The Bloodline Series Box Set

by Gabriella Messina

  The door leading to the next car opened and the conductor stepped into the car, bringing with him a gust of hot wind from the tunnel. It blew by Sam, breezing on toward the man in dark clothes. He suddenly stiffened, his frame going rigid and the gaze of his sunglasses becoming even more intense. He parted his lips as he inhaled through his nose and mouth, and Sam had the strangest of thoughts... but it seemed like he was tasting the air. Sam shifted herself, repositioning in case tall, dark, and (probably) handsome decided to do something brazenly stupid right here in the subway.

  It looked like he wouldn’t have time, though, because Brooklyn Bridge/ City Hall station loomed ahead.

  Sam watched peripherally as she moved toward the door, noting that the man was moving to the door nearest him as well. Apparently, he was planning to get out there, too. The train slowed to a stop, brakes grinding and electricity snapping beneath their feet.

  The doors clattered open and everyone began to exit the cars. This station was the last one on the “6,” so it was an everybody-out sort of stop.

  Sam hurried out of the subway car and wove her way towards the stairs, taking them two at a time until she was halfway up. She turned, scanning the faces of the people approaching her, searching for a sign of... Ah, there he was. Franco was strutting... poor schmuck thought he’d lost her back on Canal.

  Sam turned her head slightly, trying to blend with the people coming up the stairs, all the while keeping her eyes on Franco, waiting until he was two steps above her...

  “You thought you lost me, didn’t you?

  Franco started at the sound of her voice and whirled around, his elbow catching Sam’s shoulder and pushing her backwards. He turned and ran immediately, and all Sam could think of was how hard that cement floor was going to be when she hit it.

  But she didn’t. Instead, Sam could feel two hands gripping her shoulders from behind, stopping her momentum backwards and pushing her gently upright.

  Franco reached the top of the stairs and disappeared into the group of exiting former passengers, pushing and shoving his way through. Sam didn’t stop to look back or thank her strong-handed savior, instead dashing up the stairs two at a time and racing for the exit. She pushed through the crowd of straggling people mounting the stairs to the street.

  Sam looked around feverishly, her eyes scanning the area surrounding City Hall, looking for a sign of Franco’s retreating figure in the dim light. And there he was... headed East toward the bridge. Sam fumbled in her pocket, pulling out her phone. She hit the programmed speed dial number for Lenny. Shoot, he was going to be pissed at her...

  The Man in Black watched Sam as she ran down Park Row, her phone to her ear. He opened his mouth slightly, then inhaled, tasting the air again. He frowned behind his dark glasses, his forehead creasing as he scowled in the direction in which Sam had run, then looked up at the silhouette of the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance.

  Sam’s feet pounded the pavement as she ran down Park Row. She could see the signs as she passed them, the ones indicating that the approach to the Brooklyn Bridge was, well, approaching. Franco was visible up ahead, not close enough to grab, unfortunately, but certainly reachable if she could put on another burst of speed within the next block or so. She’d always been a fast runner, quick on her feet and all, which was why everyone had been after her to play basketball back in grade school when she was still considered tall enough for it.

  Even at the Police Academy, Sam had been speedy, and many of her fellow cadets had watched in awe as she sprinted through the obstacle course, scooting up walls and successfully leaping through rope and rail equipment.

  She just let them think she was gifted rather than clarify that she and her best friend, Ben, had been free running their way through fire escapes and playground equipment around the city since they were teens.

  The Bridge loomed ahead, and Franco was showing no signs of stopping. Sam pushed on... Lenny had been irate, as she thought he would be, but he was on his way with backup. Even if she cornered Franco, she wouldn’t be alone with him for long. Her path shifted slightly as she ran through the pale stone arch spanning the entrance to the Bridge. Franco had veered to the right, heading up and onto the top level, and Sam did likewise, lunging her way up the incline with an extra burst of speed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement behind her, someone running as well. She dismissed it as possible backup arriving... maybe a patrol had been in the area after all... She pushed forward up the ramp, her legs twitching, her lungs burning.

