by Kailin Gow
Blood Rights
PULSE 7
kailin gow
Blood Rights (PULSE #7)
Published by THE EDGE
THE EDGE is an imprint of Sparklesoup Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Kailin Gow
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
All characters and storyline originated and is an invention from Kailin Gow. Any resemblance to people alive or dead is purely coincidence.
For information, please contact:
THE EDGE at Sparklesoup
14252 Culver Dr. A732
Irvine, CA 92604
www.theEDGEbooks.com
First Edition.
Printed in the United States of America.
9781597480109
DEDICATION
This book series is dedicated to all the nameless volunteer blood donors, my doctor, and nurses at Las Colinas Medical Center in Texas who helped me pull through when I had suffered extreme blood loss, blacked out, and nearly hit my head on the floor. Your team gave me bags of blood for transfusion, which helped restore me to a level of safety.
My body craved the blood to keep alive, yet the thought of having to receive the blood from others because my own body couldn't generate it fast enough, made me empathize with vampires like Jaegar and Stuart.
When faced with death by blood loss, you realize how precious that blood in your veins and that beat in your heart are. Thank you blood donors around the world for providing this pulse for everyone and me who may at one point or another require your gift.
Sincerely,
Kailin
Prologue
In Ancient China
The night closed in around them. The air was hot and crisp; the sultry warmth of summer seemed to pervade the spaces of the sky like sweat in pores. Only the stars shone down upon them, cool and remote: distant and serene.
But he was anything but. He had to keep running, he knew, as his heart beat faster and faster in his throat and the pain in his chest began to constrict him so tightly that he felt as if he would burst. He had to keep going – as the acid buildup burned his legs and his muscles began to scream with their aches. He could not die; he could not let himself die. He had the box, secreted away, hidden beneath the folds of his flowing scarlet silk robe, and he could not let them have it.
You have been working your whole life for this, he told himself. This is what you were born to do. This is your destiny. He could not let them get him now.
He ran faster, hearing their footsteps behind him, knowing that those footsteps meant death. His mouth tasted like burnt ashes; his lips were numb with pain. He clutched the box tighter and ran faster, his feet pressing into the soft Chinese soil.
This had always been his destiny – there had never been any choice. From birth he had trained with the greatest masters in all schools of martial arts – from the most established ones, that welcomed pupils freely in the main square of the city, to the most obscure, those that demanded that he trek deep within the mountains, or into the wilds of Mongolia, and prove his worth and fitness for duty by the quest. Ten years he had spent in the service of these masters, training every day: rippling his muscles, straining his soul as well as his body, to be fit for the duty he was called to perform. And today, he knew that duty would be carried out.
Or he would die having failed. Having failed not only his ancestors, but also the descendants that would come after him: the many humans and vampires alike whom only he could save. He knew what the future laid for them if he failed: centuries of trial and torment, of death for the living and despair for the undead. He had seen the visions in his nightmares: a world where nothing crawled under the sun, where the daylight was dead and the night full of terrors. Where vampires, having killed all the humans on earth, began to tear into one another, trying in vain to squeeze drops of blood from their desiccated, shining flesh.
No – he could not think of that now. He must think only of survival, only of hope. Only of the intricately carved wooden box – shining and black, inlaid with mother-of-pearl – that had been entrusted to his care. Because he had proven his worth.
Because they trusted him.
The vampires were hot on his trail. He should have taken more care to disguise himself, he told himself bitterly. He was a famous martial artist now – the vampires must have guessed that under the public persona – the famous prize fighter – there lay his secret identity, his mission as an agent for the cause. They must have guessed that tonight was the night picked for the transfer.
Four vampires were closing in, now. He could see their shadows begin to overlap with his on the smooth ground at his feet. He knew that if they had been human, he would be able to feel their hot, stinking breath on his neck. It was the absence of that breath, of that heartbeat; of anything discernibly human within them, that so repulsed him. He knew what they were – he felt the surety in his bones. They were monsters – all of them. Beasts that had caught a salacious glimpse of their prey.
He felt his chest tense with hatred and pain. He would not let them win.
He dodged right down an alleyway and tore into a building he knew – an abandoned tea-seller’s shop whose proprietor had been killed by a vampire earlier that year. He dashed up the stairs, hoping – briefly, fruitlessly – that he had thrown them off the scent.
No such luck. No sooner had he begun to breathe – the first proper inhalation of oxygen he’d had in hours of running – than he heard the telltale sign of footsteps. The vampires hadn’t been fooled. They were coming after him.
He ran to the rooftop, his heart racing. He looked around wildly for an escape – another stairway, a rope, something – but all he could see was an ocean of identical buildings, of identical rooftops.
