Spider Bite: A Vampire Thriller (The Spider Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  SPIDER BITE

  A Vampire Thriller

  THE SPIDER TRILOGY #3

  by

  J.R. Rain

  Scott Nicholson

  Acclaim for the Authors:

  “Be prepared to lose sleep!”

  —James Rollins, author of The Devil Colony on J.R. Rain’s The Lost Ark

  “Sweet and heart-warming. I absolutely fell in love with H.T. Night’s Winning Sarah’s Heart—The Notebook for young adults!”

  —Ella Quinn, author of False Dichotomy

  “The love child of Stephen King and Sharyn McCrumb.”

  —The Mountain Times on Scott Nicholson’s The Red Church

  “I love this!”

  —Piers Anthony, author of Xanth on J.R. Rain’s Moon Dance

  “Vampire Love Story is a passionate story that is told from a refreshing perspective. This book was a blast. Night invents a brand new world for the vampire genre. Great Job!”

  —Summer Lee, author of Kindred Spirits

  “Scott Nicholson is a writer who always surprises and always entertains.”

  —Jonathan Maberry, author of Patient Zero

  “Dark Horse is the best book I’ve read in a long time!”

  —Gemma Halliday, author of Spying in High Heels

  “Night is a true storyteller. Winning Sarah’s Heart is thoughtful and inspirational! I enjoyed the ride.”

  —Elaine Babich, author You Never Called Me Princess

  “Keep both hands on your pants, because Scott Nicholson is about to scare them off.”

  —J.A Konrath, author of Origin

  Other Books by J.R. Rain and Scott Nicholson:

  STANDALONE NOVELS

  Cursed

  Ghost College

  The Vampire Club

  THE SPIDER TRILOGY

  Bad Blood

  Spider Web

  Spider Bite

  Spider Bite

  Copyright © 2014 by J.R. Rain and Scott Nicholson.

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Spider Bite

  Ghost College reading sample

  Books by Scott Nicholson

  Books by J.R. Rain

  About the Authors

  Spider Bite

  Chapter One

  Hemingway had it right.

  Key West was the place to be, whether you were immortal or not. The streets were crowded, the atmosphere lively, and the food choices limitless. Okay, that takes on a different meaning coming from a vampire, but I was a born-again vampire, so to speak. I rarely took blood from the living, unless it was offered to me willingly.

  Parker Cole and I had been experimenting with this method of feeding, her giving me her arm, and me making a small incision near her wrist—usually with a flick of my unnaturally sharp fingernail—and drinking to my fill. Well, never actually to my fill. My fill would mean Parker dying of blood loss. So, I stopped when I saw her eyelids flutter, when I felt her weakening, when I felt her heart slow. Yes, it took all my willpower to pull away.

  But I did pull away, every time. So far.

  You make me nervous, Spider, when you think like that. These words appeared directly in my thoughts, and they were from Parker herself.

  We were sitting outside under the awning of a bar called Joe’s Bar, which sounded fancier than it was. Joe’s Bar was my kind of bar: it attracted dregs and misfits, those types who wouldn’t be missed if, say, they were snatched away in the night, as they weebled and wobbled, drunk, toward their car or down a dark alley. You never knew what was in a dark alley. Maybe a cat. Maybe a mugger. Maybe me.

  You didn’t want to meet me. Not when I was in one of my moods. Not when I was hungry.

  There you go again, Spider. Jesus, is it that time of month for you?

  You’re thinking of another creature of the night, I thought back. And, yeah, sometimes the old me comes out, at least in my thoughts. But they don’t get any further than that.

  Let’s hope, she thought, shuddering slightly. I forget how frightening you can be.

  Parker was drinking beer, although she was underage. I didn’t condone underage drinking; then again, Parker wasn’t like other girls her age, either. She’d faced down some nasties...and by nasties, I mean demons and witch doctors and everything in-between. If the girl wanted some booze, who was I to say no? I wasn’t the morality police. Hell, I should be in jail a thousand times over.

  Besides, I suspected a demon still slumbered inside her, the one I’d saved her from when we first met. Relationships had been built on less, I suppose.

  “So who’s this friend of yours?” I asked out loud, since telepathy could be fun and easy, but it was also lazy as hell. And it was nighttime. My time. I felt strong at night. Powerful. Unlimited. I wanted to do something. To hunt, to run, to prey.

  I shielded those last thoughts from Parker. No need to worry the girl any more than she already was. Truth was, we were falling for each other. Perhaps her more so than me. Yes, I was very enchanted by her, and I respected her chutzpah, especially in the face of danger. But I had fallen in love countless times, throughout many lives. To say I was jaded was an understatement. But, yeah, there was something about Parker that kept me around, kept me intrigued. She got me. Really got me. And I didn’t have to hide my true nature.

  “Your thoughts are shielded,” she said. “You’re not planning my murder, are you?”

  “I call it Spider time,” I said.

  “Well, Spider time makes me nervous, too,” she said.

