Alex took a second, before touching Dante’s arm. “Are you telling me you were…raped?”
Dante met her eyes briefly before looking down. “I suppose I was. She pulled my pants down around my thighs, hiked her skirt and straddled me, pinning me down in my weakened state. Thankfully, I do not believe I was all that memorable for her. She tasted vile. I wasn’t erect for more than a minute, though it was just enough for her to be sated.”
“It’s still a violation!” Alex was disgusted but could see Dante didn’t want to talk about that aspect. She steered toward a more obvious question. “What did she taste like?”
“Ashes and salt,” he said, without thinking.
“Can I ask what I taste like?” Alex asked.
Dante turned to her and looked her up and down, thinking. “Have you ever tasted a physalis? They’re sometimes called an Aztec berry or cape gooseberry.”
Alex shook her head and Dante continued. “When bought in a store, they’re typically larger, and very tart, because they’ve been bred for size and are harvested early for shipping. However, if you grow your own and pick them when they’re ripe, they’re smaller, but the sweetness that bursts from them, touched with just a hint of tanginess… That’s what you taste like.”
Caught off-guard by Dante’s answer, and now interested in trying to find a physalis plant at the local garden centre, Alex hardly noticed when the lift came to a stop and the doors opened not onto a corridor, but a huge laboratory.
Dante touched her arm and got her attention. They stepped out of the lift and into the enormous space. To her right she spotted an entire desk space dedicated to a clear vat of a bubbling, bright blue liquid. There were tubes connected to the vat’s sides dripping the liquid into small vials lined up along the desk. I’ve seen this before. Where? Then it came back to her. She had seen the exact same vials in a pantry of the Kent Estate not two weeks ago. Two men had been counting them, discussing whether they had enough. It must’ve been something important. Alex realised that Dante hadn’t seen it. Instead he was focused on a figure at the end of the room.
An elderly man in a sweater vest and brown slacks sat at a computer in the far corner. She could tell by the whiteness of his hair and huge bald spot that the man had to be in his late sixties.
“Welcome, Dante my friend,” he greeted, still watching the screen. His voice was rather wheezy, and he had a harsh accent that was difficult to place. A cross between German and Russian maybe?
“Hello, Herschel. What can you tell me?”
“Very strange. Very disturbing. Werewolves in Sydney—who would’ve thought?”
“So you’re sure it’s wolves?”
“Oh, yes. Quite sure. I had to double check, as my DNA files did not include a Lycanthrope sample, but once that was done there was no doubt.”
“How did you get a sample if they are banned from Sydney?” Dante asked.
“Samples are easy to come by. When I say sample I mean several drops. Anything more would alert “our” customs and therefore Vincent.”
“Sorry,” Alex interrupted, “What did you mean by your customs?”
“We have agents quite high in border protection, one that happens to be an old friend. I contact her when I am expecting something that might attract the attention of humans, and it simply bypasses them. Where did you get it your sample from?”
“I found it on the sheet of a hospital bed. This is my donor, Alex. It was her ex-boyfriend’s bed. A vampire had injured him, making him a paraplegic. There was a power outage at the hospital. When the lights came on, he was gone. Clearly taken from his room, since he couldn’t have left on his own.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Why is that?” Alex asked.
“Because the sample you supplied me was not pure werewolf blood. It was mixed with human blood and human saliva.”
“I don’t get it. What does that mean?” Alex asked.
Herschel finally turned around and faced his guests. “It means that the ones who took your ex-boyfriend gave him weakened werewolf blood and most probably made him drink it. Enough to heal him.”
“Heal him? Like the way vampire blood can heal? Does that mean Matt can walk again?”
Herschel nodded. “Probably. Werewolves heal themselves better and faster even than vampires, in fact, or any other species on the planet. What you need to ask yourself is why. These people were not amateurs. They knew exactly the amount to give him so his system would not be overrun. Perhaps they planned the blackout to coincide with their kidnap mission. That’s an awful lot of trouble to go through for some random human.”
“He does have a point,” Dante agreed, looking at Alex.
Alex shrugged. “I don’t have any answers, that’s for sure. Although… Matt did get some phone calls for a while. I don’t know who it was, but I guess they told him about the existence of vampires and how to kill one.”
“Yes, I remember you telling me about the calls.”
“I was convinced it was Julian who had phoned him. I mean, he hates Dante. But seeing as how Matt wasn’t told the truth on how to properly kill a vampire, then maybe it wasn’t Julian after all?”
“I don’t know. That certainly sounds like Julian’s style,” Hershel nodded. “And she’s right, he does hate you.”
“The feeling is more than mutual,” Dante replied.
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t be of any more help to you. If you want to find your friend Matt, you’ll have to find these werewolves. And to do that, you’ll have to determine why and how some wolves have snuck in to Sydney. And do it fast before the pieces start piling up.”
“Pieces?” Alex asked.
