Worlds Apart (Worlds Apart Vampire Romance, Book One)

Worlds Apart (Worlds Apart, Book One)

  EMILY KNIGHT

  Text copyright 2016 by Emily Knight

  All rights reserved.

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  CHAPTER 1

  Night lay over the large, sleepy university town. Stars twinkled in the sky above a large park. Acres of thick patches of trees surrounded the dirt paths that wound their way beneath the thick canopy of branches. Lamps illuminated the path and cast shadows into the trees. A thick row of bushes marked the border between the dirt path and the woods. All was still and silent except for the far-off sounds of university students making merry.

  The quiet was broken by the soft tread of feet on one of the dirt paths, and a young man of twenty shuffled into view. His wide eyes flitted from one side of the path and his hands fumbled with each other.

  "Come on, Basil, get a hold of yourself. It's only the dark. You can handle the dark, you can overcome the dark," the young man whispered to himself. He stopped walking and breathing when a noise caught his attention. It was the soft flutter of thin wings. His head turned this way and that trying to find the source of the sound. He saw nothing and walked on, but his steps were quicker. "It was only an owl, Basil. Nothing to be afraid of. Just an-ah!" Something swooped down and caught his hair that stood on end.

  Basil shook his head and flailed his hands above his head. His fingers touched the soft body of something small and round. He screamed and the creature squeaked. One of his hands knocked it loose form his hair and he broke from its grasp. His feet pounded down the dirt path. Behind him a small, dark form flew through the narrow light of the lamps after him. Its wings flapped and the distance between them shortened.

  Basil turned around and screamed as the thing latched onto his neck. He tumbled backwards into the bushes. All that could be seen was his foot, and that twitched for a few moments until it stilled. Everything was quiet again.

  A three-floor, peak-roofed frat house stood not far from the same park. All the lights were on downstairs, and several of the lights in the upper floor rooms were off. Music blared onto the otherwise quiet street. The battered curb in front of the house was filled with a wide assortment of used vehicles that a seller with the name of Honest Dick would be glad to sell to the highest bidders.

  The inside of the house was filled with small rooms currently crammed with furniture and partiers. There was wall-to-wall coverage that would put a twenty-four hour news channel to shame, and the worst spot in the lower floor was around the long tables in the living room. The tables were laden with the nectar of the college gods: alcohol. There were bottles, cans, a pony keg, a full keg, and something that resembled a large oil drum that lay on its side with a make-shift spout out one end.

  In that mass of people stood a young man of twenty-five. He was of average height and slim build. His short brown hair was damp from the sweat in the room and his brown eyes glanced over the crowd searching for a way out of the mess. He was smashed against the wall behind the beer table with a cup in each hand. The surface of the water pulsed to the beat of the music.

  His objectives were two people on the far side of the room. One was a pretty young woman with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes that glared at her male companion. Said male leaned against the wall behind her and had a wide, stupid grin on his face. His face was flushed and his unruly black hair stood on end as he slid down the wall. His female companion rolled her eyes and propped him back up against the wall.

  The young man with the cups squeezed his way through the crowds and arrived at his friends with only half the contents spilled on him and half a dozen other people. They hadn't noticed. They were too drunk to notice that they'd spilled beer on themselves.

  "Here!" he yelled at his female friend as he handed her a cup.

  She took it and glanced past him at the party. "I think we should go!" she screamed back.

  He frowned. "I wasn't that slow!"

  She sighed, rolled her eyes, and raised her voice. "I said I think we should go!"

  "Oh!" He nodded his head. "Yeah, it is a little loud in here!"

  Each of them took an arm of their inebriated friend and slung it over their shoulders. The movement awoke their friend from his stupor. "Where we going?" he slurred.

  "To the North Pole. Santa wants to see you because you've been a naughty boy," the young woman commented.

  He grinned and wagged his eyebrows. "If I've been a bad boy then I need to go to your room."

  She rolled her eyes and glanced past him at her sober male companion. "We need to go before I commit murder."

  "Yep," the young man agreed.

