The Red Circle: A Seven Sons Novel (Bad Moon Rising Book 2)

by DB Nielsen

  “What a good idea.” In his strange, happy, manic state, Julius decided to mimic her movements.

  It was like a childish game. He looked extraordinarily pleased when he was finally seated facing her. She looked at her brother as he looked at her. Her expression was shuttered in a false satisfaction while his was curious and filled with a crazed merriment.

  “Sister, you are looking most well. Motherhood suits you.” Julius sighed contently.

  Aislinn inwardly bristled at his words but chose to smile sweetly instead. It was dazzling upon her pixie-like face, enough to make even Julius blink, which was unnecessary and unusual for a vampire. “Oh, it was an easier rebirthing than the others, although I suppose I owe you an apology for my terse response to your request to see me.”

  She did not follow this up with an actual apology. She didn’t feel the need to, since she was in the right of it and did not regret her actions in the least. Marcellus, Julius’s personal Pitbull, had foolishly overstepped himself on that occasion since, once the human candidate was chosen, no vampire had the right to interfere in another vampire’s turning. It was their tradition, part of vampire lore, that propagation of the species was prioritized in accordance with Kayne’s decree to his disciples.

  Aislinn waited to find out how Julius had taken her response since she’d charged Marcellus to deliver a message—precisely and to the letter—which was intended as an insult and a threat. She’d given the arrogant and cruel Sanguis more than one punishing injury to take back to his master in order to teach both him and her brother a lesson—she would not be brought to heel like some mangy dog. She was her father’s daughter, and her blood rage, when it erupted, was both brilliant and terrible to behold.

  Yet, at her words, Julius’s smile brightened, becoming almost euphoric as he said on another soft sigh, “Ah, Marcellus. Such a hot-headed youth. I was so hopeful that with time, he would reach a certain maturity. I had such faith in him. Such a waste.” He leaned forward, eager to evoke her understanding and sympathy. “It is a pity he has chosen to leave the bosom of the coven. He always appeared so devoted to duty. But there’s no way to read a man’s mind by his appearance. I trusted Marcellus implicitly. Such a shame.”

  It was news to Aislinn that Marcellus had gone rogue. Whether this was by choice or through Julius’s banishment, she did not know, but she would find out, possibly as soon as she paused for a second in the Vestibulum, since the dead traveled fast but gossip traveled faster within these walls.

  Yet that still didn’t explain her brother’s euphoria. Expressing an unfelt sorrow, Aislinn murmured in agreement, “Such a shame.”

  “Ah, but dearest sister.” Julius clapped his pale hands together ecstatically. “I have found a most suitable replacement for Marcellus. It is most fortunate, indeed. And I have you to thank.”

  At Julius’s pronouncement, Aislinn’s bright blue eyes widened, though, somehow, she managed to fix her smile in place. She had a terrible premonition.

  Holy Vlad. Please, please don’t say Dorian.

  Chapter 5

  But it was worse than Aislinn had presumed.

  Julius snapped his fingers twice, and this time, when the double oak doors were thrown open, Julius’s new righthand personal guard entered. The doors slammed shut behind the disciplined Sanguis. Shiny black boots marched with uniform precision across the vast hall to come to a stop at the edge of the dais with a submissive bow.

  “Ah, Varya, my strong arm. Welcome back.” Julius extended one pale, white hand to his newest personal Pitbull, and Varya bent to press her lips against the granite-like flesh. “Tell me, Varya, what news?”

  Aislinn looked at Julius and Varya together and felt a white-hot surge of anger which she was careful to keep hidden from view. Varya was merely a pawn to be used in her brother’s scheming. Once, his martial and political prowess was legendary, both as a human and as a vampire. Now, most of his own coven despised him for the tyrant he’d become. But somewhere beneath the madness and the megalomania, there still was a cunning and ruthless Roman general, and a vampire’s memory was infallible. His life of scheming and deception had served him well in the past. It might even do so again.

