by N M Thorn
“Let’s go.” Damian headed toward the hallway, gesturing for Jamie and Atticus to follow them. “Cole, were the vampires yours? Did you manage to capture them?”
“No,” replied Cole. “Not mine. I wish I could’ve asked them a few questions, but unfortunately, I couldn’t capture any of them alive.”
Stopping in front of a wide staircase leading to the second floor, Damian glanced over his shoulder and pointed at the second floor, gesturing for his friends to follow, remaining behind him. Cole frowned but didn’t object.
Damian channeled his magic and opened his second sight, but just like before, he could see nothing. It seemed as though the walls of this strange house were soaked through with some magic that blocked his magical sight. Shaking his head, he slowly moved up, all his senses stretched to the maximum. As he reached the last step, he found himself in front of a doorway leading into a narrow hallway. He was about to move forward when the same tiny, high-pitched voice he’d heard before sounded in his mind again, making him flinch.
“Commander, be careful! Above you!”
Damian raised his eyes but could see nothing. Holding his breath, he approached the threshold, but instead of crossing it straight, he stepped slightly to the right, summoning one of his daggers. A dark figure dropped from above, aiming to crush him with their weight, but Damian was ready. In one fluid motion, he jumped to the side and spun around, catching the man, his fingers wrapping around the attacker’s throat in a deadly grip.
A low growl rumbled in Damian’s chest as he slammed the man against the wall and pinned him with his dagger. The assailant hissed, his eyes glowing with a menacing scarlet light, and his dangerous fangs expanded, betraying his vampiric nature. He grabbed the blade, trying to pull it out of his chest, but cried out and let go, the palm of his shaking hands covered in blisters of burns.
“Hey, Cole,” Damian reached out to his brother. “You wanted to capture a vamp? Here, I got you one, little bro. Don’t ever tell me I don’t get you any presents.”
Cole walked inside and stopped by his side, his glowing eyes narrowing into angry, scarlet slits. The vampire’s jaw dropped as he stared at Cole, his face contorted with fear.
Damian gestured for Jamie to come in and whispered in his ear, “Do you have the silver cuffs with the runes that I made for you? I can’t leave my dagger stuck in this moron.”
The wizard nodded and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, offering them to him. Damian took the cuffs and restrained the vampire, ignoring his groans of pain. The few runes engraved into the cuffs lit up with a brilliant white light as soon as the lock clicked, and the vampire cried out, his head dropping powerlessly to his chest. Then he grabbed Jamie’s sword and thrust it into the vampire’s chest, before pulling his dagger out. Cole leaned forward slightly and seized the vamp’s hair, yanking his head back.
“Don’t go anywhere, asshole,” he hissed, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. “The King wants to have a word with you.”
Damian touched his brother’s shoulder to attract his attention. “Cole, my other sight is still blocked. Can you detect any human or supernatural presence?”
Cole straightened and turned around, staring into the dark, long hallway lined up with closed doors on either side.
“Four heartbeats,” he projected. “Yes... three heartbeats behind the first door on the left and one heartbeat behind the door at the very end of this hallway.”
Damian approached the first door on the left and halted, listening intently. He had no idea what this little voice in his head was, but at this moment he wasn’t sure he cared. Whoever it was, it saved him twice in one day. Since the voice remained silent, he assumed it was safe to open this door.
“It is safe,” peeped the tiny voice in his mind. “I would tell you if it wasn’t.”
What the hell? Damian gasped, his hand reaching up to his head.
“Hello, Commander—”
Who the hell is talking in my head?
“Don’t you know?”
No, goddammit!
“Ew… Language, please—”
What the fuck???
“Damian, are you okay?” whispered Jamie, touching his hand. “You look like you saw a ghost, and your tattoo is glowing a little, by the way.”
Damian flinched and glanced at his arm. Under the layer of dirt and dried out blood, the runes and the words in Dragon tongue entwined with the intricate lines of the tattoo were glowing with a soft bluish light. Yakov had given him this tattoo six months ago, but he had never explained what it was and how it was supposed to work. Now it was glowing, and a strange voice was tormenting his mind, yet he had no idea how to deal with it.
