Greenwood: Paranormal Vampire Romance (The Darker Side of Deb Book 1) Read online

  The Darker Side

  Of Deb

  Book 1-Greenwood

  By

  Caroline Gebbie

  From an Original Idea by Neil James Gebbie

  Kindle Edition.

  © Copyright Caroline Gebbie 2014

  Spooky Night Books.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means either electronic or mechanical, including recording or photocopying, or any information-retrieval or storage system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your continued support of author’s rights is much appreciated.

  All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A Table of Contents is included at the back of the book.

  Sign up to Caroline’s exclusive newsletter to get updates, sneak previews, advanced copies, a free audio book and more:

  http://www.carolinegebbie.com/newsletter/

  You can also contact Caroline on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/HorrorBooks.CGebbie

  Or on twitter @CarolineGebbie

  She would love to hear from you.

  Chapter One

  His arm was firm beneath her hand. The muscles rippled at her touch and her breath caught in her throat as he guided her across the soft grass and under the shade of the sycamores. The moon was full with silver beams filtering through the trees that splashed onto the green like disco lights making her feel giddy and romantic. Where was he taking her? Glancing across, she admired a square jaw, high cheekbones, thick black hair and a profile that made her stomach clench with desire.

  He turned, and steel gray eyes flashed in the moonlight. Deb blushed and looked away. Everything was perfect she was with..? Why did his name elude her? Was she drunk? The first doubts started to spiral into her consciousness. What was she doing here? Yet it felt fantastic to walk on the damp, springy grass with the dew soaking into her trainers and weighing down her jeans. A shock ran through her like a guillotine through paper; something was wrong. Walking was wrong.

  A hand took hold of hers it was cold, almost icy as he guided her toward the crossroads. Deb’s stomach clenched, she wanted to turn, to go back. Uneasiness settled over her and like a straight jacket it pinned her down. Stop this. Everything was perfect because since she broke up with Luke, she hadn’t had a date. Now was the time to enjoy. Yet something nagged at the back of her mind but no matter how hard she tried, she could not decipher what it was. Stop it. She admonished herself again and tried to enjoy the moment. Where had she heard that before? As her beau guided her forward, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Just keep walking. Yet the dread at where she was going, at what she would find clasped onto her heart and squeezed so tightly, it was impossible to breathe. A fist of shock punched into her stomach - she was walking. How could that be?

  She felt her eyes pulled forward as a horrendous crash of twisted metal happened before them. Like a child forced to watch as a body dropped from the gallows, she clenched her shoulders tight and looked on in horror. There was a fascination at the scene ahead and yet she was filled with fear and revulsion. She must turn; there was no way could she watch this. Yet her head stayed still, framed by her long caramel-colored hair; her light gray eyes were wide open as the scene played out before her. On a dark and misty crossroad her dad’s Ford was hit by a rusty white pick-up truck. The panels buckled and screamed with anguish as they were bulldozed out of shape to reform as a warped death trap as the bull-bars impacted with the passenger side of the coupe. The car seemed to cry and wail out its pain as the huge Perkins diesel revved harder and pushed the battered Ford down the road.

  A cold trickle of sweat ran down Deb’s back as she recognized herself in the car. The side pushed in so far and suddenly her legs were trapped. The crumpled metal bit into soft skin and panic rose as it compressed her legs until she felt they would snap. Just a minute ago she was walking in the soft grass and now she was here in the vehicle; how did that happen? She should be walking, enjoying the night. The shriek of torn metal told her this was as real as the smell of burnt rubber seared into her nostrils. The thought of escape crossed her mind, but her legs were still squashed and she found it impossible to even move them. Another impact and she was tossed forward and snapped back by the seatbelt. At the same time, an anvil slammed into her face when the airbag popped. Panic thrashed inside her, but her arms would not move. They were pinned down by the force as the car careened around like a carousel. The air whooshed out of her as her chest was crushed. The panic rose and her body fought to survive. Her lungs begged for air, but she could not breathe. Were her lungs crushed? No, she was suffocating, her face pressed into the smothering folds of the airbag as it slowly deflated.

  Seconds turned into minutes as the cars wrestled on the blacktop. The bigger, tougher truck pounded relentlessly into the Ford and then it was over as they crunched to a halt. Deb bounced back and took a sweet breath of air into her tortured lungs before cracking her head on the side pillar. Just as she was thrown against the seatbelt a metal rod shot from the truck and sliced into the car. An intense pain punched into Deborah’s side. She felt the rod as it tore through her flesh, ripped into her muscle, smashed through organs and stopped just after it severed her spine. There was no pain, just disorientation, and fear. She cried out for her dad as the vehicles hissed at each other as if maybe the bout wasn’t over, but the only answer she received was of the Ford. The truck lurched forward and pushed them one last time; the Ford giving a cry of indignation as it slid across the asphalt and onto the verge. It tumbled down an embankment and crashed into a tree where it came to rest with a final death rattle.

