Blood Judgment (Judgment Series)

by Nickie Asher

  “No, hear me out. You’ve been right all along. I’ll never take stupid chances again. I still want to help, but I won’t do it alone.”

  “You mean it?”

  “I almost lost our baby. I won’t take any more chances.”

  “I love you, Saranna.”

  “I love you, too. With all my heart.” She pulled away. “I’ll be right back.” When she returned, Ashton, Slade and Vali trailed behind her.

  “Julian, you scared us.” Ashton stood beside his bed.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you guys cared about my half-breed ass.”

  “Half-breed?” Surprise flashed across Ashton’s face.

  “Yeah, all that human blood … my mother … half-breed.”

  “Don’t you know how a conversion works?” Ashton sat in one of the chairs by the bed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You aren’t a half-breed. You were before you converted, but after that, your vampire blood destroyed the human blood in your body. You’re full vampire. Didn’t you know that?”

  Elation spread through him. He fit here. They accepted him. “I didn’t know.”

  “Now you do,” Ashton said. “And we need you. The Resistance needs you. And your mate needs you.”

  He looked at his little circle of friends. And knew he belonged.

  Julian took Saranna’s hand in his. It all felt so right. Somehow, it had all worked out and he was where he belonged.

  About The Author

  Nickie Asher writes urban fantasy romance, action fantasy romance, horror, and erotica. Besides blood and mayhem, Nickie loves writing about music and musicians. A member of Romance Writers of America, Nickie believes that no matter how much her characters have to suffer they deserve their Happily Ever After.

  Nickie can be found at:

  Website ~ Facebook

  Upcoming Novels by Nickie Asher

  An excerpt from Deadly Judgment, book two of the Judgment Series.

  Chapter One

  A vampire raving out of his mind was a terrifying thing to behold. Slade wanted to believe the youngster captured on the cell phone video had been tortured to the point that he’d broken. But Slade couldn’t manage it.

  Denying the obvious was foolish.

  The kid had been sick. No. Not just sick. Mad. As in foaming at the mouth, Cujo mad. And that left only two questions. What had he been infected with? And were the bastards at the Security Center responsible? The implications of the latter triggered icy-spikes of fear to run down his spine.

  He wanted to stop thinking about it, but the images were burned into his mind—had been for the past two months. Something asshole-ugly was brewing out there and had the vampire community in its sights. He strode down the street, his boots crunching through leaves fallen victim to the colder December temperatures, while every fiber of his being pulsed with certainty that all hell was about to break loose.

  What were the government bastards plotting? While he roamed farther and farther from downtown Seattle, unease ate at him, a crow picking his guts.

  Predator instincts on alert, he prowled with the intention of finding trouble, something to ease the ache in his soul. But then, he was only doing what was expected of him. Being a member of the Resistance required more than sitting on his ass.

  The feeling that nothing mattered anymore, at least not for him, weighed down on him. He wondered if maybe the solution lay in taking on more than he could fight his way out of.

  He cut down a dark side street, then another, and another.

  His phone shrilled to life with Iron Man, his ring tone for Ashton. Without breaking stride, he fished it out of his pocket.

  “What’s up?” Slade asked.

  “That Wolf you’ve been hunting has been spotted on Albert if you’re anywhere close to there.”

  “Just so happens I’m about three minutes away.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Shit. Careful is my middle name.”

  “Tell someone who doesn’t know better.” Ashton ended the call.

  Slade changed course and took off at a fast pace. If there was one thing he hated more than the government officers, it was the vampires who sold out their own for a government paycheck.

  He turned onto Albert and looked for some sign of his target. A silver SUV was parked near a ramshackle house. He squinted to make out the license plate.

  Bingo.

  Was the son of a bitch in that shitheap of a house? Now all stealth and business, Slade approached the falling apart front porch.

  Muted curses, scuffling, a female’s cry came from inside. Someone was getting the shit beaten out of them in there. Maybe worse. And it wasn’t that cocksucking Wolf Guard.