  Reaching the top, Sam pressed on. Franco was slowing and seemed to be searching the railing area... for an exit, perhaps. Oh, no you don’t, Sam thought as she dug deep for a last burst of speed, aiming to reach him and grab him before he attempted to hop the railing on to the bike path.

  He was just getting his footing when she reached him, barreling into his back and sending Franco crashing into the metal fence with a grunt. Sam momentarily lost her balance, but it was moment enough for Franco to get his bearings quickly and whirl on her, grabbing her wrists and pushing her up against the fence.

  “You know,” Franco panted, bringing his body up tightly behind her, his breath at her ear. “You know, baby girl, I had a feeling we’d end up in this position eventually.” He ran his sharply-stumbled cheek along hers. “Smooth as silk... I bet you are all over, too.”

  That’s enough of that... Sam jerked her head back, catching Franco in the nose. As he stumbled back grabbing his nose in pain, he released his grip on her and Sam scrambled away from the fencing toward the railing. She gripped the railing, catching her breath as she caught a good view of the ground four stories below. It was a long way down, and the thought had no sooner passed through her head when she heard the yell of rage and the sounds of scrambling behind her. Sam turned just in time to see Franco coming at her. Blood was smeared across his face, making him look more like Darth Maul than a two-bit druggie.

  He slammed into Sam, pinning her against the railing. She could feel herself beginning to lose her balance as he bent her backwards, her back screaming as the metal railing dug into her. Franco leaned over her, his weight pressing her down against the railing even harder, and Sam let out a yelp of pain as the last bit of her breath was pushed out of her lungs.

  “You shouldn’t have done that... Bitch.”

  Sam felt his hand on her thigh and prepared herself to fend off the assault that was coming. Then she felt her feet come off the ground. The lights of the Bridge arced before her eyes as she began to fall. She felt her breath catch, the sinking pressure in her stomach just like the feeling she got riding the Cyclone at Coney Island. Everything around her was a blur of darkness and light, everything... except the Moon. Silent and still, she hung upon the cheek of night... a beauty too rich for use...

  The ground was near... she could sense it even without turning her head. She knew it would be the ground that she hit, because the East River, though decidedly gross, would be survivable. This probably would not.

  Sam started to close her eyes, the familiar words of the Act of Contrition beginning to run through her mind, when she thought she saw another movement from the Bridge above.

  A dark shadowy... figure...

  The smell of peppermint...

  The shattering pain...

  Blackness.

  2

  TUESDAY, MARCH 17th

  FIFTH AVENUE AND 51st Street

  Sam fiddled with the lid of her Styrofoam coffee cup as she bobbed and weaved on the corner, her gun belt rubbing against the edge of her heavy leather jacket. The gun belt was heavy, too, and she honestly hated wearing it... But it was better than suspension, and if being back to work meant being back to work and on the street in uniform, then so be it... For now.

  Light snow flurries had begun to fall this morning, as was often the case when it was parade day, and the weather report was not encouraging as the start time quickly approached. The fall was, in fact, increasing, and the size of the flakes was getting larger, hea
vier. Looked like the annual snowstorm might fall on Saint Patrick’s Day this year after all.

  Sam took another sip of her coffee, the steam rising from the small opening and briefly obscuring her lips, adjusted her sunglasses as she looked around at the crowds gathering. The Saint Patrick’s Day Parade was major, to be sure, and always required extra personnel to keep an eye out for the rowdy who had started their drinking way to early in the day, which also unfortunately included some parade marchers at times. Sam had worked the parade before, in the past, a light day’s work compared to her usual assignments, but this time was different... This time she hadn’t volunteered.

  When the lieutenant approached her this morning, Sam dared to hope it was good news... That she was finally out of the proverbial “doghouse” after the events of last October and it was time for her to move back out into the streets. And the streets were bad... Since October, there had been a surge in drug-related activities... violence, attacks, back alley overdoses... It was almost pre-Giuliani bad out there and getting worse every week.

