The Bitten

by L. A. Banks

  “Yes, I do,” Jose said quietly, making Carlos turn and study him. “I live with her, and have felt like that for years. It’s a bitch, but you’ll live.”

  The calm resignation in Jose’s voice, the terror that gave way to pride—Carlos had to give the man a nod of respect.

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  “Don’t you?” Jose said, his chin lifted, hands at his sides, fists slowly balling.

  Carlos moved farther away from the man he didn’t want to slaughter. “Chill, hombre. We’ve got a lot in common, and I ain’t even mad at you about it. Respect,” he said, nodding at Jose. “You got my respect.”

  He waited until the tension left Jose’s fists before he spoke.

  “And you got mine,” Jose said, then glanced back at the suite. “Just don’t take her into no bullshit you can’t get her out of.”

  Carlos held out his hand and two sets of keys came into the center of his palm. He closed his fist over them and tossed them to Jose. “Your bike is a red Harley, right? Rider is on a black and silver Easy Rider classic?”

  Jose looked at the keys and flung them back to Carlos. “Don’t fuck with my head, man, and try to give me some shit—”

  “It’s for her,” Carlos said, catching the keys, then tossing them back to Jose more gently. “After you get off the speedboats, I want you to put her on the back of one of those bikes and ride like the wind to hallowed ground; Rider as your shotgun. Everybody else can catch up, however they have to. The teams stand ground to hold back any vamps in pursuit of Damali. But your job is to get her out of harm’s way—even if you have to chain her to the back of the bike. Hear me? I’m counting on you, man.”

  Jose looked at the keys in his hand, and slowly brought his gaze up to meet Carlos’s. “You’re worried, ain’t you, man?”

  Carlos didn’t answer him, just walked in a tight circle rubbing the nape of his neck. He could feel himself begin to normalize and his fangs retract. Something tugging at him that made it hard to speak. The truth.

  “Yeah, man,” Carlos whispered. “She ain’t just a package—she’s precious cargo. Ride fast but ride easy.”

  Jose’s glare softened. “Man, talk to me . . .”

  He took his time speaking, his eyes leaving Jose’s and going to the suite door. “They’re coming for me, hombre. I can feel it. I have fucked up big time, and I’m out of game. So, we gonna do this with pride. Guns blazing, no regrets. I’ll blow the whole fucking ship before I let them take her.” He returned his gaze to Jose. “Stay with her, comfort her, become her lover, and be her man, and it’s all good.”

  Carlos began walking away. He couldn’t say any more to the better man. The lump in his throat hurt too much.

  “Why me?” Jose hollered down the hall, making Carlos stop.

  “You know the rules. Winner takes all.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, man?”

  Jose’s voice echoed down the corridor, and Carlos willed no one else to enter it. He turned slowly, his gaze locking with Jose’s. “Because you are the only one that sees her with the eyes in your heart. You were ready to give her a vein in the compound if she didn’t pull out of the turn. You’re the only one who would die for her without blinking, without hesitating, and you’re the only one who can give her a real life, topside.”

  When Jose didn’t respond, Carlos slapped the center of his chest. “You don’t think I can see that? A blind man could. No special powers needed.” His breaths were unsteady, but it had nothing to do with the high that was burning away. “I’m infected, man. I live a dangerous life. I ain’t no good for her, and one night I’ll ruin her. So, I’m transferring power, giving you fair claim to my everything . . . you’re in my line, you’re in my territory, and you love her. Isn’t that enough?” He paced away and came back to where he’d been standing. “You are the better man, one that can give her normal kids, can take them out in the sunlight and keep her safe on hallowed ground at night, and no matter what, I know you’ll be by her side or die trying. You won’t make Marlene weep because you’re the father.”

  “Carlos, man, listen—”

  “I would have given her that,” he said, cutting Jose off as he battled for composure. “But I fucked up!”

  “But she doesn’t love me,” Jose said, his voice steady, no bitterness in it, but enough compassion in it to make Carlos stare at the elevators.

  “After I’m gone,” Carlos said quietly, “she will.”

