The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two)

by Leo Romero

  She sighed, replacing them in her belt. She still had to get up twenty-odd floors; she hoped she had enough ammo to see her up there.

  She checked the time on her watch. 4:44 am. For a moment, she wondered what was going on in the outside world. So she went and had a look, the light from the kitchen illuminating a path to the windows. She pressed herself up against the tinted glass. She was met by a star-studded night sky and beautiful moon. The Loop sprawled ahead of her, lights burning here and there. Down below a few cars were running along roads that looked like scars. She could make out the sidewalk at the foot of the I-Sore. It was clear. No cops, no mercs, nothing. The Order were keeping things tight inside the building; they didn't want any attention. They just wanted to get the relic back, and then deal with all three of them in whatever way they saw fit. No fuss. No prying eyes.

  She let out a languid breath as she stared at the moon. She wished she could just open the window and fly away; far, far away from the madness of this building of death. This tomb. Leave it all behind and just be left alone to live in peace. In harmony. Instead, she was very much a key component in the course of events. She cursed her life and thumped the glass. She didn't have time to waste lamenting the hand she'd been dealt. She needed to play the game with what she had and make sure she came out on top. For Dad. For Dom.

  "All the world's a stage," she whispered to the moon. It just stared back at her.

  She turned and headed for the opposite stairwell to the one she arrived in, a new determination rising inside her like an ethereal second wind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Sammy stepped out of the elevator into the seventy-second, dread rising inside him. The moment he found out Trixie had been spotted on that particular floor, he feared the worst. She was a vampire hunter just like both her old man and the runt they had tied up on the ninety-seventh. There was no way she was gonna just stroll through without popping off a few rounds of that frickin' stuff they used to slaughter vamps.

  He just hoped she hadn't been in the mood for mass murder.

  He marched up to the glass doors of the auditorium where they'd herded the old guys once the situation broke out, a few Blacklake following close behind. He craned his neck forward to get a good look inside. His eyes fell on the broken chairs and overturned tables. And then the bodies. They were slumped all over the place, some still twitching.

  He whirled away in disgust. "Shit!" he raged, his fears confirmed. He groaned and grabbed his forehead. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad. He turned back to face the carnage once more. "Bitch!" he spat, smashing his fist into his free palm. He turned to the nearest Blacklake. "They all dead?" he asked.

  "Affirmative," the merc answered stone-faced.

  "Affirmative..." Sammy echoed, mocking the merc's voice. "And where is she now?" he asked, his voice now forceful.

  "We lost her..." the merc replied, lowering his eyes.

  A bolt of rage shot up Sammy's spine. "You lost her! Again! What do we pay you pricks for?" he raged. "It's one girl. One! A single bitch up against a squad of ex-soldiers pumped up on more steroids than a bodybuilding convention!"

  "She's quick. Hard to lock onto. She hides well."

  Sammy nodded. "Yeah, I get it now. You've been trained all your life to fight against meat heads like you, not nimble types, huh?"

  The merc shrugged. "Something like that..."

  "I shoulda hired the local girl scouts. They woulda put up a better fight..." He huffed and turned back toward the glass. The old guys lay there, dead as doornails. "The boss is gonna go nuts once he finds out about this," he declared. "These were his most loyal guys."

  "Tell him to send us the bill," the merc then said and walked off.

  Sammy stared at his back. "Yeah. But the boss don't take checks, buddy..."

  The elevator to Leviah's chamber pinged and out stepped a glum-looking Sammy. He led a few Blacklake out into the center of the chamber, coming to a stop between Leviah in his recliner and Dom and Vincent. Leviah kept his stare on him the whole way, while Sammy's head remained bowed. Dom guessed the news on the vamp's part wasn't good.

  "Well?" Leviah asked.

  Sammy shrugged. "She..." he stopped and looked upward, glancing at everyone in the room; they were all on tenterhooks, for all different reasons. "She..." He blew his cheeks. "Killed them. All."

  Leviah frowned. "What?"

  Sammy scratched his head. "She, uh, killed them all," he repeated, his eyes not leaving the floor.