  Aggression and anger spurred him into motion. He charged toward the dwelling and up the cracked concrete steps. Yanking the door open, he stopped cold, too shocked to move.

  A juvenile vampire lay immobile on the bare, scarred floor. His hands were shackled and blood covered his wrists from the spikes inside the cuffs digging into his flesh. His arms were drawn above his head and held in place by a Wolf Guard while another Wolf pinned his legs down. A third bastard, this one human, a Security Center officer, carved up the juvenile’s guts. A large wad of cloth protruded from the youngster’s mouth—though his muffled cries still escaped. Tears leaked from his eyes and ran down into his hair.

  Close to the young male laid the body of a female. Her throat gaped open like an obscene, grinning mouth and a river of blood pooled around her. An infant, still blood-covered from birth, wriggled on the cold, filthy floor beside the female. The newborn’s little face scrunched up and a loud wail burst out of her.

  To the side lay the Wolf he’d been hunting. His hands were bound behind him and his feet were shackled. He appeared dazed as if he’d been tased. His glazed eyes met Slade’s. “Please,” the captive Wolf gasped. “Save my son.”

  Slightly beyond the Wolf lay another young male. His hands were shackled and blood covered his t-shirt. He didn’t move.

  The scent of blood, fear, and mildew filled Slade’s nostrils. Choking him.

  Slade processed the scene in a fraction of a second and while he didn’t give two shits about the Wolf, the juvenile was being butchered. With a roar, Slade sprang forward, going for the man with the knife. The officer yanked the blade free, leapt up and spun to meet the attack.

  Lightening-hot pain struck Slade’s back. His legs collapsed, spilling him on the floor in a writhing heap.

  Someone cackled from behind him.

  Slade struggled to roll over, but his limbs refused to take direction under the disabling effect from the shock of an electronic vampire control device. The equivalent of a souped-up taser, the device could take down the toughest vampire in seconds.

  The man with the knife grabbed Slade’s jacket and yanked him onto his back. “What the hell we got here?” the officer asked and shoved white-blond hair away from his face.

  Muffled cries came out of the juvenile and the captive Wolf Guard moaned.

  An unusually small officer, the one who’d tased Slade, snorted and said, “I believe this is a do-gooder of the vampire variety.”

  “Sheeeit,” White Hair said. “You know what happens to do-gooders, especially the fanged kind?” He poked Slade with his boot.

  Slade growled, but his show of bravado didn’t change the facts. He was in a world of potential fuck-over.

  “See if he’s got anything good on him,” the runt said.

  White Hair squatted and patted Slade down, deftly plucking his wallet and phone from his jacket. He helped himself to Slade’s cash, counting out the six hundred dollars and divvying up the bills. He quickly tucked away his cut and Slade’s phone. He concluded the transaction with a kick to Slade’s ribs.

  Slade bit his tongue to keep a groan locked inside.

  “You steal that money?” White Hair asked.

  Slade sure as hell couldn’t say he’d earned it working for the Resistance
. Better they think him a thief. If they knew he belonged to the Resistance and turned him in for the reward money, he would be executed.

  White Hair kicked him again. “Answer the gawddamn question.”

  “I stole it,” Slade said between clenched teeth.

  “I hate a damn thief,” White Hair said and dropped down on his heels.

  Slade wanted to point out that the bastard had no problem stealing from him.

  “Cut his damn throat and be done with it,” the runt said.

  “In a minute.” White Hair lifted the knife.

  Slade’s mind blanked out, in an instant he was fifteen years old again. Ripped from sleep. A dark, snarling face with huge fangs hovering over him. Rancid breath fouling the air.

  A siren wailed jerking him out of his stupor.

  White Hair hesitated.

  “Fuck this shit,” the runt said. “Come on, we can’t afford to get busted.”

  “Probably not coming here.” But uncertainty colored White Hair’s voice.

  The runt shifted toward the door. “That little fucker made a lot of noise before you shut him up.”

