Their Precious Own

by Lia Black

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  THEIR PRECIOUS OWN

  Lia Black

  Copyright © 2016 Lia Black, VineDark/BlackHouse Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner

  without the written consent of the author/publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  Thanks, as always, to the usual suspects.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The morning was as most were in Shorebank; one forgettable shift in light level that blended into the next. The sky was steel gray but for the dull red smear that used to be the sun. Derek Childress gulped down the remainder of his black coffee; gone cold now and gritty. He grimaced, picking a bitter ground off of his tongue before dumping the rest out of the open door of his car.

  He’d been in his least favorite place when he’d gotten the call that another victim had been found: the cemetery, visiting Marc’s grave. It was almost a relief when his buzzing cell phone interrupted the oppressive silence, reminding him that he had a job to do. He was never good at talking to the dirt as though someone were listening.

  “Looks like they’re getting cockier; they’ve got this one staged,” Sergeant Lyle Peterson said, striding forward to meet Derek. “The owner came down to work on a boat he had in storage and found the victim in there, tied to the mast.”

  Derek flashed his badge at a uniformed officer and ducked under the police tape. “Owner a suspect?” he asked, though he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Not after the fifth body in six months. Peterson confirmed it by shaking his head.

  Derek slipped in through the open door, nodding to the all-too familiar faces of the medical examiner’s entourage as they waited their turn to do their jobs.

  The building looked like a big old barn or ancient factory, wide open with high ceilings. The metal siding and wood that covered the walls were weathered to the same lifeless gray as the sky. Dingy yellow windows under the roofline let in the anemic daylight without disturbing the privacy and sanctity of the interior.

  It looked like a church of the damned.

  A huge antique boat in mid-restoration was standing at the far end of the building. High up on the main mast, a shaft of watery piss-colored light shone from the east-facing windows, highlighting a young female body. She was nude, tied to the mast, her head drooping down. Streamers of curly brown hair had come loose from her ponytail, creating the illusion of a twisted party decoration. Dead eyes stared at her invisible parishioners, arms outstretched in a crucifixion pose. There wasn’t any visible blood, but why would there be? She’d been drained, just like the last four victims.

  Lead settled into Derek’s gut. They should have solved this by now. Obviously, in a city full of freaks— or Variants, as the trolls, hobs, and vampires were called— the vampire Clan Variants were the most likely suspects. But the current city director was one of those vampire Clan Variants, and he wasn’t going to let any of his kind take the blame so easily.

  “Any leads?”

  Peterson shrugged, offering Derek a light as he pulled out a cigarette.

  “Nada,” Peterson said. “You know that smoking causes cancer?”

  Derek glared at him, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth to keep himself from exhaling it in Peterson’s smug, brown face.

  “You know that being a smartass causes a punch in the teeth,” he grumbled. He put on his sunglasses, walking outside, away from the grisly scene. “I assume she was a prostitute, like the others,” Derek said.

  Peterson nearly had to jog to keep up with his determined strides. “Yeah. There’s some kind of a pattern, aside from the staging. Just no motive so far.” Peterson barely caught himself from stumbling forward when Derek came to a sudden stop.

  “How about because fucking vampires rule the world and nobody cares if they kill a few hookers? As long as the vampires keep the cost of living low and keep giving us our daily rations of food, water, and utilities, it’s a fair trade!” Derek snapped, then felt immediately bad about it. He sighed, bowing his head as he patted Peterson’s shoulder. “Sorry. It’s just been…”

  “S’okay, Derek.” Peterson offered an understanding nod.

  Derek appreciated the fact that he didn’t have to say anything more. Peterson knew, just like all of them knew, that Derek had lost his three-year partner on the force to a drug-addicted lycanthrope Variant, just a few weeks shy of a year ago.

  It had started as noise complaints at some scummy apartment complex. When the uniforms showed up, they could smell something dead. They called in the homicide division and Derek and Marc had been the ones to go. When they got there, the stench turned out to be dead animals— stray cats and dogs and a few raccoons— but the tenant came home, doped out of his mind on some kind of rage-inducing hallucinogen. He shifted into a half-wolf form and ripped out Marc’s throat before they could even flash their badges. Not like badges would have mattered. Whoever was concocting the illegal drugs in this city made them potent. Took two shots to the head with silver bullets to bring the fucker down. Marc died in the ER, and Derek had to hide in his apartment until the Variant officials sent from Apex finished the investigation surrounding the junkie’s death. Nobody gave a goddamn that a human being had been murdered. No, the Variants were more concerned about one of their precious own being killed; needed to make sure it was justifiable homicide before Derek was allowed to return to duty. He almost didn’t, but he was too invested in this shit-hole city, and the naive belief that justice and truth would always prevail.

  “Shit,” Derek swore softly as his cell phone buzzed. Pulling it out of his pocket, he frowned down at the number before taking the call, “Yeah, chief?”

