by Nickie Asher
This was what his kind was worth to humans. To the government. Seen as nothing more than animals, their lives had no value. Their deaths were nothing of consequence. They could be slaughtered by anyone, at any time, and no one gave a damn.
Then, as he watched, the beast went for the finish, closing massive jaws on the juvenile’s throat. The kid gurgled and a muted, garbled scream was his final plea to a world that didn’t care.
The dog, the juvenile, and the floor were awash with blood. The dog backed up, dragging the barely conscious vampire, leaving a trail of red. The dog kept hold of the youngster’s throat until he stopped moving, then, job done, the dog let go.
“What the fuck?” the dog’s handler said. “Who the hell are you?”
Julian’s gaze jerked from the scene on the floor to the officer, who was staring at him. He realized he was growling, not unlike the dog.
“Mac,” the handler called. “Get down here. Someone’s in here.”
The dog focused on Julian. It rushed the locked door, baying and ripping at the bars, trying to get to him.
Julian leapt back.
“Holy hell,” the handler yelled to the missing Mac. “He’s a vampire.” He grabbed for the dog, trying to get the chain attached to its collar.
Julian spun and raced back down the hallway, sprinting for the entrance. A loud bang and frenzied barking were pretty good indicators that the dog and its handler were coming after him. How long would it take the handler to get to the front of the building? Where the hell was the Mac person? What if the bastard unleashed the dog?
If he had a weapon…
But he didn’t. He had to get the fuck out or he was going to end up as dead as that kid.
The other two males… Oh, no.
He had to do something. He couldn’t leave them to be torn apart. He raced past the door to safety and headed down the other hallway. The youngsters had been taken that way. Maybe they were locked in cells like the other kid.
A dog bayed from somewhere in front of him. A second animal joined in. He skidded to a halt. Assuming they had been locked up like the first one, were the dogs behind the juveniles’ cells? Or were the dogs being brought to go after him? Cold rolled over his skin.
They bayed again, closer this time and he had his answer. Holy fuck, he needed to get out of the main hallway while he still could. The dogs were somewhere down a hallway to his right at the end of the building.
Now, the shouts of the handlers registered over the bays of the dogs. Julian charged toward the closest door he saw. If it was locked he was fucked. He grasped the knob. It opened on silent hinges and he dove inside. The room was barren. There were a few cabinets and a long counter and nothing else.
Tromping boots and claws scrabbling on linoleum gave him all the information he needed. They were approaching his hiding place. What if the damn dogs went for the door? There were no windows, no way out. He’d trapped himself.
He looked for anything he could use as a weapon. Yanking open the cabinets, he found nothing.
The men and dogs were almost on top of him. They couldn’t be more that twenty-five or thirty feet from the door.
His heart beat his ribs as panic closed over him. They would find him. Not the men, but the fucking dogs. And they would kill him like they had killed that poor kid.
Desperate, he climbed up on the counter and, standing on his toes, shoved up one of the ceiling tiles next to the wall. He felt for the frame holding the tiles. It was flimsy. No way in hell would it support his weight.
Sweat trickled down his back.
The dogs broke into a chorus right outside the door.
“Is he in there?” a voice asked.
Had he locked the door?
Out of time. He grabbed for the heavy wires holding the frame and, praying they held, hauled himself up through the opening. A surge of relief hit him with sledgehammer force. The frame wouldn’t hold him, but the huge water pipe running above it would.
Calling on every ounce of strength he had, he pulled himself further up the wires as if they were ropes. His hands throbbed with pain, but he hung on. His life depended on it. Using his foot, he shoved the tile back into place maybe two seconds before the door burst open. The dogs rushed into the room and went straight for the counter, their bays intensifying.
“He’s not in here, you stupid mutts.” The voice sounded disgusted.
“Come on,” another handler said.
Julian’s arms shook and his muscles burned with the strain of holding himself off the ceiling tiles. He couldn’t pull himself up onto the pipe until they left, which had better be soon before he lost his grip and fell through the tiles.
One of the men barked a command in what Julian thought was German. By the sounds from below, they had to pull the dogs from the room. The dogs were smarter than their handlers were.
The moment the door closed, Julian grabbed the pipe and pulled himself up on top of it. Both shaking hands bore deep cuts from the wire and blood coated the palms. He didn’t care, he was beyond lucky. He could just as easily be a mauled corpse on the floor like the kid down the hall.
Shit! The other two juveniles were still down there. He had to find them and get them out. He still heard the dogs, but they were now far away from his hiding place. The men must have taken them to the other side of the building.
He kicked the tile through, took a deep breath, and grabbed the wires again. They bit into his hands as he slid off the pipe and lowered himself back through the opening. He let go and dropped back to the counter top, then jumped to the floor and wiped his bleeding palms on his jeans. His hands hurt like hell, but he didn’t have time to worry about it.
He peeked into the hallway and then raced for the connecting hall at the end. The two males had to be down that way. Heart thudding in his ears, he pounded down the hall until he came to a bank of cells.
The thick scent of vampire blood wrapped him in a blanket of dread. Six more strides and he stumbled to a halt.
He’d almost gotten himself killed for nothing.
