Crucified: The Rise of an Urban Legend (Swann Series Book 9) Read online

  Back upstairs, he grabbed the bundle of meat by the top knot, carried her like an awkward package, then jammed, kicked and shouldered the body inside the big furnace, her head being the last to go. Shutting the large iron door, he watched through the thick, tempered glass as the body caught fire.

  The girl would cook all day, the roasted flesh dropping into the pan below, the steady heat sucking the moisture from the bones until they are dry and brittle. When he returned that night with his father, Aloysius would gather up the residue, then go out back and use custom equipment to press the remaining bones to dust. He’d then collect this and the other ashes and take a drive, scattering her over a one mile stretch of road.

  Of course, Aloysius didn’t need to go to these lengths to dispose of this or any other body, but he wasn’t up to eating her either. Not now, not later. He preferred blondes for their blood, but not for their meat. For more choice cuts of meat, he preferred a healthy black girl. There was something about their meat he found intoxicating.

  Aloysius got to the lab where Holland was already raising his father. Aloysius was dressed in a three piece suit and tie, his hair combed stylishly to the side. He looked like what Clark Kent would look like, if only Clark didn’t look so nerdy. His father came to slowly, but when his eyes opened, there was a light in them Aloysius hadn’t seen in decades.

  Adolf looked at his son and said, “Aloysius.”

  He took his father’s hand, smiled warmly. He was grateful the man hadn’t died.

  “You need your strength,” he told his father.

  “I feel better already,” Adolf replied. “Amazing actually.”

  He was looking down at his body, flexing his fingers and toes. He had a five day beard, and his hair was ink black and thick. When it was time for him to regain his honor, his dignity and his place once more as a world leader, Aloysius would suggest he shave his face, leaving only his small trademark mustache. The world should recognize its leader for what he had become: an immortal.

  Holland helped Adolf Hitler out of the horizontal glass canister, walked with him to the bathroom where he was able to shower. When he was finished, Aloysius stood by as Holland administered a bevy of tests. After an hour or so, Holland said his father was perfectly healthy, as expected.

  Adolf looked at Dr. Holland and said, “I trust your generosity still extends beyond my occasional treatments…”

  His father held Holland’s gaze, unblinking, as serious as Aloysius had ever seen him. This was a conversation from before, he assumed. One he was not privy to.

  “You want to travel,” Holland replied.

  “You can’t travel,” Aloysius said to his father, understanding the veiled request being made. “Not now. It’s too soon.”

  Holland disregarded Aloysius with a dismissive wave. “Actually,” Holland said, “he’s probably better off traveling now, him being of such impeccable health.”

  Adolf glanced at his son, his eyes softening, his expression masking some unspoken delight. Aloysius refused to blink, or look away.

  “If I don’t travel, my son,” Adolf said, “you won’t be born.” Aloysius simply looked at him, the question in his eyes but no words necessary between them. Meeting Aloysius’s gaze, he said, “Your mother awaits.”

  “You can’t jump back too far,” Aloysius warned once more, his powerful body standing tall, rigid, certain. He felt the potency roaring through him at the thought of losing his father, but he knew he must relax. He had to force himself to trust.

  “You standing before me is proof that my jump was successful. Had I not been successful, you would not be alive today.”

  “I know,” Aloysius told his father. “I just worry about you.”

  “That’s touching,” Holland said, his sarcasm cloaked so thinly he might as well be smirking. Both Aloysius and Adolf turned to Holland, assaulting him with the kind of dispassionate stare that made even a sadistic butcher of Holland’s caliber squirm in his shoes. Catching himself, Holland said, “To what time will you be traveling?”

  “August 21, 1614. Naturally, I’ll need some help with the timing and the final coordinates.”

  The worry presented itself across the entirety of Holland’s face. His manner was far less guarded. “Where exactly are you going?” Aloysius had not been privy to all the details of his birth until now.

  “To see the Blood Countess at Čachtice Castle in Transylvania.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Holland gasped.

