Blood Rogue, #1

by Linda J. Parisi

  He inclined his head but drew his brows together as if he had a problem. “I have a favor to ask. Would you mind driving? My car is in the garage of my building. We’d have to walk a ways to get it. Or Uber.”

  “Sure.” She turned, and Chaz followed, admiring the view before falling into step next to her. That long stride of hers nearly matched his. “You had everyone going, you know.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My friends. They’re not exactly subtle.”

  He lifted his eyebrows, hoping he appeared ignorant or innocent, but she didn’t seem to buy it.

  “Come on. You mean you didn’t see the drool all over the floor? Kelly tried to chain you to her.”

  “That’s why I stood next to you. I’m not interested in the obvious.”

  “Okay. So if I’m not obvious?” she asked, heading down another block. “What exactly am I?” She stopped next to a beat-up Jeep.

  A word popped into his head, and he hated it immediately. “Intelligent. Strong. Beautiful.”

  She tipped her chin, head tilted, eyes widened, and huffed. “Really?”

  “Really,” he repeated. He climbed in the passenger side while she got in behind the steering wheel. As she put the key in the ignition, he covered her hand with his. Her gaze lifted, filled with confusion, anticipation, and a bit of curiosity. He leaned in and breathed in her scent, a heady mixture of expensive perfume and hormones. Her skin pebbled as he blew lightly on her cheek. Chaz heard the distinct rhythm of her heart as it hammered in her chest, which rose and fell with short rapid breaths.

  His incisors grew, and he swiped a taste of her neck. Perfect.

  She moaned as he bit down. God, she tasted sweet. Much more like dessert than a meal. He sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, and her heart slowed, pounding in his ears to the same rhythm as the city.

  Chaz.

  He reared back away from her neck. Had he taken too much? Horror filled his gut. No, her flesh was still warm, pulse low and steady, eyes closed.

  Thank God.

  He leaned over again and bit down, but this time it was to give her the Lethe, the drug that would make her forget he ever existed. He admired her beauty one last time, then reached in her purse and found her driver’s license, committing her address to memory. Shouldn’t have done that, Charles. He climbed out of the car and placed the bag of coffee in the crook of her arm. She would wake up in about an hour or so and not remember a thing.

  Damn. That sucked.

  Chaz walked home deep in thought. He couldn’t get Stacy out of his head. He replayed every moment they spent together, and then he remembered a small detail he must have disregarded. She was a scientist and a cop? What if she could help him understand what was happening to his people, why there were more rogues now than he’d seen in the last three hundred years? The idea tantalized. Then his stomach hollowed. He’d be putting her in grave danger. The Council would never allow a human to know about them.

  But she was strong. A police officer. She’d be able to stand up to The Council.

  And if they decided to end her life anyway?

  Chaz shuddered. Then his cell phone buzzed. He stared at the number and smiled. “Pitch?”

  “Charles Tower, as I live and breathe.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Semantics.”

  “Captain Pritchard. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I’m at your place. Apparently, you’re not.”

  Chaz smiled. “I will be in two or three minutes. It’s been a long time. You slumming?”

  “Uh, no.” Pitch hesitated.

  “What’s going on?”

  “When you get here, Chaz. When you get here.”

  Pitch wanted to talk in private? His stomach clenched. He walked as fast as he dared without attracting too much attention and made it home in two minutes.

  With the sun having set, a chill breeze picked up, adding to his unease. A police siren sounded in the distance, reminding him of his duty to protect, making him wonder if there was another rogue they needed to put down. Pitch pushed off the wall and stepped out of the shadows when he arrived at his building. Black hair pulled into a knot at the nape of his neck, slight of build, but with a wiry strength and determination that just wouldn’t quit, Pitch was the one vampire Chaz would always want guarding his back.

  He clapped his friend on the shoulder, gave him a quick hug, and opened the door. “Smells like you just fed.”

  Her address was a burned tattoo inside his brain. “I did. Do you need to go out and come back?”

  “Nah. If I leave, I’m not planning on coming back. You feel me, bro?”

