House of Blood: (A Paranormal Urban Fantasy) (The Vampire Project Book 2)

by Jonathan Yanez

  Jack reached down and picked up the case of throwing knives.

  Aareth made no move for the hilt of his own knife that rested at his feet. He was, however, whispering something over and over again: “Brenda? Brenda, how?”

  Their two adversaries began circling them. From deep within the folds of her own ebony robe, the woman pulled out a blue mage sword from a harness on her back. The blade fought against the darkness, adding its unique color to the arena floor.

  At once, lines were drawn inside Jack’s mind. He had seen that sword before. It was the weapon Commander Brookhaven had shown Sloan earlier that same day. Jack wished he had more time to think through all of the repercussions of this new development, but there was no time. While the woman circled toward Aareth, the large man moved to intercept Jack. Aareth’s attacker preferred to wait for an opening, but the man attacking Jack was more than willing to rush in.

  “Well, hello, Jack. I was hoping we would run into each other again.” The man removed his helmet, showing a pale face with a long scar. “I still owe you a fair amount of pain for the train incident.”

  Jack’s heart stopped in his chest. The man standing in front of him was the assassin leading the attack on the locomotive days before. The Scar, named so for the long mark across his face, smirked down at him. The same man code-named Night Walker who had undergone superhuman enhancements in the same cave laboratory where Elizabeth had been taken.

  “The cave laboratory.” Jack removed the throwing knives, still waiting to reveal the magic at his disposal. “It was you who was experimented on. You were part of the Vampire Project from the beginning. Specimen R-10.”

  “Well aren’t you a bright one.” The Scar smiled, showing off a set of pointed canines. A wet, pink tongue caressed his teeth. “Did you figure that out all by yourself?”

  “We can help you. I don’t know what was done to you in that cave, but the queen—”

  “Ohhhh…” The Scar laughed as confusion faded to understanding. “You think I was kidnapped or something? I volunteered for the program. And it worked. I’m stronger, faster, immune to pain, and the idea of blood really turns me on. I’m the perfect weapon now. I don’t need your help.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack could see Aareth dodging sword strikes from his attacker while he tried pleading with her. The jeers and cheers from the seated mob were so loud, Jack couldn’t catch anything Aareth was saying, but Jack could make a guess he was trying to reason with the woman he was so sure was his dead wife.

  As much as Jack wanted to help Aareth, he had his own problems. The superhuman assassin was advancing. Jack took in a deep breath, pushing his earlier defeat at the assassin’s hands from his mind.

  Focus. You can beat him. He doesn’t feel pain, but that doesn’t mean he’s immortal. And he has no idea what you’re capable of.

  “Don’t think I don’t know about your magic, boy. I’m just not worried about it. By the way, it’s a shame that crazy preacher’s wolf killed your dad.” The Scar sneered. “I wanted to test myself against the famous Outland magician. Wish I could have killed him myself.”

  Without another word, the assassin charged.

  Sloan

  “Are you sure that’s what you heard?” Sloan ran to her dresser, where her uniform sat in a crumpled pile. “Tell me everything.”

  “That’s all there is to tell.” Elizabeth stood in Sloan’s doorway, tapping her chin in thought. “Jack and Aareth are off hunting down The Order by themselves. I searched Aareth’s mind and found out where they were going. Uhhh … are you really going to change right in front of me?”

  “Why? Does it make you feel uncomfortable?” Sloan dropped her shorts and pulled on her uniform pants. “Feel free to look the other way if you want.”

  “I’m not weirded out.” Elizabeth crossed her arms, but looked at the ceiling instead of Sloan. “I just thought you’d be more modest.”

  “Yeah, well, growing up in the system followed by the army doesn’t really allow for modesty.” Sloan buttoned her black cloak. She buckled on her mage sword as she exited her room. “Let’s get you back to Abigail.”

  Sloan closed the door to her room. Well aware of the escort that was supposed to follow Elizabeth without exception, she expected to see at least a pair of guards down the hall. There was no one in sight.