  “I’m afraid not,” Adolf said, turning to his son, who now stood there with a look of shock that left his bloodless face more pale than ever. Aloysius knew his mother was from the past, but his father never bothered with the details of when, or whom.

  Until now she was always a mystery.

  Holland took a deep breath, ran his hand through his hair, then leveled the Führer with a stare of such seriousness, the doctor looked like he wanted to kill them both right there.

  “With all due respect,” Holland finally said, “have you lost your fucking mind?”

  “To rule as a beast,” Adolf explained in perfect German, “one must commit a number of beastly acts. This is but one titanic act, although its importance is shadowed by no greater event in either my life or his.”

  Basically what Adolf was saying was that he was going back in time nearly five hundred years to mate with Elizabeth Bathory, a mass murderer of horrific evaluation and purportedly—in some circles—considered the first vampire.

  Chapter Four

  Brayden…I mean August…sleeps with his head against the passenger side window most of the drive home. Several times I check to make sure he’s still doing alright. That he hasn’t fallen into a coma or anything. But mostly I let him sleep. On deck is the latest Slayer album, but out of consideration for this man who will now be my whole life, I drive my beloved Audi RS5 in near silence, obeying the rules of the road, keeping mostly to the speed limit.

  Mostly. Okay, maybe not mostly.

  I’m a girl who loves fast cars and adrenaline, so maybe a few times I go over a hundred, and maybe once I push against one oh five. Seriously, though…can you blame me?

  So yeah, we’re home in record time. I almost feel bad waking him up, but I’ve waited as long as I can, and now we’re in my neighborhood.

  I put a hand on his thigh, relishing the feel of it, giving him a subtle squeeze. He opens his eyes, turns toward me, drowsy, then smiles the smallest most beautiful smile.

  “We’re home,” I say.

  He licks his lips, sits up, then lets his eyes clear. We’re pulling into my driveway and I’m just wanting him to be awake when he meets my parents for the first time as August. I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to tell them he was once Brayden.

  I probably won’t.

  He draws the deepest breath ever, yawns, then says, “I just need a bed.”

  “I know. Can you be awake enough to make a good first impression on my mother and father?”

  He nods, but it’s not terribly assuring. “I think so,” he says.

  “Will you promise me something?”

  “Depends,” he says on another yawn.

  I’ve pondered this all the way home, how I’d phrase the question, so here goes…

  “We’re going to be girlfriend and boyfriend, right?”

  This thought sobers him. He looks at me, takes me in with his eyes and I know he’s in love with how I look. With me. He smiles, and in the sexiest tone ever, he says, “God, I hope so.”

  I steal a breath. Then: “Can you promise me that we won’t take it slow?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, some color rising to his face.

  Now he’s wide awake.

  “When you’ve had a nap, and maybe a little social time, I want you inside me. I don’t want to wait. If you make me wait…oh, Brayden…please don’t make me wait.”

  He snorts out a laugh, which manages to look incredibly charming on him, and he says, “Absolutely. I mean…yeah.
I don’t need social time or a nap or anything. Honestly, right now I’m half staff on the road to a freaking pirate’s plank at the thought. Seriously…look at it.”

  I look down and blush.

  “Holy balls,” he says, now fully away, “my first erection!”

  I reach over and touch it and he says, “Whoa, don’t do that. It’s too sensitive. So yeah…unless you want me to have an accident…”

  We both start laughing and I say, “Can you imagine meeting my mother with a giant wet spot in your pants?”

  “Yeah…not so much.”

  “Alright, well, think of something awful and when you’re decent, let’s go inside.”

  He brings his knees up, wraps his arms around them, then closes his eyes and takes ten deep breaths. “If you flex any muscle in your body for twenty seconds straight,” he explains, eyes still closed, “you can induce rapid shrinkage.”

  “Is that true?” I ask, laughing at this stupid conversation we’re having.

  “Yes, but if that doesn’t work, I just think of Michael Moore.” When he sets his legs down, he points at the non-event in his pants and says, “Time to meet your mother.”

