Eternal Samurai

by B. D. Heywood

  “Shite, boyo, whatever you call them, you’re gonna earn your keep killing ‘em. Course it’d be the dog’s bullocks if we had their thrall, but we don’t. Immune to it. Thank the Holy Mother of God. And at least our insides don’t burn up like theirs do in the sunlight. Another one of Nature’s mysteries.”

  “No real mystery. Vampire virus is a mutated form of porphyria, a rare genetic disorder. Photosensitivity is so acute, they combust internally when exposed to sunlight.”

  “Bugger me. Seems someone explained that one time also, but I didn’t really listen. On the plus side, Lepers can sure fuck like bloodsuckers,” Bana winked. “I got the prick of teenager. Go fer hours, got almost instant recovery time. Me willie gets sore drilling minge four, five times in a night. Never seem ta run out of spunk. Take my suggestion, boyo. Get yerself a girlfriend. Shite, get three or four. You’re willie will thank you fer it.”

  Tatsu’s mouth dropped open at the man’s crude advice. Bana was right. Tatsu’s hand and cock said konnichiwa to each other almost daily. He put it down to yearning for his one and only lover, ex-lover really. Sage was gone forever. But try telling that to his prick and his heart. And now this insane complication in the form of one flame-haired, gorgeous vampire who Tatsu had not only kissed but now haunted Tatsu’s dreams.

  Abruptly, Tatsu’s defenses reared up. It was clear Bana had no clue about Tatsu’s sexual preference. And he dared not reveal his contact with Arisada. “Do you think we will see action tomorrow?” He changed the subject.

  “See action every night, boyo. Jist make sure you keep yer cell and combat gear handy at all times, got me?”

  During the tour of the Colony, Bana had given Tatsu two sets of combat wear called dee-skin made from a flexible polyceramic. “These will keep yer inside where they belong,” the Irishman grinned.

  Tatsu had marveled at the clothing’s light weight yet the fabric, which resembled chainmail, moved like silk over his body. The new shirt even eased the chaffing of his sword harness.

  “This here’s called a dog collar. Range ain’t fer shit, half a click maybe. But it’ll keep you in touch with the rest o’ yer teammates ’specially me, understand?” Bana had tossed him the communications unit buried inside a dee-skin neck choker.

  Bana’s next comment jerked Tatsu to the present. “Okay, partner, gotta go. See ya at the briefing. And tomorrow night, you watch yer arse at all times. Better yet, watch my arse.”

  Tatsu allowed a quick grin. Bana had no clue how into “arse watching” he could be.

  Bana slurped the last of his coffee as he stood up. “Ya gonna need better digs than that crappy closet. I know the owner of the apartment over that dojo. I’ll put in a good word fer ya.”

  “Domo arigatō,” Tatsu flashed a quick smile, pleased with the idea of staying close to the dojo. When practicing shinkendo, he always entered an altered state where his heart did not ache with regret and all doubt vanished. Who was he kidding? He wanted use of that dojo on the slight chance Arisada showed up again.

  Bana paid the tab and left, declaring he was off to “shag” his girlfriend. Reiterated Tatsu needed to find a “bit o’ minge” for himself. Tatsu pulled on his jacket and stepped out into the rain. Bana was right. Tatsu hungered for someone in his bed. But he had no time for romance. Hell, he had no time for a quickie up against a wall with some hot man’s mouth around his dick. Unbidden, his groin quivered from the memory of Arisada’s kiss.

  Fakku, forget getting laid. Concentrate on the mission. He was here for revenge. Period. His lust subsumed under his surge of confidence running like a river through his body. He could defeat any vampire. Hell, he’d already proved it when he beat Arisada who was not only kyūketsuki but samurai.

  Tatsu did not recall those childhood legends of his native land. Especially the one that told of an immortal samurai who, down through the centuries, had slaughtered thousands throughout Japan.

  And who had mysteriously vanished twenty years ago.

  .

  Ten

  “Hey Bro, you hear the latest from the Mick? Some kid came out of nowhere, killed four bloodsuckers with a couple of swords.” Kaiden Galloway snorted as he dropped into his accustomed seat alongside his partner. The two mercenaries were the first to arrive for the nightly assignment at the Colony’s briefing room, fondly called the Snake Pit.

  “Vraiment, the Irishman loves to bullshit.” Chance Passebon rocked his chair onto its back legs and propped both feet on the table with two loud thumps.

