Eye of the Beholder

by M. D. Grimm

  Eye of the Beholder

  M.D. Grimm

  Eye of the Beholder

  By M.D. Grimm

  Cover Art by Kris Norris

  Copyright 2021 M.D. Grimm

  Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About This Book

  About M.D. Grimm

  Other Titles by M.D. Grimm

  Connect with M.D. Grimm

  Prologue

  Dain eyed me as I drove his classic Mustang through the streets of Los Angeles, the nightlife in full swing around us. I preferred letting her loose on the long stretches of road outside the city. Pretending to ignore him, I tried not to rear-end anyone when the stoplight forced everyone to play ride-the-bumper. He rarely let me drive his car, so I did my best to prove he could trust me to do it alone.

  “LA is such a skeezy city,” I said as I watched a scantily clad prostitute slide into the car of a horny client.

  Hope she didn’t end up like the victims of Jack the Ripper.

  Dain snorted. “And you love it as much as I do.”

  I smiled at him. “But not for the reasons most people do.”

  “What? You didn’t come here to become rich and famous and end up working as a waiter at some fancy restaurant?”

  I laughed. Jerk. He knew for a fact that wasn’t in my mind when I’d arrived here years ago. LA hadn’t been a destination, merely a stop on my nomadic journey through the States, escaping a life of abuse and fear.

  The light turned green, and I inched the car forward.

  “You better watch yourself,” Dain said, his tone turning serious. “Don’t get too comfortable with our… clientele.”

  I flicked a glance at him before turning on the blinker and bearing right.

  “Why are you telling me things I already know? Besides, who says I’m comfortable with the bloodsuckers and furries?”

  “I have eyes, kid. You take too long to deliver the packages and sometimes return with gifts from Her Grace.”

  I felt my hackles rise and bared my teeth. “You timing me, old man? Whatever happened to making sure our clients are repeat customers? Whatever happened to building relationships? You really think I’m stupid enough to refuse a gift from a vampire duchess?”

  “You’re only stupid if you think the gifts don’t have strings attached. Remember our number one rule: our loyalty can’t be bought. We’re free agents, Vulcan. The vamps don’t own us, and neither do the wolves. Our services can be purchased, but not our lives.”

  “Jesus, stop with the lecture! I thought you fucking liked Her Grace.” I gripped the steering wheel painfully, wondering why the old codger was making such a big freaking deal of it all.

  “I respect her. There’s a difference.”

  “You’re acting like I haven’t lived and worked with you for the past five years!”

  “It doesn’t hurt to be reminded of the dangers of what we do and who we do it for. The vampires, the werewolves, and the other supernatural beasts that own the night. The bloodsuckers and furries, as you called them, own this town, kid. Don’t forget it. Also don’t forget the slayers out there who don’t appreciate humans working for their mortal enemies.”

  I hunched my shoulders and glared at the cars around us. “I’m not stupid.”

  Tense silence filled the car. Even I heard the hurt in my voice through the layers of anger and indignation.

  “I know,” Dain said after a long moment.

  “Then why are you suddenly hammering me?”

  Dain turned his head to look out the passenger window. He was an older guy in his sixties, bald, dark as a black jaguar and equally as lean and sturdy, with stormy gray eyes sharper than most twentysomethings. His hands were scarred and burned from decades working with a hammer and forge, bringing shape and life to lumps of metal. I was in awe of his skill and dedication and his willingness to take me on as his apprentice.

  “I won’t be around forever.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him as I stopped at another light. I was in front, for once, and gave him my full attention.

  “No duh, dude. Wait, you aren’t going to tell me you have cancer or something, right?”

  He snorted and rolled his eyes when he looked back at me. “Nothing so melodramatic, kid. I’m just stating the obvious. I won’t be around forever, and I have to think of the future of my business and my properties.”

  “Well, sure, but—”

  I didn’t get any further. The car behind us suddenly rammed into our back bumper at full speed, throwing us into the four-way despite our light still being red. I smashed my foot into the brake, already knowing it was too late. A large semi loomed toward us like a hungry monster, and there was no time for either of us to change course or prevent the inevitable.

  The semi smashed into the passenger side, and the force flung me to the right, the seat belt preventing me from falling onto Dain. Screaming metal, burning rubber, and a flurry of pain were the only things I was conscious of for a time. I didn’t know how long I was lost in the black, but when I returned to awareness, my vision spun, and my heart thundered over the sounds of sirens. I gradually took stock of myself as my vision settled. I lay mostly on my side, the seat belt digging into my neck. I moved my head hesitantly and realized it lay on Dain’s arm.

  “Dain?” I croaked.

  Nothing.

  “Dain?”

  Answer me, dammit!

  My fingers trembled and felt swollen to ten times their usual size, but I managed to release the seat belt. I flopped down a couple of inches and groaned as my body protested every movement. Taking careful breaths, I shifted and pushed myself up enough to get a better look at Dain.