“Goddamn you motherfuckers to hell,” he said out loud, mindless of anything but what lay in the cells.
He hadn’t heard because he’d been so horrified and so focused on the murder of the little male at the opposite end of the building. His stomach clenched at the sight of the two torn and bloody bodies. They had been locked in cells next to each other. They must have been killed at the same time their companion died.
The three youngsters had been used as training bait.
Even as he’d tried to get to them, they were already dead. Rage, black and murderous, coursed through Julian’s veins. How many men and dogs were in this building? How many times a week did this happen? How many young males died every week in this death house? How many parents waited night after night for children that never returned? How many more would be torn apart here? Even one more would be too many.
He walked down the row of cells. They were all empty. There was no one left to save. He clenched his hands, barely noticing the cuts across his palms. Had they caught him, he would be just as dead as those kids. Bought like animals. Killed like animals.
Julian straightened. Damn them. He wasn’t going to take being treated like his only value was bait for killer dogs. He’d been somebody once, but that Julian was gone. But it didn’t matter because he knew what he had to do.
He ran back down the hall, careened around the corner and raced for the door, dead ahead. He powered toward it, running with everything he had. He slammed into the metal door, depressing the bar and releasing the latch. The door swung open and he fell out into the night.
The baying of a dog, close, spurred him into action. He sprinted away from the building and crossed the street.
IT DIDN’T take Julian long to find a twenty-four hour gas station, make a purchase, and return to the dog training facility.
The cocksuckers were used to dealing with vampires drugged into submission. Now they were going to tango with one
who wasn’t.
Moving stealthily, he opened the door a crack. He didn’t see anyone, but he heard dogs at the back of the building. Slipping inside, he made for the closest stack of skids.
He uncapped a can of butane and emptied the contents on one section of a skid. Jaw clenched so hard it hurt, he fished a lighter from his pocket and spun the wheel. The flame sprang to life and he held it to the soaked wood. It ignited with a whoosh.
He spun and raced for the door.
SARANNA CLOCKED out early. With aching feet stuffed in high heels, she walked fast, anxious to get home. Only four hours of remaining darkness didn’t give her much time to spend with Julian and, the longer she took to get home, the less she’d have of that.
She’d never been able to stay awake long after the sun broke the horizon and she doubted Julian would do any better. Though a lucky few were able to remain awake through the day, it wasn’t the norm.
She chided herself for courting trouble. Caring for someone left the door wide open to get hurt, something she didn’t want to go through again. She sure as hell didn’t want anything to happen to Julian and she’d sworn never to leave herself vulnerable again. Yet here she was, putting both of them at risk.
Her first boyfriend, Cerin, had pressured her for months to have sex, promising love and companionship. Thinking they would become mates and have a sweet happy ever after, despite the difficulties of living, she’d given in.
The moment Cerin’s cock penetrated her, he’d known she wasn’t a virgin, knew she’d lain with another. What followed had been a nightmare. The sex was hard and brutal, closer to rape than a mating. He’d bit and savagely mauled her while she lay trapped beneath him, his cock lodged deep inside her. He drank from her until she lay weak and helpless. After pounding her mercilessly until he climaxed, he called her a whore and walked out.
She never saw him again. He’d been removed from her life permanently. Slade had found her on the floor where she’d collapsed.
She hadn’t told him what happened, but she didn’t have to. He’d picked her up and put her in the rumpled bed where the stink of sex and Cerin still lingered and called their aunt to come stay with her. Then he’d left.
She shuddered at the memory.
Balancing precariously on her too-tall heels, she rounded a corner. Just ahead of her, an emaciated juvenile sat on the edge of a fancy planter box in front of the First National Bank. Even from a distance, he looked beyond starved. His youthful face had unnatural hollows and his t-shirt failed to hide protruding ribs. She had never seen him looking so bad. Her chest squeezed and her hands curled into fists.
He stood and angled toward her. “Saranna, how have you been?” The telltale scent of pain and raging hunger hung thick around him.
“I’m fine.” She took both of his hands and gave them a little squeeze. “When was the last time you fed?”
He shrugged. A silver raven, emblem of his name, glittered from a short chain at his throat. “Dunno. Couple weeks.” He looked confused. “I think.”
“Why don’t you stay at Pastor Cadell’s?” The shelter was the pastor’s smoke and mirrors project. Almost no one knew that below the ancient building that served as camouflage lay a shelter for homeless females and juveniles.
Raven frowned. “He’s human. I don’t wanna stay there.”
“He may be human, but he understands our situation and his heart is good.”
She tugged on his hand, leading him toward an alley. Typical male, he was too stubborn for his own good, rail-thin, starved, and in constant danger on the streets. Raven didn’t stand much chance of reaching adulthood. Pain twisted her heart as she drew him into the seclusion of deeper shadows. She leaned against the wall.
He looked at her with questioning eyes.
“You’re hungry, I want to feed you.”
He flushed and backed away a step. “No. I’m okay.”
“For heaven’s sake, stop it. You’re half-starved.” She shoved her sleeve up, bit her wrist and thrust it in his face. He wouldn’t be able to resist the scent. Nature would trump male pride.
