by Sage, May
"Sebastian!"
Bash grinned as he entered the foyer of the small but comfortable apartment, some of his fatigue evaporating.
"You know everyone calls me Bash, Emilia," he told his sister, rolling his eyes as he hugged her. Briefly.
Then he took a step back and looked out the window at the seaside to clear his mind.
She smelled…like food.
Shit.
At least the view was a suitable distraction.
His family had lived in Brighton for about four generations now, since they'd been assigned to the United Kingdom.
Ten years ago, at just eighteen, Jack Hunter was moved from the USA head office to England right after Bash's parents were killed. He and Jack had been the same age, but right away, Bash had known who was in charge. The order had sent the English branch their best, youngest agent so that they could keep their shit together after losing their leaders.
Martha and Remy Venari had led the hundred or so English huntsmen until they were killed on a mission. Bash hadn't been given specifics, nor did he ask for them at the time. It was just what happened to huntsmen sometimes. He became head of the family, with a preteen sister and a baby brother. No one expected him to step up and take control of their order here, at his age, while raising kids. He was glad for Jack’s presence.
The Venari were given a healthy settlement for their parents' service, along with a pension—Bash didn't need to worry about money, but he still had to help with his siblings’ grief, not to mention their homeschooling. The two kids were intent on becoming huntsmen too, and general education didn't cover Vampire Beheading 101, or History of Evil Witchcraft.
He had help. Their people were big on community. Nigh on every huntsman in the country, and some from abroad, came to babysit and tutor, so he managed to keep his own position within the order. But still, he was the guardian of two kids.
Now, Emilia was twenty-one—still a pain in the ass, but she could take care of herself—and Paul had turned seventeen.
They'd be okay. More than okay.
"I'm not everyone," Emilia reminded him, rolling her eyes. "I'm your awesome sister. I get to use your actual name. Come on through. Paul made your favorite."
With a brother who burned rice and a sister only interested in filleting demon flesh, Paul had naturally grown to become quite the cook. Bash sniffed the air tentatively. Rushes of memories flooded in. Laughter, crying, arguments, jokes. This was home.
Paul had learned to make bouillabaisse from Laurie, a French huntsman who turned up every now and then. It was a time-consuming dish that the teenager only made as a treat, typically for Bash’s birthday. That he’d prepare it now showed how much Paul was looking forward to his visit. Bash felt guilty about having to put distance between he and his siblings.
"Jesus, that smells good!" Luke said. "Enough for me?"
Emilia grinned, welcoming as usual. "Always. Go take a seat, guys. I hope the journey wasn't too tiring."
Bash let Luke do the small talk. He was a lot better than him at it. He could lie, remain casual. He could have told his sister that nothing tired him anymore. That he remained wide awake all night, contemplating his hunger for human blood. Wondering whether it'd ever get better. The vampires had told him what to expect; newborns were always thirsty. But he wasn't a run-of-the-mill turned vampire. He'd been made by a sick freak. Some of the insanity, the crippling violent thoughts, were still there, in his blood.
Bash remembered his chat with a young boy named Steven. He’d been cured years ago, but Levi had kept him in his labs for observation, and because he hadn’t been sure the feral virus was entirely gone.
Last spring, after running tests on Steven and the rest of the ferals Chloe's blood had cured, Levi had freed them all. They had minders who'd observe them in the upcoming years, but there was no sense in keeping them locked up now that they were better. According to Levi, in any case.
Steven wasn't so sure.
"They don't understand," he'd told Bash. "They think we're like them. But we aren't, are we? It's always going to be there under the surface. The anger. The hunger. The brutality. Your huntsmen friends might have to hunt us down one by one someday."
Bash had said nothing, but he'd felt closer to that little immortal boy than any of the flamboyant people who lived on Night Hill.
He wasn't in control. He may never be.