  A scream ripped from Deb’s throat and was replaced with the taste of blood. There was blood in her mouth, blood on her face and blood leaking from her side and down her legs. She tried to move and a second scream cleaved from her as something tore inside. Panic flooded into her like ice-cold water into a sinking ship; she was going down. She was going to die. Her next thought was of her parents as she looked across the car. Her father’s face bore a deep gash which wept blood down his cheek. The maxilla bone was stark white against the purple flesh and ruptured skin and his neck was twisted at an impossible angle. Brown eyes no longer saw as they stared at the roof and a trickle of blood ran from his mouth. A sob burst from her throat and she tried to look around to see her mother, but instead was met with a flash that passed in front of her eyes moving at an impossible speed towards them.

  It blurred across her vision, bringing with it the mist through the woods, across the car and then it was gone as the fog enveloped them. Wet, sticky fingers stroked her face, but when she looked, no one was there. It must have been a hallucination, nothing could move that fast. With an effort, she turned to look into the back of the car, but her neck could not move that far and she was too weak, fading. There was so much blood and thoughts of dying enveloped her mind crushing her spirit.

  With one last effort Deb tried to undo her seat belt just as a cold hand touched her shoulder. She turned; they were safe, help had come. Deb expected to see a high visibility jacket and someone official but before her was the man she was walking with; her date. The sculptured perfection of his face no longer looked handsome but utterly sinister. How had she got here? She was walking with her date and then she was back in this nightmare, filled with pain and grief. The man’s rugged features were drawn into a look of pure concentration. Steel gray eyes bore into hers and then they turned a sickly yellow. Deborah f
elt the fear of the prey as the predator poised for the kill. Her eyes were drawn to his lips, they were full and red and when they parted she saw...

  Deb screamed and screamed; something was holding her down, pinning her and she could not move her arms or legs. She fought against the restraints while sweat ran down her spine and dripped from her forehead. The man was getting closer, something was wrong but she could not see what, could not see his face. She had to look, had to see. Mist swirled around them, rolling across the ground like a living being that wanted to swallow up the world. Then out of the fog came a massive black rook, it squawked and swooped down toward her. She was transfixed on its black beak, a gaping maw that filled her vision. A vision of it swallowing her whole permeated her brain. Tension turned her muscles to stone and a scream tore out of her lungs. The light came on and Deb was back in her room. The nightmare had left her covered in sweat and tremors. Wiping a hand over her eyes to hide the tears, she turned to see the concern on Uncle Mace Coltrane’s face.

  “Are you okay, dear?” Mace asked as he shambled into the room. Walking with a slight limp, he was a small man with receding brown hair and kind eyes. He had been her rock and Deb hated that once again she had disturbed his sleep.

  From the corridor, she heard a door slam. “Not again,” Brett muttered as he stumbled to the bathroom. His shaggy brown hair slipped over his eyes, but it could not hide the bags that Deb’s dreams were causing him.

  “Sorry Brett,” Deb shouted then she turned to her uncle and smiled. “I’m fine, I just had a nightmare, but I’m fine now. Go back to bed, you have a busy morning.”

  Mace waited for her to finish, he had seen this many times over the past two years and understood her need to talk. At last she stopped. “Was it the same dream again?” Mace asked.

  “Yes,” Deb said, but she could never remember what happened in her dream. Just a good looking man, walking across the grass, then the feeling of romance to come and the thrill of her hand on his skin. Only he would never look at her now. What man would want to be with her?

  “Maybe I could get you a hot chocolate?” Mace asked.

  A whiskey would be more help. “No thank you, I’m fine. Deb pretended to yawn and laid her head back down on the white pillow. “Goodnight.”

  Taking the hint, Mace turned and closed the door. The loneliness engulfed Deb, like a wet blanket it held her down and she felt hot tears prick the back of her eyes. But she would not cry, not today. If she told herself that every day then things had to get better, but no matter how many times she repeated those words, they never did. Everything changed that day two years ago. The day her parents died.

  Her friends kept saying, ‘Get over it, you have a good job and it’s time to move forward.’ But how do you move forward when your life came to an end one lonely night because of nothing more profound than a drunk driver?

  And her job? Yes, she did get lucky and was still a reporter for her uncle’s paper. This week she had covered the biggest cake in all of Rookby and who knows what Mace had in store for her today. There was one thing she was sure of; it wouldn’t be the investigative journalism she had loved before the accident. ‘Oh no, my girl that’s much too dangerous,’ he would say with his eyebrows pulled down tight to show his disapproval. Still, Uncle Mace had been a savior, taking both her and Brett in without a word. His house though old fashioned and in places, a little creepy was impressively large and he had made sure that alterations had been done to accommodate her. The Dodge Grand Caravan he bought her was not chic but it was practical and the modifications to it had made life much easier. She had grown to love Mace but still she missed her parents and the ache in her heart just wouldn’t let up.

