Forged in Flame

by Rabe, Michelle

The Blades forced 157 to his knees, yanking his wrists behind him and binding them with rough rope. As part of their initiation rites, every Knight watched the Blades with a prisoner under their care. The hood came next, little more than a burlap sack slipped over his head and secured with a heavy, iron collar around his neck. The air inside the bag was thick with dust and itched where rough fabric touched his flesh. The daggers were next, and 157 turned his mind inward. He focused on an image of his sister, his reason for doing this. He didn’t care about eradicating vampires, only about breaking the curse.

  His clothes were sliced off him, the tip of the daggers precariously close to nicking his skin. He stood in place, not daring to move a muscle as the clothing fell to the floor. The former Jarreth’s wrists were cut free and a huge guard hauled the new 157 to his feet. He wanted to run but fought the urge to rip off the hood and fight. Moving as one, the Blades locked cold iron manacles around his wrists. A moment later, his arms were pulled up so he stretched as far as possible without coming up on his toes. Shivering, 157 closed his eyes, waiting.

  He lost track of time and had begun to relax, his body acclimating to the cold so the involuntary shivering had stopped. When the first blow fell, an explosion of pain spread across his lower back and thighs.

  “Count,” one of the Blades ordered.

  The Knight’s back burned with searing pain. He fought the urge to show defiance in the face of the torture.

  “You will not be asked again.” The Blade’s voice held a hint of humor and excitement. “You will be lashed until you count. You must count the prescribed number of lashes. If you do not, the lashes begin again until you do.”

  “One,” 157 answered through gritted teeth.

  The lash fell again, vicious metal tips bit deep into his flesh. One of the tails wrapped around his torso and cut into his abdomen. He screamed the count, and the lash fell again. Behind him, he heard whispers… hissing serpents. Gasping for breath, 157 continued the count and the cycle repeated. After the fifth lash, a long pause, and then some distant part of his mind wondered if he had missed the count.

  He knew what they were doing. Had been forced to witness more than one punishment as part of his indoctrination. They will not break me. He steeled himself with the strength that each Black Rose gave every Knight, fighting against the urge to give in.

  When the final lash had been delivered, 157 held onto the stake, trying to catch his breath. Ice-cold saltwater hit his back, and he screamed as a new pain ripped through every raw, exposed gash. The Blades didn’t wait. They moved with cool efficiency as they released him from his bindings and pulled the hood from his head. He sank to the floor and sagged against the post while hot tears streamed down his face. They grabbed his upper arms and dragged him across the floor to the rack. He screamed when they pressed his back against the stone wall, every wound erupting in new explosions of pain. His scream cut short when a foul tasting cloth filled his mouth. Choking, he tried in vain to dislodge it with his tongue.

  The hood came next. Suffocating darkness wrapped him in its shroud, his toes scraping along the floor as the blades dragged him across the room.

  He couldn’t hear anything above the sound of his own raspy breathing and his heart thundering in his ears. 157 screamed as they dragged first one arm and then the other up over his head and bound them to the apparatus with thick rope. After repeating the process with his ankles, the Blades tilted the table so he was lying flat on his back. Minutes felt like hours, the pain across his back ebbed to a dull ache and his breathing had evened out.

  Is that it?

  Out of nowhere, a loud screech came from above his head as the ropes bit into the flesh around his wrists and ankles. He struggled against them, fighting to slip free of his bonds, but the Blades had done their work well. He was trapped. They stretched him until his joints burned just before the point where they would dislocate. They left him there, alone, with nothing to do but focus on his breathing. Heavy doors closed, and 157 knew the real punishment had begun.

  This was the true price of his failure.

  18 - San Francisco, CA - October 15, 2012

  Nicholas pulled the borrowed car into the garage and killed the engine before letting his head drop back to the headrest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a sense of dread descending on him like a shroud. Too many nights had passed since Jayson’s last kill. He dropped his chin to his chest and massaged his temples with his fingers. Allowing himself a few extra minutes to let go of his frustration, he finally stepped out of the car.

  When he entered the living room, he took off his jacket, tossing it on one of the high-backed chairs. Eric sat at the breakfast bar, his laptop open in front of him. Through the French doors, Nicholas watched Morgan and Richard out on the patio. The Sorcerer demonstrated some sort of spell as Morgan watched, nodding every now and again.

  “Welcome back,” Eric said from the kitchen.

  “Richard and Morgan are hard at work?”

  Eric shrugged. “Not sure how hard they’re working, but they are having a lesson.”

  Nicholas entered the kitchen and poured himself a snifter of brandy. “How long have they been at it?”

  “About an hour.”

  “So they have another hour or two to go?”

  “At least.” Eric closed his laptop and studied Nicholas before asking, “How was your night?”

  The elder vampire had thrown back the last of his drink before answering, “Completely unproductive.”

  “So, no luck finding Jayson?”

  “None at all.” Nicholas poured himself another glass of the amber liquid and stared into its depths, swirling it around in the glass. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to run down a renegade like this.”

  “You deal with renegades all the time.”