  White Hair glanced at the Wolf Guards who looked as if they didn’t give a shit one way or the other.

  “Stay if you want,” the runt said. “I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  White Hair stood as if indecisive then kicked Slade again. Pain punched his side. He groaned and tried to pull himself into a ball.

  “Take care of all of them,” White Hair said to one of the Wolf Guards who immediately drew a weapon.

  As Slade watched, the traitor vampire shot the bound Wolf in the head, vaporizing his face.

  Oh, Jesus.

  The Wolf aimed at the whimpering juvenile who stared with huge pain-filled eyes.

  The Wolf squeezed the trigger. A hole appeared in the young male’s temple, silencing him forever.

  Slade’s turn. Heart thumping hard, he waited for the bullet that would take his life.

  The bark of the gun and burning pain in his temple were almost simultaneous.

  What the hell?

  He lay utterly still, controlling his breathing, playing dead as blood trickled down his face in a warm, tickling trail.

  After the four thugs hurried from the house, Slade lay immobile for long minutes before his limbs began tingling as the numbness from the taser shock started wearing off.

  The siren screeched, growing louder. Were the police going to show up? That sure as fuck wouldn’t do him any good either.

  He wiped at his temple and his hand came away slicked with blood but the wound was shallow. The bastard had aimed poorly. He forced himself onto his hands and knees then lurched to his feet.

  The infant wailed.

  Outside the sirens wailed accompaniment.

  Oh, hell. What the fuck was he going to do with the infant? He swiped more blood from his temple, side stepped the juvenile, and went to the baby.

  Her skin had taken on a faint blue tint. Shivering little hands curled into fists, she squirmed helplessly beside her mother.

  Slade stripped off his jacket and knelt on the floor. “It’s okay,” he said. “Uncle Slade is here.” He laid the jacket on the floor and clumsily grasped the cold, slick, infant.

  Shit. She was freezing. He wrapped her securely in the warm fleece and gingerly picked her up. She cooed from inside the cocoon. Holding her close, he got to his feet.

  The cold felt good on his temple but the rest of him was already chilled. The Kevlar vest he wore did nothing to stop the cold. He held the baby closer. He had to get her someplace warm. His sister would know what to do. Saranna was pregnant. He would take the infant home and let her take over.

  On second thought, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. His brother in law, Julian, might not appreciate his already exhausted mate being saddled with an orphaned child. Not that he really gave a fuck about what Julian thought, but he didn’t want to make Saranna suffer any more than he already had.

  Who then? He sure as hell couldn’t care for a newborn baby. Most of the females he knew weren’t parenting material. Maybe Jason then. The doctor and his mate would take her. He must know every eligible female within a fifty mile radius.

  The sirens drew near, a block away. Maybe.

  Slade hurried from the protection of the house and stepped out into the cold, damp breeze. The baby whimpered and shivered inside his jacket.

  Blue lights flashed.

  He slid around the side of the house and slipped into deep shadows.

  He needed a taxi. The doctor’s house was too far to walk in the cold.

  Slade hurried, scanning the streets for a cab when it dawned on him that he had no money to pay the fare. Well, fuck. He would have to stiff the driver. That is, if he could find a cab in the rundown neighborhood.

  The baby wailed.

  “Shh,” he said and patted her through the jacket. She cried harder. She was probably hungry. She needed a female to care for her, not some clumsy-assed male who didn’t have a clue about what to do.

  He stopped in his tracks. He did know someone who lived fairly close. What was her name? He struggled with the memory of the female he and his sister had aided five months earlier. Alyssa? Yeah, that was it.

  Would she help him? Better question, would she even remember him? She’d been traumatized, half out of her mind with grief over the forced abortion she’d been put through. Did he dare go knock on her door with someone else’s child in his arms?

  A cry, weak and wavering came out of the swaddled baby. He didn’t have a choice. The baby needed to be warmed and fed, and there wasn’t a cab in sight.