Reign of the Vampires

by Rebekah R. Ganiere

  He waited as the humans drank from their canteens. When Sheila handed her water to him, he refused. They’d need it more than he would. “Let’s go. We still have several miles to climb.”

  A twig snapped. He put his finger to his lips. The moon shone down on the hillside. There was nowhere to hide except up in the trees. But trees wouldn’t keep them safe from Vampires. He located a large tree with a hole in the bottom a few feet away. He pointed to it. The women crouched down low to the ground and crawled inside. Whitey stood beside Mason as if to fight. Mason pushed him in the direction of the hole. Whitey shook his head. Mason shoved Whitey harder and pointed at the tree. Whitey wavered for a minute, and then headed to where the women hid.

  It wasn’t big enough for all of them. Whitey lay on his belly covering himself with leaves as much as possible.

  A rustle sounded closer than before. Mason turned in the direction of the sound, peering into the trees. It wouldn’t be long.

  He jumped and caught the lowest branch of a tree. He pulled himself up and crouched on the branch, waiting. Minutes passed. A tall, thin, shadowy figure emerged from around a rock about fifty yards away. As the figure got closer, it paused and sniffed the air. A wide grin spread across its cold, pale face.

  “Come out, come out, little piggies,” the Vampire taunted.

  Mason’s anger stirred. Heat flushed his cheeks as his blood boiled. The scent of blood wafted from the Vampire’s direction. Smoke rose from where Mason’s palm lay flat against the trunk of the tree. Embers charred beneath his fingers. He took a deep breath. He had to calm down before he caught the whole mountainside on fire. Swallowing the air in huge gulps, he tried soothing the beast inside. When he opened his eyes, the male stood no more than ten feet away.

  “I smell your fear. Come out and I’ll spare your lives, unlike those you left behind. It is better to be a slave to kings than dust on the ground, like they are.”

  The Vampire sniffed the air again. His brows furrowed and his gaze darted around the area.

  Just a little bit to the right. As if hearing Mason’s thoughts, he moved, opening his mouth to speak again. Mason jumped, knocking the Vampire to the ground. He rolled away and leapt to his feet in a heartbeat, baring his fangs. His eyes widened as Mason straightened to full height.

  “You will fetch a fortune at the slave auctions.” He laughed.

  “Not in your lifetime,” Mason replied.

  “We shall see.” His eyes glittered with foul humor.

  The Vampire struck first, but Mason caught him mid-air, lifting him off his feet. The shock on the male’s face was more than satisfying.

  He hadn’t been this close to a Vampire in almost fifty years. Again he was bombarded with memories of his childhood as a Vampire slave. The struggling Vampire clawed Mason’s biceps, his legs flailing, trying to make contact with Mason’s ample thighs. Anger and terror burned inside Mason. His hand tightened around the Vampire’s throat. The heat that’d been building inside poured out of his palm.

  The male’s neck charred and blackened. Mason smiled at the sight. His inner beast howled in triumph over the death he’d caused. Mason’s thoughts were interrupted by pain bursting through his gut. He staggered into the tree trunk clutching his side.

  The Vampire fell to the ground gasping and choking, noxious smoke pouring from his open mouth. He clutched the gaping wound at his throat while the other hand held a gun.

  Damn! Dark blood seeped into Mason’s brown T-shirt. He covered the wound, trying to staunch the flow. The wound wouldn’t kill him, but it would slow them down.

  The Vampire lay choking on his own fluids. His eyes locked with Mason’s and he raised his gun, trying to take aim. Mason’s vision blurred and he fought against the pain in his side.

  Whitey popped up from his hiding place and reached into his backpack. Running at the Vampire, he plunged a large hunting knife deep into the male’s throat. Blood spurted from the wound. The male’s eyes widened then dimmed. Falling face first, he hit the ground without a sound.

  Whitey sat down with a thump, staring at the body.

  Mason sucked in a ragged breath, clearing his head. “We have to move. More will come.”