  “Just heard he’d talked the Major into hiring this punk yesterday. The kid’s some sort of real-life samurai.”

  “N’importe. The Major’s never been wrong with anyone he’s hired all the years I’ve known him.” Passebon shrugged as he lit a fresh Gauloise.

  “Still, beats me why the Major hire a young punk even if he did save the Mick’s drunken ass.” Galloway sneaked a quick glance at the huge man now crossing his ankles with an easy stretch of his long legs.

  “Four kills in one night. Can’t argue with that.” Passebon leaned his head back and blew smoke in a slow trail toward the ceiling.

  “But two swords? What the fuck?”

  “As long as a weapon works.” Passebon poked a booted toe at his five-string crossbow resting on the table before him. Despite its bizarre design, the customized weapon was the instrument of hundreds of deaths.

  Galloway did not hide his slight derision. “Shit, not sure I’d trust my back to any greenie, least of all some sort of swordfighter.”

  At the far end of the room, the doors bounced open and Bana ushered said swordfighter into the room. “Here we go, the big snake test.” Galloway grinned as Bana hauled the young man over to the huge fish tank at the back of the room.

  “That couillon always tries to freak out the newbies. Someday he’ll learn it never works,” Passebon dropped his chair forward with a bang and crushed his cigarette out in a chipped ceramic ashtray. They watched the show.

  Grinning like a man privy to the world’s funniest joke, Bana rapped his knuckles hard against the glass. The six-foot long albino cobra reared up, flared and lunged over the open rim of the tank almost reaching its target.

  Tatsu stared unflinching at the reptile before turning to say something to the Irishman.

  “Give the kid points for guts.” Passebon regarded Cobb through hooded eyes, at the thick shaggy mop of hair that flared in spikes each time Tatsu moved his head. “But merde, what’s with that haircut?”

  Galloway was not listening. Shit, the kid moved pretty! Barely a swivel of those slender hips as he moved across the floor in a light, gliding walk, weight always over the forward foot. Graceful and pretty. The kid reminded Galloway of an exboyfriend, a gymnast, who could and did bend his body in some of the most fucking interesting positions.

  But this Cobb kid was definitely sexier. Not-too narrow shoulders tapered to a trim waist. Hips that just teased the edge of skinny were visible below a battered motorcycle jacket. His black TAC pants hugged the cheeks of a tight, come-fuck-me ass above lean legs, the kind Galloway liked to feel draped over his shoulders. And unless Galloway’s gaydar was seriously broken, this kid wouldn’t mind that position one bit, especially if it included eight-inches of cock buried in his chute.

  “Heads up mates, this is Tatsu Cobb.” Bana slapped Tatsu on the back with a head-jarring thump. “Have a seat, boyo, meet the family,” the Irishman laughed as he strode away in the direction of the coffee urn.

  As Tatsu reached the conference table, Galloway swallowed hard as heat flooded his crotch. The kid was fucking gorgeous. The boy’s face mirrored a perfect blend of his Japanese and American genes. Strong chin with a tiny hint of a cleft, a narrow nose above bow-shaped, dark-rose lips made for kissing. High sharp cheekbones edged beneath a honey-kissed complexion. Almond-shaped lids, and, ah shit, the sootiest, sexiest lashes Galloway had ever seen on a man.

  But the kid’s startling emerald eyes were cold and full of a deadly purpose. Neverth
eless, Galloway caught a quick flicker of uncertainty in those jade orbs, something soft that said Tatsu Cobb did not want the world to be this brutal and cruel place.

  Some might mistake the kid as weak, but Galloway knew this was no fem boy. Not by a very long shot. He could see Cobb was a lethal weapon wrapped up in one lithe body of hot man flesh. There would have been a time when this kid would have been high on Galloway’s fuck list. Very, very high. But not now. Galloway sighed as he glanced over to Passebon, the man he loved—the unreachable straight man he loved.

  Tatsu dropped his jacket over the back of a metal chair, and shucked his harness. He swung the seat around and straddled it. Shrugged his swords into a more comfortable position, before looking at the two mercenaries sitting opposite. He barely controlled his start of surprise. Was Bana playing some sort of sick joke? Facing him were two of the most gorgeous men he had ever seen. No way they could be hired killers.

  With a sense of increasing unreality, Tatsu recognized one. “Gomen nasai, but you’re … you’re…” he blushed at his stammer.

