BloodStar

by Montoya, Cassidy

  The more seasoned vamps would behave with cultured cool, but it would be a struggle, and before the night was over, they would be blood-drunk enough hang and gush right along side the young ones. The Elders, and this included Roman, would watch with quiet curiosity. They all knew Sabian, even if not personally. The Elders were convinced Sabian was BloodStar at the least, and more likely, he was the prophesied son who would reunite the covens and bring forth ancient dominion.

  The Ancients were of no concern. They would never place themselves in the middle of such a public spectacle as a Halloween rave in the middle of New York City. In a lot of ways, Sabian was one of them, even if only through practice. If not for desperation, he’d be a thousand miles away, a million if he could manage. Long had the Ancients survived, some for tens of thousands of years, through secrecy and exclusivity.

  Like Sabian, the Ancients avoided Kindred drama at all costs. Kindred drama was long, nasty and enduring.

  Sabian approached the doors. It was time.

  "What about who?" Marley breathed, and dropped her hands to the hem of his shirt. One smooth movement and her naked chest was fused to his. She took his mouth and sucked his tongue, her lips moving against his in a way that inspired x-rated Vivid-Video kind of shit. Would they look as juicy wrapped around his Glock? Jesus, the mental image was so fucking hot he almost came all over his perfectly non-descript Dockers.

  Fuck that, he had another kind of heat for her.

  Why, then, did he say it? What the fuck was wrong with him? He growled his frustration, and Marley rewarded him with a moan into his mouth. He had something else for hers, and she was without a doubt poised for more suck-and-slurp action. He could be inside her in seconds.

  What he needed to do was fill his own mouth, get all the skin he was dying for right between his lips so no words could get out.

  But he couldn’t, and the one name that could kill it all passed his lips on a hiss.

  "Sabian."

  She froze, and her half-naked body went stiff, no longer a soft, hot-blooded invitation. Now all that peaches-and-cream was a burden, oppressive, and it was more than he could hold. He pushed her but the density of her flesh was already too much to heft.

  "Get off me."

  Sabian watched the two big vamps just barely on the other side of fledgling status guarding the doors. Fledglings were liabilities, and in the end too few were worth the time it took their bodies to cure and their thirst to abate.

  Well, that wasn’t true, was it? The thirst never lessened. Fledglings simply lacked discipline, too easily tempted by humans with their delicious pounding blood and willingness to fuck Kindred without the slightest idea why they were suddenly hard or wet. No fledgling could resist, so no fledgling could be given responsibility. Had these two been even one month younger in their Kindred lives, the doors would be unguarded within minutes.

  Sabian could feel the percussive pressure of the rave beat, and let the music act as a metronome to focus his gifts. For the first time in three hundred years, he was willing to admit to himself that his talents were many. The time for modesty and blatant denial was over. Marley’s time was now, and she needed every advantage he could hone.

  Yeah, he was fucking gifted. A goddamn virtuoso if that’s what it took.

  He dove into the deep, black waters of the guard-vamps’ minds. He was no thought-reader, but better than most of his kind at surveying for intent and emotional states. The vamp on the left had been young when he was changed, no longer than eight or nine months before, Sabian figured. He was wiry, he was blond, and he was bored. Sabian waited. Boredom was not enough to feel confident he had the vamp figured out. In fact, boredom was the worst state of mind on which to base judgment when dealing with Kindred intent and emotion. After all, more than once Sabian had been bored while feeding, and still no man or monster could have torn him from his meal. At least for Sabian, boredom could become rage in less time than it took to lay a hand on him, let alone try to pull him from his victim.

  There it was, a little something, a little snarl. The young blond was…pissed. Yes, he was bored, but he was angry, too. An injustice had been done. Sabian knew it was nothing interesting; no tribunal decision had been bought, no long-time lover slain. He was pissed because he was on door duty and not inside with his Kindred on the biggest night of the vampire year. All at once Sabian knew that every spare minute that night would be spent haranguing his partner about how bullshit it was that they were outside, and brand new childer, unproven and immature, were inside, dancing and feeding and spooking. This young one would spend his evening in a general what-the-fuck state of mind.

