Electric Anomaly (Necrolectric Book 3) Read online

  Electric Anomaly

  Necrolectric, Part Three

  Ashleigh Raine

  Contents

  Copyright

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Thank You

  Excerpt of Splice Electric, Necrolectric Part 4

  Other Titles by Ashleigh Raine

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons—living or dead—actual events, locales, or organizations is purely coincidental.

  Electric Anomaly: Necrolectric, Part Three © 2016 by Ashleigh Raine

  Cover design © Jason Stoddard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author of the work except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Where such permission is sufficient, the author grants the right to strip any DRM which may be applied to this work.

  Created with Vellum

  Electric Anomaly, Necrolectric Part Three (of Six), an urban fantasy serial

  Something monstrous this way comes.

  Despite a ferocious battle within himself, Alaric’s most horrible, uncontrollable curse is rearing its ugly head. He is being drawn to kill Z, and he won’t be able to stop himself from hurting the woman he loves if she stands in his way.

  Before Eve’s eyes, Alaric is changing, transforming from beautiful man to monster, and threatening to kill. With Z’s life hanging in the balance, Eve will do whatever it takes to protect her, even if it means taking out Alaric. Except he can’t die, and Z’s time is running out.

  This is the third installment of Necrolectric, an urban fantasy serial and companion to the Necrolectric webseries, which can be found on YouTube.

  For PW. Just because.

  Chapter 1

  Five seconds ago, Eve had been pretty darn confident she was the only one in the vicinity suffering from a constant identity crisis. Not the existential kind. She had that shit figured out. Hers was a special, change-how-I-look-all-the-time variety, either through death or a buttload of electric magic.

  But she wasn’t alone now in her strange proclivity.

  Alaric was transforming. Actually, physically changing. Shifting—like a werewolf. No, that wasn’t right. More like a werewolf in reverse, his thick dark hair drawing back into skin that had turned a sickly pinkish-gray. He hid his face from her as he slammed into the hallway walls and bedroom door like an out-of-control pinball. He was shaking, angry, violent.

  Ashamed.

  I’m gonna kill Z, he’d said.

  Not Z. No way would Eve let that happen. Not on her watch.

  Eve ran a hand over his back as he frantically moved—the skin rippling unnaturally beneath her fingertips—as though she could stop him with her touch alone. Which she could. Because, duh, she was a freakin’ electric freak, with zappy, sparking powers that could transport him and her out of here, far away from Z. She could vanquish the big bad—at least until he wasn’t all murdery anymore—and rescue the princess. Z would totally kick her ass for calling her that, even knowing Eve had saved her life. As long as Z was alive to do the honors, Eve would bend over and wait for a boot to the butt.

  Except, oh shit, with her energy stores scraping the bottom of the barrel, Eve couldn’t bring a flea with her, let alone a man, or whatever Alaric was changing into now. She was basically magically impotent. Dammit.

  “Do not let me in there!” Alaric roared, throwing his body against the bedroom door—he was fighting himself, his words saying one thing, his actions another. He didn’t want to do this. Something was compelling him. Magic, clearly. But what? How? Coming from where?

  Behind the door where Z was at work and in danger, the uptight young man Alaric had shoved into the room with a warning to not let him in—more proof he didn’t really want to kill Z—responded with a strained, “Okay.” A lock jiggled and a body hit wood with a jarring thud—him holding the door closed, protecting Z. He’d get a gold star for that later, as long as Z came out of this intact.

  Alaric clenched the handle like he was going to rip it and the door off its hinges. How much of Alaric was changing? Beyond the shift in his physical appearance, was he still the same man who’d told her he loved her? The same man who’d told her about all the beauty in the world he wanted to share with her? The same man who’d made her feel safe, even as he killed her?

  Dammit. He was a killer. No matter his appearance, that couldn’t be denied.

  Eve pushed between him and the room’s entrance. “I won’t let you go in there.”

  He dodged away, hands obscuring his face. Inching along the wall like he was trying to hold himself back, he moved away from her. Away from Z. Good. Maybe he was regaining control, fighting whatever made him think he had to take out Z.

  “Where are you going?” she asked cautiously.

  “Window,” Alaric snarled. “Bedroom window.”

  He rambled farther down the hall, picking up speed. What if he used his super-speed that he’d impressed her with last night and got to Z before she could stop him?

  “You’re not gonna do that.” She ducked around him, standing in his path, hoping to be a brick wall against his advance, not roadkill. His body was tense and tight, like all his muscles were seconds away from ripping through his flesh. He put up a forearm, blocking her view of his face again. He was far removed from the cocky, flirty, confident Alaric she’d gotten to know in their short time together.

  Feeling strangely protective of him, she rubbed his arm and chest, stroking him through his shirt. He didn’t want to kill Z, she didn’t want him to kill Z. They’d figure this out.

  His hand fisted, and he growled, sounding frantic, frustrated and sad. “I can’t help it. My curse. Something she did triggered me. Her blood. I need it. All of it.” The growl grew louder, angrier, and he rammed his shoulder against the wall.

