Blood Reaction Saga (Book 2): Blood Distraction Read online

  Blood Distraction

  By

  DL Atha

  Copyright © 2016 DL Atha

  All rights reserved by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 978-0692610886

  Empress Publishing

  This book is dedicated to my family. As always, Erich, you have supported me, both when I thought it couldn’t be done and when I didn’t care if it was done or not. How many hours have I given up chasing a dream that some say can’t be reached? That’s my only regret, the hours that I have lost with you guys. Those can never be regained. And to our three children, so different all three of them. Colton with his stamina. Sydney and her optimism and Justin with his ability to always think outside the box.

  A special thanks to Debbie Hewett. Her ability to read the same story time and again is amazing. And to Dr. Jennifer Burks who is a tireless book pusher. And to my mother-in-law who believes in me and has been a book/Facebook page pimp like no other.

  And to the beta readers who always smile when I push another partially edited book their way:

  Christy Morrow

  Margaret Clymer

  Danielle Ritch

  Kristy Brewer

  Shera Bean

  Carmie McChristian

  Lana McLaughlin

  Pamela Kenney Irvin

  About the Author

  DL Atha resides in Arkansas. She is a practicing internal medicine and wound care physician but otherwise lives a mundane life. She happily exists with her three children and husband on a farm where she enjoys reading, writing, and raising flowers and herbs. She loves bicycling, late nights, chocolate, anything pumpkin, and mythological creatures. She despises early mornings and mean people. She also finds busybodies to be annoying. The greatest mystery on earth to her are people who find no joy in reading.

  Other Books by DL Atha

  For the Sake of Revenge

  Blood Reaction Saga

  Blood Reaction A Vampire Novel

  Blood Distraction

  Short Stories

  Only One Way Out

  Blood Distraction

  Chapter 1

  Mom eyed me warily across the square restaurant table, her eyes shifting restlessly from the menu back to somewhere in the center of my chest. My face was, apparently, a little too much for direct eye contact. I tried to smile, a simple, easy grin that would convince her I was the same daughter she’d visited a week earlier. It apparently had the same effect of a cat trying to beguile a mouse. She wasn’t falling for it. Instead, Mom shrunk back as small as she could in her chair. I was equally nervous. The tablecloth frayed in my constantly moving fingers to the point that I was forced to use the sweat from my water glass to smooth the ends together. The water the waitress had brought looked inviting, and I swallowed hard before deciding again not to chance a sip.

  Truth is, I was afraid to. What if I gagged? Or convulsed? Or who knew what? The vampire I’d spent nearly a week with had given me no instructions and virtually no insight. But to his credit, he’d had no plans to leave me alive.

  The supernatural had crashed into my small, protected world and against all odds, I’d survived a home invasion by a vampire and beat him at his own game. What had seemed like certain doom had morphed into a brilliant display of good vs. evil. The underdog steals the show… that sort of thing.

  The week prior had started innocently enough with me taking a two-week vacation from the emergency room where I work about sixty miles from my house. My daughter had been craving some time with her grandmother, so I’d finally agreed that she could spend a week away. I’d convinced the public school that she could easily catch up on her studies, Ellie is an ‘A’ student after all, and so Mom had driven down from Missouri to pick her up.

  It seemed like an eternity, another lifetime ago, that I’d watched Mom pull away from the drive with Ellie. I’d had a little mommy guilt that comes with realizing you need some alone time, along with the excitement of a week to myself, but those emotions had given way to terror when I found I wasn’t actually alone in my house later that evening.

  And in less than the minutes that could be ticked off on my two hands, my world—the rational and normal one where I raised a child and went to work every day and then came home and helped with homework—dissolved into an ugly fight for survival with the supernatural.

  Things that I’d never thought for a second existed—and would have prompted a psych consult if any of my patients had mentioned—became very real. A vampire, Asa, had invaded my home, threatened to kill me, but more importantly, my daughter and mother if I resisted him. And in an attempt to save them, I’d given in to his every demand—his every wish. I’d changed, underneath my captor’s nose. He never saw it coming. At times, I didn’t even recognize myself. Or maybe I hadn’t wanted to. In the end, I’d killed him with a stake through the heart.

  Not everyone got out alive, and no one got out untouched. I’d lost my dear German shepherd Samuel. He’d died protecting me. And my neighbor, a sweet elderly woman, had lost her life at Asa’s hands. To make everything more complicated, I’d made a suspicious man of a local police detective. And, of course, there was the young man who’d died at my expense in the woods. Asa had wanted to show me how a true vampire lived, and I’d agreed to go. There was a point behind his request. He said he was considering changing me. Maybe I didn’t have to die after all. He’d held out my survival like a carrot, and I’d swallowed it hook, line and sinker. To be fair, I would do it again if the situation were the same, which left me wondering, as I sat facing my mother, what kind of person I really was—at the core, I mean.

  I’d willingly gone with Asa knowing he was going to kill this person, and I did nothing to stop him until he turned on me. With the dangers behind me, the truth wasn’t as easily justified. Survivor’s guilt, the less critical side of my internal conscience said. But I knew the truth: I’d do anything to protect my daughter— anything. Selling my soul still seemed a reasonable cost for her.

