Resistance (Dark Realm Series)

by Mason, Patricia

  RESISTANCE (The Dark Realm Series, Volume One)

  Copyright 2013 Patricia Mason

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Bonus: TRANSCRIPT OF AN INTERVIEW WITH A PRINCELY VAMPIRE.

  Author's Note

  Amazon Edition, Licensing Notes

  Prologue

  "All warfare is based on deception."

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  London, Dark Realm British Empire - 8 years ago.

  Hands covered my eyes from behind and my breath stopped.

  "Daddy." I jumped and twisted easily out of their slight pressure as I squealed with laughter.

  "Happy Birthday, lambkin." My father leaned down to press a gentle kiss against my forehead and then pulled away with a smile, the tips of his fangs just barely showing beneath the curve of his upper lip. My father might be a vampire but I loved him. I'd never known anything else. Besides, he'd always been so good to me despite my being human. My mother, on the other hand, expressed her dislike for me on a daily basis. But I knew that was just her jealousy. She couldn't seem to stand Daddy's love for me."

  I'd been adopted as an infant as part of Prince Leopold's Operation Re-parentage. The project required all human orphans be placed in aristocratic homes, giving them new hope for a future life. Before Operation Re-parentage, human orphans often died of neglect or found themselves scrounging for food on the streets. I'd been lucky to never have a day of hunger. Other humans had endured discrimination despite the passage of the Equal Protection Act of 1923 decades ago. Not me. The importance of my parents in society made me immune to ill treatment.

  Yes. I was very lucky.

  "You look so grown up, Amy." Daddy stepped back and considered me from head to foot.

  My new party dress was white silk and organza. It had a fitted bodice and was cinched at my waist by a scarlet belt tied in a bow. The billowing skirt flared out over a crinoline petticoat. My long, dark hair had been fashioned into my first updo, a French twist.

  He motioned for me to twirl and as I obeyed, the skirt billowed around my legs.

  "Is this your twenty-first birthday?" Daddy arched one black brow and a slight curve to his lips.

  "No, silly," I said, giggling. "I'm only turning thirteen."

  "Ah, yes." His smile widened into a grin fully revealing the sharp incisors. "How could I have been so mistaken?"

  In his tailor made tuxedo, with dark hair slicked back, my father was the handsomest of the vampire aristocracy. Of course, this was just my opinion and I might have been just a bit biased.

  My mother, Vera, stepped into the room dressed in a skin-tight evening gown— black to match her hair and eyes. "Alex, stop playing with...her and come along downstairs. Our guests have arrived. We are already late."

  "Fashionably so, my love." Daddy crossed the room and leaned toward her. Vera stretched up to him to meet his lips but his own grazed her cheek instead.

  "Besides, we have the guest of honor right here." He inclined his head toward me. "They will await our arrival for the party to truly begin."

  Daddy winked at me and held out a hand. I dissolved in giggles again. This brought a new scowl of disapproval from Vera as she stomped out. Skipping forward, I took his hand and the two of us followed Vera to the head of the grand staircase. At least thirty members of the aristocracy awaited us on the next floor down. I'd met a few of my parent's friends individually, but the occasion had been rare, and I'd never been with them in a group.

  As I stood there my knees began to shake. For the first time that night I was nervous. This would be my introduction to society and I wanted to make my parents—well, my father —proud.

  Music played and the gathered throng chatted. Long moments passed before we were spotted. The music stopped, as did the murmuring. Almost as one, they turned to stare up at us, eyes gleaming. They were all so beautiful, dressed in finery and jewels. All for me, and my birthday.

  Daddy put took my hand and put it around his arm before leading me down slowly. "Do not fret, my pet. They will all love you."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. Particularly someone very special."

  "Who?"

  "You shall see. Be patient."

  As we descended, the beautiful crowd began to applaud. When we were almost at the bottom the crowd parted and an elegant figure came toward us through the aisle they'd created. A young man, tall and graceful and fashionably pale. His hair was worn short and he had the slender moustache and goatee. This was the face on all the money of the realm, His Royal Highness, Prince Leopold.

