Forged in Flame

by Rabe, Michelle

  “What?” Samair demanded, his voice booming, face turning a strange shade of red.

  “You heard me.” Zachary’s voice grew in volume. He stepped to the dais, tugged on the French cuffs of his shirt, raised his chin, stood straighter and met Samair’s eyes. “But just in case you didn’t… I will repeat myself. You are not the rightful Lord of San Francisco.”

  Nicholas stepped out of the club and into the cool San Francisco night, stopping and closing his eyes. Opening his senses, he sensed Jayson off to his right. The human he’d taken from the club still lived. Nicholas heard the frantic beating of the heart, racing as though trying to compensate for the blood loss. He smiled, Jayson had just begun feeding, but time was of the essence. If the human dies, so much better. We don’t need any witnesses. Nicholas let his power slip, probing and prodding at the edges of the unknown vampire’s psyche. When the level reached the all too familiar fractured conscience of his wife’s Sire, Nicholas recoiled, withdrawing his power in an instant. His head jerked as though he’d been surprised while engrossed in some mundane task.

  Damn, we have an audience. “Julian,” he whispered at the same time Eric stepped up beside him.

  “Nah, he’s shorter and has silver eyes,” the younger vampire quipped. “A bit crazier too.”

  “He’s nearby.” Nicholas ignored the attempt at humor though his lips quirked up in a quick smile.

  “Do you think he’s watching?” From one moment to the next the jovial young vampire had been replaced by his cool, efficient other side.

  “Yes. It’s against protocol, but I’ve got to take the chance. If Samair was right about anything, it’s that Julian can’t be allowed to live. The question is what do we do about it?”

  “We?” Eric’s head snapped back as if he’d been slapped. “I’m not an Enforcer.”

  “Tonight, you are. I need you to take care of Jayson. Makes no difference to me how you do it, but that one has got to die tonight. He’s run out of time.”

  “You’re going after Julian?”

  “Morgan may hate me for a while, but he’s become too much of a wild card. I don’t care if Lucian is controlling him or not. I need to do what I can to neutralize him.” Nicholas frowned as though working something out in his mind. “I need about two minutes. Can you give me that?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Good.” Nicholas stepped away from the building and stopped. “Be careful. I don’t want to explain your death to my wife.”

  “Aww, Nicholas, I didn’t know you cared.”

  “I do,” he paused, “about pissing Morgan off.” The Lead Enforcer chuckled and ran across the alley, using his preternatural speed.

  He stopped beside the door of the empty warehouse where he sensed Julian’s strong presence. Nicholas took a deep breath and grabbed the padlock securing the door. A quick yank broke the hasp from the casing and pushed the door open.

  Eric stared, watching the Lead Enforcer and shook his head. The darkness extended the length of the alley up to the pool of light where Jayson fed on the human. Eric recognized the victim as the man he’d seen Jayson chatting up in the club. He heard the human’s heartbeat in his mind and moved through the alley, knowing that Enforcers could use their abilities to slip deeper into the shadows. He didn’t have the same advantage, but relied on his years of training as a cop to use the shadows as cover.

  Each step carefully placed. The heartbeat he heard in his mind, still strong. It appeared that Jayson had chosen to draw out the kill. Eric planned to use that to his advantage, so he drew his weapon from its holster. With a soft, metallic click, he chambered a round. His skills with a sword were improving, but he preferred a gun. Faster, and with a silencer in place, his side arm would be a lot quieter than a sword fight. He just had to wait for the right moment to take the shot.

  Jayson cupped Braden’s neck in his hand as he laughed, the kind usually shared between lovers. Closing his eyes in anticipation, the vampire caressed his victim’s pulse under his thumb, savoring the way it fluttered at his touch.

  His gaze turned to the end of the alley. Others were watching, just as planned. One man with a small camera in his hand waited at the end of the alley. The second plant, a woman, wasn’t facing the alley. Instead, she leaned on a lamppost, camera hidden in her oversized purse. The electronic device had been chosen to get the best footage possible. She wouldn’t know when the feeding started but would know that the human had died.

