Fight or Flight: Vampire Favors, #3

By Emily Cyr

Addison Fitzpatrick is at a turning point in her life. The demons she thought she’d defeated are back and stronger than ever. Her past issues with drugs threaten to overwhelm her. And that isn’t even the worst of her problems.

Addison was forced to kill the only family she had left and moments afterward was rejected by a man she cared about. Now, she’s called in to not only repay yet another favor for Cannon Blackwood, but for Evie the witch, and just about every one of her friends. These favors come at a cost; they force her to confront and employ the help of the one person she’d rather not see, Lachlan O’Brian.

Cannon requires Addison to retrieve something of his from Merriam, a powerful master vampire. Easier said than done. Addison might be a pusher with super-human abilities, but that won’t be enough. She will have to risk everything, all while battling herself, an ancient evil, a stalker, and two brothers who are feuding for her affections. No one ever said repaying favors to a vampire would be easy and Addison's life is living proof.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emily Cyr
• Release date: Jan 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386911791

Emily Cyr

I currently reside in Jacksonville FL. I am a stay-at-home-mom turned Author. I hold a degree in English and Social Science Education.

Book preview

Prologue

Six years earlier

M y name is Addison Fitzpatrick, and I’m an addict. Ugh, okay, no, you sound ridiculous. I sounded like a crazy person triple-dipped in psycho .

Hi there, my name …

No, that sounds stupid too. Why is this so hard?

I’m an addict … I paused. I mean, I knew I was an addict, but hearing myself say the words out loud gave them a real, tangible substance and it nearly made me sick.

I’d been going to meetings for about a month, even still, I could never really connect or bring myself to say anything. But the cravings for drugs weren’t getting better. I needed to talk about it with someone. I needed to find the one thing I’d been avoiding: a sponsor. I never talked. I didn’t want to talk. It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to say, I just didn’t know how to say them out loud. However, I did help myself to the shining glazed donuts and burnt coffee. A girl had to eat, right?

Walking over to the mirror in the bathroom of the church, I caught my reflection. My blonde hair still held a little of the pink tint from my last attempt at adding some spice to my life. As if that were really spicy. I wasn’t always great at making wonderful decisions. I still hadn’t put on any weight, but I felt better. At least my clothes were clean.

I smiled. It was fake. I wasn’t happy. I didn’t know if I’d ever be. Fake it til ya make it.

Why do I even come to these stupid meetings? Well, other than for the donuts. Looking down at my scarred arms, I knew my answer. I didn’t want to be the person I was a month ago. I didn’t want to be who I’d turned into. Yeah, I was ordered by a scary-as-hell vampire to get cleaned up, but the reality was, I was ready. I had to do this.

I walked out of the bathroom and was met by the low, tinted humming of the fluorescent lights of the church gym. There were twelve seats set up in two rows of six. And there was a pulpit-type thing in front of the rows of chairs. The chairs were the ones I’d remembered in high school. Or at least, I thought they were. I would have actually had to attend classes more than once a week to know such information. Fuck! I don’t want to do this. Because I had attended these meetings between two and five times a week, I knew how this worked. If I wanted to recover, I had to share. If I wanted to recover, I needed to let someone in. If I wanted to recover, really recover, I needed a sponsor.

The meetings were run by a former addict named Stitch. I had no idea if that was his real name or some nickname. If it was his given name, he’d been doomed from the start. Poor shmuck. Stitch was a nice guy and he ran all of the Tuesday meetings. He looked to be in his early thirties. He was once a beautiful man, but years of drug use had taken its toll on him. His deep-chestnut hair was speckled with gray, his cheeks were hollowed a bit, and his skin seemed to hang loose in places, however his rich brown eyes told me everything. They held a note of bittersweet chocolate and told the tale of a man who had been through a hard life, but who’d come out better for it on the other side. He looked like he could have been a businessman in another life, or a yacht captain. The thought of him in that silly hat made me giggle.

I was going to share tonight and ask him to be my sponsor. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the donuts. I grabbed one and then made my small cup of coffee.

’Sup? a man asked half-heartedly. The intruder sounded just like a stereotypical surfer. I was willing to bet that, had I engaged in the conversation, the next words out of his mouth would include dude and bruh.

I didn’t say anything. Maybe he wasn’t talking to me. One could hope, anyway.

