by E. S. Moore
“Oh, right,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. He took a few deep breaths and his face went serious. “I was thinking about something before I got interrupted earlier.”
I stared at him, studied him. He was lanky, though not any taller than me. His hair was still a mess, but that was normal. He had also changed since I had last seen him. He was wearing jeans, a Scooby-Doo T-shirt, and sneakers. His Tom and Jerry one probably had blood on it now.
“What about?” I asked as casually as I could. From the tone of his voice, I knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“Killing to feed,” he said. “There has to be another way. We can try something else. I was thinking that when we tried it the last time, I made some sort of mistake. Maybe I could come up with some formula, like synthetic blood or something. It might eradicate the need for you to feed.”
I tried to suppress my rise of anger. “You know this is a sore point with me,” I said. “And this isn’t exactly the best time to bring it up.”
“I know, but I am sure I can find a way for you to feed without the need for blood, or at least real blood anyway. There has to be.”
“And what do you expect me to do?” I shouted, rising from the bed. Ethan took an involuntary step backward. “We already tried the animal thing. It didn’t work. It will never work.”
Ethan licked his lips and tried to smile. His hands were shaking. “I know we tried, but maybe we did something wrong. Maybe if I was given more time to test some theor—”
“We didn’t do anything wrong!” I took a step toward him, my anger bubbling over. Even knowing Ethan as I did, knowing he only meant what was best for me, I couldn’t keep my rage bottled up when my less-than-normal diet became the topic of discussion.
Actually, anything could set me off. The vampire taint had accentuated my aggressions. Any little thing could cause my anger to boil over. I had to be careful all the time. One slipup and I could kill someone I didn’t mean to.
My thoughts flashed to the Cultist and some of my anger dissipated. Who was I to judge anyone? Ethan was only trying to help.
Ethan’s eyes were wide. I turned away from him. I knew a lot of my anger stemmed from what had happened earlier. That and the fact that I hadn’t fed for days. The longer I waited between feedings, the worse I got.
“Feeding on animals is to me like a blood transfusion from a cat would be to you. It just doesn’t work. Nothing you can do will ever make it work.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “But I want to try. Let me at least try to figure something out. If it works, then great. If not, then I will come up with something else. There is no reason not to try.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I just hate the thought of what will happen to you if you keep going down the path you are now.”
“And what do you think is going to happen to me?” I asked, though I already knew. I feared it, too.
“You know the consequences,” he said. “You see them every time you leave this house, every time you take on a vampire Count. Before long, if you keep killing, you’ll lose something you can never get back.”
I sat down heavily on my bed. I stared at the wall for a long time, trying hard not to think.
It didn’t work.
“I’ve already lost everything,” I said at a near whisper. All the anger fled from me in a gush of expelled air.
I knew I had been yelling at him for no reason. He only wanted to help, and for some reason, I was taking old frustrations out on him. It wasn’t fair. I knew that. I just didn’t know what else to do.
Ethan stared at me, stunned at my sudden shift. “I know,” he whispered. I could tell he was suffering memories of his own.
We had met under some pretty dire situations. Both of us had been captured by a vampire Count, Count Valentino. Back then, we were both Purebloods, as was my brother, Thomas. Ethan’s entire family had been killed by Valentino. He was the only one who had survived, though being locked up in a vampire’s cell wasn’t exactly surviving.
Thomas and I had been on a hunt. We were caught by Valentino’s wolves and tossed in a cage to be tortured later. We managed to kill a few vampires and wolves before getting captured at least. In the end, it was probably the worst thing that could have happened.
I had been stupid and brought along my keys and identification. Valentino took them, gave them to a few of his lackeys, and sent them to find my family.
They killed everyone—my mother, my father, my friends and neighbors. Everyone I cared about was lost to me on that day, including Thomas.
And my humanity.
“What does it really matter?” I said, trying to push the memories as deep as I could. “I’m already damned as it is. I kill on a regular basis. Nothing can change that. I’m a monster, and that is just something we are both going to have to live with.”
“You’re not a monster,” Ethan said. “Not yet. You don’t kill for the pleasure of it. You do it because you have to.” He chewed on his lower lip. “But having to kill all the time, it has to have an effect on you. I am scared the lust for blood will eventually take over. If we can somehow control the hunger, then we can conquer this thing.”
I sighed and ran my fingers through the last remaining tangles in my hair. “I’m not going to let it control me,” I said without conviction.
Ethan was silent for a long time. He worried at his hands, head bowed. I knew he was worried about me. I was worried about him as well. I had taken him in after I broke free of Valentino’s grasp. He was all I had left. We both had suffered greatly at Valentino’s hands. It was only fitting we stuck together.
“I think you should consider what he said,” he said suddenly. He looked up and stared me straight in the eyes.
“Who? The Cultist?”
Ethan nodded.
“And what? Accept the offer to go walking into their Den? I doubt they want to make friends. It’s more than likely some sort of trap.”
“He may have been crazy, but he was honest,” Ethan said. “The Cult wants something from you, and I think it might serve us well if you were to at least check it out.”
“More than likely, the only thing they want is to see me dead.”
