“I swear on my last shift that if you complete this assignment, you will be back on call as the Assassin you were before.” His offer flew into the smoky room and stagnated. “This mission will make you legendary.”
Slade turned back, his face set in stone. “Funny. I’ve heard that somewhere, or rather sometime, before.”
“I’m offering you a second chance. You should know how rare those are in our race. What happened to the man I used to know, Slade? The soldier with the insatiable desire for greatness? Come on, what’ve you got to live for anyway?”
His shoulders slumped slightly; a mundane eye wouldn’t have caught it. “What’re the terms?”
Home-fucking-run.
The shadowed man downed the drink in his hand, as if preparing himself for difficult words. “You’re going to shift into a vampire.”
Bursts of laughter shot through the space between them. Slade bent over in a fit of forced hysteria. But he didn’t hightail it out of the club. That was a success all its own. “Both of you are certifiably insane, you know that? Find someone else to commit suicide for the sake of the race. You think I’d willingly weaken myself like that? Change into an incompatible form? For you? You’re out of your minds.”
Moses knew Slade would give him hell over this one. Vampires had incompatible genes, different from any other living organism, which made shifting into them nearly impossible. Those who could fight through the delirium barely made it a few minutes in leech skin. It was a pain in the ass. Slow-motion shifting, wicked bouts of nausea, and sub-par strength made them easy prey for a leech who got wind of such a deception. Not to mention shifting into those parasites never lasted long. Therians who tried it in the past had shifted back to their original form without so much as a gut-clench warning.
“It can only be you,” the dark man said. “You are the only one qualified for this kind of warfare. We need someone who knows how to blend in, disappear, and then have enough patience to hold their post until further instruction. Your background as an Assassin, and then as an invisible rogue, makes you perfect for this. And you know it.”
Slade stepped up to the table, glaring at the dark man, and then stole his last drink, tipped it back. “Who’s the mark?”
“We don’t know yet,” Moses interjected. “That’s why we need you to set yourself up as someone high-ranking; you’ll have unlimited access when it’s time to strike.”
“How am I supposed to infiltrate their khiss and steal that kind of identity? Assuming I take the job.”
“I lead you in,” the dark man grumbled, leaning out of the shadows. A black turtleneck crept up his neck, over his chin and thick-brimmed sunglasses hid his eyes. His hood curved far over his forehead, allowing only his tightly-closed lips to be exposed. “From this moment on, you take orders from me.”
“And you have access to their haven because . . .”
Slade’s speech faded to a whisper when the man in black smiled, wicked and bright. Pearly white fangs, large enough to suit a juvenile saber-toothed tiger, gleamed in the club’s dim lights. “Let’s just say that my loyalties are my own.”
“Jesus . . . Moses, you’ve sold our souls to the devil.”
“Not mine, Assassin. Yours. Only yours.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Keep our haven as clean as your fangs.”
—San Francisco Haven Rule #1
Dylan pulled the Post-it off her computer screen and mindlessly curled its corners. It was written in Ruan’s hand. He must’ve answered her cell when she slipped out to check on the outreach programs in the west wing.
It read: Primus wants you to talk blood stats at tonight’s Newborn Induction.
Sure didn’t give Dylan much time to get her things together. She knew the members of the Court were anxious to hear about her progress on the blood research, but she didn’t understand why they couldn’t simply wait until the scheduled Court session next week. Winter Solstice landed on the same night and was going to be quite the celebration.
What was the rush to hear blood statistics? Now, thanks to their stifling eagerness, she had to talk tonight too.
“Damn it,” she breathed, picking at her nails, looking anywhere but the Post-it. “Why now?” She had a gazillion things on her plate, topped with tracking down Eve Monroe.
Her palms started to sweat just thinking about standing in front of a khiss of vampires and talking shop. Speeches were definitely not her strong suit. All eyes on her . . . whispers spreading across the crowd . . . her heart thumping in her ears. Picturing them naked never helped. It only made her dwell on the fact that although her friends managed to attract hundreds of Mr Right Now’s with ease, she’d dated and slept with one man in her whole life. That’s it.