Hey, blondie. I said, ‘sup? His tone wasn’t harsh, just emphatic. Okay, his words weren’t what I thought.

I winced at his descriptive word. I hated when people called me that.

Rolling my eyes, I faced him. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared. Not only did he sound like a surfer, he looked the part. He had blonde hair, where mine was blonde because it simply was, his was sun-kissed. His long hair had been twisted into tight dreadlocks.

Oh, you know, nothing much. Just here enjoying being surrounded by my best bruhs! Ya know, talking about how we all loved using drugs. I paused, looking at his wide-set brown eyes. ’Sup with you? I snapped in the same surfer-type tone he’d used moments before. I knew I was being a harsh bitch, however, I had no idea why this guy was so insistent.

Had I been on the receiving end of such a tongue lashing I would have snapped something just as vile back, or turned to simply walk away. But this dude? Oh no. His full lips twitched and widened into a broad smile that reached past his eyes, past his long blonde dreadlocks and circled around to his ears.

Well, it’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Cahill. He stuck out his hand and offered it to me in greeting.

Was this guy dense? Deluded or not, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from smiling back and taking his hand.

I tried not to like him. I really did. Maybe it was his I don’t give a damn attitude or his assumed laid-back lifestyle. I, however, found myself enjoying him whether I liked it or not.

Walking over to the circle, he asked, What’s your name?

I’d just taken a sip of my coffee when he’d asked. It was way hotter than I’d originally thought so the volcanic lava scalded my tongue.

I tried to tell him my name was Addison, however the sounds that erupted from me sounded more like Annison. Ow! Fuck that hurt.

Well, that’s a different name. Should I call you Annie? he asked brightly. Well, as brightly as one could have given his natural accent.

Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I clarified, No, the coffee burnt my tongue. My name is Addison.

Again, he gave me that wide smile. I tried to not smile back at him like a goofball. The effort was futile.

Stitch walked up and pulled up a seat. He looked his same, even-tempered self. However, when he saw me, his features softened. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, he just looked like he’d been rode hard and put away wet. I’d wait until after the meeting to ask him.

How long you been coming to these meetings? Cahill drew my attention from Stitch.

Oh, about a month. I go to different ones two, sometimes five, times a week. I just blinked at him. Why had I said that? What the hell? I hadn’t wanted to talk, yet here I was telling this guy personal things.

How long you been clean? he asked. What was this, a VH1 interview?

I tried not to answer, I didn’t want to, but damn it if I couldn’t stop the words from falling from my lips.

A month. I threw my hands over my mouth, trying to shut myself up.

He smiled proudly. It was like he was the biggest and brightest peacock in the stable.

Yeah, dude, I feel ya. I’ve been clean about five years, he added, as if that were just another thing.

Then why still come? I wasn’t sure why I was talking with him. The meeting was going to start soon, and I needed to just focus.

Because I can never not be an addict. And the donuts.

I opened my mouth to say something, but the rest of the group, another five people, joined us in the rows of chairs and the meeting started.

I was almost always the only girl in these meetings; tonight was no different. I really did enjoy the meetings for what they were. I never really felt ashamed or like I had to hide. Even still, I couldn’t make myself share. I was never pushed, though I should have been.

Today I want to talk about our first step. We are a ‘come as you are’ group, so we are all in different parts of our journey. Some of us aren’t ready for step one, and that’s okay. However, just by being here, you’re on your way, Stitch said calmly, then he read step one aloud. We admit that we are powerless over our addiction and that our lives have become unmanageable. There was a long pause before he added, I want to open up the floor to everyone. I would like to hear how you see step one and how you feel it has impacted your life.

I didn’t hesitate. If I overthought it, I likely wouldn’t go through with it. I glanced at Stitch, who smiled a warm welcoming smile. And then I saw Cahill. He too beamed.

H-h-hi. My name is Addison. I swallowed, trying to loosen the grip my anxiety held on my throat. I’ve been clean now for … Looking down at my phone I’d set on the small lip of the wooden pulpit, I clicked it on to look at the date. I couldn’t help but smile. It was Valentine’s Day. My birthday. I hadn’t realized it. Thirty-three days.

Wow! Great job! I heard a voice call out. I blushed slightly at the words.

