Rival

by Lacy Yager

  Question: how do you turn the vampire on and off? These are my first moments as the monster, and the newness frightens me. I know I'll be better off keeping the vampire part of me off for as long as I can. If I can.

  I need to get out of here.

  I need to get weaponed-up and find some way of tracking down the vampire that attempted to kidnap my sister.

  But I'm alone in a city I don't know.

  With bloodlust singing through every vein.

  I hate what I've become. I hate myself.

  But that's nothing new.

  2 - Alex

  12 hours earlier

  A call from the General is never a good thing.

  Especially when your life's mission is staying under the radar, like mine is. I've been meaning to get away, maybe take a holiday. But apparently, I haven't moved fast enough.

  When the General asks, you don't say no. Not if you value your life.

  So I join him close to dawn, a few blocks over from the apartments we jokingly call barracks, which sit adjacent to his headquarters. This building is unoccupied and we're on a rooftop, about five storeys up.

  After his bodyguard escorts me up the stairs, the goon disappears. I wish I could.

  I scan the rooftop out of habit as I slowly approach. He stands at the edge of the roof, hands clasped together loosely behind his back, looking out over the nearby buildings, all abandoned that I know of.

  I don’t think I’ve made any noise, but he greets me like he’s been expecting me. Creepy.

  "Alex."

  I wait, shifting my center slightly to my back foot. Just in case.

  The scent of blood wafts up to me from several blocks away.

  This industrial neighbourhood has been abandoned for years, especially after news got around of some gruesome murders that had taken place. It is as broken down and empty as I am.

  Why would a human have wondered into the area?

  And could it still be alive?

  There's something off about the scent. Something almost supernatural, like that of a witch, but not quite.

  And I've not met a not-quite witch before. The scent is sweeter than normal human blood and I tense as my instincts fire, ready to go hunt it, take it.

  "We've been together a long time, haven't we?" The General's question is rhetorical. We both know the answer—about a century.

  I keep quiet, half my mind wandering.

  Where have I smelled that blood before?

  "Perhaps that isn't the right terminology." He turns to face me, and my shoulders tighten. When you're facing a monster like him, you can't let your guard down, not even for a second.

  "We've walked in the same direction, but you've never fully committed to me, have you?"

  I do not like where this is going.

  "Is that why you allowed your cousin to escape with the young witch weeks ago?"

  Pish.

  It's been six weeks since the Maggie fiasco. In all that time, the General hasn't confronted me about it once, not even through one of his minions.

  My cousin Maggie—younger by two human years and six vampire months—migrated across the pond over a century ago. She's a bit of an anomaly: a vamp that doesn't drink from the source. She uses bagged blood and doesn't kill.

  She's a strange bird.

  "I didn't 'allow her to escape,'" I say. "I barely got out of there alive. They killed—"

  "All except Stephen. I'm aware."

  He watches me for a long time with hooded eyes. Empty eyes.

  Why bring up the fight now?

  I've done my best to keep from remembering my cousin's obvious disappointment and rage about the side I’ve chosen. Don't know how she can blame me for choosing the stronger side.

  For one moment, my memories hang up on the thought of one of Maggie's sidekicks. The only real fighter I've met in a long time. And a girl.

  The General abruptly turns away again. He points to something on the ground, which I can’t see from where I’m standing. Warily, I join him.

  Down the street, roughly two blocks over, I see five vamps circling someone.

  The human—their prey—kicks and spins, barely holding them off.

  I catch a glimpse of her profile, and I have to concentrate to keep my expression neutral, every muscle still.

  It's her.

  The Chaser's sister.

  The girl I've been dreaming about fighting for a month and a half.

  Rachel Marie Campton.

  I only know her name because I heard her idiot brother yell it after her that sunny afternoon when I hid away in the family mausoleum. I don't think she ever actually spoke to me.

  But she fought like a lunatic, as though she had nothing to lose, as though she didn't care if she lived or died.

  Like me.

  Seeing her again is enough to make this old warrior's heart speed up.

  Why haven't I been able to forget her?

  And why is she here now? Alone?

  I don't know why the General has brought me here to watch, but he never does anything without reason.

  Everything in me is cranked up, tuned in, as I watch her. My heart is choked up in my throat; my hands have gone sweaty. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s a physical reaction from the memory of going up against her, or my brain playing a trick on me as if I’m down there fighting against her now.

  It’s obvious she’s tiring. She’s left her right flank vulnerable. That’s a misstep.

  One of the vamps gets in a blow to her left leg and knocks her forward.

  The fact that she's been able to hold all five of them off for any length of time is impressive.

  I can't tear my eyes away as she turns the stumble into a hop-kick and nails one in the gut. But two more circle behind her.

  "I want you to make it up to me," the General says suddenly.

  Watching her, I'd almost forgotten his presence. Mistake.

  Or what? That’s my immediate, irreverent thought. I've always had a problem with authority. I don't voice it, though. I don't have a death wish.

  Rachel strikes with a silver flash—a knife?—and nearly decapitates one of the vamps.

