Intervamption

by Kristin Miller

  “Poor you. Sounds like a real pained existence.”

  “Let me finish.” She slowed her pace, focusing on her words more than her goal. “Sometimes it feels like I’m juggling a million marbles at once, and with one slip of a finger all of them are going to come crashing to the floor. Eventually it happens to everyone. At some point things get difficult and nasty. I realize failure is a part of life—just not one I’ve experienced yet. I can feel it coming, but the closer I get to having things I truly value, the more I realize how hard that failure’s gonna hit me. I have to come to grips with the fact that ReVamp will eventually fail . . . I’m just so afraid what that will mean for our race.”

  For the first time in his life Slade didn’t have a snappy comment. He simply walked alongside her in silence, absorbing the tenderness in her voice like a balm on his skin.

  “Failure is a choice the weak make,” he said, finally, turning another corner. “You’re far from weak. In fact, I think you might be the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

  “I don’t feel strong at all,” she said, her voice showing the sudden weakness of her spirit. “Everything depends on me finding some needle in the bloodline haystack. And this wild-goose chase through the catacombs is making me feel further from my goal than closer to it.”

  “It’s simpler than it seems, Dylan. ReVamp won’t fail if you don’t wish it to.”

  “Of course I’d never want that, but that doesn’t mean they’re not going to shut me down in a few weeks anyway. Don’t you think I’d do something if I could? How can you talk like it’s my decision to make?”

  “Because in my former line of work I had to actively make choices every day—ones that determined life or death, happiness and greatness, or misery and loneliness. I’ve learned most times failure comes in the form of a split-second hesitation. If you stay true to course, to what you really want, you’ll inevitably get it. Once you start second-guessing, you let doubt in. You can take my word that it’ll root and fester until it kills your spirit.”

  “Is that what’s made you so damn bitter?” She smiled, lightening the mood by a million pounds.

  “No, it’s these damn fangs. They won’t stop humming and it’s irritating as hell.” At least Slade was partially telling the truth. That humming shit did bother him. But his past bothered him more.

  All those years ago, hunched over the building on Fell Street, he’d watched his team penetrate the khiss’s haven. He knew his mark, had studied the leech’s movements for months. And he was right there—right in front of him, centered in his sights.

  As his trigger finger started to twitch, remembering the familiar pressure he’d put on the gun, he was taken back to the early nineteenth century like it happened yesterday.

  He’d replayed that damned scene a thousand times since it happened. How was it possible that a leech would have the marking of Slade’s kin? He’d never discovered the answer. Never spoke a word of the blasphemy to anyone, not even his closest allies. Now, almost a hundred years later, he was no closer to finding the answer than he was that fateful night.

  That split-second hesitation on the trigger, when the bastard jumped off the balcony and sprinted out of sight, was the beginning of his downward spiral into hell. He’d begun to doubt everything in his life—including his own existence. Look where that slight hesitation had gotten him today: walking in vampire skin, in their secret catacombs, looking for hidden scrolls written by their elders—scrolls that’d tell him how to save the entire vampire race.

  Man, he really was hell and gone from his therian beliefs.

  As he looked at Dylan’s quizzical expression, he realized although his journey was shot to shit, the scenery wasn’t all that bad. Not bad at all.

  “Slade, over there.” Dylan pointed to the far corner, where a short and squatty set of glass cases lined the wall. “Do you think that might be them?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Stepping closer, Slade got a better look at the cases. The fronts looked more like they were frosted with a century’s worth of dirt and grime instead of tempered glass. They were massive and heavy, solid wood top to bottom with heavily grouted front panels.

  Dylan slid back the glass on the closest case, revealing stack upon stack of rolled and dried parchment. She pulled one out and carefully untied the frayed leather strap holding it together. Unraveling bit by bit, Dylan scanned over the old blotted language.

  “Oh my God,” she said, her eyes glimmering through the dark like sapphires. “These are the missing scrolls. We found them.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “After He created man and animal, God created vampire and saw that he was different . . . but good.”

  —Vampires: A Religious History

  Two hard knocks on the chamber door detached Savage from his notes. It’s not like he was making headway deciphering the smidgeons of scroll prophecy anyway.

  “Yes?” He slammed Brave New World closed and pushed it aside.

  Ruan swung open the heavy door, striding into the chilled room with too much hostility for such a fine December evening. The nights were getting longer, roping in the Winter Solstice with storms of stunning intensity. Then here was this ass, head out of the game, thoughts swirling around some woman he couldn’t have.

  Pathetic.

  “We have another problem, Savage,” he said flatly.

  Savage’s back shot rigid with irritation. “Seems like that’s all you’re full of lately. If you’re still having problems separating from Dylan I don’t wanna hear it. You kissed her. She didn’t kiss you back. Move on.”

  “How’d you know that we—”

  “Don’t get your fangs all shaved-off over it. Your smooch is common khiss gossip. I still don’t see why you’re so hung-up on her anyway. In a few days she’ll be in deep with Erock. That sentence is for life, lest you forget.”

  Anger erupted in Ruan’s eyes. “That’s not why I’m here. We have far worse problems than my social life, although it bothers me to no end that you have little opinion of her or of what kind of rumors the khiss is spreading around.”