“You think vampires like Julian are the worst you have ever seen? Think again. Werewolves do not hunt for blood, they hunt for meat. Vincent made a lot of enemies worldwide for his stance on them but in my opinion, it’s one of the few things he has done right. Unless they are driven out of here, when the full moon rises, believe me they will come. They cannot be reasoned with, and they will not stop. They do not feel fear or remorse. Fast and brutal. Swift and cunning. Soulless, viscous, primal predators. Yes, we can be cruel in taking blood, but they eat humans alive. I have looked into the eyes of only one before I killed it, back in Germany during the second World War, and could swear I looked into the eyes of evil itself.”
Alex thought about Herschel’s history lesson and wondered what werewolves could want with Matt. Why heal him if they were going to eat him? Why were they here? What was going on?
“What will you do?” Herschel asked Dante.
“The only logical thing to do: speak to the last person I want to see. I have to tell Vincent that Sydney has need of exterminators.”
“Good luck,” Herschel chuffed.
Dante shook his head once and made a face. “I guess it’s the necessary thing to do.” He bid Herschel farewell and walked back towards the elevators.
Alex wasn’t quite done, though. “Excuse me, Mr. Rasmussen, can you tell me what this is?” Alex asked, pointing to the vat of blue liquid, curiosity getting the better of her.
Herschel lowered his face, and looked at her over the tops of his glasses. “It’s just an experiment I’m working on,” he said with a smile that chilled her to the bone.
Dante still hadn’t bothered to notice, as he was facing the lift doors. He was probably too busy dreading the trip they were about to make. “Well…good luck with it.”
The lift dinged its arrival and Alex stepped inside, relieved to be exiting the lab.
Chapter 4
Who’s Playing Who?
As the elevator doors closed on Alex and Dante, the doors to the lift next to them opened. A boy of no more than nine stepped out, walking hesitantly forward.
“Ah, Zachary, right on time! Come in, come in.” Herschel beckoned eagerly.
Zachary did not move.
Herschel turned to him. “You do want me to help your father get better don’t you?”
&nbs
p; Zachary gave a barely noticeable nod. In response, Herschel patted the medical chair. Zachary reluctantly walked towards the chair and climbed on top, while Herschel busied himself by preparing a syringe of the blue liquid. He flicked it to remove the air bubbles. “You remember what to do don’t you? Hold out your arm.”
“Please, I don’t want to.” The boy was on the verge of tears. Herschel might once have felt pity for him.
*
Zachary and his father Dean were some of the few humans living in the apartment blocks, moving here after Zachary’s mother Jasmine had been claimed by lung cancer. A short time later, Dean had been diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer and given a prognosis of just a few more months. In desperation, he had begun to seek out alternative medical treatments, and this is when Dean came to Herschel’s attentions. Herschel needed more test subjects for his experimental tincture, and here was an opportunity that could not be passed over. He administered a dose of Dream State and instructed Dean to relax and imagine himself getting better. The drug put Zachary’s father in a deep peaceful sleep, and when he woke, he claimed to indeed feel better. However, after a few days, he was struck by a violent coughing attack, filling tissue after tissue with blood-flecked phlegm.
“Find Herschel,” Dean had instructed Zachary between coughs.
A frightened Zachary dashed upstairs to Herschel’s apartment, begging for help. Herschel administered another, larger dose of Dream State. When Dean woke, he said he felt better than ever and declared himself in remission.
Herschel shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll need much more than a dose here and there, Dean. You’re going to require regular injections for at least some time.”
“No problem, doc. This stuff is worth any price you ask.”
“Nonsense,” Herschel chuckled. “I’m happy to continue helping in any way I can. Why not send Zachary up for your shot whenever you’re ready and I’ll come administer it for you.”
“Really? I don’t want to put you out.” The gratitude on the man’s face was a clear sign to Herschel. This would work out nicely.
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Really, it’s only a few floors down, and just minutes out of my day. I’m more than pleased to do it.”
“Well, all right then!” Dean thrust his hand out and shook Herschel’s vigorously. “I really appreciate it, doc. I wish you’d let me pay you.”
“My father always said helping one’s fellow man was a reward in itself.”
Dean’s smile faltered and Herschel hoped he hadn’t gone too far. But then Dean shook his hand once again and Herschel knew it was fine.
“Thank you again. I’ll send Zach up…?”
“Er, this evening would be fine. And then, let’s say every third day after that,” Herschel finished.
Dean gave an affirmative nod and Herschel departed.
That evening, Herschel had prepared an extremely large dose for Zachary’s father. After several days, it was true that Dean was not getting worse, but nor was he getting better. In fact, he never even woke up.
In truth, the drug was not a cure for anything. Herschel had designed Dream State to allow vampires to dream. With brain activity unlike living humans, REM sleep was something the undead were unable to achieve. Herschel approached Vincent with his idea but needed one vital ingredient that could stimulate a non-living vampire brain: werewolf blood.
In humans, Dream State had an unforseen effect—the ability to control their dreams. All one had to do was think about what they wanted and when sleep claimed them, that is what they would see. Dream State created opportunity to live out any fantasy. Dean was imagining his life to be as good as it could possibly be, cancer free and no problems.
