The Ortega Project

by Linnea Alexis

“I have to.” He had no choice. He never ignored the business phone. Never. Calls coming through on that particular phone were warnings that slayers were heading to Orange County and needed to be stopped and destroyed—now. After the third ring, as much as he hated to, he rolled over and grabbed his trousers from the floor next to the bed. He grumbled and fished the noisy culprit from the pocket.

  Caller ID showed Erik’s name.

  “Yeah!”

  “There’s been a sighting. It’s time. You’re needed now.”

  Roman ended the call and fumbled to get dressed. He knelt next to the bed and Grace’s sweaty, heaving body. “I’m sorry, babe, but I’ve got to leave.”

  “You’re joking, right?” She snapped, her eyes growing wide in disbelief.

  He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “I wish I were,” he whispered and moved closer to kiss her goodbye.

  She rolled over and faced the wall.

  “I’ll make this up to you. I promise.” He massaged her shoulder gently.

  Grace jerked away from his touch. “Don’t bother.”

  7

  Roman

  After receiving word slayers were headed their way, Roman drove directly to the Ortega Research Institute. Whenever Erik was in town, he automatically became part of the team. Tonight, was no exception.

  When Roman arrived, his warriors had already changed into clothing suited for combat and were ready to go. He dressed quickly and, like his men, armed himself for a major—and possibly deadly—confrontation.

  “Let’s go.” Roman led the way to the team’s black SUV.

  He took his position behind the steering wheel. Gabriel rode shotgun. Alex, Seth, and Erik filled the back seat. After driving along Ortega Highway for ten miles, he turned onto a dirt-packed side road. He made a U-Turn and faced the now deserted highway. He killed the engine. With headlights off and windows down, they watched the highway and listened. And waited.

  On high alert and ready for battle, he and his warrior team awaited word of the adversaries’ approach, from Erik’s contact in a neighboring county who were tracking the slayers.

  Five sets of eyes remained fixed on cross-traffic—lighter than usual at five-thirty o’clock in the morning. Before leaving for the upcoming battle, the men filled up on formula to ward off blood-hunger during—and after—the kill.

  Because Erik, the lone full-vampire, wasn’t part of the blood-substitute program, he drank the real thing. Besides fronting a successful band, Erik tracked slayers. It was his word that brought Roman and his warrior team to tonight’s location.

  “Good to have you on the team, Erik. If your sources are correct, this should be an excellent kill,” Roman said. Killing slayers was a dangerous business and each job could end up being his last, so receiving advanced notice put him and his men at a definite advantage. “We appreciate the heads up.”

  “There were rumors,” Erik added. “Lots of them. I’m glad we heard the buzz before slayers showed up unexpectedly. No one needs that kind of surprise.”

  In the distance, an engine roared.

  “Someone’s coming.” Roman sat up to attention.

  Everyone froze, waiting for the vehicle to come into view. A Corvette zipped past.

  “It’s not them,” Gabriel noted. “Unless slayers suddenly decided to drive sports cars.”

  In silence, they listened, and waited some more.

  Discipline and focus were Roman’s strongest assets. But tonight, he struggled to keep his mind on the upcoming kill. His thoughts trailed off to Grace and the sexual debacle he’d created by being called away. Twice. Once near her car in the parking lot when he kissed her goodnight. The latest—tonight from her bed. Both times she’d been ready for him. She probably thinks I’m having an affair with my damn cell phone. He released a low snarl and his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

  “You okay?” Gabriel asked.

  “Yeah.” After disappointing Grace a second time, Roman knew he’d have to work extra hard to get her to even speak to him again. He’d always dreamed of sharing his life with a good woman. A woman like Grace. He couldn’t let her get away and would beg, if he had to, for another chance to claim her.

  Erik’s cell phone rang.

  Roman watched him in the rearview mirror.

  Erik mumbled something into his cell and hung up. “They’re on their way. Should be anytime now.”

  A large vehicle rumbled in the distance. Five heads cocked toward the noise.

  “That’s them.” Roman turned the ignition key, spurring the engine into action.

  A white van crossed in front of them. A few seconds later, Roman turned on the headlights and pulled onto the winding highway. He allowed enough space behind the slayers’ van to avoid detection, but stayed close enough to hear their engine. On a straightaway, the van accelerated, and the slayers widened the space between the vehicles.

  “Buckle up and hold on.” Roman stomped on the gas pedal. Adrenaline soared. He hit the high beams and lit up the interior of the van directly ahead. Six slayers sat inside—one more than usual.

  Roman closed in. He swerved to avoid unforgiving boulders on the left side of the highway and the deep precipice on the right. Tires squealed. He charged onward, clutching the steering wheel, struggling to keep command of the SUV. For a moment, he lost sight of the van. Turning sharply around the tree-lined curve, he spotted it. He held his breath and slammed the accelerator to the floor. He jerked the steering wheel sharply left, then right. The other driver out-maneuvered him once more and disappeared around a blind curve. Roman spat out a string of curses. Heading into another straightaway, the van reappeared.

  “Hang on,” Roman shouted.

  The chase continued down a steep hill and around another curve. But this time the other driver wasn’t so lucky. A coyote darted across the two-lane highway directly in front of them. A horn wailed and the van veered out of control, sending it into the guardrail. Metal buckled. Sparks hissed and flew. The steel barrier ended abruptly and the van careened off the highway and disappeared at the end of the guardrail.

  Roman pulled off the highway. Gravel pinged against the bottom of the SUV. He stopped in front of the twisted metal barrier, killed the headlights and turned off the engine.