  Leviah bolted upright in his seat; Sammy flinched. Leviah then leaped to his feet; the whole room appeared to tremble. Fire burned in his eyes like a raging inferno. He stepped with an eerie calmness toward Sammy and the mercs accompanying him. He stopped ahead of them and glared down at Sammy like an enraged father about to berate his son for coming home drunk.

  Dom watched on with wide eyes. He was getting bad vibes; Leviah was angry about something, he wasn't sure what, but he knew it was something to do with Trixie. She'd done something to piss him off; and by the look of thunder on Leviah's face, he was truly pissed. Truly.

  Leviah just continued to stare like he was allowing the rage to build inside him to a sufficient level before reacting, or maybe he was just allowing it to pass him by so he could give a measured response. Dom's heart slowed; his mouth popped open as he watched in anticipation.

  Then, Leviah's face began to tremble. Sammy gulped.

  Without warning, Leviah threw out a stiff arm and grabbed the nearest accompanying merc by the throat. Dom flinched. Before the merc had a chance to resist, he was pulled in toward Leviah, whose mouth was already cavernous. With a roar, Leviah plunged his fangs into the merc's throat and crunched his jaws together. A loud snap of bone and squelch of flesh tore the atmosphere in half. Sammy winced. Dom shrieked in fear, his eyes bulging. Vincent remained stone-faced.

  A huge gush of blood erupted out from the merc's open throat like a geyser; it splashed by Dom's feet. Dom let out another shriek, tucking his feet away from the blood. He stared at it with unblinking eyes, his breathing hot and shallow.

  Leviah then pulled away with a growl, ripping out half the merc's throat. More blood flew out across the room as if a paint pot had been thrown. Leviah spat the morsel from his mouth; the hunk hit the wooden floor with a meaty splat. He then returned his attention back to the merc; he grabbed hold of his shoulder and forehead and began pulling them apart. Leviah's whole body trembled under the pressure he was exerting. The missing chunk of throat began to split further, but not to Leviah's satisfaction. He yanked harder, a loud grunt emanating from his chest. The bones and tendons could resist no longer. A drawn out tear like ripping curtain fizzed through the room as the merc's head came away from his shoulders. Leviah whirled away, the merc's head clutched in his hand like a softball. Behind him, the decapitated body slumped.

  Leviah stopped and stared at Dom and Vincent. The lower half of his face was smeared red. His shoulders and chest heaved under his heavy breathing while he clutched the head of the merc (its tongue popped out and its bloodshot eyes bulging) like he was a caveman showing off a kill.

  Terror violated Dom's mind. He gazed at Leviah with unadulterated fear, his body convulsing with raw, primal emotion. He'd never witnessed anything so brutal. There was no way he could hide it, no way he could conceal the fact that he was petrified. He spun his shaky head around to see Vincent just sitting there, unmoving, his eyes never leaving Leviah in all his brutal glory.

  How can he just sit there? How? Dom wanted to know. It was like what just happened was the very least Vincent expected to witness from Leviah. The head vamp. And a sudden realization hit Dom. Did he really expect anything else? He was after all The Head Vamp.

  He sent his head back the way it came; Leviah's juddering shoulders were starting to calm. He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand and smoothed his hair back. He then slung the merc's head away as if it was nothing but a piece of trash. It bounced across the floor like a soccer ball. It hit
the wall and rolled back, leaving bloody marks wherever the stump touched. Leviah then stood upright, some semblance of calm taking over. He turned and faced Sammy. "You let her know loud and clear. She gives herself in now! Or they die." He pointed at Dom and Vincent as he spoke. Dom whipped his head around to meet Vincent. Vincent remained as he was, unflinching.

  "Yes, boss!" Sammy said in a strong voice.

  "And the rest of you, get out of here!" Leviah screamed. The few remaining Blacklake didn't hesitate; they were through the Japanese blinds faster than ferrets.

  Leviah then stomped out to the adjoining room, throwing the door shut behind him.

  Sammy looked down at the beheaded body on the floor by his feet. "I told you the boss don't accept checks, jackass..." He gave Dom and Vincent a final look before leaving through the blinds.

  Dom's chest released, but his heart was still racing; he looked across the room at the merc's severed head on the floor. It was staring back at him with those wide, terrified eyes. A shiver coursed through him like an electrical charge. Their fate was staring back at him. Brutal. Wide eyed. Dead.

