FALCON: Resistance (KBS Next Generation Book 1)

by Victoria Danann

  Her laughter quickly turned serious when she looked up into his eyes. “Just a taste before we go.”

  He passed his mouth over hers lightly as a brush of butterfly wings, but that almost non-existent touch set the nerve endings in her lips to tingling, begging for more. Harder. His face loomed less than an inch above hers. With shuttered eyes and rapid breaths, he waited patiently for her to come to him.

  When she raised her head to close the difference between them, he groaned at the pleasure of reconnecting and confirming that their first kiss really had been as explosive as fireworks. He deepened the kiss, tongue pressing against hers, begging for more.

  Her body took on an agenda of its own, acting out the most ancient play between men and women. She arched into him. He shifted and ground in return. When they broke free, panting, he said, “Do you feel that?”

  She didn’t play dumb and ask what. She simply said, “Yes.” They both knew that the chemistry they were sharing was something few people were ever lucky enough to find.

  “I’m so glad that…”

  After a pause, she prompted. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He smiled and pulled back so that he could stand. Her body protested the loss of his warmth. “We really do have to get back.”

  She rose and began helping pack up. She folded the blanket while he put food and drink back in the basket. When he started toward the whister, she stood frozen in place.

  He turned around to say, “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I just don’t want to leave.”

  Smiling, he set the basket down and closed the distance between them in seconds. He pulled her in for another kiss that left her breathless then said, “If you feel that way, we’ll come back.”

  “Promise?”

  A lot of guys would have shrunk from hearing that one word question on a first official date, but not Falcon. It thrilled him to his scuffed boot-covered toes. He leaned his forehead against hers. Without a single misgiving he said, “Promise.”

  Looking down at her, he added, “Unless you want to be the cause of a dishonorable discharge…”

  “No, sir. I do not want to be the cause of that. Race you to the contraption.”

  She took off, running awkwardly with an armload of blankets. He was almost as awkward carrying an extra large, heavy picnic basket. But they both laughed all the way.

  On the flight back Gretchen was happily drowsy, constantly conflicted between staring at the unmatched beauty of a rural fall in New England and Falcon’s profile. She studied his high cheekbones, his chiseled jaw that jutted proudly like masculine plumage, the shape of his full lips that felt even better than they looked.

  At times, when he felt her stare, he would look over and smile, clearly enjoying both the attention and being admired. She knew that making it obvious how much she liked him, was beyond all conventional wisdom about rules of courting. She wondered why such an old-fashioned word had come to mind and then wondered if that was what she really wanted. To be courted by Kristoph Falcon.

  “You sleepy?” he asked.

  “I had a thrilling flight, a row on a cold lake, a big and satisfying lunch, a tantalizing kiss, and wine right out of the bottle. I’m feeling dreamy as can be.” He grinned. “It’s been the best day ever.”

  His gaze slid to hers. He didn’t say anything verbally, but she got the message. His eyes said he felt the same way.

  Her intellectual side told her not to trust what she was feeling. Real love couldn’t happen so fast. Could it?

  When they landed, the only thing Falcon could think about was the unanswered question. Would she or wouldn’t she be coming to his bed that night? He’d squirmed in his seat most of the way back to J.U., the idea of coupling with the sensuous creature in the co-pilot seat overriding all other thoughts.

  Unfortunately all hopes of a deeper acquaintance with the beautiful Director were dashed within a minute of cutting the engine. He had Gretchen’s hand under the pretense of helping her get out when long-time pilot, Paddy Kerouac, came up behind them.

  “Sorry about this, but I gotta have you tonight, Kris. Jimmy’s on the way to the hospital with his wife. She’s having a baby. And Mart’s come down with a bug of some kind.”

  Falcon kept his features stoic, but the disappointment he felt, having his perfect day cut short at the knees, was staggering. “What about Wakey?”

  “Been trying to get him for a couple of hours. He’s gone radio silent.”

  Kris frowned at that. It wasn’t like Wakey to be out of communication for that long, but he guessed Wakenmann had the same rights to coital bliss as he did.

  He sighed and looked at Gretchen, who gave a sympathetic shrug.

  “Okay,” he said. “Can’t be helped.” He looked at his watch. “I’m going to see the lady home then I’ll be back.”

  Walking down the hallway to her apartment she said, “I guess this is the downside to being able to pilot one of those things.”

  “Yeah.”

  When they reached her door, she said, “I hope the upside was worth it. I’ll never forget today.”

  “Just so you don’t, I’m leaving this stuff with you. Whenever you smell fried chicken or see apple pie, you’ll think of me.”

  She laughed. “Okay. Come in and leave it on the kitchen counter.”

  He entered behind her and looked around. He hadn’t known what to expect until he was looking at her home, then he knew it looked just like he’d thought it would on some level. Upholstered furniture in bold English florals that were classic and feminine, but not overmuch. He smiled at the vase of burnt orange peonies sat on the dinette. Peonies. He should have guessed. She was lush and special and boldly extravagant like a hothouse flower.

