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

by DB Nielsen

  “Hey! What the fuck, dude! I so don’t!” Cooper sounded offended but the deep blush which crept up from his chest, to his neck, to his face betrayed him. He couldn’t even look at Aislinn.

  Varya snorted at both Nikolaus’s and Cooper’s words, suppressing a laugh. It wasn’t as if it was a secret—or maybe Cooper thought he was doing a good job of hiding it.

  “‘There are plenty of ways that you can hurt a man, and bring him to the ground’,” Caleb continued to sing in the loudest deep baritone from the next bed.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, kid,” Nikolaus murmured, blocking Cooper from Aislinn’s view as he checked his eye dilation. “If my maker was as hot as Aislinn, I’d feel the same way. Unfortunately, my sire was a six-hundred-year-old Malum with incisor eruption dysfunction and a need to prove his potency. It was all in his head, of course, but when you reach a certain age—”

  “Nik!” Aislinn’s tone was sharp. “Not helping!”

  “What?” murmured Varya in a mocking tone, still videoing. “The good doctor’s bedside manner is lacking? How can that be? Maybe he needs more practice.”

  “Varya!” Nik’s tone was sharp. It was his turn to look uncomfortable. “Not helping here either!”

  “‘And another one gone, and another one gone. Another one bites the dust—’”

  “Caleb, shut up!” four sharp voices shouted in unison.

  Chapter 14

  Six-thirty the next evening, a black stretch limousine pulled up outside the Nocturne. Its tinted windows made it difficult to see inside, but there were no prizes for guessing that Zhenya would definitely be sent by her boss to escort them to Stanislav’s operational headquarters.

  Varya and Caleb were accompanying her since they had a better understanding of the cultural practices of the underground Russian vampire mafia, like their habit of burying alive traitors in tar pits or salt mines, as well as both having shared military experience with Zhenya. But nobody really knew what Zhenya was capable of. She knew the streets and the underworld. She’d lived in the awful Khrushchevka Soviet-era housing project as an assassin for the KGB. She’d worked as an unregistered intelligence officer in London. She’d surfaced as the right hand of Stanislav. And she was as mean and deceitful as a werehyena.

  Aislinn was grateful to have the other two vampires watching her back, leaving her to concentrate on business with the vampire mafia boss. Luckily, Caleb had recovered fully and was back to his usual laconic self. In fact, his demeanor was dour and frostier than normal, as if he’d swallowed a bitter, B-negative forty-year-old divorcee, and his fangs protruded from his mouth, daring anyone to so much as look at him in the wrong way.

  Human passersby gawked at the limo, wondering which celebrities were inside as it glided along the streets, but it was the immortal crowd around the Nocturne who were jockeying for position, trying to get a look inside. The underground Russian vampire mafioso were as big news to them as scandals concerning the daughter of Kayne. And they weren’t disappointed when Zhenya and another huge henchman alighted from the car to open the passenger door for Aislinn and her crew to get in.

  Zhenya gave an ugly smile by way of greeting. Her fangs were wickedly sharp and long like a saber-toothed cat, emphasizing her predatory nature. Only Caleb returned the smile, elongating his incisors to their full length.

  Aislinn sent him an exasperated look. “Stop it. It’s not a competition to see which one of you has the bigger balls, dumbass.”

  “Yeah,” Varya agreed, staring at the other Malum with narrowed eyes. “It’s obvious Zhenya does. She’s also got a bigger Adam’s apple than you, which I’m going to cut out of her throat one day with a blunt spoon.”

  It prompted the Russian henchman who was listening to their conversation to ask, “Wouldn’t you want to use a sharp spoon? Or better still, a sharp knife?” He unsheathed the one on his hip. It was about nine inches long and sharp as a razor, the edge glinting under the colorful LED street signs.

  “Who’s overcompensating now?” Caleb murmured in Aislinn’s ear, too low for the other vampires to hear. Her lips twitched infinitesimally. She didn’t think the brutish Russian would like what Caleb had to say about his anatomical shortcomings, though his intelligence quotient obviously was about the same single digit.