Raven groaned and caught her arm. Avoiding her eyes, he drew her wrist to his mouth and latched on to the bleeding wound. He fed with desperate urgency.
She allowed him to feed until lightheadedness signaled her to pull free of his grasping fingers. He released her and stepped back. Without anything to staunch the blood, she clapped her hand over the bite and applied pressure.
The loneliness and hopelessness in his big blue eyes broke her heart. He wasn’t even as old as Vali. But, unlike her cousin who’d been orphaned, Raven’s parents hadn’t wanted the bother of a juvenile male and had thrown him out.
Somehow, despite being abandoned and the precariousness of life on the streets, he remained a sweet kid. He hadn’t turned into a street punk. He didn’t even seem bitter. He didn’t deserve what fate had handed him.
She touched his forearm. “Please let me take you to Pastor Cadell. You’ve got to get off the streets.”
“I’m doing okay.”
“No, you’re not. Who feeds you when you’re hungry?”
“I manage.”
“Yeah, I can see that. You’ll get killed if you keep on like this and you know it.”
He avoided her eyes.
“Do you want to die?” It came out sharper than she’d intended.
He didn’t answer.
Her stomach tightened and she reached for his hand. “Please, let me take you to him.”
He looked away for a long moment before nodding.
She didn’t release his hand. “Come on, let’s go.” She wasn’t about to give him time to reconsider. Teenage vampires were as flighty as wild horses.
She pulled him along, leading him through the streets until they stood outside the shelter. “This way.” She led him around to the back and down a short flight of stairs to its underbelly, where she knocked lightly on a heavy wooden door.
Martin Cadell, a habitually cheerful man who could put the most skittish vampire at ease, opened the door and beamed down at her. “Saranna, who have you brought this time, child?” He ran a hand through close-cropped, salt and pepper curls.
Raven stared at the pastor. Saranna poked him with her elbow.
Full, rich laughter boomed from Cadell. “It’s okay. He’s curious about me too. Probably wondering why an old black man is sheltering vampires.” His smile was infectious and Raven grinned back at him.
“Come in, come in.” Cadell stepped aside and motioned for them to enter.
Raven followed Saranna into a huge basement that had been converted into a shelter. Though clean and dry, it smelled stale, like it hadn’t ever been aired out. Not that anyone complained. It might not be the Hilton, but the pastor had fashioned the only known safe haven for Seattle’s homeless and desperate vampires.
The open area had a few chairs, three large sofas, and two love seats. Throw rugs brightened and warmed the ancient stone floor. Book cases lined block walls, games for youngsters were stacked in a corner, and a small geriatric TV was positioned for optimal viewing.
Two young males sat on the floor playing Monopoly while a female, probably their mother, sat nearby with a book she wasn’t reading. Black and purple bruises covered her face. Her eyes were dull and unfocused. The three of them barely noticed Saranna and Raven.
Saranna made introductions, then asked, “Do you have room for another?”
“Child, I’ll always make room when it’s needed. Show your friend to the last room at the back.” He spoke to Raven, “It’s tiny, but you’ll be safe here for as long as you want to stay. All I ask in return is that you’re quiet about this place and you help with chores.”
“Thanks,” Raven murmured.
“Are you hungry, child? We have people who donate. I can call someone.”
“I’m okay. Saranna took care of me.”
He nodded. “If you need it, all you have to do is let me know. There’s other food in the back; we have
a stocked pantry and fridge. Don’t be shy when you want something to eat. Just clean up when you’re done.”
“Thanks,” Raven muttered and flushed.
“Show him around, Saranna.”
THE SCENT of an unknown male assaulted Julian the moment Saranna entered the apartment. Anger, possessiveness, and anguish flashed through him. Already on edge, a low growl rumbled out of him.
Saranna gave him a quelling look. “Chill out.”
He stalked toward her, breathing in the interloper’s scent. His gaze dropped to the bite on her wrist. Guts clenched, he said, “Visit your old feeding buddy?”
“No.” She plunked her purse down on the end table and inspected the fang marks on her wrist. “There’s nothing for you to be jealous about.”
“I’m not jealous.”
She arched a dainty eyebrow, making it clear she knew he was full of shit. “I ran into a sixteen-year-old kid I’ve known for a long time. He’s homeless, half starved. I fed him and took him to the shelter.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “You have no reason to be jealous or angry about a pitiful kid who probably won’t live long enough to reach adulthood.”
Oh. Shit.
“I’m sorry.” He deflated. She’d succeeded where he’d failed. He’d torched the dog training facility, but according to the Late News, not a single officer had died. Every one of the bastards had gotten out. He hadn’t saved any of the boys and the bastards had gotten away with it.
He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have a right to act possessive of her. “I shouldn’t have behaved that way. It was ungentlemanly of me.” Not that he’d worried about being a gentleman with any of the women he’d had relationships with before. “I don’t have any claim on you.”
She sat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her. “It’s okay. I understand male behavior. I didn’t live all those years with Slade without dealing with possessiveness.”
But where did that leave him? He’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted her. The possibility of being rejected left a sick knot in his stomach.