Bring Me To Life
Scarlett Parrish
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An imprint of
Musa Publishing
Bring Me To Life, Copyright © Scarlett Parrish, 2012
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author's imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
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Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130
www.musapublishing.com
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Published by Musa Publishing, October 2012
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This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
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ISBN: 978-1-61937-409-6
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Editor: Elizabeth Silver
Cover Design: David Efaw
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Content Warning
This book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Store your books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.
Dedication
With thanks to Liz Silver for being patient, S.A. Meade for planting the seed of an idea, and Alyssa Palmer for letting me kidnap her and put her in this book.
Chapter 1
I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED to be here.
I don't look too bad for a man who's soon to hit three figures. Messy curls still dark brown without a drop of dye in my hair. Spine erect with no sign of the curvature that often comes with age, it still holds me to my full six feet in height. And not a line or wrinkle anywhere on my face.
But that's probably got something to do with the fact I died seventy years ago.
"Alyssa." My voice is nothing more than a whisper across the restaurant table, but despite the bustle around us, I know I'll get through to her.
Alyssa turns her head, staring at me with eyes unfocused for a second. Then she sees me more clearly, and the daydream shrouding her melts away. She smiles, which lights up her fever-paled face and warms me from the inside out with relief.
She's been ill for some time. No fault of mine. I didn't drink from her while she battled the illness which kept her bedbound for the past fortnight, although I visited. Brought her fruit baskets, fortified wine, books. Pretty ribbons for dark, curly hair that throws her complexion into stark relief. Anything to make her smile again.
"You're not fully with me tonight."
"Sorry, I---"
"No need to apologise." I wave a dismissive hand in mid-air between us, glad I don't have to bother with setting down cutlery or a wineglass before doing so. Sometimes, I do eat or drink, but as I don't need to, such occasions are rare. A number of my undead brethren drink coffee and beer, eat steak (rare, never well-done, of course) and vegetables, just to be sociable. Me? I'm not as gregarious, choosing instead to stick to a small group of friends. No--- associates. Alyssa's the only one I count as a friend, and she isn't even one of us.
"You've been ill," I continue, then nod at her plate. Smoked salmon with a green salad, something light but nutritious enough to aid her convalescence. "I want to see you eat, but don't force yourself if you can't manage it."
She pushes a rocket leaf around the plate with her fork while resting her jaw on the other, cupped, hand. A small sigh escapes her, near- silent and likely undetectable to those less attuned to her moods than I. The microscopic adjustment in her shoulders seems to me like a full-on slump.
"Okay." I clasp my hands and rest them on the tablecloth to prevent fidgeting. "Tell me."
"Tell you what?" Her dark eyes flicker with avoidance; a glance is all she can suffer before looking back down at her uneaten dinner.
"I know something's wrong, Alyssa."
"My mother blames you for this," she shoots back, surprising me with the speed of her reply.
Judging by the way the blood rushes to her cheeks, I'm not the only surprised one at the table.
"This?" I lift my eyebrows, already knowing the answer before it comes.
"Me. Being ill. She says...Oh, nothing."
"She says?" Perhaps it's cruel to goad her into talking, but Alyssa clearly has something on her mind, and voicing her concerns can't do too much harm.
I hope.
"She says it's my fault for getting mixed up with you."
Oh. Ouch. I'm not human anymore but still feel the stab of pain at the insult being passed along by someone for whom I care deeply. Some people think vampires can't be hurt.
How wrong they are.
"And what do you say?" My words come out a little sharper than I intended, and I hope Alyssa realises it's hurt speaking, not anger.
"I..."
She gives up rearranging the components of her meal and sets her fork down. It tinkles against the side of her plate, but my hypersensitive hearing is nothing supernatural. I'm on high alert. Concerned about her. "I told her she was wrong. I told her you were the one who'd diagnosed it."
"Hardly." I roll my shoulders in a gentle shrug, bashful rather than embarrassed by the compliment. "I'm not a doctor."
"No, but still, you were able to tell there was something wrong."
I had drunk from her one evening, only a few drops before detecting something wrong. A too- sweet aftertaste where there should have been a metallic tang. I advised Alyssa to see a doctor and found someone else to drink from. She's my one and only regular blood donor, but there are places I can go, people I can see in an emergency.
"When someone says
