Tangles of gas pipes, some larger than a man’s body, connected the oblong gas kilns to a tower that loomed hundreds of feet into the night sky. Conveyors ran up to a giant, smoke-spewing furnace in the center A dozen methane tanks sat around on the perimeter.
The whole assembly looked like a monstrous, angry spider surrounded by its eggs. Tatsu shuddered. He hated spiders!
Garbage piles, some fifty feet high, covered most of the lot. Tatsu wondered how the human workers moving the shit stood the stench. Even breathing through his mouth didn’t help. At least reek would hide his scent from any kyūketsuki.
Steel ladders around each tank were bisected every twenty or so feet by landings attached to catwalks that ran into the plant’s bowels. Those catwalks were his way in.
Time was running out. Soon, daylight was going to put a stop to whatever the vampires were doing. He needed to get directly above the pack, hear what is going on, and get word back to his teammates before having to fight.
And he knew there’d be a fight. For one, he had to retrieve that virus. Two, he was going to save Bana’s ass.
In a crouching run, he dashed past a stinking mountain until he reached the nearest tank. Inched rung-by-rung up to the first catwalk. Belly-crawled along it until he was above the milling group, He peered through the metal grill at the scene below. Things looked like they were getting ugly.
Directly below him, vampires circled Bana and the thieves, cowering behind him. Bana drew his guns, and assumed a combat stance.
Tatsu felt a twinge of hope. Perhaps Bana was recalling his sense of duty, how he used to protect people not kill them. Or maybe he was just protecting his next meal. Regardless, Tatsu knew that even with vampire speed and strength, there was no way Bana could survive that many attackers.
Tatsu bunched his legs under him and braced himself drop into a fight. He ducked when brilliant light swept across the plant. A car came through the gate and stopped a dozen feet away. The driver climbed out, slammed the door and strode toward the plant.
The vampires grew silent. A few shifted away from. the figure walking toward them. Their sly, uncertain moves reminded Tatsu of a pack of coyotes waiting for a signal from their leader.
Although shorter than anyone else, the newcomer emanated an incredible power. The creature’s alabaster skin shone with an eerie translucent. Part of his silver hair was tied in a top-knot, the rest spilled over his shoulders. The classically Japanese face, with it flowing mustache, could have been noble. But the sneering arrogance of the lips rendered that face ugly.
As he walked, the vampire’s ankle-length coat blew back and revealed a full hakama bound with an embroidered obi that held a single, long sword.
With a sick certainty, Tatsu knew this was Ukita Sadomori, Daimyō of the Seattle Vampire Clan. And Arisada’s Seisakusha.
“You have something for me?” Sadomori hissed leveling his pitiless gaze on the three humans. He signaled a heavy-set bull wearing a hip-length leather coat who took the biocontainer from the frightened thief.
The bull popped the lid, examined the contents before tossing a canvas bag to the cowering man. “Quarter of a million, as agreed. You breathe a word, I’ll pay you with something different.” The monster cupped his crotch and thrust his hips out with a fang-filled smirk.
The thief gave a frightened bob of his head. Trembling, he opened the sack and pulled out a wad of cash. Greed flashed across his face. He grinned and waved the bundle at his partners It split apart and scattered. Shouting with dismay, the men scrabbled about on their knees, stuffing bills into their pockets. Several vampires jeered and showed their fangs. One of the men pissed himself. The pack roared with laughter.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Tatsu squirmed back into the deeper shadow of the tank. He pressed his dog collar against his throat, and whispered. “Found virus. Twenty or more hostiles. Ukita is here.”
“Sonofabitch. Copy that. ETA five, six minutes tops.” Galloway’s response was broken up.
Kuso, five minutes was too long. Tatsu squirmed back along the catwalk. The pack was circling the thieves who jumped and skittered like terrified deer about to be eaten alive. Sadomori stood apart, staring at the tableau with a look of disdain.
Headlights flashed at the far end of the street and raced toward the refinery. Too soon for the Hummer. Tatsu’s throat went desert-dry at the sight of the sleek silver Audi pulling up outside the gate. Arisada climbed out of the car.
Scalding hurt filled Tatsu as for the first time in nearly a month, he beheld the one he loved.