  “It’s a pity vampirism didn’t make you any smarter,” Zhenya said to her comrade with a roll of her dark eyes. “A blunt spoon hurts more, idiot.”

  Ignoring Varya’s insult, she threw black eyeless hoods at each of the three vampires standing beside the limo. Caleb and Varya deftly caught theirs, holding them up for inspection. Aislinn let hers drop to the ground unheeded. She remained as still as an alabaster statue, carved from moonlight, hard and unyielding. There wasn’t even a flicker of an eyelash.

  “Pick it up and put it on,” Zhenya instructed angrily.

  Caleb held the black eyeless hood in front of him. His expression was disdainful as he said, “It’s a little small for a cock sock. I don’t think it’s going to fit me.”

  Zhenya’s smile widened. It was ugly and sharp. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’ll fit the head you don’t think with just fine. By the way, I liked your performance on YouTube. Do you hire yourself out for rebirthdays?”

  Varya hated the Russian girl with an almost uncontrollable blood rage since she’d lost many of her comrades in Afghanistan, but she still had to stifle a laugh. “Ooh, burn.”

  “Enough talk. Put it on.” The smile deserted her face. “We don’t need unexpected guests paying us a visit in the future, if you take my meaning.”

  “Fine. Perhaps you’d like to tell Stanislav that we can meet up at Styx another time if he’s so afraid of unwanted guests.” Aislinn made no move to pick up the hood, let alone put it on. She folded her arms across her chest, her manner mild but unwilling to compromise. She was taking a risk. Using “Stanislav” and “afraid” in the same sentence was bound to antagonize the Malum.

  Zhenya gritted her teeth. There was silence for a long moment, with neither female Malum giving an inch.

  “When we don’t arrive at seven o’clock sharp for dinner, you’ll have a lot of explaining to do to Stanislav. I don’t expect he’s the forgiving sort.” Aislinn shrugged, looking bored. “Besides, if I truly wanted to find Stanislav or you, I’d ask my brother.”

  Zhenya sneered. “Julius is about as switched on as a snow machine in Siberia.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Julius,” Aislinn said, arching one pale brow.

  Zhenya was utterly silent. She narrowed her eyes as she looked upon the daughter of Kayne.

  Aislinn didn’t have to spell it out for her. They both knew that Grigori, Aislinn’s older brother and head of the Slavic/Kievan Rus Coven, was a collector. Of secrets, intelligence, information. He had tentacles everywhere. Indeed, Zhenya had been one of those tentacles. Probably still was, even as a rogue and mercenary.

  And Aislinn guessed that even though Zhenya was now Stanislav’s right hand, she was there with the knowledge and, perhaps, blessing of her older brother who, for whatever reason, was indulging a whim.

  But Aislinn’s experience of geopolitical conspiracies and intrigues was small. Grigori’s, however, was more useful and dangerous. He was the one who’d taught her that intelligence was about understanding what her opponent would think and do tomorrow and not simply find out what they thought or did yesterday, which would already be outdated and often useless. She liked Grigori. And he seemed to like her. Enough not to try to assassinate her. That was as close a sibling bond as they were likely to have.

  Finally, Zhenya spat to her left. “Get in the car.”

  Tossing her hair behind her shoulder, Aislinn got into the limo without crowing about her victory. In truth, even with the hood, Aislinn would have been able to tell where they were going. She had an extremely acute sense of smell and hearing and the instincts of a tracker. But she felt it necessary to show that she wasn’t going to take shit from anyone, especially Zhenya who, in
her opinion, was merely a stooge.

  Caleb and Varya piled into the car after her. Zhenya sat in the back with the three of them. The other knuckleheaded henchman sat in the front with the driver.

  No one said anything. There was nothing much to say. It made for a very long ride, especially for vampires who often felt time dragging on, without any conversation.

  Aislinn’s expression was as neutral and remote as a vampire could get. Caleb was still dour and frosty. And Varya was engaged in some sort of deadly staring competition with Zhenya, both refusing to look away first. If looks were cypress stakes, they’d both be dead.

  When they finally arrived at Waterloo, the temperature in the car had plummeted to arctic conditions. If the windows hadn’t already been tinted so no one could see in, they would by now have been coated with hoarfrost.