I’ll kill Yakov when he shows up again… Damian swallowed hard. The time wasn’t right for all that.
“I’m fine,” he replied to Jamie and added for the pesky, little voice in his head, “Shut the hell up. I still have work to do here. So, unless you have something important to tell me, keep your goddamn mouth shut. I’ll figure out what you are and how you’re able to invade my mind later when I get home.”
“Yes, my lord, Commander. I’m as silent as a mouse.”
Grrrr…
Damian pushed on the handle, but the door was locked. Without thinking twice, he pulled his leg back and kicked it, placing all his aggravation into a single push kick. The door flew off its hinges and crashed to the floor with a loud bang.
The air conditioner wasn’t working, but because he was either too preoccupied with the fight or got used to the smoldering heat outside, he didn’t notice it until now. The thick odor of unwashed human bodies and excrements assailed his senses as a hot wave of stuffy air, unfit for breathing, hit him in the face like a sledgehammer. He staggered back, burying his nose and mouth into the crook of his elbow.
A large bedroom with a boarded window was dimly lit by the light of a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling in the place where a ceiling fan used to be. Three mattresses were thrown on the tiled floor, and three young women lay motionless atop mattresses. Their eyes were closed, and they appeared to be sleeping, their chest moving up and down with shallow breaths. While they weren’t restrained, it didn’t appear as if they had tried to escape at any time.
Damian sucked in a deep breath and walked inside, taking a knee next to the woman closest to him. Her face was pale, and deep, dark shadows lay under her eyes. Her long dark hair covered part of her face and chest, but as Damian moved it to the side, his heart gave a painful jolt. Multiple puncture wounds on her neck told him all he needed to know.
He got up, pressing his hand over his mouth, and his gut twisted with the realization of what had transpired in this dirty room with unbreathable air.
“Are they drugged?” asked Jamie, his hoarse voice breaking.
“No,” Damian managed to say, his eyes darting to the other two women. He couldn’t see their necks, but their arms were covered in the distinctive puncture wounds of vampire bites.
“Vampires,” whispered Cole. “They’re not drugged, Jamie, but they are addicted.” He bit his lip, shaking his head. “To the pleasure of a vampire bite. It’s worse than any drugs.” Then he punched the air with his fist, a haunted expression hiding in his eyes. “Goddammit! How could I miss it? Arizona is my territory! I’m responsible for all this.” He pointed at the women.
“We’ll figure it out, brother.” Damian moved past Cole and walked out of the room, pulling Jamie and Atticus with him. “Let’s check who is in the last room, and then we need to call River. These three women are human. They lost a lot of blood and need medical attention and memory adjustments… not necessarily in that order. Cole can take care of the latter. The vampire’s glamor will be safer for them than my memory modification spell.”
He walked through the dark hallway, everything inside him shaking with suppressed fury. As he reached the last door, he didn’t slow down but kicked it open right away. The door flew off its hinges, revealing a large, dark room behind i
t. Unlike the previous room, there were no mattresses on the floor, and the window wasn’t boarded. In the silvery light of the moon, he saw a woman chained to a metal chair with iron chains so thick, they could hold a cruise ship moored during a hurricane.
She was dressed in a black shirt and jeans. Her clothes were partially ripped, exposing ugly welts and bruises on her arms, chest and stomach. Her head was bowed low to her chest, and her short, golden hair was covered in brown stains of dried blood. Slowly, she lifted her head. Her emerald eyes swept from one face to the next, and her full lips twitched in a crooked smirk.
“A vampire, a werewolf, a wizard and… a Destiny Enforcer,” she rasped, her voice too deep for a woman. A short burst of laughter escaped her lips, but her eyes remained cold and angry. “It does sound like the beginning of a bad joke.”
