by J. K. Beck
“Sure. Why don’t you transfer me to Agent Severin Tucker.” She held her breath, expecting the operator to pause, and then tell her that no such agent existed. To her surprise, the line clicked and after a few seconds of hold music, another voice came on.
“Division Six.”
Alexis stalled. Division 6? “I’m trying to reach Severin Tucker.”
“I’m sorry, but Agent Tucker isn’t available. If you’d like to leave your number—”
Alexis hung up, pondering how to proceed. What she wanted was an actual meeting with the elusive Mr. Tucker. In person and in public. And, of course, well armed. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d manage that, though, particularly since Agent Tucker presumed he’d wiped her memory. Not to mention the little fact that since she wasn’t really with the FBI, she could hardly call to suggest an interagency meeting.
She may not have a way through Agent Tucker’s door yet, but in the meantime she would learn everything she could about him—and about Division 6.
“What is it?” she asked Marcus James, the one person she knew who actually worked at Homeland. They’d met in college at one of Brianna’s famous parties. They’d gone to a couple of movies and shared a few dinners, but Alexis had cut it off after Brianna had commented on how perfect they were for each other and how Marcus was falling for her. Alexis hadn’t been the least bit interested in dating. All she’d wanted was to finish college with a degree and a GPA that would impress the FBI recruiters. Personal distractions would only take her away from that goal.
“Great to hear from you, too,” Marcus said. “I’m well. Life’s been busy.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just—”
“Working a case? Busy? Don’t worry, I get it.”
“So?” She tried to hide her exasperation. She needed answers, not small talk.
“Honestly, I’ve worked here for years, and I’m still not entirely sure. It’s elite, that much I know. Division Six is where the secret stuff goes to hide.”
That was intriguing—vampires certainly counted as “secret stuff”—and Alexis filed the information away. But she still didn’t have any concrete information about Division 6 or Severin Tucker. Or about Sergius or the teenage girl. All she had was more questions. Which meant that after hours of working, all she was really doing was moving backward.
Well, damn.
She tapped a key on her computer, determined to try a different approach. Sergius had run away with the girl in his arms. Maybe she could track both of them. She logged into a website to which she had no legal access, the password for which she’d paid a very steep price. It took a moment for the image on her screen to resolve, and then she found herself looking through the various cameras set up along Venice Beach. Private webcams and security cams, public surveillance videos, ATM vids. Whatever footage from last night that she could get streamed to her computer. She was hoping for a glimpse of the attacking vampire, but so far she’d seen nothing. As far as she could tell, the whole episode had taken place in a section of beach that was completely lacking in surveillance.
Maybe a satellite had been over the area at the time …?
Her hand tapped idly on the phone as she tried to think of someone she knew who could access the satellite coverage logs. She was just about to snatch it up and dial—a long shot, but her roommate at Quantico might have a contact—when its sharp ring made her jump. She snatched up the handset then smiled when she heard Edgar’s voice.
Her smile quickly faded.
“Don’t you dare go after him by yourself,” he said. “We go together. Do you promise me?”
Alarm slithered inside her, tightening her chest until she had to work to breathe. “What happened? You found him?”
“Found some people who know him. He’s dangerous. A monster. Shit, Alexis, I’m sorry about the girl, but—”
“No.” The word came out barely a whisper.
“I know,” Edgar said. “I’m so sorry.”
“But he saved me. Why would he do that if—”
“He was playing with you,” Edgar said. “Don’t you get it? It’s like my Gilli always said—they’re devious. Vile. Inhuman. And they sure as hell don’t think like us.”
She was shaking her head, wanting to scream out in protest. To shout that she could feel him inside her and she didn’t believe it. But she did—dammit, she knew better than anyone what a vampire was capable of. How the beasts could snuff the life from an innocent. Hire a girl to sell her blood, then turn the tables on her and take her life.
“Promise me,” Edgar said.
“I promise.” Her voice sounded dull. Far away.
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No. No, I’m okay.”
“I think I should come over.”
“No, really. I won’t do anything stupid. Besides, it’s daylight. I’ll call Leena, though, and tell her I want her to track the bastard sooner rather than later.”
“But you won’t go on the hunt without me? Not for this one? You swear? Swear it, dammit, Alexis. I mean it.”
“Fine. I swear.” She forced herself to relax. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just—”
“Shooting the messenger. Yeah, I get it.”
“I do appreciate it,” she said, and she meant it. He may have brought terrible news, but there was no doubt that Edgar had her back.
“I know you do, kid. Now get some rest.”
As soon as he hung up, she realized that the energy she’d felt earlier really had drained out of her, presumably flushed out by the strength of her fury. She began to pace, wanting that energy back. Needing to feel the burn. Wanting to find Sergius in her blood again and hoping against hope that when she felt his heat, she’d also feel the falsity of Edgar’s words.
But she didn’t believe it—couldn’t believe it. He was a killer, and she knew it. She’d rushed to Venice Beach to save someone from one vampire only to consign her into the arms of another.
