“Are you sure Hal is gone for good?” Ruby asked.
“Yes.”
Ronan went up first and checked it out before indicating it was safe for Sierra to come up. A single bulb in the rafters lit the place. Unlike the basement, which hadn’t had much stuff in it when she’d moved in, this space was crammed with things from the past. Or so it seemed to her.
Ronan pointed to a chipped and battered rocking horse in the far corner. “That used to be mine when I was a kid. Adele played on it after me.”
“Ruby, does anything look familiar from your time?”
“I haven’t been up here since I was murdered,” Ruby whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Sierra said. “This must be hard for you. But the faster you help us, the faster you’ll be able to go into the light.”
“Hal paid off the cops,” Ruby said unsteadily. “He said I was holding the knife trying to kill myself when I fell down the steps. It was a lie. I never fell down the stairs. It all took place here in the attic.”
“Where exactly?” Sierra asked.
Ruby pointed to the right.
“Let’s look here,” Sierra told Ronan, who had already gone through several piles with vamp speed.
He removed several chairs and boxes to free a large hinged wicker trunk. When Sierra first opened it, all she saw were rags and yellowed linens. She moved those aside and was about to give up when she saw them. The shoes.
She carefully lifted them out.
“Do ghosts have shadows?” Ronan asked.
“Not usually,” Sierra said.
“Then what is that?”
The darkness took shape. The first things to materialize were the eyes and face. The eyes were totally black and totally creepy, like Voz’s. But these eyes had blood oozing out of them and fanatic hatred in them. The face was scaly and abhorrent.
Sierra felt terror and repugnance. She also felt the overwhelming evil she’d only felt once before, when Gregori had tried to take her. He flashed his fangs and then flicked his long lizardlike tongue at them.
Ronan instantly grabbed Sierra, who still had the shoes in her hand, and transported her down to the safe site in the basement.
“Whatever happens, do not leave here,” he ordered her. Then he was gone …
Chapter Twenty-three
Gregori was waiting for Ronan in the attic.
This was something Ronan knew how to do. He knew how to fight other vampires. He was damn good at it.
Kill or be killed.
Ronan had already started going full vamp when he’d left Sierra seconds ago. His fangs emerged and his eyes darkened and glowed. Adrenaline scored throughout his body as he tensed, prepared for battle.
His opponent was ready for him, lashing out with claws courtesy of his demonic side. Ronan had once asked Damon, who was a vampire Demon Hunter, the secret to fighting demons. His answer? Move fast and exterminate faster.
Not all that different from fighting fellow vampires.
But Gregori was no normal vampire. He was a mutant. That lizard tongue of his snaked out and nearly blinded Ronan.
Shit! Ronan grabbed for the sword he’d spotted in the attic earlier. He’d barely got it in his hands when Gregori grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him to the floor.
Ronan kicked him in the face.
Gregori laughed at him and nearly sank his fangs into Ronan’s leg before Ronan leaped away.
The level of evil in this creature was beyond anything Ronan had ever experienced. Still Ronan battled on, calling on his anger to propel him to a new level of violence. This mutant had tried to take Sierra.
Bellowing his rage, Ronan matched Gregori blow for blow until Ronan’s arms and legs streamed blood. No matter. He’d heal. If he lived.
And the only way he’d live was to sever Gregori’s head. The sword was old and rusty but it would be sufficient to do the job if the blow was delivered properly with full vamp force.
Ronan knew he’d only get one chance. It came when he least expected it. Gregori’s attention strayed for a millisecond. Ronan gripped the sword hilt with both hands and swung with all his might.
The sword sliced through. Hacked through. Whatever. It did the job. Gregori disintegrated into a putrid pile of dust.
A golden key fell and bounced on the wooden planks. It must have come from Gregori’s body.
Ronan lunged, catching it before it slid between the cracks.
Blood pooled in the palm of his hand. At first he thought it was Gregori’s before realizing it was his own. The mutant vampire had slashed Ronan’s sweater and pants. His wounds were already starting to heal but he was still a bloody mess.
He hated Sierra seeing him like this, but there was no time to waste. He returned to the basement with the key clutched in his hand.
She remained calm despite his appearance. “Are you okay?”