  A giant canvas reproduction of a Degas painting hung on the living room wall and drew the eye. A ballerina dressed to dance Carmen was sitting facing a mirror, presumably putting the final touches to her makeup even though her face couldn’t be seen.

  “You like ballet?” Falcon asked.

  “Hmmm?” She looked up from taking things out of the basket. He thought she seemed surprised by the question. He nodded toward the painting. “Oh, no. I, well, I don’t dislike ballet, of course. I just liked what I imagine is going on in her head. The anticipation?” She shrugged and smiled. “Hard to explain.”

  “Sorry to end the day like this,” he said as he joined her in the kitchen.

  Sensing he was about to go, she stopped what she was doing and gave him a pretty roll of her shoulder. “Always leave them wanting more.”

  He took her forearm and pulled her into his body. Her arms automatically went around his neck as his encircled her ribcage. “I’m definitely leaving wanting more.”

  He treated her to another of his staggering kisses leaving her wondering how he could possibly make each one better than the last. This one was agonizingly slow and tender, giving the illusion that he didn’t have somewhere else to be, people waiting for him.

  “Guess it goes without saying that I wish I was staying in tonight.”

  “Hey. Look at it this way. We didn’t have to have the conversation about how I don’t put out on the first date.”

  “Is that a rule or a guideline?”

  She wiggled against him, making him groan. “Where everyone else is concerned it’s a rule.”

  “You’re a mean, mean woman. How can I leave after the suggestion that policy doesn’t apply to me?”

  She grew serious. “I had fun, Kris.”

  He gave her another quick kiss and brought the self-discipline acquired on the way to becoming a Black Swan knight to bear on pushing away from her and walking backwards toward the door.

  “Be careful out there,” she said.

  “Sleep tight.”

  Looking around at the empty apartment after he’d shut the door, she thought she’d never heard silence make its own kind of sound before. She knew she couldn’t stay in or she’d eat the other half of the pie. So she headed dow
nstairs to the media center. A small popcorn and a movie would have to do as a substitute ending for the best date ever in the history of dating.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was a little after four in the morning. Jax had crossed the Williamsburg Bridge to downtown Brooklyn. He’d taken a look around and was about to head back to Manhattan when he caught sight of a couple of deadheads in an alley. They looked around, presumably to make sure they weren’t seen, then opened a door and went inside. The vampire virus didn’t leave them with much cognitive functioning, but they did demonstrate the same survival instincts as most mammals.

  Jax immediately tapped into his custom-made knight-finder app to see who was closest. U Team. He texted his location and waited. Fifteen minutes later U Team arrived. Jax hadn’t met them so he introduced himself, showed them the door and told them what he’d seen. He said he’d go first. It seemed like a good plan given that none of them had any idea what they’d find on the other side of the door.

  Among Jax’s arsenal of unusual talents, like being able to see in the dark, he was immune to the deadhead virus. He could be bitten, of course. And no doubt it would hurt like the Dickens. But he’d heal quickly and wouldn’t suffer any lasting effect. U Team didn’t have to be convinced. They gladly followed.

  The door they went through in that Brooklyn alley had originally served as the stage door for a theater opened during the good times of 1927. It had been a grand venue decorated with a Greco garden motif. It had four levels of seating; orchestra, mezzanine, lower and upper balcony.

  During the sixties it was converted to show big screen movies. During the nineties it was repurposed as a concert venue, but after a couple of incidents of disruptive behavior that ended in damage to the building and occupants, it was closed. To discourage vandalism, the marquee was removed and a solid tile façade was erected in front of the building. The misdirection did its job. Without windows or doors the theater drew no notice and so it went dormant, an architectural jewel left to ruin.

  Jax went through the alley door into a hallway with small rooms on either side, rooms that had, over the course of the life of the building, been dressing rooms, offices, and storage closets. With a quiet that could only be achieved by a vampire, Jax removed his sunglasses and put them away. He stood still and cocked his head to the side, listening for a clue as to where they might find the two vampire who’d entered the building.

  Nothing.

  Jax took a left turn down a short hallway that deadended into a navy blue velvet curtain. He pulled it aside and looked around, immediately identifying what he was seeing as a theater’s tomb. It was as empty as it was desolate.

  He stepped out into a wide aisle. U Team were close behind with pen lights designed to give off as much light as a heavy duty lantern.

  Too late Jax realized that he hadn’t led the knights into a daytime hideaway for two deadheads. First he heard the shuffle above. The mezzanine was overhanging the orchestra section where they were standing.

  “GET BACK!” Jax yelled. “GET OUT NOW!”

  He turned, pushing the knights behind him toward the exit, but in truth, it had been too late the minute they set foot in the old theater. Dozens of virus mutants dropped down from the mezzanine. He tried to keep them away from the knights long enough for the hunters to escape back to the safety of the alley, but there were too many.

  He didn’t know how many. Hundreds certainly. Happily hiding their days away in the old forgotten theater.

  He managed to get the four knights bottlenecked into the narrow hallway on their way to the exit, Kell between them and a thousand deadheads, but it was too late. All five of them had been bitten, but only one would live to tell about it.