  A horrible thought gripped Sloan’s stomach. As much as she hated to even think of the possibility, she had to know.

  “Elizabeth, what did you do to the guards who are supposed to be following you?” Sloan knelt down to bring herself eye level with the young girl. “You didn’t—”

  “No, I didn’t kill them.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “They’re safe, sleeping right outside my door. I just … encouraged them to sleep.”

  “You ‘encouraged’ them, huh?” Sloan stood with a heavy sigh. She had read the report on Elizabeth done by Leah Noble. “You and I are going to have to have a long talk when I get back. I have nothing but the best intentions for you, but some things are just off-limits. I want you to read my mind so you know I’m telling the truth and that I mean business.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth looked into Sloan’s eyes while she read her mind. A sharp inhale escaped her lips. “You shouldn’t use language like that around me. I’m still a kid.”

  “Thank you for warning me about Jack and Aareth.” Sloan was already moving down the hall. “Go back to your sister now.”

  “But I can help.” Elizabeth’s voice followed Sloan down the hall.

  “I know you can.” Sloan turned a corner, losing the small girl to sight. “But what’s going to happen tonight is no place for a kid.”

  Sloan half-expected Elizabeth to chase her down, arguing with her why she should be allowed to go. When the girl didn’t, Sloan said a silent prayer of thanks. Quickly, Sloan traveled down the palace halls to where the officers were quartered. She rapped on the door of one of the few officers she knew could be trusted.

  When no answer came from the other side, Sloan balled her hand into a fist and pounded on the door.

  “What? What time is it? Did I miss revelry? I’m coming.” A bleary-eyed Lieutenant Baker opened the door, then snapped to attention when he saw who was visiting him. “Captain Sloan, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”

  Lieutenant Baker was dressed in nothing but a short pair of boxer briefs decorated with pink unicorns.

  “I need you to marshal the first regiment. Have them ready in twenty minutes, full riot gear.” Sloan looked the lieutenant up and down with a raised eyebrow before turning to walk away. “And for God’s sake, don’t ever let anyone see you in those shorts.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The lieutenant placed both hands over his crotch. His face visibly reddened. “I mean, yes to both orders.”

  Sloan

  The cold caught her breath and formed puffs of steam. She stood in front of a full regiment of soldiers led by a now fully dressed Lieutenant Baker.

  Besides knowing where Aareth and Jack had gone, her intelligence was painfully lacking. She wasn’t going to let these soldiers walk into a trap. They stood tired and shivering in front of her, but well trained and ready. As instructed, they wore the normal city uniform with full riot gear: armor, batons, shields, helmets etc.

  “We’re going to the warehouse district.” Sloan walked up and down the line of soldiers, looking as many of them in the eye as she could without stopping to pause. “There’s a group called The Order were going to be questioning. I don’t want this to turn into a front-page headline, but we have to be prepared for anything. I’ll go ahead to scout. You’ll follow Lieutenant Baker a few minutes behind me. Keep your eyes open and move quietly. Remember your training, look out for the soldier next to you, and everything will be fine.”

  One of the many things Sloan had learned in the years of being an officer was that soldiers would perform better under the command of a determined leader. Sloan gave the group one last nod before trotting down the palace’s pavement. />
  Lost in her own thoughts, she jogged past the iron gates and out into the city. Her senses took in every detail of her surroundings despite her mind focusing on other things, like her last kiss.

  It didn’t mean anything. Sloan held her sheathed sword in her left hand as she ran to prevent it from slapping against her thigh. He even broke it off.

  Still, how long had it been since she’d been kissed? And although he did end the kiss sooner than Sloan would have liked, Aareth was going through something they still didn’t understand. Since his bite by the mutated wolf in Burrow Den and his run-in with the assassin who tried to kill the queen, he had been different.

  Focus. Sloan pushed herself to a faster run, hoping the physical exertion would shake away the memories of the kiss that haunted her.

  Both due to the hour and the weather, only a few New Hope citizens still walked the streets. Most didn’t even see her pass. She made no noise as her boots hit the pavement; her steps were quick and soft as she studied the surrounding area.

