No Fear

  No Fear

  ***

  by

  Allie Harrison

  E-Book ISBN: 978-1-933417-74-5

  To Wayne, Ben and Rachel

  With Love

  Other Books by Allie Harrison

  Hide and Seek

  Coming Soon

  Of a Different Breed

  Chapter One

  Night of Terror

  Medusa’s Island

  Five years ago . . .

  With all her fading strength, Emma Gray pulled against the binds that held her. It was nearly impossible to ignore the pain in her wrists and her ankles where the ropes cut into her flesh. Yet the rest of her skin was cold and clammy, and still sweat seeped from every pore of her body. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she shivered against the tiny prickles that moved up her spine. Just as there was no escape from the isolated island without stealing a boat, there was no escape from the binds at her wrists and ankles. The nausea that gripped her middle was from the combination of fear and anger—fear of the unknown and anger at her stupidity of being caught.

  Despite the summer heat, coldness touched her, like cold fingers clawing at her. More of her hair stood up as she sensed she was no longer alone.

  The night had already been filled with terror. She had witnessed unimaginable things, and she had done things equally as bad. Now, she could hardly believe that it could get worse. Yet, it was.

  Again, she pulled with all her strength against the binds that held her. The danger of this creature touched her as his coldness did. Still, escape was impossible. The knowledge as well as the pain in her wrists did not stop her from trying. Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest, feeling so large, she couldn’t breathe. There was a cold, metallic taste in her mouth that she couldn’t seem to swallow. And it sent her stomach into knots.

  She wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t let him see her terror. She turned her head to the side, away from the door, away from where she knew he stood in the darkness. She squeezed her eyes closed and ignored the tears she felt fill them. The only sound in the utterly still, dark room was the raspy sounds of her uncontrolled breathing, and she hated that she couldn’t control it. She hated that her captor could probably hear her heart pounding. Hell, he probably smelled her fear, if indeed he could smell at all. If he was what she believed him to be.

  “Hello, Emma,” he said.

  She had never heard a voice as smooth, as rich, as the voice with which he spoke those two simple words. Still, she worked not to dwell on the sound of that wonderful voice that compelled her to turn and look into his eyes. Swallowing hard, she tried to think of something else, of anything else—the sky, the grass, waves crashing up on the beach, the continuous beacon of light from Medusa’s lighthouse, or the fact that the island had never seen snow. None of these things helped. It took all of her willpower to keep her cheek pressed against the bare mattress on which she rested. The smooth sound of his voice was nearly hypnotizing, making her feel like a rat caught in the gaze of a cobra.

  Hearing just two words, she understood now how easy it was to fall into the trap set by this creature and his wonderfully rich voice. If he was anything near his legend, he was then, after all, the perfect seducer.

  She did not reply to his greeting. Saying nothing at all, she clenched her teeth tightly together as she worked to control her breathing and the hammering of her heart. She also worked to think of a prayer, but at that moment, nothing came to her. With her eyes so tightly closed and her jaws so tightly clenched, her face ached nearly as much as her wrists.

  “Look at me, Emma.”

  “Go to hell,” she replied through her clenched teeth. Her simple words were raspy and rough and slightly mumbled. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t speak them forcefully enough, just as she couldn’t keep her fear out of them.

  His chuckle all but echoed off the empty walls. “I have already been there, my dear. It is a bit overrated, if you ask me.”

  She didn’t ask him. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t care if he’d ever been there. She didn’t care where he might have been, ever. She just wished he were somewhere—anywhere—else at that moment.

  “Look at me,” he commanded again. His words this time were a bit more forceful.

  She shook her head and refused to open her eyes. “No.” The single word was nothing more than a whisper, but sounded unnaturally loud.

  “I can ease your pain,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “I can erase your fear.”

  He was close. The coolness of his breath touched her cheek. He must be no more than inches away. She turned her head to the other side, trying to escape him. An undeniable coldness settled over her, despite the stale heat of the room. She wanted to move, to shrink into the mattress beneath her, but there was nowhere to move, no way she could distance herself without ripping off a limb or two.

  “No,” she refused again. She moved her wrists sharply, allowing the biting pain where her skin was rubbed raw to touch her like a hot coal. “The pain means I’m still alive.”

  He chuckled again. “You have no idea what it means to be alive,” he whispered softly near her ear. “I could show you. You and I could spend eternity learning what it means to really be alive.”

  “No.”

  “All you have to do is look into my eyes.”

  “Never.” She felt stronger saying that word, and yet it still did not sound as strong as she would have liked.

  The room was perfectly still for a long moment. Only the touch of his cold fingertips to her cheek told her he was still there, still close. She jumped at his touch and nearly opened her eyes. Nearly, but didn’t.

  “Your friend, Marcy, had no trouble looking into my eyes.”

  Again, Emma nearly gave in and looked at him, not because she wanted to, but because the anger and surprise of his words burned through her control, as did his sudden touch. Not Marcy, she thought. Not friendly, outgoing Marcy. “No,” she let out.

