by L. A. Banks
PRAISE for
L. A. Banks
BITE THE BULLET
“Filled with action, this fast-moving read is as powerful as the first, and will keep fans coming back for more.”
—Darque Reviews
“An insidious plot is coming to fruition in the second book of Banks’s electrifying werewolf saga, Crimson Moon. Part special-ops thriller, part supernatural adventure, it has swift action and intense danger. Utilizing her storytelling flair, Banks imbues her characters with both nobility and kick-ass attitude. It doesn’t get much better than this!”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
BAD BLOOD
“Super-talented Banks launches the complex and darkly thrilling new Crimson Moon series, which bursts with treachery and supernatural chills. The plot intricacies are carefully woven throughout, but Banks piles on the danger, making this one exciting thrill ride!”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“An action-packed thrill ride! L. A. Banks tells a mean tale of love, redemption, and horror. Her books kick major werewolf ass.”
—Sherrilyn Kenyon, New York Times bestselling author
The Vampire Huntress Legend™ series
THE SHADOWS
“Watch out for paper cuts—you’ll be turning the pages at a rapid pace to see who will win. This is just like every book in this amazing series—powerful, intense, and compelling. There’s just one more book in this series, so pick a side—light or dark.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“L. A. Banks’s latest entry in her Huntress Legend saga is an exciting and evocative thriller filled with the trademark supernatural battles, romance, and plenty of suspense.”
—Harriet Klausner
THE DARKNESS
“Banks has her fingers on the pulse of vampire paranormal writing.”
—The RAWSISTAZ Reviewers
“Starts with a bang, continues at a spine-tingling pace, and is just as thrilling and rousing as all the other series offerings. Banks’s talent is amazing.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
THE CURSED
“This ‘end of days’ scenario is a wild amalgam of Christianity, vampire lore, world myth, functional morality, street philosophy, and hot sex.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A splendid tale that brings together action, suspense, mystery, mind-blowing battle scenes, and love scenes.”
—Urban Reviews
THE WICKED
“Banks’s sizzling eighth Vampire Huntress Legend (after The Forsaken) explodes . . . In her inimitable combination of street and baroque language, Banks offers more dramatic sex, action-packed good vs. evil adventure, and multicultural mythology to reinforce ethical lessons.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The action is nonstop in this tale and totally engrossing . . . Absolutely fabulous and highly, highly recommended!”
—Love Romances and More
“Touching and heartbreaking. As with the other novels in this series, putting this one down—even for a meal—will prove challenging. Banks outdoes herself with her prose and her imagination. Her storytelling is amazing and captivating.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
THE DAMNED
“All hell breaks loose—literally—in the complex sixth installment . . . stunning.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fans of this series will love The Damned and, no doubt, will eagerly await the next book.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
THE FORBIDDEN
“Passion, mythology, war, and love that lasts till the grave—and beyond. . . . Fans should relish this new chapter in a promising series.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Superior vampire fiction.”
—Booklist
THE BITTEN
“Seductive . . . mixing religion with erotic horror dosed with a funky African-American beat, Banks blithely piles on layer after layer of densely detailed plot . . . will delight established fans. Banks creates smokin’ sex scenes that easily out-vamp Laurell K. Hamilton’s.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The stakes have never been higher, and the excitement and tension are palpable in this installment of Banks’s complex, sexy series.”
—Booklist
THE HUNTED
“A terrifying roller-coaster ride of a book.”
—Charlaine Harris
“Hip, fresh, and fantastic.”
—Sherrilyn Kenyon,
New York Times bestselling author of
Dark Side of the Moon
THE AWAKENING
“An intriguing portrait of vampiric society, reminiscent of Anne Rice and Laurell K. Hamilton.”
—Library Journal
“Again, Banks brilliantly combines spirituality, vampires, and demons (and hip-hop music) into a fast-paced tale that is sure to leave fans of her first novel, Minion, panting for more, but nothing seems quite as hot as the steamy, often tense relationship between Damali and Carlos . . . A newcomer to the vampire genre . . . [Banks] lends a fresh and contemporary voice.”
—Columbus Dispatch
MINION
“[Minion] literally rocks the reader into the action-packed underworld power struggle between vampire rivals with a little demon juice thrown in. Nothing less than the future state of the universe lies in the balance . . . Cutting-edge wit and plenty of urban heat flies from the pages of this quick read.”
—Philadelphia Sunday Sun
St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles by
L. A. BANKS
The Crimson Moon Novels
Bad Blood
Bite the Bullet
The Vampire Huntress Legend™ Novels
The Thirteenth
The Shadows
The Darkness
The Cursed
The Wicked
The Forsaken
The Damned
The Forbidden
The Bitten
The Hunted
The Awakening
Minion
Anthologies
Stroke of Midnight
Love at First Bite
My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon
Undead on Arrival
A Crimson Moon Novel
L. A. BANKS
St. Martin’s Paperbacks
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
UNDEAD ON ARRIVAL
Copyright © 2009 by L. A. Banks.