  The other vampire, also new, also bored, was staring at Sabian. Sabian hadn’t engaged yet. Neither could hold eye contact with him if he decided to press his influence, neither could keep him from the doors if he decided to press his strength, and Sabian hoped he wouldn’t need to press either.

  This young one on the right knew who he was, or at least what he was. This young one had been a vampire concubine for years before his embrace. He was only months into the change, but Sabian smelled something far older on him, on his clothes, in his hair. This young one could be a problem.

  Who was his sire? Which of Sabian’s brothers or sisters had kept this man in thrall for so long, years more than likely, and then decided to make him? It wasn’t natural, keeping a human, bleeding a human, and then giving the dark embrace. Most vampires were the product of desperate love, humans embraced by some lonesome, toothsome drinker who thought he couldn’t live without his soul-mate.

  Just like Sabian with Marley.

  Of course, Sabian knew for certain what most of his cohorts could only guess at, and that was the identity of his soul-mate. Most of his Kindred guessed wrong about theirs. Very rarely was a human kept in thrall, subject to the beckon call of all the darkest impulses of Kindred, and then made. They were to be discarded, put down like a red-headed, crusty golden retriever in its nineteenth year, not made Kindred. Keeping a human as this one had been kept made for a childe with a broken mind.

  It made a childe like Anya.

  He approached the door. He did not want to entrance these Childer. Let the night happen. Let the blood boil and the juices surge. He had no one to fear in this warehouse, and his energy would not be wasted on a slippery entrance. There were more important things clawing for his focus.

  "There’s a line," said the young blond on the left, still bored, and still perturbed although his voice gave no indication.

  "Step aside please," said Sabian. His voice was arctic but polite.

  The other neophyte stepped forward. He was bigger than Sabian in height and girth, but commanded no presence. His forehead was wide and set high, and to Sabian it looked big enough to house a larger than usual frontal lobe, and not for the first time Sabian wondered if Kindred ability was the product of a brain that had switched from conventional electric impulses to something powered by magic. Or, did the brain have nothing to do with any of it? If it did, this youngster with the huge cranium had potential for more than just siphoning blood and feeling for intent.

  Sabian turned his attention to the greenhorn vamp that would never shed the effects of being kept in thrall. "Pardon me, but I’m going inside and I haven’t time for debates."

  "Sam, you don’t understand," cooed Marley.

  She had to be shitting him. "Wow. It didn’t take you long."

  "What?"

  "To whore yourself out for a fuck and some blood." The rancor in his voice was corrosive. "Just put your fucking clothes on."

  "Hey!" Her hands finally quit that Flashdance-up-and-down his body thing and grabbed for her sports bra.

  "What? Am I wrong? Just about had me pouring my heart out for you like a fucking idiot."

  "It’s not like that, and you know it," she said, slipping her tank-top on next.

  "All I know is you almost had me there."

  "But…" Now Marley deflated in his lap.

  "Save it. We’re
good." He started smoothing his clothes.

  "Sam. I don’t know what to say. I don’t have control over what’s happening. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time."

  Her whining fanned his disgust, even though he knew he was being harsh. Sam knew way better than Marley that trying to feel one way or another was an exercise in futility. He couldn't escape his bullshit, betraying-ass heart. Years he’d been denying it, but Franky had always been right. He would fall. Had fallen. Was smack in the middle of falling. Whatever the fuck, it was full speed ahead for the ass-over-laces roll along.

  The question was did it change anything?

  No, he told himself. Doesn’t change a goddamn thing. Eyes on the prize.

  "You know what Marley? I don’t give a mad fuck. How about you get off me, you vampire loving bitch." It was not spit with hatred, but delivered in a tone of quiet ambivalence that was pointless because he could tell she was far enough along in her change to feel his true position.

  But did she understand what she sensed? She was less than twenty-four hours old as a vampire, still in pain, still confused. Did she know how to interpret the tingles or whatever the fuck it was they felt?