  The blond grinned as he reached across the table and took Tatsu’s hand in a firm grip and shook it. “Yup that’s me, Kaiden Galloway, big-screen phony and Hollywood reject.”

  For years, Galloway had been the hottest commodity in action-adventure films. His stunning looks generated millions for the studios. He stood out as a muscular sex icon in an industry jaded from too many muscular sex icons. His incredible cerulean eyes and unruly blond locks powered the fantasies of women worldwide. Galloway’s not-quite-porn love scenes made them wet between the thighs and guaranteed his films outsold anything else the movie industry churned out. Then six years after his first mega hit, he came out, breaking the hearts of his female fans from seventeen to seventy. Didn’t hurt his popularity, though, which soared to new heights as thousands of gay men flocked to his movies. Four years later, the actor mysteriously vanished.

  “This is Chance Passebon, my partner.” Galloway hooked a thumb in the direction of the huge, muscular man lounging beside him.

  Passebon looked in his early-thirties, probably same age as his partner. In contrast to Galloway’s surfer-boy looks, Passebon’s face was all hard edges and sharp planes. Cheekbones so chiseled they looked carved from the side of a mountain. Bronzed skin. Eyes the color of obsidian. He radiated a deadly beauty, the kind seen in the cobra.

  Tatsu guessed Passebon was Native American. He was close—Chance Passebon was full Cajun with roots that went deep in the Louisiana bayou.

  Passebon regarded Tatsu through a hooded stare, not hostile, merely interested. The Cajun took a long drag from his cigarette, tilted his head back and blew the fragrant smoke up to the ceiling. “Just call me Chain.” The big man’s soft baritone held no trace of the South. He stood, scooped up the full ashtray and sauntered over to the trash receptacle.

  Tatsu’s mouth watered. Jigoku, the man was tall, at least six-foot, four. Wide, wide shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist above a set of buttocks so developed they showed the dent in the side of each muscle. The thick, black braid falling to the mercenary’s waist filled Tatsu’s gut with a quivery longing. He tore his gaze away and caught Galloway who mortified him with a playful wink. Shit, the blond knew just what he was thinking.

  Laughter came from the hallway as three men, clad in black tactical gear wandered in. Tatsu noticed each carried a firearm on one hip. One hunter headed straight for the coffee pot, as the other two dragged back their metal chairs and sat. Their eyes locked onto Tatsu who met their gazes with a cautious stillness.

  “Oi, you wankers, this is my new partner, Tatsu Cobb.” Tatsu heard an odd touch of pride in Bana’s brogue. “Yeah, he’s the dog’s bollocks, so I don’t wanna hear any shite from any o’ you. You arseholes introduce yourselves, or I will. And no telling what fekking secrets I’ll spill.” Bana thunked a mug of steaming black coffee down in front of Tatsu before sitting down himself.

  The first to speak was a giant black man. His shoulders were massive, and his thick arms resembled the thighs of a small heifer. The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights bounced off his naked head. The pin from a grenade dangled from his left earlobe. For a heart-stopping second, Tatsu wondered where the rest of the grenade was.

  “I’m Pleasant … Pleasant Jones.” The ebony giant leaned over the table and held out a bear-sized paw. Two of his fingers ended at the second knuckle. He grabbed Tatsu’s hand and shook it hard enough to give him whiplash.

  “Yeah, Jones is our demo man.” Bana smirked at Tatsu’s startled reaction to the mountain of black flesh towering over him. “He don’t care about nothin’ as long as he can blow up things.” Jones glowered at the Irishman.

  The second man placed a short-barrel shotgun onto the table with a deliberate clatter, crossed his arms, head tilted to one side. “So this is the punk who saved the Mick’s sorry ass. Hell, he’s a fuckin’ baby.” The look he gave Tatsu indicated he wasn’t buying anything Bana said about this skinny kid.

  “Shut it Phoenix, mind yer manners. Cobb this is Phoenix Thunder Fuck. Don’t ask.” Bana jerked his thumb by way of introduction.

  Phoenix ignored Tatsu’s proffered hand, just leaned his chair back and propped both feet onto the table. His unkempt hair and beard haloed his face in a frieze of red. His broad shoulders and thick neck spelled body builder although his tactical shirt strained over the beginning of a pot gut. His sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, revealed tattoos down to his knuckles. He looked at Tatsu through narrowed eyes. “That yer Jap crap outside?”