  When I realized who stood before me, I almost tripped but my father held me up. I don't think anyone noticed my falter. We stopped in front of our monarch.

  "Ah, here she is," the prince said, a red glow lighting his eyes.

  "Majesty," I murmured as I gave a curtsey. A creditable effort, without a lurch or a stumble. "What an honor to have you attend my birthday party. Thank you."

  "Delectable Amy." Prince Leopold smiled, his fangs gleaming in the gas-lit room. "The pleasure is all mine."

  Chapter One

  "If ignorant of both your enemy and yourself, you are certain to be in peril."

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Eight years later...

  Happy sodding twenty-first birthday, I thought as I strode along London's Portobello Road, toward a meeting with a fire-spitting demon.

  "Thanks, but it's not my birthday," said my companion, Lt. Howard Driscoll, glancing over his shoulder at me as we walked.

  Bollocks! I'd spoken out loud.

  "Happy sodding Thursday, then, sir." I added that last bit because even though Driscoll was a jerk, he was still my superior officer in the Human Resistance London Regiment. Since he was at least eight years older than me, Driscoll's age and rank should've earned my respect, but somehow I hadn't been able to muster it up. He always seemed to do something I considered stupid or, even worse, reckless.

  Driscoll shook his head. "You're a strange one, Amy."

  "Corporal Amy," I muttered resenting Driscoll's typical condescending tone. The other soldiers in the Human Resistance knew me only by my rank. I wouldn't tolerate a last name. What name would I use, anyway? My vampire father's? Not bloody likely.

  "You're close though," Driscoll said with a chuckle. "My birthday is a month from today and I plan to have a big celebratory party."

  "As if anyone would attend your party," I muttered.

  "What?" Driscoll eyed me with surprise and then anger. Apparently, he wasn't such an arrogant sot that he couldn't figure out I'd insulted him.

  "Everyone will be too busy working on the general's spring offensive," I said.

  He smiled in reply seemingly satisfied by my explanation. "They'll make time for me," he insisted. "I'm very popular."

  I choked down a burst of laughter and turned it into a cough. Driscoll and his party, I thought with disgust. But then who was I to laugh at him? No birthday party had been planned in my honor this year.

  For a moment the memory of a party for a thirteen-year-old slipped into my mind and I ruthlessly shut it down. What a joke. Anyway, parties weren't for me. Frilly dresses didn't suit. I'd resemble a giraffe with a bow about its neck if I wore one.

  What was wrong with me? Sentiment usually wasn't my thing. Besides, in the British Empire of Dorcha, I should've been grateful just to be alive. Thanks to Prince Leopold, humans had become an endangered species. Making it to age twenty-one these days meant you were a tough fighter, an extremely lucky person, a genius inte
llect, or a bloody coward. I sought to qualify as the first, prayed for the second, had no hope of the third and I swore not to be the fourth.

  I'd been a Resistance soldier for the last five years and surviving on my own since three years before that. Again the memory of that party—my thirteenth birthday—threatened. Maybe those memories hovering at the edge of my mind was the reason I felt so soppy and mawkish today.

  Forget what happened, I commanded myself. Ha. I'd need a lobotomy for that.

  We reached a corner. Driscoll barreled forward, seemingly unaware of the surroundings and what might be lurking there. He made no attempt to hide his face. I took care to stay completely hidden under the hood of the sweatshirt I wore beneath my trench coat. Between the sweatshirt and the heavy black wool covering of the military style coat, I was adequately warm in the cold of the September night.

  I wore my long brown tresses swept into a style resembling a beehive with a swath hanging down my back. My hair was one of my vanities—along with cat eye makeup and ruby red lipstick. Although the hood crushed my hair, it also kept my identity from the eyes of every Tom, Dick and beastie at large in the London night. Not that the slit of a moon above provided much illumination, particularly given the foggy soup of cloud and soot hanging in the air. However, the odd gas street light with its winking flame cast a dim light and a human couldn't be too careful. Besides, most of those curious and covetous eyes were able to see in the dark. My profile couldn't be called low, though. The loud "thunk" of the heavy soles of my knee-high boots against the cobblestones did tend to announce my presence.

