One of the rifles discharged a round when he did, making them duck.
He could tell by the way they looked at their hands that they had no idea how he’d disarmed them so fast, or how he’d shot them so fast––or hit them so fast.
As he tossed aside the guns, Dorian glanced towards the truck’s cab, but the dividing partition remained closed.
The walls must be mostly soundproof.
Looking back at the four Marines, he surveyed what he had left to work with.
His king would be hungry.
The one he’d smashed in the face with the butt of the rifle was mostly dead. The human fought to breath through his cracked nose and mouth and skull. The side of his head was mostly dented in where Dorian hit him first.
As he’d thought––he’d hit him too hard.
His king might get some living blood off him yet, however.
He’d have to eat that one first.
Glancing at the big one, seeing the hostility in its eyes, even as he seemed to be trying to scrabble backwards on the padded bench, his hands groping for a weapon as he groaned from the pain in his shot knee, Dorian decided he would bite that one first.
Leaping on him, he broke one of his wrists with an easy twist and wrench of his hand.
When the big human howled, raising his other hand to fight back, Dorian snapped that one just as quickly. The male human was still howling when he sank his teeth into the throat.
He hit him with a dose of venom as he did.
By the time he’d swallowed the first time, the animal was quiet.
Dorian drank for a few seconds more, enjoying the feeling of its submission under him, that feeling of peace.
Raising his head, he wiped his lips, looking around at the others.
The Latino one was trying to make his way over to the guns at the back of the truck. He fell from the bench as Dorian watched, gasping as he crawled from the bullet having pulverized his knee. Dorian dropped the big one long enough to leap on the blond next. He considered just snapping his neck, then decided Brick might want him, too, and broke his wrists and ankles instead, hobbling him as he’d done with the big one.
He bit the back of his neck long enough to expel some venom into his bloodstream, then moved to the Latino.
A little venom later, and he was as docile as a kitten.
Satisfied, and now flush with blood and desire, Dorian turned to his master only then.
Wiping the last of the blood off his lips, he approached his king, frowning at the chains on his wrists and his ankles.
Luckily, he’d come prepared for that, too.
Pulling a tool off from where he’d taped it to the back of his automatic rifle, he peeled off the tape, then knelt by Brick’s feet.
In a matter of minutes, he’d cut off the wrist and ankle cuffs.
He moved next to the mask, frowning as he looked it over, trying to decide how best to remove it. He finally settled on the band around the back of Brick’s neck, cutting that first, not far from the dark-haired vampire’s jaw. Walking around to the other side of him, he cut that band as well. When the mask remained in place even after he’d cut the two connecting points, Dorian put down the cutters, grabbing hold of the front of the mask with his fingers.
He started to pull it off, but Brick let out a grunting kind of sound.
His long white fingers tapped the bar at the top of the mask, and Dorian frowned again, realizing that metal bar connected the front of the mask to the back of the neck piece, which was still somehow stuck to Dorian’s neck, even with the connecting bands severed.
Picking up the cutters, he cut the last piece, a thicker band that ran over the top of Brick’s head.
Once he had, Brick’s fingers grabbed the mask on either side, easing it off his face and out of his mouth.
Dorian realized only then that a mouthpiece on the mask drove a spike through the middle of the vampire’s tongue, holding it in place.
Brick spat it out, grimacing in pain as he sucked on his own tongue.
He dropped the mask to the floor of the armored truck, then turned his head so that his back was mostly to Dorian.
“Pull it out,” the vampire said.
He lisped from the hole through the middle of his probably-swollen tongue.
Dorian frowned.
He didn’t understand at first, but didn’t waste his king’s time with pointless questions. He could see what the other vampire wanted of him.
Gripping the back of the green metal mask in both hands, he tugged on it.
When it pulled on Brick’s head and neck, Dorian shifted the angle of his gaze so that he was looking down on the connecting points of the mask. He looked for some way it was still locked around Brick’s neck, or maybe down his back.
Then he saw it, and grew briefly still.
Like with the vampire’s tongue, they’d stuck a barb directly into Brick’s flesh––this time into the back of his neck.
Carefully that time, grinding his back teeth in anger even as his fangs extended, he gripped Brick’s head in one hand, pulling hard on the neck band with the other.
There was a sickening sound as a three inch spike slid out of the back of the vampire’s neck, covered in dark blood.
Brick gasped as it came free.
Still kneeling there on the padded bench, Dorian could only hold the thing in his hand, looking at the bloody spike in disbelief.
He was going to kill them.
He was going to rip the skin off every last one of them.
He was still staring down at the medieval-looking torture device when Brick turned, patting him affectionately on the thigh.
“Help me up, brother,” he said fondly. “I wish to feed.”
His voice already sounded better.
Grimacing at it a last time, Dorian tossed the bloody spike and the remains of the metal collar towards the back of the truck.
Once his hands were free, he gripped hold of his king’s arm, helping him to his feet. He let Brick grow used to standing, to having his balance inside the moving car. As he did, Dorian contemplated options for his king’s first feeding.
The one whose face he’d smashed in with the rifle appeared to be dead.
