Girl Immortal

  Praise for Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  “The dawn of a new age of vampire.” - Crafting Geeky Bibliophile

  "Thirst is the first in a new series from the writing team of Graceley Knox and D. D. Miers. Whatever they are doing, they are doing it right because Thirst had me riveted." - Tome Tender Book Blog

  "The premise for Thirst is so unique... And these aren't just vampires, they are Kresova." - IB Book Blogging

  "A CRAZY, WILD, INSANE RIDE THAT KEPT ME ON THE LEDGE" - Marie's Tempting Reads

  “If you haven’t read any books by Graceley Knox or D. D. Miers well get busy because you are missing out on two very gifted story weavers!" - Goodreads Reviewer

  Girl, Immortal Copyright © 2018 by Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Edited by: Lorraine Fico-White - Magnifico Manuscripts

  Cover Design by: Lori Grundy

  To Dee,

  You don’t know I’m doing this, but I seriously would be lost without you. Thank you for being my crazy idea loving, finish my sentences, love me no matter how insane I’m being, twin.

  xx,

  Graceley

  The Draugur

  Long before Vlad the Impaler, there was Vasile Draugur.

  Descendant of a warlord emperor, Vasile was a force never before witnessed in history. But for all his strength and power, his people fell into dissolution as famine, disease, and war spread through their land. Desperate and desirous to prove himself, Vasile sought the help of the Servants of Hekate, the right hand to the queen of the underworld.

  He begged for help, grace, and mercy, but his cries fell on deaf ears. His fate was sealed the moment he walked into the temple asking for Hekate's help.

  Unhappy with their prophecy and angered by the priestess’s words, Vasile slaughtered one of Heckate’s priestesses, a young innocent who was actually Princess Avilda, daughter of the great King Ivar Baetal.

  He attempted to save the girl and failed.

  Hekate cursed him with the words, “For the blood you stole this night, you shall live a walking death." Horrified by their leader’s actions, Vasile’s people rebelled, sealing him in a cave, alone, unable to die, and hungry.

  Seeking revenge for the loss of his daughter, Ivar Baetal ravaged the known world, offering his life and his humanity to a witch in order to achieve his goals. Upon capture by a great foe, Ivar ripped out the leader’s throat, promising to destroy every one of them. The tale of an undead leader from hell spread like wildfire among those left in the wreckage.

  Gathering his forces, Ivar soon believed the myths told about him, drinking blood every night to continue to lead his army to victory and avenge his daughter. Madness took his mind and his own officers turned on him, refusing to drink blood as he did. Though they managed to plunge a knife into his heart, Ivar rose again the next night, declaring himself a god and turning those remaining loyal to him into creatures of his own making—the Baetal. Ivar swore to find the man who took his daughter and destroy any last trace of him and his line.

  Years later, an earthquake decimated the cave Vasile had been sealed in, setting him free. Forgotten and unsure of the new world around him, he created others like him, destined to live a walking death. Soon, their numbers grew, and the Draugur were born—powerful, wise, and among the oldest of the ancient vampire races. Unknown to Vasil, his enemy still walked the earth, searching and hunting him.

  The Draugur and the Baetal.

  They cannot be known.

  Be seen.

  They live by one rule: Their existence relies on their very nonexistence.

  Contents

  Praise for Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  The Draugur

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  The Kresova

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Dear Reader,

  Also By Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers

  About the Authors

  Prologue

  Arsen

  Nikolai's lab, Baetal Compound

  "Arsen, thirty seconds." Jackson says, his eyes glancing back and forth from me to the door.

  "I know."

  "That door is not going to hold, Arsen."

  "I know, I know!"

  "Do you? Do you know that in thirty seconds we are going to be neck deep in murderous vampires? Because you sure as hell aren't acting like it!"

  "Just give me a minute!"

  Chaos. Blood thunders in my ears, almost drowning out the hammering of fists on the doors, the tearing of metal, the screaming of furious voices.

  Sasha is beautiful, even sprawled unconscious on the floor in front of me, bound in silver to keep the virus that's killing her from turning her into a murderous monster. I fumble with the lab notes on the counter, the fiddly little vials and droppers and the complicated equipment which is all that might save her life and fight the urge to throw it all at the wall. It might be more useful as a projectile weapon right now.

  "Arsen!" Jackson barks as one of the vampires manages to warp the metal doors enough to get their head through. Jackson puts a silver crossbow bolt through it without hesitation, but the others are already taking advantage of the gap. "We have to go!"