  "What's this bloke's name again, Amy?" Driscoll asked, as we neared our destination—the blackmarketeer's shop.

  "Corporal Amy," I corrected again as I hurried to keep up with him. "His name is Fenwick and he's not a bloke. He's a demon and he's not to be trusted." But then I distrusted all supernatural beings, vampires in particular...

  "Which vampire controls him?" Driscoll asked.

  "None." I restrained an eye roll. "He's a demon, not a ghoul."

  "What's the difference?"

  Was he kidding me? How had this prat survived this long?

  "Demons aren't created by a vampire like a ghoul. They spring fully evolved out of Hell. Fenwick is an independent contractor."

  "Oh. Righto." Driscoll nodded.

  "Do you have a plan for negotiating with him?"

  "A plan?" Driscoll's brows knit in confused creases.

  Having dealt with the little fire-spitter in the past, I knew the trick was to give Fenwick something, but not too much. He had to get just barely enough to satisfy him but not so much that he might think me weak. Show weakness and he'd be tempted to try to double deal, which usually entailed death or something more unpleasant.

  "We're just going to pay him for the information," Driscoll said. "We'll figure out how much when we get there."

  Brilliant. I hoped Driscoll's spontaneity wouldn't cost us more than gold coins.

  At the sound of clop, clop, clop accompanied by the roll of wheels on the cobblestones, I halted.

  "Wait." I snatched my companion from the street and into the shadowed doorway of the nearest building, ignoring his outraged cry.

  A carriage pulled by two huge black Belgians with red glowing eyes barreled past, trampling the spot we'd occupied just seconds before. The coat of arms on the door was blurred by the speed of the vehicle. Once the carriage had disappeared from sight, we emerged from shelter.

  Driscoll shrugged off my hold. "You didn't have to maul me, Amy."

  I bit my lip to keep myself from correcting him for the third time, as he walked off and I followed.

  "I wonder who was in the carriage," I said. "Must've been someone important since it was drawn by vampire horses."

  "Not necessarily." Driscoll sniffed derisively. "And not necessarily vampire horses."

  I snorted. "When was the last time you saw a living horse? They were consumed or converted long ago. Besides, didn't you see their glowing eyes?"

  Just then the smell of vomit and blood invaded my nostrils from nearby. I had to continue forward despite my own nausea, not wanting to lose Driscoll, but I tried to step carefully. Nevertheless, with my next stride, my foot must had to have landed on the blood, or at least some of it, because the psychic vibration of the blood's memory shot like a bullet through my brain, sending me a vision. A human—no more than age seventeen—had been taken on this spot.

  An image of the young man with chin-length golden blond hair flashed behind my eyes. Cameron...Cam...The name came to me. His name was Cameron McAlvy. So young.

  A dark hand, the fingers tipped with razor sharp four-inch claws, reached out and seized Cam, tangling in his hair. Obviously, this was a ghoul and his victim. Cam struggled against the hold and a chunk of his hair ripped out. The claws reached for the Cam's shoulder, slicing through the skin as it grasped him. The young man's pain, panic and fear were as acid in my throat. I knew what would happen next…The teeth biting into flesh.

  Help him! My inner voice screamed at me.

  Cam and his attacker were nowhere around. With deliberation, I tuned out the images. Nothing would help the victim now and the vibrations of a kill would destroy my hard fought veneer of nonchalance. The meeting with Fenwick demanded calm. I reminded myself that the demon's information could help many people, not just one. Still the fate of that one nagged at me.

  The old guilt again.

  I must've hesitated too long before moving again because Driscoll said with impatience, "What is it?"

  "Nothing." No one knew of my "talent" for reading blood. That and the crimson teardrops tattooed on my shoulder, each tear commemorating an individual vampire kill. I wanted to keep my various types of insanity to myself. Driscoll wasn't a friend to be confided in and the general harbored even more suspicions about the paranormal than I did. And if the general had suspicions about someone, they tended to disappear.