  “Yes, friendly, outgoing Marcy,” he said, reading her thoughts. “This morning I paid her a visit. We spent some time together.”

  She moaned, unable to control the pain that clutched at her heart like the sharp talons of a bird of prey, worse than the burning of her raw wrists. There was no clouding the feeling. She had to keep her thoughts clear, she couldn’t let him manipulate her in any way, but it simply wasn’t possible. The very idea that the monster next to her had put his dirty hands on Marcy, her friend, tied every fiber of her being into a tight knot that nearly sucked all the air out of her. She bit her lip until she tasted blood to keep from crying or screaming or looking at him. Still, she didn’t have the strength or the power to stop the tears that again filled her eyes and then slowly slid down her cheeks.

  “Let me end your pain, Emma,” he said. “Let me show you how wonderful life can be for you. We can share so much, you and me and Marcy.”

  Unable to speak through the pain that crushed her, she shook her head.

  “It’s not that hard. All you have to do is open your eyes and look at me. It will be beautiful. I promise.”

  Emma knew it was an empty promise. She shook her head harder.

  Again, he was completely still for a long moment. Then she heard his intake of a deep breath. She fought the urge to ask him if he really needed to breathe, or if his action was done purposely to remind her how close he was.

  “I admire your strong will, Emma. I’ve admired you from a distance for some time and I know your strengths. I know it was very difficult for you to do what you did to Mary Jenkins. I applaud you for it.” He paused, and then continued. “Despite the fact that you owe me immensely.”

  In reply, Emma said nothing, knowing exactly what she owed him and what it would cost her. The truth was, she h
oped he had no idea how dangerously close she was to giving in to his demand. She felt far from strong just then, and what she’d done to Mary had been nothing more than a reflex, a reaction pure and simple.

  She felt his cold fingers touch her leg. A shudder moved through her body as she tried to move away from him. He just moved with her. And he gently—like the touch of a lover—moved his fingers up her leg and under her skirt. “You understand, don’t you,” he said slowly, “that there are worse things than my killing you.”

  Yes, she knew. Her insides literally shook with the knowledge. Even the breath she let out quivered, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.

  “Do you know, too, that there are worse things than my making you into someone like me or like Marcy or Mary Jenkins?”

  The room’s hot, dead air touched her skin as she felt him lift aside the strap of her sundress and undo the buttons, and yet, it caused her to shiver. She instinctively sucked in a breath. His icy, dead lips touched her on the skin at her ribs.

  And Emma could no longer hold back her terror. Her fists were clenched tightly enough that her nails bit into her palms, drawing blood. She still didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes tightly shut. But she began to scream . . .

  Chapter Two

  Dead Men Walking

  Medusa’s Island

  Present day

  James stood cloaked with the falling dusk. This was, of course, his favorite time of day, when the town was being swallowed by the darkness. The cool breeze touched him, and with it, something more touched him.

  The icy fingers of evil played across this flesh.

  It had been five long years since he’d felt the stir of a vampire close-by. The feeling was that of the wind actually passing through his insides. He nearly gasped at the sudden gust that sent his heart pounding, caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand. For a long moment, he stood perfectly still as he worked to get a sense of direction. Where was this evil entity? In which direction should he look? The energy that tapped into his soul was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, yet it was recognizable as wrong, evil.

  Emma Gray. He had to see that she was safe, had to know for certain where she was and that she wasn’t out in the falling darkness where danger waited. He flew off into the night . . .

  * * * *

  Except for those souls resting there for eternity and for Jilly McComb, the GreenburyCemetery was deserted.

  Millions of different colored leaves rustled in the trees. The sound of all those leaves whistled between the headstones and formed vaults, casting an eerie tone through the stillness of the cool, crisp October evening.

  It was, after all, not a Sunday after church or any time near a holiday. It was just Thursday evening. Although there was rain in the near forecast, rain bound to be cold, the air now was cool and dry. A breeze blew the leaves that had already left the fingered branches that had once held fast to them. The scratchy sounds of their brittle, pointed edges added to the sound that whistled about the headstones, made by their brothers still attached to the trees.

  Jilly McComb stared at the stone before her.

  AMANDA MCCOMB, Beloved Sister.

  The words were carved deep into the stone along with the dates of her birth and death.

  The date of death was exactly one year ago today. Mandy, beautiful Mandy, gone a year already. How fast time went by, Jilly thought. It seemed like only yesterday when Amanda, Jilly’s sister, had succumbed to the dreadful disease she’d fought so hard and thought to beat. In the end, not only hadn’t she won, but she had lost terribly. In the end, she had lost weight and all but shriveled up like a raisin before drying up altogether, Jilly recalled. With the thought came a sprinkle of anger, even after all this time. The doctors on the mainland had been wrong. They hadn’t known the disease was as far along as it was. By the time all the tests were confirmed, it was too late.

  Jilly concentrated on the anger. It was much easier to face in the approaching dusk, much easier to face than anything that might be hiding behind the headstones all around her.