  Blood. There was so much blood. I touched his arm, squeezed.

  “Dain?”

  “Sir, can you hear me?”

  I turned around and vaguely regarded the man staring at me through a hole where the driver’s door should have been. Funny, I hadn’t even noticed him pry it open, my entire focus on Dain.

  “Dain. It’s Dain.” I couldn’t think of anything else. I didn’t want to.

  “Sir, let me get you out of here. Come on.”

  I shook my head, instantly regretting the movement. I cringed as my neck protested and tightened, and pushed down the nausea.

  “No. Dain.” I stretched closer and leaned over to peer at his face. His eyes stared blankly, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

  The sound that escaped me belonged to a wounded animal, an ugly, lost sound. Even as t
he rescue worker tried to get my attention again, I managed to release Dain’s seat belt, and then I simply tugged him into my arms, blood and all. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything except holding my friend. My father in all the ways that mattered, all the ways that counted.

  The only one to truly give a damn about me.

  I held his lifeless body and only realized I was crying when it became more and more difficult to breathe. I pressed my face against his stiff shoulder and sobbed.

  I vaguely felt the rescue worker touch my shoulder, but he didn’t tug me or try to take Dain away. Despite my injuries, I would have killed him if he’d tried. More time passed, I couldn’t be sure how much, before a sultry feminine voice penetrated my despair. The French accent gave her away. I lifted my face and turned my head, instantly spotting Her Grace, Josette Jacquier, The Duchess of California.

  Transplanted from her native France, Her Grace retained the noble title she bore before the French Revolution of 1789. Since she was the head of LA’s coven, an elder of the covens in America and Canada, and part of the world-wide vamp council, no one had a problem addressing her the way she was accustomed to being addressed.

  She was tiny but fierce and had the rescue workers backing away as she approached me. I could only stare, still crying, unable to stop the tears and grief. Her expression was somber as she leaned down and touched my shoulder.

  “You need to let him go now, mon cher. You know you must.”

  “No.” I held him tighter.

  She cupped my dirty cheek in her cool, smooth hand. “Yes. Let go of him now, Vulcan. Dain is dead.”

  I moaned and shuddered. Hearing the words, knowing the truth, was a knife to my heart, to my gut.

  Despite her deceptively delicate hands, Her Grace easily pried my arms away from Dain’s body and, with preternatural strength, tugged me fully out of the car. I sat on the pavement as the rescue workers carried Dain’s body out and away. She stood next to me as an EMT looked me over. I didn’t hear a word the EMT said except when she said that I was in shock.

  You think, genius?

  Her Grace crouched beside me despite her exquisite dress, after the EMT left, insisting I go to the hospital, and ran a hand gently over my short hair.

  “I am sorry, mon cher.” It sounded like she meant it.

  A whimper escaped me. I curled my knees close to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs before burying my face in them.

  Dain’s last words resonated in my mind even as Her Grace gently laid an arm across my shoulders. I turned my head and peeked at her. I suspected I was the only one to notice the faint red sheen in her eyes. Her mouth was slightly open, and the police cruiser lights reflected off her extended fangs.

  “Who did this?” I managed to ask. This was no accident. No fucking way.

  “Whoever they are, they will feel our wrath.”

  Chapter One

  Two years later

  Dain had been a paranoid, perfectionist bastard but a genius nonetheless. As a master craftsman and metalsmith, he’d been in high demand. Most of his commissions came through the vamps and wolves from all over the world. Commissions that now came to me. I’d stepped into his shoes as best I could and made quite a name for myself.

  He had left everything he’d ever owned to me—including his world-wide connections. Apparently I was the son he’d never had. Only when his attorney contacted me—a vanilla human, but one in the know, named Clark Zhang—did I learn exactly what Dain had been trying to tell me during our last night together. I was his legacy. I took over his business and clients along with his wariness. I also took his last warnings to heart, as well as the one his death had taught me: don’t get close to anyone. Losing someone I cared for hurt more than not caring for someone at all.

  I sat back in the seat as the limo rolled smoothly down the street. The light from streetlamps and incoming cars blinded me, so I moved my gaze around the inside of the ridiculously large limo. I could have simply ridden my motorcycle, no problem, but Her Grace insisted on lavishing presents on her guests. She’d grown more affectionate since Dain’s death, and I didn’t know quite how to handle it. She’d seen me at my lowest, but I didn’t get the impression she thought me weak. I was lucky—one ill word from her and I could kiss all my work for the vamps goodbye. Though I doubted anyone else in the world could make coffins like I could, with all the bells and whistles a discerning vamp could ask for.