  Whitey sat motionless as the women crawled out of the tree. Mason pulled himself up, the burn from his wound paining him with every movement. He ripped off his shirt and tore it into strips, then tied the strips around his midsection as tight as he was able. It hurt like hell, but it helped. His white undershirt was soaked with blood, but there was no way he was taking it off and chancing the humans seeing his chest and back.

  He pulled the gun from the dead Vampire’s hand and put it in his waistband. Then he yanked the knife from the Vampire’s throat and decapitated him. He wiped the large knife on his pants.

  He pushed the knife handle into Whitey’s trembling hand. “Take it. You’ll need it again.” Mason grabbed his pack. Adrenaline coursed through him still and his mind replayed the feeling of burning the Vampire. He tried not to like it.

  “Come on, Whitey.” Nita said. The small group took off again, moving slower this time.

  Sheila caught up to him a few minutes later. “You need help, Mason.”

  He shook his head. “Keep moving.”

  “Let me look at it at least. I used to be a nurse before—”

  He gave her a hard stare. “Sheila, I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, don’t come to me when it gets infected.”

  They’d been traveling for an hour when he stopped to lean on a tree. The pain from his wound had become no more than a dull ache. The healing had begun. If he didn’t get the bullet out soon, it was going to be a trick trying to get it out at all.

  He looked at their surroundings. The trees had thinned and the moon shone down brighter around them. Whitey pulled out his water, handing it to Mason. Mason waved it off, but Whitey persisted.

  “You’re bleeding. You need this,” Whitey said.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “How did you do that?” Nita asked.

  “Do what?” Mason knew what she meant.

  “Burn that Vampire.”

  “You must have seen it wrong.” He let out a labored breath. He couldn’t afford to have them go around telling their people he’d burned a Vampire with his bare hands.

  Mason adjusted his pack and straightened to leave when he heard it. Several beings rushed through the trees just south of where they stood. He turned to Whitey. “You have to take them.”

  “No. I...I...can’t,” Whitey stammered.

  “They can smell my blood. They’ll find me if I keep going with you. My blood will cover your scents. That’s why I came this far with you. Keep moving for another hour. They’ll give up because of the sunrise. Go to the top of the mountain. There should be caves in a few more miles. Build your fire in the back, but not too big. Huddle together for warmth if needed. I’ll meet up with you and Ike later.”

  “We’re not leaving you,” said Nita.

  “Go now,” Mason urged.

  “No,” said Sheila. “You’re part of our group. We’re stronger together, besides who would we be if we left you?”

  “Survivors.”

  “We aren’t leaving.” Nita brandished her hunting knife. “You wouldn’t leave us.”

  There wasn’t time for this conversation. “Do you have any idea what they do to human females?”

  “We’re not going. Deal with it.” Sheila flashed her own knife.

  Mason breathed deeply. He smelled three slavers. The lingering scent of death surrounded them, and he wondered how many they’d killed from the camp.

  He pointed. “Into the trees. If it looks like I need help, help. Otherwise, stay put.” He ripped the bandage from his stomach, and stuck his fingers into the oozing wound. Staring at his hand, he located the beast within him and called it forth. His fingers lengthened and thinned as long curved nails sprouted sharp as razors. Bracing himself on the tree trun
k, he dug a claw into his side, probing for the bullet. Hooking it with his nail, he ripped it from his wound. Pressing his lips shut, he stifled a cry of pain. The skin on his arms darkened in the moonlight and his facial bones shifted. He steadied his breathing and concentrated on the sounds of the Vampires moving closer. Pushing the beast back, he willed it to sleep. Not yet. It’s not your time.

  His hand normalized. Rich blood flowed onto his palm from the wound. He let it pool there before wiping it on the tree behind him. He dropped the bullet to the ground. Turning, he wiped more blood on the tree Sheila had leaned on.

  He ran from tree to tree, rubbing his bloodied hands on them. He hung scraps of the soaked shirt on limbs, or threw them on the ground, doing anything to cover the scent of others. He trudged higher up the hillside. His side burned with each step.