And he proved to be neither Mr. Right Now nor Mr. Right. There had to be something wrong with her, she’d decided long ago.
She pushed the downward-spiraling thoughts from her mind before she wallowed in a pool of self-pity and started focusing on things she could control: the blood tests and hopefully the results. There were still so many things to do, so many rocks to overturn . . .
ReVamp’s Blood Bank had been open for over fifty years, but not until recently did they start noticing physical deficiencies among their patrons. Dylan had spent every minute of the last few years isolating blood types, examining vampires before and after they fed, noting their increasing thirst and decreasing physical strength.
Something was definitely changing. And it wasn’t for the better.
If ReVamp’s blood was tainted, making the race thirstier than before, Dylan could only imagine the ramifications. Bloodlusting vampires would inevitably hit the streets, feed from humans for strength, and then be tortured, imprisoned, or killed by therian soldiers for breaking society’s laws.
She couldn’t let that happen. Not while she was running the facility.
If vampires were forced to roam the streets, feeding on their whims, the Rehabilitation Facility and Management Program for Vampires, known as ReVamp to the species, would have to close its doors. Feeders Anonymous meetings, halfway houses, outreach programs, and fang therapy would all come to a halt if therians suspected it was no longer effective.
She tried to bury herself in her work. There were simply too many things to do before the night was through. Though like a weed, Eve Monroe kept sprouting in her mind. No matter how many banks of target plasmids she tested, David’s pleas for his lover stole her attention.
She mindlessly spun a capsule containing the most recent blood withdrawal in her hands. This one, small, unremarkable vial could contain the key to the race’s problem, the answer she’d been searching for. This specific donor, Sample X, had been coming to ReVamp for over twenty-five years, making him the organization’s longest-running donor. He was the perfect candidate for group testing, as his records went back far enough to make him a stable subject from which to measure against the revolving door of other feeders.
If there was in fact something wrong with the blood, studying him could give them their answer. He was a constant in their variable world of donors and feeders.
Dylan shoved a miniature Blood-Blaster Bar into her mouth and chomped away as she closed one window on her computer screen and opened another. She couldn’t shove aside thoughts of Eve Monroe any longer.
If things went smoothly, she had plenty of time to pay a visit to Eve Monroe, deliver David’s final message, and get some answers before gathering the data for her speech.
She started searching ReVamp’s database, widened the search to San Francisco, and then all of Crimson Bay.
Even with Court access to all of Crimson Bay’s vampiric records, Eve was difficult to track. She wasn’t registered to any local khisses and hadn’t been treated or serviced at any local facilities. No family lines were registered and she didn’t have proper papers in order with the Court. She was a ghost.
When Dylan was about to give up with electronic files and head to the khiss’s extensive library for some
finger-to-paper research, Ruan glanced up from his laptop. “I think I’ve finally got a pin on her. Looks like she lives over in Brookside.”
Jackpot. “Are there any khisses in that area we could contact, maybe ask about an ID and verify her location?”
“Let me check.” He pounded away at the keys. When he looked up again, she saw tenderness in his eyes she didn’t want to see. Was that sympathy? Pity? “Looks like it’s a mundane neighborhood. No vampire activity. No khisses for a twenty-block radius. Sounds kind of fishy that she’d live in that kind of subdivision. Want me to take you over there tomorrow night to check things out?”
A quiet voice in the back of Dylan’s mind warned that she should keep her distance. She’d known about Ruan’s feelings since the Court designated him as her protector a little over two years ago. Although she’d tried to get him reassigned, their stand-in Primus had denied the request, stating Ruan was best suited for the job. Normally she couldn’t argue with the fact—he was at the top of his game. Maybe after the incident today she could put in papers. He wasn’t there when she’d needed him. That fact alone could get him reassigned. It’d probably be easier on both of them that way.