  Her journey took her into one of the rougher parts of the city. It was one of the last pockets of New Hope not to be touched by the advance and change of the new era. Tall warehouses rusting from the inside out covered a square mile of the city. Most of these buildings were abandoned, a few still used for storage.

  Sloan stopped two blocks from her destination, her ears picking up on something that rode on the cold wind. Cheering of some kind was coming from one of the largest warehouses on the block. For Sloan to be able to hear the applause and roars this far away, a large body of people had to be involved.

  Sloan’s chest rose and fell under the labor of her run. She was so focused on the faint uproar, she nearly missed the punch aimed at her face. Just in time, Sloan sidestepped. She felt knuckles brush past her cheek in slow motion.

  Two black-cloaked figured emerged from the shadows, both wearing matching steel masks. One held a machete in his hand, the other a steel pipe. Sloan took a step back, her right hand on her sword. They circled her, one in front the other, directly behind her.

  “I’m going to give you one opportunity to surrender.” Sloan drew her sword and flicked on the mage power. It hummed in hungry anticipation. A dull red glow emanated from the blade itself. “In the name of the queen, I order you to stand down.”

  As one the two attackers fell on her, Sloan charged forward, slicing clean through the first assailant’s machete and severing his head. In one smooth motion, Sloan turned to meet the second threat.

  He came at her with the pipe raised over his head. Before he had a chance to bring it down, Sloan skewered him through the heart with her blade. Her sword burned a hole into his body without the slightest pause. The black robes the man wore lit on fire at the prolonged touch of the mage sword.

  Sloan withdrew her weapon. The burning dead man fell to the ground in a ball of flame. Both through the machete, and bone and flesh, the sword had never hesitated. For all of the resistance she met, Sloan might as well have been slicing through paper.

  Heavy footsteps made Sloan turn to address a new threat. There was no need. Lieutenant Baker had arrived with the regiment’s vanguard. Mouths were open, eyes wide as they took in the decapitated figure along with the other burning corpse.

  “We’re in the right place.” Sloan switched off her sword. “Buckle up. I don’t think The Order is in a talking mood tonight.”Jack

  Anger at the mention of his father sought to unsteady Jack. The comment that proved The Scar remembered he was able to channel magic further rattled his resolve.

  Jack rolled out of the way from the first attack. His move was barely made in time. The Scar was just as fast as the soldier in the queen’s presentation earlier that day.

  The young magician recovered from his roll, throwing a knife at the assassin’s back. Much faster than any human had a right to be, the assassin turned and dodged out of the knife’s arc.

  Jack’s stomach twisted into a knot. Before The Scar could mount another attack or fear took hold of his heart, Jack rushed into action. He sent the last two knives spiraling through the air, followed by another two magical blasts of green energy. The Scar was fast enough to dodge one, but could he dodge four projectiles at once?

  Jack’s gamble paid off. The assassin ducked the first knife, but the next three projectiles hit their marks. The last blade lodged in The Scar’s left forearm. The two green blasts of magic struck him in the torso and right thigh. The scent of burned flesh filled the area with its putrid smell.

  Jack felt heat radiate from his body. Both of his hands were alive with dancing, green magic. Already he could feel the draw of energy begin to sap his strength.

  The three wounds Jack inflicted would have been enough to bring down any man. Jack’s heart caught in his throat as he watched the assassin remove the blade as if it were a splinter. The Scar ignored the magical burn marks on his body altogether.

  “Nice little trick.” The man code-named Night Walker ripped the cloak from his body, throwing it to the side. His torso was a mess of criss-crossing scars over a canvas of pale skin. Smoke still came from the wound on his torso. The gaping crater of cooked meat didn’t seem to faze The Scar in the least. The members of The Order, who were momentarily stunned by Jack’s show of magic, roared their approval. They watched on with hungry eyes as The Scar advanced yet again.