  Tatsu’s jaw clenched. Before he could respond, Phoenix continued. “No offense, just prefer old-style American myself.” Then he grinned, revealing his missing top front teeth. It made him look like an overgrown kid. “Meet Ma Bell.” The biker jabbed his middle finger over his shoulder in the direction of the man approaching the table.

  Bell ignored Phoenix’s obscene gesture and sat down beside Tatsu. Even in combat gear, the thin man looked more like a corporate executive than a mercenary. Bell offered his hand but no smile. “Norman Bell. Welcome to the Leper Colony. Heard good things about you.”

  A shadow in Tatsu’s periphery made him glance over to the newcomer leaning against the doorjamb. Young, mid-twenties, lean body. Curly brown hair capped a classical Mediterranean face. The man lit a cigarette with easy movements before turning his gold-kissed eyes toward Tatsu. Then the vampire’s lips moved in a slow smile that showed just the tips of starkwhite fangs.

  Tatsu’s instinct screamed to whip out his swords. His rationale stopped him.

  “This is Fornax.” Bana stayed Tatsu’s twitching hand with a light press of two fingers on his elbow. “Case you didn’t notice he’s a vampire. Also Bell’s co-pilot. Play nice Fornax.”

  The room hushed as every man waited for Tatsu’s reaction. He balled his hands into fists, fingernails digging into his palms. Sweat broke out over his body, rolled down his neck, under his armpits as he stared at the vampire. He turned and glared at his so-called new partner. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Just trust me.” Bana faked a feeble grin.

  The vampire took another drag on his cigarette then sauntered into the room and sat across from Bell. His golden eyes regarded Tatsu with a penetrating look. “You’re very pretty.” He smiled again this time with no fangs.

  Oh jigoku, not only a vampire, but a gay vampire. Tatsu suppressed bristling at Fornax. The vampire was only hitting on him because he was the newbie.

  The tension snapped as the Major strode into the room. Only Passebon remained relaxed as he rocked his chair back onto its rear legs, a new-lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

  The Major looked around the table. “Gentlemen, I assume you’ve all introduced yourselves to Mr. Cobb. Just to verify, he is more than qualified to join this company.”

  Bana grinned as if he were solely responsible for Tatsu’s kill record.

  The Major placed two manila folders on the t
able but remained standing, hands clasped behind his back. “We have two new assignments. Standard risk but you won’t be disappointed by your commissions. Number one. Three girls from the Queen Ann Preparatory Academy went into the Pipe last night. According to their friends, the girls ditched school to get hawked. We do not know if this was their first time. Children may be irresponsible, but these operations are our bread and butter, especially when it involves minors of wealthy families.”

  “Fucking idiot kids, think they’re immortal. Think hawking ain’t dangerous.” Phoenix had lost a nephew to hawking.

  “Hawking?” Tatsu whispered to Bana.

  “Comes from some old phrase, chicken hawk. Means letting vampires feed from ya so’s you can get off. Aphrodisiac in bloodsucker’s saliva makes you come till yer balls fall of and brains fry. Better’n any drug on the market,” Bana muttered back.

  The Major’s discreet cough got their attention as he handed out photos. The girls were all uniformly pretty with orthodontic-perfect teeth and salon-styled hair. “A Gypsy cab dropped them a block from the human side of the Pipe about twenty-three hundred hours Saturday. Said they were talking about Club Belladonna. Whenever the Club is involved, there is a always the possibility of abduction by vampires. Therefore, we are sanctioned to enter Tendai if necessary. Fornax, see if your friendlies have anything. Mr. Murtagh and Mr. Cobb, you are undercover at the nightclub. If the girls are bitten, bring them to the crisis quarantine center at St. Augustine’s,” the Major ordered.

  “If they’re alive.” Passebon’s tone indicated he thought the opposite.

  “Think we’ll have trouble with the bloodsuckers?” Bana grumbled.

  “We’ll always have trouble with them, but think of it as job security, Mick,” Galloway flashed an insolent grin as Bana snarled at him to stop calling him Mick.

  The Major cleared his throat. “Number two. Mr. Galloway and Mr. Passebon, your assignment is to find these two boys.” He handed a set of glossies to the two Lepers. “They’ve been gone about twelve hours. It is not the first time. The parents say they usually find them in the video arcade in the old Gannon Mall. The parents are afraid they are in the Pipe. Mr. Cooperhayes reports the communication towers are out of commission again so don’t rely on your cells.”