  We walk inside to an empty home. Once you enter the foyer, you can see to the other side of the house, to the wall of windows facing the backyard, specifically the pool.

  “Everyone’s outside,” I say.

  My father wanted the back of the house converted to an indoor/outdoor living area, so he had about twenty linear feet of the rear wall opened up. The whole thing was made of glass and worked on remote controlled sliders.

  “Do you smell that?” he asks. “Oh, sweet Jesus…”

  We both look at each other and together we say, “Hot dogs.”

  He’s suddenly giddy, taking my hand, walking me out there. I’m thinking about this new boy, August. I’m thinking in the last ten minutes he’s had three significant highs: his first erection, the knowledge that I want him in the worst way ever, and his first smell of hot dogs as a new person. Well, it looks like he’s off to a roaring start in this new life of his, and honestly, that makes me so happy.

  Rebecca, Jacob, Christian and Orianna are all out by the pool sitting under a news of heat lamps. It’s almost dinner time and there are indeed hot dogs on the grill. They smell amazing! We step outside and see Christian in the pool with Rebecca while Jacob is sitting poolside (his legs dangling in the water; his chest and face pink enough that I wonder if he’s sunburnt) and Orianna is reclining on a chaise lounge in a stylish white two piece. I swear, she’s so freaking gorgeous I’m afraid for a second that I can’t breathe.

  Good God, my mother…

  Before any of them see us, I lean into August and whisper, “If you stare too long at my sister or Orianna I swear I’m going to punch you in the peen.”

  Orianna looks like a bikini model, and I’ve seen Rebecca naked so I know she’s perfect, too. Wow. When did I become so insecure!? The thing about living in a family with genetics geared toward absolute perfection is that guys like Brayden…August…are going to be statistically prone to developing a wandering eye.

  Even I’m smart enough to know that’s how guys are wired.

  Before he can reply, Rebecca sees us, and then they all see us. “Hi everyone, this is August, my new boyfriend.” It’s the clunkiest introduction ever, but I’m not sweating the small stuff.

  “That’s explains it,” Christian says with a smile.

  “Explains what?” I ask.

  “The one week absence,” he replies.

  “You got me,” I tell him, looking sheepish, but more for appearances.

  Everyone introduces themselves to August, then Christian suggests we put on our swimsuits and join them for dinner and dogs. He’s getting out of the pool and heading toward the grille and the slow roasting wieners.

  “Sounds good,” I say.

  Did I tell you I completely adore my father?

  Yeah, totally.

  When he first got his makeover, my father was goofy, unsure of himself, but doing his best to be younger, sound younger, act younger. It was a veritable disaster with a few choice moments he chalked up to being a bachelor. The single life didn’t suit him, though; he was still in love with my mother even though she was going through her own mid-life crisis which included banging this asshole writer who once hit on me at a restaurant while he was waiting for my mother. Now that my parents are back together, they’ve both seemed to settle into a healthy, loving relationship that involves something that was absent for years: lots of amazing sex. I didn’t want to know these things—no kid does—but when you have access to the minds of others, sometimes you stumble across things you don’t want to see, things you can’t unsee.

  “How are you guys not cold?” I ask.

  “Pool’s heated, and the sunlamps are just divine,” Orianna says with a grin. “Come stand under them. Trust me, this is the very best place to be!”

  “While you catch up with you mother, I’ll put on a few more dogs,” Christian says. Then, looking at August, he says, “How many wieners do you want?”

  Okay…I take back what I said.

  Awkward.

  Everyone seems to want to smile at my father’s juvenile humor, but they aren’t sure how August is going to respond. August just stares at my father for the longest moment, then he says, “If by wieners you mean hot dogs, then I’ll have two.”

  Everyone starts laughing and it seems August is going to be alright.

  Sneaking a peek into my father’s head, I see he’s happy with my choice of boys, and Orianna looks smitten, though what she’s happiest about is that August and I seem like a natural fit. With such immediate acceptance, I can’t help wondering once more, would they feel the same way if they knew August was once Brayden James?