Teaser: The Burns Fire
(The Fire Salamander Chronicles Book 1)
~Zane Burns, a.k.a. Gunz~
Modern Day, South Florida
The restaurant was nothing special, just another tiny hole-in-the-wall located on one of the countless South Florida canals. There wasn’t anything noteworthy about its limited menu either. The only thing special about this place was its relaxed atmosphere. The restaurant had an open porch with three tables facing the canal. But the regulars were never sitting on the porch. They preferred to stay inside, leaving the romantic view to tourists and lovey-dovey couples.
Gunz had discovered this place shortly after he moved to South Florida, and since then he had become one of the regulars, visiting the restaurant at least a couple of times a week. He liked the laid-back atmosphere and easy-going crowd. It was a place where he allowed himself to relax and drop his guard. To a degree.
The inside room of the restaurant wasn’t big, just a few tables and a bar. A big screen TV was hanging on the wall behind the bar, next to a few shelves with liquor. The air was infused with the smell of alcohol and fried food, and a heavy curtain of cigarette smoke was hanging under the ceiling. The room was relatively dark. Out of six wall lights only three were on, but no one ever asked to turn up the light.
Gunz walked through the room, quickly surveying every corner, and sat down at the bar. Tonight, besides a few regulars, there was no one new. A pretty young woman in her mid-twenties approached him right away. Here, she was everything—the owner of the restaurant, a bartender, a waitress—all-in-one, cross-functional queen of Missi’s Kitchen.
“Usual, Mr. Burns?” she asked, smiling at him. Her skin, the color of dark chocolate, was smooth like silk and her large gray eyes framed with thick black eyelashes looked unnaturally bright on her face. Her long black hair was braided into countless thin braids and pulled into a ponytail on the back of her head, calling attention to her elegant neck.
“Yes, Missi, thank you,” said Gunz.
She put three small shot glasses on the bar table in front of him and filled them with vodka. “I’ll be back with your food in a moment,” she told him, heading toward the kitchen door.
“Take your time, Missi,” muttered Gunz, picking up the first shot glass. “I’m not in any rush tonight.” He took a deep breath and downed the vodka without flinching. Placing the empty shot glass on the table, he exhaled and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the harsh burning liquid rushing down his throat.
For a few minutes, he sat quietly staring at the TV. It was set to the local news channel, but he didn’t listen to the news, his thoughts far away. Then he sighed and picked up the second shot glass. He gulped the vodka and put the empty glass next to the first one.
“Hard day, Mr. Burns?” asked Missi, placing a plate with a burger and steaming pile of french fries in front of him. “You seem to look broodier than usual.”
Gunz smirked. He picked up a hot french fry with his fingers and nibbled on it. “You could say so,” he said finally. “Just one of those days… This day a couple of years ago, I lost… someone.”
“Your friend?” asked Missi, gazing at him with sympathy in her bright eyes.
“Yeah… friend. Vladislav Kirilenko,” he replied absentmindedly, taking the next burning-hot fry from his plate. “I lost him to the world of magic. He’s never coming back.”
“The World of Magic,” she repeated in disbelief, her eyebrows rising. “What is that? A fantasy novel? There is no such thing as magic. You’re making fun of me, Mr. Burns.” She shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her full lips.
Gunz smiled tiredly and picked up the last shot glass, squeezing it in his fist. “Third one for the fallen,” he murmured and drank it quickly, returning the empty glass to Missi. “You know, Missi, I’ve been coming to your restaurant for over a year. Don’t you think it’s time you stop calling me Mr. Burns? I don’t think I’m that much older than you. You know that you can call me Zane, or even Gunz, if you prefer to use my nickname.”
“I know. I don’t like nicknames. You’re a man, not a pet,” she said lightly, taking away the empty shot glasses and wiping the tabletop with a white towel. “Zane Burns…” She pronounced his name slowly, like she was sizing it up. “Sounds good, but I prefer to call you Mr. Burns. For some reason, it seems to fit you better.”
Gunz felt someone’s hand on his elbow and a hardly noticeable wave of magical energy swept through him. He snapped his head to the right and found a fake blond sitting next to him. She was devouring him with her eyes, her lipstick-enhanced lips stretched in a sensual smile. Her hand unceremoniously traveled up his arm, following the shape of his biceps, and stopped at his shoulder.
