CONTENTS
CONTENTS
Legacy Club Teaser
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
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
AUTHOR NOTES
Review SCARED SHIFTLESS
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Nyx's Beginnings
Also by Theophilus Monroe
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Copyright © 2021 by Theophilus Monroe.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by J CALEB DESIGN
For information : www.theophilusmonroe.com
CHAPTER ONE
I could smell the vampire from the opposite side of the room…
No one else knew he was there. But as they say, the show must go on.
I clung to my microphone, belting out the last note of Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You.” It was a crowd favorite, and I had the voice for it. Most humans couldn’t say that.
If angels really sang, as one critic who saw one of my performances wrote in the local LGBTQ+ publication, I’d be a member of their choir.
Not that I was an angel. We didn’t sing praises to God. We only serenaded our meals.
At least, that’s what I used to do. Before I was bitten.
That’s how we hunted humans: shifting into whatever form they found most alluring, wooing them with song. Then dragging them down to our watery lair… for dinner.
How was I supposed to know, on that fateful night, that a vampire had made her way onto my menu? Even more, how could I be expected to realize that if I was bitten by one, I’d lose my abilities? That I’d be stuck like this…
By day and by night I was Nicky—total diva.
By late-night I became Nyx—every vampire’s worst nightmare.
I’d tried to keep those worlds separate. Until this bloodsucker, whoever he was, dared to stalk Nicky’s audience.
He’d crossed a line.
For most folks, Leotards and Lace was just another hole-in-the-wall gay club. Hell, I wasn’t even gay. And I wasn’t one of the drag queens normally featured on stage.
Big misconception—if you’re trans and you sing, that doesn’t make you a drag queen.
Gina had finished her set, to the hoots and hollers of a semi-rowdy crowd, just before I took the stage.
I didn’t elicit the same response from the audience.
When I sang, the crowds were hushed. They listened intently. The cheers came all at once—after I’d finished my number. Some of the crowd came for the queens. Others came to hear me.
The club owners didn’t care. Everyone paid the same cover charge.
And now that I was on stage, Gina’s fans migrated to the back of the room where she made an appearance to fraternize with her fans.
The vampire was talking to her…
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a vamp on the prowl. He bought her a drink, he flirted with her, locking eyes with her, capturing her with his vampiric allure… irresistible to most humans.
But I was a professional. I had a song to sing. And another one after that.
I finished the Whitney number, and the crowd erupted in cheers. I gripped my microphone tightly, brushing one of my long sliver-white strands of hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear.
I was slated for a second song. It was my signature number—my version of Roberta Flack’s rendition of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.” Haunting, but oddly seductive. Based on experience, half the crowd would be making out with each other before I vocalized the last note.
Sure, the Whitney song was a classic “diva” number. It highlighted my status as a powerhouse singer. But this one… it was enchanting. It had gained me something of a cult following. It was why the majority of the crowd had come.
The house band started to play, but my attentions were fixed on the back of the room as the vampire took Gina by the hand and led her out the door.
I dropped my microphone and took off through the crowd. My second number wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight.
I didn’t have my weapons on me. I usually had a stake, a crossbow, chains, several cloves of garlic… I’d make do. I had my methods.
Most people were surprised how quickly I could run in heels. Truthfully, my kind—elementals, that is—can move incredibly fast even if we’ve temporarily (or in my case, semi-permanently) assumed a human form. I didn’t notice much of a drop-off in my speed in heels. Hell, I was so used to them that I might have even been faster in heels than in running shoes.
I pushed my way through the audience to the back of the room. I ignored the man who grabbed my ass as I made my way past all the bodies; I didn’t have time to exchange gropes for slaps.
I pressed forward, shoving people aside as I reached the back of the room. I wasn’t about to let Gina, or any of my queens, get taken by a vampire.
I looked outside.
Leotards and Lace wasn’t in the worst neighborhood. Not the best, either. It was in Kansas City’s historic West Bottoms district. It was fairly safe during the day. At night, it was a bit of a different story. A lot of red-brick buildings, mostly abandoned. Most of them originally erected in the early twentieth century for manufacturing, now converted into loft apartments, artist studios, and eclectic shops and other attractions.
With all the tall buildings and alleys, a scream, even if someone was bold enough to investigate it, would be hard to track down from a distance.
And since vampires also moved fast—almost as fast as me—I had to find Gina before the vamp bit her. Vamps don’t tend to waste a lot of time once they have their victims alone.