  She's not that great a fighter. She's a girl, so there are height and weight issues, but what she lacks in technique, she makes up in spades with her passion.

  She has guts.

  I can't believe I'm admiring a Chaser, but there it is. Plus, she's hot.

  When the General doesn't say anything else, I voice the unspoken but obvious. "You want me to kill her?"

  "No." There is a sick kind of satisfaction in his voice.

  Three of the vamps converge on her, taking her to the ground.

  "I want you to watch her."

  No one says 'no' to the General.

  Something inside me roars as one of the vamps slits her throat and blood pours.

  I hold perfectly still, denying the flash of intense pain. How can someone so vital be dying?

  Then another vamp steps up to her, marking her cheeks and forehead with blood. I can’t hear the words he seems to be saying, but I’m familiar enough with what he’s doing.

  They're turning her? Making her one of us?

  I break, ready to demand something—I don’t know what—of the General. But when I turn to confront him, he has disappeared completely.

  Probably wise, since the edge of the sky is turning gray. My skin prickles hot, a warning to get inside and take cover. It only takes seconds for vampires to burn to death in the sunlight, and I usually don’t risk coming outdoors this close to sunrise.

  What did he mean, "watch her"? Watch what happened to her? Or watch her in a larger sense? As in, take care of her?

  I clatter down the stairwell, briefly considering whether I should stay inside this abandoned building or try and return to the barracks.

  But I find myself hauling it toward the attack I’d just witnessed. The other vampires are gone. Likely they completed the General’s mission and left.

  Ther
e’s a trail of blood across the pavement, leading to an alley between two buildings. Her blood. I can tell by the unique scent. There’s an industrial trash bin that she could be hiding behind.

  The sun is close. I’m out of time.

  I hole up in the closest building, leaving her behind.

  In this abandoned area, no one will come for her. She’ll be weak and disoriented. Not fully a vampire for several more hours, maybe after dusk, so the sunlight isn’t a danger to her. Only to me.

  If the General has some reason for keeping her around, she won’t be a target.

  But why…?

  I can't sleep, haunted by questions about his intentions and her coming reaction once she realizes what has happened to her.

  I pace between two large, empty interior rooms, pitch dark to protect me from the sun. I don't need sight—I can rely on my extra-keen hearing and the hyper-sensitivity of touch to know where the walls are.

  What is the General playing at? There's no way he could've known I had some kind of weird connection to Rachel. I've heard of warlocks that can sense thoughts—Rachel's little sister, the witch, apparently could—but not a vamp.

  So is this some kind of test?

  I can't help remembering the night I was turned. The cold ground beneath me. The blood. My disorientation, the choking fear.

  It's eerie how Rachel's situation mirrors mine. Had the General chosen her for that reason? I haven't publicized my past, and most of the vamps that were present when it happened aren't around any longer, and I doubt they’d have told him, anyway. Not that it matters. He seems to know everything.

  What was Rachel doing here in London, anyway? Where was her brother? Had she crossed the Atlantic alone?

  Why?

  It's a good thing vamps need little sleep, because my swirling thoughts refuse to quiet. It’s the longest day I’ve faced in awhile.

  3 - Alex

  Just after dusk, I emerge from my seclusion, and I’m immediately arrested by the scent of her blood soaking into my nostrils, my pores.

  Did she survive the turning?

  Once again, I notice something off about the scent, but it’s nothing I can pinpoint.

  She stands in the centre of the street, facing away from me. Perfectly still. Is she even breathing?

  I've got it in my head that I'm going to help her somehow, but she whirls in my direction, her dark blond braid whipping over her shoulder. Her brown eyes flash. "You."

  Part of me wishes she knew my name, but I'd be mad to think she even remembers me. I know she hasn't been thinking about me the way I've been obsessing over her. Replaying every single slash of her sword, reliving that moment when I held her slender waist in my hands.

  There's gore covering her shirt. Once again, it takes me back to my own turning. I shake away the memory.

  "Where's your kid witch?" I growl. I don't want to chance running into the brother, not when this has happened to his sister. And where the little witch is, there the brother will be too.

  Her eyes flash. For a second, she looks almost… grateful. "Not here." Then the hatred returns to her eyes.

  Bollocks. The girl is crazy-angry.

  Don't get me wrong, I would fight her if she came at me. It's fun to go against an opponent who can really challenge me. Plus, I'm not actually going to hurt her—just wait for a good opportunity to teach her which side she's on now.

  She reaches to her thigh—reaching for a dagger?—but her hand slaps against the empty leather strap and she comes up frustrated.

  I can't help the grin that spreads across my lips. "Not armed, princess?"

  I've got one knife taped to the inside of my ankle. I won't have to use it. I keep it as a last resort. With a vampire's superior strength and speed, I don't really need weapons.

  But this bird is angry, and there might be a slight—very slight—chance I'll need it.

  I haven't felt as alive as I do this very moment in ages. Perhaps not since I was turned.

  She squares off with me, unafraid.

  It fires my blood.

