by Megan Parker
He was expecting to die; expecting—and, as he could now see, planning—how the clan would run without him.
The memory of Gregori’s body the night they found him, riddled with magic-laced bullets and decapitated, sent another violent tremor through his body and he howled in rage and pain.
He’d known!
Gregori had known his life was in danger!
That steps had to be taken—actions ensured—for when that happened!
And that meant it could have been prevented!
And that meant Zane had failed him…
Snarling at the realization, he glared down at the letter and every word that now shrieked accusations in his mind and frantically began tearing it to shreds. With every fury-fueled tear, his claws grew from his rapidly warping fingers that eventually were too gnarled to grip the pieces any longer. As the confetti ribbons of Gregori’s dying request rained down on Zane’s floor, his body surged forward and he cried out in rage and pain; his own voice already shifting and sounding foreign to him.
“N-n-nnnnNO!” he grabbed his head and pressed against his temples, “N-nnot here!” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to stop the beast. He couldn’t allow it to come out here; not within the clan’s walls. Not with all his unsuspecting comrades within range!
For once, the monster seemed to listen and the chaos beneath his flesh stopped trying to rip through the surface.
His tattoos had just shifted back to their black hue when his cell phone began to ring and he snarled at the sudden noise’s assault against his still-sensitive hearing and he struggled to suppress the urge to smash the iPhone into a fine powder like he had with so many phones before it. Though he was able to keep from crumbling the device into pieces upon snatching it up, the force was enough to start a network of spider web-like cracks that formed along the screen from the force of his grip.
He glanced down at the fragmented caller-ID and forced his eyes to see through the distortion of broken glass and rage to read “Unknown caller”. Growling again, slammed a twitching thumb against the “talk” button.
“Who the fuck is this?” he roared into the receiver.
The phone was silent for a moment and Zane felt his anger rise with every second he was forced to endure the silence. Finally a cold and calculated voice picked up:
“I’m calling on behalf of my masters to suggest that you and the others of the Vail Clan adhere to the laws of our people, or we will be forced to step in and handle the situation. You have failed to follow proper protocol concerning the passing of your leader and if you do not comply with these laws you and your comrades will be considered rogues to The Council and persecuted as such. Our records show that Council-member Keith Vailean is Gregori’s successor, and we’re well aware that no attempt has been made to contact him concerning these matters. I feel it’s only fair to warn you that Keith is not known within our ranks as having patience for—”
“You and Keith can go fist-fuck yourselves! Our clan—with or without Gregori—is strong enough to deal with you pussy-footed boot-lickers, and we are not about to hand ourselves over to some spoiled scab-eater who was lucky enough to get a seat with The Council! I’m well-aware of Keith’s reputation and have been requested by Gregori, himself, not to give him control. I have it on good faith that you’re his leech and that means your authority amounts to jack-shit without a unanimous ruling from the other Council chairs! So unless you’ve got all the signatures from those that matter I suggest you and your leash-holder either silence your empty threats or bring them to our front door and see how long it takes us to rip you to pieces! You tell him that Daddy knew better and those who are loyal to his memory will not be going down without a fight!” He screamed, his voice warping into a full growl.
There was a long silence on the other end as his words registered. Finally, the speaker cleared his throat and began to speak with a wavering voice; “I will trust that wiser minds exist amongst you to speak on the clan’s behalf. It would be wise to pass along this message to somebody willing to take the situation into greater consideration, lest a great number of your people be forced to suffer solely as a consequence of your arrogance.”
The line went dead then and Zane, unable to control himself any longer, snarled and gripped the phone tighter and tighter until it fell from his palm in pieces. He watched as the remains of the device scattered across the floor.
So much for all the anger management Gregori had been putting him through.
But he didn’t care about the phone or the cost to replace it and however many more he’d certainly destroy in the future. Only one thing was clear in his mind at that point…
He wanted… no, needed a drink.