“Are you so sure?” Ethan shook his head. “I’m not. If they had wanted you dead, they could have come in force, taken us both out before we knew what hit us. They could have waited until daylight, opened all the windows, and let the sun do their dirty work for them.”
I glanced at the heavily draped windows of my room. The drapes were taped to the wall, sewed closed so that not a sliver of light could penetrate them during the day. I refused to lock myself away in some basement somewhere, afraid to enjoy the comforts of a life long lost.
“They worship werewolves,” I said, turning back to Ethan. I didn’t trust the Cult, didn’t trust myself. What would I do if this whole thing was legit? Could I actually walk into the Den of a bunch of werewolf worshippers?
“There is something wrong with people who would want to run around with monsters like that. I don’t think I could ever trust them.”
He raised his eyebrows and gave me a coy smile. “I’m living with a monster, remember.”
“That’s different.” I wasn’t so sure how. Just because I didn’t give in to my darker nature as willingly and as easily as the next vamp didn’t make me any less a monster. What happened in the basement was more than proof enough for that.
“Is it?” Ethan shrugged. “I honestly think you should see what the Cult wants. I figure if it’s some sort of trap, you could easily overcome a few Pureblood humans. Just don’t go in unprepared. Take your gear, be ready for a fight.”
“I never leave my weapons behind.”
“I know,” Ethan said. He stifled a yawn. “Think about what I said. I’m going to get to work on your stuff, make sure it’s ready in case you decide to take them up on their offer.”
I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “But get some sleep soon. You look tired.”
“I will.”
He stretched and headed for the door. His shoulders were sagging and I knew he wouldn’t be able to work much longer. He was pushing himself too hard.
I remained sitting on my bed for a good hour before finally getting up and closing my bedroom door. The sun was up. I could feel it through the walls. I double-checked the layers of drapes over the window, and satisfied, returned to my bed.
I curled up on the covers and stared at the ceiling. I was confused, unsure what path I should take. Deciding whether to kill a vampire enslaving and killing Purebloods by the dozens doesn’t take much thought. Deciding whether I should go in and have a sit-down with a bunch of crazies who would rather be one of the monsters than stay human was taking it a bit far.
I closed my eyes, wishing I could fall asleep and let everything drift away. If I was lucky, things would sort themselves out while I was oblivious.
But that wouldn’t happen. The Purebloods had closed their eyes to what was happening around them, and look where it has gotten them. They live in fear of the night, afraid to so much as leave their houses unless the sun is shining full in their faces.
Of course, it isn’t just the vampires they have to worry about. There are any number of Purebloods who are just as dangerous as the vampires and werewolves and other supernatural beings that slither through the night’s shadows.
A vampire isn’t inherently evil. A werewolf isn’t either. The capacity for evil is within everyone, whether they are a literal monster or not. Some just try harder to follow the right path than others.
I was beginning to wonder which path I was actually on.
4
I was up and dressed at dusk. I paused at Ethan’s bedroom door and listened. He was snoring lightly on the other side. I waited there, my hand resting against the closed door. He had stayed up far too long, I was sure of it. He was normally up at first dark.
“Stay safe,” I whispered, and hurried down the stairs.
I threw my leather coat on over my jeans and T-shirt, and headed down into the basement. I wasn’t planning on working tonight, but I wanted to be prepared. Like most nights, it was always better to be ready for a fight than to go out unprepared.
I grabbed my sword, sheathed it, and took down a belt fit with a pair of silver knives from the wall. The gun I had used the previous night was down there now, cleaned, and fresh clips lay beside it. I holstered the gun, strapped on the belt, and pocketed a pair of silver-dust packets.
I might have looked like I was going out to war. I was simply going out for drinks.
I paused upstairs in the kitchen, hand on the side door. I was leaving Ethan alone, leaving him while he was defenseless and asleep. A Cultist had gotten in the night before. What was to stop them from coming back to see what had happened to their friend?
I considered staying, at least until Ethan was awake, but changed my mind. Staying would be admitting it wasn’t safe, that this sanctuary I had built for myself wasn’t strong.
Ethan could take care of himself. He was strong, resourceful. If the Luna Cult really wanted something from me, I doubted they would send anyone else. If they really wanted to meet with me, I was sure they would know not to press.
I stepped out into the garage, putting my fears behind me. Within moments, I had the Honda started and was shooting down the road.
The landscape shot by, a blur just on the edge of my vision. I had driven the route so long, I knew where every pothole was, every turn in the road.
I tore through a small shopping district that was closed up tight. Not even the gas station stayed open this late. It was Pureblood country, one of the few places where vampires and werewolves had no place. The Purebloods were all tucked safely away in their homes, praying they would see the morning come, and life could go on like normal.
I put the closed shops, the darkened windows behind me, longing for that kind of life. I never had the chance to live a life like that. I was born to the dark, and in the dark I would stay.
It took a good thirty minutes to reach my destination and by then, I was ready for that drink.