  “Yeah, but this one’s a special case.” Nicholas shook his head and strolled into the study, beckoning Eric to follow him.

  “Special case?”

  “Yeah, a real pain in my ass.” Nicholas plopped down behind the desk and powered up his own laptop.

  Eric took a seat in one of the chairs across from him. “How do you usually go about finding and killing renegades?”

  “We do a lot of research into their life. If we’re lucky, we catch a break and find one of their kills.” Nicholas sipped his drink, enjoying the warm sensation that slid down his throat. “Once an Enforcer gets the scent of a renegade vampire, it’s generally just a matter of time.”

  “What?” Eric scoffed. “You’re nothing more than vampire bloodhounds?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Nicholas paused, his brow furrowed. “We use our brains too.”

  “So why is this guy so hard to find?” The young vampire leaned forward and met Nicholas’s stormy gaze.

  “Call it a confluence of events or a comedy of errors.” The Lead Enforcer rolled his head from side to side, trying to release the tension building in his shoulders. “He’s sloppy and has left all but two of his kills in alleys that have a few things in common.”

  “What’s the common denominator?”

  “They’re dirty. So much so that they reek of garbage and urine, in every case. They’ve all been found near nightclubs, so if anyone hears anything out of the ordinary, they write it off as two people having fun. This particular vampire doesn’t have a strong scent. Add to that the fact that my longtime Enforcer was killed, and the new one is a patsy. All of that adds up to one screwball comedy of errors that we have to try and find our way out of.”

  “What about the two he didn’t leave in alleys?”

  “One was Emily Stanton. He took his time with her. The apartment reeked of blood, terror, sex, and his scent.”

  Eric nodded, his mind already turning over theories. “And the other?”

  “His name was Ian Davis. Just blood and violence in his apartment.”

  “Did you find anything else in either of those locations?”

  “Just a photo with Jayson and Emily in it.�
� Nicholas frowned. “That’s where I learned his name. Emily had written it on the back of the picture.”

  “So, he knew Emily.” Eric raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the left. “It would stand to reason that he also knew Ian.”

  “But they’re the exception, not the rule.”

  “That doesn’t mean there’s nothing to learn from their deaths.” Eric shook his head. “But you’re right. I want to focus on the others to know who he’s targeting. What about his victim profile? Hunting grounds?” The young vampire paused. “We know where he’s killing, but is he hunting in the clubs next to the alleys? Or is he luring the victims there when he’s ready to make his move?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want me to look into it?”

  “It’s against protocol.”

  The young vampire tapped his finger on the bar. “Would you let me take a look into the circumstances surrounding Daniel’s death?”

  “Take a look?”

  “Yeah. I get the feeling the Enforcers aren’t really big on investigation.”

  “I admit, it’s not our strong suit. Then again, not many of us were cops before we became vampires.” The Assassin shook his head. “I was just a man trying to make sure my family survived. Though we’re not without our own methods of investigation.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t.”

  “It’s fine.” He waved away the younger man’s perceived insult. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Why don’t you let me see what I can dig up using dull, boring human methods?”

  “Like what? Anything that might put our secret in jeopardy?” Nicholas frowned and rested his elbows on the desk, threading his fingers together.

  “No. Absolutely not.” Eric shook his head. “I’ll do some digging on my own… see what I can find through researching the newspapers and other public sources.” He shrugged. “I shouldn’t need to call in any favors. That way it remains between us. The fewer who know about this, the better.”

  “You know some people here in San Francisco?”

  “I know one or two.” Eric’s lips curled into a slight smile as he thought about Grace and her tantalizing green-gold eyes.

  “What if you need to talk to them?” Nicholas leaned back and shook his head. “What if you can’t find the information you need through public sources?

  “Then I’ll tell them what they need to know without telling them about me.”

  “Do you think you’ll still be able to get what you need?”

  Eric shrugged a half-smile, his lips curling to reveal fang tips. “I’ll find a way.”

  Nicholas drummed the fingers of one hand on the desk and scratched his head with the other. “Well, the old ways aren’t working. Maybe it’s time to try some new ones. I’m sure I don't have to tell you to watch what you say and be careful about who you ask.”

  “No, you don’t,” Eric said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Morgan and Marcus are teaching me the rules.”

  “Good, I don’t think I need to say it, but we don’t need more trouble.”

  “Got it.”

  “Great.” Nicholas glanced at his watch, figuring Morgan and Richard would still be deep within their lesson. “I’m going to go see what I can do about getting some practice in with the sword, I’ll be upstairs. If Morgan asks where I am, let her know, okay?”

  “Of course,” Eric said before turning his attention back to the laptop in front of him. Nicholas smiled and made his way up to the second floor. With his concerns over Morgan’s safety allayed, he needed to work off some of the extra energy that had been building up. He could use the practice. All his other cares fell away when he stepped into the large room, with hardwood floors and mirrors lining the walls. He unsheathed his blade, propping the empty cane shell against the wall. He walked to the center of the room and began running through exercises so ingrained in his mind that they were like breathing.

