by Nickie Asher
Lucas photographed him front, side, and back.
Gibson pointed to the counter. “Over here.”
He took Julian’s fingerprints. “We’ll run these through the AFIS and see if you’ve been a good boy. And you better hope like hell you have.”
Julian didn’t have to hope anything. He hadn’t been a vampire long enough to get into trouble and have his prints in the automated identification system.
“Get on the table.” Gibson jerked a thumb over his shoulder. He poked a few keys on a laptop. “We’ll finish you up while your print-check runs.”
Julian eyed the table. Heavy chains anchored restraints with thick leather, chain-reinforced cuffs to the metal surface. His heart jammed tight in his throat and choked the breath out of him. He backed away, unable to force himself to climb on there and let them strap him down.
Gibson advanced. “Get on the goddamn table.”
Without thinking or rationalizing, Julian sprang forward in a bid for freedom.
Gibson moved with amazing speed and agility, blocking Julian like a linebacker. Still sluggish from the drugs in his system, Julian responded slowly. Gibson grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back and yanking upward. Pain shot to his shoulder. Hissing, he jerked away from Gibson.
Lucas rushed forward, control device in hand. Julian sprang away, but the prongs grazed over his ribs. The shock knocked his legs from under him. He hit the floor hard and lay immobilized while pain gripped his shaking body.
Lucas and Gibson grabbed Julian’s arms and dragged him onto the table. They shackled him with practiced speed, locking the spike-lined cuffs in place. Gibson went to the counter and checked the laptop. “His prints are clean,” he said, disappointment evident in his voice.
Lucas grunted.
The light shock wore off while the men attended to business at the counter. Julian had a sick feeling they wanted him good and alert. The thought ran down his spine like ice water.
Panic sank claws deep into him and he lost his fragile grip on self-control. He fought the restraints with furious determination, ignoring the spikes digging into his flesh. He jerked and twisted the binding straps until his wrists burned and blood dripped from beneath the chain-reinforced leather.
The men waited until he wore himself into panting, helpless, exhaustion. His gaze darted between Lucas and Gibson, and a shudder ran through his sweaty body.
The door opened and a short, bald man stepped into the room. “He ready?” He held a syringe with a long, thick needle.
“Yeah,” Gibson said.
The technician approached. “Another cut one.”
“Stinkin’ half-breeds,” Gibson said.
The tech prodded Julian’s hip. His flesh twitched at the contact. “What’s that?” Julian eyed the syringe.
“Chemical castration.” He poked another spot on Julian’s hip.
Julian’s breath choked off. “What?”
“Did I stutter? Every male is chemically sterilized.”
“No!” Julian jerked in the restraints, instincts screaming for him to fight.
“Don’t piss yourself. You’ll still be able to get it up and fuck. Though you’ll be shootin’ blanks for the next five years. Don’t need you breedin’ an makin’ more little rats for us to deal with.”
Julian fought the straps despite the agony in his wrists and shifted his lower body as far away as possible.
“Consider yourself lucky. If the Director had his way, you’d be surgically castrated instead.” He looked pointedly at Julian’s genitals.
Despite Julian’s struggles, the technician found the proper spot and jammed the needle in, depressing the plunger and spreading liquid fire through Julian’s hip. He arched off the table before collapsing and shivering in uncontrollable waves until the pain eased.
“He’s all yours.” The technician dropped the syringe in a sharps container and hurried from the room.
Lucas went to the counter. “Get his hand ready.”
Gibson fiddled under the table and the chain clanked. The restraint on Julian’s right wrist pulled downward until his hand lay flat against the cold metal and the spikes dug deep into his flesh. His teeth clenched. His guts clenched.
Lucas approached with a long rod—the branding tool—and a small jar. He handed the jar to Gibson.
Julian’s mouth went dry. His bladder felt full and heavy. He struggled, but his hand was secured to the table. His heart pounded with such force that blacking out seemed imminent. He desperately hoped he would.
Lucas positioned the bar and pressed the tool into the back of Julian’s hand. His flesh sizzled and steam curled up from around the plate. He screamed and almost urinated. Instantly sick, the pain bone-deep, he swallowed repeatedly as the stench of burned meat rose on the air.
Lucas removed the instrument, revealing three-inch letters now imprinted into his skin—RV.
Pain throbbed to his shoulder. Moaning, he shivered, rattling his chains, as chills racked his sweat-slicked body. Hell existed and he was in it. But at least he hadn’t been marked with the brand given to vampires who cooperated in exchange for a government handout. Having been caught in the Restricted Zone, he was automatically considered and branded a rogue.
Gibson unscrewed the lid from the little jar and dipped into the contents. He rubbed the thick, jelly-like goop into the brand, pressing hard.
Julian’s breath hitched and he clenched his jaws against the burning agony in his hand. The raw red wound turned black. Copper. Gibson had rubbed copper into the burn to make sure it healed black.
Lucas went back to the counter. “Get him ready.”
Blind panic and the primal need to escape sent Julian into a fresh attack against the restraints.
He wrenched his right arm with every ounce of strength he had. The leather and chain on his wrist tore apart. In a knee-jerk reaction, he grabbed Lucas’ lab coat and hauled him forward.
