After reaching the top, a screeching cry echoed through the streets below, and Sean saw her immediately. A woman crumpled on the ground, a group of people surrounding her. The familiar work of a blood guide was displayed for them.
In a flash, everything was red. Red was the anger boiling within him for those lost at Surviving & Thriving. Red like the blood pooling from the woman’s body, levitating like magic. Red were the hearts of the people responsible, the ones whose lives he’d end today.
Sean took note of their full attention on the helpless woman writhing before them. “They haven’t noticed us yet. If we strike now, we might be able to kill them all without much of a fight.”
Mara caught his arm when Sean started to barrel down the hill. “We can’t. That’s murder.”
Red was her audacity. “Of course it’s murder! Or did you forget about Surviving & Thriving? Did you forget about who we buried yesterday?” His eyes darted to Adelaide, whose mouth fidgeted.
“Of course not. But have you forgotten about the Awakened Authority and the oath you took?”
Smoke steamed from his nostrils.
“Mara’s right,” Meeka said, joining in. “We’d lose everything if we killed them. They’d punish us, and we’d face trial. We could be hung, or whatever it is they do to murderers.”
In frustration, Sean found the back of his neck. It was just the blood talking, he told himself. Logically, he knew they were right, but this woman’s life was on the line. If they didn’t hurry, she’d meet the same fate as all the others they’d lost. Like his brother.
“We need a new plan then,” he rounded back to the group with a half-formed notion. “Trey, scare them.”
Trey gave a loyal nod, and Carson smirked mischievously.
But all Sean could think about was the red of the woman’s blood, of her life. He hoped she had it in her to hang on for a little longer.
Chapter Fourteen
Graciela
It was a feeble attempt, to try to run when every part of her was constricted by an unseen, overpowering force. But Graciela made the effort nonetheless. Her muscles shook with fervor, but the harder she strained, the more painful it became, until she came face-first with dirt.
Strong wasn’t a word people used to associate with her. Compliant, fragile, dainty even—it was how she’d been told to be her entire life. Power wasn’t meant for timid women like her but, these couple years had taught her to seek it. Today, she found herself wanting strength more than ever. What she wouldn’t do to find bravery, to find might.
Instead Graciela let her head rest on the ground in a small puddle of her own blood.
It was a new horror though that pushed Graciela back to her knees. Were those tears of blood too? Was Zane making even her eyes bleed? She brought her hands to her face to check, but Zane smacked them away. She hadn’t realized he was kneeling beside her.
The whistling stopped, the pain along with it, even if it left the imprint of an electric current in all of her muscles.
“Don’t wipe it away. We wouldn’t want to waste any of your precious essence on your filthy paws.”
Tears mixed with the red already streaking down her cheeks.
“Please,” she said again. Graciela didn’t have brute strength or an Awakened ability. All she could do was beg, to let pitiful words flow, and hope that they’d be enough to save her. That mixed with an ounce of inventive problem solving. “Please don’t kill me. If you let me live, I-I could continue giving you blood. I’ll keep producing more, and you could…” Each syllable a hyperventilated sob, she let the thoughts flow. “You could…feed on me for more than just one meal.”
As the words came, they caught even her by surprise. It wasn’t a pleasant plan, where she was concerned. More pleasant than dying perhaps. But at least it would mean to live a little while longer, until she could form an actual plan. All that mattered was surviving long enough to get Santiago to the Texas community. If it was at the sacrifice of herself and her comfort, so be it.
What surprised her more though was that Zane seemed to be considering it. Silently, he scrutinized her, but it wasn’t suspicion lurking behind his gaze. It was curiosity, possibility, maybe even admiration.
With a deep inhale, Zane’s smirked reemerged. “True, but—”
There was no warning for the car that came hurdling past the group like a boat-size bullet. It missed everyone, but only just barely.
Zane appeared more annoyed than startled, leaving Graciela all the more disturbed.
She tried peering around him to see what had caused the raucous, but the Sanguinatores were tightening around a new target of interest, as was Zane.
It left her almost entirely off their radar. Almost. Even though the pain had stopped, she could still feel it lying in wait. But now might be her only chance. Though the crawling pace of her scrambling to stand was pathetic, Graciela pushed through, unsteady on her legs. The ground felt like it was moving beneath her.
As she took a step forward, she fell onto the hood of another car with a thud. She winced at the noise more than she did the discomfort. When she looked back at the Sanguinatores, none of them had noticed. They still huddled toward the east, a barricade facing the only road out of this town, on this end at least.
It was then that she too saw what had demanded their attention. A group of six travelers marched down the road, shoulder to shoulder. Power exuded from each of them.
“I know you think you’re being sly.” Zane’s voice ran a chill up her spine. “But we’re not through with you yet. Try and run and I’ll make your heart explode out of your chest.”
Graciela didn’t need another warning. Every bold bone in her body became gelatin. It wasn’t like this team of six would defeat a faction of thirty, so she still had to play by their rules.
They did look stupid enough to try though. In fact, she was almost certain they’d somehow thrown that car for her benefit, upon inspecting the approaching people more carefully. One was easily identifiable as a roider. That or he was born looking like a body builder.