  Sam didn’t know, and Sam didn’t care. This is what he told himself. Good old cognitive-behavioral therapy. Act a certain way, and eventually your thought patterns will conform. This is how he would behave. He had to; it was life or death.

  But his secret heart would mutiny if given half a chance.

  "So what does that make you? If I’m a vampire lover, what about you?" she asked, still straddling him.

  "Listen sweetheart, don’t confuse my inability to keep up with the supernatural for genuine sentiment." Liar, his heart accused.

  "You’re such a cock."

  "Would you please get the fuck off me already!"

  There were whispers coming from the line populated by humans and vampires. Sabian heard them; the humans wanted to know what was happening in that same morbid way they felt compelled to slow down to survey a fatal accident on the freeway. The vamps were motivated by something else. The word "BloodStar" floated to the front of the line on winded wings, hushed and eager. They could feel him now, hear that bullshit bloodsong everyone gushed about.

  Sabian had to gain entrance now, or he’d have no peace inside, no chance with Roman. All his life—his Kindred life—he’d been told he was special, different. When finally the Elders began rumors of BloodStar, Sabian was saturated. He wanted nothing to do with the title. He craved anonymity but circumstance never delivered.

  "There’s nothing to debate about. There’s a line. You can go to the back and hope we let you in, or you can go home," said Thrall-boy. Sabian didn’t know why this young one was so hostile. It was more than irritation at being made guard-dog. His spite was directed at Sabian in particular. It was personal, and it had turned malignant before they’d ever met, Sabian was sure of it.

  "Who is your maker?"

  "End of the line," said Thrall-boy. The Blond had turned his attention back to the queue for a moment, but stopped to watch the confrontation unfolding.

  Sabian thought again about using his glamour, but his patience had evaporated and he found himself suddenly in the mood to teach Thrall-boy a lesson. It would have to be a quiet one. He didn’t want the crowd any more interested than they already were.

  Stepping so close he could see Thrall-boy’s now vestigial pores, Sabian whispered, "Advice can sometimes be free yet priceless at the same time. I have some for you. Will you take it?"

  "Fuck you, BloodStar," said Thrall-boy, surprising Sabian.

  Sabian cocked his head to the side and moved his body so that he mostly obscured the crowd’s view of the young vamp. He closed his eyes, and only the blond doorman saw the faint glow under Sabian’s skin.

  "What the fuck?" said the blond, and the crowd began to boil like fish in a mating frenzy. Kindred felt the energy, but couldn’t see the black blood that trickled from Thrall-boy’s ears. The humans, equally as keyed up, couldn’t exactly hear the sounds of the muted whimpers nor smell the signature scent of burnt vampire blood, but they could see the reaction of the other doorman.

  "Jesus Christ," said the blond.

  The door opened, and another vamp, this one mature and smirking, nodded to Sabian and escorted Thrall-boy not inside, but around the dark side of the warehouse where a disproportionate number of vintage sport-cars were parked. In a moment, the new vamp was back.

  "Sabian," he said by way of greeting.

  "Milos."

  "Of course we grant you entrance; welcome you in fact," said Milos, all the while looking at the blond vampire who gaped like one of the crowd. Milos spoke quietly, almost as though he were chatting with friends fireside instead of outside a huge Halloween party with the sounds of bass-heavy techno music pouring out into the streets.

  "Perhaps we might catch up," Milos said. "If you are still here an hour from now."

  Sabian only looked over his shoulder, nodding once as he slipped through the doors.

  "If I can find you," said Milos, still smirking. "If you want to be found."

  The warehouse doors closed behind Sabian, and he was blitzed by a circus of sensation: humans and vampires everywhere, in costume, grinding against one another; Halloween decorations everywhere; blood literally making the ground slippery.

  He looked to the left of the big industrial main-room, and he saw vampires feeding on humans out in the open. No one seemed concerned. In fact, he didn’t think anyone actually even noticed, too consumed with personal kinky pleasures. He knew the humans thought the entire thing was simple underground Halloween fun, nothing to worry about, to each his own said the little old lady as she kissed the cow.