  Then the leaves rustled again, and Jilly fought down a shiver, trying to think more of the anger she still felt, but the anger gave way to building dread. She was in the cemetery facing her greatest fear. Amanda would be proud of her. She would have given Jilly one of her famous sisterly pats on the back and said, “See, Jilly, I knew you could do it.”

  A childhood prank in a cemetery had left Jillian McComb scarred for life. Now, on the anniversary of her sister’s death, she was determined to face that fear head on so that she could visit her sister any time of the year and not be terrified. She glanced around, ignoring the hair that stood up on the back of her neck.

  It was a breezy late afternoon, with building clouds in the darkening sky. Yet, this was a calm place, a peaceful place. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of, only stones with names of the residents, none of whom could ever hurt her. She pulled her sweater tightly around her and crossed her arms over her chest to hold it closed. She was suddenly cold.

  Was the air charged, really cooler than it had been mere moments ago?

  There was another strong gust of wind. And there was no mistaking that it really was colder. It wasn’t possible.

  This time she couldn’t fight down the shiver. It moved right up her back and caused her hair to actually tingle. It was time to leave. She couldn’t fight off the fear much longer.

  “See, I told you I’d work up the courage to come and talk to you,” she said out loud, telling Amanda what she’d planned to say, believing that Amanda could hear her and be happy for her, as Jilly knew she would be if she were living. She wouldn’t tell Amanda everything she planned. She knew she didn’t have time. Her fear was growing. Her voice sounded strange in the stillness mixed with the rustling leaf sounds. She tried to think of some of the things written on the list in her purse, things she’d written down to tell Amanda.

  “I met a man. You’d like him. He’s tall and dark, very romantic, not demanding. And he lives right here on the island, so I don’t have to travel to the mainland to see him. He sent me flowers at work, roses like these.” She bent down and set the bouquet on the ground near the stone, not really knowing what else to do with them. The bunch was too large for the empty vase in the ground nearby. Jilly knew the beautiful blooms would soon wither and die, but she hoped her sister could enjoy and appreciate them from wherever she rested now.

  A soft groaning sound touched Jilly. Like a cold wind, it sent a shiver up her back.

  Jilly looked around nervously. Was that a moan she heard? Impossible. There was no one else within sight, no wailing, grieving relative of any of the current residents. There weren’t even any freshly closed vaults to be seen. It had to be the wind. She was completely alone.

  Or was she? She thought she felt someone . . .

  Someone watched her. A shiver moved up her back, feeling like a thousand tiny fingers touching her. The wind bit against her cheeks suddenly. It felt colder than ever and caused her to tremble as it sent leaves swirling in all directions. The sounds of them sent her heart racing. Her stomach tightened, and Jilly fought the urge to crouch behind a headstone until she identified who was nearby.

  Another moan rent the air, lost within seconds in the breeze.

  Jilly looked around, trying to determine the direction from which it had come, but could not. Her heart beat faster. It really was time to go. She’d faced enough of her fear, she decided. She could make another written list of everything she wanted to tell Amanda and bring it on her next visit. She could come on a Saturday morning when darkness wasn’t threatening to swallow her and the air wasn’t charged with incoming coldness and rain. Her car was parked several rows of stones away on the road that circled through the cemetery.

  “Mandy, I’ll see you later. I love you,” she said aloud, just as she had always said to Amanda in life. The sisters made it a point never to actually say the word “good-bye” for that word wa
s too final. “I’ll be back.”

  She’d call Emma Gray as soon as she got home and talk to her about this visit. Perhaps Emma could even come with her next time.

  She turned toward her car—and stopped and stared in breath-stopping horror at the graves between herself and it. Because of the island’s high water table, the graves were placed in vault-like formations, and then covered with earth. The earth in front of one of the nearby stones moved, quaked, and rippled.

  Jilly tried to scream, but all that came out was a squeak. She stared, unable to catch her breath. A sweet, bitter nausea gripped her suddenly, and she did her best to swallow it away, telling herself that what she saw was completely impossible. Then from her peripheral vision, she saw another grave ripple as the earth shifted, then a third.

  She wasn’t seeing this. She wasn’t. She wasn’t.

  Her mind told her she couldn’t be seeing it. Her eyes told her she was.

  For a long moment, she stared, unable to move. She didn’t even breathe. When she forced her lungs to work again, her breaths sounded loud and labored and out of place in the quiet. The sound of her own pulse raced in her ears and her throat grew tight. Her legs grew weak.

  Then, an owl hooted nearby, sounding almost as if he was trying to warn her, or at least get her attention. The sudden sound snapped her out of the terror that gripped her, and she forced her legs to move.

  Without thought, Jilly ran, heading for her car. The ground trembled beneath her feet. A shriek escaped her, sounding foreign and unfamiliar to her own ears, as she ran past one vault only to see a bony, decaying hand break through the earth and protrude from the now partially open grave, complete with a worn, frayed, worm-eaten jacket sleeve.

  Jilly would have screamed, even tried to scream again, but her throat was frozen with terror. Her worst nightmare was coming true.