  Caleb was the first to break the silence. He gave a grunt as the limo stopped outside the entrance to an entertainment and creative venue, housing concrete bowls, art installations, and concert stages.

  “Out,” Zhenya instructed as the other mafioso opened the passenger-side door.

  As soon as they alighted from the vehicle, Zhenya led the way.

  “Follow me,” she said, plucking at Caleb’s sleeve and pulling him toward a concrete ramp that led away from the human arena. Caleb looked disdainfully at where Zhenya had touched his leather jacket. He brushed it with his hand as if it had dirt on it. Zhenya held his gaze and spat to the left. Neither of them said anything.

  “Oh, for the love of Vlad, flex your muscles later, children,” Aislinn advised with a grimace. She had better things to do than watch them posturing. “Just take me to your boss.”

  Zhenya shrugged and gestured for them to follow her. Aislinn inwardly sighed, wanting nothing more than for this meeting to be over, and fell into step behind her. At the bottom of the ramp, another broad concrete and steel slipway descended deeper into the subterranean levels. The farther down they went, the older the brickwork in the roughly hewn tunnels, but these were well maintained and obviously had been reinforced by newer materials to strengthen the structure.

  This was all part of the Old Vic Tunnels, those that weren’t still used for human entertainments. There were roughly thirty thousand square feet of disused tunnels beneath Waterloo Station alone. Many were closed platforms and abandoned train lines.

  “Well, this is what you might call ironic,” Varya said in a sardonic tone. “The underground Russian vampire mafia actually is both literally underground and part of the London Underground. That’s legit.”

  They approached a chamber within the maze of tunnels which acted as some sort of guardhouse. As far as Caleb could see, the guards were all Malums who looked as if they’d seen lots of action in the streets or field. They had that rough, unshaven, tattooed look that was often associated with street brawls, drive-by shootings, and trouble. They didn’t wear armor, though some had the same Russian military-styled trench coat that Zhenya wore, and their boots, though shabby, were polished to a mirror-like reflection.

  Aislinn noted their armaments. The underground Russian vampire mafia were notorious for their global arms deals, so of course their weapons were state of the art. If they wanted to start a revolution, they certainly had the firepower. And enough strong vampires.

  Caleb gave another grunt, and Aislinn wondered what the burly, ex-military special forces soldier was thinking. She wasn’t certain whether the armaments and mafioso forces gained his approval or whether he just wanted to go back into the fresh night air. She knew he didn’t like underground spaces. Despite being a brawny Malum, he was creeped out by being deep underground, feeling that it was claustrophobic and stifling, like being buried alive. Then again, burying traitors alive was Stanislav’s stock-in-trade punishment. He was a Malum of simple tastes.

  They walked through the chamber, and many of the guards paused to snap to attention when Zhenya passed. Others gave a nod. They gave both Varya and Caleb the onceover and openly gawked at Aislinn. But they neither sneered nor looked bored.

  It was a good thing too. Neither Varya nor Caleb would have tolerated their contempt. And Zhenya didn’t look like she’d tolerate their boredom.

  The doors at the end of the chamber opened just as the group reached them. A column of sentries greeted them on the other side, bristling with importance.

  “The boss is waiting for you,” one of them told Zhenya.

  She tilted her head and stared at him.

  “Follow me,” he ordered Aislinn. Then he glanced over at the others. “The rest of you can wait here.”

  Aislinn’s eyes flashed obsidian. Other than that, she didn’t move a muscle. She looked like a displeased goddess, every inch the daughter of Kayne.

  Caleb and Varya bristled behind her, waiting for a fight. There was enough room in the chamber for one, and training in the arena and the Abattoir meant experience in confined spaces. The walls in the chamber allowed for hand and footholds, and the ceiling’s curvature provided a good surface for tricking. But no one drew a weapon nor broke formation.

  Zhenya raised an eyebrow and smiled with malice. If expecting Aislinn to don headgear was hard, making Caleb and Varya stay put was suicide.