  Jose shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that, and you know it. I’ll be walking on your grave, and—”

  “And you will both remember a shared loss . . . Dee Dee, and me. You both will have shared memories of your battles together, will be part of an unbroken unit, the family. You’ll both share something that no other two people in the world have shared—this crazy life you Guardians lead . . .” Carlos’s voice trailed off to a gentle murmur. “You were friends, first. You will always be friends. You stood flank for her at the final hour, and—”

  “Man, stop talking like you’re going out of here. You’re part of the team. You’re a Guardian. Okay, a dark one, but the way Damali looks at you, always did . . . You die, you’ll break her heart—so I forbid it.” Jose wiped his face with both palms, breathed deeply, then stared at him hard. “We don’t leave our own.”

  At a stalemate, the two just looked at each other. This wasn’t why he’d come out into the hall with Jose. It was to tell him how to work the vamps, slip them the product, handle himself under the duress the masters were sure to put him under. It was to get them on the same page, get Jose’s head right, and to tell him whatever he could to save Damali’s life . . . give him the keys. This had not been on the agenda.

  But as he looked at this man who could have passed for his younger brother, tears welled in his eyes. Alejandro, Juan, Julio, all of them, and every other hombre that had fallen came into his consciousness. This was the only family he had left in the world, and owning the whole world meant nothing without them in it.

  “She’s pregnant, isn’t she, man?” Jose finally whispered.

  When Carlos nodded, the tears in his eyes fell, and he walked away, wiping them with the back of his fist.

  “I gotchure back,” Jose called behind him, then he was gone.

  The entire room let out a silent, collective breath of relief when Jose walked back into the suite. Damali searched his face, noting how his eyes refused to meet hers.

  “You cool?” Rider asked, coming up to Jose. “You didn’t mess around out there and get master mind-nicked, did ya?”

  Jose smiled, knowing that the one-liner was Rider’s way of letting him know just how worried he’d been. He handed his friend a set of Harley keys and went to the bar to pour himself a drink.

  “What’s this, dude?” Rider came up to him, the other guardian’s eyes trained on the transaction along with the clerics.

  “Your chopper is downstairs, man. After the boats, we ride, man, like old times.”

  “You struck a deal with the devil out in the hall,” Rider said, half serious, half joking.

  “Rivera is cool, man,” Jose said, growing testy as he threw back a shot of Jack Daniel’s. “Give the man a break. He’s under a lot of stress.”

  Shabazz moved in to the bar slowly, his gaze going between Marlene and Rider, then sweeping the rest, landing on Damali. “You ain’t under the influence, are you? No mind-control shit, right?”

  Damali shook her head and left the room, going into the bedroom to get her concert outfits. The look on Jose’s face had constricted her chest. He knew. Yet, he was honorable enough not to tell the group, and man enough not to come barreling into the suite all hyped with accusations and drama, knowing what they all had to face. And if Carlos had told him in that brief exchange, what had her man been going through? None of it was a good sign. Carlos had told a Guardian—and not one of the more seasoned ones, at that.

  Damali sat down on the bed and stared out the window for a few m
inutes, already missing the one person she was never supposed to be with. For such a private, deeply proud individual to drop façade like that, tell someone who had been his greatest challenger . . . while under the influence . . . not harm him, but send him back to the room with new respect . . . She closed her eyes, trying to stave off the panic polluting her bloodstream.

  After they did the yacht job, he wasn’t coming back.

  “You all right?” Marlene murmured, moving her locks off her shoulders, and dabbing her nose with a bit of pressed powder.

  Damali just nodded, listening to the first act—world music rocking the house.

  “I forgot to tell you, we made the Sydney Morning Herald,” Marlene said offhandedly, her voice far away, like Damali’s thoughts, her conversation inane and a brittle attempt at normalcy.

  “Let’s just do the show, Mar,” she said quietly. Damali stopped her mentor’s hand from applying more makeup. “I don’t want to go on the boat, dust any vamps, or lose anybody. We’ve been lucky . . . I wish we could just go home, and do like Mike said.”