  From the bedroom, the man who must be Alaric’s partner shouted, “Z’s on the floor. Shaking. Convulsing. What’s going on? What should I do?”

  “Don’t touch her,” she yelled, reassured that things with Z seemed to be situation normal in this totally fucked-up moment. “She’s reliving Trevor’s last few minutes. Just leave her be. You can’t stop it.” Gently massaging Alaric’s arm, she spoke quietly, to him alone. “Another curse. Explain it to me so I can help.”

  “One drop of someone’s blood in me and I go after them until they’re dead. I drank a vial of blood. It can’t be hers, or this would’ve happened as soon as she got close.” Still keeping his face covered, he shuddered, leaned into her touch, then pulled away, before leaning into her again, as though it was taking everything in him to keep from running. “Must be blood magic. Must be how Z works. I’ve never had this problem before.”

  “Trevor’s blood?” Made sense. Z was essentially wearing Trevor’s life essence one final time, thereby triggering Alaric’s curse.

  He grunted. “Has to be.”

  She smoothed down his bare arms beneath the rolled cuffs of his plaid shirtsleeves, feeling the dark hair and warm skin. More proof that Alaric was still Alaric, underneath it all. “So you think it’ll stop when she’s done?”

  “It better.” With a pained whimper, he banged his forehead against the wall. Once, then aga
in.

  Shouldering between him and the now-cracked plaster, she cradled his face, forcing him to stay still so he couldn’t hurt himself or anyone else. There were no visible injuries, no blood on his new face. Rough breaths huffed in and out through thin black lips and a nose that looked more canine than human. His ears tapered to a sharp point at the top, resembling the Hollywood version of vampires, Vulcans or elves, and blue-black veins pulsed below dull gray skin. Yellow eyes sunk deep beneath a bulging brow begged for her help without words.

  “Just a couple more minutes,” she promised.

  His fisted hands smacked the wall on either side of her head. He focused on her. Trusted her.

  She caressed his hollow cheeks and met his pained gaze. “So that’s why you wanted me to clean the blood off my face last night.”

  “This thing has made me accidentally kill so many people. I never wanted to kill you, Eve. Never. I was in love with you from the moment you asked me to kill you.”

  Even beneath the growl, she heard the strain of grief over all the losses he’d suffered, including her. Her throat tightened. Her heart clenched. “But you did it anyway.”

  “Of course I did. I was all you had. You needed me to be your everything.” The words were so simple, yet they meant the world to her. He meant the world to her.

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “I did.”

  Keeping her hands on his face, holding him to her, she kissed him. Kissed Alaric. Different face, different lips, but still the same caring man underneath.

  He’d been her everything, giving her what she needed, killing her so she could live, even though he’d had no idea she’d come back. He’d worn the grief, then worn her choker so he’d never forget her.

  He’d loved her.

  Still loved her.

  To be loved in such a way that the person gave to you even if it made them suffer? To be loved above all else? It was thrilling. Beautiful. Heartbreaking and heart-building at the same time.

  Mouth to mouth, heart to heart, she gave herself to him. Dropping all her walls, she reveled in the joy of connecting, not just the tangible, but the profound, ethereal elements of spiritual intimacy and eternal life. She handed him her world with every touch, held him because nothing could pull her from him, loved him because he’d been her everything, and now she’d be his everything too.

  With a growl, this time of passion and need, Alaric grabbed her thighs and hefted her up, bracing her between the wall and his hard, hot body. Her metal belt dug grooves into the plaster. Her legs anchored around his waist. Her arms circled his neck. His tongue dove hungrily into her mouth.

  Just a couple more minutes… That’s what she’d promised him.

  Except she didn’t want this to end.

  Chapter 2

  This fucked-up predicament needed to end right the hell now.

  Jax had his back to the door, waiting for Alaric’s fist or body to come crashing through…most likely through both the wood and him. It was seriously jacked up and not on his agenda to become the third dead body in this room. But if Alaric said he was going to kill Z, he was going to kill Z. So tally that up to four dead bodies, and all Jax had between him and two certain deaths was a flimsy interior bedroom door with a push-and-twist lock in the handle. Yeah, like that was going to stand in Alaric’s way.

  Z was still on the floor, twitching and convulsing, but her friend had said that was how she worked, so far be it from him to intervene. Paranormal abilities manifested differently in different people. Those who had them sometimes used them in crazy ways or had bizarre things happen to them because of their special talents. Case in point, Alaric. Jax was glad his unique skill only involved seeing and hearing people no one else did, no physical side effects included. It sure looked awful, Z’s body spasming and writhing, but since he knew nothing about what she was doing, he had to trust her friend that paroxysms like that were normal, even though there was nothing normal about this—on either side of the door.

  The nearest heavy thing was a dresser with a few big ugly old dolls on top. Alaric would probably turn it into toothpicks, but Jax had to try.