Cover photo © Barry David Marcus
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New
York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-94913-8
EAN: 978-0-312-94913-6
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / April 2009
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth
Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
There are times in one’s life that you just have to say thank you to the Creator with resounding joy in your heart, counting your blessings in earnest as you realize how many you’ve been given.
That’s how I view my friends, as a rainbow of blessings . . . just wonderful, loving, positive people who I’ve been blessed to be surrounded by. They each know who they are an
d know how special they are to me . . . got a whole family of them in the Street Team and on the forums and blogs. I also have a whole bunch that go way, way back to childhood here in Philly and NY and ATL and Chicago and NC and DC and out West, yep. But I have to give an extra thanks to my “ride or die” sista, Tina, plus her husband, Andre, and two beautiful children—my “niece and nephew,” Cheyenne and Cody . . . I knew them before they were born, smile (in belly). Then I’ve got a whole posse of crazy “blood family,” too. Most of all, I have a fabulous daughter, Helena . . . who makes me know my blessings are pressed down and overflowing. That’s who I do this for— all of you. Thank you, everybody. Much love!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
What can I say—Manie and me, LOL, we cook up the best kind of trouble together . . . and of course, Ms. Mo . . . the three of us shouldn’t be allowed to get too quiet for too long—like bad little children, the world oughta know something is brewing! I’d also like to thank the St. Martin’s staff, for always so graciously going along with all the wild ideas we cook up—thank you for the hard work and dedication!
Undead on Arrival
CHAPTER 1
New Orleans . . . four weeks after the UCE Conference
Sasha cringed, the large bed and breakfast suite suddenly making her feel claustrophobic. Watching her lover shoot up with demon-Werewolf anti-toxin made Sasha’s insides churn. As the squad leader for the US military’s Paranormal Containment Unit, she couldn’t passively watch this and make it all right, personal relationship notwithstanding. During the past three weeks she’d told herself so many lies, which was easy to do when she didn’t actually see Hunter take the meds. But throughout this final week of her official leave the truth had gut-punched her. Everything about Hunter’s deteriorating condition not only was antithetical to her job—ensuring that no humans were at risk—but pure and simple broke her heart.
Right now she had to finally admit that her lover was a six-foot-five, 220-pound potential explosive in a civilian environment. Max Hunter had been severely infected. Max Hunter could go through a hard transition on any given full moon, and could possibly wreak unspeakable havoc. Max Hunter was therefore a bio-hazmat. Denial was no longer acceptable. The fact that he hadn’t totally Turned yet was probably moot.
“Why don’t you go get something to eat, since I know you hate watching me do this.” Hunter didn’t even look at her as he spoke.
She didn’t look at him, either.
“I’d better stay . . . in case there’s a Reaction.”
He laughed a low, hollow laugh and shook his head. “All the more reason I need you to take your sweet ass anywhere but here. I’m practically DOA—or maybe undead on arrival. What the hell.”
This time she looked at him. Hard. “All the more reason I should stay—in case I need to shoot your ass.”
Sasha paced across the room, hating that he needed to take stabilizing meds. She couldn’t watch it. Didn’t want to hear the sounds of him working with the syringe, tying off his arm to make the vein bulge. She swallowed hard and forced her gaze out the window while forcing her mind to flee past the panes the way she wished her body could. It was like watching someone slowly inject death.
Sasha closed her eyes for a moment, trying to wrestle Captain Sasha Trudeau, the woman she’d been, to the forefront of her mind. It felt like the walls of Dugan’s Bed & Breakfast were closing in on her. How was she supposed to stay here or explain to the barrel-chested Elf who owned the place that he, his patrons, and his entire staff were at risk?
Hunter was not supposed to be this!
All demon-infected Werewolves had been sent back behind the demon doors or exterminated in the region. As far as anyone knew, every infected Shadow Wolf on North American soil had also been exterminated. People and supernaturals felt safe walking the streets again. She and Hunter were United Council of Entities icons of a supposed new era in supernatural diplomacy and law enforcement.
There were supposed to be clear categories of their kind—Shadow Wolves, those of the phyla who were honorable and sworn to protect humans; Werewolves—perhaps not so honorable but they didn’t ravage humans unless provoked . . . then there was the demon-infected version of their species. Those were the Werewolves that got the deadly contagion and couldn’t shake it because they didn’t possess the life-saving Shadow Wolf immunity. That was how it had been for eons. That was the way it was supposed to be. Clear-cut and black and white, with no shades of gray.