  There were also whispers of... other things. Whispers that the violence was animalistic... tales of body parts, internal organs found in dumpsters and in remote areas of north Central Park... talk about the Eastern cougar making a come back... or so they hoped. Sam had caught some of the talk in the locker room one afternoon, listening for quite a while before the speakers realized she was there... and immediately went silent. Since October that had happened a lot... the silences as soon as she entered a room, as soon as her presence was known. Some of it was to be expected. After all, everyone knew about Lenny... they had entered the hospital together, and he had been found, broken and bleeding, alone in the parking ramp while Sam was nowhere to be found. There had been question after question about it, and Sam had done her best to answer them... and to lead the assholes from Internal Affairs as far away from “him” as possible.

  Him. Sam felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up at the very thought of him... She hadn’t seen him in months, and yet she knew he was here, knew he was still in the city. It was odd to say, but she could sense him... sense his presence among the tall buildings and buses and busyness of Manhattan. Oh yes, he was still here...

  Vincent Kremer.

  Sam’s sense of him had become stronger lately, and she wondered if that meant something had changed in her condition, that somehow the Lycanthropic Virus she had become infected with six months ago was altering her body in yet another way. Heightened senses had been a part of the package right from the beginning, at least, as soon as the nausea and overall pain and discomfort had passed. After she had “converted,” as Vincent had so delicately put it at the time. This was different, though. It started two moon phases ago and had gotten stronger and stronger with each passing day. Sometimes it was so intense, Sam swore she could smell him, taste him in the air, feel his presence only steps away. She inhaled deeply through her mouth, allowing the cold air to wash over her tongue and down into her lungs, her brain analyzing the flavor of that breath of air... cigarettes, peppermint, Jameson, pheromones... Sam’s head snapped up, scanning the crowds gathered on either side of Fifth Avenue. There was no mistaking it... Vincent was here.

  Sam tossed her half-empty coffee cup into one of the trash bins the streets department had set up on the corner, then turned in the direction where the scent had come from. She inhaled again, the cold air rushing in along with his scent. He was close. Sam scanned the crowd, struggling to see over the heads of parade viewers, hoping to get a visual on the tall Irishman in his ubiquitous worn leather duster. No such luck. Moments later, a gust of wind swept down Fifth Avenue, taking several leprechaun hats, and the scent, with it.

  Ugh! Sam pushed through the crowd, heading for the steps of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. She needed elevation, at least a little, if she would have any chance of spotting Vincent before he disappeared or catching his scent again. Reaching the top, she turned and quickly began scanning the crowds again, searching for any sign of him...

  “Good morning, officer.”

  Sam turned to the source of the greeting and her eyes met those of a fresh-faced young priest. Lanky, with auburn hair and large green eyes, he smiled back at her with a look of expectation.

  “Good morning, Father.” Sam smiled briefly before returning to her crowd assessment. She wasn’t catching Vincent’s scent again, which meant he was either downwind of her, or completely gone from the area.

  “Everything alright?”

  Sam sighed and turned toward the priest, a wan smile crossing her lips. “So far so good. I think the cold will keep the rowdy types from making too much trouble.”

  The priest sighed with relief. “Ah, good.” He rubbed his bare hands together, obviously attempting to warm the rosy color out of them. “It certainly is a chilly morning, isn’t it?”

  “Very.” Sam went back to scanning the crowd for Vincent... and that’s when she saw him. Unfortunately, this “him” was not Vincent Kremer. He was, however, werewolf, and his military-issue flack jacket looked suspiciously bulky, particularly around the middle. Sam sniffed the air carefully so as not to draw the priest’s attention. Yep, definitely a werewolf... and judging by his shifty behavior, whatever WAS under that jacket was not good. Not. Good. At. All.

