Immortal Rage Read online

  Immortal Rage

  Jax Garren

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  IMMORTAL RAGE

  Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Hinson.

  Written by Jax Garren.

  Editor: Heather Long

  Copy Editor: Abby Webber

  Cover by Daqri Bernardo (Covers by Combs)

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Vampire Lineage

  Also by Jax Garren

  Prologue

  Two days before the events of Immortal Longing…

  Javier ran his trembling fingers over the sensual ridges of each vertebra on the woman lying naked next to him. Emma’s skin was soft, the muscles beneath strong, the contours of each bone a texture he hadn’t yet felt with his tongue. But he wanted to. His heart was full of awe as he tried to get up the courage to ask for her phone number.

  Nothing about their encounter said she’d give it to him. Not the way she’d found him in a bar and, with a flirtatious smile, announced her intention to seduce him. Not the way they’d fallen on each other as soon as they’d entered his little studio apartment, landing on the couch and then the floor before finally finding the unmade bed. Definitely not the way they’d avoided any mentions of last names.

  But the way she’d said his first name—“Javi, Javi, oh God, Javier…”—that was something he wanted, very badly, to hear again.

  She smiled at him. It seemed to be her default expression, whether she was ordering them fluffy cocktails at the bar, trading silly stories on the car ride, or shoving him onto his back at his place so she could be on top. All different, all beautiful smiles. She probably had more for all kinds of occasions. He’d like to see those too.

  “Whatcha thinking ’bout?” she drawled in her east Texas accent.

  “Us,” he said, before he could consider if that was too personal.

  She chuckled and tapped his nose with a teal fingernail. “I got to give you props for keeping up with me. Most guys can’t.”

  I could keep up with you again. The words almost left his mouth, but she was already getting up from the bed and scrounging the floor for clothing.

  “Where in the hell did my panties get to?” She stood naked, hand on her hip, without any self-consciousness. She was thin but muscular, with wide hips. Honey-blonde hair, originally worn in a loose bun that reminded him of old-fashioned magazine plates, now fell to her mid-back, since he’d picked out every bobby pin and let the waves fall one by precious one. Her eyes were blue, her skin unusually pale, except on her face—which had a light dusting of freckles—and her forearms. It made him think her attire tonight of a super-short skirt and low-backed, sleeveless shirt was an anomaly. He’d like to see her when she wasn’t prowling for a partner.

  Which was why he needed her phone number.

  He sat up against the metal headboard of his queen-sized bed, the better to admire her. “I think I shot them toward the bathroom.”

  She glanced that way. “Trying to keep a souvenir? Or you just like wearing ladies’ thongs? Either way’s fine with me. I just like to know the adventures of my underwear.” She found her bra too soon and hid her breasts with an efficiency that had him wishing he’d moved into that two-story house in the suburbs he’d been eying. Then she’d have to wander naked through room after room finding each item of clothing, giving him time to work up the courage to ask her out again. Or to convince her to come back to bed again.

  Alas, her skirt was scooped up next and zipped on with alarming speed. She wouldn’t even stay the night? He had to stop her from leaving somehow.

  But how? One-night stands weren’t his normal thing. He pursed his mouth and looked down at his sheets. It was the first time in a year they’d seen anyone but him. As a doctor just eight months out of residency, a social life hadn’t been his thing for a while. But he had the time to change that now.

  She headed toward the bathroom, as if to fetch the wandering underpants, but stopped at his dresser instead and started opening drawers.

  “Should I ask what you’re doing?” Not that he cared. Anything to slow her down while he tried to figure out words that would convince her to stay.

  She pulled out an undershirt and sniffed it. “Smells like you. I’ll trade you. You’re worth a souvenir.” His shirt went over her head. It was too big, baggy around her slight curves, and she looked perfect in it.

  “Trade me for what?”

  She darted a sultry gaze toward the bathroom. “My panties, of course. You’ll look good in lacy purple.” Her smile turned downright dirty as she came to the bed and walked her hands toward him. “Although I’m not sure they can contain you. You got an A for technique and equipment.” Her hands slid up his shins, and he was ready to go again. “Javier, it has been a most enjoyable evening. I’m glad I picked you.”

  With two fingers she blew him a kiss, then turned toward the door. He shot up out of the bed and followed her. “Emma…”

  She turned with her hand on the doorknob, one eyebrow raised in question, her jaw set in determination. She knew what he was going to ask for.

  “Can I get your…” Her growing frown said she was going to turn him down. Disappointment sapped his courage. He was good at tests, but this was one he wouldn’t pass, and it hurt.

  His sister’s regular pep talk came back to him: Big balls, big brother. Failure is for future winners. He’d repeated those words as he’d applied for colleges—and dozens of scholarships, several of which he’d even gotten. A few years later he’d taken the MCAT. A childhood spent bouncing in and out of his mom’s many homes and the various foster homes CPS had shuffled them through had made a lot of things hard that most people took for granted. But throwing himself headlong into failure after failure, persevering when everyone else quit, had made a doctor out of him. Contrary to everyone’s expectations and every statistic anyone had thrown his way, he had a cushy, perfectly stable paycheck, and a respectable career. Nobody guessed where he came from anymore, and he liked it that way.