  Marlene traced her eyebrows with the ball of her thumb, her eyes moist. “It’s too late. We’re already in too deep, and past the point of no return. Irrevocable events have been set in motion.”

  “I just want to go home and live like normal people,” Damali whispered.

  “But we’ve already reached the vanishing point,” Marlene murmured, her voice filled with love, “and it’s too late, honey.”

  They held each other’s gaze, both sets of female eyes filling and burning away sudden tears. Damali nodded, knowing Mar knew, but Jose hadn’t told. It was the touch she’d shared with Carlos.

  “All right,” Damali said, her voice falsely hard. “Let’s rock this show, go kick some ass, then go home.”

  Marlene just looked at her and opened her arms, pulling her into the hug she so desperately needed right now. “Yeah, let’s go kick some ass and bring everybody home.”

  “Councilman, this is Old World outrageous,” McGuire said as he leaned over the yacht rail, laughing while he poured a bottle of blood in the water.

  Carlos watched the Aussie master from a very remote place in his mind. The loud music grated his nerves. Naked, jiggling silicone tits everywhere put the taste of plastic on the back of his tongue as he scanned the decks of the one-hundred-and-eighty-foot monstrosity cutting the water from the Great Barrier Reef, as sharks trailed behind it.

  “You bringing Great Whites with you, McGuire?” Carlos said, forcing a smile as he peered at the night-blackened water.

  “You know it, sir. I love trying to lure the big bastards into the bay to see what happens. Me and my lieutenants place bets on whether or not there’ll be a shark attack. We read the paper the following evening to see who won,” he chuckled. “You have got to try body surfing with the sharks. Me and the old boys do this sort of rot all the time.”

  McGuire turned the bottle up to his mouth and took a deep swig, pointing at the sharks in the water. “They’re just like us: eating machines, never really sleep, gotta keep moving, hunting. They have awesome razors. Beautiful creatures. We weren’t a biological mistake. Predators are a part of the natural balance.” He winked.

  Carlos didn’t respond, just kept his gaze sweeping. “Wanna talk to you,” he said, swallowing away the bile that being near a sycophant caused. When McGuire moved back, lowered his bottle, and stopped smiling, Carlos sighed. This was like being in the Roman senate; everybody nervous all the time, everybody ready to do the next man for a price at the drop of an olive leaf. “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it,” he said, his gaze now on the other masters who’d gathered on a starboard deck.

  “What . . .” McGuire said, very quietly, glancing around as he stepped close to Carlos.

  “I’ve been in a very relaxed frame of mind since last night,” Carlos murmured, his eyes holding the Aussie’s. “My wife has been, too.” He paused, letting the impact of his words sink in. Then he smiled. “You watched my back, and I told all of you we would apportion territory according to merit.” He rubbed his jaw-line and dropped his voice, watching the wide eyes of McGuire the whole time he spoke. “We honestly hadn’t had the chance to discuss much else, but this was a priority to her . . . she appreciated your hospitality, and Evelyn’s. The little spat in the parlor was forgiven. She so loved being a part of the hunt . . . and the evening it inspired. Wants to thank you.”

  “Are you serious?” McGuire stepped even closer, profound appreciation in his gaze.

  “Ask me again if I’m serious, and I withdraw the offer.”

  “No worries. I accept.”

  “Good. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the little lady.” Carlos chuckled and slung an arm over the man’s shoulders and began walking, monitoring the silent bristle that action caused within the ranks. Very good. He could see Amin nearly drop fang with envy, but the Transylvanian was cool. Too cool. Master Xe just nodded as they approached. Carlos removed his arm from McGuire’s shoulders.

  “Gentlemen,” Carlos said, taking his time. “Thought it would be good to get out of the castle,” he added, sweeping his arms wide, with big smile. “After all the negotiations and stress, might do us well to get some fresh air on our faces, salt in our noses, and go into Sydney, proper. This party is for you, for good sportsmanship, cool vibes, and to a new empire with a new product that I think we’ll all enjoy.”