  Aislinn was alarmed. She was not interested in usurping her brother’s position in the coven, and luckily, he knew that her driving obsession was revenge for her sister’s murder and not despotic power. But there was no telling what a madman might do since he had already sent one assassin, Orlando, to kill her in the past, which had not gone down too well with her or their father. The veiled threat from Kayne when he had heard of the assassination attempt was evident in his displeasure with Julius. Her brother had been duly warned. But even though Julius might not attempt an outright attack, that didn’t mean he wasn’t hoping that the problem she’d become would go away. So Aislinn would have to be careful not to compromise Varya’s position—and her life.

  Luckily, Varya was not Marcellus. Though Aislinn sensed how deeply Varya’s hatred of Julius ran in her blood, she’d never confessed her rebellious thoughts to anyone, including Aislinn whom she trusted implicitly as a loyal friend. Varya had trained hard to become a member of Julius’s personal guard and didn’t want to ruin it, even if she despised her master. She had once been a young warrior like Darius, little more than a sentinel working in the Feasting Room, but through sheer hard work and perseverance, she had won respect and gained promotion, which in the male-dominated bastion of the London Coven’s military corps was no small thing.

  Aislinn knew that Varya was one of the few students whom Caleb admired for her discipline and dedication, which was why she had been placed with the comparatively untrained and unskilled daughter of Kayne as her training and sparring partner centuries past.

  “And when I say fangs down, I want to hear those incisors snapping, you pulse-challenged blood-bingers. I’ve never seen such a bunch of stiffs. You want me to fetch you some sunscreen, princess? You there. What’s the issue? Why are you looking at me? Eyes to the front. Do you think you’re on some eternal vacation? When I’m through with you, you’ll wish you’d chosen death. All right, now use those brains that you forgot you had when you were alive—not you, Lucas, you’ll hurt yourself—and listen up, people. Remember first that humans are food, not friends—that goes especially for you, Lucas. When a feral pack of hunters are coming at you and you can smell their stinking hot breath in your face and they kick your skinny ass to Demura, whatcha gonna do about it? Cry to your sire? Too late, hemo-gobbler because you’ll be last night’s chargrill, got it?” Caleb’s speech, delivered at a spitfire pace, forced the new recruits out of their complacency. If the turning was brutal, then training in the military corps was the seventh circle of hell.

  Aislinn had trained with Caleb for almost half a millennium, but he considered her raw and lacking the necessary discipline, wanting her to push herself beyond her limits. He was breaking her down to mold her into something more than just a rage-filled vampire. He was making her into a weapon.

  “Who’s the fresh meat?” a young, female Sanguis with a round face, high cheekbones, and dominant forehead whispered to the soldier next to her, flicking her pale blue eyes in Aislinn’s direction.

  “You in the back row,” Caleb shouted at the girl before her comrade could reply. “That’s right, you, post-B-negative, are you flapping your lips? Did I tell you it was time for a break?”

  “No, sir,” she replied, eyes in front as the drill sergeant barked at her.

  “Didn’t think so,” Caleb shouted. “But if you want an invitation, next up, you and Aislinn. Into the arena.”

  It was difficult to tell which of them was more surprised. But neither argued with the drill sergeant. They simply ended up standing across from one another in the ringed arena, assessing the other for weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

  “The rest of you, fall in. Training in a confined environment allows you to make use of the space around you. Make use of what you’ve got in a tight situation. Narrow alleys
. Laneways. Gutters and drains. Walls. Rooftops. Floors. Ceilings. Without weapons or knowing your enemy, knowing your environment is your main line of defense. Use what’s at hand. You will learn to respond to threats and challenges. Attacks from above and beneath. Don’t expect that an enemy is going to come straight at you. Learn to survive as a vampire.” He turned toward the two girls as the other vampires clustered around. “You may begin.”

  It seemed an uneven match. The platinum-haired, pixie-faced vampire, though a Malum and just as tall, was much leaner than her opponent who was solid, broad, and built like a rock. Instead, she looked as fragile as a dandelion that would blow away in the first strong wind.

  “What’s your name?” the ruddy-faced girl asked, pale eyes narrowing. “Mine’s Varya.”

  “Aislinn.”

  “Good, I like to know whose ass it is that I’m wiping the floor with,” she stated with great self-assurance.

