The Bloodline Series Box Set

by Gabriella Messina

  “I was hoping I would run into you soon.” Oh, r-e-a-l-l-y? “I wondered, I hoped, perhaps you’ve put some thought into -” Thoughts? You have no idea how much – “participating in my research.” Damn.

  Sam rubbed her temple, which only served to accentuate the throbbing ache in her head, an ache that was slowly spreading down into her neck and shoulders. “Um, what was it about?”

  “Familial and cultural bloodlines, genetics -”

  Sam quickly raised her hand up to stop him mid-sentence. “Listen, no offense, but those are three things I’m really not interested in discussing right now in any way, shape or form.” She stepped around Hudson and started toward the ER.

  “Miss Karolyi, you must understand, this research is crucial to -” Hudson grabbed her by the wrist to stop her retreat.

  Sam’s response was rapid. She whirled quickly, grabbed Hudson just below the shoulders and pushed him back up against the wall. She could sense the movements of the staff behind her, heard the nurse at the desk calling for security, but she couldn’t release him. It was as if her muscles had locked and she didn’t know the code to unlock them again. Completely focused on Hudson, her gaze was intense as she pulled him to his knees in front of her and leaned down close to his ear.

  “I said... no.”

  Her voice... it seemed like her voice, but something was wrong. It was low and husky and, well, a growl.

  “Let him go.”

  Sam hesitated. Was he ever going to stop following her around?

  “Sam!”

  Sam shook her head and turned, releasing Hudson in the process.

  Vincent stood next to her; several feet behind him was an assortment of staff, patients – and security. Vincent leaned down, directing his words not to her, but to Hudson, who remained kneeling on the floor. “She’s had a bad shock. Her grandfather’s condition. Call them off, will you? She just needs to go home and rest.”

  Hudson was silent for a moment. “Everything’s fine. I’m fine. Private matter. No worries.”

  Onlookers and security gradually moved away, leaving the three alone together again. Hudson leaned back against the wall and let out a long whoosh of air, his relief evident.

  Vincent turned back to Sam. “Go home, Sam. Get some rest. Go!”

  Sam turned without a word and left, disappearing through the ER doors.

  “She’s very volatile, isn’t she?” Hudson readjusted his scrub top as he stood, the hint of several arm tattoos visible as he did so: skull and crossbones, a squashed rune-like symbol. “Is it safe to let her out on her own right now?”

  Vincent frowned. “She’ll be fine.”

  “She seems a bit overwhelmed by all of... this. Wouldn’t you say?”

  Suddenly, the ER doors crashed open and paramedics wheeled in a trauma patient. Hudson started toward them, joining the trauma team as they wheeled the patient into a room across the hall.

  Vincent’s frown deepened as he caught a final flash of the rune tattoo on Hudson’s arm just before he disappeared into the trauma room. He remembered the last time he saw that tattoo... on that same shoulder, and on the shoulders of others... on the night his life had changed forever.

  10

  CHRYSTIE STREET, NEAR Delancey

  The Bowery

  Sam climbed the last section of the staircase, her breathing as heavy as if she had run the three flights of stairs preceding this one. She stopped at the top of the stairs and rested her forehead against the old-fashioned balustrade, letting the coolness of the varnished oak seep in and alleviate some of the headache that was pounding her brain to pieces. Please have menthol patches in the refrigerator... Please, please!

  She raised up and crept onward to the door marked with a number “5,” passing the elevator on the way. Definitely should have taken the elevator, she thought, as she pulled out her keys, slid the correct one carefully into the deadbolt on the door, then turned it.

  Sam shielded her eyes from the brightness that greeted her inside and moved as quickly as she could toward a long cord hanging from the ceiling. Pulling on the cord, the brightness began to dim as the shades covering the skylight in the ceiling moved across the glass, sealing the intense morning sunlight outside.

  Sam shuffled into the kitchen and made a beeline for the refrigerator. She emerged moments later with a rectangular white patch (Yay, menthol patches!) on her forehead and a frosty bottle of water in hand.