  “Wanna get to the point and tell me why your problems are always dumped on me? I have other things to do tonight.”

  “We got an anonymous tip about a large attack in the business district.”

  Savage stormed to the armoire, jerked his leather jacket off a hanger, and shoved his arms through the sleeves, buttoned it up to the last hole at his chin. “Shit. Were any mundanes involved? Have they been alerted yet?”

  “The attack was not vampire on mundane, sir.”

  “Damn it, that’s the last thing we need: more losses. Do we know which khiss they were from?” Reports to the Primus would double after this incident for sure. He was already prepping the papers in his head when Ruan moved in front of him.

  “You’re not getting me,” Ruan said. “The deaths weren’t vampires. I’m talking about a large attack on therians.”

  Blood chilled in Savage’s veins. He charged through the royal quarter, aimed at the back parking lot and his waiting jag, Ruan following steps behind. “How is it possible that there was a mass grouping of therians in one place? We haven’t had any reports on meetings or active groups in the area, have we?”

  “No sir. Our scouts haven’t caught wind of any meetings as of yet, and the only active group was said to have moved north months ago.”

  “Do we know how many vampires were responsible for the killing?”

  “The voice on the phone said it was a rogue.”

  Savage turned back before stomping into the alley. “You said a rogue? Meaning one? Tell me he’s not from our khiss . . .”

  Brushing past Savage, Ruan pushed open the back door and led the way to his midnight-black jaguar. Rain splattered the ground, kicked up at their coats. “We don’t know anything else or how reliable the source is. But I can tell you there’s been miles of therian movement since it happened. And we’re getting emails to enforce early curfews.�
��

  “Therians know about the attack already?”

  “They know the how of it, but not the where or why—otherwise they’d be breathing down our necks, wouldn’t they?”

  Great. That’s all they needed. Therians thinking rogue vampires were gathering their weak and slaughtering them on a whim. It wasn’t enough that their blood was shorting and they were forced to act against humans more regularly.

  “What about our team? Are they in position yet?”

  “No, we should be the first on scene. Soldiers are suited up and awaiting your orders.”

  “Then we don’t have time to waste bullshitting with the details. Let’s rock.”

  A hop, skip, and roarin’ ride through the beat-up business district later, Savage’s Jaguar peeled onto Fell Street and skidded to a stop in front of an unmarked abandoned building. Flat panels barricaded the windows and doors. Empty bottles and cans lined the gutters while scraps of garbage fluttered about on stray gusts of wind. Not a soul walked the street.

  Savage and Ruan stood on the sidewalk in the pouring rain, examining the building.

  “How long have you been a member of our khiss, Ruan?” Savage checked both side alleys for therian movement.

  “ ’Bout fifty years, I guess.”

  “I figured as much, seeing as you don’t recognize the place. This used to be a local haven from the mid-eighteen-hundreds to somewhere in the nineteen-twenties. It was abandoned after therian Intel got wind of plans to merge two khisses together and attacked it. Blew the god damn thing up from the inside out.”

  “Christ, I had no idea. Why haven’t I heard about this before?”

  Savage stalked the front porch and tested the wood-paneled door. Age and constant plumes of salty sea air had weathered it beyond usability, bending and warping it so it didn’t solidly fit in the jamb. Jerking it back and forth released the wood from its weak hold.

  “Massive failures tend to be brushed under the rug. Rightly so, in my opinion. We need to be strong on the therian front. Failure will only circulate fear amongst the species.”

  “So how do you know about it?”

  Lightning cracked the sky, thunder rumbling closely after.

  “I was a member of the khiss that was supposed to merge with this one. Obviously the plans were more than a little derailed that night. Didn’t take long for our Primus to start up our current haven in the industrial district.” Savage sauntered into the building, stepping over fallen beams and cracked two-by-fours, empty boxes, and strewn-about food wrappers.

  “Looks like someone’s been here recently,” Ruan said, nodding over to the corner where a dirty busted mattress and Arby’s brown sack made their home. “Think it was vampire or squatter?”

  Savage sniffed the air, trying to sense another presence in the place. He got nothing. “I’m guessing therian.” He kicked an empty foam cup, sending it flying to the rickety stairwell. “Squatters don’t come out this far into the business district. It’s too far a walk back to anyone who’d hand over loose change. A vampire’s food tastes would run a little rarer than a roast beef sandwich, you feel me?”

  Ruan nodded absently, scanning the height of the open interior.

  As Savage moved through the building, carefully footing it over loose boards covered with inches of dust and dirt, he sensed something. “Large grouping out back. Cover me.”

  Fangs bared, he hightailed it to the rear, and then stopped at the sight before him—the one he didn’t expect.

  There wasn’t a small gathering of therians lying on the concrete slab of a patio, melting away in the soft pools of moonlight. No. It was more like a herd of them. Fifty. Seventy, maybe.

  “Holy shit,” Ruan gasped from behind him. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  “Not recently.”

  “Who the hell could pull something like this off?”

  “Someone really powerful or really pissed off.” Savage moved through the crowd of therians, eyeing them with morbid curiosity.