  Sam turned her head slightly, just enough to keep the “him” in view, and locate Ronne... Since her demotion down to uniform, Sam had been paired with Officer Francois Ronne. Originally from Quebec, “Frank,” as everyone called him, had been a New York resident since he was twelve, and was one of the youngest ever to attend the Police Academy at seventeen. Sam had heard about him, knew him on sight, but hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to him until that day three months ago when the Lieutenant called them both into his office and, without any preliminaries, partnered them up. So far it had gone well... Ronne’s no-nonsense style suited her just as Lenny’s had, and he’d made the monotony of neighborhood patrols a bit less monotonous with his educated conversation and dry wit.

  She spotted him leaning against one of the marked police vehicles parked just off the parade route, sipping his coffee and glaring over his sunglasses at a couple of teens roughhousing nearby. Sam had to admit the dark-haired Ronne was certainly attractive, but she made it a policy long ago never to play in her own backyard, no matter how good-looking the prospective playmate. Keeping “Camo Wolf” in view, she made her way down the stairs and toward Ronne. Camo Wolf was making his way toward the head of the parade... where the Emerald Society cops were gathering, along with a group of children clad in traditional Irish costume. Sam couldn’t help but smile as she watched the children silently step through the movements of the Irish dance, they would soon be leading the parade with. She tried to calm her breathing, cool her blood, because the wind was picking up and if Camo Wolf caught her scent, smelled her pheromones and the fear causing her adrenaline to start racing, he might decide to rush his timetable and do something really stupid.

  Ronne stood up as she approached, his ice blue gaze over the top of his sunglasses searching her face, a frown creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?”

  Sam glanced carefully, noting Camo’s position, before she answered. “Camo jacket. Over there.” She moved her eyes to the right in the direction of Camo, then back to Ronne.

  Ronne adjusted his sunglasses, the dark lenses hiding his eyes as he shifted nonchalantly, leaning back against the car and looking over toward the gathering of uniforms and Irish kids... and Camo.

  “You think it’s a pipe?” Ronne kept his voice low and his words purposely vague, but Sam knew what he was referring to, and the thought made her stomach twist in knots. A pipe bomb, Middle East-style, most likely loaded with body-maiming shrapnel and God knows what else. Ronne looked back to her, his gaze still obscured by his sunglasses, but his uniquely expressive blend of concern and intensity was clearly visible. “Okay, what do you want to do? Call it in? Get the squad up here?”

  Sam shook her head, glancing around the
other direction while Ronne had Camo in his sights. “No good. Those vehicles start pulling in, everyone’s going to panic... HE’S going to panic... and then...” Sam trailed off, still scanning the crowd as she turned back. As her eyes drifted over the many heads and shoulders filling the space, she thought she saw the flash of a familiar pair of eyes, deep brown and, at the moment, looking quite fierce. Sam felt herself stepping forward, stepping toward those eyes, and the man attached to them. It was like a strong magnet was pulling her, and part of her brain was still fighting to maintain control of her body, shouting at her to stop... no, that was Ronne shouting at her. Too late, Sam realized why. She felt the rough texture of the camouflage flack jacket as her hand bumped into Camo. She pulled her eyes away, turning to face the wearer, meeting his furious gaze.

  Oh. Shit.

  Camo’s eyes blazed, and his lips pulled into what could only be called a snarl. Sam saw the flash of black cross his eyes, a momentary darkening she was well familiar with. Sam moved her hand toward her belt, going for the Glock she carried there, when a sudden blur of black pushed her back against Ronne and the car before returning to Camo.

  Sam watched Camo’s face, watched his eyes go wide with fear as he realized who was confronting him, he tried to fumble with the detonation switch, but Vincent quickly reached out, grabbing it and pulling it free. Sam felt herself flinch as he did it, expecting the blast to come swiftly afterward, but there was nothing.

  There was a lull of silence, stillness... the children nearby were wide-eyed, staring at Camo and Vincent. Then everyone started moving at once. The children started running every which way, screaming... the Emerald Society officers scrambled as well, some herding the children away from the area, others running toward side streets where the police vehicles were parked. Camo pulled himself free from Vincent, his expression incredulous as he kept pushing the detonator to no avail. He backed a few steps away before turning and running up Fifth Avenue. Vincent took off after him with barely a glance at Sam.