  On the other end of the line, his C.O., Richard Gilchrist sounded out of breath, probably pacing, which usually meant he was fidgeting over something he thought couldn’t wait. “If you’re about finished there I need you to get to the station pronto.” Gilchrist hung up before Derek could reply. He frowned down at the reflection of his face in the shiny, black screen.

  “Anything up?” Peterson asked.

  Derek shrugged and tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Gilchrist. Must be important.”

  “You go ahead,” Peterson said. “We’re about finished here. No witnesses to follow up on, so we’ll cut her down and pack it up.”

  “Yeah, great.” Just another body. No longer a human being, but a statistic someplace. She was somebody’s daughter… but Clan Variants didn’t have children anymore— at least not vampire children that they took care of. No doubt, there were plenty of single human mothers struggling to raise their hemophiliac bastards in the settlements.

  Chief of dete
ctives, Richard Gilchrist’s office was unusually dark. Derek squinted through the dappled glass window, trying to figure out if Gilchrist was even inside. He’d raised his hand to knock, when the door was pulled open. Gilchrist’s face filled the space, looking like a sallow ghost in the glare of the florescent lights from the hall.

  “Great, get in here.”

  “Chief, what’s going on? Why the hell do you have all the blinds shut?” Derek blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light cast by Gilchrist’s green glass desk lamp. When he heard a rustle of fabric to his right, he realized they weren’t alone.

  “Detective Derek Childress, allow me to introduce you to your new partner, Detective Kayle Perrine. He’s coming to us from Apex.” Gilchrist’s smile was pulled tight, threatening at any moment to become a grimace.

  The fact that Perrine was from Apex explained everything, yet nothing. Apex was the Variant’s seat of power, where only the Clan Gentry—the Variant vampire nobility, as it were—lorded over all of those who fell below. Human beings were at the bottom of that list, and most, like Derek, resented being kept there.

  The man—if one could call him that—stepped into the dim light, long fingered, elegant hand extended. He wasn’t as tall and thin as Clan normally were, but he still had that inhuman perfection about him, and a shimmer across his flawless skin that betrayed some kind of appearance-masking glamour. His pale hair pulled back severely from his symmetrical face, making his large, angular eyes look like dark slashes. He had a very pretty mouth that was turned up at one corner in what Derek assumed was a cocky half-smirk. Perrine’s appearance was young, doll-like, and Derek hated him immediately.

  He ignored the hand, focusing on Gilchrist instead.

  “Richard, what the fuck?” That could explain some of the darkness in the room. If Derek had peeked in and seen this—whatever the hell he was— he wouldn’t have bothered to come inside.

  “Well, that’s an interesting welcome,” Perrine said. His voice sounded like a dark melody.

  Gilchrist took Derek by the shoulders and moved him a few feet to the left of his desk, trying to put some space between him and Perrine.

  “Look Derek,” he said through his teeth, struggling to keep his voice as low as possible, considering the size of the room. “Director Toussant has recommended that we have a Variant on this case.”

  Derek clutched at the back of a chair, though what he really wanted to do was grab this Variant prick by his shirt and shake the living shit out of him.

  “Of course he fucking has,” he growled. What better way to guarantee that none of the precious Clan would be fingered for being the murderers that they were, than to put a fucking Variant on the case? At this point, for all Derek knew, Perrine could very well be Clan, although he must have been from a lower caste house, not the Gentry. The Gentry couldn’t be bothered to do any real work and preferred to watch and control the human ants from their ivory towers.

  “I can assure you, Detective Childress, I have an exemplary service record,” Perrine butted in.

  “Why is it dark in here?” Derek ignored him again, still focused on Gilchrist.

  “That would be my doing,” Perrine said. “I haven’t had to wear such heavy masking glamour. I didn’t want to overwhelm you on our first meeting if I didn’t get it just right.”

  “Overwhelm me?” Derek was finally looking at Perrine, narrowing his eyes to try and make out what was hiding behind the disruptive barrier that covered him. There weren’t any Variants that he’d met who needed glamour. But outside of Apex, the Crest, and a few other Clan-infested sectors, only shifters, or the occasional troll or hob could be found. Clan never put themselves close enough to humans to be recognized. Lower-level Variants typically kept to their own kind once they moved away from their protected regions, taking up entire sections of cities.

  Humans, or mundanes, as the special snowflakes liked to call them, didn’t get to live in places like Apex. “Just what are you?”

  Derek could see it, the slight tilting up of Perrine’s chin as he looked down his nose at him. The lenses of his eyes became like twin mirrors as they caught the light, reflecting two tiny scowling Dereks back at him. He had to be Clan. Fucking Clan Variants were all the same. Every one of them was a self-entitled asshole. He was about to say as much when he remembered that he was in his CO’s office, and had probably better cool his temper.

  Perrine raised a far too perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I don’t see why what I am should matter.”

