The Endangered

by S. L. Eaves

  “Darling, that’s the kind of bonding we don’t need to be doing.” I indicate her earpiece. “Take your comm out. It’ll give you away.”

  She nods, handing it to me.

  “I’ll keep watch.”

  The door swings open and she steps inside. “Which one of you guys is Hanson?”

  I retreat down the hall a few paces and light up a cigarette.

  Before my cig is kicked, she exits, a vampire’s—presumably Hanson’s—arm around her. She winks as she passes. I casually follow them around the corner, then watch them ascend the stairs to the fourth floor.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” I mutter.

  Perhaps I should have thought this through better. I debate calling into base with an update and positive ID on Hanson. Could I risk using my comm in here?

  Quinn’s fortitude tells me to hang tight. I keep reassuring myself that she is fine, no one knows who we are.

  A few long minutes pass. I pace the main corridor. A vampire walks by with a tray of blood goblets and I take one off his hands. Sipping the blood, trying to look casual, I am suddenly and rather uncomfortably aware of eyes on me. At the end of the hall stands a tall vampire. He is about ten yards from where I wait, close enough for me to catch a glimmer of yellow as our eyes meet briefly.

  He quickly looks away and pretends to busy himself on his Blackberry. But I saw his expression—it was full of distrust. Now it is his turn to act casual. He turns the corner into another hall. I follow, but stop when I get close to where he’s standing. Sensing his presence, I peer cautiously around the corner. His back turned to me, he is typing frantically.

  The suspicious and accusing expression on his face…could he somehow know who I was?

  Something is off. I panic. It is irrational, but I don’t care. I quietly set down my glass and remove the stake from my boot (an afterthought I am now grateful for bringing). I don’t want to kill a vampire. Dare not think of the repercussions. But given the circumstances…it feels like a necessary action. This vampire is definitely not on my side. By that logic, he is working against us and thus a traitor.

  Right? Had to be.

  Drowning in the murky gray waters I constantly tread. Maybe I do just want to kill a vampire.

  The hall is momentarily empty; the coast is clear. I come up behind him and jam the stake through his back, swiftly and forcefully piercing the heart. He gasps and bursts into dust at my feet.

  Wow. Yikes.

  I hadn’t known quite what to expect. Thought it’d be messier. Bloodier. I look around, confirm the lack of witnesses, and push the ash around with my feet. In this dim lighting, no one will notice some dust on the ground.

  I pick up the Blackberry. Nothing on the screen. I open sent messages. The last was to Hanson.

  “Vamp that killed Alex is here. What’s the move?”

  Shit.

  It was not just paranoia.

  Sometimes I hate being right.

  They know Alex is dead. And they clearly suspect us to have had a hand in her demise. There is a whole network thing going on here I cannot make heads nor tails out of.

  It is becoming quite clear that name-dropping Alex had been a huge error on my part. Hanson has gotten word of Alex’s death and now he knows, or at least presumes, one of her assassins is standing in this very club. His club.

  We are in it deep.

  Quinn!

  I bolt up the stairs, passing a vampire at the top.

  “Hey babe, what’s your hurry?”

  I ignore him, then rethinking, I turn back. “Have you seen Hanson? I was told I could find him up here.”

  He grins slyly. This Hanson guy must be a real player.

  “I haven’t. But if he is up here, his room’s the last on the left.”

  “Thanks.”

  I sprint down the hall. This floor is more private. The doors are all shut, fronting well-exercised deadbolts. Before I reach the end, the door the vampire had labeled as Hanson’s eased open. I halt. Nowhere to hide. The stake is concealed in my boot and I weigh reaching for it.

  Quinn emerges, brushing dust from her jeans.

  “Quinn!”

  She looks up with a start.

  “That was not nearly as pleasurable as I’d hoped. He was a real asshole; now he’s real dusty.”

  “He know who you were?”

  “No, but I told him I worked with Alex. And he asked if that meant the deal was still in place. Then his phone went off and he clammed up.”