  And finally, it had come down to me. I was his last casualty. My conversion was almost complete by the time I drove the stake through his heart and took the blood from his veins. Then in a final act of humanity, I died on the ground a few feet from his dried‐up corpse. My heart beat out its last irregular beat, my guts emptied out the last of their human remains, and I’d taken my final mortal breath. But when that breath left my body and I was truly dead, I felt more alive than I had in a week, more hopeful than I thought was possible. I’d won, and the grand prize was my family.

  The next evening, Mom had returned from Missouri unaware that her daughter had died the night before. We’d had no contact, a condition of Asa’s that I was afraid to break, and I’d watched as the recognition overtook her features that something wasn’t right about me. Her mind fought logic to accept both the truths she couldn’t quite put her finger on and the changes that were so concrete they couldn’t be overlooked— the feelings that were palpable and yet undefinable. Her movements were cautious and slow, and although I tried to pretend that I didn’t notice, her fears couldn’t be ignored.

  We made small talk about the state of the house, and I told the truths that I could. There’d been a break‐in, and yes, the police had been called. There were no suspects. “Of course, I’m okay. Nothing to worry about,” I’d said. I could tell she didn’t believe me. Not completely anyway. Why would a thief empty the peanut butter jars? And why would he drink all the milk? Why would I have taken
the time to cut my waist length hair to a jagged mess but take no time to clean the kitchen sink? She’d asked. I shrugged and mumbled something about not disturbing a crime scene.

  Feigning humanity and the need to get out of the house, I’d suggested we go into the nearest town to eat. That was perhaps the only lie I hadn’t spoken. I did want to get out of my house. It’d been the scene of my own personal hell for the last week. The walls had been a prison, a holding cell, where I’d waited for the end to come.

  Now, sitting across the table from Mom, I was doubting my judgement. I should have hung back and let her take Ellie to dinner alone or feigned an emergency shift at the hospital. It wasn’t that I was afraid; Ellie and Mom weren’t in any danger from me—at least not yet. I wasn’t overly thirsty. The burn was there, but it was more like a low, slow ache and not a devastating need. The elephant in the room was that I just didn’t appear human, and I didn’t feel human. Across the table, my mom looked like a mouse on meth. Tiny, afraid and tweaking on fear.

  “Nice haircut, Annalice,” Lisa, my favorite waitress, said as she slipped around our table, laying silverware down in a well‐ rehearsed routine. I’d been paying so much attention to Mom that I’d ignored her altogether.

  “I needed a change,” I answered. My smile was forced; I could feel it stretched across my cheeks. I took a deep breath and tried to loosen up.

  “She shouldn’t have gone so drastic,” Mom interrupted across from me. “Don’t you agree?” She dared a glance in my direction. “I said I needed a change.” I looked at Mom, mentally wishing she’d drop it. She shifted her eyes as soon as I did, the hairs on her arms rising up like hackles. I dropped my head quickly. It stung to see this reaction to her only child.

  “Well, it’s certainly a change, but it looks really nice,” Lisa answered back, walking the tightrope otherwise known as small white lies told for very good reasons. She didn’t like my haircut and all of her vital signs pointed to a definite ‘that is a very bad haircut.’ I was my own personal lie detector. I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t like my hair either. My long tresses had fallen out while I was changing from human to vampire.

  “I like it,” Ellie piped up. “I think it makes her look cool. She doesn’t look like a regular mom at all.”

  Where do kids get this stuff?

  Mom raised her eyebrows and said nothing more.

  I’d been preparing for these questions on the way to town as I’d fired the answers off in my head.

  Yes, my hair was a lot shorter, but it would grow. I just needed a change. I’d developed a rare medical condition that made me allergic to the sun, even tiny amounts, so I couldn’t get in the light at all. I’d say it was similar to Lupus and affected my connective tissues and blood vessels. It made my hands cold and my skin very pale. If people got suspicious, I’d blame it on a drug reaction and tell everyone I was in the middle of a lawsuit. Hadn’t they seen the attorney commercial on TV?

  The no sunlight thing would definitely be a game changer. I knew that. My career and family life would never be the same, but it was doable. That was my new catchphrase: It’s doable. I could still practice medicine. The night shifts were always begging to be filled. As for aging, I wasn’t too worried about that one yet. I was only in my mid‐thirties, barely past twenty‐nine. Plus those Goth people always looked so young—the added benefit of no sun.

  As for what had happened while Mom was away, I’d blamed it on a break‐in. She’d been skeptical, but after a few questions, she’d dropped it, and I had no intention of telling Mom about Ms. McElhaney’s murder. At some point, I’d mention that she died and leave it at that. There was no reason to get into all the gory details. All in all, I was feeling pretty good with my prepared answers as we settled around the table at the restaurant.

  Arrogance will get you every time.

  “Want your usual?” Lisa waited with pen in hand. She didn’t need to write it down, but the cooks insisted on a ticket.