The first step to me isn’t just admitting I have a problem, but it’s admitting I have to change — change how I think, change how I see the world, change my attitude. It’s admitting that I don’t just have a problem and an addiction, but admitting that I am a problem, and more than the addiction has to change. After I purged the thoughts and feelings, I realized how much weight I’d been holding on to. I took in a huge, deep, filling breath and noticed that breathing even felt lighter.

Walking back to my seat, I acknowledged I had a lot more work to do. Staying clean would be hard, however, changing how I thought and how I looked at everything, well that would be the hardest part.

A few more people got up to talk and I listened intently. One man had been clean for eight years. Another spoke of the many times he’d relapsed, but he had been clean this time for eight months. And then Cahill got up to speak.

My name is Cahill. I’ve been clean for about five years. Yeah, I know I don’t look that old, but I assure you, I am. My road to sobriety has been a long one. I found myself absolutely wrapped up in his words, as if they were a warm blanket I could pull up and crawl beneath. Within my eight-year journey I’ve been clean for five. Prior to that, I relapsed three times. I remember thinking one time, man that’s not gunna do shit. I soon found myself falling down the rabbit hole again. That was easy, but climbing out of it with no support, well, it felt like I was a beetle trapped in a glass cup. As though I were making no gain in life. I could see the world passing me by, yet there I was stuck behind the invisible walls of my addiction.

It was in that moment I realized three things.

One — He expressed how I felt.

Two — He was a pusher. I didn’t know how I knew this, I just did.

Three — I needed to ask him to be my sponsor. It didn’t matter how well I knew him, it had to be him.

The meeting ended the same way it always did, with the serenity prayer. I wasn’t a religious person, hell, I wasn’t even sure I believed in God, however there was a beauty to the cadence of the prayer, one that urged me to speak it out loud.

After the meeting had closed, the majority of us stayed after to talk. This was highly encouraged and the first time I’d done it.

Cahill was talking to Stitch. I walked up and tried not to be rude.

It was Stitch who noticed me.

Addison! I’m so happy you shared today, he said excitedly.

I instantly felt awkward. I couldn’t figure out why.

Thanks, I think. I was such a moron.

Have you met Cahill? He’s a good friend of mine. We met a few years ago through NA, Stitch informed me.

I opened my mouth to tell him we’d met, but Cahill beat me to it.

Yeah, dude, we met. He sounded, well if I was being honest, I didn’t have a fucking clue.

Stitch eyed someone over my shoulder and smiled. He met my gaze, then Cahill’s, then said, Please excuse me. I’ll be back in a few.

I nodded as Stitch walked around me to talk with a younger looking man.

Think he banged him? he asked nonchalantly.

My eyes went wide. What in the what? Internally I was sputtering. Externally, I heard a voice saying, Likely. It took me a moment to realize the voice I’d heard was my own. Why the hell did I just say that?!

He parted his lips to say something, but I raised a hand and put it over his mouth.

Oh, don’t you dare! I know what you’re doing! Stop it! I ordered in a hushed tone.

He raised an eyebrow at me and didn’t speak.

I know what you are. You’re some kind of pusher, who can compel. As soon as the words fell from my mouth, I knew how true they were. I’d never seen a pusher like him.

His eyes went wide. Taking my hand from his mouth, I whispered in a low tone, I am, too.

Shrugging, he smiled and said, I know.

I think I just stood there and blinked at him.

Uhhhhh, was the only sound I could muster.

He slapped a big hand on my back, causing me to lurch forward. He wasn’t an overly big guy, so I was a little shocked with his strength.

Let’s just say a little bird told me to come here. That there was a little pusher who might need my help.

His tone fell into that easygoing cadence. Who’d told him to come here? I caught Stitch’s gaze. It had to be him.

I gritted my teeth. I didn’t like being set up. Turning, I walked toward the exit. Okay, yes, I was sulking, but I was set up. I was set up by the guy who ran the NA meetings. I was blindsided by this damn pusher who I knew nothing about.

Pushing my way through the people, I stormed out of the double door to the parking lot. I was blasted with cold air. I was glad I had my jean jacket. While Atlanta had mild winters, February tended to be one of the colder months. Pulling the collar up around my neck, I snuggled deeper to try to keep as much warmth in myself as possible.

