by Nickie Asher
The possibility of getting too emotionally involved left an even worse feeling. It was time to put the brakes on things before he set himself up for a real nut-crusher. Having her would mean risking more pain than he’d ever known with any woman. He wasn’t going to allow it. Besides, he had other things to concentrate on now.
He sat beside her, careful to keep his hands palms up. He’d cleaned the wounds, but they were still ugly.
“Jesus, Julian, what happened?”
He talked, sparing no detail. When he finished, he felt like a weight had been taken off him. “I’ve reached a decision. I have to do something. This is bigger than me losing my career. I want to fight them, Saranna. I want in the Resistance.”
Chapter Thirteen
THE FOLLOWING night, Julian found himself thinking the favor gods had bestowed one on him as he accompanied Vali through the entertainment district.
Music thumped from a dozen different venues. Patrons loitered on the sidewalk or in lines waiting to get inside the dark dens of excess. But he and Vali weren’t going clubbing. Tonight, they had a mission, a favor for Ashton. True, they were only picking up a pay envelope, but being asked and trusted was a step in the right direction.
“How much farther is this place?” Julian asked.
“Three blocks. And let me do the talking. I’ve done this once before.”
They found the contact standing under an awning, reading a newspaper. A brown hat hid his eyes.
Julian almost laughed at the stereotypical image, but stopped himself. The guy might not know how to dress, but this was serious business.
“Ashton sent us,” Vali said.
“And?” Hat Guy said.
“Purple wombat.”
Purple wombat? For real? Julian bit the inside of his cheek.
Hat Guy reached inside his jacket and withdrew a fat envelope. Without a word, he handed it to Vali and walked away.
“See, easy.” Vali tucked the envelope inside his denim jacket.
“Yeah, no sweat.”
They headed back the way they had come, passing a cluster of male vampires.
“You see that?” Vali asked and cocked his thumb over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Every one of those dudes had the V1 brand. Sellout motherfuckers.”
Julian glanced back. “Maybe they needed the money more than they needed their pride.”
They passed a club blasting 80’s hair-metal. Julian rubbed his temple. The shit sucked. Too much of that and he would have a splitting headache.
“I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. Bad things happen to V1ers,” Vali said.
Julian didn’t believe for a minute that vampires submitted to the V1 brand because they wanted to be cooperative. “What if they had hungry children they couldn’t feed?”
“Well…”
“Yeah,” Julian said.
“I never really considered that.” Vali dodged a pair of rowdy human teens. “It’s not uncommon for those guys to get the shit beat out of them. Sometimes they get killed.”
“I don’t begrudge them. I really don’t. It’s the fucking government I despise. If they didn’t make life a living hell, those guys wouldn’t have to consider doing something like that.”
“I guess so.”
“I know so.”
It was easy to condemn someone on the government dole, but if Julian had learned one thing, it was that desperation could push a person into the unthinkable.
Vali glanced over at him. “Saranna said you want in the Resistance.”
“I do.” He carefully flexed his injured hands.
“I want in too, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen. At least not until I’m older.”
Julian tensed. “Why?”
“You’re barely old enough. But Ashton likes you.”
“You’re telling me he doesn’t want you? I don’t buy it. Maybe he doesn’t want to endanger you because you’re family.”
“Dunno. But I have things to pay for.”
What in the world did Vali have to pay for? Julian wasn’t going to ask. He had his own secrets.
Besides, he had more pressing issues than participation in confession hour. He had to relieve himself. The two twenty-ounce Mountain Dews he’d sucked down before they’d left the apartment were killing him. “Hold on, I have to whiz.”
He ducked into an alley and made for a dumpster. The scent of rotting garbage and human blood hung thick on the air.
He stopped and listened. The sigh of a slight breeze passing through the alley, the rustle of plastic bags and loose paper, and normal street noise gave no indication of another’s presence. He breathed in the scents of everything around him.
Convinced no one lurked behind the dumpster, he moved forward.
Holy fuck.
A woman’s body lay sprawled on the asphalt, skirt hiked to her hips, legs spread obscenely. An absence of panties revealed still glistening fluids on her thighs. Blood dripped from a gaping slash in her throat and ran into her white-blond hair. More blood ran from a bite wound on the upper portion of one exposed breast.
“Vali … come here.”
“I don’t wanna see your dick, you weirdo,” Vali brayed from the sidewalk.
“Be serious, damn it. Shut up and come here.”
“What is it?” Vali sauntered into the alley.
Julian squatted and looked at the long, vicious gash in her neck. A gold locket lay against her pale skin. He grasped it and turned it over.
An inscription on the back read, For Katherine, may you never know difficulty. He dropped the locket and stood.
Vali rounded the Dumpster. “Damn. Another one.” He picked up a tiny black purse and rooted through the contents then tossed it down beside her. “Another street girl. Someone doesn’t like prostitutes.”
A high-pitched scream shredded through the alley.
Julian’s head jerked up.
Two women stood frozen, taking in the scene.
“Fuck.” Julian shoved Vali to get him moving.