  Aislinn didn’t respond, but her eyes flashed obsidian.

  “Do you need a safe word?” Varya taunted with a smirk and a hard, right jab to Aislinn’s jaw without any formalities. Following it up immediately, without warning, she gave a knee kick to Aislinn’s torso.

  Aislinn stumbled slightly to the side, not expecting the blows.

  She’d assumed there would be some rules established first by Caleb. Or perhaps a fist bump or handshake or bow in acknowledgement of one’s opponent. Not this abrupt launch into an attack. It put her on the defensive, which she didn’t like at all.

  But the next jab from Varya, Aislinn blocked. And the one after that as Varya lunged, arms outstretched to tackle her to the floor. She slipped around her broader opponent like a figure skater on ice.

  Varya gritted her teeth, fangs elongated, like she was about to snarl through them, angered by Aislinn’s elusiveness.

  This established a familiar pattern that went on for about ten minutes—almost an age for vampires to grow roots—without any physical contact made between the two combatants, until Caleb shouted, “I’m bored, people. Do you think this is an Irish stepdance? Fight each other. Varya, catch.” He threw a knife at the Sanguis, who caught it deftly by the hilt as it spun in a flashing arc in the air. “The blade is dipped in deadly nightshade. Now fight, or I swear I will stab you both with it.”

  “Not very fair,” one of the recruits muttered from the side of the arena.

  Caleb’s eyebrows shot up as he crossed his brawny arms in front of his muscled chest. “Fair? You want fair, bloodsucker? Tell the shapeshifters that when you come up against more teeth than yours.”

  Varya narrowed her pale eyes at her opponent, grasping the blade in one of her hands and dropping into an aggressive stance. The platinum-haired girl did not look particularly daunted, but she wasn’t sidestepping her anymore.

  Varya dived, swiping at Aislinn’s midsection with the blade. Aislinn swiftly grabbed her opponent’s outstretched arm and spun over her back, hooking her legs around her neck and dropping her to the floor in one seamless move. But her rival wasn’t down for long. As Varya flipped up in a back arc, she hooked a foot around one of Aislinn’s legs and yanked back, knocking her down, so that now Aislinn was in a vulnerable position.

  She was on Aislinn straight away, sweat-streaked hair falling across her face as she rushed forward. Aislinn reared on her shoulders, lunged backward, and, with substantial force behind her feet, kicked Varya back against the edge of the arena, then leaped forward to grab Varya’s arm, causing her to drop the knife.

  Immediately dropping to the floor, Aislinn kicked the blade away with her boot as Varya charged at her, grabbing her arm so she wouldn’t slip away. She punched Aislinn in the jaw. Then trying to get another jab in, she pulled back her arm, but Aislinn moved her head with split-second timing and, instead, headbutted her opponent in the face. Varya reared back as blood splattered from her nose, running down her chin.

  The other vampire screamed in frustration as Aislinn dragged her arm free. Then she elbowed Varya in the side of the face, knocking her off balance. It was enough to make Varya see stars. The blood pouring from Varya’s nose was thick and sluggish, covering her uniform in seconds, even as her nosebleed stopped and cells repaired themselves.

  By now, the other vampires were cheering, baying for blood. Emotions were high, blood rage fueling them, spurring them on.

  Varya aimed a kick at Aislinn’s side, which she blocked with her left leg. The next right kick, she defended with a slide and catch, countering with a right cross combined with a quick right knee.

  “Oomph.” The air blew out from between Varya’s clenched teeth. The young Sanguis clutched her broken ribs, which healed in moments, and resumed the fight. In a graceful butterfly kick, silver hair fanning around her, Aislinn flew out of her adversary’s reach.

  After a few seconds of circling each other, a spectator standing near Caleb asked, “When does the fight end?”

  In rapid succession, Varya gave a jab and scissor kick, forcing her slender foe to duck and skirt backward. She lunged for the knife on the floor, with Aislinn anticipating her move by giving a kick to her side, sending her sprawling on her back.