  They nodded, smiled, intrigue glinting off their fang tips, as they slipped out of the hold of several females to follow Carlos below deck to a stateroom. But as they did so, each master looked back toward their respective mates, who were feeding and otherwise indulging their own vices, as if to tell them to stay put, but stay alert. The mood on the ship instantly shifted among the top brass, while lower-level vamps and human helpers kept on partying.

  Carlos measured his footfalls, leading a pack of very dangerous entities across the polished wood, none casting shadows against the gleaming white walls and brass railings. He’d have to be sure to blot out Damali’s image on them.

  Open-air stairs gave way to polished walnut everywhere, red and gold appointments, and huge rooms. The massive vessel once owned by the now dusted U.S. master, Fallon Nuit, came as a part of the won territory, and had been good for something.

  As Carlos walked, he steadied his nerves. Making one more batch was imperative—half hits in a steel box in his pocket. He had to see how this shit reacted before he turned four masters loose on a crowd in the Opera House. No variables allowed. Plus, before Damali sent her team in there, he had to be sure full control was on his side.

  Tetrosky sat down first at the large oval table, leaned forward and made a tent with his fingers under his chin, and stared at the box Carlos slipped out of his pocket. The others sat slowly, each appraising the box with curiosity, and then glancing at Carlos.

  He took his time, drawing out the suspense, smoothing his electric-blue sharkskin suit, everything monochrome except his black leather Bally slip-ons, and smiled. This was his game. He knew this one well. The old boys were very new to how this shit worked—first hit’s on me.

  “I’m going to need a human helper from top deck,” he said calmly. “This product is too volatile for even me to handle . . . and I have to be able to allow my wife to perform on stage.” He chuckled, feeling their curiosity replace their ever-present envy for a moment. That was something he’d gambled on. When you’d seen it all, done it all, the only thing one had left to produce a rush was something new and hard to acquire.

  He waited for a young woman to grace them with her voluptuous, topless, white-thonged presence. She was all smiles, a brilliant dashing flash of perfect teeth, dark, moody eyes, and rush of brunette hair. Her nipples were coffee-bean brown, and her skin was a soft, perfect canvas of caramel. Carlos chuckled to himself. He was spoken for, but could still appreciate the best things life had to offer. This specimen of Caribbean East Indian finery would definitely help boost the product.

  She came
to sit in his lap, kissing his throat. He shook his head. “I’m mated, hon. Not the throat.” He sighed and helped her off his lap.

  “I’m going to re-allot the lands, and treat you all fairly,” he said, glancing at Master Xe. “We can talk about the Forbidden City later tonight or tomorrow night. That was rash, I agree.” He glanced at Master Amin, while feeling Xe’s body relax a bit. “Let’s have a real conversation about Gorey Island, man. I’m not greedy, and some things have been in your line for a long time, like London, and the mother state, Transylvania,” he added, motioning toward Tetrosky. “Just ask McGuire,” he said with a smile. “He’ll tell you I’m a man of my word.”

  Tetrosky stared at McGuire. “Noooo . . .” Then he shot his gaze around the table, before coming back to the Australian master to stare at him astonished.

  “This bastard is all right wi’ me, mate.”

  Carlos shrugged, and placed a hand on Amin’s shoulder. “It was protocol. The man hosted my first serious visit topside.”

  “You’ll have to come to the continent, then, for your second visit, and bring your lovely wife.”

  Carlos laughed and pounded Amin’s fist. “Yeah. We can do that.”

  “Russia is beautiful in the winter,” Tetrosky said, chuckling, “and I do believe this is how we lost all our lands in the first place.”

  Master Xe smiled and nodded toward the box. “A peace offering?”

  “Sí,” Carlos said, carefully placing the box in the young woman’s hand beside him. “Baby, go open it up by Tetrosky, since he lost the most. He should be first.”

  “What is it?” Tetrosky said, holding up his hand and stopping the woman’s approach. “I’m not about to poison myself,” he said, standing. “If you want to assassinate me, then do it outright.”

  Carlos just smoothed his tie, nonplussed. “Now, man, why after I already own all that you have, would I want to start some shit down at council by dusting you? Think about it. What purpose would that serve?” Carlos sighed. “Send in a lower-level male and test the product on him.”