  The cocky vampire frowned, an awareness danced along the edges of his consciousness, the one he’d come to know and not fear. He sensed the so-called Assassin on his tail again. Some boogie man. Can’t even catch little old me. Maybe it’s time he retired. Jayson turned his attention back to Braden as a lazy smile curled his lips, revealing fangs.

  “Time to play.” He breathed into Braden’s ear as his canines lengthened, their tips sharpening to needle-like points.

  Feeling the stranger’s hand at the back of his neck, Braden grinned, oblivious to the danger. Jayson took his time, caressing the thundering pulse at his throat. A sigh escaped Braden’s lips and he thought he heard Jayson whisper something about play. Feeling his body respond to Jayson’s touch, the endorphins kicked in and his entire being seemed balanced on a knife’s edge waiting to be tipped over one way or another.

  Alarm bells went off in a distant part of his mind, but Braden ignored them. After his fight with Peter, he’d been looking for some fun, a way to cut loose and unwind. The club had offered just that.

  Jayson had offered more.

  “I…” he shook his head and tried to push Jayson away. “I can’t do this,” Braden whispered as the ghost of Peter’s cologne drifted into his nostrils.

  “Oh, but you can,” Jayson whispered, digging his fingers into Braden’s neck.

  Feeling the pressure at the base of his skull, Braden realized the first stirrings of panic rising up in his gut. “Please. This was a mistake. I wanted to get back at, to hurt Peter the way he hurt me.” Braden shut his mouth with a snap, biting his lips to put a stop to the flood of words tumbling from his mouth.

  “It doesn’t work like that.” Jayson’s free arm wrapped around Braden’s waist, settling at the small of his back. “You came here of your own free will, and now I will take what I want.” Jayson’s hand at Braden’s neck drew him closer, and Jayson tilted his victim’s head to the right exposing more flesh.

  Braden’s panic exploded into a mushroom cloud of terror as he struggled, trying to claw free of Jayson’s vice-like grip. When that didn’t work, he reached out and scratched four long furrows into each of Jayson’s cheeks.

  The vampire chuckled, and Braden’s heart sped up even more as he watched the scratched area bleed for a moment and then heal. Jayson threw his head back and belly laughed, long fangs flashing in the dim light of the alley.

  “No.” Braden breathed, trying to wrap his mind around the unreal vision.

  “Yes,” Jayson replied as he struck.

  Light and sound exploded. The world turned red with agony and sounds warped, becoming nothing more than white noise while fangs ripped into Braden’s flesh. Jayson’s fingers dug deeper into the base of his skull, but Braden didn’t give up. He clawed at Jayson’s arms while his heart hammered out a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Though his nails scored red lines on the vampire’s flesh, they had no effect on the creature’s grip, if anything he held on tighter.

  Darkness crept in along the edges of his vision, a single tear slipped out of one eye. Braden’s mind turned to Peter. His heart ached, and he hated that their last conversation had been an argument, no, a fight.

  Jayson drank, driving his fangs deeper with each swallow, enjoying the feel of the tips ripping through flesh and sinew. The human’s blood filled him with energy and strength and made Jayson want to laugh. This man had been easy to trap after a fight with his lover. The weak human sought a sympathetic ear.

  At the other end of the alley, on the sidewalk, a woman stood with he
r back to the proceedings. She didn’t need to see the action to complete her assignment. The Master had given her strict instructions to follow. “When eternal life is on the line, it’s best to not piss off the vampire offering it.”

  Leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, she held her bag steady, knowing the camera hidden within would capture the footage he wanted. She only had to wait until the police were on the scene before slipping away.

  A strange three-way standoff began, with Morgan and Zachary staring down Samair. The Lord of San Francisco’s eyes were narrowed; a look of contempt settled on his features. After a moment, he smiled and leaned back in his chair, appearing content to wait for one of the other vampires to make the first move.

  Christophe stepped toward Michael as his eyes scanned the room. Rolling waves of restless whispers ebbed and flowed through the crowd. Some of the younger vampires shifted their weight from one foot to the other while the older ones had gone still.