  The Vampires approached from downwind. Mason stopped marking the trees and turned. Three pairs of cold, dead eyes stared at him.

  “You killed my brother,” said one. “Now I’m going to kill you, human.”

  Mason didn’t answer.

  The Vampire took a step forward, but was caught by the arm.

  “Clive only pays if they’re alive,” said a female.

  “I don’t care.” The male jerked his arm away. “He killed Jaren.” The tall, thin Vampire with crooked teeth returned his attention to Mason, and stepped forward again.

  “Yvette’s right, Marco. This one should fetch a good price at auction. Look at the size of him.”

  “And his scent, it’s enough to send me into a frenzy.” Yvette took a step forward herself. “He smells so intoxicating. So much rich, warm blood.”

  “Yvette.” The third Vampire pulled on her arm. “We tag him, and take him in. That’s the job.”

  Mason backed up a step. A guttural growl escaped his lips. Drinking from him was not an option. If they drank from him, he wouldn’t be unable to stop what happened. The beast inside howled. The thought of using his powers crossed his mind. If he just used a little, maybe—No. The humans in this world were screwed enough without his inner beast having his way with them.

  Pulling the gun out of his waistband he shot Marco straight through the head. Then he threw himself at the other two Vampires.

  Chapter 2

  Danika rubbed her temples and closed her eyes, taking in the faint scent of lemon cleaner. She listened for any kind of ambient noise to draw her mind away from the task at hand, but there was none. Not here, in her private office, on the highest floor of her Fortune 500 company building. The insulation was specially suited to keeping other Vampire ears from overhearing conversations they weren’t meant to.

  She rubbed at her head, willing away the images that flashed before her. Xenock pacing at the end of her bed, his clothes disheveled and dirty, his eyes wild with Rogue Syndrome.

  “She’s mine. She’s mine. She’s mine,” he whispered.

  “Xenock, where have you been?”

  “You’re mine!”

  She opened her eyes as his image flew at her. Taking a deep breath, she scanned the slave auction list yet again then rose from her chair and turned toward her large office window.

  “Chase, I can’t do this now. It is too soon, I—”

  “It’s been months since Xenock’s death. You refuse to sleep during the daylight hours, and you haven’t been feeding.” Her uncle sighed. “Danika. I worry for you. You need to find someone. Take a mate, to buoy you up.”

  She turned from the window and put a tight smile on. “I’m all right.” She pulled down her blazer and smoothed her updo to cover her lie. Her body weakened with each passing moon. She had to stay strong. Had to look the part. Straighten her back, hold her head high, and play the part of the Vampire Ice Queen everyone believed she was.

  Everyone watched and waited to see if she’d screw up again. After all, it’d been her own mistake for allowing a lowly, human-mutated vamp into her coven, and into her bed. No one would cut her slack again. Her world was as bloodthirsty and cutthroat as the human world had been before its fall. She refused to allow her gaze to drift to the couch in the corner of her office where an image of Xenock in a tan suit, his hair impeccable, sat staring at her.

  Chase shook his head. “Nika, you need a blood slave of your own. You need to feed regularly, and this is the best way.” He lifted the file from the slave auction and waved it at her before setting it down again. “It’s time.”

  She swallowed hard. No one but Chase had called her by her nickname since her parents’ deaths. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. She didn’t want to do this now. But if she didn’t find a slave soon, she would go into a coma and need transfusions until her body healed. She couldn’t afford to let that happen. Her house had plenty of blood slaves, but Danika’s parents had taught her at a young age the dangers of sharing slaves. Therefore, she only fed on them when she the thirst became too great, and only one in particular, Matthew. She’d never owned a personal slave before. So she’d relied on Savor as well as Matthew since the outbreak.

  She breathed deeply and Xenock’s image vanished. For the moment. She had to keep it together.