  With their powers combined they pushed, shoved, squished, squirmed, and pulled their way through the crowds and into the kitchen. There was enough space to let in and out a breath without their guts bumping into someone. The round kitchen table was surrounded by watchers as a quieter poker game was played.

  The young woman glanced at her friend. "Pete, if Rich ever invites us to come to another one of his Business Major Asset Liquidation parties again remind me to say no."

  Peter smiled and shrugged. "It isn't that bad." His eyes swept over the pile of beer boxes in one corner of the kitchen. "And he wasn't lying about the asset liquidation."

  "Fuck!" The intelligent prose came from someone in the crowd at the table. A young man jumped to his feet, slammed his cards on the table, and pointed an accusing finger at another man across the table from him.. The accuser wore camo gear and was six-foot three. The accused wore spectacles and a grin. "How the hell are you being so lucky?"

  "It's just skill," he argued.

  "Like hell it is! You're counting the cards, you damn business major cheat!" The camo-wearing young man jumped over the table and tried to wrap his hands around his scrawnier foe. His hefty frame broke the table and sent people, cards, and booze scattering.

  "You were saying?" the young woman asked Peter.

  Peter winced. "I was saying that Rich was getting heavy. Let's prop him up near the door so he can get some fresh air."

  The pair dragged their friend over to a wall near the kitchen door, but there wasn't any place to set him except on the top of the plastic garbage can, and beside that was a half dozen empty pizza boxes. In the background the ruckus at the table had escalated into card slinging. Some of the combatants could have given Gambit a run for his money.

  The young woman sighed. "Let's just put him on the floor."

  "I can-hiccup-stand!" Rich argued.

  "Wait a sec. I've got an idea," Peter offered. He grabbed one of the boxes and plopped it over the hole in the garbage.

  They set their friend on the top and his head lolled back. Rich's eyes were open, but the lights weren't on. The young woman knocked her finger against one of his knees, but he didn't respond. "Idiot. He's really out this time. . ." she muttered.

  Peter placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled down at her five-foot nothing self. "If anybody can bring him back from dead-drunk, it's you, Val."

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. "I don't-Rich!" The pizza box couldn't hold Rich's weight. It broke in half and Rich slid into the trash.

  Peter and Val grabbed a hold of Rich's arms. His butt was jamm
ed in the trash lid, but with a big pull they managed to yank him out. Rich slumped over Peter, and they both crashed onto the hard linoleum floor with Peter pinned beneath his drunken friend.

  "Rich, you need to go on a diet," Peter huffed as he tried to push his friend off him.

  Their fun adventure in inebriation took a turn for the worse when police sirens down the street signaled the last-call for closing time. None of the friends were underage, but nobody had checked ID at the door. There was a frat member in a chair near the front door checking out people, but mostly the women in their skimpy clothes on the cool autumn night. The card slinging paused and everyone's eyes widened. From upstairs came the mad hopping of feet as sexy-times finished and people hopped into their jeans and shoes.

  Peter looked to Val, who looked to him, and then they both looked to Rich. He jabbed his finger at the rear entrance. "Out the kitchen door!"

  Those at the table took their advice and stampeded toward the kitchen door. They jumped over the pair of friends and bumped into Val on their way out, but the guy in the camo suit glanced at them and skidded to a stop. "Pete, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked the young man.

  Peter smiled and shrugged. "You know me, Marcus, always up for a good time in the city jail."

  Marcus furrowed his brow and shook his head. "I've been there. It isn't that comfy. You need some help?"

  Peter nodded. "As much as I can get."

  Marcus grabbed the collar on Rich's shirt and easily pulled the young man off Peter. The hefty university student tossed Rich over his shoulder and offered his hand to Peter, who he pulled to his feet.

  Val glanced out the kitchen windows. She frowned as she glimpsed flashing red lights out front. "We can't get to Rich's car, but maybe we can get home through the park."

  Marcus's face lost its color. "That place? At night? What about the White Lady?"

  Val spun around and narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you have a better idea?"

  He jumped to attention. "No, ma'am!"

  "Good, then follow me."

  CHAPTER 2