The walk was torturous for Zane and, having the forethought to do so, he had brought along a bottle of Gregori’s old stock to numb the process. While he was sure the origins of the fantastic liquor had Zoey’s name written all over it, it had been Gregori who’d introduced him to his private stash—a pantry of unlabeled bottles that his mentor had always referred to as “Spirits for the spiritless”—a pitch-black liquor that reeked of petrol and tasted like a rotting therion’s asshole. While the experience of drinking it was nothing short of agonizing and a single shot of the stuff would probably kill a human in seconds, it was the perfect thing—hell, the only thing!—to get past a vampire’s superhuman system and get them drunk. Chugging down the last drop of the wretched nectar, he felt his face contort as the fire hit his gut and let out a pained-yet-satisfied groan as it started to take effect. Then, throwing it into the nearest trashcan nearby, he reveled in the sound of the shattered glass and the panicked shrieks and bustling of several rats that had been scavenging nearby.
Satisfied that he had enough of a buzz going to make the scene in style, he stumbled into his favorite bar and cursed as the shift in light assaulted his drunken gaze for a moment. He blinked a few times and tried to coax his eyes to adjust faster for him. When he could finally see well-enough to navigate, he worked his way to his favorite stool and motioned to the bartender.
The decrepit German behind the bar glanced wearily at him and shook his head. Zane smirked wickedly. The old man hated him, and if he hadn’t before, then the past few visits had definitely done the trick. Though he wasn’t sure if he’d try to call the cops on him after the outcome from his last visit, Zane was too invested on drowning his thoughts to consider going somewhere else. As his usual—a pint of the cheapest beer on tap and a shot of the bar’s best bourbon—was being set in front of him, the bartender leaned in close enough for Zane to smell the sauerkraut and scotch in his words.
“We aren’t in for a problem t’night, are we boy?”
Zane chuckled and shook his head, “You leave that bottle right here where it belongs and I’ll be quiet as a fucking mouse, Mein Fuhrer!”
The bartender frowned at Zane’s choice of words but only gave a gentle nod before setting the nearly-full bottle of premium bourbon in front of him and turning away. “See to it that ye are! I want to be able t’ forget yer even here, boy!” then, as a second thought, “And ye’d better be able to pay for that, er else I’m pressin’ charges fer sure!”
“Yea yea, Adolf! I got more than enough to buy this and the rest of your stock! Now get lost!” Zane grunted and rolled his eyes as he grabbed the bottle of A.H. Hirsch Reserve in his left hand as he downed the pint of Red Dog in a single gulp with his right. When he was certain the old man wasn’t looking he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small vial of concentrated “spiritless” that he’d snatched from Gregori’s stash and dumped the contents into the bourbon.
Giving the bottle a gentle swirl, he watched as the dark vortex of elixir blended with the smooth color of the alcohol before the contents unified to a single shade of amber. He glared at the bottle and its contents then, hoping that his efforts wouldn’t be in vain and that he might actually be able to numb the curse. He’d been holding in his rage—holding back what the magic inside
of him demanded to shift him into every moment of every day—and the ongoing effort and the recent turn of events were taking a massive toll on him. Though it had barely been a full day since he’d last lost control—a loss of control that had nearly leveled an entire city block and sent one of the biggest therions he’d ever seen crying home with piss-stained pants—it was becoming obvious that it had only whetted its appetite for death and destruction rather than sating it.
And now he had the added stress of Gregori’s wayward daughter and his power-abusing bastard of a son. The whole mess was enough to make him want to hand the reigns over to what writhed within him and take a little vacation in the back of his own mind; anything to rid him of the incessant burning in his skin and the burden of thought and responsibility! As the fumes of his rage made clear thoughts hazy, his tattoos continued to burn with their toxic inferno and driving him deeper into a place he knew he shouldn’t go. Pulling his sleeves down in an effort to hide the cursed ink from both himself and the bar’s patrons, he reflected more on the memories of the previous night.
To what lengths would the beast have gone if Zoey hadn’t been there to stop him…
Groaning, he took a long, hard pull from the bottle and shook his head.
“Fuck me sideways!” he muttered to himself, “What a mess!”
