Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel) Read Online Free
Author: Suzanne M. Sabol
soft brown eyes and stiffened her shoulders.
I got out of her SUV and waited as Enza made her way around the front to meet me on the walk. I let Enza go first, since she had the key, and lead me to the front door. She knocked once, twice, and then a third time. Her fist banged on the door in growing agitation when no one answered. Other than the soft pounding of Enza’s fists echoing inside the house, there were no other sounds inside.
I took a step back, eyeing the quiet house.
The harsh desert wind blew dirt around, drifting and dusting the ground. If there had been tracks in the lawn at one time, they were gone now.
“Soraida? Are you in there?” Enza called. Panic gave her voice an edge it didn’t usually have as she continued pounding on the door.
“Use your key,” I ordered softly.
Enza slipped a key into the lock and cracked the door open.
I caught her arm in my grip and dragged her back before she had a chance to step inside.
“I go in first,” I said. My voice was sharp, carrying a certainty, an authority I hadn’t felt or needed in months.
She nodded, holding back a gasp of fear as she let me go by.
I elbowed the door open and stepped inside.
Dread sat front and center in my mind, churning my gut as anxiety made my palms sweat. I was hit with a pungent smell of lilacs as a timed air freshener plugged into the wall near the front door sprayed the foul chemical into the air. Hiding under the manufactured floral scent was the rich, metallic smell of blood. Sweet copper was unmistakable to my nose but the lingering scent of sulfur mixed in was something new.
Each vampire carried its own scent. Patrick’s smelled of sweet copper mixed with sage and musty old books like he’d spent his many years of existence in an ancient library. Alex smelled vaguely of cotton candy. I have no idea why. This one, however, was repugnant, smelling of the grave and ritual magic.
The smell of blood was too thick and heavy to be a small splatter or a few drops. “Don’t come in here,” I barked over my shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Enza asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Nothing, just stay outside,” I snapped. If there was something still in that house, I wanted Enza out in the sunshine. Safe.
The front door opened into the living room. The floor was covered in cheap neutral beige carpet throughout. The couches looked like hand-me-downs. One was green with little ducks littering the fabric and the other was a black and white plaid. Shoved up against opposite walls, the mismatched couches were covered in debris and cushions were strewn everywhere. One or two of the cushions had been slit, exposing the battered yellow foam inside. The floor was scattered with knickknacks, clothes, books, dishes, and shoes. The place had been tossed. But for what?
I trudged through the mess on the floors, trying not to disturb anything as I made the turn to the kitchen.
I stopped.
The kitchen was the same beige texturized paint as the rest of the house with white linoleum tile covering the floor. Claret-colored splotches splattered blood in a steady pattern that spread from the white refrigerator across the room to cover the walls. The cabinets, appliances, and finally the ceiling were all covered with a splash of almost dried blood. On the floor, blood pooled in a rich deep burgundy, spreading out as it seeped beneath the cabinet baseboards. There was at least a pint or two congealing. It was too much for any one person to lose and still be conscious at the very least. I didn’t need to see any more. This was bad. This was really bad.
I turned.
Enza stepped over the threshold, and I shouted, “Stop!” She froze mid-step at the harshness of my voice. “Back up and call 9-1-1.”
“Is she in there?” she asked, tears flooded her eyes.
Aw shit!
“No. Please call and get the police out here,” I said in a more subdued, comforting voice. Enza was already scared and worried. I didn’t need to help by filling her
I got out of her SUV and waited as Enza made her way around the front to meet me on the walk. I let Enza go first, since she had the key, and lead me to the front door. She knocked once, twice, and then a third time. Her fist banged on the door in growing agitation when no one answered. Other than the soft pounding of Enza’s fists echoing inside the house, there were no other sounds inside.
I took a step back, eyeing the quiet house.
The harsh desert wind blew dirt around, drifting and dusting the ground. If there had been tracks in the lawn at one time, they were gone now.
“Soraida? Are you in there?” Enza called. Panic gave her voice an edge it didn’t usually have as she continued pounding on the door.
“Use your key,” I ordered softly.
Enza slipped a key into the lock and cracked the door open.
I caught her arm in my grip and dragged her back before she had a chance to step inside.
“I go in first,” I said. My voice was sharp, carrying a certainty, an authority I hadn’t felt or needed in months.
She nodded, holding back a gasp of fear as she let me go by.
I elbowed the door open and stepped inside.
Dread sat front and center in my mind, churning my gut as anxiety made my palms sweat. I was hit with a pungent smell of lilacs as a timed air freshener plugged into the wall near the front door sprayed the foul chemical into the air. Hiding under the manufactured floral scent was the rich, metallic smell of blood. Sweet copper was unmistakable to my nose but the lingering scent of sulfur mixed in was something new.
Each vampire carried its own scent. Patrick’s smelled of sweet copper mixed with sage and musty old books like he’d spent his many years of existence in an ancient library. Alex smelled vaguely of cotton candy. I have no idea why. This one, however, was repugnant, smelling of the grave and ritual magic.
The smell of blood was too thick and heavy to be a small splatter or a few drops. “Don’t come in here,” I barked over my shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Enza asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Nothing, just stay outside,” I snapped. If there was something still in that house, I wanted Enza out in the sunshine. Safe.
The front door opened into the living room. The floor was covered in cheap neutral beige carpet throughout. The couches looked like hand-me-downs. One was green with little ducks littering the fabric and the other was a black and white plaid. Shoved up against opposite walls, the mismatched couches were covered in debris and cushions were strewn everywhere. One or two of the cushions had been slit, exposing the battered yellow foam inside. The floor was scattered with knickknacks, clothes, books, dishes, and shoes. The place had been tossed. But for what?
I trudged through the mess on the floors, trying not to disturb anything as I made the turn to the kitchen.
I stopped.
The kitchen was the same beige texturized paint as the rest of the house with white linoleum tile covering the floor. Claret-colored splotches splattered blood in a steady pattern that spread from the white refrigerator across the room to cover the walls. The cabinets, appliances, and finally the ceiling were all covered with a splash of almost dried blood. On the floor, blood pooled in a rich deep burgundy, spreading out as it seeped beneath the cabinet baseboards. There was at least a pint or two congealing. It was too much for any one person to lose and still be conscious at the very least. I didn’t need to see any more. This was bad. This was really bad.
I turned.
Enza stepped over the threshold, and I shouted, “Stop!” She froze mid-step at the harshness of my voice. “Back up and call 9-1-1.”
“Is she in there?” she asked, tears flooded her eyes.
Aw shit!
“No. Please call and get the police out here,” I said in a more subdued, comforting voice. Enza was already scared and worried. I didn’t need to help by filling her
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