STANDING IN a cold drizzle, sandwiched between two warehouses with a prostitute’s lifeless body wasn’t Framer’s idea of any way to spend the waning hours of the night.
The stink of blood lingered under the mask of cheap perfume and decomposing garbage. The odor of male vampire added to the stench. Day to day contact with them had burned the scent into his senses. He didn’t need the cocky detective to tell him a vampire had killed the woman.
A large tent-like covering sheltered the crime scene from the steady rain which threatened to wash away forensic evidence. Not that they needed it for a trial.
The same killer had done this. He didn’t need the detective to tell him that either. The bite on her upper breast was evidence enough. His signature. They had a psycho on their hands. That he was a vampire made him doubly dangerous.
The homicide crew worked methodically, taking photographs and bagging evidence. Once they finished, any fingerprints and duplicates of the photos would be sent over to the Security Center.
Though homicide was a police matter, a vampire perp made having the rogue hunted down and killed his responsibility. In a homicide such as this, he had to work with the police, the least appealing aspect of his position.
If the vampire had been through the Security Center and left a print at the crime scene, they would be able to identify him. A warrant would be issued and officers would hunt him.
Like the last victim, they would never know if she’d been raped. After all, she’d spent the evening renting out her snatch. Not that it mattered. The murder of a human was a capital crime. Didn’t matter if the victim was a whore or a senator’s daughter. A vampire-turned-killer would be hunted without mercy and executed when caught.
“Excuse me.” A woman with garish red hair approached. Another woman, whose clothes barely covered enough of her to keep her from being arrested, accompanied her.
“Whoa, ladies, this is a crime scene.” He held out his hands to
keep them from moving closer.
“We know. We saw them, the ones who did this,” the redhead said.
DAWN LOOMED no more than an hour off the horizon when Ashton and Slade showed up. Not a good sign.
Saranna had filled Slade in about the alley incident when he called. Slade had probably blabbed to Ashton the moment he ended the call.
Ashton didn’t bother to sit before confirming Julian’s suspicions. “I’m concerned about you two being seen in that alley.”
“They don’t know who we are,” Vali said. “It’s nothing to sweat.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Ashton looked between them. “We live in a high tech world, but even plain, old-fashioned police work could turn up trouble.”
Vali waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.
“You’re being way too blasé about this. Those fuckers get their hands on you, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
“Chill out, man. We’re not gonna get caught. Besides, we didn’t do anything.”
“Sometimes I worry about you, Vali. You need to take things more seriously.”
Vali’s expression turned sour. “You have no idea of what I’ve been through. Believe me, I take things seriously. But I’m not gonna spend my time worrying about what-ifs.”
“Ashton, can I ask something unrelated?” Julian said in a bid to change the subject and diffuse the situation.
“You can ask me anything you want.”
“I want to find my father. Any idea where I should begin?”
“I can send out some feelers for you. What’s your father’s name?”
“Christopher Wilkes.”
“It’s enough. If he’s around, we’ll get a lead on him.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” God, what if Ashton found him? And what if his father told him to get lost? Surely he wouldn’t do that. At least Julian hoped not.
The conversation turned back to business, but Julian only half listened. His stomach cramped, derailing his attention.
Blood hunger gnawed him, a rat nibbling at his guts. He silently cursed the weakness with the power to bring them to their knees. Inattentive, he tried to listen while Ashton talked about locations and traders, but it didn’t fully register. Now his mind was fixed on feeding, Saranna, and sex.
He glanced over at her. A frown bowed her pretty lips. Was she worried about them? A pang of regret for their reckless action stabbed him. Hitting her up to feed might not be such a good move. He could wait. Hell, he’d gone long days without sustenance. One day wouldn’t kill him.
Distracted and hungry, he fidgeted while Ashton and Slade rambled on about the dangers of carelessness. He caught Ashton staring at him.
Shit.
Being disrespectful wasn’t going to impress Ashton, and that sure as hell wouldn’t help him get into the Resistance.
BANKS GENTLY hung up his phone instead of giving in to the urge to slam the receiver down into the cradle. Framer. The sorry bastard only called when he had a problem.
He rubbed his forehead. The man gave him a skull-pounding headache every time they spoke. As usual, he’d dumped a load of bad news.
Banks didn’t give a shit that a rogue-gone-serial-killer was munching his way through Seattle’s prostitute population. What concerned him was the number of juveniles recorded at the Seattle center. The sons of bitches bred like rats. Or at least they had before measures were taken to curb the number of births.
Still, that did nothing about the pre-existing population. It was time for a cull. Of course, the ever present bleeding hearts would have a piss-fit if they got wind of any measure to thin the bastards out.
The last cull had caused a shit-storm with the tree-hugging, don’t-kill-Bambi crowd. It hadn’t stopped them of course, and it wouldn’t this time either. But it annoyed him and he had enough without the PC, vampire-loving idiots getting into the mix.
Besides, a culling was overdue. They needed to make a dent in the number of young vampires roaming the streets. After much pressuring of his superiors, they had finally given him the go-ahead to authorize a statewide cull.