  She launches herself at me, surprising me a little with how fast she flies at me, fists first. I knock her back with an elbow and I kick, intending to sweep her legs out from under her.

  She jumps back. Again with the speed.

  We circle each other, almost like a dance.

  She's lithe and intense…

  And hot.

  This time, I rush her. I grab a fistful of her braid and wrench her neck back. It has to hurt, but she doesn't cry out, only huffs a cute little exhale and twists under my arm, as far as she can go while I'm holding her.

  She jabs me in the ribs, and I actually feel it. That's a surprise. Usually my opponents don't get close enough to inflict pain.

  I grunt.

  She knees me in the thigh. It hurts, and I curse her.

  She laughs. It's a little maniacal-sounding, but her eyes are still flashing. She's as excited by this fight as I am.

  I've still got hold of her hair, and I twist her head cruelly. She shrieks, more angry than hurt, and tries to pummel me in the chest with both fists. This close, her position allows me to let go of her braid and wrap both of my arms all the way around her. It's almost like a hug, except I've got her wrapped so tightly, she can't move at all.

  She can't get enough space to kick me, her arms are pinned to my chest, and we're face-to-face. So close.

  "Where's the rest of your entourage?" I ask.

  I've got the advantage, but I know she hasn't given up yet.

  "I'm alone."

  There are shadows behind her eyes when she says the words. It makes me wonder what's going on with Maggie. My cousin might be squarely on the "good guys" side, but I've never known her to desert a friend.

  Even when they deserve it. Like me.

  "Too bad for you."

  She surprises me by wrenching one arm free, grabbing the back of my neck and doing a dead-drop. With just a half-second of momentum on me, she flips me over.

  I lose my hold on her, she twists, and somehow, I end up on the ground looking up at the sky. She pins me with her palms against my shoulders.

  She leans forward, baring her teeth at me. What is she doing?

  If she decapitates me, it's game over. Does she not realize we're on the same side now?

  She doesn't stop.

  "Hey!"

  My shout doesn't even register. She's on a kill mission.

  I buck her off and we scramble. I yank my knife from its sheath and spin to face her. I'm not dying tonight, no matter what the General ordered me to do.

  We dance around each other again.

  “We’re on the same side, princess—”

  She doesn’t seem to hear me. She darts forward, unafraid of the knife, and uppercuts me in the jaw. My ears actually ring.

  But I'm much bigger and stronger, and I have more experience fighting than she does. I swing the knife, and it connects.

  She staggers backward, clutching her stomach. Fresh blood seeps through her fingers. She looks stunned.

  For a human, it would be a death-wound.

  Why do I suddenly feel the ringing in my ears, worse than before?

  She drops to her knees, still glaring at me. What have I done?

  Then, with obvious effort, she draws herself back to her feet.

  She curses at me.

  As I watch, the very shape of her face changes, sharpens. She hisses at me, and I can see her elongated canines through her parted lips.

  Her vamp is as hot as the rest of her.

  But judging by the flash in her eyes, she's still pissed at me. Time to change the game.

  Shadow Allegiance releases December 15, 2013.

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  If you missed the story that started it all, Unholy Alliance, turn the page…

  Prologue - Maggie

  More than one hundred and fifty years on this plan
et and this is the strangest night I’ve spent yet.

  Strange good, because I’ve never been this happy before. Normally I worry too much about getting involved with humans, male or female, to let go and enjoy myself. But tonight I can’t seem to find that usual wariness.

  Strange bad, because someone else’s pain got me here, and my mission for the last eighty years or so has been to improve the lives of the kids passing through E.W. House. I can’t help feeling a niggle of guilt that I’m benefiting from one of the teens’ situations.

  “Wells! Yo, Maggie!” A voice calls out my nom de plume above the pounding bass and chattering couples surrounding me. Even after five years as Maggie, and ten as Peg before that—I always choose variations of my given name—I still listen for the name I was born with. Margaret.

  In the patterned light from the disco ball—one of the dorm moms’ additions to the gym-turned-dance-club décor—I spot Candy Brown rushing toward me. The fourteen-year-old is one of my protégés, one of my favorites out of this crop of girls. She’s cute and sweet and despite her past she has a real chance at giving herself a normal life if she can keep on path she doesn’t know I’ve mapped out for her. So far, she has.

  “What’s up?” I ask. In the back of my mind I can’t forget he is coming back to claim the next slow dance.

  “There’s something wrong with Janet,” the younger girl gasps, clearly having run straight to me with this problem. “She’s in the bathroom throwing up and crying.”

  “I’ll handle it,” says a familiar voice from behind us. My best friend and the resident witch at E.W. House, Hannah Morgan, joins Candy and me and gives the kid a reassuring smile, and it’s impossible to doubt the peace in her soft brown eyes. She will handle things.

  “It’s my turn anyway.” And You-know-who is looking for you, Mags. Can’t keep his eyes off you tonight, hmm? Her light touch on my forearm fades and so does her voice in my head. Telepathy is just one of Hannah’s talents.