  Just a step ahead of me, Driscoll turned down a narrow alley, most of the length of which was shrouded in shadow and fog.

  Halting, I called to the Lieutenant, "Do you really think we should go this way?"

  Driscoll stopped and turned back to me with a glare. "This is the most direct route to Fenwick's shop."

  "I know." The statement was offered with a heavy side of sarcasm. "But if something comes at us in this alley there are only two ways out. Strategically, we can defend ourselves more easily on the streets." Why did I have to explain this to Driscoll? He should know better than I.

  "If something happens, I can handle it, " he said with irritating braggadocio and then continued into the dark passage. "Are you going to be insubordinate, Corporal?"

  "No...sir." I added his title grudgingly and then trudged forward. If he had to scold me, at least he'd remembered my rank.

  I'd never actually seen Driscoll in action, only heard the stories he told of his exploits. But I did know the number of comrades who'd died while on those missions with him. Even though I couldn't see the "dust" in this alley, I knew I didn't want to bite it.

  After about twenty meters, sickening chomping and slobbering sounds emerged from the fog. Behind the mist, we practically stumbled upon a figure with its back to us, hunched over and chewing upon the shoulder of a young man. The youth, his shirt half torn off, hung limply in the ghoul's macabre embrace. After a moment I realized how mistaken I'd been earlier in not allowing the "blood images" to play out completely in my mind. Had I done so I might have known they would be here. The ghoul and his victim I'd sensed earlier stood right here before me. Evidently the villain had decided to enjoy his tasty treat at leisure.

  The ghoul must have heard our approach. He stopped feeding. His head whirled toward us without releasing his hold on his victim. With fierce, yellow eyes he glared. Bloody lips bared to reveal pointed and deadly teeth as he growled at us. A ghoul was created by a vampire and operated under the complete control of their maker unless the vampire had been destroyed. Most ghouls curr
ently roaming London were under the control of Prince Leopold. This one was not garbed in a uniform but instead wore a gentleman's top hat and tailcoat under a grey overcoat, so his allegiance was unclear.

  "Leave them," Driscoll ordered and he skirted by to continue down the alley. "We don't have time for this."

  "Are you kidding?" I hissed, my hand going to the hilt of the silver dagger tucked in my waistband.

  The sagging blond head of the victim —Cam—tilted back and pleading eyes met mine. He gave a weak groan.

  "No," Driscoll said. "We're late. Leave them now. That is an order."

  The ghoul's bloody mouth twisted into a smirk and he chuckled.

  The general would probably agree with Driscoll. She'd often said our mission was to save humanity not individual humans. But fury pumped through my veins like an injection of nitroglycerin at the thought of just letting this boy die. I hadn't joined the Resistance to walk away while a ghoul slaughtered a human.

  Throwing off my coat, my fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger and I pulled the weapon free. I screamed a battle cry and charged the ghoul. If I could get a cut in before the much larger monster struck me, the silver of the blade would do much to disable him.

  Although extremely agile, ghouls were only marginally stronger than humans. They did, however, have the advantage of superhuman recuperative powers making them difficult to kill. Nevertheless, silver had a disabling effect. Silver wounds did not heal with the immediacy of those inflicted by normal weapons.

  The moment he realized I had not followed my orders, surprise registered on the ghoul's face. The smirk slipped away and he went wide-eyed and slack jawed. I was on him before he moved. I jabbed at his gut with the knife and the ghoul jerked to the side. Instead of a disabling wound, the blade merely slashed his forearm. The cut at least made him drop his hold on Cam and the youth slid to the ground in a heap.

  The ghoul swung at me. I swiveled under the arc of his arm as it came around his back. Another jab of the knife. This time a superficial, but no doubt painful, cut opened in his side. The ghoul screeched angrily and whirled around. He blocked a third swing of the knife and the dagger deflected and buried itself to the hilt in his thigh.