  Such a simple, routine question, and I’d thought of nothing to say. It threw me off, and for a few seconds, I stuttered and mumbled. I considered saying I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t want to waste food with all the starving people around the world. Then I thought about saying I had a stomach flu. I was dieting came to mind. Mom frowned at my hesitation, her forehead crinkling disapprovingly. I wasn’t the kind of girl who lost her appetite. Finally, I just nodded, feeling guilty for all the starving people in the world and my wasted food.

  Lisa moved on around the table. Ellie got the chicken nuggets, no big surprise there, and Mom got her typical salad. She didn’t need the menu; she always got a salad, but she used the hard plastic menu like a shield to watch me covertly. I pretended not to notice, but I knew her mother‐meter was a klaxon blaring in her head.

  The ride into town had been much more than just uncomfortable. Mom had sat, leaning as far towards the passenger door as she could get, her neck twisted to keep her eyes on me at all times. The moments she did look away, she’d begin to hyperventilate. Ellie had sat in the back, thankfully oblivious to everything. If the ride into town was bad, dinner was promising to be much worse.

  When I wasn’t looking directly at Mom, she seemed to do okay. Otherwise, the hair stood up on her arms and her heart rate skyrocketed. Asa had mentioned that the ability to blend in came with time. Clearly, my abilities were lacking. For now, I avoided looking into her eyes or focusing all of my attention on her. So far, Ellie had been immune to my predator side. It didn’t seem to matter how close I was to her, she hadn’t noticed that side of me. My new hair and how pale I was, she’d recognized, of course. She’d asked if I’d had a facial and why I’d cut my hair as we’d waited for Mom to freshen up, but she’d acted completely normally. No hair standing on end. No screaming. No shivers.

  Ellie appeared to be the only person completely oblivious though. The people seated around us all looked a little nervous. They fidgeted, looking over their shoulders. The smell of sweat permeated their clothes even though the temperature was in the fifties outside. No one was altogether at ease. Two of the five tables next to us had emptied out not more than fifteen minutes after we arrived—their plates partially uneaten. And these were southerners. They’d normally have cleaned them down to the last bit of fried potato. If you’d asked why they were leaving, I don’t think they’d have named me as the reason. There was just a vague uneasiness they couldn’t put their finger on that would have left them wondering what had been wrong once they were outside.

  The Screamin’ Eagle was your typical small‐town dive. The building itself was situated on a large lot, a failed business on one side, and on the other, another death in process, and everyone in town trying to figure out why this business was the one that made it. Perhaps it was that the restaurant had history or the right collection of employees. Either way, this was mine and Ellie’s favorite.

  The building itself was old, at least for our neck of the woods.

  The two‐story rock structure had originally been a general store sometime around the turn of the century. Since then, it had been a little bit of everything—a rumored brothel in the early 1900s, a post office, a pottery barn, and finally, a restaurant for the last twenty years.

  The place was the eyes and the ears of the town, and tonight, they were all turned on me. I hadn’t noticed it when I first walked in, but now, as we waited for our dinner, it had become very apparent. Luckily, Mom was too busy watching me to watch everyone else watching me as well.

  Lisa noticed it though, I realized, when she brought our entrees about twenty minutes later. She was carrying all three plates on one arm, but even so, I saw her glance back over her shoulder at several customers who were making no apologies about openly pointing at our table.

  “Be careful, Annalice, the fajitas are absolutely smoking tonight.”

  The jalapenos layered across the meat would have set anyone on fire—my favorite food, which I’d never eat again.

  “Ms. Lovelace, I put the salad
dressing on the side, and little Ms. Ellie, we were out of regular fries, so I brought you sweet potato instead. I know you like those almost as much.”

  Ellie had already begun dipping the orange fries into the syrupy sauce the Screamin’ Eagle was famous for. The sugar content was appalling, but tonight, I simply had bigger fish to fry than worrying about Ellie’s future diabetic status.

  “Annalice, it’s been a few days since you’ve been in. You been doing okay?” Lisa asked as she picked up a pitcher of iced tea and began refilling our glasses. Mine was still full of course, and I saw her look at my untouched glass. “Did I bring you the wrong tea? Is it too sweet?” she asked.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just not thirsty.” If my answer was a Facebook status, I would’ve followed it by an LOL. The irony was just too much.

  She nodded her head as she finished filling Mom’s glass. She waited a minute as Mom picked the glass up and drank nearly half of it, and then she filled it again. “You must be really thirsty, Ms. Lovelace.” Lisa motioned to Mom’s tea glass.

  “My throat’s like cotton,” Mom answered as she took another long drink. Her forehead was shiny with sweat, and her hands left prints on the glass topped table.

  “Annalice, you got a minute? I want to run a medical question by you. It’s kind of private.” Lisa motioned with her head towards the door.

  I knew it was a ruse, since Lisa had never asked me anything medical before. Besides, she was the healthiest person I knew. The ‘I’m going to run a marathon this morning, process all of my home‐grown food, then jog through the mountains to work to feed the rest of you people who go to eat the not so organically grown, over‐processed food of the typical American restaurant’ diet.