Blood Judgment (Judgment Series)

by Nickie Asher

  He needed to separate the men. Shooting them was out. Gunfire would raise alarms with Ashton and Slade and maybe with the bastards in the house. He snaked along behind them, hoping for an opportunity to take one of them out.

  “Julian! Where the fuck are you?”

  Shit, fuck! Ashton.

  He didn’t need company.

  The hunters stopped and conferred among themselves.

  Ashton and Slade popped over a small rise and stopped dead in their tracks. Then they separated, diving in opposite directions.

  “Vampires!” one of the hunters brayed and went for his weapon.

  Julian jerked his gun free and leveled it at a man whose face mirrored comic surprise. Julian fired two rounds and the man dropped.

  Two of the hunters snapped crossbows into position, firing almost simultaneously.

  Someone gasped then groaned. It wasn’t one of the men. Julian cringed before dropping another hunter.

  Gunfire cracked from different directions as Ashton and Slade returned fire. Whichever one had been hit was alive.

  The two remaining hunters took to their heels. Slade sprang from a thicket and fired, taking both men down.

  Another groan of pain and Julian spun, focusing on the sound. Oh, fuck. Ashton was down. Hidden by a huge log.

  Heart banging, Julian ran toward the log where Ashton was trying to get up. Julian skidded to a halt. Ashton was on his knees, bent over. A bolt shaft protruded from his shoulder.

  “Shit. Ashton…” Julian didn’t know what to say.

  Anger burned hot in Ashton’s eyes. “Get over here and help me.”

  Julian sped around the log and dropped down beside him. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I need you to break this damn chunk of wood off. Up close. I can’t work with this thing sticking out of me.”

  Julian grasped the shaft with both hands. “This is going to hurt like a motherfucker.”

  “Just do it.”

  He snapped the bolt in half. Ashton groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Slade trotted over. “Damn you, Julian. You see what happens when you don’t follow orders.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be, you stupid fuck. What if that had gone through his heart? Huh?”

  “I get it. I said I’m sorry.”

  “Shut up. Both of you. Help me up. We still have a lot of work to do.”

  Shame eating him alive, Julian pulled Ashton to his feet.

  Ashton lifted his arm into firing position and grunted, pain etching lines around his mouth.

  Julian had blown it. A mistake this big would have repercussions. He’d proven himself unable to follow simple orders. Why had he done it? If only he could take it back and do as he’d been told. There was no place in the Resistance for rogues. That had been made clear and what had he done?

  He’d screwed up. Again.

  He was a royal fuck up. He was a fuck up at being a mate. Hell, he was a fuck up at being a vampire. All he knew how to do well was play the violin and there sure as fuck wasn’t a place for him to do that now.

  Total, stifling, self-loathing settled over him. He was a violinist. And that’s all he was. He belonged on a stage, not on the battlefield. He didn’t have what it took.

  He was a failure in every sense of the word. Wishing the ground would open and swallow him, he desperately wanted to go someplace and get falling down drunk. And when this fiasco was over, he was going to go home and do just that. Humiliated, he trailed behind Ashton and Slade who worked their way back to the section of woods near the house. From there, they hustled through the trees toward the estate and emerged at the pole-building.

  Slade pushed the door back a couple of inches. No response from inside. He shoved the door open enough for them to enter the dimly lighted enclosure.

  Claustrophobia closed over Julian.

  The prisoners came to their cell doors, fear and hope stamped on each face.

  “Please, can you get us out of here?” the smallest one asked. The kid was maybe fifteen years old.

  Anger overrode Julian’s shame. He wanted to crush the traders into pulp. It would be bad enough if they only preyed on mature vampires, but he suspected they sold as many juveniles as adults.

  “We’ll get you out,” Ashton said. “Julian, do you know where they keep the keys?”

  Julian pointed to a desk in the corner.

  Slade stepped up beside Julian. “When we let you out, head for the woods at the side of the property. You can wait for us or make a run for it. Don’t get on the fence. It’s hot. Hit the driveway and go out through there. The guard’s dead.”

  “There was another of us…” The youngster looked sick. “They took him a little while ago.”

  “He has a broken leg,” Ashton said. “Otherwise, he’s safe.”

  “Thank God,” one of the males said.

  Ashton moved to the first cell with the ring of keys. “Let’s get you boys out of here.”

  The released males waited in a huddle until Ashton opened the last cell. Once the prisoners were free, Ashton went to the door and opened it a crack. “All clear. Get moving.”

  The males slipped out of the building and took off for the trees.

  Grimacing, Ashton removed the backpack and squatted down. He set the pack on the floor and removed two explosives. He handed one to Slade. “Put it in the back.”

  Ashton stood and took the other bundle to the front of the building and lashed it to one of the support beams.

  Slade finished and joined Julian. When Ashton was ready, they hauled ass to the back of the house.

  Warm, yellow light spilled from the windows on the first and second floors. They dodged pools of light and ascended the back steps.

  Ashton tried the knob. Locked. “Help me out, Slade.”

  “Step aside.” Slade drove his shoulder into the door. It flew open, giving way under his assault with enough force to bang against the wall.