He tapped a pencil on his desk and admired the latest pewter framed photo of his little girl, Celia. Her bitch mother only sent photos once or twice a year, and he cherished each one. Six years old, blond, and beautiful, she and her half-brother, Robin, were the sunshine in his life.
Robin was seventeen and all boy, Banks’ pleasure and pride. He spent time with his son whenever he could.
At least Robin’s mother wasn’t a bitch like Celia’s and didn’t try to interfere with his and Robin’s relationship.
Reaching inside his desk, he withdrew the envelope that had come in the afternoon mail drop and scattered the contents on his desk for the second time. Photos of Alex. The bastard son he wished dead with all his heart. Alex’s mother made Celia’s seem like a saint. Alex was sixteen now. Light brown hair, blue eyes, good looking. Banks hated Alex so deeply it made his chest hurt.
He stuffed the pictures back in the envelope and shoved them in his desk. He didn’t want to look at the images of Alex or think about him. As far as he was concerned, he only had two children.
His love for Celia and Robin was the force keeping him focused. If he had to order the death of every stinking vampire in the state to ensure their safety, he would do it.
How many should he authorize? He pulled the cull form up on his laptop and hit a few keys. He drummed his fingers on the desk. At the line reading Number of juvenile males authorized for cull, he typed in, Unlimited. No restrictions on euthanasia for a sixty day period, beginning immediately.
He emailed the document, enabling the centers to euthanize every young male brought in instead of processing them. Too bad he was restricted to a lousy sixty days instead of three to six months at a time.
Culls were always popular with the centers. Each corpse would be sold by weight to Halzworth and the money put into the centers’ tills, a nice benefit and incentive to take full advantage of the cull.
On the other hand, if things went as they should, the scientists he’d personally selected were going to perfect their work and the cull would look like a picnic in the park. It was time for some real vampire reduction numbers.
HE NEEDED to stop thinking about sex. And blood.
Julian tried to refocus on the twenty-four hour news station and his resolve to avoid anything leading to emotional pain and suffering.
To his relief, there had been no mention of the dead prostitute. Had anything come of their being at the scene, it surely would have made the news.
Saranna had the night off and Julian had her all to himself. Sharing the sofa, they sat close. She leaned tighter into him. “Would you do something for me?”
“Anything.” So much for resolve.
“Would you come to the club and walk me home for a couple of nights? Some regulars have been hassling me when I leave.”
“What?” Hot, predatory rage swept through him.
“Just some fools who’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’ll be there. And I’ll kill any son of a bitch who bothers you.” He wasn’t taking shit, he would do it.
“Thanks. Sometimes they scare me, but I don’t think it will come to you having to kill one of them.” She laid her head on his shoulder.
God, she smelled good. Her lilac-spring rain fragrance burrowed into his senses.
It roasted his nuts that she worked in such a shitty place. “You shouldn’t have to work.” He understood her desire to be independent, but when she had family willing to help… It didn’t make sense to keep working at such a shithole.
“I have to. But if you’ll come and walk me home, that’s all I need.”
“I was saving this for a surprise, but I have something for you.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a wad of cash.
“Julian, what is this?”
“I’ve been playing on the streets. I’m good. I make money.” And he was doing the thing he loved. Being on stage. Sort o
f.
“You did that for me?”
“You have a big heart, Saranna. I’ve never known anyone like you before and I want to help you. And I’m going to.”
Surprise and admiration glinted in her eyes. “I’ve never known anyone like you either. You’re the strongest individual I’ve ever met.”
“Me?”
She stroked his hair from his face. He had to restrain himself from grabbing her hand and kissing her palm.
“You’ve adjusted to a situation that would have crippled a lesser person. You have no idea how much I admire you. I’m so glad you’re a part of my life.”
“You mean that?” A nervous, half-broke-colt feeling stole over him.
“Yes.” She cocked her head. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“I’m okay. You haven’t had time to recover from feeding that street kid.”
She pulled her hair away from her throat, offering herself to him. “I can give you a little to dull the need. And don’t lie. You’re so hungry I smell it.” She leaned into him. Her scent and his hunger and desire wrecked any chance of turning down her offer.
He pounced, aggressively biting into her warm flesh. He moaned and sucked at her vein even as he struggled to control the urge to dominate her.
She maneuvered onto his lap without disturbing his feeding and sank her fingers into his hair, drawing him closer, pressing her body into his.
His cock hardened and, this time, he didn’t try to hide it. Instead, he thrust his hips up and let her feel his desire. No matter how badly he didn’t want to be hurt, he still wanted her, wanted to take her right there on the sofa.
Her hand slid down and touched him through his jeans. His cock strained, wanting free. He groaned against her skin. Her hands eased under his shirt and ran across his chest. His skin burned under her silky touch.
He licked over the bite and pulled away from her throat. She kneaded his skin and shivers of delight rippled through him. “You’re killing me.”
She pushed tighter against him and slipped her arms around his neck. She rubbed against his cock, grinding into him.