I sniffe
d the air.
I could smell the undead. Most people couldn’t; humans have a notoriously bad sense of smell. Most vampires didn’t realize they had an odor. A skunk doesn’t know its own scent. But other supernaturals—elementals, like me, and probably werewolves—could smell a vampire from a hundred yards away.
They were that rank.
It was a distinct, pungent odor. A bit like iron.
And I knew these alleys better than the vampire. If he lived nearby, or frequented this area, I’d know it.
A lot of vampires hunt outside of their regular stomping grounds. It was still wiser, from a vamp’s perspective, to hunt in a variety of different neighborhoods. Less chance of getting caught.
Vamps are like any criminals, and hunters are sort of like detectives. They’re creatures of habit who tend to repeat their behaviors. And we look for patterns.
This was common knowledge for the older and wiser vampires. While they were more likely to get stuck in a routine—the old-dog-new-tricks sort of thing—those who’d been around a century or two had so many different habits in their stalk-and-feed routines that they were harder to track. Not to mention, older vamps didn’t have to feed as regularly.
This vampire was, I wagered, either older or an out-of-towner. And he was about to meet his match.
I followed his scent down an ally not far from the bar. And I saw him. He had my friend, Gina, pressed against a wall. He was whispering into her ear.
The bite was coming…
“Hey, asshole!” I shouted.
The vampire turned, eyes glowing red.
“What you been smoking?” I asked. “I mean, I’ve seen bloodshot eyes before…” I looked past his shoulder and nodded at Gina.
She took off running in the opposite direction, grabbing her phone from her brassiere.
I had to do this fast—stake this vamp and drag his body off before the police showed up. So far, I’d evaded any problems from the police. But since they probably didn’t even realize vampires were real, I doubted they’d respond well if they caught me staking one and dragging his body through an alley.
Gina turned the corner, almost twisting her ankle. She wasn’t quite as graceful in heels as I was. When she wasn’t in drag, after all, she was Geraldo. A rather handsome Hispanic gay man.
And he had a totally different personality—Geraldo was a quiet artist. Introverted. Sexy in his own way. But I wasn’t his type, being a trans woman, so I’d never pursued him.
Only as Gina did she wear heels. Gina was a rambunctious, glamorous queen. But Gina only lived on stage, and for brief moments after her shows. She didn’t have as much practice in heels as I did.
You’d rarely catch me in flats; my butt looked better in heels. What can I say?
The vampire snarled. He was pissed. It was like some random stranger had walked by and taken food off his plate.
I knew he’d be angry. Pissed off vampires can be difficult. When they rage out, they get an extra dose of strength.
But this wasn’t about strength—it was about speed and agility. That’s where I had the advantage, because angry vampires also tend to act recklessly.
His jaw dropped, flashing his fangs in a futile attempt to terrify me, and he charged my position.
Sure, he moved fast. Not as fast as me.
I didn’t have my stake on hand, but I had my heels. I quickly grabbed my shoe from my right foot and kicked off the other.
Everything happened so quickly, it was all a blur.
I widened my stance, bracing for the collision. As the vamp dove at me, undoubtedly hoping to tackle me and feed from me. I parried to the right, narrowly avoiding his first attempt to take me out.
The vampire did an about-face. He didn’t hesitate before charging me a second time.
Predictable, I thought. The bloodsucker had falled into my trap.
The first time, he had a good run at it, a chance to build up speed, leading his charge head-first. Not the best angle for staking him.
Staking a vamp takes precision. I needed to get him straight on.
I set him up well. The first time, I pivoted to one side to avoid his assault. He came at me, this time, more upright, with his arms wide open, hoping to wrap me up before I could evade his charge.
Big mistake, asshole.
I was ready. I widened my stance for leverage. I held one of my Louboutin stilettos in my right hand at my side.
I had to time this perfectly.
I couldn’t show him my hand until he already had all his chips on the table. Until the momentum of his charge was too much for him to change course.
It all happened so fast that if anyone saw us it would have been a blur.
The vampire snarled as he dove headlong toward me, his arms still wide, his chest exposed.
And I thrust my stiletto heel into his heart.
Wide-eyed and jaw-dropped, the vampire looked at me in shock. The bloodsucker’s skin turned gray before he collapsed at my feet.
“Perfect,” I said to myself, looking over the vampire. Most vampires tried to stay up with current styles. They almost always wore black. Not because they were “goth,” but because black allowed them to blend into the shadows.
