Death Incarnate
Page 30
He shrugs. “You know the drill. If a female comes on the radar, we're all on alert.”
I throw the damp towel in the soiled laundry hamper. I'm bone tired. Not physically—mentally. So many scouting expeditions and coming up empty handed has taken its toll. I rub a hand on my nape, trying to make a raw spot. “I've worked a solid quarter—nothing.”
My eyes meet his. Edan's looks are unusual for a Turner. Most of the sub-sect of vampire Turners possess dark coloring. Our only unified feature are silver eyes. Edan's are amber. Some kind of genetic throw back. My own hair is a deep chestnut, more red than what is considered fashionable. And if we want to enjoy female vampire company, it matters. They're few and far between. If they can't be our mates, it's only for release. And that's become an empty vessel.
“But what if we have a live one?”
I smirk at his words. “You mean undead, right?”
Edan throws up his hands. He's muscled, like the rest of us. Mandatory training makes our bodies at battle readiness. Last month we'd just missed a female by minutes.
She'd been sterilized. Technically, it'd been on our watch.
The loss had brought the entire team down and morale had not recovered.
Edan spoke my thoughts, “We need this, Aeslin. We need a female. They're so vulnerable to the Hunters...”
I toss my palm up. “We've been over this. It's a race against them. And they got to that female first.” I see guilt on his face and know mine looks the same.
“Then why can't you see that every lead should be followed?”
Tired of fucking losing, that's why. Or just tired.
My eyes feel like they're on fire when I glare at Edan, a Turner I've fought shoulder to shoulder beside. “You don't think it haunts my fucking every thought that she could have belonged to one of us?”
“Does it?” Edan asks in soft disbelief.
“Yes,” I hiss defensively.
“Then join us.”
I don't want another dead end. Another disappointment. “I'm not rested.”
“So when has that ever mattered?” he asks.
Since that female was lost, I think but don't say.
*
Corcoran stands at the window when I walk into his office and shut the door.
He doesn't turn.
Corcoran is a Noble.
A politically correct word for being in charge of the Turners. But he became a Noble the hard way, having been a Turner first and struggling through the ranks to prove himself invaluable to the cause. Now he rules over the Turners of our region with an iron fist.
Hell, in his day, there was a female turned every month. Now we were lucky to turn one a quarter. However, there was one biological advantage. A human female with vampire blood once turned, was always meant for her biological other half. Lucky bastard. It meant offspring.
A chance at happiness.
With Hunters killing off every vampire they could, our numbers continued to dwindle. In the last half-century, one in two females who possessed enough of the blood of our kind had been sterilized before they could be turned, negating their vampire ancestry and the ability to have children.
A Turnersʼ goals were two-fold. Find the hybrid vampire females before the Hunters did, and determine how they were setting their sights on the rare females.
Easier said than done.
“Aeslin,” Corcoran said as greeting.
I remain silent.
Corcoran turns, eyeing me up. “You look rested.” He sounds hopeful. We both know I've had only four days respite.
I need a month.
I haven't taken enough blood, had enough sex, slept inside the ground as I should. A lot of have nots on the short list of my exhaustion.
I lift my shoulders in an answer that isn't one. It will do no good to rehash the discussion I had with Edan.
Corcoran says something under his breath. It sounds suspiciously like a curse.
“You're the best I have, Aeslin,” he says quietly.
“Let Edan take it. Hell—Jaryn could...”
His gaze darkens. Eyes not the common light gray of the Turner are pewter in a face devoid of emotions. Corcoran's gaze is a coming storm.
“I need you on this.”
That's just what Edan said. “I mean no disrespect...”
“Yes, you do,” he says with the barest bit of humor.
My lips thin. “Yes.”
“She's a Turn, Aeslin. I know it.” Corcoran closes his fingers into a fist.
My breath leaks out of me in defeat. “Okay.”
I simply don't believe anymore. There's been so many dry runs I can't remember the last one that wasn't.
“She's sending out pheromones like a distress signal.”
“Who called it?”
His face closes down. “Torin.”
Corcoran and Torin don't see eye-to-eye. I say nothing, waiting. I'm not political and won't immerse myself in it now.
Corcoran slams a fist against the wall that bisects the bulletproof windows. “She's bounty.”
His frustration gets my attention. Hell, her occupation stalls me and I unlace my fingers and straighten my posture. “What?”
“Damn,” he grits through his teeth, knowing full-well the risks of this acquisition.
I tell him anyway. “Too high profile,” I state, hands going to my hips.
“She's manifesting.”
Dammit.
“Is Torin sure she's a Turn?”
Corcoran exhales in a rush, taking a rough palm down his face, nodding.
I suck in a deep breath. “I'll do it.”
Corcoran looks relieved. “You know the risk?”
Hell yes. But another sterilized female? That we don't need. Can't stand.
“Yes,” I answer.
If Torin's got a bead on her, then so do the Hunters.
The thought of a female out there and vulnerable tightens my guts. This is the part of my job I hate. However small, the emotion is there in my suppressed emotional makeup. The hardest to squelch, the most damning.
Hope.
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The Vampire Alpha Claim serial 1-6
Acknowledgments
I published both The Druid and Death Series, in 2011 with the encouragement of my husband, and continued because of you, my Reader. Your faithfulness through comments, suggestions, spreading the word and ultimately purchasing my work with your hard-earned money gave me the incentive, means and inspiration to continue.
There are no words that are sufficiently adequate to express my thankfulness for your support.
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Tamara
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About the Author
www.TamaraRoseBlodgett.com
Tamara Rose Blodgett: happily married mother of four sons. Dark fiction writer. Reader. Dreamer. Home restoration slave. Tie dye zealot. Coffee addict. Digs music.
She is also the New York Times Bestselling author of A Terrible Love, written under the pen name, Marata Eros, and over ninety-five other titles, to include the #1 international bestselling erotic Interracial/African-American TOKEN serial and her #1 bestselling Amazon Dark Fantasy novel, Death Whispers. Tamara writes a variety of dark fiction in the genres of erotica, fantasy, horror, romance, sci-fi and suspense. She lives in the midwest with her family and three, disrespectful dogs.
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