  Chaz winced. There was something out and out wrong about a Colonial Army Captain trying to mimic modern slang. He stepped into the elevator, and Pitch followed. Still curious and out of sorts from wishing he was with Stacy and not Pitch, he didn’t say anything. He opened the door to his loft and walked up to a credenza, opened a drawer, and pulled out a key, which he threw to his friend. “In case you need a place to crash.”

  “Thanks.”

  Turning, he pinned his friend with a stern stare. “Okay. So what’s going on?”

  Pitch rubbed the back of his neck and started to pace. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I’m worried about Mick.”

  Chaz snorted then let out the laughter he tried to hold in.

  “I know. I know,” Pitch answered. “I’m crazy, right? But I’m really worried about him.” Pitch stopped pacing, and his brows drew together and two creases furrowed his forehead. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for two weeks. He’s not answering my calls or texts. So I went by his place. Doesn’t look like he’s been there in a while.”

  “He’s been off the grid before.”

  “Yeah, but if I’m a real pain in the ass, he’ll answer. Eventually. Not only have I tried him like three or four times a night, I even checked out his cottage up in Vermont. No sign of him.”

  A chill crept down Chaz’s neck. He dismissed it immediately, as the idea of the three laws and that robot movie filled his head. Vampires had their three laws also.

  Vampire rule number one stated a vampire may drink but were forbidden to drain a human to death. Rule two: humans must never know vampires exist, and every human must be given Lethe, so they never remember anything after a vampire has fed. Included in this rule was an edict that, unless a vampire was willing to put his life on the line to defend his actions, he dared not turn a human into a vampire. A long time ago, Chaz figured that was because there weren’t that many humans walking the earth. Now he figured this was to continue to safeguard their anonymity.

  The final rule, the most important, Chaz believed, was that a vampire should not drink from another vampire. Ever. Drinking from another vampire created a connection for as long as their eternity lasted. Before Pitch was born, Chaz and Mick had been forced to drink from each other to stay alive. Chaz would’ve known if Mick was in trouble.

  A chill settled on the back of his neck anyway. “Mick is a big boy. He’s been taking care of himself way longer than we’ve been around.”

  Pitch waved his hand, dismissing Chaz’s explanation. “I know. But this…this feels different.”

  “What do you mean, different?”

  “Well, for one,” he paused, glancing at the bottles of wine in the rack. “You gonna offer me a drink?”

  Chaz walked over to his bar and poured them both a small glass of wine. Pitch chugged his. That chill on his neck turned ice cold. “The last time I talked to Mick, he sounded, well, I know you’re not going to believe it, but he sounded concerned. Anxious, even. And we both know that’s just not Mick.”

  What? How was that possible? Why didn’t he know? Oh shit. What the hell was going on? Chaz sipped on his wine to cover his angst. “Did he say why?”

  Pitch stared down at his glass like he wanted ten more. Chaz knew what kind of pain that caused. “Got mad and told me to quit bugging him, that I’d know what was going on
when I needed to.”

  Chaz nodded. “Well, that sounds like Mick, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Except that was the last time I talked to him. Over two weeks ago.”

  When Chaz clapped his friend on the shoulder, Pitch looked up. His gaze was filled with worry. “Listen. You need to feed. I’ll check around. Try and find him, although we both know if Mick doesn’t want to be found…”

  Pitch nodded.

  “Let’s touch base tomorrow night, okay?”

  “Hey, look,” Pitch said. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid. But he’s like a father to me.”

  “To us all.”

  He walked Pitch to the front door and gave his friend a quick hug. “He’s probably doing it on purpose ‘cause you’ve been bugging him.”

  “God, I hope so.” He punched Chaz in the shoulder and straightened as if the weight on his back lessened. “Thanks, man.”

  “And not a word to Ozzie or the others yet.”

  Pitch nodded. “No need worrying them.”

  “Agreed.” Chaz smiled. “Next time, let’s go hunting together. Like the old days.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good. I’m glad you stopped by.” But as Chaz shut the door, he knew he was lying. Mick had sent him a file a couple of days ago that made no sense. Pictures of an abandoned estate up in New York. No message. Just the pictures.