  Deborah lay very still and concentrated on her breathing like her Physio had explained. Breathe in for five, hold for four and out for six. How she hated the nightmares almost as much as the other dreams. Sometimes her nights were filled with passion with the same man haunting those. Yet, she knew she was useless to him and that if he truly existed, he would never even look at her. After several minutes, she was calm and slipped off to a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Dean and Shelby sat with their backs against the dumpster outside the back door of Heaven. It was dark and cold, but this was their favorite place to come and though considered a skanky club by some, to them Heaven was indeed heaven. Of course, tonight they couldn’t afford the entrance fee so they slunk around the back and hunkered down out of sight. It was a good place to chill, close enough to the club that they could feel the music through the walls, but even better because no one ever came here. Dean passed Shelby the joint and took a swig from the cider bottle he had at his side.

  Behind the dumpster hidden by shadows, a figure molded to the wall. In any hunt, patience was the key and despite the thrill of anticipation that caused his heart to race and his dick to strain against his pants, this predator could take his time. The two boys had been drinking now for almost an hour and as the night passed, their conversation went round and round. Soon he could make his move, but not just yet. He would wait a little longer. Taking a slow breath, he eased back behind the dumpster and stroked his erection as he prepared for what was to come.

  “This is good man,” Shelby said as he drew the sweet smoke into his lungs, savoring the buzz before blowing it out into the night.

  “Yeah,” Dean said as he flicked his lank hair out of his eyes. “I hear your dad’s pissed at you again.”

  “Same old, same old,” Shelby said and sucked even harder on the joint. There was a shake to his hand and a sadness to his sky blue eyes. With a shave and clean clothes, he would have been a good-looking boy but somehow things had gone wrong. After his mum had left them, he started drinking too heavily, smoking too much and now his father hardly spoke to him unless it was to shout or lecture. “Why d’ya think I’m here?”

  “Thought it was my good looks and charm,” Dean said before dissolving into fits of laughter. He slipped down the dumpster and lay in a heap on the cold concrete. The cider bottle rolled from his hand and spilled the foamy liquid onto the ground.

  Shelby jumped up and almost tipped over as he grabbed the bottle. Righting himself, he took a swig and turned to sit down. A shadow crossed behind the dumpster dancing before him like a black marshmallow man oozing and pulsing in time to the music. And then it was gone. Closing his eyes he dreamed of his mom and the dancing marshmallow, together they waltzed off into the sunset and he found himself giggling so hard he started to choke. The drugs and booze fought with his stomach and he knew that he was losing the battle. At any minute now, he would eject the lot and then fall asleep. Coughing so hard, he slammed his head into the dumpster; his eyes flew open just as a hand came over his face. The chloroform covered cloth clamped to his mouth and he tried to pull it away, but he was too tired. His hands rose to his face but once there, they could not remember what was needed. They dropped to his side as he fell to the ground, eyes closed.

  The hunter was efficient and quickly he drugged the second boy. Next he pulled the dumpster out from the wall and with a smile on his face he dragged the two boys away. He had cased the joint well, no one would see him and he was pretty sure no one would miss these two tonight. Maybe he would leave them to be found or maybe he would wait, but for now the games began. Letting them go he steadied himself, calmed his breathing and adjusted his dick. The excitement was too much; he could not wait to see what these boys were made of.

  ***

  Bright lights greeted Shelby as he opened his eyes to the worst headache he had ever known. Blinking them shut he reached for his head but his arm wouldn’t move. Panic gripped him and just like a child in the heat of a tantrum, he shouted, screamed and kicked. Beneath him, a table shook and his voice echoed back to him like plaintive cries, but he could not move. He was bound across his chest, across his waist and by his wrists and ankles. Ignoring the smell of blood and excrement mixed in with the sickly smell of anesthetic, he convulsed his spine and fou
ght against his restraints. It was no use and as the sickness overtook him, he collapsed down and rolled his head to the side. As the vomit spewed forth, he saw Dean.

  Forget heaven, this was hell, his drug-addled brain told him as he started screaming. “No, no, no. Fuck, help me someone, please help me.” The words became incoherent and turned into simple animal cries of terror that echoed back to him across the empty room.

  Just six feet away, Dean lay naked on a metal table. His paper white skin was a patchwork of red and blue and his glassy eyes stared straight into Shelby’s. As his mind struggled to take it in, his eyes roved over the damage. A broken cheekbone protruded from the purple mash of his face. His lips were pinned back exposing the gaps in his gums and on the floor teeth lay scattered like discarded scraps from an insane dentist. Shelby gagged again as he saw the cuts across his friend’s ribs. The stark white of bone protruded through the steak red of the torn flesh. It was all a dream, had to be just a bad trip.

  Shelby laid back and stared at the ceiling as the world began to spin. Closing his eyes, he prayed that he was back in the alley or even better, let him sleep and wake up safe and sound in his own bed. The sound of a door opening followed by heavy footsteps lulled him to believe he was home. Soon he would hear his dad moaning that he had gone to sleep with the light on again. It was just a trip, just a bad trip and tomorrow he would give it all up, become what his father wanted. With a smile on his face, he opened his eyes and looked straight into the eyes of madness. As the scalpel flashed in the light, a scream tore from his throat.

  Chapter Three

  Deb woke to the sound of Brett slamming his door and then the heavy pounding of his feet as he raced down the stairs.