  I shifted in my seat and tried not to remember Dain’s death. I’d avoided riding in cars since that night, and the expanse of the limo made my stomach tighten. I really didn’t need this much room. It wouldn’t be far off the mark to describe me as a petite man, barely reaching five foot seven, though all of it was pure, lean muscle since I pounded metal for a living. When I had the time, I also ran at least ten miles, often through the obstacle course Dain created on the property he’d owned in Calabasas, north of LA. It was also high enough to escape the toxic smog that hovered persistently over the valley and butted up to the Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area. If I wanted some variety in my jogging, I’d head there. Now it was all mine, the five-mile stretch of land filled with trees, hills, and a nice, comfortable home with connecting workshop. While my nearest neighbors had houses big enough to be compensating for something, I relished the sprawl of land separating me from them. I was never disturbed since most didn’t know I was there.

  I’d lived with Dain for about a year before his death and despite owning everything now, I’d decided to keep my old room. I just couldn’t move into the master bedroom. Over time it became a memorial to my mentor, and while I knew that was stupid, I couldn’t bring myself to do more than dust and vacuum the room.

  I kept the sleep pattern of my most profitable clientele, sleeping during most of the day and coming out to play at night. Much to the dismay of the few humans I did interact with—the lawyer and especially my tailor, Ms. Nicole James. Then again, she was also in the know. Then there were the thralls of the vampires, humans who willingly—sometimes not so willingly—submitted themselves to the dominance of the bloodsuckers. Werewolves had similar relationships with humans, but ghouls simply ate my fellow man.

  I cringed when I thought of the graveyard dwellers. Along with a large wolf pack and vamp coven, LA boasted a horde of ghouls. They weren’t high in social standing. It was wise to learn the territories of each creature of the night, and unless one had an alliance with them, it paid to stay off their property. Some territories overlapped, and despite a tentative truce between species, war was never far away.

  Unfortunately, ghouls were most active during the warmer, summer months. We were nearing the end of August so it would still be a while before their activity calmed. Not that LA really ever got cold. It was the main reason so many paranormal creatures flocked to California. Though I always wondered why vampires would want a place with so much sun and long days. It was probably the nightlife that attracted them to cities like LA, Las Vegas, and New York. Hard to have fun when you’re stuck living only at night with nothing to do.

  Towering gates swung open in front of us, and the limo drove through, winding around a circular drive to an enormous mansion in the Hollywood hills. I’d been here numerous times, but the vision of the sprawling towers and expert landscaping still filled me with awe. I waited for Charlie, the driver, to open the door before stepping out into the cool night—if midsixties could be called cool—and pulled my leather jacket closer to my body. I nodded to Charlie, then climbed the steps. The door opened before I could knock, and Her Grace herself answered.

  She smiled widely, her teeth pearly white. She hadn’t quite kicked the style of her native time, as evidenced by her flowing, intricately stitched dress and the towering stack of raven hair.

  “Vulcan,” she said and held out a hand.

  I smiled, her cool skin soft but firm against my palm. “Your Grace.” I bowed over her hand. “You look lovelier than last I saw you.”

  She let out a
throaty chuckle. “Oh, I have missed you, mon cher. It is so wonderful to be back here. Italy was dreadful.”

  Her French accent cheerfully colored her words but didn’t inhibit understanding.

  “I can’t imagine,” I said. I stepped inside and shut the door. She was slightly shorter than me and even thinner, although her hair gave her several extra inches. While everything I wore was black, I’d made an effort to dress nicely for Her Grace’s shindig. She’d been overseas for the past year and a half and insisted on throwing a party to welcome herself back.

  I took off my jacket as a human butler-thrall seemed to materialize by my side. I thought his name was Jeremy. I stared after him, considering the necessity for thralls. The vamps needed human emissaries to survive. Besides, from what I’ve seen, most thralls were cared for and treated as precious objects, especially those who acted as feedbags. Vamps had a tendency to dote on their humans, spoiling them with gifts and praise. Her Grace’s coven was especially kind and affectionate toward their thralls. Not all vamps were so gracious, of course. There were always bad ones in every bunch.

  Most of her coven was already present, many of them living in the house. I gave polite smiles to those I knew and respectful nods to those I didn’t. I felt their predatory gazes and was wary, not intimidated. I knew I was safe in her home. She was the matriarch, and as her personal guest, I had her protection. But because I was a paranoid bastard, I never left home without my cuff blades. I knew there were rivals among those gathered, and though I was freelance, many would see it a fine way to strike back at her by harming me.

  There was another vital reason I preferred the company of vamps and wolves over humans: they were fucking hard to kill. They were constants I grew to depend on, especially Her Grace.

  I peered up at the tapestries covering the walls, all different sizes, depicting various ancient battle scenes. Some were centuries old while others were recent, woven by the duchess herself. The colors were vivid and all too realistic. There was no mistaking the blood or the carnage. A few of the scenes depicted fights against other vampire clans, or werewolf packs, and even a handful showed vampires ripping ghouls to shreds. But the one tapestry that always captured my attention was the one where vampires were surrounded by a mob of slayers with stakes and torches.