  What the hell are you doing, Mick? And why aren’t you talking to me?

  A few hours later, Chaz was still trying to figure out what was going on when his phone buzzed. He read the number, and relief flooded his veins. “What the hell, Mick? You’ve had Pitch going crazy. Even had me worried.”

  Silence. Then a voice whispered. “Help me.”

  Chapter Two

  Chaz

  What the devil? “Mick?” It didn’t sound like him. “For the love of God, Mick. Talk to me. Please.”

  Silence.

  Chaz stopped his fist just in time before he shattered the laptop on his desk. He waited. And waited. And finally, dead air, and the tell-tale beep-beep that said the call had disconnected.

  Vampires never experience nausea, but right at this moment, he could swear his stomach churned. He went back to the pictures, trying to glean any kind of information from them. His thoughts shouted in his brain.

  Call me back, Mick. Talk to me. Please.

  Again. Silence.

  He paced, raking his hand through his hair, hating their connection. With Mick, it tended to be all one-sided. His. And yet he couldn’t get away from the awful feeling that Mick was in terrible trouble and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  He’d met Nicholai Alexander Mikhail Kirilenko in the kingdom of Poland in 1223 AD. Chaz had been a vampire for over one hundred years, and truth be told, not very good at it. Mick explained in his singular dry humor that draining people even though he didn’t kill them, was very counterproductive to their existence, and that Chaz could manage the hunger if he tried. Mick said he’d learned some things from the people in China, things like meditation that could help with the thirst. Chaz couldn’t fathom it until they journeyed to Asia sixty years later.

  Chaz threw himself back in his chair. He rubbed his face. He stared at his hands, long fingers, pale skin, the hands of a killer, the hands of a Paladin.

  They were all Paladins, the protectors who kept rogue vampires from killing anyone or anything carrying blood, each unique in his or her own way. It wasn’t like Mick was taciturn, like Ozzie. Or mean spirited, the way Vanessa made herself seem sometimes. Mick simply didn’t talk much unless he was teaching. He was a quiet man, thoughtful, intelligent, and yes, irascible. But there wasn’t a Paladin among them that didn’t love the old man deep inside their hearts.

  Mick? Where are you?

  A picture flashed in his head. A long blonde ponytail. The curve of a hip he’d never forget. What? Wait a minute.

  Mick. What the hell?

  Mick laughed, and the hairs lifted on the back of his neck. Chaz had no idea what was going on but he had never been able to see Mick’s thoughts before, only hear them, and Mick never laughed like that. His mentor sounded like he’d lost his mind. If so, then Stacy was in danger.

  I don’t understand. But whatever is going on with you, please don’t hurt her. Don’t do this.

  Vignettes flashed through his brain, randomly scattered pieces of the past. Some he recognized. Some he didn’t. He grabbed his keys and threw on a jacket, not for the cold, but for the hidden tools of his profession—the extract, a long silver-handled knife with an edge so sharp it could cut through bone, a steel stake with a vicious point at the end. And then he realized. Chaz had no idea where to go.

  He ran down to his car anyway. One hundred and thirty-eight. Confused, Chaz didn’t understand. All of his instincts screamed at him to throw the car in drive to go somewhere, anywhere. Instead, he centered his being and let the world fall away.

  Tell me more, Mick.

  One hundred and thirty-five.

  Chaz pounded his fist on the steering wheel. A loud crack brought him back to reality. He stared at the leather-covered plastic and was grateful it wasn’t hanging in pieces.

  What the hell was Mick trying to tell him? He was counting out, oh shit, of course. Numbers.

  Chaz punched the ignition button, and the engine roared to life. His tires screeched and his nose wrinkled at the smell of burnt rubber as his car sped out of the garage.

  He headed onto 78W and then got on the Garden State Parkway heading south. Mick was reading road signs.

  Come on, old friend. You’re stronger than this. Whatever it is, you need to fight it. Let me help you fight it.

  Sweeeeeet….taaaassssttte.