An undetermined length of time passed as he focused on not thinking about everything that was happening and putting as much of the supernaturally-spiked liquor into his system as possible. Finally, as he struggled to read the blurred label of a bottle behind the bar and wondering if the fat, old woman on the other side of the bar would be up for a quickie in the bathroom, he discovered that the bottle was empty and that he was officially and utterly wasted. Staring apprehensively at it, he was distantly aware of a lanky woman that was standing over him. He looked up at her, trying to focus past his foggy vision and an over-abundance of perfume. Between the sickeningly sweet floral stench, the dizzying effects of his cocktail, and his spinning head, he considered it a miracle that he wasn’t already sick, but something in the woman’s scent seemed to entice the beast and he realized that he might be able to bargain with it further if he gave it what it wanted.
“Care to join me outside?” She purred and leaned down, giving him a clear view of her assets through her V-neck and getting her painted lips dangerously close to his ear, to whisper “I know what you are, and I’m not afraid.”
“Oh? You’re not afraid, huh?” he scoffed and shook his head, noticing the bartender already glaring at him, “Then you obviously have no idea what I am!” He turned away from the old man and smirked. His body was alert and responding to the potential for both sex and blood, and he knew that his eyes had already begun to glow. As he grinned, he felt his canines extend and allowed them to show slightly through parted lips.
Cooing at the show, she stepped back and playfully covered her mouth mock-surprise. “Oh my! You look parched! Perhaps I should give you a drink.” She tapped her index finger against her throat and winked at him, “I know exactly what you’re thirsty for, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“Ah! I get it! You’re some kind of a pervert, right? You’ve got some kind of fucking feeder-fetish, or something?” He grumbled and looked away, disregarding his body’s complaints over how long it had it been since he’d had real blood and not some synthetic crap that Zoey made in a lab. Though every fiber of his body was urging him to take her up on the offer, he remained seated; sneering at the idea of taking this bitch’s charity just so she could get her rocks off. The whole notion was fucking disgusting, and the reality that some humans not only knew about them but actually sought them out posed a threat to their secrecy and opened the floodgates for the potential for careless second-generation sangs to inadvertently put countless numbers of freaks on the streets, and an army of mindless, insatiable.
Those ravenous third-generation vampires were nothing short of Hell on earth for any living thing in their path.
Like he didn’t have enough problems already!
Zane growled and turned back to the woman to deny her the feed.
He was a split-second away from turning down the offer and telling off the woman when the beast surged forward and answered for itself. Having no control of his own actions, he rose from the stool and grabbed the woman’s wrist and began to pull her outside. While he was neither subtle nor gentle, she didn’t protest and nobody in the bar tried to stop him as he escorted her out the door.
He’d had enough with being nice, anyway!
“I love your tattoos!” she purred when he’d finally gotten her to a secluded area in the parking lot, “I think vampires with ink are so sexy! You don’t usually see too many, though, because of how fast your kind heal…” She caressed the exposed markings on his neck with her palms before moving to bring her lips to them.
“Don’t do that!” He growled, slapping his hand over her mouth and pushing her away before she had a chance to kiss him. His vision cleared and the darkness receded as his eyes sparked with fury and narrowed at her. “If there is one rule that you should recognize it is this; do not touch them! Ever!”
She pouted and opened her mouth to protest his ruling. Not interested in anything she had to say, he returned his hand to her mouth to stop her voice. Feeling the warmth of her breath against his hand, he groaned and felt his fangs fully extend and winced slightly at the pain in his gums. Eyeing a prime spot on her shoulder, he moved in to pull her collar away; feeling a shiver travel through him as she let out a soft-yet-eager whimper and arched her neck to give him greater access. Moving his hand to her neck, he scratched her to open a gash so that he could drink. She gasped at the process, moaning and writhing as her blood began to seep to the surface and pushed towards him with growing anticipation. Not wanting to let her determine his pacing, he growled and pinned her to the wall to keep her from moving so he could coax his fangs back and calculate how he fed. If he allowed his saliva to enter her bloodstream, he’d risk turning her, and while the beast was giddy at the thought of creating a mindless killing machine solely to kill it, he fought the urge and pulled out the empty vial that he’d brought with him and moved to collect her blood inside it.