Lucas squealed and snatched at his pocket, yanking out the control device.
Julian released Lucas’ jacket and caught his arm, twisting hard. Bones snapped with a loud crack. Lucas screamed and dropped the device.
Hell, had he broken someone’s arm that easily?
“You son of a whore,” Lucas squalled.
Gibson jabbed and an agonizing force slammed into Julian’s stomach. Burning pain lanced through his body and his motor control vanished. He fell back on the table, unable to even catch his breath.
Gibson’s fist smashed into his mouth and he tasted blood. His stomach responded with painful knots.
Julian shuddered. They had him down. There would be no mercy now.
The door crashed open and three men rushed in.
“Strap him down tight,” Gibson said.
Unable to move, Julian’s guts cramped while the men restrained him.
“Get up to the med center,” Gibson told Lucas who made a hasty exit. He stalked to the counter and selected another branding tool.
Julian’s stomach convulsed and his heart wedged into the base of his throat, strangling him. A technician held his hand in place. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Gibson pressed the plate into Julian’s skin. Pain tore up his arm and down into his hand. He screeched and struggled to breathe. His tormentor pulled the plate away and displayed a three-inch-long bar under the RV, the dangerous vampire identifier. Next came the copper ointment, turning the destroyed flesh from red to black.
Julian moaned.
A technician forced Julian’s arm over, positioning it so his inner forearm was exposed. He shivered on the cold metal table. Please, God, don’t let me piss myself. Please…
Gibson positioned a tool with a long plate. Julian shuddered and bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. The red-hot metal pressed into his skin.
Pain stole his scream and vomit surged up his throat. His bladder let go. Unable to breathe, he panicked. His stomach heaved again.
Choking on puke, he struggled in the restraints until his consciousness
wavered and everything dimmed.
PAIN, NAUSEA, and the stench of urine filtered through Julian’s consciousness. His hand and arm sang, throbbing and burning as if he’d stuck them in a hornets’ nest.
His stomach rolled.
Lying on cold metal with thick bars at his back, the motion of a vehicle lulled and coaxed him back toward the peace of sleep. But instead of giving in to the desire, he forced his eyes open to slits.
Enough moonlight filtered through tiny windows for him to see that he shared the back of a van with three other miserable looking males. The cages were close enough for them to reach through the bars and touch each other, but no one moved.
He pushed up his sleeve and gaped at the inside of his forearm. Holy fuck. He was now known to the government as vampire WA49S3728W97. The identification brand ran from two inches below the inside of his elbow to his mangled wrist. The charred letters and numbers were about an inch tall.
Registered as a Seattle vampire, if caught in a different registration zone, he would be shipped back to the Seattle Open Zone.
If caught in a different state, he would be returned or killed at their discretion. And wasn’t that a no-brainer for budget-strapped states? The cost of a single dose of lethal drugs versus the cost of shipping a vampire made it easy.
Population control at its finest.
His hand and arm throbbed. Violated was the word that came to mind. Violated and betrayed by the government he’d always counted on for protection as a United States citizen.
Now, to the government, he was no more than a dangerous animal that could be killed any time they deemed appropriate.
Violated. Betrayed. Alone.
Ignoring the pain, he clenched and flexed his hand. As far as appearance went, they’d destroyed his bow hand. He wouldn’t be able to play violin without the brands being on prominent display.
Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be permitted to play with the symphony if they would have him. Which they wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even be permitted to play in a club. He swallowed past a sudden blockage in his throat.
The van rolled to a stop and, a moment later, the rear doors were flung wide. An officer opened Julian’s cage and stepped back. “Get your mangy ass out. You’re free to go.”
Julian launched from the cage. An overwhelming desire to kill the officer sent him sprinting across the street before he acted on the urge.
Behind him, the doors slammed shut and the van roared away.
Free? He wasn’t free. He’d been shackled in government bonds and life as he’d known it had been taken from him. His reality registered, cold and unflinching.
Several vampires walked in a group on the opposite side of the street. They barely spared him a glance. Two of the males were marked with a V1 brand. Both had small children trailing them.
Julian couldn’t find it within himself to be disgusted with them. How could he wish ill on them when the government made it so tempting to give in and submit to the identification process?
Vampires who voluntarily received the brands were cared for at a clinic where they were sedated and then given a supply of painkillers and ointments to make it as easy on them as possible.
That in itself wouldn’t be enough, but the government bastards were smart. They couldn’t very well round up the vampires they’d already shoved into the Open Zones and torture them the way they did the ones caught in the restricted areas. Not unless they wanted to take a chance on the vampires getting to the point where they felt they had nothing else to lose. That was a prescription for revolt and the government bastards didn’t want that.
Instead, they offered what amounted to a bribe to vampires who were often desperate and willing to do anything to feed their children.
The promise of a small check and a food card to use for a year after receiving the brands was often enough when hungry children were part of the equation.
Julian trudged on. Dim streetlights, with broken and missing bulbs, barely illuminated the area. Dismal houses with cracked windows, swaybacked roofs, and weed-choked lawns screamed abject poverty and hopelessness.
