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Amira Press
www.amirapress.com
Copyright ©
First published in 2007, 2007
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Wolf's Den
All rights reserved. Copyright © May 2007 J. R. Mitchell
Cover Art Copyright © May 2007 KSeriphyn Designs
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Publisher:
Amira Press, LLC Baltimore, MD
www.amirapress.com
Dedication
For B. I love you more than life. For DH and KH thanks
for supporting me when I needed it most!!
PROLOGUE
Writing this story may be difficult for it is a long sordid tale full of memories. I need to do this, lest I forget any of the amazing details of the often fucked up life I've led. My story is a legacy worth remembering. I only hope that memories do the deeds justice.
This is my story, laugh, and cry, I know I sure fucking will.
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It was Friday. Same shit, different day, different year. Every day seemed to run into the next since he left. He just up and walked out one day. I didn't know where he went, or for that matter if he was still alive.
My name is Ariana Reynolds. I was a bartender, a freaking bartender, for crying-out-loud. I worked in some sleazy vampire bar on the wrong side of the fence. There were nicer vamp bars, but my attitude was not congenial enough to suit the finer establishments. Fine by me, what did I care? I got to wear pretty much whatever the hell I wanted and talk American slang. Which to me meant the F-word in every sentence? Ian, my boss and owner of Wolf's Den had only one rule, no donating blood. Good, I didn't open veins for the dead bastards anyway.
Wolf's Den was a dark little hole in the wall bar. At least that is what it looked like from the outside. Dark tinted windows added mystery, a neon sign graced with the name of the bar, and a painted lion's head with fangs hung on the door. Go figure. Most vampires wouldn't even look twice at the entrance. All they saw was a dingy little crap hole that wasn't worth their time. Fine.
Once you got inside it was a whole different ball game. Neon flashed everywhere, and you could see the state of the art D.J. station next to the stage across the room. Black, mirror top tables reflected the recess lighting, a dance floor located in the center of the room that looked like black marble, but was most definitely not, and a stage with a large red curtain to conceal most of it. You could see part of the monolithic stage, it had the same black lacquer finish as the dance floor and by the sheer size of it, I guessed that it was almost as deep as it was long. I had no idea when or if it had ever been used, but it added a bit of flair to the place.
We may not have gotten the nicest clientele, but we probably got some of the strongest. I had a compelling belief that Ian was the leader of the most powerful kiss of vampires in the city. A kiss is kinda like a motorcycle gang, the most formidable rule. Ever heard of survival of the fittest? It is like that, the strong consume the weak. Ian didn't admit to being the leader but he didn't go anywhere without backup.
My boss Ian was always yelling at me about my shitty attitude, which didn't bother me because I yelled right back at him about his shitty bar. He kept telling me that he would fire me, but so far, talk was all it was. I think one of the main reason's why he did not kick my ass to the curb was because I packed a Sig Sauer P228 nine millimeter. In fact, I carried two of them. One in a fanny pack with quick draw, and one in a cross draw shoulder holster. I also carried one hundred spare rounds of silver shot ammo in a thigh rig. That was the only substantial firepower I carried on my person. I also carried a pocket pistol. Two shots of twenty-two caliber, it's a derringer, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. On top of the guns, I also carried three knives with the highest content of silver that good money could buy. You never knew when one of our clientele was going to do something stupid.
The silver content was especially important for making the undead dead. Lead ammo might slow down younger vampires but the older ones could walk through it like rain. Most people wouldn't even have noticed I was carrying all this firepower if I had kept my dead cow on. Dead cow is just another way of saying leather jacket. The fact is, that it would get so hot in a packed bar I would have to take off the dead cow. That is the only reason why most vampires left me the fuck alone.
Now, I should explain to you how a vampire bar works. Humans could come in and order a drink but all we carried was whiskey and beer, so we didn't get very many suits after the workday was done. I guess we didn't cater to their needs. Anyway, we had about fifty regular human volunteers. They were there strictly for opening veins. They didn't get paid in money from Ian, but they did get what they wanted, and that was to get off. Most vampires could make donating blood more orgasmic then sex. Even really good sex. It must have sucked not to be a vampire ... The Wolf's Den was almost like a strip club; some patrons got V.I.P passes and took their volunteers into private rooms. Sex was not supposed to be going on but hey, if they didn't tell, then I wouldn't ask. Ian made it very clear to me that I was not allowed to donate sex or blood regardless of the desire, or in my case lack of desire to do so.
Ian, my boss was about six foot eight and built like a brick shithouse. About mid-forties, well mid-forty plus however long he had been a vampire. I only say so because his hair was the blackest of black except at the temples, a little grey mixed in, and ultimately sexy. Also, he had crow's feet around the eyes and laugh lines around the mouth. Who knows, to me he felt about six hundred and forty. His eyes were turquoise. Freaking turquoise, like the Native American jewelry that you buy in downtown Santa Fe. I asked him once if his eye color was a side affect of turning undead. He just looked at me as if I'd insulted him. I took that as a no. Oh, did I mention he was the biggest freaking Indian I had ever seen.