“You know, I think I’ll just head over there by myself.” She paused, gauging his understanding. “Right now. I’ve got an hour or two before Induction.”
He perked up. “I don’t think so. I can’t let you go out without protection. It could be dangerous.”
“I’m only going to talk to her. Besides, every other vampire on the planet is probably still sleeping or getting ready for the ceremony. No one will even know you let me out.”
“I don’t like this.” Ruan crossed his arms. “I need to keep you safe. It’s my job. How am I supposed to do that when you keep running off on me?”
“I will be safe. Scout’s honor.” She plastered a flimsy-fingered salute to her forehead. “You know, regardless of what the Court believes, once upon a time I used to be able to take care of myself.”
He approached her, still guarded. “What do you expect me to say if someone asks how you got away from me?”
“Tell them something believable.” She scribbled down Eve’s address. “Tell them I outwitted you.”
“Uh-huh.” He pursed his lips and checked his wrist watch. “You have one hour on your own before I’m coming after you, and if you give me another Scout’s salute I may have to chuck a box of ‘Blood-Blasted Thin Mints’ at you.”
Dylan wrapped her scarf around her neck, slid her arms into her pea coat, and slung her Coach over her shoulder. “We’ve really got to work on your people skills.”
“Yeah, well I guess I’ll have to sign up for one of your Vampire Etiquette classes.”
He couldn’t have known the somersault that his words flipped in her brain. In all her haste to find Eve Monroe and gather information for her speech later tonight, she somehow let her mind forget about her other Court-designated responsibility.
Damn it. She was on call to prep a newborn for Induction.
She threw her head back in exasperation. Why tonight?
Any other night she didn’t mind preparing them In fact, she kind of enjoyed making them feel welcome in their new home and their new skin. Bonding with each and every one of them was something she cherished. Because she was the first to soothe them, they always remembered her. She was like their big sister, in a way. She’d never had a sister, so she tried really hard to be the one she would’ve wanted. If they were having a problem, they’d call on her for support. And of course, she guided them all to ReVamp.
She figured that’s why Erock assigned her the position to begin with. It was the one productive thing she could do for her khiss. Some vampires were assigned royal detail, some became part of their elite police squad, others organized festivities and were in charge of decorating their haven . . . but Dylan was able to put her willingness to help others to good use.
But tonight was not going to be a good night; she could taste the sulfur in the back of her throat.
Sighing, Dylan stopped dead in her tracks. “Ruan, I completely forgot. I’m supposed to meet one by eight o’clock.”
He checked his watch. “It’s ten past.”
“Shit.”
“Funny, I don’t think that kind of language is taught in the etiquette handbook.” He smirked. “Come on, I’m heading back to our haven anyway. I’ll give you a lift.” He shuffled around the lab looking for his keys.
“Don’t bother,” Dylan said, jingling her own silver. “I’ll drive.”
She saved Eve Monroe’s information on her thumb drive and jammed it into her purse, then scooped a pile of papers on blood research into an empty manila folder. She pocketed a Blood-Blaster from her side drawer, hoping the sugar would keep her engine running hot and the blood would keep her nourishment up. Since when did she have time to arrange a feeding? God, she hadn’t been home to use her refrigerator in who knows how long?
She could do this, she prepped herself. She’d simply have to adjust the newbie to their khiss’s way of life and cram for her speech at the same time. Multitasking was nothing new. In fact, if there were designations in tasking, she’d be Queen.
After she delivered her speech and showed face with some bigwigs, she’d jet it over to Brookside to have a heart-to-heart with Eve Monroe. Her dance card was definitely going for broke tonight.
Dylan led Ruan down a narrow corridor leading to the underground parking garage reserved for ReVamp employees. With every step echoing off the tile, her nervousness increased. How long would her speech have to be? How long would it take until she could head over to Eve Monroe’s house? And how long until she could jet back to the lab and focus on what was really important—the blood.