  Jack clenched his teeth, now more frustrated than afraid. He could clearly see where his attacks had landed. The pain and loss of blood, however, did nothing to hinder the advance of the assassin.

  The flames from the braziers danced around the dark room as Jack circled his opponent. The noise of the crowd was gone. All that mattered was the next few seconds of combat, the next few seconds that could mark the end for Jack.

  The Scar leaned down to pick up one of the fallen throwing knives.

  The one and only thing in Jack’s mind was to control the weapon in his attacker’s hand. If he could disarm the assassin, Jack knew his chances of survival would rise tenfold.

  When The Scar attacked, he went for a punch with his non-weapon hand to Jack’s ribcage. Pain lanced through Jack’s sternum as if something was broken, and he forced his mind to focus past it. He only had eyes now for the assassin’s right hand holding the throwing knife.

  As the blade arced down toward his skull, Jack called on his magic. A bright green knife grew from his closed right fist and came to a sharp point. Jack pushed his own magical knife skyward, impaling The Scar’s hand from the edge of his palm, up through his thumb.

  The shock was enough for The Scar to lose his grip on the knife. Jack pulled back his blade, pleased with the result. The feeling of victory was short-lived as his assailant recovered with inhuman speed and caught him with an uppercut that made Jack lose concentration. His green knife dissipated. Jack saw spots of black. Pain exploded in his head. He fell to his knees.

  Jack’s mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood. He spit out the crimson substance without thinking.

  The Scar pressed the attack. The sight of blood brought on an almost manic state as he charged once again. A manic fire burned in his eyes.

  Jack’s mind fought to stay conscious. He struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain. He felt as if his ribs and jaw were broken.

  It seemed The Scar was done with talking. His right hand was a charred mess. He was limping. A mix of dark blood and smoke rose from the wounds across his body. Still, he came forward.

  Jack did his best to channel the full force of his magic once more. Without the use of his wand, his efforts at producing a powerful attack were fruitless. He was exhausted and half delirious. He needed a moment to think and gather himself. Green light sparked across his fists, despite his weakened state. Jack landed strikes to the assassin’s neck and throat, his attempts feeble at best.

  The Scar wrapped his good hand around Jack’s throat.

  Jack felt his feet lift off the ground. He tore at the grip around his neck, but it was useless. The Scar was
n’t a man at all. Jack had been fighting him as if he were still hindered by the same limitations as a mortal. Jack gasped, air coming in short, shallow gulps. His heart pounded in his ears like the slowing beat of a drum as he died.

  Jack

  Jack heard the commotion at the same time he felt the grip on his oxygen supply slacken. Gunshots permeated the air. Jack was thrown against one of the lit braziers, sending a shower of sparks across his body.

  Jack’s oxygen-deprived mind tried to make sense of the scene developing in front of him. There was screaming and shouting from every direction. Jack scanned the benches in the stands. He tried desperately to bring some order to the chaos. Everywhere, black cloaks were either fighting or fleeing from New Hope soldiers.

  To his right, Aareth was bent over double. He was pleading with the woman who stood above him, her sword raised and ready to strike.

  “It’s you. I know it’s you,” Aareth was shouting, tearing at his shirt to reveal the tattoo over his heart. “You have the same one on your wrist. Remember, Brenda, remember! You have to fight this.”

  Jack struggled to his knees.

  Aareth was pointing from his tattoo to the mark on his executioner’s own wrist. Jack was too far away to see if she shared the same mark, but he could see dark lines etched into her skin.

  Whatever Aareth was saying to her wasn’t enough to convince the woman. With a violent strike, she struck sideways across Aareth’s neck. The heated weapon ate through Aareth’s dark hair and came to rest less than an inch from his throat.

  Sloan appeared from the chaos, bringing her own weapon down just in time to halt the deathblow. Sparks exploded into the air like fireworks at a major celebration. A shower of white hot embers fell across Aareth’s face. If the cinders burned him, the man showed no hint of pain. All sanity had left Aareth.

  “Sloan, don’t hurt her,” Aareth yelled. “Brenda, you have to stop this!”