  Jax grabbed the piece of furniture and tugged on it, but the hunk of shit didn’t budge. What’d they have stored in this thing, King Tut’s funerary art? He dug his shoes into the carpet and struggled to move the damn thing. It shifted maybe an inch. Okay, if he got out of this alive, he needed to get back to the gym at the compound. No more excuses.

  As he dragged the monstrosity another millimeter and wondered if this was what getting a hernia felt like, he registered movement in his peripheral vision. Z? If she was awake, maybe he could get her out of here and into protective custody.

  He glanced toward the bed.

  Oh hell. Not Z. So not Z.

  Trevor was getting up from his body. What the—? First Alaric had turned, then Z had started convulsing, and now this?

  The guy’s body remained lifeless on the bed, but Trevor had a gun in his hand and was stalking toward Jax. Nothing to be afraid of yet. That gun isn’t corporeal and neither is Trevor. He’s just a ghost.

  “Trevor?” Jax waved a hand in front of the apparition’s face, trying to get his attention. Maybe talk to him, find out who killed him, but the guy stared right through him.

  Looking like all his senses were on red alert, that he was ready to defend himself and his girlfriend, Trevor raised his gun and reached for the door handle.

  “Residual,” Jax thought out loud as he moved back to get a better view and hopefully understand what had happened that ended with Trevor and Alicia dead.

  This had to be some sort of spontaneous replay of the moments before Trevor killed Alicia and himself. Apparitional replays rarely occurred so soon after death. Maybe Z had set it in motion. This kind of haunting usually took at least a week to manifest and ran on some kind of calendar, like the anniversary of the death. What was this, the seventeen-hour-and-forty-six-minute anniversary?

  Trevor’s hand passed through the handle and mimed opening the door. The gun had been fully in his control, so it was part of the apparition, but the door thankfully didn’t come open and allow the current danger in the hallway to spill into the room. With a look of anguished shock, all the concentration fell from his face, leaving a blank mask behind. He lowered the gun and wandered back to the bed.

  “Mind control. It was mind control.” Saying the words aloud seemed to bring more credence to them. Whoever or whatever had been on the other side of that door was a magical badass. Or had psionic power. Or any number of other paranormal abilities. Another piece to the puzzle, but a million more questions.

  Z’s torment heightened, her body wracking more furiously with each shudder. Jax really wanted to help her somehow, ease the pain she seemed to be in, but this was out of his league. All he could do was trust that Z was going to be okay, that her magic mojo had caused Trevor’s ghost to rise and maybe even Alaric’s blood curse to spike since they were all happening at the same damn time.

  Trevor set a knee on the bed and put the gun to Alicia’s temple. There was no sound, but Jax flinched all the same when the phantom bullet shot through her head.

  When zombie-ghost Trevor put the gun to his own temple and pulled the trigger, Z’s body quaked and arched so high off the floor it looked like she was starting to levitate. Trevor landed back where he’d begun this replay, in his lifeless corpse draped over Alicia at the foot of the bed.

  Jax let out a hard breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The two victims were now motionless, the ghost was gone, and Z’s twitching and writhing slowly abated until she lay unmoving on the carpet.

  But things were far worse than they had been a moment ago.

  Jax broke from the door, running to Z. He should’ve listened to his gut earlier and done something—anything. He should’ve helped her, and now it might be too late.

  “She’s bleeding,” he yelled. “And I don’t think she’s breathing!”

  Chapter 3

  Alaric
’s world had spiraled, focused down to one beautiful point in the chaos of his curse. Eve.

  She was kissing him so deep, without fear, her mouth warm, a haven in the wretched storm. With each caress of her fingers and lips, she stole him further away from the debilitating craving his monstrous curse had triggered. He met each thrust of her tongue, met his Eve. Saving him from the monster he’d become.

  Her soothing hands became solid weights against his chest, pushing him, wanting him to let her go for reasons he didn’t understand. Her mouth broke from his, leaving him dazed, needy, confused.

  “That’s not normal. Let me in!” she called toward the shuttered room.

  At her frantic tone, Alaric acquiesced, setting her on her feet and stepping back, reeling from the separation, still mesmerized by her. She ran toward the bedroom and banged on the door.

  From inside, Jax called out, “Is it safe?” but Alaric wasn’t sure. He brought a hand to his hair and wiped down his face. His appearance was back to normal. His blood thirst had departed as abruptly as it had arrived, leaving only his pure, voracious desire for Eve. The beast was gone. So was Eve.

  She’d opened herself to a part of him he truly hated. And she’d done it freely, kissing the monster in him, accepting not just Alaric the man, but Alaric the monster too. The grotesque, uncontrollable version of himself who’d destroyed several thousand people over nearly two millennia. She’d seen through his abomination when no one else ever could.

  “Yes, I’m okay,” Alaric choked out. After being triggered, he always killed his target and then returned to normal. There was no death by his hand this time. The blood hunger had subsided completely, and he was left with an emotional aftermath he wasn’t sure how to navigate.