Annie, dude. Wait. Cahill’s tone coiled around me, his words morphing into a ball and chain that wrapped around my ankle. I froze, against my own will. Everything inside of me wanted to run. I’d only just got my powers back, so it would take nothing to skip out. For whatever reason, I didn’t. A month ago, I would have run. I would have found my dealer, shot up, and done the ostrich thing. Bury my fucking head so far in the sand I could see the lights of China.

It’s Addison, I snarled. I mean, he couldn’t even get my name right!

I know. I liked Annie better, he joked. While I knew his tone to be lighthearted, I was beyond caring.

Did you come here to annoy me or is that just a perk? I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

He sighed and ran his hand through his thick dreads.

Listen, I’m not the best at always communicating. I use humor to compensate. I was told you might need someone. A pusher who’s been through what you have. I totally didn’t mean to back you into a corner.

It was the most contiguous sentence I’d heard him speak without using the word dude. It was also the first time I saw him. Like for real, saw past the surfer boy show to the man inside.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I want to stay clean, but I … Pausing, I looked at him full on and tried to put something in my eyes to show him. To make him feel me. I don’t know how to be anything other than a train wreck.

We’re all train wrecks. We’re addicts. We live on the edge of fight or flight all the time. And it looks to me you’re a pro at the latter. I think it’s time to stay and fight. His voice that had held such little emotion was now filled with it.

I want to fight. But I don’t know how, I admitted. I used to do my fair share of fighting in the dojo, though it had been a while. However, I had a sneaking suspicion this wasn’t the kind of fighting he was talking about.

It’s an everyday battle, but I can help. Being what we are, we have a tendency to run back to our addiction. We aren’t well liked because we are seen as a threat to the normals. I’m not looking to be more than a friend. I just want to help another pusher.

He was right. I just had to be brave enough to take him at face value. I looked at him trying to read him. His eyes sparkled and his lips arched up into a soft smile.

Taking a deep breath, I spoke without thinking, You know, I could use a sponsor. I toed a small rock on the pavement, unable to meet his eyes.

I would love to be that. If you’re willing to fight. His tone slipped back into that relaxed attitude.

Meeting his eyes, I said the only thing I could. There’s no other option.

And I knew it to be true.

Chapter One

Present Day

Ilaid flat on the floor with my feet kicked up behind me. My elbows were propped up with my head resting on my hands. I had no idea how long I’d been there, but I knew the hours had extended to days. Every time I got up for food or to use the bathroom, I thought about it. I slept there. On the floor, I mean. Eyeing the small, saran-wrapped, pea-sized ball, I inhaled the stale air, hoping that this time I’d know what to do. I didn’t .

I had no idea what day it was or if it was even still February. I’d temporarily closed Darryl’s dojo after he died. He was the only father figure I’d ever had and I’d allowed him to get killed. Without him there, I couldn’t make myself go. The place seemed so empty and it still smelled of him. I was running out of money, however, considering Cannon was my landlord, I wasn’t too worried if I paid him or not. He could go fuck himself for all I cared.

I eyed the small ball. It had been almost eight years. I’d often found myself running to the old haunts where I’d bought drugs, but there was always something that had pulled me back. This time, though, I bought a hit. This time, nothing had stopped me from myself.

I had nothing. Lachlan had made it clear he was done with me. Aaron, my only brother, was gone. Darryl, my boss and mentor, was dead. Things with Cannon were beyond fucked up, though that seemed to be our normal since I owed him favors and he was always scheming for me to owe him more. I was still a mess about the danger I’d put my best friend, Theo, in. Every time he called or texted, I gave him some bullshit answer. I was falling down a perpetual rabbit hole, though I knew there was no wonderland at the end. Oh no, not for me. There was no end, just total and complete blackness.

I could never make myself …

There was a knock at the door that drew my attention away. I did what I’d done the last four hundred times. I yelled to whoever it was, Just leave it by the door.

Dude, it looks like a flower shop died out here, Annie.

From the first word, I knew it was Cahill. I wanted to run away. I wanted to stick my head in the proverbial sand and pray he wouldn’t see me. Maybe if I just didn’t say anything, he’d go away. I said nothing.

Dude. I know you’re in there. Duuuuuuude, I’ll be here all day if I have to.

I scowled at the