There was only one way out, he knew. He’d have to jump.
Well, here goes nothing.
The vampires were getting closer; there was no time to hesitate. You’ve done things like this in training – he told himself, but he knew it was a lie. He’d never had to bridge a chasm this vast. Bracing himself for the inevitable fall, he closed his eyes and ran straight for the edge of the rooftop, launching himself into the air with dancer-like precision.
If I die, he thought, at least I’ll die with perfect form.
The Master would have been proud.
When his feet hit sandstone he looked down, surprised. He’d made it – sailed clear over the alley and made it to the rooftop.
There was no time to bask in the success – the vampires were following him. And he knew that they would be able to bridge that same gap he had, untethered by their fear of death. One down, ten to go…
It was easier with practice. He had managed to get something of a head start – the vampires hadn’t expected him to make for the other rooftop – and so he made his way to his destination, picking up speed on the way. He needed the time, he knew – at the other end. He needed time for them to let him in. He clutched at the box, feeling its smooth surface beneath his fingers. Such a big price to pay, he thought, for such a little box…
He came at last to the final rooftop before the main square of the city. There was nowhere to jump now, he knew. He cast his eyes about for something to use, spying a coil of rope left in the corner. His fingers seized it before his brain even knew what he was doing. He neatly, expertly, tied one end of the ro
pe around a post. And then, just as the vampires made their way to his rooftop, he seized the other end and jumped off the edge.
For an instant, he was free-falling, hurtling through space, headed straight for the ground and sudden death. Then the rope went tight; he felt the familiar whiplash as it reached its natural endpoint, his legs dangling mere inches from the ground. He leaped lightly down, running across the square. Dawn was coming up upon them now, he thought hopefully. Maybe there would be time…
He came to an enormous house facing the main square, dragons staring down from its wrought-iron gates. He began to bang fervently. “It’s me!” He cried. “I’ve got it.” But there was no answer. His heart began to pound with his knocks as he screamed louder. “Let me in – they’re coming!”
He slipped the box into one of his inside pockets and grabbed a stake.
He’d have to fight them off.
One by one, the vampires descended from the sky – their smooth robes barely rustling in the breeze as they flew down to meet him. Their robes were black, ornately decorated with the dragons and flames that betrayed their affiliation: the Order of the Black Lizard – the most fearsome vampire army in all of China. They were warriors – brutal and fearsome even before they were turned on the battlefield, picked out for everlasting death by those vampires who watched carnage for their entertainment and then, like vultures picking up their carrion, chose their number from among those heroically felled. The fighter drew in breath, willing courage to flood through his body like the heat from wine. He knew he didn’t have much time left.
One of the vampires stepped forth. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a chiseled face that would have been beautiful were it not for the animalistic look of cruelty in his black eyes. He looked the fighter up and down, his pale skin waxy in the moonlight. “Give us the box of your own free will,” he said in a low voice, “and we will have mercy on you. We will let you live in peace. Or – perhaps – we can make you one of us. Your skills would be useful among our ranks.”
‘I’d rather die!” He spat on the ground at their feet, revulsion coursing through him. Become one of them?
“They always say that,” mused the vampire. “At least – at first…” He sneered. “Once the pain starts, they always end up begging for their lives. But by then, it’s always too late.”
“I’m not afraid to die,” said the fighter, brandishing his stake.
“Then die you shall,” the vampire said.
The familiar rhythms pulsed through him – the familiar contortions of his body. The fighter knew these poses. He had spent years in the Mongolian deserts and in the mountains of Tibet, training his body to adopt them. His body naturally responded to the vampires – his stake seemed to sail through the air of its own accord. One stake in each hand found its way into two vampires’ chests; they splintered into dust before him.
But the vampire, too, had trained – it seemed. The fighter could recognize every pose, every maneuver. He too had spent years studying the ancient crafts of warfare. They were evenly matched. The fighter’s heart began to beat faster. This would be a stalemate: they recognized each other’s tricks, each other’s methods, the beauty of their slow and elegant dance toward death. Their motions were swift, precise – filled with the grace and poise of the dance.
“You are a worthy adversary,” grunted the head vampire. “It’s a shame you will die tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
But he was outnumbered. While he was able to stake more and more vampires, it seemed that the more he staked, the more arrived from the sky to take their place. If he could only hold out until dawn…
But his arms were tired. His legs were tired. His posture slipped – for just a moment - and a bloody graze appeared on his arm where one of the vampires had struck. The smell of his blood filled the air, invigorating the vampires.