  "Would you shut the fuck up and let me focus!" I snarl back at him, losing my control and hurling an empty glass vial at one of the vampires trying to claw through the barricaded doors. "She's dying right now and I can't save her because I didn't pass high school fucking chemistry!"

  "That's it," Jackson says and turns away from the door, shoving the crossbow into my hands. "You watch the door."

  He drags the notes towards him and examines what I've already done, trying to catch up. He squints, and I can tell he's almost as baffled by the notes as I am.

  "Fuck it," he mutters, pushing the notes aside. "It's close enough."

  He grabs a syringe and starts filling it, till I grab it out of his hands.

  "You can't do that!" I snap. "You don't know what it'll do to her! What if it doesn't work?"

  "Then we'll be exactly as fucked as we will be if you waffle around for another ten minutes and we all get killed!" Jackson says, snatching the syringe back out of my hand.

  "I'm not going to let you waste her only chance!" I snarl, struggling to take the syringe from him again. Instead he shoves it into my hands.

  "Fine! You do it then! Because either way, if you don't do it now, we are all going to die!"


  I know he's right even if I really don't want to admit it. I kneel beside Sasha with the syringe, my hands shaking. Lying there, she looks perfect, not like a virus is eating her alive. Like at any moment she'll open her eyes and be just like how she was. It makes it all the harder to use a cure on her that might kill her, or make her worse, or maybe just do nothing at all.

  Maybe I should look at the notes again, start over—

  There's another tearing metal sound. The doors are about to give.

  "Just do it!" Jackson demands. "We don't have a choice! We don't have time!"

  I raise the syringe, but I can't bring it down.

  Jackson curses.

  "Fucking vampires," he snarls, snatches the syringe from me, and plunges it into her chest, thumb down. Behind him, the doors finally give and a mob of angry vampire’s rush at us like a flood.

  We kill a lot of vamps.

  Dumbasses just being loyal to their clan who don't know that we're trying to save them too.

  I'll feel bad about it later.

  One of Jackson's silver nitrate flash grenades buys us enough space to kick out a ceiling tile and drag Sasha's unresponsive body up into the ceiling. From there, we claw our way out of a vent and onto the roof, still followed by a mob of furious Baetal.

  From there it's just running. Running and running, and for all of it Sasha hangs limp in my arms. Every minute she isn't waking up, my anxiety grows. She should have woken up by now. I didn't expect the cure to be instantaneous, but vampires are damn fast healers.

  She should have woken up by now.

  We huddle in a warehouse somewhere while Jackson catches his breath. He's tough as hell, but he's still human. And as much as he would never, ever admit it, I can see the fearful tension in his shoulders as he keeps watch through a gap in the decrepit building's corrugated metal siding, waiting for the Baetal to find us.

  "Arsen, you can't do this," he says, not looking away from the gap. It's the third time he's said it since we stopped, and I told him what I was planning.

  "I can, and I will."

  "You realize this is suicide, right?" he says, casting me a caustic glance. "Far be it from me to stop a vampire from killing themselves, but it'll be a hell of a lot easier to get out of this mess with you alive and hauling your own weight."

  "I can't let her die," I tell him, it’s all I'm willing to say anymore. "I won't."

  Maybe it is suicide. But a life without her isn't one I feel like living.

  I undo the collar of my dress shirt and unsnap the top three buttons.

  "I'm not negotiating, Jackson," I say, and I hope he can tell by the look in my eyes how dead serious I am. "If you're not going to help, you can leave. I wouldn't blame you."

  He takes a deep breath through his nose and puts his cross bow roughly aside.

  "In for a penny in for a pound," he mutters, rolling up his sleeves. "But if you die, I'm taking your boots."

  "Deal."

  I don't die, but for a while I want to.

  Mostly during the couple of hours or so it takes us to limp home with Jackson supporting both me and Sasha and complaining bitterly the whole time. It wouldn't have been a stroll in the moonlight even if I hadn't been mostly dead. We're constantly stopping to hide or take another route to avoid the Baetal. We nearly run into them a dozen times, any of which would have been fatal with both me and Sasha dead weight and Jackson already low on ammo and nursing injuries from the earlier fight.

  When I finally lay Sasha down in her bed, it's more than a literal weight off my shoulders. I black out for a blink and slump against Jackson, who diverts me into a chair with a grimace.

  "I don't get you man," the hunter says, shaking his head as I tried to find my senses. "Is it just a vampire thing or what?"

  "What?" I mumbled, struggling to stay conscious.

  "The two-faced Machiavellian bullshit," Jackson explains, sitting down on the edge of Sasha's bed. "You manipulated her, messed with her feelings, that whole stupid tournament thing, treating her like a prize, making her think you only wanted her for the cure—and then tonight you nearly die for her. A couple of times. What is that?"