  “What’s Zachary doing?” Christophe whispered.

  “My guess is there will be a challenge issued soon,” Michael replied.

  Christophe fought to keep his expression neutral. He’d never witnessed a formal challenge, but from what he’d been taught, members of the Dynastic Bloodlines were not invited nor wanted.

  “What do we do then?”

  “We bail,” Michael answered with a casual shrug. “If it goes well, then he’s fine. If it doesn’t, we don’t want to be caught on the firing line.”

  On the dais, Samair rose to his feet again and took a step away from his throne. Ignoring Morgan, he directed his question to Zachary. “Do you have proof of this slander?”

  “No.” The other vampire’s voice stayed strong, steady, with an air of confidence that he did not feel. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, the soles of his shoes making a hollow sound in the silent room. “But I know you killed her.”

  “Of course, I killed her.” Samair shook his head and rolled his eyes. “It was a duel. And that, in case you have forgotten, Amberhill, is not murder.”

  “Did the Lord of the City just roll his eyes?” Christophe whispered.

  “Aye, I believe he did.” Michael shifted the cane to his sword hand.

  “It changes nothing, Samair.” Zachary’s words were sharp, the reproach clear. “You used poison to wound Melinda. That was not part of the agreed upon rules for the challenge.” His voice quavered with emotion, and his hands clenched into tight fists at his side.

  “That was almost a century ago.” Samair leaned forward in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Your Blood Daughter should not have made the challenge if she wasn’t up to it.”

  “I am giving you this one chance, Samair. Step aside. Allow your people to choose a new leader, and I will let you live.” The uncertainty and emotion were gone from his voice as Zachary spoke.

  “Are you issuing a challenge?” A shadow of fear settled over Samair’s face when he asked the question, but his voice remained steady.

  “Yes.” Zachary took three steps forward and met Samair’s gaze. In a loud voice, he proclaimed, “I, Zachary Amberhill, Blood Son of Morrigan Blackstone who is Blood Daughter of Julian Constantine, Blood Son of Lucian, Blood Brother of Magnus, the first of our kind, am challenging you, Samair, the Bastard.” He paused, letting the insult sting for a moment. Then he finished the formal declaration in slow, distinct words. “For the rule of San Francisco’s Nomadic vampires.”

  “Can he invoke blood ties like that?” Christophe whispered.

  “Yes.” Michael breathed. “He disowned Morgan, but before that he’d been part of her acknowledged bloodline. He has every right to invoke his blood, though I didn’t think he was paying attention when we talked about it last night.”

  “Does it screw us?” Christophe whispered.

  “Only if he loses,” Michael replied in a low whisper and shook his head.

  “How so?”

  “It makes Morgan’s and, therefore, Lucian’s line look weak.”

  “That can’t be good.”

  “It’s not.”

  “So we hope he wins?” Christophe asked though the answer seemed obvious.

  Michael chuckled and slipped his hands into his pockets. “We were hoping for that before he opened this fun can of worms.”

  “Nicholas is not going to be happy when he finds out about this.”

  “The Lead Enforcer always knew the risk.” Michael shrugged. “So now the stakes are higher. You owned a casino. Didn’t you like the risk?”

  Christophe chuckled. “At the Coffin Club, the players took the risks. I didn’t.”

  Up on the dais, Samair smiled and leaned back again in his throne-like chair. He chuckled and turned his gaze on Morgan. “You are behind this?”

  Morgan didn’t react to the accusation knowing that Samair sought any chance to hold onto his power, like any despot who sees the writing on the wall before realizing that it’s too late to change the outcome.

  Zachary stepped in front of Morgan, blocking Samair’s line of sight. “The challenge has been made. Do you accept, or are you a coward?”

  “You dare call me a coward?” The Lord hissed, fangs flashing.

  “Yes.” Zachary’s smile widened before he continued, “Answer or be branded as such before everyone in attendance.”

  Samair walked to the edge of the dais, stepping around the circle of humans he kept around him. He stepped on a woman’s hair and she cried out in pain, but he ignored it.