Bash looked at his family. Emilia was the spitting image of their mother, the same reddish-brown hair and brown eyes, proud nose, and even the mole close to her right eyebrow. His brother was a carbon copy of him. Lighter hair and eyes, broader than most even at his age. They all looked so very similar, but the two younger Venaris were another species now.
"What's with the eyes, bro?" Paul asked.
Bash looked down. He didn't have to ask what had happened. His eyes had flashed in hunger. Not pretty and azure like Chloe's looked when she used her powers or felt thirsty. Crimson. Bright blood-red.
"That's natural," Luke replied for him. "Whenever the immortal part of us is predominant, our eyes brighten. It's a characteristic we've inherited from the gods: Zeus, Hades, Thor, Oden, Kronos. You name one, they get freaky eyes from time to time."
"That’s so cool!" Paul was easily excited.
It wasn't that his siblings weren't taking his change seriously. They knew he'd died. They knew he'd lost his purpose, his job, everything. They were just trying to make him feel okay about everything.
Trying, and failing, but Bash still appreciated their effort.
"It'll take a while for Bash to get used to it. But he's improved so much in just a few weeks."
Bash was so very tired of hearing how well he was doing. He knew better than to believe it. He felt like a puppy whose owner praised him every time he went outside to take a shit.
He forced a smile. His siblings didn't need his damn scowling whenever he saw them.
"Hey, I totally did some magic today," he said, knowing Emilia would genuinely flip about that one.
His sister was fascinated with anything that even remotely resembled magic. Always had been.
She didn't disappoint—her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and she gasped and brought her hands to her mouth.
"You're fucking kidding!"
"Just a little magic." Bash shrugged. "I started to take lessons from a fae dude last week, and today he made us work out which element we had an affinity for. At first, nothing worked, but then—"
But then, the unsettling, unfriendly, painfully perfect princess who usually paid zero attention to him had given him pointers. Entirely unexpected of Catherine Stormhale.
He scratched his chin. "Nothing much, but the earth crystal lifted an inch or two."
"I’m so freaking jealous!" Paul cried enthusiastically.
"And interesting," Luke added. "Magic doesn't come easily to those who aren't born with a pronounced ability. You should be proud. If you can do that at three months old, you might give Levi a run for his money in a few centuries."
Bash snorted. Yeah, right.
Levi was the Leviathan, dubbed ‘demon of the sea’ by those who didn’t know better. That whole myth had been born when he'd synced with a massive sea monster and sunk ships full of artifacts that witches had been planning to use against their kind.
Bash was so far from him the comparison wasn't even funny.
"By the way, if you're trying to convince me to not apply to the Institute, you're going about it the wrong way," Emilia said.
Bash's jaw tightened. He wasn't a hypocrite; telling his sister that Oldcrest was too dangerous would earn him a well-deserved kick in the teeth. If it was safe enough for him, she wouldn't hear about it being too dangerous for her. There were evil witches, at least three known major demons, and plenty of vampire dens in Brighton alone, more in London. Cities were infested with evil things, and battling them was their profession. Emilia and Paul weren’t safe. They’d never be safe anywhere.
But he'd died in Oldcrest. He'd
actually died. The idea of Emilia enrolling in the Institute was chilling.
He hadn't said a thing when she'd first suggested it, but she knew him too well and could accurately interpret his silences.
"If that's what you want," he bit out, slowly.
"But you'd hate it."
"But I'd hate it," he echoed.
Emilia smiled. "Well, Paul hasn’t got his first assignment yet anyway. How about we reassess after he starts working?"
Bash tilted his head, frowning. It wasn't like his stubborn sister to relent quite so easily.
"Seriously?"
She laughed. "I may not always show it, brother, but I respect your opinion. Especially when it's valid. The last thing we need is two of us on the front line while Paul is still a minor. Right?"
Now he just felt guilty. She was holding back because of him. Dammit.
"How about you come visit?" Luke suggested. "Bash is staying in Oldcrest through the summer holidays. You could come, get a feel for the place, and spend time with your brother."