  “Good luck with that,” Zhenya said. “Let me know when it’s all over and who’s left standing. I’ll be outside having a smoke.”

  Aislinn glanced over at the other Malum.

  Zhenya shrugged. “What? Like it’s going to kill me.”

  “It’s a disgusting habit,” Aislinn murmured.

  There was an amused taunt in Zhenya’s smile. “Vlad’s nuts! So what? Does it look like it’s turning my teeth yellow?” She spitefully snapped down the incisors which she’d retracted earlier, and they gleamed wickedly, like polished ivory, in the dimly lit chamber. The other mafia guards snickered as if it was a funny joke.

  Aislinn wasn’t intimidated, and her smile matched Zhenya’s for spite. “I suppose if you ever find yourself in one of Stanislav’s tar pits, you can try smoking your way out.”

  There was a sudden hushed silence like an indrawn breath that ricocheted around the chamber as Zhenya’s hands dropped to the hilt of her weapons. The stillness of the vampires in the chamber mirrored the Terracotta Army, frozen stone, pensively waiting for something to happen.

  When it did, only Aislinn was prepared.

  Chapter 15

  A deep roar of laughter echoed the length of the chamber. It came from behind the column of guards. “Get out of the way, you fools.”

  Rather than pushing his way through the guards, he waited for them to part in front of him before striding forward. He was not particularly tall nor particularly young. Aislinn guessed that he was in his mid-thirties when he was turned. His still-boyish looks were offset by an aura of power and a serious manner, mirrored in his naturally dark, intelligent eyes. Surprisingly, he was no cheap thug.

  “Welcome, friends,” Stanislav said in a pronounced Russian accent. “Zhenya, please show our guests some hospitality. They are here to conduct business.” He was carefully assessing the group in front of him, his eyes lighting with interest upon Aislinn. “Ah, the daughter of Kayne. I have heard much about you, and you do not disappoint.”

  Aislinn inclined her head at the compliment. She allowed the vampire mafia boss to approach her. His dark Mark of Cain flared under his skin as if in recognition of his origins, and Aislinn’s own Mark responded in kind.

  “It is a pleasure to finally meet,” Aislinn said. In the dim lighting, her platinum hair made her look like an angel, which fascinated the mafia boss. He found it hard to believe that this ravishing creature could be the same ruthless Malum reported to have wiped out an entire village on her primae noctis. But he had learned over the centuries not to judge simply by appearances alone.

  “Come, walk with me,” he invited.

  Aislinn fell into step beside Stanislav, who was only a few inches taller than her. Other than the height difference between Stanislav and his second-in
-command, there wasn’t much to distinguish between the two Malums. His dark hair was cropped as short as Zhenya’s, and he was similarly stocky. But Aislinn understood power, the kind that Stanislav had and Zhenya only hoped to attain, and much preferred the company of the underground Russian vampire mafia boss to his underling.

  The sentries took front and back, flanking them, with Zhenya, Caleb, and Varya in the middle. Together, they were escorted down a wide steel ramp and through an impressively long tunnel which might have once been part of the old Underground train tunnels and Tube stations closed for use during WWII as bunkers and war rooms.

  Aislinn waited for Stanislav to raise the reason she’d been invited here. She didn’t think it prudent to mention anything in front of the guards. If Stanislav wanted them to know his business, he could speak freely or, instead, wait until they had some privacy.

  His hands were clasped behind his back as he walked, and he had the air of someone who was in absolute control of himself and his domain. “So, Zhenya tells me that you own a nightclub.”

  “Co-own, with Caleb,” she corrected.

  He shrugged slightly and smiled. The similarity between Stanislav and Zhenya was striking. The smile, as much as it could be called a smile, was a match for the other Malum. “Business is good?”

  “Business, even when good, can always improve,” Aislinn replied, her tone steady and neutral.

  Stanislav gave another loud bark of laughter. “You are truly the daughter of Kayne. You fence verbally. You must have some Russian in your blood, da?”

  Aislinn smiled and shook her head apologetically. She could probably lay claim to some Viking ancestry, but as she’d come from a small clann in Northern Ireland, her existence had once been insular and isolated from the rest of the world.