  It was a full on rave, no doubt about it, complete with grungy kids in bell-bottoms the size of parachutes peddling weed, coke, and of course, the premier party-scene drug, ecstasy. People were popping pills, drinking anything anyone handed them, and essentially making themselves that much more vulnerable to the insatiable appetites of the vampires that surrounded them.

  When he looked right, his eyes settled on a couple in one of many dark spots along the walls, she with her hand down his pants, and he seconds from orgasm. She was Kindred, he human, and her teeth were latched securely to his nipple. He was dinner, and for him, she was dessert.

  Disgusting.

  There were perhaps five or six hundred people packed into the big, open warehouse, the only break in the main room the various beams that lent support to the weight of the upper levels. Sabian looked skyward, and saw a loft to the rear of the building. It was enclosed but furnished with windows. The blinds were drawn but he could see dim light through the slats. There was a staircase that led down to the main level, but from where he was standing, Sabian couldn’t see where they hit ground. He would have to wade through the crowd, and it needed to be fast. Every minute that spanned allowed more people from the line outside into the rave.

  They would be looking for him.

  Especially his Kindred.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sabian's plan was to follow the example set by the Ancients: engage in conversation with no one but Roman, stay in the darkness as much as possible, and make himself scarce as soon as his objective was accomplished.

  Tonight, he was a ghost.

  Sabian slithered along the right wall of the warehouse, avoiding the man recovering from the vampire woman who left him lying on the floor after the double-whammy of jerking his dick and drinking his blood. He was still alive, and his heartbeat was strong. Sabian judged he would live through the night, provided no more vamps found the scent of his blood too tasty to pass up.

  He finally came to the rear of the building and was stopped by a vampire guarding the stairs. Sabian recognized her immediately. This was no youngster fresh from the factory. This vampire was older than Sabian. This vampire had been direct about her intentions since Sabian survived the night his sire embraced, and then betrayed him. This one wanted to
fuck him well before the whisperings of BloodStar.

  "Simone," he nodded.

  "BloodStar," she responded, just as dispassionately. She made no move to let him in.

  "I am not BloodStar." He worked for a moment to hold back the usual distaste. "May I? I need a moment with my sire."

  "Upstairs is VIP access only." She looked away from the crowd and back into his eyes, giving him a patronizing little smile. "You know, special people. And since you aren’t BloodStar, well…"

  Sabian looked up to the shrouded windows of the VIP room, and back to Simone. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, and Simone was too old to wield a simple nudge.

  "Please, Simone. Really, I have to speak with Roman. I can feel him up there waiting for me."

  "There are ways to convince me." She stepped so close to him that her breasts pushed against his chest and the warmth of her mouth was against his ear. "Just give it to me, Sabian, just once."

  She pronounced his name "sah-vee-ahh" and was practically purring now as her hand moved to the crotch of his jeans and cupped what lay dormant there. "It’s what I’ve always wanted, and I think I’ve been more than patient, don't you?"

  His dick began to rise like Kindred at sunset, and he closed his eyes, willing his body to obey, but she felt the reaction and started a slow, discreet movement of her hand synchronized with the beat of the music. He felt the ache begin, felt his fangs lengthened with desire. Simone was gorgeous, already old when he was made, and armed with intelligence and lightening repartee. He’d always wanted her, held the thought of slipping inside her folds in the back of his mind for centuries, but never indulged.

  Sabian belonged to someone, and it wasn’t Simone. He’d fucked and sucked for the sheer pleasure of it with the best of them, but he’d long left those days behind, and Simone simply missed her window of opportunity. His body had belonged to Marley for hundreds of years, even if it occasionally popped up for a peek at the menu.

  "Goddamn it, Simone, step aside." He pushed her hand away from his ballooning jeans and postured to shove past her. The faint glow had returned beneath his skin, and Simone first gaped, and then allowed a slow, sultry smile to broaden her swollen, ruby lips.