  “Which is why you’ll just have to trust me,” I said.

  “Trust a natural-born killer?”

  “I’m not sure how natural it was, but in my case, yes.”

  I saw the look in her eye. Yeah, she trusted me. More, she loved me. Desperately. It was obvious and I felt it. Sure, I might be jaded, but she was just an eighteen-year-old sweet kid, full of hope and love and dreams.

  I said, “So when’s your cousin coming?”

  She looked over my shoulder and pointed. “He’s here now.”

  I turned and followed her finger. A young man wearing Bermuda shorts, a tank top, and lime-green flip flops zeroed in on us through the crowd. “How did he know you were here again?” I asked.

  “I sent him a text when we arrived.”

  “And the first thing out of his mouth was that he needed help?”

  “No, maybe the second or third thing.”

  “What kind of help does he need?”

  “He can tell you himself.”

  “And can’t we ever go on a vacation where we, you know, actually vacation?”

  “C’mon, Spider,” said Parker grinning and standing, ready to meet her cousin. “Your whole damn life is one long, weird vacation. Besides, I know how much you like to help people, to make up for...you know, those bad things you do to people. Here he is, now act normal.”

  “Normal how?”

  “Like you-don’t-want-to-eat-him normal.”

  I winked. “Now that I can do.

  Chapter Two

  Parker introduced the guy and when we shook hands, Dylan pulled his hand back quickly and looked at it. My cool flesh can be shocking if you don’t expect it, but I guess Parker had warned him that I was a little weird.

  “Spider, huh?” he said. “Spider what?”

  I could have been cute. Spider Web. Spider Man. Spider Bite. P
arker liked to call me Spider Cole, as if we were married or something crazy, but in truth I’d given up my mortal name when I turned into this inhuman thing I now was. “Just Spider,” I said.

  Parker ordered him a drink as they caught up on family matters that didn’t interest me too much. Considering Parker’s dad had been the leader of a demonic cult, you’d think Aunt Stacie and Uncle George and pregnant cousin Kendall would have been colorful characters, but they sounded like typical red-blooded Americans.

  “So Spider says he’s willing to help you,” Parker said to Dylan.

  “I don’t know,” Dylan said. “It’s kind of personal.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I don’t have all night. I have better things to do.”

  Like hunting down something and killing it. Unfortunately for me, I had this thing where I was trying to be good and stick with the packets of blood I got from my inside sources. But, hey, who are we to deny our true natures?

  When I stood, Parker grabbed my arm and gave me that look. “Come on, Spider. Stay.”

  I sat back down and Dylan finished his drink in a hurry. It must have bolstered his courage, because he said, “I sort of...”

  “Sort of what?” I asked impatiently.

  “Broke a girl’s heart.”

  “Welcome to the club,” I said.

  You’d better not break my heart, Mr. Spider T. Web, Parker thought at me. Or I’ll break you. Got it?

  Got it. A woman scorned and all that?

  Something like that.

  “You two okay?” asked Dylan. “You both sort of, you know, glazed over or something.”

  “Or something,” I said. “What about this girl?”

  Dylan opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He nodded, thought about what he was going to say, then said, “There’s a small chance I might have cheated on her.”

  “You mean you did cheat on her?”

  “Yes. Maybe a little.”

  “How can you cheat a little? How much is a little?”

  “Okay, a lot.”

  “And this girl was a lot upset?”

  “Yes, but I think her grandmother was more so.”

  “Grandmother?” I said. “I’m not following.”

  “You see,” and now Dylan ran his fingers through his thick hair. He was sweating. Then again, this was Key West. Everyone sweats here, even in the winter. “You see...Jennifer comes from a long line of brujas.”

  “Brujas?” asked Parker.

  “Mexican witches,” I said. “They’re the real deal, and powerful.”

  “You’re telling me,” said Dylan.

  “What happened?” I asked. Then added almost immediately, “Ah, hell...please don’t say it...”

  “She put a curse on me.”

  “He said it,” I said. “So just leave town.” I don’t know why some people make avoiding supernatural evil so complicated.

  “I would,” Dylan said. “Except the curse was a love spell.”

  “So, who is the lucky girl?”

  He stood. “Easier to show you.”

  Parker looked at me and shrugged, left some cash for the drinks, and we followed him to the street, where he hailed a cab. We followed the coastal highway A1A for a while, between the bright lights of the city and the bright lights of the yachts out in the Atlantic. We turned off near the airport and pulled up to an ancient brick building with crumbling masonry. It was, according to the sign out front, the Fort East Martello Museum.

  You really know how to pick them, I thought at Parker.

  You don’t get to choose your relatives, she shot back.

  Actually, I didn’t mind too much. The place was an old Civil War fort and it reminded me of my childhood, especially all the old junk inside.

  It was getting late, and the museum was closing. Museums typically didn’t keep vampire hours, which was a damn shame, since most of us were quite cultured. That is, when we weren’t covered in the blood of our most recent victim. We were cultured, of course, once we were well fed.