  “We have to get out of here. One of his goons knew who I was, or rather that Alex was dead and we were here on false pretense.”

  “I know. I glimpsed the message on his phone when it came through. Kinda spoiled the mood. I was hoping to have more fun with him.” She points at me. “Is this you coming to my rescue? Is that why you came up here? Aw, that’s so sweet.”

  “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Hurrying down the stairwell, we practically shove the guard out of our way. He doesn’t seem all that fazed. Hanson and his crew of miscreants probably have that effect on women.

  The second floor proves the biggest challenge. The hallway before us crawls with vampires and most of the doorways along our path are wide open or only shielded by beaded curtains. Anyone in those rooms could spot us easily.

  “Stay calm,” whispers Quinn from behind me as I force my stride to slow, trying my best to look casual. My eyes are fixed on the stairwell at the opposite end; once reached, we can disappear into the packed club below.

  “That’s them,” comes Jonas’s voice from a room to our right. “They’re the ones claiming Alex sent them.”

  Oh crap.

  Spinning on my heels, I see Jonas’s outstretched arm pointing right at us. The man with him had been in the room with Hanson and the intoxicated humans. He looks cross.

  “Well that’d be hard given Alex is dead,” he comments to Jonas and we continue walking.

  “Hey! Why are you really here?” he calls after us. If he doesn’t know who I am and just thinks we replaced Alex, maybe we can still pull this off. Still play out our angle, gain some insight into their dealings.

  Quinn spins as he and Jonas begin approaching. “Ask your boy Hanson the traitor.”

  Or not.

  At that Jonas turns and runs back in the direction of Hanson’s room.

  I give her arm a tug as she starts approaching Jonas’s companion. Others begin emerging from the doorways to investigate the commotion.

  My hand juts out as I hear a swoosh.

  The sound accompanied an arrow, launched from the crossbow belonging to the bouncer. He stands atop the stairs. Blocking our exit. We are effectively trapped.

  A sharp pain stings my palm. I wince, grinding my teeth to keep from screaming.

  I’d caught the arrow inches from Quinn’s heart. She looks down at my impaled hand and up at me.

  “Awesome. There’s some hope for you yet.”

  I yank the arrow out, its head tearing flesh and tendons from bone.

  More vampires, irritated by our disturbance of their wine-and-dine session, pour into the hallway, surrounding us. Quinn pulls a gun from her ankle holster.

  “You know the old adage, boys: never bring an arrow to a gun fight!”

  She begins firing, first back at Jonas’s man and then spinning forward toward the bouncer, whose shot goes high as he bucks the crossbow at her gun fire. She continues rapid-firing in his direction as he retreats down the stairwell.

  Confused vampires and humans bolt to their lounges for cover. Quinn effectively clears a path for our escape. The vampires all know the gun won’t kill them, but none seem all that eager to risk the pain of digging out bullets just to stop two manic girls from exiting their precious establishment.

  We make a mad dash down the stairwell. An arrow strikes the wall by my head as we reach the club level. The bouncer again. Quinn ducks and fires. The bullet ricochets off the wall. She meets the bouncer head-on and the two fall against the
door separating the club from the chaos.

  He throws her to the ground, an arrow in one hand. As he thrusts it toward her, I plunge my stake into his back. He cries out before exploding into a mess of ash.

  I pull Quinn to her feet and we tear through the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd. Jonas and at least two of Hanson’s men descend the stairwell as we flee into the club.

  When we hit the thick of the mosh pit, we drop to a crouch and weave our way to the far end of the stage beside a tower of amps. Our pursuers are nowhere in sight.

  “We lost them.”

  “They’ll be watching the exits. Let’s wait inside for a few.” Quinn checks her clip, slips the gun in her boot and stands up, scanning the crowd. I examine my hand. The wound has begun to heal. I make a fist and hardly feel it. I slide my stake out and Quinn smiles.

  “You came prepared.”

  “Yeah. First vampire kill.”

  “Popped your cherry.”

  “How’d you take out Hanson?”

  “Bedpost.”