But older vampires, who’d walked the earth for more than a century, tended to default to older styles. I suppose they found keeping up with trends wearisome. And by the look of this one, the way he was dressed, I was certain he hadn’t been turned any time in the last hundred years.
This was what I was looking for.
Most younger vampires didn’t have a clue who Alice was—the vampire who stole my abilities. This one, an older vampire, would at the very least know of her. Even if he couldn’t tell me where she was, it was the best shot I’d had in a while to gather actionable intelligence on my target.
Usually I’d stake a vamp, and once it was clear they didn’t have any helpful information, I’d cut out their heart, burn it, and be done with it.
I’d have to take a little more time with this one, just in case he had information I could use. Couldn’t do it here. Didn’t have enough time. Not with the cops likely on the way.
I used to take more time with the vamps I caught. But over many hunts, I gained a sense for which ones might be more or less helpful to me.
A good interrogation took time to prepare. Of course, with my heel firmly lodged in the vampire’s heart, I literally had all the time in the world. Once I got him out of the alley.
I had a place. Not my apartment. Another place, for situations like this.
Contrary to popular belief, staking a vampire doesn’t totally kill the creature. Remove the stake and they come back. But it’s generally the first step. Hard to cut out a vampire’s heart if he’s still breathing.
And, technically speaking, he’d stay like this—dormant and corpse-like—indefinitely, so long as my heel remained in his heart.
Not that I intended to take any longer than necessary.
I had to set the scene: bind the vampire to ensure he couldn’t escape, then make sure I was near a window so that when the sun rose I could pull the curtains, if needed, as a way of forcing the vamp to talk.
Hopefully it wouldn’t take that long.
I cracked my knuckles and grabbed the vampire. I tossed him over my shoulder, careful not to dislodge my stiletto from his chest in the process. It must’ve been quite a scene—a diva, now barefoot, with a body across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
I might not look like much—but I’m one strong bitch.
And this vampire was about to find out I could be intimidating as hell when I wanted to be.
CHAPTER TWO
I yanked my stiletto heel out of the vampire’s chest. It wouldn’t take him long to come to.
I wiped my shoe off with the sleeve of my shirt; I didn’t want the blood to set in. I didn’t drop eight hundred dollars on a new pair of Louboutins to have them ruined before I’d even had a chance to perform a full set in them. So far, I’d worn them for
only a single number.
Getting information was my prime objective. But that wasn’t the only reason I was looking forward to torturing this particular vampire.
He’d gone after one of my people. I had a vendetta.
I secured the vampire’s limp body to a chair, bound in chains, garlic cloves pressed through the links.
Perhaps it was a long shot.
I mean, assuming that any vampire could help me find the one vampire I was really seeking was sort of like assuming any Canadian you met had probably knew your friend in Toronto.
To date, I’d pulled off this stake-and-interrogate routine a dozen times. Again, not every vampire warranted the full treatment. But when I’d first started hunting these bastards, I used to do this for all of them—before I’d realized how many vampires there were, and how statistically unlikely it was that any random vampire would have good information on Alice.
The building was unused most of the year. The abandoned former factory usually housed the Edge of Hell, a pseudo-haunted house attraction in the West Bottoms. One of those walk-through experiences where costumed ghosts, goblins, and axe murderers jump out at visitors to give them a scare.
Not that frightening, if you ask me. I mean, if you’re paying to be scared, how terrifying can it really be? Especially when you know that the monster leaping out of the darkness toward you is really just a minimum-wage worker.
Of course, the exhibit was only in operation for Halloween season. That meant, the rest of the time, I could use the place to interrogate vamps.
None of them could tell me where Alice was. Half of them didn’t even know who she was. But most of the vampires I’d caught before were younglings, turned at some point during the last couple decades.
I couldn’t say exactly how old this vampire was—but I was relatively certain he had at least a century or two behind him. It wasn’t like I could just saw him in half and count the rings.
Not that I was opposed to trying, if it came to that.
But based on his accent, a few choice words from his vocabulary, and the way he carried himself, he generally gave the distinct impression that he’d come from another era. He was the sort I might have eaten if he were human when the witches first brought our kind to the new world… when they blessed the waters with our elemental essences.
Scared Shiftless: An Ex-Shifter turned Vampire Hunter Urban Fantasy (The Legend of Nyx Book 1) Page 1