Arisada’s gaze swept the scene—the quivering fearful men, the dozen slavering vampires, the smug satisfaction in his Daimyō’s face. He slipped his sword through his sash and strode toward the pack. The stenches of human fear and piss, coppery vampire tang, rotting garbage and old oil assailed him.
Then he caught the merest hint of Tatsu’s scent. His belly clenched. Shimatta, what in the name of the Buddha Amida was the boy doing here? He suppressed his reaction and continued his unhurried approach.
A few paces from Sadomori, he stopped and bowed. “Seisakusha, you sent for me?”
The Daimyō knew his Primary with an intimacy forged by centuries of fucking him. He immediately sensed that miniscule change in Arisada body. Fear coupled with arousal.
The Daimyō’s nostrils flared, and he peered up into the spider web of steel above. He separated the new, scent of life from the thick smell of blood-hungry vampires and cowering thieves. A youth—battle-ready, sexually aroused. A body filled with anger and grief. He could only be Arisada’s soulmate!
Stark jealousy flashed through Sadomori. His lips lifted in a snarl, fang tips flashing white. He greeted his Primary in a voice ladened with venom. “Saito-san, you show me no respect by arriving late.”
Arisada offered a sketch of a bow. “Gomen nasai, Daimyō. I only just received your message.”
“Take charge of this matter for me, Saito-san.” Sadomori nodded at the three frightened men. Relief flooded their faces. “I will deal with your disrespect later.” He knocked Arisada aside with his shoulder as he strode to his waiting Mercedes and tossed the container into the backseat.
“Oh, and Arisada? There is a hunter up in the scaffolding. Bring me his head.” Sadomori smiled with a cold twist of lips at the shock distorting his Primary’s beautiful face.
Sadomori’s departure signaled the pack. Blood howls rent the air as vampires surged toward the humans. Panicked, the men bolted away from the safety of their van into the shadows of the tower.
Shit, now what? The sweep of wide-set headlights lit the far end of the street answered Tatsu. Heedless of the danger, Tatsu jumped up, waving the katana in the direction of the departing car. “Mercedes. Ukita Sadomori has the virus!”
Indecision tore through Passebon. He slammed on the brakes for a second, making the truck skid. “Merde. Cobb or the car?”
“The kid can handle himself,” Galloway growled. “Don’t lose that fucking car.”
Passebon laughed and jerked his chin toward the fleeing Mercedes “You insult me, mon ami. This one is a cochon, and we know pigs can’t drive.” Passebon skidded around the corner, caught a glimpse of the red tail light of the Mercedes a block ahead. He hit the gas. The massive truck ploughed between two derelict cars, smashing them aside like toys.
“This is easier than taking grande-mère on her Sunday drive to church.”
“Stop being a wiseass and drive.”
Passebon skidded the truck around another warehouse. The Mercedes was mere yards in front. “Call for back-up.”
Galloway reached for his cell. “Need it for the kid too. He may be Super Ninja, but the kid won’t be able to hold his own for long.”.
The second he saw the Hummer accelerate, Tatsu dashed back to his position. Not a moment too soon. Vampires circled the cowering men, toying with them, feasting off the palpable wash of terror now filling the air. In a panic, the thieves bolted away from their van directly beneath T
atsu’s hiding place. The pack surged after them.
In the middle of the fanged mob, Tatsu spotted a distinct head covered by a thatch of curly black curls. He vaulted over the railing, one hand reaching toward the massive chain hanging from the gantry ten feet above his head. His clawing fingers folded around the thick, steel links. Howling the war cry of the Kurosaki Clan, dropped beside Bana.
“Hey, partner,” Tatsu grinned.
Bana stared with surprise. The crimson glare in his eyes dissolved back into their hazel, human shade. “Boyo, what the fekking Christ you doin’ here?”
“Saving your ass,” Tatsu laughed at the familiar obscenity spitting from Bana’s fanged mouth. Out of habit, the two moved back-to-back. Guns and swords dealt death to all around them.
Arisada halted, stunned, at hearing the ancient war cry of the Kurosaki Clan. Dismay filled him at the sight of Tatsu dropping into the slavering mob. Oh, my koibito, you possess such foolhardy courage.
He whipped out his nodachi and waded into the melee with only one purpose—to save the boy. One after another he cut down his own kind as he fought his way toward his lover.