She couldn’t have their deaths on her hands. “Wait!” Graciela cried, catching the attention of everyone in the road, including the Sanguinatores. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. Leave, before—”
Suddenly, the constriction, the flood of a thousand needles coursing through her veins, returned with a vengeance. Graciela fell, clutching her stomach. Everything went white hot.
There was brief scuffling of feet, which Graciela couldn’t see, before Zane addressed them all with unsettling composure. “No one moves, or I end her life, right now.”
The scuffling stopped. Everyone fell silent.
Graciela dared to blink her eyes open, afraid that she might find herself amid six freshly dead bodies. For some reason, something about seeing dead people outside of the hospital made it feel more real, more terrifying.
Careful not to provoke Zane, Graciela stayed on the ground where she’d fallen, able to see most of the people in the new group through the spaces between Zane’s and his lackeys’ legs. Aside from the roider—easily the largest among everyone, including Zane who was already a tree—there were three women, one on either side of the roider, and a third bracing a hand on her hip at the other end of the team. Judging by her stance, Graciela guessed she was a force to be reckoned with. Another man stood behind her, belly plump and skin greased. Well fed, she had to assume, and also not used to the exertion of travel. It might mean they had a camp nearby. A community.
A butterfly of hope fluttered in her chest. It seemed too much of a coincidence, but she allowed the possibility to settle that this group of people could be from the Texas sanctuary.
At the center of them all, a statue of resolve, stood a dark man with unrelenting eyes. They followed every movement Zane and his people made, only flicking to Graciela for a split second. “Release her,” he said, his voice a thunderous roar.
Graciela didn’t know who she should fear more, Zane or this m
ystery man, both equally powerful in presence.
By the tilt of Zane’s bald, tatted head, she could tell he was grinning, though all she could see were the purple accents on the back of his skull. “You must have a Sanguinatore in your midst.”
The members of the small group exchanged puzzled looks, but Graciela knew what he meant. It meant that someone in their group could do what Zane and Bram had done to her. With one tiny, little whistle, whoever it was could bring her to her knees and blood would flow freely from every orifice.
She cast the ridiculous notion aside. They’d just thrown a car at the Sanguinatores to save her. Surely, they wouldn’t turn around and then kill her.
Unless they wanted her blood for themselves.
Suddenly Graciela felt like she was standing at the edge of a cliff with a pack of wolves in front of her. She could either jump to her death or willingly be ripped to shreds.
Chapter Fifteen
Sean
Without a doubt, Sean knew he was standing before the man responsible for the slaughter in Surviving & Thriving. He could almost see him reveling in each kill, almost smell the scent of death still fresh on his skin.
There was nothing Sean wanted more than to make it so that they’d never be able to bring that level of harm to anyone again. Ever.
But his hands were bound. The Awakened Authority, though well-intentioned, had created so much structure and procedure that these people would continue to wander, killing as they please, until Sean and his were old and gray. If they lasted that long.
Vengeance was a distraction though, at least for the time being. All he needed to focus on now was how they were going to convince these people to release this woman before anything worse happened to her.
Concealed with a blink, Sean allowed one quick observation of her. Frightened and alone. Bad day to cross paths with this lot, but she was lucky they were here now.
“You must have a Sanguinatore in your midst.”
Sanguinatore? The word was only vaguely familiar to Sean.
He recognized the root of it thanks to one of Mara’s many hidden talents: singing. One day he’d walked up on her in the middle of an ominous Italian ode and one of the words in particular kept jumping out to him. Sangue. Sangue. It had felt so important for some reason. After hearing it a dozen times, he finally asked her what it meant.
Sean would never forget her response. Sangue meant blood.
Sanguinatore, he could only assume, was the name they’d chosen instead of adapting the term blood guide. An exchange with Mara confirmed she’d drawn the same conclusion.
“Someone who commands blood,” the captor said, bored by their perceived ignorance.
Sean saw no point in hiding it. Pride unwavering, he nodded, and shuffled forward. “I’m the blood guide in this group.”
“Wonderful, a new blood brother to”—the leader of the Sanguinatores paused a moment before breaking into hysterical laughter— “wait, is that what you call yourself? A ‘blood guide’? That’s rich! No really! Like you think you’re some kind of monk or patron.” His laughter continued, echoing around them in ludic mockery. He was enjoying this game of cat and mouse.
“What do you want?” asked Sean adorned by a mask of fearless power.
The question demanded a response. It didn’t ask for one.
“Oh my! How dreadful of me,” the man jeered, delighted by the menace Sean exhibited. “My apologies, I haven’t introduced myself yet.”
Sean, wanting to hear none of it, cut him off with another snarl. “I don’t care who you are.”
Serpent-like satisfaction split his face from ear-to-ear. “Ah, but you should.”
The man shifted forward, and everyone but Sean and Mara slunk back.
Sean had dealt with people like him before, back when he was a warehouse worker. Power had to be met with more power.
“I am Zane, Commander of the Sanguinatores. And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“Sean,” he grumbled. There was no telling what Zane was playing at, but he was obviously stalling for something.