“We shall feast tonight!” They laughed.
It was all over – he’d never be able to fight them all off, he knew. Better to close his eyes, to sink back into death…
And then the gate opened. The vampires looked up in surprise as a whole slew of fighters emerged from the house – stakes in hand. They were strong, powerful, determined. The fighter breathed a sigh of relief as they began to fight off the vampires, leaving him to focus on the head alone.
“Your friends?” The vampire looked up at him.
“My army,” he whispered back, driving his stake into the vampire’s heart. He could feel the flesh transform to ash around him; the flakes of burnt skin that covered his hand in thick grey powder. Ash filled the air as one by one, the vampires burst into dust – out of the corner of his eye, the fighter could see a few human bodies falling as well, their corpses slumped over, stakes in hand.
But they were winning, now. Soon only one vampire was left. His cruelty had transformed to terror – cowardly shaking – as the slayers surrounded him.
“Please…” he whispered.
“Afraid of what happens next?” The fighter looked him up and down. “You weren’t afraid of death before – but now that you’re dead, who knows what lies beyond? Who knows what you’ll have to face? Maybe the ghosts of all the people you’ve killed will get their revenge…”
As he spoke, the image of some of those ghosts flitted across his face. The people he had known, had loved. Her…
“Don’t kill me, please!” he whined, his voice getting higher and higher.
“Spare him!” cried the fighter. “Tell him to send word to the others, to the rest of the Black Lizard. That we are stronger than they are – that all the vampires in the north should know that they cannot touch us. Let them deal with his cowardice. Let them punish him.”
And with that, the vampire ran into the night.
The sun was rising in the sky as they entered the courtyard and locked the gate behind them. An old man was waiting in the court yard, swaddled in scarlet silk robes, his mustache and beard grey. He looked up as the fighter came towards him.
“Doctor,” the fighter bowed deep, showing his respect.
“You have the box?”
The fighter presented it to him.
“You have done well,” the doctor sighed deeply. “It means that there is a chance. It means there is hope.”
Chapter 1
Present Day – Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean
The box was shaking. As the airplane hit a patch of turbulence, shuddering through the sky, the box began to tremble on the table. Kalina put her hand down, instinctively, holding it still. Holding herself still, more like it. She looked up warily, trying to keep herself calm. But it wasn’t working. The Life’s Blood that Octavius and Jaegar had consumed from Alice-Suzanne’s neck had taken hold of both of them: they were both filled with insane hunger, insane anger, insane rage. Octavius and Jaegar were staring at each other with glinting, fury-filled eyes – ready to square off. Over Kalina.
“What’s going on?” Alice turned to Kalina. “Are they okay?”
Kalina felt a sudden flash of annoyance towards the girl, mingled with irrational jealousy. It was clear that the pert, pretty young flight attendant had no idea that her blood was a mixture of Life’s Blood – she had merely been seduced by the two handsome men who happened to be on her flight. But her decision to give them both her blood had put them all in danger.
“No,” Kalina said, trying to hold back her irritation. “No, we’re not okay. Sit down.” She looked up at Max. “Can’t you do something?”
“You fool,” Octavius was sneering at Jaegar. “You think that you’re some great warrior, that you’re worthy of her. You’re just my offspring – my second-best, a pale shadowy imitation. You can try all you like, dear boy, but you’ll never be able to fight like a master. I’ll always be older than you are, stronger. More able to get the blood I want – whether by force or by…charm.” His voice was soft, creamy – seductive even when the power of evil had darkened his eyes. “She never wanted you, Jaegar, you must know tha
t. She smelled the scent of my blood in you – it was that which attracted her to you at first. How could you possibly think she loved you? Especially when she met me. Then I knew what was in her heart.”
“Octavius, stop, please…” Kalina pleaded, her heart beginning to beat faster. “You’re scaring me.”
“Do you deny that it’s true?” Octavius turned dark, soulless eyes upon her. “Do you doubt that you love me?”
Kalina halted, her voice catching in her throat. “N-no…” she admitted slowly. It was true, after all. Octavius had a power over her than even her animal attraction to Jaegar could not dim. Octavius was older, more experienced – his elegance, his sophistication, his unattainability filled her with a longing that drove her mad. She wanted him so badly, even now. Even now that he was saying all the words she had once longed for him to say – that she had ached to hear: that he loved her, that he wanted her. Once she had wept and prayed that he would give up his self-sacrifice, his conviction that they could never be together, and be with her. But now, as she saw the darkness in him – the sensual, powerful Octavius that wanted to take what he knew was his – she recoiled. “I love you – Octavius. But I don’t love this…person…”