Tatsu caught a flash of that fire-colored hair. A moment of fear filled him. Would Arisada fight alongside his Clan? Then Tatsu caught the silver-bright arc of Arisada’s blade as it cleaved through one, then another of his kind. All doubt evaporated. Even if he died this night, he would be at Arisada’s side.
“Come on, partner. We can take ’em.” Tatsu turned to Bana. His mirthless grin dissolved in dismay at the distortion of Bana’s face. Nothing of humanity remained in that fanged visage.
The scent of blood obliterated the last of Bana’s rationale. He saw the red-haired vampire wielding a gore-covered sword. In a confused jumble, Bana recalled another night, another fight, when he’d tried to kill this same bloodsucker. With a scream of blind rage, he aimed his guns at Arisada’s head.
“Bana, kudesai! Kudesai! Stop!” But the din of the fight drowned Tatsu’s shout. In desperation, he slammed the back edge of his short blade across Bana’s wrists. Too slow. Too late.
Bana pulled both triggers. White-hot bursts of incendiaries stitched across the torsos of several vampires and punched into the wall of the nearest gas tank.
Night turned to day in a blinding instant. The second tank exploded, the third. Huge gouts of flame and black smoke boiled into the sky. Sheets of flesh-shredding metal spun like confetti over the site, raining death over everything. Then, with a mind-shattering roar, the entire plant blew up. The world disintegrated.
Searing pain ripped through Tatsu. He did not hear his own scream. The ground spun up to meet him and everything turned black.
Warehouses for a block around the plant shook, walls split roofs fell in. The road bucked like a rollercoaster beneath the speeding Humvee, jouncing it high into the air. Its wide wheels screamed for purchase.
“Earthquake!” Galloway yelled a second before a massive eruption tore the night apart. He spun around with a cry of utter horror.
The Cajun looked into the rearview mirror, eyes widening at the sun-bright ball boiling into the sky. “Mon dieu, mon fucking dieu!” He wrenched the steering wheel, fought the bucking truck. Tires screamed as the Hummer spun through a-hundred-eighty-degree turn. The rear clipped a wall. Sparks accompanied the shriek of metal as the bumper sheared off.
Galloway’s temple smashed against the passenger-side window. His grunt of pain turned into several “fucks” at the sight of flames and roiling black smoke billowing hundreds of feet into the air.
With no regard for his partner’s bleeding head, Passebon careened insanely though streets filled with blinding smoke.
“Oh, Jesus Christ. No, no, no, not the kid,” Galloway leaped from the Hummer even before it came to a full stop half a block from the raging inferno. The two Lepers staggered, driven nearly to their knees by the heat. Thick oily smoke choked their lungs, tore away their breath. The roar from the conflagration deafened them.
Angry flames lashed over acres of twisted metal and mountains of shattered concrete. Only the lower part of the central tower remained standing. The roofs of every tank had blown off and lay like bizarre, giant bowls. Both men ducked as loaders exploded, flipping high in the air like chaff to crash upside down, their smoldering tires spinning.
Bodies, scorched beyond recognition, lay scattered about. The smell of burnt meat engulfed the two horrified men, the stench made hideous by the knowledge that it was human flesh.
Galloway screamed Tatsu’s name as he dashed dangerously close to the inferno. The blond Leper, tears streaming down his face, staggered back to the Hummer. He could barely hold his cell in his shaking hand as he stabbed in the emergency number for the Colony. An eternity passed, or maybe a millisecond, before hearing Cooperhayes’ calm, blessed voice.
“Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Harbor Island power plant. Explosion,” Galloway’s cry tore into the tiny speaker. “The kid! Oh God, the kid, he’s.…” His voice ended in a strangled cry as he doubled over, grief wracking his body.
“Copy that. I shall inform the Major. Back-up ETA, twenty minutes.” Cooperhayes’ voice shook with emotion.
Anger shredded Passebon’s senses as he scanned for any sign of the kid. “Merde! No one could have survived that!” He caught his partner around the shoulders. Held the distraught man against his broad chest. Murmured in French. Said everything and anything to stop Galloway from running into the inferno.