Bash was surprised. "Can they do that?"
Luke shrugged. "It can be arranged easily enough if that's what you want."
Yeah. He was a lucky bastard, really. With friends like these having his back, it would be a crime not to get his shit together.
Under the Surface
Paul and Emilia insisted they stay the night, but while Bash usually had a hard time saying no to his siblings, he remained firm on that point. No way was he sleeping in the same apartment as a couple of delicious sacks of blood. He loved them too damn much to risk it, no matter what Luke said about his improvements.
Bash knew what he felt when he sniffed anywhere near them. Pure hunger. In his old life, the only thing comparable had been the smell of bacon after a long sparring session. So fucking irresistible. But even that didn’t cover it.
They headed back north in the middle of the night. Another great thing about having a jet on standby.
They rode back through the Scottish Highlands in silence for a time, windows rolled down to enjoy the fresh air.
How sad was it that Bash felt more comfortable with Luke, a quasi-stranger, than his own brother and sister?
"I'm gonna tell you a story. Not because I want your pity but because you need to hear it. In my days, my people believed in vampires, like everyone does now. There wasn't much proof, and the big, important lords of this world called it common folklore. But my tribe? They knew."
Bash glanced at the ageless creature behind the wheel. He knew the assistant was old. Like, five centuries old, at least. Outside of Oldcrest, he would have been considered a wise, revered elder. But with the likes of Levi on the grounds, it was easy to lose perspective.
"When was that?"
"Sixteenth century, at the start of the slave trade. My mama was taken from a North African country. She was pretty, unluckily for her. I was fathered by her owner. Still, that made me no better than anyone else, just a slave."
If Luke was trying to make Bash feel like an ass for feeling sorry for himself, it was absolutely working.
"Back then, there wasn't artificial blood, see, and vamps fed where they could. Slaves were easier for them. No one really missed us. Maybe some money would exchange hands when one of us disappeared, but if some important landowner had vanished, it would have been another story. Still, people talked in the fields. Even then, there were rumors. We knew about bloodsuckers. We called them angels of death. Angels, because sometimes death could be an appealing prospect."
Bash had no response.
"A rogue came to us in the night. We didn't know what rogues were; to us, all suckers meant death. But looking at him, disheveled and covered in blood, I knew my fate. He went for my sister first—she was pretty, like Mama, see. Pretty is always more appealing, to man or beast. So I pushed her out of the way, and he got me instead. Bit deep. I knew I would be gone in moments. I suspected the rest of my family would be not long after."
Luke fell silent until Bash couldn't bear it. He had to hear the rest. "Well, what then?"
The elder laughed. "Then, another sucker appeared. Different, for sure. Impeccably dressed in ivory. He looked so damn perfect he could have passed for a king. There were more behind him, all bearing weapons. At the time, I remembered thinking it was going to be a banquet, that they'd drain the whole plantation, masters and slaves alike. I'm not sure I disliked that idea. But instead, the sucker pulled the rogue out of me and killed him. One blow and his head was rolling in the field."
Bash could picture it, imagining a mixture of Hollywood movies and any random huntsman raid.
"Levi?" he guessed.
Luke nodded once. "Levi. I was a goner by then. He made a different call, and I rose again."
Bash thought the story was finished. He was wrong.
"And the first thing I can remember is my family running away from us—from me. Screaming. They knew disrupting the masters might mean death, or at least flogging, but they screamed all the way, demanding torches. ‘Demon’. ‘Monster’. That's what they called us. Me."
Fuck. Bash felt sick to his stomach.
"This age is different. The world has known about us for close to two generations. And your own family, for a lot longer than that. Huntsmen and vampires are at peace. As long as each side behaves, anyway. I get it. New times. But what you have? Do not take it for granted. Do not waste it."
His words held an edge, a subtext that warned if Bash took his family for granted, Luke would make him pay.
Rightfully.