  Big balls. Failure for the win. Problem was, this was a test he couldn’t retake. He wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, any girlfriend, to fill his nights. He wanted her. If she said no, there was no plan B. “Can I have your phone number?”

  She shook her head, almost regretfully. A knot grew in his chest, but he kept his shoulders back and chin up, even as she said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Javi. I’m not a long-haul sort of girl. But you’re a good-papa sort of guy. I’m counting on you to find somebody who deserves you. It would make me very happy to run into you one day and see you happy with a nice wife and a passel of kids you take good care of.”

  He slid from the bed and took her hand, curious why she sounded so sad. It was one thing to not want a family, another to think you couldn’t have one. “We’re not so different. We could see each other again—maybe in the daytime,” he added, trying to make sure she knew he wasn’t just interested in sex.

  She laughed. “Oh, sweetie, we
’re a world of different.” Her gaze flicked over him, and he got the impression she’d bought the veneer he’d so carefully constructed over the hot mess he was inside. For once, he thought maybe that wasn’t going in his favor. She put one cool hand on his cheek. “But I like you—I genuinely do. And that’s saying something.” She leaned in. Her warm breath smelled of lime and gin as she leaned in for a final kiss. “Goodbye, Javi. I don’t plan on forgetting you.”

  Her lips met his with tantalizing softness. Her tongue swiped out once, licking his lips, then retreated before he could demand more.

  And it was over.

  Before he realized what was happening, she’d opened the front door and stepped out.

  The door shut, and he stood dumbfounded before it. He reached for the door, to run after her, then realized he was buck-ass naked. His pants were nearby. He had no idea where his own underwear had gone. No matter. He shoved his pants on and opened the door as he zipped them. “Emma?”

  Uncaring how foolish it was, he jogged shirtless through the moonlit courtyard toward the parking lot, calling her name. When he arrived, he froze as his determination turned to adrenaline. Two men advanced on Emma like they meant bad business.

  “Emma!” He ran to her and tried to tug her behind him. “Get back inside.”

  Her eyes widened in fear, and she stepped back in front of him. “What’re you doing out here? Get inside!” Her smile was gone, skin cold, and eyes wide with stress.

  He ignored that, backing her up with him as he yelled at the approaching men, “Get out. I’m calling the police.” With what phone? He’d left it inside.

  “Shit,” Emma muttered. “Move.”

  She backed into the courtyard, faster than he thought possible, yanking him with her. The men launched into a chase, moving with lightning-quick speed.

  Just as they reached his door, the men leaped.

  Emma lashed out, kicking one squarely in the testicles, and he bent over.

  The other man punched at Javier, and he dodged to the side. The punch cracked into his front door with bone-crushing force.

  These guys weren’t dicking around, like this wasn’t just a regular mugging.

  The bent-over man straightened up and latched onto Emma’s bicep.

  “Let her go!” Javier reached for her.

  “Inside, Javier!” she yelled.

  And let her get dragged away? Hell no. He punched. He was a reasonable fighter, having gotten into a few scrapes in school, but this guy’s jaw was like metal.

  The thug’s head barely snapped to the side before he turned back with a wicked grin. Fangs? Javier did a double take. The man had faked fangs.

  Emma punched the fanged one in the nose. It exploded in blood. She opened Javier’s door and shoved him in, then dove in herself, like the frame was a portal.

  Javier grabbed the baseball bat he kept near the entrance. He lived in a nice part of town now, but some habits died hard.

  Emma tugged him back by the waistband of his pants. “Don’t cross the plane. They can’t come in.”

  He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Why wouldn’t they? Call the cops. I got this.” Although, based on the past few minutes, maybe he should give her the bat and call the cops himself. “You’re good in a fight.”

  “Is that an accusation or a congratulations?”

  Like she’d said, the men weren’t coming inside, just hanging a few feet from the door in a creepy face-off. What the hell? “I’m impressed. Why would it be an accusation?”

  “Some men don’t like strong women.”

  “Some men are idiots.”

  “I knew I liked you.” She shut the door but didn’t bother locking it. “They can’t come in. I gotta make a phone call. Can I stay here for a while?”

  He could have almost thanked the thugs. Almost. “You can stay as long as you want. Why are you so certain they won’t come in?”

  “Not won’t. Can’t.” She sighed. “They’re vampires, Javier. One of them flashed fang at you. I know you saw it.”

  He blinked. Up until this point, her talk hadn’t been anti-science—one of his few deal breakers when working with people. “They’re not vampires. They’re wearing fake fangs.”

  She grimaced and opened the door.

  Alarm filled him. “What are you doing?”