The Bloody Stake was located in a part of the city only the insane dared to walk. Dim streetlights illuminated the sidewalk where prowlers were often seen drifting in and out of the darkness. Werewolves and vampires both came to hunt here, but they were far from the only predators. Purebloods made their own kills in the darkened streets and side alleys. They struck out at the monsters just as often as the monsters struck out at them.
The bar looked pretty much like any other dive from the outside, which helped it fit in nicely with the rest of the neighborhood. Cheap neon signs flickered on and off, advertising beer as cheap as the signs themselves. The stained curtains were nearly always drawn. They were covered in so many bodily fluids, they probably qualified as a crime scene. The shingles on the roof looked as though they had needed replacing ten years ago.
All of that was for show. It might look as though The Bloody Stake was going to fall in at any time, but for those who were brave enough to step through the doors, it served as a safe haven where Purebloods and monsters alike could coexist without fear of the hunt.
Inside, the place was well maintained and well-lit. The bar was always polished to a shine. Peanuts awaited customers who sat on the soft-cushioned stools. The tables were sturdy, bolted to the floor, and the chairs around them were surprisingly comfortable.
Not only that, but the food was good, the beer topnotch, and if you could stomach the less-than-human patrons, the atmosphere was surprisingly pleasant.
Bart Miller ran The Bloody Stake with an iron fist. He was tough as leather and looked the part of a street brawler. The bar had simply been named Bart’s at one time, but when the vampires and wolves rose, he changed the name to The Bloody Stake as a kind of big “fuck you” to the vamps who had taken control of the streets. The name might be outdated now that knowledge of vampires was more well-known, but it still got the point across.
It took time, but a lot of the myths surrounding supernaturals had long been disproved. Garlic is just as tasty on a vampire’s pizza as it is on a Pureblood’s. Running water, holy water, or any sort of water outside of sewer water doesn’t bother a vamp in the slightest. There are more than a few Christian vampires as well. They wear their crosses on their necks, carry their Bibles, and pray just like everyone else—even if they do so with blood on their lips more often than not.
Then there is the whole coffin thing. Vampires sleep on beds just like anyone else. Well, maybe not exactly sleep. Vampires don’t need to sleep, but they do need to rest their bodies. Vampires aren’t the undead of legend. They don’t rise from their graves or any such nonsense. They are living beings just like the next human, though their blood is tainted.
In fact, vampires are just another kind of shapeshifter, like werewolves. They live longer, their lives extended by something in their blood, and the change isn’t as complete as with a werewolf, but they are a shifter just the same. Some vampires have mastered the ability to change into another animal entirely, but they are few and far between.
Werewolves have their own set of myths to contend with. The biggest is, of course, the whole full moon thing. A werewolf can shift whenever it chooses. It doesn’t matter if the moon is full, at half, or new. That’s not to say they aren’t weakened during the new moon. They are. Just like vampires gain strength at the apex of the night, werewolves become stronger closer to the full moon, their blood lust more powerful.
But that lust comes with a cost. Just like the tides react to the moon, so do people and animals. Purebloods tend to get a little kooky during the full moon. Murders, burglaries, and violence rise. Vampires have a harder time controlling their hunger and oftentimes find themselves feeding without knowing who they are feeding on.
Werewolves, on the other hand, go utterly mad.
It is called the Full Moon Madness. That is as technical a term as anyone has ever given it. Anyone who savors their skin stays inside during the full moon. Doors and windows
are bolted. Lights are left off, and any sort of movement that might be seen or heard from the outside ceases.
The Madness wipes away any reservations about killing a werewolf might have. Wolves who had never hunted before would kill their mothers in a fit of rage. Wives turn on husbands, friend on neighbor, brother on sister.
It was a bloodbath waiting to happen and it was only a few nights away.
I parked my Honda in the small parking lot at the side of The Bloody Stake. The sign over the bar showed a scantily clad woman kneeling over a vampire dressed like Bela Lugosi in all those old Dracula movies. She had an oversized stake in her hand, and she swung it slowly up and down, repeatedly staking the silly-looking vamp in a flash of red neon blood.
I made my way to the entrance, smiling at the sign. Somehow, it always made me smile, despite the ridiculousness of it. Something about the threat it implied gave me a warm fuzzy feeling, even though a good number of the patrons would give anything to stake me the moment they found out I was a card-carrying vamp.
Bart was behind the bar like always. A scar ran down the right side of his face, a product of a fight that had ended with a couple of vaporized vamps and the corpse of the girl who had been playing one against the other. He nodded to me and went to fetch me a beer without waiting for me to ask.
I paused just inside the door and scanned the room, checking to make sure there was no trouble waiting for me. I didn’t exactly have a lot of friends with the way I lived my life. The Bloody Stake was usually safe for everyone, but like what had happened to give Bart his scar, things did happen.
Mikael Engelbrecht, a Swedish man who had moved to the States for no better reason than to experience the women, sat in a corner with three girls draped all over him. None of the girls could be older than eighteen, and I had a feeling a couple of them were well under. They fawned over him, touching and caressing him like he was some sort of soft, cuddly animal.
Mikael gave me the slightest of nods, his slicked-back hair shining in bar lights. One of the girls glanced over at me, frowned, and then kissed him square on the lips. The other two quickly followed suit.