That teenage girl’s blood was on her hands as much as it was on Sergius’s and the vampire he’d killed.
Goddammit all to hell.
She knew she should sleep, but also knew she couldn’t. For that matter, working was out of the question. No way could she focus on a computer screen.
Instead, she climbed the stairs back to the main level, then moved through the house to the front door. What she needed was a ride along Mulholland on her bike. Taking the curves fast over Los Angeles—that, maybe, would get her head back in the right place.
She yanked open the door, prepared to take off into the rising sun, then stopped as her cell phone rang in her pocket. She checked the readout and saw it was Leena.
“The bad news is the vampire from the beach wasn’t the one who killed your sister,” Leena said. “But the good news is I’ve found him.”
“Where? It’s daylight.”
“In the subway. I took a picture of the map. I texted it to you,” she added, even as a trill on Alexis’s phone announced the incoming text.
“So he’s on the hunt,” Alexis said, feeling a weariness settle over her. The map wouldn’t find the killer any other way. Which meant that Alexis was always a hundred steps behind—and most of the time that meant that the human quarry died.
The subway service tunnels beneath Los Angeles echoed with the noise of passing trains, but Serge didn’t notice. All he knew was the daemon. All he felt was the hunger and the darkness. That all-consuming black that had lifted up to cover him like a veil, winning against his will and burying him deep.
Now he saw through the eyes of evil. And inside him, hunger roared.
He stalked through the dark tunnels, his mind no longer fully his own. He felt need—to hunt, to kill—and a passion to rend and rip. To wallow in blood. To bathe in it. To become it.
Once upon a time he’d walked through the streets of London this way. London, Rome, Berlin. How many times had Derrick been by his side? How many times had they proven their magnificence i
n those wretched hives of humanity? And now, once again, his friend was in town.
Ah, yes, the possibilities were endless.
He threw his head back, his arms out, and reveled in the power that was him.
Like night, he moved through the tunnels, a dark force. A shadow. He searched the corners. The areas heated with Sterno cans. The hovels carved from blankets and old grocery carts.
Hollow-eyed humans looked up at him as he passed, their expressions dull. He kept moving. He wanted to feel the fear. He wanted to draw it out and consume it and let it fill him up.
Wanted and wanted and would take and take.
Except …
Except part of him wanted none of that.
The weak part. The part that tried to be in control. The part that never managed, truly, to keep the power that was Sergius down.
Now he stalked, keeping that whining, crying, remorseful part of himself squashed deep and firm. Blood would push him down even more. Blood, torture. Pain. All those things killed that part inside of himself that felt regret and remorse. That part that felt so fucking human. Time to try to shut it down completely. Lately, it had been too damn strong, managing to fight both the magnificent power of the daemon and the wildness of the beast. But the true Sergius had a toehold now, and that meant the daemon was riding high. He’d crush the weakness. Bury it forever.
He just needed to find fresh blood.
He rounded a corner and saw an area in the tunnel where a pile of stones suggested there’d been a collapse. He remembered when the tunnel under Hollywood Boulevard had done that very thing, and he eased forward, intrigued by what the destruction had left behind. What he saw was a treasure trove. A group of teens sitting around a fire. Their faces fresh, their eyes dancing. They weren’t homeless, they were playing. They’d come down here to get high and drink and fuck. And to die.
For a moment, he merely watched them, letting anticipation build. He picked a pretty female with blond curls and a doll-like face, so round and white she already didn’t look human. He was going to approach, invite her to take a walk with him, command her to come. But he didn’t have to. She stood, whispered something to her friend, and began walking unsteadily toward the dark shadows that shielded him from view.
He stifled a grin. Truly, there were no challenges left in the world.
Around them, the ground seemed to vibrate as the trains shook the earth. The girl stumbled, and as she did, a figure emerged from the dark to help her. A male. A vampire.
The other vampire took the girl’s elbow and smiled wide and thin. “Careful, beautiful. Be a shame if you hurt yourself.”
Serge froze, hidden in the shadows, watching this interloper interfere with the female he’d marked for his own. He felt a growl rise in his throat and forced it down. Quiet … quiet …
“Come with me,” the vampire said, holding out his hand for the girl.
She lifted a cocky brow. “Why should I do that?”
“I’ll show you the best time you’ve ever had.”
That seemed to impress her, and she took his hand. “Come on,” she said, huskily. “I know a place.”
Serge followed, bloodlust building—both for the girl and for the rogue who’d claimed her. The girl led them both through twisting tunnels forged from broken rebar and rock, stopping at a makeshift bedroom with moldy mattresses covering the floor. A scrawny teen lay passed out on one.
“Clever girl,” the rogue said. The female smiled in reply, sultry and full of promise. He grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly toward him.
Serge stiffened, as if feeling the impact of the woman himself. He watched as her fingertip trailed down the rogue’s chest, then over the waist of his jeans to his cock. The vampire bent his head, opening his mouth to drink deep of the female, and as he did, the darkness that had consumed Serge roared—tightening and wanting and thrumming from the mere thought of blood. Now. Time to take now.