I should explain, that while Ian and I fought like siblings, we were actually kinda friends.
Now back to my attitude problem. My lover left me. His name was Raif and he was my soul mate. He was the one that got me this job with Ian. He was also the one that got me into guns. I used to ask him if he was always packing, he'd just smile and say, “Don't leave home without one.” We hunted vampires together. He was a vampire bounty hunter. Vampires might have had some legal status, but the laws concerning vampires were very strict. All vampires had to register with the government and were treated like ex-cons. If one person cried foul play against a vampire it went on their record. Three strikes and you were out. There weren't very many old-timer vamps in the U.S. At least none that were over three hundred years old. The very old vamps didn't like the fact that the laws made it so easy to execute them. Ian was an exception to that particular attitude. He didn't care one way or the other, he always made sure to keep his nose clean.
Raif was about six foot three, and all man. He had a body like a navy seal. All muscle, but not muscle bound. What I mean is he could cross his arms. I hadn't heard from him in over a year. I couldn't think of a single good reason why he wouldn't let me know he was okay. It was easier for me to believe he was dead; rather than, maybe he had gotten tired of me. He had blue eyes that would turn an almost lavender in color when he went to that place that all men go when they are turne
d on. I used to call it sex eyes. I never looked at the eyes of the men I screwed anymore, so I hadn't seen that look in a long time.
After Raif left, I carried on with my life like he would be back in a few days, then it turned into a few weeks, after three months I had a break down and Ian had to drag me kicking and screaming out of my house to get me back to work, and on with my life. It wasn't too hard for him to manhandle me. I mean, he was a vampire. I guess super human strength was a perk. I asked Ian if he knew anything about Raif, and he told me no. I knew he lied, but I never had the guts to ask him again. Then again, maybe I didn't really want to know.
Life had gone on and I tried to make it as normal as I could. The word normal and my life are a contradiction in terms. But nonetheless life fucking went on.
CHAPTER ONE
"Damn-it-all-to-hell Ariana, its Friday night."
"And what is that supposed to mean Ian?” I replied in a snotty tone.
"Why are you still taking hits? This is our busiest night of the week.” He answered just as snide.
"Listen, I'm only going to tell you this once. I'm a bounty hunter, and this is my job. Besides, you used to like having me, Ariana Reynolds as your bartender. Now why do you suppose that is?"
"Because Raif was my friend, and I told him I would look out for ya."
"Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit."
"Cows shit too, they just don't brag about it."
"Just tell me the truth Ian. I'm too tired to deal with this witty repartee."
"The truth about what?” He responded, starting to look grumpy again.
"Why you used to like me working for you."
"Feeding your ego is not fun Ariana.” I started to respond but he held up his hand to stall me, and then continued. “You know why. Because since Raif disappeared you have taken his place as the Reaper of vampire kind."
"I love it when you talk dirty to me.” I replied with a smile. “I gotta go Ian, you know the rules."
"I know, Ariana, I just don't want you to get hurt. Or heaven forbid get undead."
"I never knew you cared. If you don't mind, I really do need to go."
"Just tell me one thing.” He said. When all he got from me was a quark of an eyebrow, he continued, “Who are you going after this time?"
"A rogue vamp named Nosta, do I need to know anything before I go after him?"
"Just that Nosta is a five hundred year female."
"Can she fly?"
"Yes.” He made a flat statement.
"Great. Just what I need a really old bitch with fly-boy mentality."
"Ha!” It was a single brief outburst of a laugh.
"Haven't seen you smile like that since before Raif left. It's good to see it again. Thanks for the Intel Grandpa, but I gotta go.” I sprinted past him while ducking his mock punch.
"Watch your back Ariana.” Ian yelled after me.
I gave a wave behind my back and headed to my truck.
CHAPTER TWO
I drove a Humvee with all original military specs, snorkel, spider suspension, full under carriage armor. It paid to have friends in low places. It had cost me a pretty penny, but I could afford it. Usually government jobs didn't pay that great. But there were many rich people who didn't like the fact that vampires had any kind of rights or legalities, so they funded the special government agency I worked for. When vampire bounty hunting first ceased to be an assassin for hire job and became a government job it didn't pay more than a couple of grand. After a few years of the bounty hunters getting killed or turned, the price had gone up to tens of thousands of dollars. You can see how I could afford to purchase a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar vehicle.
I unlocked the driver's door and jumped behind the wheel, being five feet nine had great advantages, however my truck was high off the ground and I had to do a half jump to get in. Once behind the wheel I fired it up and tore out of the parking lot.