He couldn’t believe anyone would voluntarily bring his family there. Not even the two-year monthly stipend the government used as an incentive to relocate would have been enough for him.
He shoved his hair back and tried to get his bearings. Was he near White Center? Wherever he’d been dumped, it was awful. How far was he from downtown Seattle?
A fat drop of rain hit his face. Then another and another.
Wonderful. Was there no end to this night in hell?
The rain picked up, pelting him with stinging fury. Within minutes, he was soaked and shivering. But the rain’s chill didn’t match the ice inside him.
Not one thing made the neighborhood livable. The homes appeared unfit for animals, yet most had occupants.
Children played on falling-apart covered porches. A few romped in the streets, despite the rain. Vampires weren’t permitted to own cars, so there wasn’t any traffic to pose a danger to the little ones.
His chest burned with indignant rage. No one should be forced to live under such conditions or subjected to degradation and cruelty for being born to a different race.
His rage morphed and combined with guilt. Worse than the painful burns, worse than hunger, worse than loneliness, was admitting he’d been an arrogant, selfish, spoiled bastard who hadn’t given a damn about the plight of anyone beyond himself.
He deserved everything that had happened to him. He’d always thought himself a good person. But he hadn’t been one at all. Far from it.
Maybe he could find a way to set some of it right, make up for the way he’d been. Determination stiffened his spine. With his head held high in the cold, driving rain, he walked toward the Restricted Zone.
Chapter Five
JULIAN SLIPPED around the side of a hard rock club and concealed himself in a recessed doorway. A rush of excitement and anticipation combined with anxious, desperate lust fired his blood.
He leaned against the door. Music pounded as a band performed with more gusto than talent. Something he would never do on a stage again. Fresh pain ripped through him with staggering force.
Closing his eyes, he fought to center himself. He had bigger problems than losing his career. Survival, uncertain from moment to moment, was all that mattered now.
Chills crawled along his skin and he shivered, though, soon enough, fever would bake him until nausea churned his stomach.
He clenched his fists, but quickly relaxed his hands. The brands still hurt almost as bad as the night they had been burned into his flesh. When had that been? Three days ago? Four? He wasn’t sure.
He focused on the front parking lot, waiting for suitable quarry—someone so high on drugs or alcohol they wouldn’t remember him.
He would prefer going after one of the government goons patrolling the streets, but appeasing his desire for payback might backfire. He was too sick to even think straight much less take on the drug-toting Nazi-wannabes.
Movement caught his attention. A female.
Long, honey-colored hair swished in rhythm with her hips as she tottered across the gravel parking lot on stiletto heels. She was going to do harm to herself in those ridiculous shoes if she wasn’t careful.
The female passed Julian without so much as a glance in his direction. Not that he cared. He watched her mince unsteadily along until she reached the sidewalk and crossed the street.
A moment later, she cut into an alley and the fine hair on his arms rose off his skin. Alleys were now things to avoid if possible.
Validating his apprehension, a large male separated from the shadows and snaked behind the little blond.
Julian sprang from the doorway and headed for the street at a fast clip. Dodging traffic, he sprinted after them. He followed them into the dark passageway and skidded to a halt.
The male had the little female pinned tight against a wall. Her back pressed into the brick as he loomed over her
, his hands against the wall on either side of her, forming a cage.
Julian breathed in the bitter scent of her fear. “Get the fuck away from her,” he bellowed.
The leather-clad vampire spun. Taller and heavier with a hard, merciless face framed by black hair, he reeked menace.
Julian wasn’t intimidated. He could fight one-on-one even if his guts did feel as though they were packed with broken glass. He dropped into a crouch.
The rogue sprang and Julian leapt to meet the attack. They collided with a bone-jarring impact before dropping hard and rolling on the asphalt.
Nails tore into Julian, ripping searing furrows from his left pec down to the waistband of his jeans. The pain was intense, shocking. Warm wetness soaked his shredded shirt. The scent of blood rose, inflaming him.
Hissing, he slashed at his opponent’s throat with a well-aimed swipe. The brute deflected the blow, flipped Julian, and struggled to pin him down.
SARANNA JERKED her phone from her purse and frantically dialed her brother. He answered on the first ring. “Saranna, where are you?”
“Lancaster Alley. Oh, God, hurry.”
“What’s wrong?” Panic filled his voice.
“Just get here. Someone’s going to be killed.” She cut off the call to get him moving. Already on his way to meet her, he couldn’t be more than a couple blocks away.
She clapped a hand over her mouth.
The males struggled on the pavement, growling and slashing at each other. It was already obvious the younger, smaller one, outclassed by age and weight, was going to lose.
As if on cue, the older male attacked with his teeth, ripping his opponent’s throat. Blood spurted and a choked cry came out of the young male, but he didn’t falter.
Oh, God. He’d saved her and he was going to pay with his life. Right in front of her. With her heartbeat roaring in her ears, she fought the urge to flee. She didn’t want to see him killed.
But to her amazement, he delivered a blow that dislodged his attacker. In a move almost too fast to comprehend, the older vampire lay beneath the young one.
A volley of shouts stopped the combatants cold.