  Plunking down on the sofa in the living room, Sam leaned back and placed the water bottle against her temple. Ordinarily, she would have welcomed the silence, the complete and utter silence of the apartment, but now it only served to remind her of why it was so quiet.

  She looked around the space she shared with her grandfather since her grandmother died four years ago. From her seat against the outside brick wall, Sam could see the other three rooms of the apartment clearly.

  The kitchen where she had just been, with its small drop-leaf table and unmatched chairs. The bedroom door, slightly ajar, still wearing the blessed palm cross Ivan had made for the last Ash Wednesday. The shining porcelain of the pedestal sink in the bathroom.

  The apartment was small, but it always seemed so big, so full of life and memories and experiences. Everything was old, or at least older, from the well-worn furniture in the living room to the garish orange and olive patterns on the kitchen chairs to the electronics that were not exactly ready for high-definition picture and sound.

  Every free piece of wall that had at least three feet of space available had a bookcase placed there, filled to brimming with an endless variety of books. “The Classics,” old textbooks, several bibles, collections of maps and history books, a range of books in Romanian.

  The exception to this library concept was along the opposite wall in the living room, where a console stereo stood. The rich cherry finish and lattice grill of the heavy piece of furniture was topped with a set of traditional matryoshka, Russian nesting dolls, her grandmother’s.

  Sam remembered watching her grandparents dance to Big Band music and traditional Romanian songs, the well-cared-for LPs spinning slowly on the turntable as her grandfather twirled her grandmother around the living room floor.

  The tears finally came. Sam had managed to fight them for so long it startled her to feel them well-up and overwhelm her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat; tightness built up in her chest until Sam thought she was going to implode. She opened her mouth to gasp for breath and a sob came out, piercing the darkness and silence of the room. It seemed to go on forever before the silence descended again. Sam slowly leaned over, buried her face in the sofa and quietly continued to cry herself to sleep.

  It was a restless sleep. Her body constantly moved, the muscles seeming to have a mind of their own. Some of the movements were subtle, twitches really, but others were full-on spasms. Yet she slept on, her eyes moving rapidly behind her closed eyelids.

  Hours passed before the movements suddenly slowed to a steady squirm as if something was crawling underneath her skin. Finally, her body was still.

  Sam opened her eyes slowly and looked groggily around the room. It had grown dark since she fell asleep. Geez, how long was I out?

  She sat up slowly and gently stretched the stiffness out of her arms, legs and back. She stood up, stretching fully, and began to make her way through the darkness towards the kitchen and the light-switch on the wall. She felt along the wall, finding the switch and flipping it on. She regretted it immediately and rushed to shield her eyes from the glare. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the light enough that Sam could squint at the wall clock in the kitchen – 11:00.

  Sam opened the refrigerator door and leaned in, wincing as her back muscles stretched to accommodate the bend. She pushed several items around on the top shelf before grabbing a small bottle of cranberry juice and closing the door. She popped the cap and took a long, slow drink. Refreshing... but it’s missing something.

  Sam shuffled to the cupboard over the sink and opened it, taki
ng down a bottle of vodka. She filled about half of the juice bottle with the vodka and re-capped it, shaking it lightly as she shuffled back into the living room. She paused beside the sofa, uncapped the bottle and took another drink, this one quicker. Yeah, that’ll do. Sam took another drink, left the bottle on the coffee table and headed for the bathroom.

  Sam stood in the shower, the water pouring down onto her head and running down her back. The water moved in rivulets down her back, winding its way between the scratches on her back. The wounds were healing fast, the scabbing faded almost to nothing and the area around them pink like a healing sunburn.

  11

  LENNY PUSHED OPEN THE door to the mortuary, the strong smell of bleach and the faint smell of incense hitting him at the same time. He strolled toward the empty counter, calling out “Yo, Benny!” as he crossed the room.

  Ben’s head slowly rose up from behind the counter then sank out of sight again just as slowly.