  Our world has very few rules. Those we have are clearly spelled out. Killing our own kind is treason. Treason carries sentence of execution. It is clearly not the first time Quinn has committed this crime. Given the circumstances, I think our actions are justified. And is there really any of our kind around to enforce these laws anymore? The guys with crossbows clearly aren’t concerned about repercussions. We press our backs against the side of the amps. The Manson impersonator’s voice resonates through our bodies.

  “I’m out of ammo. That piece of wood is all we’ve got. Comes down to us versus them we’re in trouble.”

  Her mouth is against my ear but she still has to scream. I nod.

  “Then let’s not get caught.”

  I point behind the stack of equipment cases, thinking I spot a door behind them. She follows my lead as we slip around and find the backstage entrance. Two grungy guys give a nod and let us through. Within seconds we are standing outside next to a van with a missing hubcap and a cracked rear window.

  “Tour bus,” Quinn jokes as we scan the alley.

  Three guys stand at the alley’s entrance, smoking and passing a bottle. We run to the fire escape of the neighboring building and climb to the roof. The smokers never so much as look in our direction.

  “They’ll be searching up here next. We gotta keep moving.” I am already across the roof, checking for signs of our pursuers.

  Quinn runs past me, taking the three-story plunge with the ease of a pro. I jump after her and we take off for the nearest train station. I’d had my fill of Amsterdam for one night.

  Chapter 20

  We did not leave empty-handed.

  Quinn had swiped Hanson’s cell and I still have his associate’s. At the very least we’d certainly thrown a wrench in any of their immediate plans.

  At the mansion, we present our findings to Jiro for dissection. There are only a handful of numbers and even fewer assigned names, which all appear as acronyms or code names. Alex’s number, listed as “Lexie,” is the only one we can identify. The vampire who’d sent the warning, the one I’d taken out, went by Griffin.

  Griffin and Hanson appeared to be in frequent contact. Had I not been so quick to take Griffin out, I might have been able to learn something. An amateur move at best.

  While Griffin’s cell is just a burner, Hanson’s smartphone proves somewhat more valuable. Jiro extracts all the data and we sit around putting the pieces together, a puzzle with a grim picture.

  Hanson appears to be trading weapons, technology, and lab equipment in exchange for werewolf rejects—weaker humans that didn’t quite fit the “ultimate soldier” persona. Hanson had requested women and was likely granted this request. He also kept increasing the amount of money he wanted. He either had a staff of underlings to satisfy or a lot of bribe money to doll out. Or both.

  Now, with what slim leads we have, the new mission begins to form—track down these shipments and see where they lead us, who they lead us to.

  The days to come are long ones as we await Marcus and Crina’s return.

  Catch is quite pleased when I recount our excursion into the Amsterdam underground. My detailed account includes our actions against fellow vampires. Catch is unperturbed. Clearly, he’d have done the same thing. His only worry is how it would be interpreted within the community. It seems inevitable that word of our actions would spread and this would not help Marcus’ efforts to unite what remains of our kind.

  Catch, eager to report our findings to Marcus, paces the carpet in the main foyer while studying the same case notes over and over, hoping to uncover the missing link to the bigger picture.

  Catch is intuitive. A skilled athlete, no doubt. But book learnin’ isn’t his thing. ‘Act now, think later’ mentality. A meathead he is not, but he uses his hands to solve a situation before resorting to brainpower. Painfully aware of this shortcoming, I watch as he attempts to understand and scrutinizeevery piece of intel he can get his hands on. Clearly he is driven by the desire to impress Marcus and prove himself a worthy leader. And I’ve come to admire that about him.

  I sit with him on the steps of the foyer, rubbing the massive knots in his brooding shoulders.

  “What are our next steps?”

  “We intercept Hanson’s shipments. Find out who’s on the other end of this alliance. The vampires bartering, that I understand. Vampires will do just about anything for blood. But what do the dogs want in return?”

  “My guess is weaponry. Armies need supplies.”

  “But would vampires deal out weapons that could be used against them?”