  Without answering, she crooked a finger at the thugs, breaking the plane of the door. “Come here, boys…”

  Despite knowing there was no mystical barrier stopping them from entering, his heart jumped in fear at her hand over threshold.

  One of them leaped for her. She jerked back, and with the other hand grabbed his belt. A yank, and the man lurched forward into the doorway…

  …And smacked against an invisible barrier.

  “What in the hell…?” Javier muttered. His little sister earnestly believed in vampires—more specifically, she claimed her best friend had dated one. She also believed in magic and old Pagan gods and dyed her hair a new color every month and wasted her considerable intelligence running the light board at a male strip club instead of going to school and starting a career. He loved her dearly, but she was… maladjusted.

  Something else that was a poor adaptation to life, though? Dismissing evidence that didn’t suit your worldview. What if Rhi knew something he didn’t?

  “They can’t come in,” Emma said again.

  Two more men came running into the courtyard on all fours, their faces elongated and movements blurred with speed. Javier blinked and wondered if he were dreaming or if he was really seeing this.

  The thugs stepped to the side.

  “Well, shit. They can,” Emma said. “Duck!”

  She shoved Javier to the floor. He went down and rolled as the two men came flying through the doorway.

  Emma flipped back up, swinging her fist at an elongated nose. She was unreal fast.

  Javier picked up the bat and hopped to his feet. “Why can these come in?”

  “Were-rats. Not sure what they’re doing here.”

  Two on her? He swung the bat, connecting mid-spine on one. It squealed with a high-pitched whine that hurt his ears as it pivoted to him. “Were-rat? Like a werewolf? But a rat?” The natural order of things was imploding. He’d worry about that when they were safe. “How do you know this? Are you like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or something?”

  She laughed without humor and dodged a kick. “Nope. I’m a vampire.”

  “What? No.” His rat lunged. He swung. It ducked and his bat passed through air with a whistle.

  “Yep. I fed on you tonight. Thanks. You’re tasty.”

  “What?”

  “You got bite marks on your ass. You can look for them if we survive.”

  He swung again. Damn, this thing was fast. “Is that why you wouldn’t give me your number? Because you’re a vampire?” This was definitely a dream. Even if it didn’t feel like one. Or maybe he was finally having a psychotic break.

  She barked a laugh. “Really? That’s your important concern right now? My phone number?”

  “Uh, of course not.” It was a deeply important concern. “Is it? The reason, I mean.”

  She grunted as the rat struck her across the cheek, raking long nails across her lovely face.

  “Emma!” He stepped toward her.

  He needn’t have. The move was a sacrifice. She used the rat’s momentum to trip it, sending the rat down hard. Her heel pressed onto its neck.

  But in Javier’s distraction, his rat swung. Those same nails raked across his naked belly with staggering force.

  It didn’t hurt. Bad sign.

  He lurched backward and dropped the bat. Blood streamed down his abdomen too fast from four ragged gashes. He needed a hospital. Now.

  “Javi!” she screamed. There was a crack as she broke her rat’s neck.

  Javi dropped to his knees, then his ass.

  She barreled into the last rat. Another inhuman squeal sounded. Had she killed the last one?

  She
caught his head. Her angelic face appeared over him. “I’m so sorry. This is irregular. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  Her lips were covered in blood. Had she killed the other one with her teeth? “What part of this”—he coughed—“is irregular?”

  Laughter sounded from outside. “Once he’s dead, we cross the threshold and you’re ours.”

  Javier blinked, his vision blurring.

  “Maybe we’ll take your human too. Your last fuck. Our newest member. Bet he’d like to keep you.”

  Yes, Javier would like to keep Emma. But that wasn’t going to happen, because he was going to die from blood loss. Right here, right now, when he finally had a good job and he’d just met the most amazing woman. Even if she was a mythological being. “Not a fuck,” he argued with the speaker. “I think I fell in love.” Over-dramatic maybe, but he was dying. It was his right to believe in ridiculous things like love at first sight before he blinked out of existence.

  “Oh, Javi. Baby.” She clutched him closer. She was so warm, and he was so very cold. “I’m so sorry. We’re in a shit ton of trouble. I hate to make this decision for you, but if they turn you, you’ll be evil. There are two sides at war…”

  What was she talking about? Not important. “Tell Rhiannon. My sister—”

  “Honey, no time.” Her wrist landed hard against his mouth. “You got fifty-fifty odds of turning, sweetie. Do me a favor and beat them.”

  Thick, coppery fluid flooded his mouth and he nearly gagged. He tried to cough it up but she held firm, drowning him in blood.

  Vampire blood. In some stories, that was how vampires made more of themselves.

  Growing up he’d bounced from house to house—a new life and a new perspective with each pack of a suitcase and cross of a threshold. He’d learned to assess without time to study, to adapt without stated parameters, and to survive at all costs. He was dying. Vampires were real. He was in love with Emma. His best option was a no-brainer.