  The knights stood in the alley and stoically said their goodbyes. Then Kell drove each knight’s own stake into his heart and called Glen to send a van. The van driver and his co-worker eyed Kell’s ripped clothes, but said nothing as they silently piled the deceased knights in the back of the van they used to cart vampire carcasses away.

  Jax watched the van go. He stood there immobile for a while before rushing across the Brooklyn bridge with supernatural speed.

  At five o’clock Falcon returned to the downtown Brooklyn whister port to pick up the last team and shuttle them back to J.U. for the night according to the schedule Page had given him eleven hours before. He landed and waited for a half hour, but nobody showed. Finally, he called the flight office.

  “Nobody here, Page. What do you know about U Team’s whereabouts?”

  There was a pause before the flight coordinator answered. “Not coming, Falcon. They’re dead. Every one of them.”

  Falcon felt a cold chill invade him temporarily paralyzing both body and brain. When he regained his ability to speak, he said, “What happened?”

  “Why don’t you ask your friend, the talker?” Matt Page said, then ended the call.

  “What the…?”

  He looked at the phone like it had caused the offense and dialed Glen.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s going on? Page says something happened to U Team.”

  “It’s bad, Kris. All dead. They responded to a call from Kell.”

  “Give me his number.”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea. Since there’s nobody alive to tell me what happened…”

  “Jax is alive. Right? Give me his number. Let me find out what happened.”

  “What if he led them into a trap? What if he killed them himself?”

  “How did you find out about it?”

  There was a slight pause before Glen said, “He called it in.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said U Team were attacked. He couldn’t save them. They were… infected. He put them down with their own stakes.”

  “How did he sound?”

  “Sound?”

  “Yeah. Did he sound like he was delivering the evening news?”

  “I can’t draw conclusions based on my perception of how somebody sounds on the phone.”

  “I know. I know. But you got a feel for it. I know you did.”

  “Off the record and confidential.”

  “You got it.”

  “He wasn’t happy.”

  “Good enough. I’m going to set a meet and talk to him. I’ll bring the bird back after.”

  “Kris…”

  “Sovereign. Give me the number. Please.”

  “I hope the gods have your back on this, hunter. You’re taking a big risk to try to prove that this creature didn’t betray us.”

  “I can’t explain it. I just… think… he didn’t.”

  “Well, it’s either lucky or unlucky for you that you work for the kind of outfit that respects hunches. Texting you the number. You better keep me posted.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  Falcon sat in the pilot seat of the whister, alone on a rooftop and stared at his phone as the predawn light was gaining strength. U Team were about the same age as B Team. They’d retired and been called back up. Thinking about a whole team buying it all at once… He wasn’t sure that had ever happened before.

  He took a deep breath, tried to get grounded, and called Jaxon Kell.

  The phone rang endlessly. No greeting had been set up. He supposed that Kell wasn’t expecting anybody to leave him messages.

  He called Glen back.

  “What?”

  “He’s not picking up. Look at the app and tell me where he is.”

  After a couple of minutes, Glen said, “Well, the fact that he didn’t turn the app off is in his favor. If he remembered that we can track him as long as he has the phone on him just like he can track the vam… deadheads. Believe it or not he’s across the river. At Washington Park.”

  “Yep. Thanks again.”

  Falcon started the whister, and flew over the East River to Manhattan. There was a whisterport near Greenwich. He set down there and hit the street. Ten minutes later his long legs had brought him to the park.

/>   Kell wasn’t that hard to find. He was sitting on a bench near the arch. The grays of early morning were starting to give way to suggestions of color. Enough so that Falcon could see blood on the vampire’s face and the fact that his clothes had been all but shredded.

  Six o’clock on Sunday morning was undoubtedly the most deserted hour of the week for the park. Still, there were people coming and going.

  Falcon took a seat next to him.

  “You heard,” Kell said.

  “Heard something. What are you doing?”

  “People watching.”

  “Why?”

  “Got to do something until the bars open in another,” he looked at his watch, “forty-three minutes.”

  “Gonna get drunk? Can you get drunk?”

  Jax didn’t move the arm he had draped over the back of the bench on which he was sitting, but lifted a shoulder a couple of inches in a half-hearted shrug. “It’s not easy, but I’m willing to put in the effort.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think anybody’s going to let you into a drinking establishment looking the way you do.” Jax looked down at himself as if he wasn’t aware that his clothes had been ruined. “Tell me what happened.” Jax sighed, but didn’t speak. “People are going to blame you if you don’t talk.”

  “They’re going to blame me anyway, aren’t they?” He turned his head toward Falcon. “And maybe they should.”

  Falcon had to admit that talking to the vampire while he had blood on his face was unnerving, but he didn’t think that was the most important thing at the moment. “Lay it out there. Let me be the judge of whether they should or not.”

  Jax looked away from Falcon. “Strange that they call a place that’s been completely paved over a park, isn’t it? More like a parking lot.”

  Kris looked around them. “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Did you know those guys?”

  “U Team? I knew them to speak to. Not really well.”

  “I wonder if they had people.”

  “People? You mean like, ah, wives?”