How had her man fallen between the clearly demarked lines of safety? Hunter was never supposed to fall between the cracks. Was never supposed to be what he sullenly joked about—something undead on arrival!
The normally timid believed in them and had banded together to find uncommon courage in the name of justice. The Fae Parliament had come together in an unusual display of solidarity with the Were Clans and the Shadow Clans to vote out the devious Vampire Cartel, which had masterminded the entire black-market, demon-wolf toxin scheme. Even the Mythics and Phantoms gave up their fierce feudal independence for once to join forces and oust those who supported the illicit demon-toxin trade. Uninfected Werewolf Clans had a fragile peace with the clean Shadow Clans, voting as huge blocs, which left a vendetta on the table with the Vampires. They had to watch their backs; everyone who’d gone against the Vampire Cartel had to stay sharp.
And now her man was fighting a very private, seemingly losing battle against the thing he’d championed at the conference—honor among wolves.
Defeat made each inhale ache as Sasha drew in shallow breaths. There were local business-supernaturals and pub owners to worry about, too, like Ethan McGregor and his gentle, healing wife, Margaret, who also worked at Tulane posing as a human ER trauma unit nurse when not helping out at her husband’s tavern. The couple were just now getting their lives back on track, trying to keep unsuspecting human patrons obliviously coexisting with their steady supernatural clientele at their lively Fae ale-house around the corner. She’d half expected The Fair Lady to be firebombed after Ethan and Margaret had testified against the Vamps, effectively putting their lives on the line and exposing themselves and their young children to possible retaliation.
Hunter, therefore, had to hold the line for more than himself; the community looked up to him . . . them. Even her military brass had given her and her squad a much-needed month’s leave following the glowing, albeit somewhat doctored, reports—courtesy Xavier Holland—for a mission well accomplished. Bless Doc for his golden pen. Disaster had been averted. After the tragic loss of five-star General Donald Wilkerson, no one questioned her methods as long as they worked and the public was none the wiser. She knew a part of them was scared shitless and didn’t really want to know. As far as the brass was concerned, her squad had averted a potential civilian catastrophe—and perhaps they had.
But the fact that one could have occurred meant that the pressure was on from the schizophrenic human military forces, which wanted to learn more about all things preternatural. Brass wanted to know, but didn’t want to know. People needed deniability, but also needed to be able to sleep at night. Fear factors had to be addressed. That was real.
That meant sooner or later questions would be asked, there’d be a demand for cogent intel, and anything the least bit suspect would make every high-ranking official up the food chain extremely nervous.
For now, they viewed her and her team as the best operatives to mine sensitive data. However, they didn’t know jack about Hunter or the various Wolf Clans she’d kept on the down-low. Yet in the supernatural community, she and Hunter were supposed to be the law, diplomats from the North American Shadow Wolf Clan—protectors of the weaker supernaturals and humans. They’d even won a rare seat for Shadows and Werewolves to co-represent at the UCE Elder’s Bench.
Now this . . . horrible secret, the kind of thing she’d always sworn she’d never be a party to. Easier said than done. If the Shadow Clans learned of Hunter’s struggle, after all they’d been through, they might extermina
te him on sight. His own enforcer, Bear Shadow, would be sent. That was the way of the wolf. Clean. Nonnegotiable. Efficient. Then the local pack of his ancestry would grieve in long, mournful howls. His grandfather, Silver Hawk, would be given his remains, and then it would become pack and clan history told orally for generations to follow.
But she also had the other part of her life to worry about, the human side. If her military brass learned she was harboring a potential virus carrier, and had slept with him, they’d have them both targeted. Best case, they’d shoot him and court-martial her for treason, then hang her. At this point, she wasn’t really sure that she cared. Her insides were dying very slowly as she watched the man she loved and had once admired slowly become lost to himself. A silver bullet to the center of her forehead would’ve been more merciful than this.
Sasha gazed out the window from where she sat amid mussed bed linens. Her squad was nearby; she could feel Fisher’s presence, along with Woods’s. The signature of her wolf familiars was strong enough to raise the hair on her arms, and where those guys were no doubt the rest of her squad would be, too. Clarissa, Winters, and Bradley hung with Woods and Fisher like family, which was a good thing. Couldn’t hurt to have two good soldiers with solid wolf senses in a loose formation with a seer, a kinetics guy, and someone versed in the dark arts all watching one another’s backs in Voodoo town.
The sadder point, though, was that they’d all bonded like family . . . they loved Hunter like a brother, the same way Doc had taken him into his heart like a son. Confusion ate at her mind as she wrestled with the question of who to go to first—Doc, or Hunter’s grandfather Silver Hawk? Or maybe she’d quietly speak to the team’s biochemist and resident seer, Clarissa, before alerting the elders.