  “It doesn’t,” Gilchrist said, shooting Derek a warning glare. “Look, Childress; this has been your case from the beginning, but if you aren’t willing to work with Detective Perrine…”

  “Fine… fuck.” Derek raked a hand through his dark brown hair, absently remembering it had been a while since he’d cut it.

  “Honored to work with you as well.” Perrine rolled his eyes.

  “Okay if I get some lights on in here?” Gilchrist asked Perrine.

  “By all means. Detective Childress is going to have to get used to seeing me sooner or later,” Perrine said, shooting Derek a narrowed glare.

  Later— or never— would have been nice, but it seemed that for the moment, Derek was stuck with Director Toussant’s flunky.

  “Detective Childress, why don’t you take Investigator Perrine around— get him acquainted with the office and the case.” Gilchrist was grinning at him, but it didn’t do much to veil the threat lingering behind his eyes. It was nothing new. Derek was always on somebody’s shit list just because he had the guts to speak up about the kinds of things other people were thinking.

  Since the Variants had shown up in full force to call a halt to Armageddon over a century ago, human beings were the minority race, and were reminded of this on a regular basis. Derek wasn’t old enough to remember when this settlement was actually a city and was filled with only humans, managed by a human government, but he’d learned a little about it in school. Things probably weren’t perfect then, but they had to have been better than they were now. Until the war that led to Armageddon started and the Variants began to spread like a stain on a tablecloth. Led by the Clan Gentry, the Variants began building walls and boxing humans in. They’d managed to fool a frightening number of people into believing that they had humans’ best interests at heart, but not Derek. He already knew where this case was headed now that Perrine had been assigned to it. That meant the six months he’d devoted to this case would be thrown out the window if it started point too directly at anyone involved with Clan.

  Derek left Gilchrist’s office with Perrine trailing behind.

  “Bathrooms, locker rooms, showers.” Derek gestured to doors on each side as they walked down a long corridor.

  “You have workout facilities on-site?” Perrine asked, suddenly beside him.

  “Free weights mostly.”

  Perrine’s eyes lazily traveled the length of Derek before settling back on his face. “You work out here regularly?”

  Derek wanted to answer him with a big “fuck off.” He’d let his diet and health go to shit since Marc’s death, continuing to smoke and, for a while drinking himself stupid. He was trying his best to get through this shitty excuse for a life, and smother his regrets. If part of that smothering was accomplished under layers of salty snacks instead of alcohol, then so be it. He wasn’t looking to impress anybody, and certainly not a snob from Apex. He ignored the question and continued the tour. “Coffee-pot, tea if you’re into that kind of thing, if you bring a lunch you’d better lock it down or it’ll get stolen.”

  “At a police department. How ironic,” Perrine muttered.

  As they began passing co-workers down the hall, Derek noticed that all eyes were locked on Perrine. It wasn’t a surprise. Everyone on the department was human, and few of them had anything good to say about Variants or the Director’s leadership. Despite his masking glamour, Perrine was obviously a Variant, doing his best to look human but failing miserably. Derek had refrained from
really examining him once the lights had come on in Gilchrist’s office, but based on his co-worker’s reactions, he had to stop and look at what they were seeing.

  Long, platinum blond hair, a face so androgynous it was disorienting, and eyes so dark, the pupils were invisible. But the biggest dead-giveaway was that he was…sparkling?

  “You’re going to have to get better at that,” Derek said through gritted teeth as a blurry glow fluctuated along one side of Perrine’s jaw, and an intoxicating scent, unmitigated by his cologne, bled from him. The other cops present were beginning to mutter, but none of them looked away. Derek was having a hard time looking away himself. For the briefest of moments, his mind threw up a picture of Perrine bent over a bathroom sink, naked from the waist down and begging to be fucked. What the fucking hell was that?

  Perrine sighed, his hands clenching at his sides. “Can we go someplace else— like a broom closet?”

  “Broom closet?” He couldn’t possibly mean…

  “So I can hide… what were you thinking about?” Perrine narrowed his eyes at Derek.

  Derek ground his teeth together. Did he know Derek was gay? Could he tell? Or was he just being an arrogant ass?

  “Never mind,” Perrine sounded suddenly tired, and when he fixed Derek with his ink-black eyes, he appeared as close to apologetic as Derek figured he’d ever see him. “I’d like to go someplace quiet and look over the files. Is there an empty office?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Not hardly. Since the city had been re-zoned, any of the police satellite offices that used to exist had been closed. The officers had been moved to central precincts where they were easier for the Gentry to monitor. A lot of the beat-cops had lost their jobs, but Derek was a good cop, and so when an opening came in the detective division, Gilchrist recommended Derek for the job. Marc had been his first partner, and until a few minutes ago, he’d thought he’d be his only partner. Derek wrestled his thoughts from that dark place they were headed.