  Lenny leaned on the counter. “B-B-B-Benny... and the Jets. What are you doing?”

  Ben looked up from the Criminology book lying in his lap. “Studying.”

  Lenny nodded. “Any word yet from upstairs?”

  “They said next week.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure you did fine. After next week, you’ll be a rookie out on your first patrol. You’ll see.” Lenny looked down onto the desk area behind the counter and spotted a small dish of soft mints. He reached down, grabbed several and popped half of them in his mouth. “Of course, you’ll need to tone-down the eyeliner.”

  “Tone-down? How much?”

  “Well, no eyeliner. And the incense, man, damn!” Lenny waved his hand in front of his face as a voluminous puff of incense smoke drifted his way. “Listen, I enjoy a smoke myself once and awhile, know what I’m saying? However, you cannot smell like that when you’re out on a patrol.”

  “It’s not for... the bleach makes me sick...I tried burning candles, but my supervisor freaked out. I guess he thought I was holding a ‘Black Mass’ down here or something. He’s cool with the incense sticks, though.”

  “Ah.” Lenny had popped the rest of the mints in his mouth before he continued. “So, you called me down here, what’s up?”

  “Yeah.” Ben stood up, lifted the counter and motioned Lenny to come back behind it.

  As soon as Lenny was behind the counter, Ben lowered the counter and pulled the glass window nearly shut, effectively sealing the small area off from the outside.

  Ben sat back down on his stool and gestured to another stool a few feet away. Lenny wheeled the stool over, the wheels squeaking and squawking, and took a seat.

  Ben took a deep breath before beginning. “Okay, so, she’s probably going to kill me for ratting her out like this, but you’re her partner, you know, so you have her back.” He swallowed hard before he continued: “Early this morning, Sam came down here to see the body of the guy that got hit by the bus, yesterday. She looked kind of sick. No, not kind of sick... Lenny, she looked like death, I’ve never seen her like that. And there was this guy with her. Tall, dark-haired, all in black. He, uh, injected the guy, right in the chest, said it was mercury. He said it’s what you do to a...”

  Lenny frowned. “To a what?”

  Ben ran a hand through his already messy hair. He took a deep breath, swallowed hard, then leaned in, motioning Lenny to come closer.

  He waited for Lenny to lean in before he continued: “He said it’s what you do to a... werewolf.”

  Lenny was silent, his eyes blinking rapidly several times as he appeared to be processing what he was hearing. “Ben —”

  Ben jumped up and paced back and forth in his small corner of the room. “I know it sounds crazy, Len, but he stabbed that... Thing... And it moved, really moved, and you know it, he, whatever, was dead. And then it melted.” Ben sat back down, cradled his head in his hands.

  “Did Sam leave with him?”

  “I think so. She ran out, said she was going to throw up. The guy followed her out.” Ben looked up.

  Lenny was already lifting the counter to exit.

  Ben stood quickly as the counter dropped back into place with a bang. “Lenny? Is Sam going to be okay?”

  Lenny paused in front of the door. “I don’t know, man.” He pushed open the door and exited, his voice lingering as the door closed. “I don’t know.”

  12

  THE APARTMENT WAS QUIET and almost completely dark. Only a path of light from outside illuminated the floor of the living room.

  Moonlight.

  Sam lay on the sofa, her tee shirt stuck to the dampness still on her body from the shower. Her breathing was steady but more rapid than usual for someone sleeping, each breath growing heavier, almost to the point of panting. Her body moved in a steady languorous squirm, her hands moving over her legs, her stomach, her chest. Her breathing grew deeper, quicker.

  The moonlight crept across the floor of the living room, moving closer and closer to the sofa. Sam’s breathing continued to crescendo as the moonlight reached the sofa and the tip of the pure white light touched her arm.

  Sam’s eyes opened wide; her breathing stopped in a gasp. She sat up on the sofa and looked around the room. She stood, her body almost completely in the swath of moonlight streaming through the window. She walked to the window, opened it and leaned out.