  Vincent then tutted. "Such a temper..." he said with a shake of his head.

  Dom's jaw dropped. "Temper? He's a homicidal maniac!"

  "Well, yes, he's the son of an even bigger maniac... They say the fruit never lands far from the tree."

  "Oh God, no..." Dom whined.

  "Stay strong, Dominic," Vincent said, but the unease in his voice was unmistakable.

  "Stay strong? Did you see what he just did?"

  "I've seen worse..." retorted Vincent with a shrug.

  "You've seen worse?" Dom echoed, his face knotted with incredulity.

  "Have faith!" Vincent insisted.

  "In who?"

  Vincent turned to face him. "Trixie," he said and then turned his head back again.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Trixie fired off a couple of tranqs before the merc on the stairs had a chance to fire his gun. With each pulse of the trigger, hot pain raked across her hand. She gritted her teeth against it, managing to get the shots off, even if they were just a fraction slower than usual. The dumb merc caught the tranq in the chest; he dropped and slid down the remainder of the stairs. Trixie watched him go by. She'd spent the last half hour racing up stairwells and cutting through floors, hiding in shadows and taking down any Blacklake in her way. They were now all over the upper echelons of the building, protecting their master. Trixie was now dodging and weaving them with sublime efficiency, finding it easier to elude them the further up she went. She was getting a handle on it all, her confidence growing by the minute, using her small frame to her advantage to blend in with the shadows. She snuck up the floors like a thief, evading any cameras as best she could, their positioning more or less identical on every floor and stairwell.

  She made it up to eighty-eight to be met by this guy, both of them almost running smack into each other. Luckily, Trixie's reactions were faster than his. His unconscious body came to a crumpled stop on the landing below, just as the sound of pounding boots filled the stairwell above.

  "Crap!" Trixie vexed. She turned and doubled back the way she came, diving into the eighty-eighth floor before they met her head on. She raced past yet another reception and through a set of double doors. She came to a grinding halt. She was expecting to be in another office, but instead, she found herself in some kind of storeroom. A few of the overheads were left switched on, indicating there must have been some kind of activity going on before the events of the night broke out. The whole area was jammed with cardboard boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. Each box was stamped with a familiar logo: a snake eating its own tail, the word 'KRONOS' stamped below. She recognized the logo, but her panicked mind couldn't remember where. All she was interested in was finding a place to hide. She scanned the area; all she could see were the stacked boxes.

  Boots stomping behind her forced her to move. She darted between two stacks over toward the left hand wall and concealed herself from view. Once there, she plastered her bandaged hand over her mouth to conceal her heavy breathing and waited, her wide eyes darting left and right. The double doors flew open, followed by the creak of leather like frisky mice as they began to rifle through the floor in search of her. She peeked through a gap between the stacks; she got a sliver of one heading her way. He was taking in everything as he moved through the room with caution. As he drew nearer, he threw a box to the side and aimed his gun at the floor beyond. When he realized there was nothing there, he went toward a stack over to his right.

  Trixie kept a beady eye on the merc as he whipped his gun around the corner of another stack of boxes. He then pulled back, turned and then headed her way once more. She ducked back, her eyes wide. The creak of his leather boots grew louder the nearer he got. She could almost smell the musk of his body odor as he crept closer, his frame filling the gap between the stacks. She waited. Waited. Delayed, held her ground, her legs trembling. Waited, for just the right moment. Another footfall and just the stack of boxes separated them both. She bent down and waited. Waited, for exactly the right--

  She sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, shoulder barging the stacks ahead of her with a scream. The boxes tumbled down fast and hard like rock fall. She saw a quick glimpse of the merc's surprised face before he was showered with the avalanche. He staggered back under the pressure before he hit the deck, his gun falling from his grip. The boxes smashed into the vinyl floor around him, some breaking open and spilling their contents.