  The heads of many were sliced off at the neck, a clean swipe that prevented them from shifting and escaping. Others were tied together in groups of five or six, their backs facing one another, long metal shafts of rebar stabbing through the heart of one, linking to the heart of the one behind him. The dull rebars formed an eerie pentagram, with lifeless therian bodies dangling from the ends like charms.

  “Whoever did this had some major anger management issues,” Ruan said, lifting a detached head off the concrete by its platinum blonde hair. “Think it was a newborn?”

  Savage crouched in front of the closest pentagram, leaned in to get an up-close-and-personal look into the fucker’s vacant eyes. “I don’t think a newborn has the stomach for this. Or the knowledge. These were trapped here. Tortured, maybe.” He stood and measured the stature of the building before continuing. “My bet is someone’s been housekeeping here, gathering these transies together, biding their time.”

  “Biding their time for what?”

  Savage turned back to the lot of therians rotting away in their final form. “I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell going to find out why they’d want to make this kind of presentation. Come on, let’s finish searching the building. See if we can’t come up with a who or why before they do.”

  Moses paced the length of his office like a caged lion—one that was ready to rip someone’s head off.

  “What the hell do you mean, you can’t destroy it all? You get rid of every last bag of blood at that clinic or your head will roll. Do you understand? If we don’t shut down their supplies, vampires won’t take to the streets. If they don’t hit the streets, we don’t have leeway to crack down. You got it now?” He plopped onto his chair, phone in hand, his temperature rising in tempo with his voice. “Minions like you are a dime a dozen, so you better check your conscience at the door and do your fucking job, or perhaps I’ll no longer have a use for you.”

  He slammed down the receiver. That damned therian disobeyed a direct order; might as well have spit in his face. Maybe gathering hundreds of them together in one city wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  At first, as they gathered in hotspots, bars, nightclubs, they took to one another with a like mind, typical for small therian groupings. But now the number of therians in Crimson Bay boasted a small army’s worth. Clearly too much of a good thing could be bad, Moses thought, shoving his arms into his trench coat. It could be very, very bad.

  Instead of putting final touches on his plan to exterminate the vampires in Crimson Bay, he now had to perform random checks on therian posts to make sure they were doing their job.

  What a colossal waste of time.

  Just as he was ready to bust-foot out of Mirage, his phone rang again.

  “I thought I told you—”

  “We’ve got a problem, Moses,” Krawler interrupted, his voice thick as soot. “I just got a call from Terrance, one of our scouts. He said there’s been an attack on a group of therians. Seventy or so.”

  “Damn it all to hell. Did he say where?” This was not happening. He thought for sure he’d tied up all the loose ends.

  “The former vampire safe house on Fell Street. It doesn’t look good, boss.”

  Moses didn’t need to jet to the wall map to locate the address. He knew there wouldn’t be a red or blue pin over the beat-up building. It’d been decommissioned for years, providing the perfect shelter to construct the final piece of his plan.

  “Is Terrance all right? Is anyone else alive?”

  Krawler hesitated, took a deep breath. “He said he’s afraid to shift in his condition so it must be pretty bad. We need to get over there.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll pick you up on my way over. Stay put.”

  “One more thing, boss.”

  Moses’s heart pounded strong in his chest. “There’s more?”

  “He said you were there. That he saw you. Can you explain that for me?”

  “Don’t talk to anyone until I come get you.�
�� He disconnected the call.

  Damn it, this wasn’t good. Not good at all. Not only did he miss one pair of eyes that could place him at the scene, but Krawler knew about it too. This was about to get messier than he’d planned.

  Now, instead of sending scouts to the building to discover the massacre, leaving him in the free-and-clear, he had to cut off the two frayed edges before they could implicate him. Why couldn’t this have been smooth sailing? If things had just gone as planned, vengeance would’ve swept through the therian race like a tornado. He could’ve sat back and watched the carnage from a safe distance.

  Not anymore. At least not yet.

  By the time Moses’s driver picked up Krawler and pulled his Lincoln into the business district, Moses had prepared himself for the fallout.

  If these therians only knew the part their deaths played in the grand scheme, they’d be kissing his feet, for fuck’s sake. They gave their lives for the greater good of the therian race. A few sacrificed for many. They’d received heroes’ deaths to boot: their heads sliced off, their hearts impaled by their own Sheik. Couldn’t ask for a more regal death, as far as he was concerned. Although their last days had been difficult to keep under wraps, what with the screaming and all, the outcome had been clean and simple. At least, that’s what he’d thought.

  Therians were dead. Vampires were to blame.

  That’s pretty much all the races needed to know. It’d be more than enough to start a blazing war—one that would exterminate vampires completely.

  “Stop here,” he ordered his driver. “Wait down the street until I call for pickup.”

  As he and Krawler stepped out of the Lincoln and the driver pulled around the corner, the wind and rain picked up, slicing at his exposed face and hands. “Let’s find Terrance and hope we do it before the parasites arrive.”

  “How do you know the leeches who did this aren’t still here?” Krawler asked.

  “Call it a hunch.” Moses buried his face into the top of his coat and trudged up the front steps.