Zoey followed after and smiled warmly at Serena as she wrapped her arm around Serena’s. “You’re a true friend, you know that!”
Serena rolled her eyes; “friend” was the last thing she wanted to be right now to anyone. Though, she knew that gesture had made her feel wanted, and that, she couldn’t deny, had made her happy.
3
Free the Beast
Zane growled as he sat in his room looking over Gregori’s old notes. Without meaning to, his right hand fisted in his hair as he glanced through the handwritten documents over and over again; the calculated and meticulous writing of the Vail Clan’s old leader only serving to remind him of what they’d lost. This reminder, coupled with Zoey’s disappearance with the Vailean girl, was enough to make the raging creature within him shriek and thrash about. Zane shook his head and growled; leave it to a woman he barely even knew to urge the already-begging-to-be-freed beast to fight that much harder.
The letters, from what Zane was able to gather from them, had nothing important hidden within them. He growled again, this time hard enough to make his throat hurt. How did Gregori expect him to understand any of this? He continued through the pile of notes and letters and documents; flipping through page after page of Gregori’s thoughts and research. But it all might as well have been written in the language of the ancients; none of the words on any of the pages held any clues of what they were supposed to do now; what he was supposed to do now!
He sighed, looking at the last page in the stack and frowned, chewing roughly on his lip as he toyed with the idea of starting from the beginning all over again and absently letting his torn lip flood his mouth with his own blood. While he wasn’t usually one for dramatic self-destruction, the taste of his own blood gave him something to focus on and provided an illusion of nourishment for the time being. And at least it would put a cork on the beast’s appetite…
… for now, at least.
Shaking his head, he pulled one of the yellowing pages from the pile and, rubbing a layer of exhaustion and irritation from his vision, began to read once again:
Zane,
As my most trusted and powerful protégé, I’m entrusting you with a most imperative order.
In the event of my demise, I’m leaving control of the clan to my daughter, Serena. While she is brash and untrained, her strengths lie with her intuition and instinct. I need you to nurture these and guide her in the right direction to ensure our survival. Her lack of involvement with the clan’s affairs has kept my son silent and hidden, but there is no doubt in my mind that Keith will see this transfer of power as an insult and a challenge. The promise of controlling Vail will surely motivate a response upon the news of my death and he will stop at nothing to find his sister before we do to see whatever plans he has come to fruition.
Be warned: he is cunning and manipulative and will use her and any others he can coax however he sees fit to achieve his goals.
The recent rise in activity from the neighboring therion tribe has me concerned that he’s planning something with them and using his authority as a Council member as a means of gaining momentum. His influences with the Mythos government have grown noticeably stronger, and trusted sources have informed me that he’s using these influences to his advantage. Needless to say, this is due cause for concern. While nothing would make me happier than to see Keith put down, killing him will motivate a tactical response from our superiors. If The Council sees Vail as an enemy, nothing will stop them from taking us apart and Keith’s standing in their ranks will only be strengthened by his claims; he will become a martyr to his own cause and we cannot allow this to happen.
There has never been a time when it was more imperative that you keep your rage under control. Serena will need guidance and Vail will need stability, and, while none are better suited for the task, your steps in this matter will weigh far heavier on the outcome than any you’ve taken before.
You’ve come so far and learned so much, and while I commend you on your progress, I see so much more that can be achieved. I apologize if this letter finds you before I can help you reach those achievements, but there is not a single doubt in my mind that the raging curse within you is nowhere near as powerful as your own resolve.
You’ve never failed to make me proud, and I feel now is the best time to tell you that you’ve become something of a son in my eyes. It’s time you show your brothers and sisters what you’ve made so very clear to me.
Deepest sincerities,
Gregori Vailean
He felt the beast roar from deep inside of him and he grimaced at the internal tremor, clenching his teeth until it had finally passed. As the riot in his head died down, he was reminded of the burning itch in his body as the curse tried to sneak past his defenses; he growled at his own body, rubbing at his forearms in an effort to dispel the sensation. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t calm himself, and another violent growl crept from his throat as he shook his head. Gregori must have known he was going to die when he wrote that. All formalities set aside—any sense of forethought or planning that Gregori was renowned for not being taken into consideration—Zane knew that the old vampire wouldn’t have dropped this shit on his lap if it hadn’t been the right time.
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 n
o 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 you are! I want to be able t’ forget yer even here, boy!” then, as a second thought, “And you’d better be able to pay for that, er else I’m pressin’ charges for 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 the
m 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 minions.
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.
Scarlet Night: The Complete Trilogy Page 7