  “Unlikely, but against humans—that’s another story.”

  ***

  Running short on patience, Catch sends the others to follow leads provided by Hanson’s phone. Dade soon returns with news that the club had succumbed to fire shortly after our departure.

  And the other vampires we can link to the club have been eliminated from our suspect list. Literally. With Hanson out of the picture, those working for him must have been considered expendable.

  News of the Hanson’s alliance makes its way from the club to the streets and the events of his death no longer draw attention to us but to the remaining vampires under Hanson’s employ. Someone is more concerned about them than us.

  ***

  I spend my down time in the training room learning how to properly fire a crossbow and going through a lot of dummies in the process. Those things may look hardcore strapped to the forearm, but they are a pain in the ass to aim. I gain a greater appreciation for guns. Amsterdam was my first encounter with the weapon and it seems like a useful skill should we battle any more of our own kind.

  On the day of Marcus and Crina’s return, Catch wakes up early, as has been his habit all week. I don’t even bother looking for him when I arise. I head down to the training room for another go at the crossbow, but find Xan and Trent hard at work. Rather than interrupt, I circle the gymnasium’s exterior and find what I am looking for: a slim, unmarked door.

  It glides open sideways with the push of a button, disappearing into the wall to reveal a set of stairs. I climb up to an observation room. Its existence is not a secret. A long, narrow mirror stretches across the top of the training facility and its two-way function is general knowledge. I’d never cared much who, if anyone, was behind the glass but am curious enough to check it out. I flick on the light switch. Despite knowing it is impossible for anyone to see inside, I still feel exposed when I turn it on.

  The room is disappointingly bare. Not sure what I expect to find. There is an intercom with a switch next to a mic with the same on/off option. I throw up the comm switch and can hear the grunting of the two combatants below. I smile, enjoying the fight for a few minutes. Then, feeling intrusive, I decide to turn off the feed. Catch’s voice chimes in just as I am about to hit the switch. He enters, followed by Marcus and Crina. Well, maybe I can stay for just a little longer.

  “Welcome back,�
� Xan says as he and Trent lay down their weapons and walk over to them.

  “Trent, I hope you’ve found the mansion to your liking. Mind giving us a minute?” Marcus asks. Trent responds by nodding and making a hasty exit.

  For a moment I think he might join me up here. But I remain undiscovered.

  “What’s up?” Xan’s serious expression matches Marcus’s.

  “Catch has updated me on the latest findings. We need to organize and get a game plan in action ASAP.”

  “Did you two have much luck with Adrian?” Xan inquires.

  “I’m afraid not. Can’t say we learned much from him. His behavior was uneven; he was not the same as I remembered him. He spoke in tongues, often as though possessed. I don’t know what he discovered, but it hasn’t had a positive effect on him. His age, either. He’s all but stopped drinking blood.”

  “There’s a viral outbreak hitting that region hard. But I honestly don’t see how that could have possibly afflicted a Pureblood. I honestly think he’s just going crazy from hunger. He refused to touch a drop,” Crina adds.

  “Why was he so interested in the virus?” Xan asks.

  “He told me we have to find the source. Of what I don’t know. He had a lot to say. None of which we could make heads nor tails of. But Crina is right. I’m less concerned about the virus, as neither of us are showing signs of infection. I agree that his mental state can be attributed to his rapidly deteriorating physical state.”

  Marcus gives a weary sigh and shakes his head somberly.

  “His body is giving out. He’s the oldest known of our kind. We age very slowly, hardly at all when enough blood is consumed. But thousands of years will catch up to you.”

  “Can we do anything for him?” Catch’s expression is sincere.

  They are all concerned. I am too, but I want him to live for selfish reasons: to answer my questions and to explain what it is he saw that no one else could seem to grasp.

  Marcus shakes his head. “At this point he does not want our help.”

  Catch looks dismayed.

  “Xan, can you gather all the research you’ve done on these supplies the wolves were getting from Hanson? They were moving lab equipment too, right? Not just weapons?” Marcus is paging through Catch’s notes.