  With a cold smile, his voice echoed in the great hall, “I, Samair, Lord of the City of San Francisco, sentence you to summary execution.”

  “You cannot do that once a challenge has been issued.” A small white-haired vampire stepped out of the gathered crowd. She had spared a glance at Morgan before moving to stand beside Zachary. “As Amberhill said,” she nodded toward him, “you must answer the challenge or be branded a coward.”

  Morgan waited for a moment, feeling Samair’s glare on her, waiting until he’d moved on before she drifted back to stand with Michael and Christophe. She couldn’t do anything to help Zachary now.

  Win or lose, his fate is in his own hands, she thought.

  “You know Nicholas would want you to leave now,” Michael said under his breath though he knew a couple of vampires near them might hear.

  “I know,” Morgan whispered. “However, there’s no easy way out. We cannot leave without making Zachary appear weak. Unless you have any suggestions, I think we’re stuck here for the moment.”

  Michael scanned the crowd, looking for something to extricate them from the situation. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh, “I got nothing.” He watched Nomads drift forward, some standing behind Zachary, others stepping closer to Samair.

  Across the rough circle that had been created in the center of the room someone pushed through the crowd. Bodies shifted, making way for forward progress as a whisper passed among the onlookers. Morgan frowned at the vampire who stepped into the open space between the combatants.

  A petite woman by any standards, she had dark brown hair styled in tight ringlets that were pulled back to frame her heart-shaped face.

  “Well, that’s not at all what I expected,” Morgan whispered as Savannah made eye contact with her.

  “Morrigan Blackstone, Michael O’Brien, and Christophe Marchon.” Her Southern drawl smooth… words drawn out like honey when spooned from a jar. Flashing a hint of fang for a second before speaking, she said, “While I understand your desire to support one of your bloodline, I am afraid your presence is no longer acceptable. The charges have been answered and a challenge has been issued. This is now an internal matter for our people.”

  Aware of the accepted protocol, Morgan nodded and spun a tendril of her power out, seeking Samair’s mind as Richard had taught her. She slipped a spark of doubt through a tiny crack in his weak mental defenses, not too much, nothing that would draw suspicion, but just enough that the other vampire might hesitate. It gave Zac
hary the chance to slip past Samair’s physical defenses and win.

  Satisfied, Morgan turned and strode out of the room as if it were her decision to leave.

  Nicholas stepped through the door onto the roof and paused, closing his eyes and focusing on what his hearing revealed. When the whip-like crack of a gun with a silencer ripped through the night, he knew Eric had taken the modern option. Another shot followed a few seconds later.

  Can’t say I don’t approve, because I do. No sense playing around with this vermin.

  “It seems as though your detective has a minor problem,” Julian said, pointing his cane toward the end of the alley where Nicholas had seen the bright pop of a flash out of the corner of his eye.

  Nicholas heard Eric’s wordless exclamation of frustration followed by two sets of footfalls retreating from their location.

  “Oh, will you look at that?” Julian mused as he tossed his cane into the air and caught it in his right hand. “He just ran away and left the body there for anyone to find.” He turned to look at Nicholas, drawing his concealed sword from the cane. “Haven’t you taught him better than that?”

  “Of course I have. I also taught him to assess risk. He thought the human with a camera might be more dangerous. Social media, you know,” Nicholas said with a shrug, projecting more confidence than he really felt. I also happen to know that there’s a detective who will make sure this gets lumped in with the growing file of weird shit, but is never really investigated.

  “I know nothing of the kind… social media, social diseases… all the same.” Julian shook his head and tossed the empty sheath aside. “Morgan used to try and get me connected to one of those infernal devices, but she never succeeded. I am somewhat surprised you know about it. It doesn’t seem wise for the Assassin.”

  “Oh, it is. My Enforcers and I have a Facebook page where our reports are posted. The humans believe it’s fiction. Some of the comments can be quite hilarious,” Nicholas said, sarcasm oozing from every syllable.

  “Are we going to dance, Assassin?”