  In that instant, the subterfuge was lost; the noise alerted the other merc in the room. Trixie dealt with him first. She leaped triumphantly over the boxes she'd just knocked over and stormed toward him, catching him by surprise. She caught him in the midriff with a hard, flat boot. He stumbled to the side with a loud groan. She filled him with tranq, and spun back the way she came. The guy she knocked over with the boxes was making a grab for his gun. Trixie scuttled up to him and aimed her dart gun a couple of inches from his back. He froze.

  "Nighty night," Trixie said before she put him to sleep.

  Then everything went quiet.

  She replaced her dart gun in her belt and checked her hands. Already, the bandages were becoming ragged. And they were more red than white. She patted the holding tape back down as best she could. Hopefully, they'd last for the remainder of the night. However long that may be. She glanced at her watch. 5:15 am.

  Her eyes then landed on the contents of a spilled box. Smaller boxes wrapped in plastic film were strewn all over the floor. She went and picked one up. She frowned as she turned it over in her hands. What is this? A barcode sticker ran across the top of the package. She ripped open the film and popped open the plastic box beneath. Sitting inside were two neat rows of medical vials. She pulled one out and held it up to her face. She winced at the toxic-waste-green colored liquid inside; it was almost lime cordial in shade. She shook it; it slew up and down the bottle like slime. She squinted her eyes and read the label. 'AMBROSIA: NOT FOR ORAL CONSUMPTION'. Her jaw dropped, a horrible realization dawning on her. They were already producing the stuff. Synthetic venom. They'd named it Ambrosia. She had another look at the vials siting in the box. She then trained her eyes over the other packages spilled all over the floor. And then up and around the stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes surrounding her like an evergreen forest. Hundreds if not thousands of those little vials of Ambrosia. The thing Eddie had developed, what they wanted him for. They already had it. They had it all along.

  Staring at all those boxes made her dizzy; she grabbed her head and rubbed.

  "This is a final warning for Trixie Beau-chump," a gruff voice reverberated around her, severing her train of thought. She looked up to the ceiling. "The great vampire Leviah is now declared royally pissed that you've not only made a no-show, but you decided to wipe out the upper echelons of the Blood Order. Now, he's a forgiving soul. If you don't hand yourself in within the next ten minutes, then the runt will lose an arm. And then another lim
b for every ten minutes of no-show after that till he bleeds to death, at which point the boss will get to work on the old man. You got ten minutes, Trixie. Ten. Don't waste any more time."

  Her eyes widened. She'd finally reached that point of no return. They were starting to use Dad and Dom as bait. She'd exhausted any time she had. Although she'd made good progress up to Leviah's nest, she still had a way to go. She was on the eighty-eighth. She had ten minutes to make it up to the ninety-seventh or Dom would get some treatment.

  She threw the vials of Ambrosia to the side and raced through the rest of the Kronos storeroom and out into the stairwell. She cleared one set of stairs, then another unimpeded.

  Ninety. Man, oh man, I'm so close.

  From the ground floor all the way up to ninety. She took a moment to glance up the stairwell. Now, she could see the ceiling. The roof, where she'd been just a few hours before, which now felt like a millennium. The roof, where Mack was hopefully still waiting for them. It was a bland, white haven. The thing she'd been aiming for all night. She looked down and the floor vanished in a dizzying pit of darkness. She pulled back and began climbing stairs again. Her hands hurt, her throat hurt, her legs were starting to ache from all the climbing. Her heart was beating hard and steady, adrenaline the fuel she was now running on. It burned through her like liquid fire, charging her for the final assault. She'd need every ounce of strength she had left in her battered body if she was gonna make it through this and save Dad and Dom.

  Ninety-one. Six more floors. Her spine began to tingle with more ferocity. Was it the effect of Leviah, or was it excitement? She couldn't quite tell; besides, she was way too tired to even contemplate it. She cleared more stairs.

  Ninety-two. And not a Blacklake or vamp in sight. Looks like they've given up.

  "I wouldn't bank on that," she said to herself.

  She'd taken a lot of them out of the game, yeah, but there still had to be more of them around somewhere. They could pop out to greet her at any moment; this wasn't the time to get complacent. With a groan and a strain in her knee, she climbed the last step up to ninety-three. "Keep going, Trixie. Keep going," she urged herself. "Make it!" She pushed herself up to ninety-four, the huge number on the wall glaring back at her.