  Weapons in hand, they entered and moved though the downstairs rooms, each more lavishly appointed than the last. Ashton shoved a door open and they went into a huge office.

  A man walked into the room before they had a chance to look around. “What the—” His eyes widened with comprehension and he spun and fled.

  Ashton went after him. All it took was a half dozen strides. Ashton leapt, bringing the man down hard. The end was fast and merciless. He grabbed the human’s head in both hands and wrenched. With a curse, he shoved the body aside and clutched at his shoulder where blood seeped around the protruding piece of the bolt.

  Julian had to make up for what he’d done. Even if he didn’t make it into the Resistance, he had to make it up to Ashton. Though he would never live down the shame.

  Ashton got to his feet with a groan and they continued through the lower level of the house.

  The sounds of billiards and conversation indicated at least two more people were there. More laughter erupted, another click of balls, a curse. They followed the noise to a set of five steps leading to a lower level.

  Ashton signaled and they charged down the stairs.

  The men froze, then grabbed for weapons.

  Julian dove for the floor while Ashton and Slade took cover behind chairs.

  Bullets zinged in their direction, but the shots went wild.

  Julian returned fire. One man fell with a red wound blooming on his forehead.

  He dropped the other man a moment later.

  “Good shooting.” Ashton motioned to Julian with his gun. “Go check the second floor. And be careful. We’ll finish going through the rooms down here.”

  Julian made fast work of checking the second floor. Nothing but richly appointed bedrooms with closets packed to bursting with expensive clothes. The fuckers lived well off blood money.

  He returned to the lower level and joined the others in a huge kitchen.

  Dripping sweat, Ashton pulled off the backpack and placed it on the table. “I’ll set these,” he sai
d, taking out bundled explosives. “Julian, if anyone comes in, kill them. Slade, back him up.”

  Slade nodded.

  Julian took up guard position with Slade on the opposite side. The minutes crawled by. Alert for the slightest sound, Julian waited with a predator’s intent to kill for any human unfortunate enough to enter the house.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Ashton returned to the main floor and grabbed the backpack. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Outside, Ashton took the lead and headed for the trees. The moment they reached the cover of the woods, he stopped and pulled an electronic box from his jacket pocket. “Bye bye,” he said and hit the detonation switch.

  The explosives went off with a roar and the house evaporated in a spectacular shower of debris. The pole-building went seconds later, sending shrapnel rocketing through the air.

  “I’d say they’re closed until further notice,” Ashton said and shoved the detonator in his pocket.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  JULIAN PICKED up his violin case.

  Slade had taken Vali and gone to the clinic to fetch Ashton. Saranna hadn’t left the bedroom, nor would she until he went out for the evening.

  He went outside and the hot, damp air wrapped around him in a soggy blanket of humidity. Already sweating, he veered off the sidewalk onto freshly-clipped grass. At the side of the house, unchecked rose bushes in full bloom stretched thorny brambles out to snag at him. He circled around to the tiny square of backyard and placed the instrument case on the single wrought iron bench.

  A night bird called in shrill protest from high in the branches of the ancient oak. It shrieked again and took flight, its wings beating the air above him.

  He took out the bow and tightened the horse hair before unstrapping the violin. But instead of lifting out the instrument, he picked up a few small stones and pinged one at the rear bedroom window. It tinked against the glass.

  No response. Determined to get her attention, he sailed a second pebble and a third before she came to the window.

  He picked up the violin. If she didn’t open the window, she would barely hear him.

  After a long moment, she slid the thick, reinforced glass open. The sadness in her face twisted his heart. “What are you doing?” she called down.

  “Serenading you.”

  “Julian, stop. Just stop this. Playing for me won’t fix things.”

  “I can’t.” She was killing him as surely as if she were feeding him a slow diet of strychnine. “I want to play something beautiful for you. Just listen. Please.”

  “Julian…”

  “Please.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t look happy.

  “This is Spiegel im Spiegel—Mirror in the Mirror. It’s the most beautiful piece of music I know. I want to share it with you.” It was also a sad piece. One that ripped at the heart. His performance would be better with someone playing piano, but he would have to make do.

  He tucked the violin under his jaw and drew a slow up-bow. Eyes closed, giving it everything he had, he guided the bow across the strings while his left hand found the sweet notes. He gave himself to the violin and the music, playing for the female who had infiltrated his life beyond repair.

  The music consumed him with its soul-wrenching emotion. The piece was simple enough to play, but its spellbinding beauty wasn’t to be denied. It filled him with the same passion she stirred in him. He didn’t want the piece or the feeling to end.

  When he drew the last bow, he opened his eyes.

  She stood with her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. She was not immune to the power of the music and the raw emotions it generated.

  “That was beautiful,” she choked out. “Hauntingly beautiful. But it changes nothing.”

  “Please, listen to me. That music, that’s how you make me feel. I need you.”

  “And you know what I need. I won’t be your whore.”

  “You’re my mate!”

  “In name, yes. But that’s all until you can face your feelings. If you can ever do that, we’ll have a chance. But not until then. You’re a wonderful violinist, but you have a ways to go in the honesty department.”