Zachary had initially been in a panic, but Herschel reassured him that his father was simply “sleeping off the cancer” and that he himself would take care of Zachary’s needs while his father slept. Samantha ensured that Zachary received cooked meals and got to school on time, and in the evenings, Hershel invited Zachary up to the lab.
“How would you like to help me in an experiment?” Herschel decided it was time to begin. The boy had been coming to the lab for several weeks now and the fresh smell of his young blood was irresistible. He couldn’t wait any longer.
Zachary nodded. “Will it help my dad?”
“It most certainly will. Hop right up into this chair.” He patted the seat of a retrofitted dentist’s chair and Zachary eagerly did as he was told. Herschel smiled. This was going to be easier than he’d first imagined.
*
“Now, Zachary, don’t be selfish. I thought you wanted your father to get better. Were you lying?”
“No I wasn’t,” Zachary replied, shaking his head as tears began to trickle out of his eyes and choked-back sobs started to rack his body.
“You know what happens when he doesn’t get his medicine. You remember don’t you?”
“Y—yes.”
“And there is a price for everything. Nothing in this world is free. This is how you can help your father. You don’t want your father to die, do you?”
Zachary shook his head. Taking heaving breaths as he still struggled to stop his tears, he offered his arm, turning his head away.
Herschel’s lip curled, his fangs extended and his eyes turned black. He bit down into the boy’s tender wrist, growling and clamping his fangs down hard. He feed deeply, salivating over the boy’s delicious virginal blood.
Zachary screamed. The louder he was, the harder Herschel drank.
Chapter 5
Mother Knows Best
Five days previously
Alicia stared at the computer screen. Nothing. No news from the emissaries she had sent to Sydney. No news from the vampire king. She had sent multiple emails, each more and more tense than the previous, and still not one reply.
Her stomach tightened and acid burned the back of her throat. She chewed another antacid tablet, wishing the stress and the fear would go away.
Wilson had spent the last weeks attempting to teach Nicholas the ways of the Alpha: how to hunt and feed, and provide for his pack, as the Alpha was the only wolf that still had some semblance of self while transformed. Nicholas nodded throughout it all, trying to be respectful.
Alicia knew it was pointless. Even before other young wolves had turned, there was no comparing Nicholas’s abilities with theirs. Nicholas could not run like the others, he could not climb trees, he was not unusually strong, as they were. Alicia knew Nicholas had no real interest in what his father was trying so desperately to impress upon him.
One evening, Nicholas had confided in her that he felt he was wasting his father’s time, and even insulting him by continuing to try. Alicia tried to intervene, calmly asking Wilson to abandon his crusade, but he refused to listen. She knew she had to get Nicholas to safety. And that meant going back home.
Alicia couldn’t help but think that something had gone terribly wrong with her envoy to Sydney. Only they knew of what she had planned, and so the thought of sabotage did not immediately come to her—but when it finally did, she did not dismiss it. Was this why she had not heard from the humans she sent along? She had instructed their leader, Calibos, not to alert her, in case their correspondence was seen. She knew if she did receive contact from Calibos, it would be fake, and that he was most likely dead. Any actual information would be gathered from the four werewolves’ communication—or lack thereof. It was in her plan that the human contingent remain unseen and unheard, guaranteeing their safety, for a time at least.
Her mind was made up. She needed to get Nicholas out of London at least. Wilson’s enemies viewed Nicholas as the reason why no decision had been made. She did not know whom to trust anymore, and with every day that passed, more of her husband’s “loyal” men appeared to have their own agendas. If Nicholas was out of the way, Wilson would be forced to name a successor.
There was only one remaining alternative. Family. Alicia penned a letter, not trusting electronic communication. She
gave nothing more than an overview of the situation, detailing only the fact that she needed safety for her son. She read it back, wishing she could add more understanding to the direness of the situation, but sealed it.
Who could she give it to? Who could she trust to deliver it to the post office? The more she thought, the more only one name came out to her: Creed.
She had to get the letter to Creed.
Outside the slightly open door of Wilson’s study, Alicia heard Nicholas asking Wilson to review the status of the newest foxes—girls who were betrothed to the sons of potential leaders of the pack. She paused to listen before going inside.
The girls in question, Alice and Selena, were childhood friends of Nicholas. On more than one occasion, they had let it be known to Nicholas that they were not comfortable with the idea of their new life. He’d promised to talk to his father on their behalf.
Wilson had had a few too many glasses of wine. Had Nicholas asked her, Alicia would have told him to wait, but it was too late for that. Her husband responded bitterly that if Nicholas was the Alpha he could deal with it himself.
“Dad, enough! I am tired of this. I’m sorry you think I am unworthy of your name and that I’ve somehow shamed you. But I’m not going to apologise for being who I am. It’s not my fault. Look, Alice and Selena are friends. I just ask if you would reverse the pairings of the foxes. They don’t want—
“What? To live a life of luxury? To give their families a life free of debt?”
“They want the freedom to live their lives the way they choose them,” Nicholas countered.
“Oh dear. Poor foxes!” Wilson mockingly lamented. “People around the world are starving, poverty-stricken, living off scraps and living paycheque to paycheque, flogging their guts out. All they have to do is what all women are built for. What they are good for.”
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