“Yum,” she said, gently probing him with her magic. “I’ll call you anything you want, hon.”
Gunz gave her a frosty once-over, turning his senses up. He had no doubt that she was something other than human. Her fingers softly massaged his shoulder, sending a stronger wave of magical energy through him. For a moment, his mind became clouded with desire and his body responded to her salacious magic with more eagerness than he expected.
Succubus, concluded Gunz, channeling the Fire, burning the poison of her magic out of his body. Her hand traveled down his arm, landing on his inner thigh. He seized her wrist, prying it off his leg and sent some fire toward his hand. Her skin blistered like from the touch of a hot stove and she yelped in pain.
“Who are you? What are you?” she whimpered, trying to free herself from his smoldering grip, but he didn’t let her go.
Gunz glanced around, making sure that no one, including Missi, was watching. “I’m a man who is not looking for company,” he growled, sending some fire toward his eyes. The bright flames went up in the depths of his eyes, and she gasped. “Especially not the company of your kind.” He released her wrist, observing red spots of burns and blisters on her skin. “Leave this place and forget about its existence. You understand?”
She nodded, fear making her every move jerky, and rushed out of the restaurant, nursing her burnt wrist. Gunz sighed, releasing the Fire, and turned back to the bar.
“Hey, Missi,” he called and waited a moment as she appeared from the kitchen. “Can I have everything to go, please? And one more before I leave.” He pointed at the bottle of Russian vodka that he usually ordered.
She put a shot glass on the bar table and filled it with vodka. “That’s unusual,” she murmured, her hands quickly packaging the burger and fries into a take-out box. “You never drink more than three shots.”
A lopsided smile crossed his face, making a single dimple appear on one of his cheeks. “I know. Usually three shots are my limit, but today I felt like I needed more.” He downed the vodka and got up, grabbing the take-out box.
Missi shook her head, checking him with concern. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”
“Thank you, Missi. I’ll walk. Take care.” He nodded to her and walked out of the restaurant.
Gunz walked away from the restaurant and turned into a dark alley. He stopped and rubbed his forehead tiredly. Maybe Missi was right. I didn’t need that fourth shot, he thought, smirking. It ha
d been a while since he felt drunk and right now the world around him seemed to be unsteady. Possibly it was a combination of vodka with the residuals of the succubus magic. He surveyed the alley carefully to make sure that no one could see him and once satisfied, he waved his hand, unfolding the fire curtain of a portal.
He walked through the fire and ended up in the backyard of his house in Coral Springs. The house wasn’t really his. It belonged to his friend, but she was away and wasn’t planning to come back any time soon. In the meantime, Gunz had the full use of her house. Dizziness assailed him as he took a step forward. He chuckled and sat down heavily on the steps in front of the back door.
He closed his eyes and leaned his back against the door of the house, still feeling a little buzzed. He was about to get up when he felt a soft touch to his leg. Gunz looked down and noticed a small kitten. It couldn’t have been more than a month old. The kitten was trying to climb on his lap, its tiny sharp claws catching the hard fabric of his jeans.
“Oh, hello, little buddy. What are you doing here?” said Gunz. He put the take-out box on the steps and gently picked up the kitten, holding it in his hands. The kitten turned on his engine, purring loudly, and licked his hand. Gunz laughed, gently stroking the kitten’s thick gray fur with his fingers. “You found the wrong man, little buddy. I’m a dog person—give me a giant German Shepherd any day. Well, occasionally, I don’t mind dealing with lizards. But cats…”
The kitten ignored his statement and climbed up his shirt, settling on his shoulder. He meowed into his ear and poked his cheek with his wet nose. Gunz petted the kitten, leaving him sitting on his shoulder, and picked up the take-out box. “Well, you’re taking your life in your own paws, buddy… but if you’re sure that you want to adopt a man like me then let’s get going.” He unlocked the door and walked into the kitchen.