  As the patrons thinned, and the smell of sunblock and cheap perfume subsided, Dylan led us to another room of the small museum. Just as we stepped inside, the lights dimmed and a husky-looking woman in a security uniform told us in a husky voice that we had five minutes. I enjoyed husky women.

  You are in rare form, came Parker’s thoughts.

  Oh, this is nothing, I thought back, turning my attention to the display before us, you should see me when I get really hungry.

  I think I’ll pass, thank you very much. What’s going on with you anyway, Spider?

  That was a good question. Truth was, I hadn’t been myself since arriving in Key West. I’d been a little...

  Psychotic? offered Parker. Scary as hell?

  Haunted, I shot back.

  Haunted? she asked. I don’t understand.

  Neither do I, I thought. But something is around me, and around us. Something that I haven’t quite put my finger on.

  She had a quick comeback ready, something about not being able to take me anywhere, but Parker paused, nodding.

  You sense it, too, I thought.

  I think so, yes. I feel...angry. Upset for no reason. Like I just want to claw your eyes out.

  Just keep your claws to yourself.

  So what’s going on, Spider?

  We’ve attracted something.

  Attracted what?

  My guess is something discarnate and very, very angry. I thought she’d be impressed with my use of “discarnate” but she didn’t notice.

  But why us?

  That, we’ll have to wait and see.

  But we didn’t have time to browse much because Dylan led us directly to a small room off to the side.

  “She’s in here,” he said, and I think he sounded smitten.

  “Who’s in here?” I asked.

  “The girl of my dreams.”

  “This should be good,” I said, and followed him inside.

  Chapter Three

  Dylan led us to a display case that featured an array of black-and-white photos, each creepier than the next. And that’s saying something, coming from me. Prominent in the photos was a distinguished-looking man and a lovely Hispanic woman. Well, she had been lovely. What was paraded next across the display were a series of photos of her corpse. Her dressed-up corpse. In one particular photo, her face had been reconstructed with wax, and she wore an evening gown.

  Over the years, I’d learned to speed read, and I quickly assimilated the information, once I’d moved Dylan away from the display case.

  Mercifully, her corpse wasn’t displayed in the case, but according to the legend, it had been, once. Fifty years ago, here in Key West, the corpse of Maria Elena Milagro de Hoyos had, in fact, been publicly displayed in a funeral home. Over six thousand tourists had come by to view it.

  The fascination? She had been the object of affection in life—and, most specifically, in death—for a guy named Count Carl von Cosel, who wasn’t a count at all, but a very twisted man. His real name was Carl Tanzler, and he was a man who took obsession to a whole new level. When a dead ancestor gave him the vision of his one true love, a dark-haired beauty, the Count became convinced that Maria was, in fact, his one true love.

  Unfortunately for him, she died of tuberculosis soon after, despite his best efforts—he was, after all, a self-professed doctor, too. After her death, he convinced the family to allow him to build an above-ground mausoleum, where the good doctor would visit her corpse almost nightly.

  And as she decomposed, well, he got creative and reconstructed her with wax and plaster, and wired her bones together and fitted her with glass eyes—and applied copious amounts of perfumes and scented oils. Things got really weird when the Count removed her body from the mausoleum to snuggle up with it in his home at night, or to dance with it, or serenade it with Maria’s favorite Spanish songs.

  Just a lovesick fool. Or maybe just sick.

  The affair didn’t last long, and neither did her disin
tegrating body. As the Count patched and mended and danced and sang, rumors of the dalliance soon reached one of Maria’s sisters, who confronted him. He was arrested shortly thereafter, but ultimately released as the statute of limitations had run out. Yes, he’d been with the corpse for that long.

  The public was generally sympathetic to the Count, although he did ultimately move away. After all, who among us hasn’t done something stupid for love?

  I glanced at Parker, and she was desperately trying to catch up with my thoughts as I read, so she didn’t catch that “love” line.

  Still, even though the Count didn’t get convicted, people wanted to know: who was this girl that had so captured a man in life and in death?

  Her patchwork remains were put on display in the funeral home, where many curious and twisted souls went to view it. Ultimately, she was buried in an unmarked grave somewhere here in Key West. The Count moved to Texas, where he was found dead, some years later, holding a lifelike doll of Maria. After all, he’d made a plaster mask of her face. A death mask. Made sense to me.

  “This guy was a serious pervert,” said Parker, who had finally finished reading my mind. She turned to her cousin. “Why did you bring us to...oh, hell no!”

  Oh, hell yes. Her cousin Dylan’s forehead was pressed against the display case glass, his nostrils fogging it up. If that goofy look was any indication, he had it bad for the woman in the display case.

  The dead woman.

  Maria Hoyos.

  Chapter Four

  It was time for an intervention.

  Normally, I didn’t mess around in other people’s relationships. I had enough trouble just keeping up with my own. But Parker had pretty much signed me up to save Dylan from himself. And, I had to admit, that love affair didn’t look like it had much of a future.