  19 - San Francisco, CA - October 15, 2012

  Later that night, Eric stood on the sidewalk, peering up at the looming edifice that housed the precinct. He’d been told that Grace worked there. He hadn’t seen her in almost a decade and hoped she remembered him. Stepping off the sidewalk, he started across the street, the tip of his sword cane tapping with each step. In the two years and nine months since he’d been given the thing, the leather-wrapped top had worn to fit his hand, and it had become an extension of his arm. Being a former cop wasn’t going to help him smuggle an illegal, concealed weapon past security and up to the floor where Grace and the other inspectors worked.

  Morgan said I can do this. She assured me that I can slip past the officers without them noticing that I skipped past the metal detectors. He hoped the mental pep talk would get his brain and his gut on the same page. No such luck. What if I fuck up?

  As he continued trying to steel his resolve, the building loomed closer. Eric knew it would be easy to turn and keep walking. But then he wouldn’t have the chance to get the information they needed. He stepped up onto the opposite curb and took long strides across the sidewalk, a purpose in each pace.

  Well, look at the bright side. At least if I get arrested for bringing in a concealed weapon into the station, from what Morgan tells me, she has a small army of lawyers with a need to earn their retainers. Hopefully the judge would allow bail before the sun turns me into a crispy critter.

  Shaking off his concerns, Eric pressed forward as he approached the stairs leading up to the entrance. He took the short stairs three at a time. Nodding to detectives in suits and uniformed patrol officers as they passed, he took one last deep breath to steady his nerves before stepping through the doors and into line for the metal detectors.

  He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, content to listen to the voices around him and the hum of the air conditioning units. His ears were sharp and he listened for more while waiting for the officer to let the man in front of him pass through the metal detector.

  Here goes nothing. Another deep sigh. Eric concentrated on blending into his surroundings, on being as nondescript as possible. While the officer was distracted by a woman shouting at him, Eric slipped past the choke point and strolled toward the banks of elevators. I’m not out of the woods yet.

  When no one stopped him, he stepped into an empty elevator. A sly smile curled his lips as the door slid closed, and he pressed the button for the fourth floor.

  Alone in the car, listening to the whir of the pulleys and gears and prosaic covers of popular music, he leaned back and rested his head against the wall. Closing his eyes, he waited until the elevator stopped. The doors slid open. Eric waited a few seconds and when no one appeared in the hallway, he stepped off and turned to the right following the tile floor to the third desk on the left. The flame-haired woman sitting at the desk didn’t look up before she spoke.

  “How can I help you?” Her voice, like steel wrapped in velvet, sent a pleasurable thrill scampering down his spine. He smiled as he listened to the strange New Orleans accent he knew all too well.

  “Is that how you greet an old friend?” Eric asked, letting his own hometown drawl slip its way to the forefront. Three years of working with Morgan and the others had taught him that it was best if a vampire didn’t use any particular dialect. Distinct accents gave other vampires the chance to discover your roots and maybe loved ones.

  Her head snapped up. Hazel eyes met his blue ones. “Holy shit! Eric fucking Kincade. What the Hell are you doing darkening my door?”

  “I need your help with something,” Eric said.

  She laughed, shook her head and threw up her left hand. “Ten years.” Grace punctuated her words by slamming her hands into the edge of the desk. “Seven fucking years since I hear from you and you think you can just show up here and I’ll drop everything and help you?” Her left hand popped up and snapped in his direction. Eric wasn’t sure if she’d flipped him off or not. “Just like that?”

  “You were the one who broke
it off, Grace.” Eric, propped his cane against the desk and leaned against it, his arms folded over his chest.

  “And yet, here you are.” She reclined in her swivel chair and crossed her arms to match his posture.

  “Here I am.” Eric paused, giving Grace the time she needed to cool off. He unfolded his arms, slid his right hand into his pocket. “You know I wouldn’t be if it weren’t something important.” He dropped his voice so he couldn’t be overheard. “Like seriously important.”

  Grace sighed and shook her head, scrubbing one hand over her face. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  “I’m just chasing a lead on a case from back home.” He flashed her a disarming smile and shrugged.

  Grace’s eyes narrowed and she frowned. “That’s bullshit and you know it.” She leaned forward in her chair, her elbows now on the edge of her desk. “So stop trying to blow smoke up my ass, Kincade.”

  “Smoke up your ass?”

  “Look, I haven’t lost touch with everyone from home.” She pushed away from her desk and stood as the chair rolled away and hit the wall behind it. “Shit Eric, you think no one would tell me about an issue there? I know you’re not being straight with me, and I’m aware that about three years ago something bad went down. That’s when you fell off the damned map.”

  Eric sighed and shook his head. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Yeah, well,” she stepped closer, showing no sign of backing down. “How about you tell me what it is and isn’t?”

  He took another step and leaned in close before whispering. “I can’t. Not in here. Please, Grace.”

  “Follow,” Grace answered, her voice all steel. She turned and stalked away to the elevator without even looking to make sure Eric had complied with her order. Stepping into the elevator and turning, she waited until he stood beside her. Silence loomed in the car as Grace pushed the button to the top floor. Eric expected her to speak when the doors closed as they started their trip, but she said nothing.