  Chaz didn’t have to ask who; he already knew. His fingers trembled. Mick had always had secrets, but he’d never been coy about them. Belligerent? Unbearably so. So his behavior didn’t make sense. Normally Mick would’ve told him to go fuck off by now. And the only true vibe he’d gotten from his friend was about blood.

  “A rogue loses all capacity to reason as the fever progresses. Remember that, my young friend,” Mick had told him decades ago. “The need becomes all-consuming. And if a rogue vampire marks a human, he’ll stop at nothing to drain that human dry. He’ll travel to the end of the earth to taste that blood. For that will be the last blood he drinks before death.”

  Please no. Don’t let it be true.

  Chaz gripped the steering wheel even tighter. He shifted in his seat. The miles sped by. Red Bank. Seaside. All of a sudden, his heart dropped. He knew where Mick was going. Her address filled his vision. His foot stomped down on the gas pedal. Finally, he pulled off at exit fifty-nine and, following his nav system, drove as fast as he dared to her house. There was no sign of her car or Mick. Then he picked up an image—a bar by the bay.

  His tires kicked gravel everywhere as he wheeled the car around. He sped down the road, following the familiar thick and dank scent of the bay. Up ahead, he spied the semi-lit billboard of O’Reilly’s Bar. His tires screeched to a halt as he slammed on his brakes. He threw open the car door and scrambled out.

  A different scent filled his nostrils, one he knew all too well. For a human, death has no smell until the body begins to fester. But for a vampire, the end of life was decay, piece by piece, bit by bit, until all that was left was the rotted remains. Mick wasn’t Mick anymore. His hair lay matted, and greasy flaky tendrils hung limply to his shoulders. Flesh, unable to keep its composure, sloughed off in raw patches from his face making his mentor barely recognizable. Chaz recoiled at the putrid stench; Mick was decomposing right before his eyes.

  Chaz had never seen any vampire this far gone rogue and still left stand standing.

  “Put your hands up where I can see them, and don’t move!” Stacy commanded. She stood, feet braced, arms extended, the handle of her gun firmly gripped in both hands, ready to fire.

  “Whatever you do,” Chaz warned. “Please, do not fire your weapon.
”

  She hesitated.

  “Mikhail,” he said. “Listen to me. You’re better than this. Try to remember who you are. You’re a Paladin. You know what you have to do.” He paused, having no idea how this was all going to go down. “Please. I beg of you. Don’t give in to the madness.”

  Stacy’s gaze followed the creature’s every move. Creature? To call the one man he named his father a creature? He watched her make sure the muzzle of her gun never wavered from his heart—Mick’s heart. Only Mick wasn’t a man anymore. He was…oh God…a thing. And the thing Chaz chose to call a man shifted from foot to foot, and crouched like an animal waiting to strike.

  He tried to move slowly so that his body came between Mick and Stacy. Only, Stacy kept circling to keep her gun trained on Mick.

  “What the hell is going on here? Is this some kind of horror movie?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he spoke to…it. “Mick. You need to go to Sanctuary. Please.”

  “Charlessss,” the thing hissed.

  Like fingernails on a blackboard, the long talons sprouting from Mick’s hands scraped against the macadam. Droplets of what looked like old blood, dark and brown, splattered the fabric of what was left of his shirt.

  “Mick. Please. If you have any humanity left inside, stop this insanity. Go to the caves. Don’t make me kill you.”

  Man? Sunken cheeks, lips drawn back in a grotesque caricature, were proof that whatever-it-was in front of him, it certainly was not a man. “Mikhail. Friend. Mentor.” Each word filled the air with heart-wrenching anguish.

  The creature lifted its head. The words found their mark. “You taught me how to accept my life,” Chaz continued. The agony in his belly dug deep. “You taught me there was integrity in what I’d become. Don’t make me erase that goodness. Please.”

  With the ocean not far away, a foggy night thickened with clammy cold air. Chaz shivered as a gust of wind brought a fresh wave of salty decay to his nostrils. A murky haze seemed to settle around them, making everything slow down.

  Short, staccato breaths left Stacy’s mouth in rapid succession. “Wait a minute. You know this…thing?” For a split second, her gaze flew to his. “What are you?”