His blood would still be hot, but dead blood was never the same as living.
After a bare pause, Dorian led Brick over to the big Marine with the green eyes, instead.
The Marine was no longer angry. Blissed out on vampire venom, he stared up at the truck’s ceiling, a faint smile on his face, his eyes glassy over his deeply tanned skin.
Dorian brought Brick carefully to the bench, and continued to provide him ballast while the vampire sat on the vinyl padding.
He didn’t let go until his king had started to feed.
Then he just stood there, swaying on his feet under the motion of the truck, watching the other vampire drink. He saw the exact moment when the life left the big human’s eyes. Then Brick moved to the Latino male, who he also drained down to the final death.
By the third human, Brick had sated enough of his hunger to grow aroused by the feed.
He used the venom to persuade the blond human to put his mouth on him while he fed from his broken wrist. He killed that one, too, but Dorian saw the smile of pleasure on his king’s face as he did it, the near-gratitude in his eyes.
For a moment after the third one was dead, the vampire king only sat on the bench, his head leaned on the wall behind him, blood covering his jaw and mouth, and the front of the gray prison-wear that looked so out of place on his muscular form.
“Thank you for leaving me all three of them, brother,” he said then, opening his eyes.
He looked like himself again.
Dorian smiled. He could not help it.
It was not all relief, that smile, but relief certainly featured with the other emotions he felt. Some of it was arousal of his own. He would have gladly killed a dozen… two dozen… hundreds… to see his king look at him like that again.
; Seeing the expression in Dorian’s eyes, Brick smiled back.
“We have much work to do, my friend,” the dark-haired vampire said.
Dorian nodded.
He’d never been one for many words.
“Why don’t we start with the drivers, my beloved friend?” Brick said, smiling wider, that New Orleans lilt returning to his voice. “I confess, I’m still feeling a bit peckish. And I’d very much like to know where they intended on taking me next… and where I might find some of my long-lost compatriots and friends.”
His voice grew noticeably harder towards the end.
Dorian only nodded to that, too.
He knew what his king was truly thinking of.
He knew who his king was truly thinking of.
Debts had to be paid. Scores had to be settled.
More than that, order had to be returned to the world.
Things had been out of balance for far too long. They had been without a leader for far too long. Too many of their kind had fled like the cowards they were, trying to save themselves by burrowing underground––like rats.
Too many assumed their king to be dead, and therefore left him to die.
Dorian understood all of this.
Dorian understood, and looked forward to making the world right again. He suspected he looked forward to it almost as much as his beloved leader.
8
BAD NEWS
I WOKE WITH a crick in my neck, which was more or less my own fault.
I’d been stretched out over two plane seats I’d turned into a makeshift couch.
A really uncomfortable couch. With a hole somewhere between my hips and my upper back––a hole that contorted my spine into weird shapes, and made me change positions what felt like every few minutes, which didn’t exactly give me the best night’s sleep.
Even so, it was a struggle to pull myself back to consciousness.
Fingers trailed over my face, brushing hair out of my eyes.
“Miri?” His voice was soft, coaxing. “Wake up, doc. Time to go.”
His fingers went back to stroking my hair, his light tugging on mine, bringing me gently awake. When he wouldn’t let me fall back into sleep, I opened my eyes––barely––just enough to wince against the stream of sunlight through the plane’s oval windows.
Closing my eyes to block it out, I arched my back, stretching without sitting up.
When I finished, I tried opening my eyes again, reluctantly. I lifted a hand to shield my face, squinting up at him. His gold eyes were flickering over me, his pupils noticeably dilated.
“Gaos,” he muttered, staring down at my legs.
“Where are we?” I asked.
His eyes slid back up to mine. I caught a plume of heat and pain off his light.
“Why did you sleep out here?” he said. “There’s a bed in back. And couches. Real couches.”
Exhaling, half in frustration at him for ignoring my question, I stretched again.
Again, I felt Black’s eyes follow my body in the movement.
“I figured Lawless needed the couch more than me,” I grumbled, finishing the stretch and relaxing back on the seats. “You were on the other one. Dalejem and Mika moved you there––”
“I know,” he cut in. “Why the fuck didn’t you come sleep with me?”
Looking up at him, I shrugged, my face now resting on my hand.
Another flicker of pain went through him, reaching his eyes.
“Fuck,” he said, clicking at me. “You’re adorable right now. Get up, or I’m going to do something we definitely don’t have time for.”
It had just occurred to me that the plane wasn’t moving.
We were on the ground. I must have slept pretty deeply after all, if the plane landing hadn’t woken me up.
“Where are we?” I asked again, still not moving from where I lay on my side.
“Honduras.” Leaning down, he smacked my ass, hard enough to make me emit a sound. “Get up. Now, doc. We have to go soon. Boat’s already waiting.”
“Boat?”
“Get up! Or I’ll carry you out of here. Wearing that. And those ridiculous shoes.”
That time, I sat up, even as I grumbled under my breath. Fighting to get my eyes open for real, I rubbed my face with a hand. I’d just pulled myself all the way to my feet when Black thrust clothes into my arms, what looked and felt like combat clothing from his stores in San Francisco.