I lived about twenty minutes away from The Wolf's Den in the suburbs of Santa Fe, in a three-bedroom adobe house with a basement. A twenty four hundred square foot house with no significant furniture to speak of was a whole lot of empty space to live in. I bought the house on a whim, and it was totally self sustained. It didn't take too much thought to buy a generator, but the main key was already in place, water rights. Water rights were essential for being able to self sustain myself and this property. I had a security fence and an electric gate on my property. Out of all the things I had done to my house and property the fencing was the most expensive. Five acres of security fence did not come cheap.
I pulled up to the house and something seemed wrong. I tended to follow my gut instinct and my gut told me to be cautious. Sometimes I hated being the grim reaper.
I put the Hummer in park farther back in the circle drive then normal, I eased both 228s’ out of their holsters. Double checked both clips, checked that the derringer and all three knives were present, in optimal working order and accounted for. I opened the driver's side door and jumped down onto the gravel. Landing in a crouch with both guns at the ready, I scanned the surrounding area with all my senses.
Low to the ground I inched my way around the car guns held out in front of me, sweeping the area as I went. Progress was slow but better slow and alive, than reckless and dead. I came to the front door, which was painted blue, a tradition in Santa Fe to keep evil spirits from entering your home. I checked the door handle and pushed the door open.
I took a deep breath and centered myself. I let go of all my emotions. Empty and calm, it was go time. I pushed the door hard enough so it hit the wall behind it to ensure there was no one behind it, I started the assault on my home. Clearing the house room by room, the tension between my shoulder blades grew to an almost unbearable discomfort. After clearing the last of the rooms on the main floor I realized there was only one other place to look, the basement.
I paused at the basement door and slowly rotated my shoulders to try to get the kinks out. I took one last calming breath, counted to five and then kicked the door open.
The door smacked against the wall so I was sure no one was behind it. I used caution when proceeding down the stairs. Both guns pointed forward, with index fingers on the triggers, I was ready to blow a hole through anything that moved.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I put my back against the wall and scanned the room. It was empty. I pushed away from the wall, holstered one gun in the cross shoulder holster and assumed a two-handed stance with the remaining nine millimeter. I surveyed the room, but I couldn't tell if anyone had been there. I checked the bathroom and both closets and found nothing missing. Only two things left to check. My house was cleared of intruders so I put my second sig away in the fanny pack and sat down at the computer.
"You are starting to lose it Ariana.” I mumbled to myself. Feeling very grumpy at myself for overreacting I hit the power button and logged on to my secured government web site. I realized almost instantly, there was a problem. There was no info on Nosta. “Now what the hell...” I let my thoughts trail off as I started to type away at the keyboard. I hated losing classified information before I even received it. Searching past all received emails concerning the bounty, I realized that all of my flags pertaining to Nosta on the national database were missing too.
I could feel a headache starting right behind my eyes and I felt very crabby. I pushed away from the computer and stood up to go to the gun safe.
Most people are happy with a locking, fireproof gun safe stuck in a closet somewhere, but not me. I had a sliding wall, which opened up onto a steel wall with a bank vault behind it.
Overkill? Maybe, maybe not.
My vault door was a ballistic vault that could withstand a fifty-caliber bullet. It was also resistant against attacks by drill and torch. A twelve-digit combination added a final touch to my security system. A person could never be too careful with all their toys.
"Fuck!” I yelled with the realization that someone had broken into my safe. The place was tor
n apart. Ammo littered the floor, all the cabinets were open and I could already spot some missing guns. The twelve gauge Mossberg that had been sawed off. Illegal? Yeah, but good for blowing holes in vampires. It was missing from its place on the wall as well as the mini Uzi. Just by glancing at the mess on the floor, I could tell boxes of ammo were missing from my stockpile, and only cleaning up the mess would tell me what else was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
By the time I had cleaned up most of the mess in my vault it was close to three in the morning I didn't have much time to get back to Wolf's Den and kick the shit out of Ian. After cleaning up the mess, I found that most of the firearms that were missing had belonged to Raif, that in itself made me doubt my belief that Raif was dead.
I asked myself how that motherfucker could do that to me. It was totally unbelievable. I closed the vault, and engaged the seven one-inch locks that prevented most of the damage that could be done to it. I began to replay all my memories of the days just before Raif left. None seemed out of the ordinary. All his actions and reactions had seemed perfectly normal. I knew in my heart that the chances of him being alive were good. After all, he was the best bounty hunter out there. As a matter of fact, Raif had trained me too well. I had spent the last year learning how to be better than him. However, I didn't know what he had spent the last year doing.
All these thoughts went through my head as I drove back to Wolf's Den. I couldn't help thinking that the best-case scenario for me was that maybe he was being held prisoner or some such thing. I had these thoughts over a thousand times. I continued to have them, and thought I would probably have them until I died, or until I found out what had really happened to him.
I hit the streetlight at Cerrillos and Rodeo, and finally came out of the past and concentrated on driving. I couldn't remember the drive but I had made it this far. I thought about the best way to go about confronting Ian. I couldn't help but think that the motherfucker had to know something. I wanted to kill his ass. What a piece of shit!
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