  And Rebecca? She can’t stop staring either, but not in a rude way. It’s like the redhead is seeing a unicorn for the first time and not knowing what it is, only that she’s mesmerized by it.

  Rebecca looks twenty, but she’s still developing out from having been in the tank for nearly a decade. I think she’s got the mentality right now of about a fifteen year old, so I understand how she has yet to grasp the nuances of meeting hot guys for the first time.

  When I look at Jacob—the boy I once crushed so hard on, the boy who once made fat Savannah want to kill herself because of his tormenting—I have to say he seems a little bummed out at how good looking August is.

  My boyfriend clearly has Rebecca’s eye, so I say, “Jacob, have you been hitting the weights or what? You look really good!”

  The moment lifts. Smiling, he says he has, and then he seems to relax as Rebecca’s eyes return to him. He’s sitting poolside with his legs dipped in the pool and she’s in the water floating in front of him, running her hand up his leg, inching toward his inner thigh. Orianna clears her throat which causes my freshly adopted sister to slide her hand back into the parental safe zone. I jump into Rebecca’s head inadvertently and realize she and Jacob had sex for the first time last night.

  My nostrils flare and I work to conceal my emotions while steadying my breath.

  Half of me feels stunned by the revelation, but the other half is thrilled for Rebecca. Jacob was never right for me. Not when I had guys like Jake Teller, Sebastian Fray and now August wanting to be with me. Jacob would never be the one who got away; instead, he’d be the one I made right for my new sister, and I can live with that.

  By the feel of things, at least with Rebecca, it seems like there might be some permanence to this relationship. Honestly, I tell myself this is what’s right, and something settles over me. A peacefulness not only about Jacob, but about my years in school with him. The past is dead and gone. Time for new experiences. After all, I am no longer the chubby, insecure Savannah I once was. Most of you who’ve come to know me would say, uh duh…yeah already, but going through what I’ve gone through in real life…it’s not what you’d expect.

  “You two make the most beautiful cou
ple,” I tell Rebecca, my heart overflowing.

  She thanks me, then says, “I was thinking the same of you two.”

  “Yeah, we’re a good match,” I say, taking August’s hand. “Don’t you think, August?”

  He blinks his eyes like he wasn’t paying attention, then he says, “Sorry, I was thinking about those wieners just now,” eliciting more than a few snickers.

  August and I stroll inside the house hand in hand. I take us to the guest room, shut and lock the door, then I turn to him and say, “Take off your clothes.”

  He takes them off, leaving his skin-tight boxers on. My eyes feast on every exposed part of him. There are primal things in me that are dying to touch him, to feel the flesh of him beneath my palms. My eyes are positively devouring him. He’s at half mast because he sees the way I’m eyeing him. He feels my heat, the explosion of sexual energy, how badly I want him. Everything about me has turned predatory.

  “I’m going to need you now,” I say, my voice velvet-edged but insistent.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, playing coy.

  With a low swirling taking shape just beneath my navel, with that syrupy sense of wanton lust unfolding deep inside me, I slip my shirt over my head, then reach behind with both hands and slowly unclasp my bra. I don’t rush it even though anxiousness is coursing through me at a blistering pace. Slipping the bra straps off one shoulder then the next, the garment falls away.

  August goes visibly weak with a yearning so deep it has its own aura.

  He’s no longer coy.

  “What I mean to say,” I tell him, “is that I’m going to ride you ‘till you’re dry.”

  “Holy crap,” he says, his voice unsteady.

  He starts to walk toward me but I hold up my hand, stopping him.

  “Stay there,” I say. “Eyes only for now.”

  My fingers unbutton my pants, slowly, surely, savoring every single moment that August’s eyes are glued to my actions. He’s consuming my every move, swallowing hard while refusing to blink, looking at my fingers at work and wishing they’d both slow down and hurry up.