examining the cover. It was not the type of diary he would have associated with a sixteen-year-old girl. He’d expected flowers, or maybe some rainbows, or some other girlish thing, not this plain book that looked more like a journal than a diary.