Over that blond head, Passebon spotted a shard of steel glittering on the ground near the gate. He released Galloway and, with a shaking hand, picked it up. Stared in shock at the lower half of Tatsu’s katana. Light from the fire danced along the shattered blade.
“Mon Dieu. It’s the kid’s.” His deep voice grated with anguish. Then he let his tears fall.
.
Nineteen
The sole survivor of the explosion writhed in agony, his face twisted into a hideous rictus. Blood and body fluids soiled the rich Persian carpet. Most of the creature’s clothes were burned off, the flesh beneath rendered to blackened meat. His wounds so severe, even his unnatural healing ability could not save him. “I saw Saito-san … slaying our kind—”
“Did you see a boy with him?” Sadomori interrupted in suppressed rage.
“Hai, hai. Bishounen … jade eyes, brown hair. Fighting … two swords … style of niten’ichi.” The vampire’s scorched lungs labored but found no air.
Sadomori’s gorge rose as he realized his Primary had lied to him. Arisada had disobeyed him, not killed that boy. The Daimyō knelt and stroked the matted hair away from the suppurating face. “Tell me, did you see Saito-san after the explosion?” The fury in his voice gave lie to his gentle caress. The mutilated vampire opened his mouth to reply but only gasped out a foul breath.
The door burst open and Nakamura Omi rushed into the room. He blurted out his news without waiting for permission to speak. “Daimyō, I believe Saito-san survived. When we arrived at the plant, his car was gone. A large group of hunters was already there.”
“Why didn’t you kill the filthy swine?” Sadomori glared up at his cowering underling through death-filled eyes. Blood-flecked spittle sprayed the air where his fangs sliced his lips.
The terrified kyūketsuki dropped to his knees, pressed his forehead to the floor. “Gomen nasai. I feared a fight with them would delay me. I deemed it was critical to tell you of your Primary’s actions.”
“I see the fear in your eyes, fear of mere humans. Your cowardice will not go unpunished. But for now, I have more pressing matters.” Without looking down, Sadomori drove his tanto into the burned vampire’s eye. The creature’s body convulsed once, his chest collapsed with an obscene rattle.
Sadomori wiped the blade on the corpse’s clothing. “Nakamura, get off your knees. Remove this offal. Pack up what we need. We’re moving,” he ordered as he stood. His body vibrated with rage as he walked over to the picture window, stared at the smattering of lights surrounding the
distant silhouette of the Space Needle.
He caught the group of anxious kyūketsuki in a ferocious glare. Every vampire backed away, bowing. Sadomori smiled, the expression made grotesque by his fangs.
“Destroy these hunters. But bring the traitor and that boy to the Needle. Do not harm them. The pleasure of their deaths will be mine alone. Do you understand?” His voice was the more deadly for its sudden calm.
As one, the kyūketsuki exited the chamber. One growled long and low as the killing blood rose in his veins. Several echoed him.
Sadomori stared again at the tall spire above the night-shadowed skyline. Soon he would rule this miserable city just as he ruled countless others in the past. He savored that thought of triumph. And the killing that was about to come.
He was right to trust no one, not even his Primary, the one who swore to serve him until death. A thousand years ago Sadomori Ukita was betrayed and now again. Betrayed, always betrayed.
Satsuma Province, Nipon, Winter 798
The old woman shrieked as the apparition loomed out of the swirling snow. Her foot skidded in the frozen mud, and she dropped her straw basket of wood. Fagots scattered everywhere. Almost on top of her, a horse crashed to the ground. Its cracked hooves scrabbled against the frozen ground leaving long gouges. With a groan, the beast’s final breath escaped its lungs in a wheeze as its gaunt ribs slowly collapsed. Steaming red-flecked foam dribbled from its stilled nostrils and turned instantly to pink ice.
The crone backed away from the beast, tripped and landed on her bottom. Her screeches of “Oni, oni, save me from the demon” reverberated through the small mountain village. The echoing shrieks drew the brave and foolhardy alike. Shivering in their thin cloaks, several men tiptoed closer to the fallen beast.
“Fools, stop your hysterical chatter. This is not the oni,” Jurou, the village elder, hobbled through the crowd, shoving the gawkers aside with his staff. He knelt beside the brown, shaggy horse, and saw the rider pinned partially beneath the animal’s gaunt flank.
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