He burst from the shadows, full of fire and fury, the pleasure ratcheting up higher when he saw the vampire’s eyes widen in terror—and the girl’s in confusion. In one quick motion he was at the rogue’s side. He slammed the younger vampire back against a wall, only to have him bounce back, snarling.
“You’re in my territory, fucker.”
Serge didn’t bother with a clever retort. He grabbed a rough piece of rebar and called upon the strength of both the beast and the daemon to rip it out of the concrete pillar from which it protruded. The metal emerged from the concrete with stunning velocity—more than enough to slice through the rogue’s neck and decapitate the bastard where he stood.
“Shit!” the girl yelled. “Holy fucking shit!”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her around to look at him. Deep within, the weak creature that was Serge cried out in protest. But there was no stopping now. Now was the time for taking. For claiming. For becoming.
He slammed her back against a wall, and her eyes went wide. He knew what she saw—his fangs, bared and ready to rip her down to the bone.
She screamed, but the whole area was shaking then; another train was passing. And fuck it, what did he care if humans came? That was just more to dine on.
He moved in, faster than the girl could comprehend, and heard her whimper. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Dying doesn’t hurt at all.”
And then he yanked down on her hair, tugging her head to the side, exposing the same neck that the rogue had coveted. He bent his head down, pressed his fangs to her throat—and yet he couldn’t bite down.
No.
The word ripped through his consciousness.
No, goddammit, no!
He fell to his knees, his palms gripping his skull. He was Serge now, dammit. Serge.
His will.
His control.
His mind, and he fought back, pummeling the daemon, making it release its claim so that the daemon was no longer him, but was simply it.
Almost there. Almost sane.
Another blow—another lash in the battle—and the daemon was pushed farther down. Again, and again, and again.
Bent over, exhausted, Serge breathed in deep, his body raw. His thoughts in a jumble.
In front of him, the girl cowered, apparently not having the sense to run. “Go,” he growled. Then louder when she didn’t move. “Dammit, go!”
The daemon was deep now, but still fighting him, fighting hard, and he stood up, hands clutched to his head as he wrestled for control.
Finally, the girl went. She tore out of there, even as Serge slammed his fist against the wall of crumpled stone. Over and over and over, using the pain of his own ripped flesh to focus, to pull himself out, to battle down the daemon and stomp the shit out of it. Because if he didn’t, everything could be lost. He’d drown inside the daemon, and Serge would be no more.
Then again, perhaps that would be best. Not to let the daemon win, but to conquer both daemon and beast at the same time. To save the world by destroying himself. A stake, positioned just so. The proverbial falling upon one’s sword, taken for a more literal spin.
But he couldn’t do it, and right then he hated that weakness in himself that would cling to this bastardized half-life even while risking the humans that he sought to protect. He had failed at so many things—had caused so much harm. It was his legacy, his yoke.
He feared that this moment was an offer of redemption, but he was too much the coward and the fool to take it. That the moment would never come again, and that when he inevitably faced Derrick, the lure of the dark would be overwhelming and he’d be drawn once again into the abyss, and he would not emerge unscathed.
Alexis poked her way through the subway service tunnels beneath Hollywood Boulevard. She wasn’t cursing, but the temptation was there; so far she’d seen nothing but trash and the homeless, and she desperately wished that Leena’s skills had GPS precision.
She heard a moan and hurried forward, only to find herself facing a mini porn show: two junkies going at it on a mattress that had t
o have seen more rats than humans. Cringing, she turned away and noticed a break in the cement wall. She climbed through it, careful not to snag her clothes on the rough edges of the rebar. Dim yellow light from the work lamps mounted along the walls fought the dark to illuminate the space, mostly failing and leaving sprawling shadows that seemed to writhe and move in the corners. Gamely, Alexis eased forward, feeling like that girl in every horror movie, the one who went into the dark, scary place even though everyone in the audience was yelling for her to go back, go back, go back.
But she couldn’t go back. Because she wasn’t the virginal heroine or even the slutty best friend. She was the monster hunter, and this was what she did.
A faint rustling in the distance caught her attention, and she hurried that way, picking her way over rubble. After a moment, she came to another break and saw motion ahead of her. She eased behind a pillar and peered around, then sucked in air as she saw the scene in front of her. It was him. Sergius. He looked out of place in neat jeans and a button-down shirt. More like a businessman than a vampire. As she watched, though, the image was destroyed. He took a piece of rebar and quickly decapitated a vampire while a strung-out female gaped nearby.
She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp, but her eyes never left him. He was a hunter, just like her, except he hunted his own kind.
The realization had barely fired in her mind when he lunged and was at the girl’s side so quickly that Alexis hadn’t even been able to follow his movements. Her mind screamed in protest—no, no, not him—even as she raised the gun to fire one of her wooden bullets.
But then he’d pushed the girl away, his body bent over as if in pain, his fangs bared, and he’d growled at her to go, to leave, to get the hell out of there.