  Varya jumped up and gave a powerful, high right kick as Caleb’s voice filtered through the hungry cries. “I don't want to see you lot stop unless you’re knocked out, collapse, or puke. That’s when it ends.”

  Holy Vlad’s balls! This is going to take forever! Aislinn thought.

  Varya must have thought the same as the two girls stared at each other for a few microseconds. Then the willowy blonde shrugged.

  She looked over at Caleb, stuck her index finger into her mouth, reached toward the back of her throat and, triggering her gag reflex, projectile vomited her blood breakfast all over the arena, causing the others to jump back in horror and disgust.

  “Blecch, that’s gross!”

  “Holy Vlad! Nothing worse than the smell of congealed blood!”

  “Vlad’s tits! Who the fuck has she been drinking?”

  Only Varya and Caleb didn’t show a hint of distaste or bat an eyelash. The former smiled broadly. It was the first friendly, genuine smile she’d given to her opponent, while the mature Malum ran a large hand over his bald head as if massaging a chronic headache.

  Finally, he said to Aislinn, his voice booming, “You made this mess—you clean it up.” Then turning toward Varya, who was now laughing openly, instructed, “And you—you get to help her.”

  That their relationship had developed into a firm friendship boggled the minds of many vampires within the coven who saw nothing in common between Varya and Aislinn, other than they both were female and trained by Caleb. But the shortsightedness of the coven’s decadent privileged elite was a good thing, as it allowed a bond almost as close as sisters to form between Varya and herself.

  It was the intensity of the relationships formed between Aislinn and her friends—and her offspring—that confused these members of the coven. Vampires, by their nature, were often solitary creatures. They came together at certain times to hunt or for sex, twin drives that raged in the blood, and they were loosely linked through their sires. But vampires did not have what humans would call “family.” Even the twelve Originals were not close to each other, which was why Aislinn was concerned for her friend’s promotion as Julius’s right hand, though she knew to keep this well hidden from her brother and hoped Varya had the intelligence to do the same.

  But she needn’t have worried.

  Not once did Varya glance in Aislinn’s direction. She exercised extraordinary discipline in focusing solely on Julius. “My Lord, it seems Marcellus has gone to ground. He was last seen at Styx, but it is possible he may have arranged transport to another city or even another realm. Though knowing Marcellus as I do, I doubt very much that he would leave London.”

  “You are searching for Marcellus?” Aislinn asked, pale brows furrowed in disquiet. There was no doubt that Marcellus knew Julius’s procedures intimately, but he lacked the necessary intelligence t
o think for himself and challenge his sire. He certainly had not done so in the past centuries when he had greater opportunity but, perhaps, no real cause. But, Aislinn reasoned, it would be more likely that Marcellus would hope to somehow reclaim his sire’s approbation and be allowed to return to the coven.

  Julius waved a dismissive hand.

  “Varya feels that it is wiser to eliminate Marcellus now, rather than to let the egg hatch and allow him to become as dangerous as the—what did you call him?—a Great Spotted Cuckoo?” Julius said skeptically. “Something to do with mafia-style vengeance in eradicating the other birds.”

  Varya inclined her head. “Yes, my Lord. He may attempt to infiltrate the rebels and manipulate them for his own purpose, spelling the doom for our coven. And you.”

  Aislinn almost rolled her eyes in disbelief. Marcellus just wasn’t that clever. But Varya must have had her own reasons for wanting Marcellus dead, so she kept quiet.

  “Well, then, we shall not keep you from your quest.” Julius gave a rather manic laugh, his eyes bright with excitement. “You may go. Tell Darius to bring in some refreshments. My sister and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Julius did not catch Aislinn’s expression of distaste as he turned to watch Varya leave. Her purposeful strides as she exited the Inner Sanctum made Aislinn slightly jealous. It would have been nice to walk out on Julius, but she needed to understand what game he was playing.

  Chapter 6

  “Ah, now then. I have been denied the opportunity earlier to tell you how delighted I am to hear of your choice of progeny, sister.” His small, darkly glittering eyes were embedded in pale flesh, and they flicked across at her now. There was something coldly frenzied and calculating written on his face. “He was a hunter before he became one of us?”