“Put this on,” he grunted, still looking me over.
He watched me frown at the clothes, then dump them briefly on the seat to eyeball the sizes. Watching me sort through them, he gritted his teeth.
“Miri… just go, for fuck’s sake. Go take a shower. Make yourself look marginally combat-ready or I’m going to start yelling at you for real. This whole ‘I just woke up and want to get fucked’ look isn’t really working for me. Especially with you in that dress.”
Scowling at him, I pulled the black-dyed clothes off the seat and to my chest, hiking up the dress strap on one shoulder. Glancing at my shoes on the carpeted floor, I realized I wouldn’t be needing those and turned, heading for the bathroom.
I still felt mostly half-awake.
I felt Black’s eyes on me the whole time I walked away.
I was pretty sure he wasn’t staring at my rat’s nest of a hairdo, either.
Not only that, anyway.
“WHERE ARE WE going in this thing?” I said, fighting a yawn as I scanned the sides of the ancient-looking cargo ship docked in front of us.
Frowning, I muttered under my breath,
“…Not far, I hope.”
Funny, doc, Black sent, giving me a glance.
He was busy, so I didn’t bother to tell him I hadn’t actually been kidding.
I went back to looking over our intended mode of transportation instead.
For a ship it was small.
For our group, it was big, however. We’d have plenty of room, even with reinforcements and more equipment supposedly on its way. It wasn’t exactly reassuring to look at, though, with its mottled gray and red-faded-to-pink paint, which barely concealed a rusted-out hull covered in barnacles and crusted with salt. I eyed a broken-looking anchor hanging from the bow, its chain covered in rust, and frowned.
Still thinking, I added. “And where are we, exactly? Honduras where?”
“La Ceiba,” Black called over, speaking aloud that time. “Port town. Northern part of the country.”
He spoke from a few feet away, giving me another bare glance from where he was talking to someone I didn’t know.
I couldn’t understand their words.
I hadn’t tried to read Black’s new friend yet, either, but I got the impression he was the owner of the ship or maybe the ship’s captain, or possibly both. They were both speaking a language other than English. It wasn’t Spanish either, or Portuguese, or anything else I recognized, so it must be one of the indigenous languages from around here.
They both spoke it so rapidly, I barely heard Black when he tossed the name of the Honduran city at me without missing a beat.
I’d never been to Latin America before.
Most of what I knew about the region came from books I’d read, most of them ages ago. I’d read news reports in the time since, and I knew bits and pieces, here and there, from friends in high school and college from Costa Rica and Guatemala. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever knowingly met someone from Honduras, but I suspected I must have, living in the Bay Area.
Black went back to speaking to the shirtless man covered in dark blue tattoos.
Yawning a second time, unable to help myself, I wished I had a cup of coffee as I stared out over the rickety-looking dock, the even more rickety-looking boat, and the dark blue water.
“Here,” a voice said.
I turned, blinking, as someone placed a ceramic mug filled with coffee in my hand.
Staring at him, then down at the cup, I smiled.
I paused only long enough to raise the handmade
-looking mug and sniff the aroma coming from it. It smelled absolutely amazing, and even managed to cut some of the smell of sewage, brine and seagull from the dock.
Still inhaling the sharp tang of the roasted coffee I took a grateful sip.
It tasted even better than it smelled.
“Thanks,” I said, coming up for air.
I heard the gratitude in my own voice, even as I smiled at my coffee angel.
Dalejem smiled back, nodding an acknowledgment. “You don’t look like you got much sleep,” he said, taking a sip off his own mug of the same drink.
“I don’t think I did.” I frowned, glancing around the pier. “Where is everyone?”
Dalejem made that odd gesture with one hand, which I was starting to equate with a shrug, without really having any basis for doing so.
“Ace and one of the pilots, Black’s people, went to handle some business for him in town,” Dalejem said, taking another sip of coffee. “Something to do with Black’s finances, and also to pick up equipment, including weapons, and possibly some people, I think. I sent Jax and Holo with them, so they’d have seer backup if they needed it.”
Nodding in the other direction, he added,
“Angel and Cowboy went to find food.”
“Where are Manny, Lawless and Lex?” I said, still frowning.
“They also went to town. They wanted to try and get in touch with friends of theirs.” Dalejem gave me a grim look. “I sent Mika with them. She was going to pick up headsets, too. Black told them where to go in town for both things, and sent a translator with them.”
“Headsets?” I frowned. “What kind of headsets?”
“Sorry.” He shook his head, pursing his lips. “I meant phones. ‘Burner phones,’ is what I think your husband called them.”
Exhaling, he added, “He’s worried those accounts he has registered in his company’s name might be being tracked. Apparently he received some amount of cover from the human government of the United States before, but he now thinks those connections are compromised. Something to do with the human anti-terrorist branch of the United States government? I believe his friend the Colonel previously monitored those channels for him.”
Exhaling again, Dalejem shook his head.
In Black We Trust Page 12