  "It isn't like that," I say, too tired to feel properly ashamed. "You don't understand."

  "You're damn right I don't," Jackson scoffs.

  "I love her," I say, trying to make him understand, or maybe myself.

  "I don't think you know what love is," Jackson replies, raising an eyebrow. "Cause it sure as hell ain't that. You can throw yourself in front of as many bullets for her as you like. If after the bullets stop flying you're just going to use her, that's not love."

  "I didn't use her," I protest, but I can't put any strength in it. I’m too tired, and too guilty.

  "Sure seems like she thinks you did," Jackson replies. "And I'm pretty sure how she feels about it is what matters."

  I close my eyes, too tired to argue or to explain myself. To him, or to my own guilty feelings.

  Jackson sighs and I hear the clink of his equipment and the creak of the bed as he stands up. I open my eyes and see him staring down at Sasha, an odd softness in his eyes.

  "She's something special," he says, and looks at me. "Not just because of her blood either. If you want her to stay a part of your undead life—assuming you both live anyway—you'd better stop only treating her like you'd die for her while she's already dying."

  He doesn’t understand. No one can.

  In the beginning, yes, I made a mistake. But after my initial claim, I fell in love with her. The first true emotion I’ve felt this deep in my gut since my sister’s change.

  I hurt her.

  I lied.

  I used her.

  But in the end, I’ve never stopped loving her. Even when I knew she might hate me for it. Even when I knew I could lose her for it.

  Chapter 1

  Two weeks later

  I must be dead.

  Or more dead, because instead of feeling like shit—I feel pretty good. Which doesn't make any sense considering my last memories are of me succumbing to the virus. For a minute I'm really worried that if I open my eyes I'll discover I'm a mindless monster surrounded by the dead bodies of everybody I care about. But the comfortable mattress under me and the sound of low, peaceful snoring somewhere nearby makes that feel less likely. In which case, I must definitely be dead.

  I open my eyes slowly, not sure what to expect from the afterlife. What I discover is my room at the Draugur compound, just the way I left it. The curtains of my window are open on a clear night, crickets singing in the grass. The snoring is coming from a chair to the right of my bed, where a man is reclining, hands on his stomach, hat pulled low over his face.

  "Jackson?" I ask, my voice rough from disuse.

  The hunter sits up with an undignified snort and almost loses his hat. He blinks at me as he gathers himself.

  "Holy shit," he says. "You're awake."

  I sit up, my head spinning a little, and look around in confusion. Jackson scrambles to steady me and I ignore him, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

  "What happened?" I ask, confused. "Why am I not dead? Where's Arsen?"

  "That's a whole mess of questions I'd be happy to answer if you stop trying to get out of the bed," he says impatiently. "Please?"

  "I feel fine," I complain, but bring my legs back into the bed, crossing them under me. "How long was I out?"

  "Two weeks."

  "Holy crap."

  I can suddenly understand his concern a little better. Some of the energy I'd woken up brimming with, drains away as I begin to take in the consequences of all that. "Jesus Christ... What did I miss?"

  "Nothing good," Jackson admits, sitting back in his chair, expression grim. "We got the lab notes on how to make the vaccine out of Nikolai's lab, but without you to interpret his strange annotations, they aren't doing much good. They've got a treatment that slows the progress of the virus down now, but no cure and no way to inoculate anyone against it. Meanwhile
, good old Niko is out there spreading it just as fast as he can. It's in all the clans now, and the unaligned vamps are dropping like flies. This compound has gone into quarantine, feeding only from the emergency stores. But blood isn't shelf stable. They'll run out soon, and as soon as they start feeding on humans again this place will be crawling with the infected in no time."

  "But the specialized version of the cure worked on me," I said, confused. "Right?"

  "In a manner of speaking," Jackson says with a shrug. "We honestly aren't sure. It didn't seem to be working, but..."

  "But what?" I ask, confused. "If I'm alive, it must have worked."

  Jackson rubs the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

  "You feel up to a walk?" he asks.

  "Yeah," I say at once, sliding out of bed, only a little wobbly as I stand and grab a robe. "Where are we going?"

  He gives me a strange look.

  "You wanted to know where Arsen was, right?"

  Arsen's room is quiet and dark, devoid of the vibrancy of his presence. It feels unnatural, out of context. And Arsen barely looks like himself, pale and thin, his breathing shallow. He doesn't wake when I come to stand beside his bed. Slowly, I sit down beside him, the mattress creaking. I run my hands over the sheets, remembering lying in them together not that long ago.