Her burgundy Jetta was parked against the far wall where she had left it three nights ago. Blankets and pillows filled the backseat, just in case she needed to stay over at the clinic for more research. One could never be too prepared.
She hopped in, Ruan following suit, and tore open the Blood-Blaster Bar before starting the engine.
“Hungry, are we?” Ruan asked. “I thought you stopped eating those things?”
Cheeks full, she shook her head. Then she washed out her dinner with a warm bottle of water found in the console.
Ruan laughed and stared out the window at the streams of moonlight settling on the cold cement floor. “You know, if I could stomach those things, I’d probably be stuffing them like gravy too.”
She tossed him a sideways glance and started the car. Maybe the pseudo-candy would soothe her nerves. Maybe with a quick jumpstart she’d be back to her normal self. Too bad she couldn’t keep her nerves in check without resorting to quick-fix Band-Aids. Those Blood-Blasters may provide nourishment, but they were fatty as hell and shot straight to her hips.
She was a professional, for crying out loud. Professionals didn’t get nervous when things got tough. They didn’t wig out and resort to sugary vices when they had a job to do; they sucked it up and performed on cue. That’s what she needed to do. She refused to have another episode like the one in the front office earlier.
Downright refused.
The thing that bothered her most, though, wasn’t the nerves hyping her system. It was the fact that talking to Eve Monroe might’ve trumped her upcoming speech in the anxiety department. How foolish to be so nervous about talking with one of her own kind.
Slade regretted his choice to shift into a vampire the second he slid into Asshole’s sleek, black Porsche. It was a terribly bad idea to go anywhere with this blood sucker, let alone head into the trenches with a shitload of pissed-off and hungry leeches.
One of Crimson Bay’s hottest bands, The Reds, pumped from the speakers: . . . turn me round, flip me over, inside out, fucking mess . . .
Seeing his new boss out and about in daylight might’ve surprised Slade under different circumstances. Lucky for him, nothing surprised him anymore. He’d seen enough magic, tricks, sorcery, and deals with the Devil to make the
fucking tooth fairy believable. And he could give a shit about what kind of high this leech was on that allowed him to fight the sun. Not his business.
He didn’t look like he was on a high, though.
Sure, the black hood cinched tight over his head made him look like a giant cotton penis. And the leather racing gloves were sub-par for the most pathetic NASCAR dropout. Not to mention the wrap-around facial mask covering his nose and mouth was straight-up bank-robber brand. Slade would have to be blind to wear the ensemble. Hell, even then it’d be inexcusable.
Fact of the matter was . . . the blood-sucker wasn’t shaking from the drugs pumping through him. His breathing was even. And his steady red eyes, the only thing visible beneath the layers of pitch-black clothes, didn’t look at all concerned by staring straight into the setting sun.
Not his business, Slade reminded himself.
“Mind telling me how this is going to work?” No ice breakers. No cordial tone. Straight to the core; how Slade liked to shoot it. “How am I going to be welcomed into your khiss when they’ve never heard of me? Am I your long-lost cousin or some shit?”
Music continued to blast: . . . pierce my soul, gaze inside, what do you see . . . hold your hate high, it’s the way it’s got to be . . .
The dark man shifted into first gear and peeled around a corner, ignoring a blinking red stoplight. The Porsche responded with a jolt as he skipped second gear and shoved the stick right into third.
“No faith, therian, no faith.” Even outside of Mirage, his new boss managed to blend into the shadows of the sports car like a ghost. A very vague, unremarkable ghost. “Moses told me you were one of the brightest of the species. How ‘bout you credit me some of that about now?”
“Compliments already? You lubing me up for something in particular, or is that just how you roll?”
That one got him a red-hot death glare. “You better tie your tongue, Assassin, if you want to keep it when we get in there. They’ll sense your animosity and anger. If it’s directed at me, our act won’t be believable.” He turned another corner, heading into the industrial district. “You do want to succeed at this mission, right? There’s not a death wish hidden in you, is there?”
Intervamption Page 3