"So yes, they can come this summer. I'll arrange the specifics. Anytime you want to visit them, I'll be there—as long as you believe you can't keep it together around humans, anyway. You got it, boy?"
He nodded, grateful and somewhat ashamed. Two feelings he was growing exceedingly familiar with.
"What's your name?" Bash asked suddenly. "I mean, Luke is pretty modern. Is that an abbreviation, like Levi?"
"The man who fathered me named me something else, yes," he replied. "But I am Luke."
Bash made a mental note to never ask again.
Now that he'd heard of Luke's early days, Bash wondered if he'd been fair to himself. He lived around another newborn: Chloe, who'd been turned the same day as him, and took to vampire life like a fish to water. Of course, he felt like a mess next to her. But, though she hadn't known it, Chloe had been born for that life.
He doubted Luke had adapted to vampire life easily. Bash wondered how many weeks, months, or even years had passed before he’d adjusted to his changes. He opened his mouth to ask when a scent hit his nostrils, so intense and heady he felt like he could faint.
Blood.
So much blood. It hit him like a punch to the guts. Bash growled, a feral, bestial sound no man should have been able to make, as his head snapped east, his mind blank of anything, anyone, save for his next meal.
He crashed into the passenger door, which flew open under his strength, and launched into a run, hunting his prey.
He found them at the invisible border of Oldcrest. People. Students. He knew them, recognized their faces. And it didn't matter. Two were dead, bled dry, their bodies ripped open, limbs torn. One, just wounded, not quite dead, though her cuts were deep and wide. A girl, no older than Emilia.
A sack of blood he was going to drain.
The girl was attempting to crawl to safety. She'd seen something in his eyes.
She could try to get away. She should try. He liked a chase.
Bash smiled, and his tongue darted out in anticipation.
His first real meal. This was going to be so much better than the putrid blood bags he’d had to put up with. The beast that crawled at the surface had been unleashed and was entirely in control. The man—the huntsman, brother, guardian, protector—was gone.
Dead.
Then something collided with him. Hard. Something heavy and dangerous.
Bash fell to the ground, but before he'd regained his footing, the creature who'd
attacked him had him pinned, one hand around his throat, nails digging into his skin.
He thrashed, growling, and the grasp tightened. Finally, the monster retreated, slowly, reluctantly, as if realizing it'd been beaten.
Now, Bash could see clearly.
The vampire holding him down was a devastatingly beautiful and familiar woman, blonde hair flying in the air. Her eyes were a torrential sky, bright silver, as if made of lightning.
Catherine Stormhale.
"Are you in control?" she asked slowly.
Was he?
After tonight, he'd never think so again.
Bash made no reply.
She let him go anyway.
"Good. We have bigger problems. If you can't handle the blood, get out of here."
Bash didn't think, didn't take the time to look at the blood, and avoided the accusing gaze of the poor victim he'd almost massacred. He just ran, and ran, and ran, until he'd reached Night Hill; then he ran faster, closing the doors of Levi's home, as if to shut the rest of the world away.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to forget what had just happened.
But he couldn’t afford to forget.
“Levi!” he screamed, calling the master of the house forward. “We have a problem.”
Claw Marks
Levi's famed assistant, the lethal and deadly efficient Luke, arrived seconds after Sebastian dashed through Oldcrest, his eyes narrowed as he followed the vampire's progression up the hill.
Damn, the ex-huntsman was fast.
"Did Bash lose it?" Luke didn’t
"I got there in time," Cat replied, stepping close to the surviving girl.
Luke pulled his phone out and started to organize her care; Cat heard him request Alexius, Greer, Levi, all hands on deck.
"It's all right," she said to the girl, as kindly as she could. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"
The girl tried to nod but ended up crying instead.
"We were…it was…beast.”
Cat wished she could tell the girl she didn’t have to say anything, but they needed answers. Students murdered at their borders? The whole world would flip. Oldcrest was one of the safest sup grounds on Earth.