  “Please, Saranna. You’re killing me. Don’t push me away.”

  She wiped her eyes and said in a wavering voice, “This isn’t my fault.”

  “Saranna…”

  She closed the window and turned away.

  Julian’s heart withered. He felt the life go out of it, and yet, he still stood, violin in one hand, bow in the other. Still breathing. How was it possible to live with a shattered heart? Without the female he needed to complete him?

  Yet, no matter how much he wanted and needed her, he wouldn’t lie. And he wouldn’t put his heart in a position to be hurt even worse. He couldn’t let himself love her, no matter what.

  Shoulders slumped, he put the violin and bow back in the case and trudged to the front of the house to wait for Ashton. He had plenty of apologizing to do once they returned.

  He’d fucked up. He hoped he hadn’t destroyed his shot at the Resistance. But in reality, his chances of acceptance were right up there with his odds of winning back Saranna.

  FRAMER HUNG up the phone with relief. At least he’d had good news for Banks. He rubbed his temple in an effort to ward off the headache threatening to become a real blinder.

  The young vampire Banks had sought lay heavily drugged in the holding room. He would be processed within the hour and turned over to the testing unit.

  What the hell was so special about this one? Framer wasn’t a fool. Banks might deny it, but this one was on his radar. Why?

  He pushed back from his desk.

  Five minutes later, Framer stood before the cage holding the juvenile. He was small for a vampire, though many of the males didn’t bulk up until they matured. Dressed in jeans and a loud tie-dyed t-shirt, he was no more remarkable than any other kid. He lifted his head, pinning Framer with huge, frightened eyes.

  Framer’s gut turned over. Holy mother of God. It couldn’t be. No. No way. What he was thinking was impossible.

  Was it?

  The juvenile bore an unmistakable resemblance to Ryan Banks. Framer hadn’t paid much attention when he’d received the photo of the kid, but there was no doubt. This youngster was related to Banks. Framer would bet his life on it. That would explain why Banks was so hot to get his hands on him and why he’d condemned the youngster to…

  Jesus Christ! Was Banks his father? “Oh, God.”

  The youngster flinched as if Framer had hit him.

  If Banks had sired a half-breed, it could ruin him. Framer squatted down on his heels.

  How old was he? Fifteen? Sixteen? Though his lip had swollen from someone striking him, he looked way too much like Banks. Only instead of the hardness in Banks’ features, the juvenile was almost female pretty. “Were you a half-breed?”

  The youngster pushed back against the rear bars of the cage and tried to sit up. “Please get me out of here,” he spoke in low tones. “I don’t belong here. I’m not like them.”

  “You were, weren’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Alex.”

  “When were you turned?”

  “A year ago. My mother did it.”

  “Do you know your father?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  He shook his head. “Please help me.” He leaned forward and grasped the bars. A spark of hope ignited in the drugged green eyes.

  “I can do nothing for you.”

  He shrank back to his former huddled position. A little sound, like fright vocalized, came out of him.

  Framer swallowed hard. The fear in the youngster’s face was going to haunt him for a long time. A sour, sick queasiness knotted his stomach. At a year out, the juvenile hadn’t even had time to know what he was. He had no idea why he was there, other than he’d been an unprocessed vampire
caught on the streets.

  Framer’s hatred and fear of Banks escalated. The man was worse than a monster. This was his child. No matter who or what his mother was, Banks had sired him. But instead of protecting his son at all costs, Banks had issued his death warrant. Banks had ordered Alex’s capture and processing. Which was bad enough. But he’d also ordered the administration of an injection of live virus.

  And Framer had to oversee it carried out. He stood as two men approached the cage.

  Shrinking back tight against the bars, Bank’s son whimpered and tried to make eye contact with Framer. “Please, help me. Please.”

  Framer wanted to shut out the fear in the kid’s voice. God, he needed a drink, or better, a lot to drink. “Get on with it,” he said to the technicians.

  One of them opened the door and grabbed Ryan Banks’ son.

  JULIAN SAT at the kitchen island nursing a glass of Jack Daniels. Already well past tipsy, he hoisted the glass and downed half the contents. The alcohol burned down his throat and hit his gut hard.

  The front door opened and banged shut. Heavy footsteps tromped through the great room. Shit. Hopefully things weren’t going to get ugly. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

  Ashton entered the kitchen. At least he was alone. Though Julian wasn’t sure if that was good or bad as far as the browbeating he was in for.

  “Ashton.” He gripped the glass in both hands and met the larger male’s eyes.

  “I’m sure you know why I’m here.” Ashton approached the island. He didn’t sit.

  “Because I fucked up. It was stupid of me.”

  “It was worse than being stupid. You disobeyed a direct order. That is not the action of a fighter.”

  Ashton planted his fists on the island. “It takes discipline and commitment to work for the Resistance. I believe you have the commitment, but you have no discipline whatsoever. And I can’t have that. Not in someone who’s going to work for me.”

  Julian stared down into his glass. His face flushed with heat. He wanted to defend himself, but Ashton was right.

  “Slade wants me to reject you as a candidate.”

  Of course Slade did. Slade hated him.