  The street was dim, but bar-hoppers and other locals were strolling to and from their party destinations. It was “the shank of the evening,” as her grandmother used to say, and the nightlife was just beginning to stir across the city.

  Sam sniffed the air, letting the smells of the city envelope her senses. She licked her lips, tasting what she smelled. A cool wind came up from downtown, blowing the fabric of her tee shirt, licking her damp skin.

  Sam turned from the window, pulled the shirt up and over her head. She stood for a moment in the moonlight, felt it touch her naked skin like a delicate feather and knew it was time.

  Time to go hunting.

  13

  42nd Street/ Times Square

  Vincent paused at the corner to light his cigarette, then glanced up at the crosswalk signal. He watched the red hand symbol blink and blink before finally solidifying.

  Vehicles began to drive in front of him as the light turned green; he watched the taxis, buses, limousines and other vehicles creep through the intersection and continue in the direction of downtown Manhattan.

  Vincent glanced around, his peripheral vision taking in the sidewalks full of locals, tourists and, increasingly as the hour grew later, with clubbers preparing for a night of dancing, drinking, and decadence.

  So many people, so many signatures... Vincent took another long drag on the cigarette, blew the smoke out slowly. It was going to be difficult to find her out here with so many people around. Even as strong as the signature scent of a newly converted female werewolf is, finding her in this mess would be a miracle. He took another drag. You hear that? Miracle... need one.

  The crossing signal changed to the “Walk” symbol and Vincent walked to the center island area, stopping again to look around. Plenty was going on, as always, but the biggest crowd appeared to be around the theater-like façade of the dance club Glow. The bigger the crowd, the easier it would be to hide from people ...Like me.

  Vincent lit another cigarette and looked at the clusterfuck in front of the door to the club. Queue-up outside? Not an option.

  He scanned the surrounding buildings, his eyes lingering on the roof of the building on the right. The gap between the two buildings was quite narrow, easily jumped. Vincent took a final drag on the cigarette and tossed it into the gutter before hurrying across the street and disappearing into the dark and narrow alley between the buildings.

  “Glow”

  43rd & Broadway

  The throb of the music matched the rhythm of the pulsating lights that illuminated the crowded dance floor of the most talked-about new club in the city.

  Most nightclubs and discos in Manhattan
had a brief life, a few months, maybe a year or two if lucky, before they would wane. Like stars, their ends varied. Some faded gradually, holding on long enough to establish a regular crowd that could keep them somewhat afloat. Others exploded and collapsed in a blaze of glory, leaving super nova-like remnants behind as a warning to the next generation. A warning that always went unheeded, as every year saw the arrival of new ventures attempting to build upon the ashes of the dead.

  Sam sipped from the rocks glass in front of her, letting the burn of the whisky roll down her throat and feeling it hit her stomach. She placed the glass back on the bar surface and her hand touched the surface. A burst of color streamed out around her hand, creating a glowing effect that undulated out and away beneath the glass.

  It was the club’s signature, this glowing bar, but Sam dismissed it quickly. It wasn’t why she was here. She had never been to Glow before; she was not much for the club scene, but something about it pulled her in tonight. Something was here...

  Sam glanced around at the crowd filling the small first-floor bar area.

  It was the usual combination that Manhattan nightclubs saw on a weeknight. The Bridge-and-Tunnel crowd. Strange guys suffering through a mid-life crisis, looking to take someone under 30 with them. Euro trash and hipsters of all kinds. Guidos and Guidettes looking for a different crowd than their usual Jersey set. Nothing unusual and yet...

  “You waiting for someone special?”

  Sam took another sip of her drink and glanced at the bartender leaning across the bar in front of her.

  “Special? Maybe.”

  “Well...,” the bartender flashed a smile and gave Sam a suggestive wink, “if he doesn’t happen to show, let me know. Name’s Phil.” Phil placed a hand on Sam’s arm.

  Sam looked down at his hand on her arm, then up at him. He wasn’t bad-looking at all, bleached blond and well-muscled in a too-tight shirt...