“Well, Seany, what’s a guy like you doing with all these blood bags?”
The thought that he viewed the others as no more than vesicles of blood rose alarm. At the edge of the group, Mara stirred, shoulders taut and ready.
It was Carson though who snapped back, “Blood bags? Calm down there, Dracula.”
“Ah, the vampire comparison. How original,” Zane retorted. “Really though, I’m sure you could do better than this lot. I know! Why not join us? As a fellow Sanguinatore, I could offer you a safe place with me and my pack.”
That was it, the reason he was stalling. Though he masked the offer as a joke, it was obvious Zane would follow through if given the chance. He was recruiting for some kind of Sanguinatore-only army or something. And then what? Slaughter every other person who wasn’t one? Just like Venomous Vengeance, all too reminiscent of how Samson was robbed of his life.
Sean wouldn’t be a part of it.
“No thanks. I already belong to a community,” he interjected tersely before Zane attempted to sweeten the deal. Images of Surviving & Thriving and his brother’s murder scene fueled the rage within him. “I would never join a group that would massacre innocent people.”
Zane clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Why the harsh accusations, friend? I know nothing of this havoc you speak of.” With menace, he smirked through his own lie. “That’s not to say we can’t hold our own or that we don’t feed. But hey, how else are we supposed to keep ourselves strong, to prepare for the battle to come?”
He had met the challenge with absolute arrogance and pomposity. His choice of words around “feed” versus “eat” or even “scavenge” raised quite the alarm. Of all the terrifying humans alive in the world today, cannibals were somewhere near the top of the list, even with the Awakening and the plethora of unknown talents that conjured.
But Zane couldn’t be a cannibal. Everyone knew what happened to the Awakened who turned anthropophagus: they became wendigos. A gruesome side effect of the Awakened gene.
Cannibal or not, there was no questioning what side of the morality fence Zane sat on with the issue.
“So you’re saying.” Mara emerged to take a stance beside Sean, that much closer to Zane. If only he’d step closer, feel the need to match the challenge of power with his own posturing. “On top of killing anyone that crosses your path, you have no remorse. You feed on them? That’s sick.”
The eyes of a wolf followed the shape of her, though his words were snakelike, slimy, and slithering. “My, my! What a tasty treat we have here.” The falsely inviting grin stretched wider than any reptiles’ would.
It twisted Sean’s insides and left a sour taste in his mouth.
They were getting off topic though. Only one thing mattered.
“Zane,” Sean boomed, “Leave now, without hassle, and without her”—he indicated the woman, since moved to her feet— “and we won’t be forced to put an end to you.”
Each time his grin grew, Sean wished he could snatch it off him. “Don’t insult me, Seany. You’re bluffing. You know as good as any of us that she’ll be dead before you could do anything.”
A lump formed in Sean’s throat when he met the eyes of the woman. Words weren’t needed for her plea to be heard. She needed them, needed him. Just as Samson had needed him when he’d been surrounded by the selfish, brutal heathens of Venomous Vengeance.
“Besides, we already know you won’t kill us. You could’ve earlier when you had the element of surprise but didn’t. You didn’t want to upset mama AwA. And at the risk of this woman’s life too. What a shame for you.”
Seething, Sean cursed inwardly at their obligation to the Awakened Authority. Everything tightened. His fists, his jaw. Even the hold he had on his companions’ bloodline. At the same time it tightened, he felt it slipping too. It was becoming too much to hold on to everyone’s blood all at once. It was a constant
battle to keep his own in hand constantly, let alone the lives of six others.
“Do it,” the blood mistress beckoned.
“Free us. Let us paint the sky red at your will.”
He’d pulled too tightly and found himself spellbound. Each heartbeat a song, Sean became the conductor, and the dormant, crimson lifelines would sing however he wished.
Another whisper. “Be our melody. Let us hear you sing and we will join you,” it begged.
Sean shook his head and reminded himself who the master was here. He wouldn’t let the bloodlust control him, not ever again. Sean let his grip loosen and found his inner calm, the one that helped him control the urges.
“Don’t try to flip this on us. And quit stalling. Let her go and be done with this.”
Zane shrugged. “In a perfect world, maybe that would be possible, but in case you’ve missed the memo, a perfect world doesn’t exist.” Another smile, capable of invoking bile from everyone watching. “Besides, her purpose is larger than you. She’s running on borrowed time.”
“Borrowed time?” someone asked, but Sean couldn’t tell who.
His attention was focused on the woman. It was difficult for her to stand without the support of the car she was leaning on. Not that he knew her well enough to say for sure, but her complexion seemed dulled as well.
“She was supposed to die months ago, but one of my men had a minor lapse in judgment. We mean to correct it. So, you see, her death will help remind him we don’t make decisions for ourselves. We follow orders.”
Sean snapped, his voice a low growl when his finger shot out at Zane. “Torture your men some other way. This woman has nothing to do with your sick games.”
“Strengthening our Sanguinatore prowess is no game, but you already know all about that, Seany. Don’t you?” Eyes narrowing, Zane motioned to a place on Sean’s chest.
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