The woman whimpered as he went about the task and tried to push his hand away, “Wh-what are you doing? I want your mouth! Use your mouth! I need it!”
“Shut up! This is for your safety, idiot!” He held her down long enough to fill the vial and brought it to his lips to drink, finally getting the first drop of real blood onto his tongue.
Then he stopped.
He wretched and pulled away, tossing the vial and its contents to the ground and heaving. The blood! It was wrong! Oily and bitter and hot; too hot!
It wasn’t human!
He snarled, spitting the lingering offense from his mouth again and again, as he narrowed his eyes at the woman; the therion!
The beast inside him, robbed of its chance to feed, shifted its focus from drinking her blood to spilling it. Growling, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her against the wall with enough force to chip some of the bricks on the edge. She cried out, her eyes flashing momentarily with her true nature, as she gnashed her teeth at him and began to struggle against his grip.
“Let me go!” she shrieked, her voice shifting noticeably from her once sensual one to something far more bestial.
He hissed and tightened his hold, their struggle being spotlighted by his now-glowing tattoos. There was only one truth in his mind; one thing that he needed to focus on…therions were the enemy!
“Not fucking likely, bi—”
“Are you enjoying yourself, Zane?” A mocking voice interrupted from a short distance away.
Keith!
The unmistakable face of Gregori’s son sneered at him; his greasy blonde-white hair slicked back and allowing the pretentious gaze of his blood-red irises to take the spotlight on his narrow, jagged face.
Both Zane and the beast within him agreed that their violent foc
us had a better and more deserving target. Still snarling, he pushed the therion away and spat at her, “Get lost, mutt!” he spat, shoving her to the ground. The faint hiss of a silenced gunshot sounded a split-second before a bullet grazed his shoulder and he let out a loud growl as his body began to shake more. Turning his attention to the still-smirking Keith, he shook his head, glaring at the sleek pistol in his grip and felt his body’s tremors double in intensity.
He wasn’t going to be able to keep his rage contained.
Not this time.
Zane shook his head, trying to hold himself together, “Is this how somebody with a seat in The Council behaves when there are innocents around?”
“Innocents! Innocents? I see no innocence here! How ‘bout you, girl? Is there any innocence in there?” Keith cackled and drove his gaze into the therion girl, “Come now, my pet! Show our friend what you are! Give him a glimpse of all that you truly can be!”
Zane frowned and looked over as the girl twitched and her eyes went glassy and empty before flashing brightly with the excitement of an awakened killer and her body began to shift and contort.
Zane frowned at the scene; something wasn’t right. The way the therion’s expression remained locked on him despite the violent transformation taking place was unnatural. Glancing back, he saw that Keith’s gaze matched her own—his body rigid with focus and determination—and Zane realized that he’d taken control of her body; forcing her to do what he wanted with his aura! Though he couldn’t see it in this form, he guessed that Keith’s aura was extended and holding her mind from where he stood.
Taking several steps away from the woman as her body’s spasms shifted her into a cat-like beast, Zane reached slowly in his coat to grab his Glock. Seeing the movement through the therion’s eyes, the pair began to cackle as one before a clawed hand shot out at him and snatched away his gun, crushing the barrel and rendering it useless.
“Th-that”—Zane’s face tightened and he felt a portion of his skull fracture over his left ear—“w-wa—Wwaaahhh!!—was our…” he snarled, pitching his head back-and-forth, and punched himself several times in his left temple, “My! That was my f-f-favorite gun!” he took a step towards Keith just as his right knee turned to dust and he was forced to kneel as a shriek of agony was drawn out. “GAH! FUCKING SHIT! Y-you… g-go-godDAM fucking shit-eatingGGAH!” his other knee gave out and his warping face crashed into the pavement and shattered his nose. A stream of howls and curses—choked and rendered indecipherable by the blood pooling in his throat—streamed forth right before a torrent of blood shot from his fresh bullet-wound as the muscles inflated all at once and rolled him to his side.