  As her minion, Xenock had been her best friend, confidant, and for a short time, after the loss of her parents, her lover. It was her affair with him that had caused his ultimate demise. Danika pushed down the guilt.

  She sat and flipped through the profiles again. Fifteen human males and six human females were on the list this month. Each profile was accompanied by a complete workup. Everything from blood type to personality profiles. Her gaze locked on Chase, the last of her family outside of the Russian zone. “Where’s the auction being held?”

  “At the Regency House.” He stared at her. “Nika you shouldn’t go down there.”

  “Uncle, I can’t tell the truth about them by just sitting here and reading profiles. I have to see them. I can’t make a mistake again.” She bristled. Being a great judge of character was something she prided herself on. Her parents had taught her everything they knew about how to survive in the Vampire society. They’d worked their way up in the Vampire hierarchy to coven lords, and had built their synthetic blood company from nothing to the top of the Fortune 500 company list. All of that had almost been lost, with her failure to size up Xenock. She refused to let her father’s legacy be destroyed by her own failures. She’d been without an assistant since Xenock, and work was piling up. Having a vamp in her office again wouldn’t work one bit and finding a suitable vampyr would take months if not longer. She needed someone who could be both blood slave and secretary. And she needed them soon.

  Chase leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. “What happened to you?” he mused. “It wasn’t so many decades ago that I was pulling you out of Vampire bars and off of your latest human snack.”

  She inspected her nails and then rubbed her fingers together at the mention of her more carefree college girl days. “You know very well what happened,” she whispered.

  Her uncle was tall and thin, with long white hair and light gray eyes. The kind of man she’d seen in the eighteen hundreds as an English gentleman, complete with top hat and cane. But Chase was old in numbers only. She had witnessed him move with the speed of a panther and take down three rogue vamps in an effort to save her aunt and cousin.

  Chase nodded and stood. “I hope you find a slave who’s good for you. If you don’t have a mate to take care of you, at least you’ll have someone to give you sustenance. Vamps were never meant to be minions to our kind.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but smiled instead and left without another word.

  Chase had never told her, I told you so, when it came to Xenock. But he had told her so. Vamps, born human and mutated into a Vampire subspecies by an airborne virus unleashed fifteen years ago, were never meant to mix with Vampire royalty. The once-human vamps had become the lower class to the Vampire’s ruling society. They were nothing, and in many society cities, treated worse than th
e non-mutated human slaves. Xenock had shown promise, so she’d taken a chance, and it had almost cost her life.

  She scanned the files sitting open on her desk again. The human faces stared at her with vacant eyes. Hitting the speed dial on her phone, she waited, letting it ring, once, twice—

  “Regency House, how may I direct your call?”

  “This is Danika Chekov to speak with Clive.”

  “Right away, mistress.”

  The sounds of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony floated through the receiver. Xenock’s image stood in the corner, watching her on the phone. A scowl planted on his face.

  “Hello, Lord Danika. You’re well, I hope.”

  “I am quite well, Clive, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I hear you’re holding an auction tomorrow. I’d like to come and have a look if I might.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “Well, I don’t usually allow such things, otherwise I would be inundated with requests, and it tends to make the humans quite restless. But I’m sure I can make a small exception for you.”

  “Of course, Clive.” She took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check. She drummed her fingers on the desk. “Your commission would be doubled, should I win the auction for my desired item, for the inconvenience.” Danika knew how to play the game, though she loathed having to do it. If he wanted her to pay to come in and look, why didn’t he say it was going to cost her? The need to feed rose inside of her again, causing her throat to burn.

  “Lord Danika, that’s most generous. With such an offer I could make sure all of our goods are well and presentable for your liking at your earliest convenience.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I have a car coming around now.”

  “I look forward to it.” Before the call had even ended, Clive shouted to ready the goods for inspection. She smiled as she pushed the button to hang up the speakerphone. She enjoyed the power and privilege of being a Vampire lord, and one of the richest women—if not the richest woman—in the world. It had its perks, even if it came with a price.