  Gabriel exited the vehicle first and raced to the barrier. He inched forward and peered into the ravine.

  The rest of the crew grabbed heavy, canvas duffle bags, empty except for waterproof jackets to cover their bloodied clothes, if needed. They scrambled out of the back seat.

  “See anything?” Alex shouted.

  Gabriel pointed into the canyon below. “There. I’m going down.” He swung himself over the guardrail and dropped from view.

  Alex, Seth, and Erik followed.

  Roman pulled keys from the ignition and grabbed his own duffle, plus Gabriel’s, from the floorboard. He sprinted toward the guardrail, and leaned over far enough to catch sight of his team racing toward the damaged van. His heart pounded with excitement. He slung both duffles over his shoulder, grabbed the top of the guardrail and hurdled over. On his way down, he grabbed dried bushes to keep from slamming against the jagged rocks that lined the canyon. Half-dead tree branches ripped his palms. He swung his body around to face away from the cliff. Finally, his feet touched ground.

  At the accident site, clouds of dust and debris choked the air. The stench of burnt rubber mixed with gas fumes stung Roman’s eyes and throat.

  When dust clouds dissipated, he and his men circled the slayer’s vehicle and peeked inside through smashed windows.

  The van had landed right-side up, making their jobs easier. A full moon shone on four unconscious slayers, two in the front seat, and two in the back. But earlier, Roman had counted six men.

  “There’s two more,” he shouted. “Seth. Erik. Find them and kill them.”

  Erik and Seth dropped their duffle bags and raced into the dense woods.

  Inside the van, victims were still belted in their seats. Blood sp
latter covered the vehicle’s interior. Although Roman made sure his men had full bellies before heading out, he feared the amount of blood would be too strong to resist. And there was nothing more powerful than the scent of warm, freshly shed blood. He needed to hurry them along in case the intoxicating scent became problematic. According to the scientists, drinking human blood during the program could be fatal to the vampires.

  “Hurry. Kill the survivors, strip the van, and get the hell out.”

  A man moaned.

  Roman cocked his head in the direction of the sound. “Gabe,” he said and jerked his chin toward the back of the van.

  Nodding, Gabriel charged around the corner of the van, towards the back.

  Roman turned his attention to the front seat, passenger side, where a hefty man leaned against the smashed window. Roman pulled the door open and the victim dropped into his arms. “He’s dead.”

  The driver’s side of the van was dented in. Alex pulled the door off its hinges and leaned over a young man whose face rested on the steering wheel. He yanked the man’s head back onto the headrest. “He’s still breathing.”

  The driver’s eyes widened in terror. “Get away from me,” he screamed, arms flailing.

  Alex held the driver’s head between his hands. He twisted the man’s head to one side and snapped his neck.

  Roman ripped off one of the back seat doors. A man sat, slouched over, covered in blood.

  From the back of the van, Gabriel called for help.

  One of his men was in trouble. Roman’s heart pounded as he stumbled around to the rear of the van. The back doors were wide open and he gasped at the sight of Gabriel sprawled on top of a slayer. The adversary still gripped the knife he’d plunged into Gabriel’s left side.

  Roman climbed inside and carefully lifted Gabriel off his assailant. In one fluid motion, he pulled the knife from Gabriel’s side, and sliced the attacker’s throat.

  “I didn’t see him. I got careless,” Gabriel said in a weak voice, clutching his side.

  “We all make mistakes.” Roman dropped the knife and knelt next to Gabriel. He pushed Gabriel’s hand away from the wound and replaced it with his own, applying pressure until the bleeding stopped.

  His greatest fear was playing out before his eyes. Feeding from man-made blood had severely weakened his team. Their fighting edge was gone.

  “The son-of-a-bitch stabbed me.” Gabriel crawled toward the fallen slayer. When he reached the man’s neck, his fangs dropped.

  “No,” Roman shouted. “It might kill you.” But he couldn’t blame Gabe. Even he was caught up in the blood frenzy and fought the urge to feed. He jerked Gabriel away from the man’s body.

  “I want his blood.” Gabriel growled and lurched forward. “I need it.”

  Roman dragged him out of the van and pinned him to the ground. He tightened his hold when blood hunger sent Gabriel’s body into violent spasms. When the trembling stopped, Roman released him.

  Gabriel pulled himself into a sitting position. He panted and rested his hands on his knees. “I’m hungry. Real hungry.”

  “I know.” Roman squeezed his friend’s shoulder. Nearly crazy himself, from the powerful scent of freshly shed blood, he understood Gabe’s hunger. Salivating, Roman sucked in a deep breath and held it for a long time. He needed to resist the sweet fragrance even when every fiber of his being craved to be sated. Discipline. He needed to draw on the discipline he’d used in the past to set an example for his men. After breathing in and out for several seconds, the temptation to feed vanished. In control once more, he lumbered to the side of the van and leaned against it. He closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

  This killing disaster was his fault. Since starting the blood-substitute program, their vampire strength had ebbed and he feared they were becoming too weak to fight effectively. As their leader, he should have seen the warning signs. Close calls like tonight were unacceptable. He and his men were no longer the deadly warriors they’d once been. Now that the team was losing strength, they were in big trouble. His warriors would never survive another assignment. This would be their final kill.

  With him in charge, South Orange County was no longer a safe haven for peace-loving vampires. And after the tainted blood problem that had killed so many, it wasn’t a safe feeding site either. Sending his civilian vampires away turned out to be the best thing he’d ever done. His vampires’ well-being now fell to a new warrior team.

  A scuffling noise erupted.

  Roman pushed himself away from the van and focused on the thick, dried brush on the far side of the clearing. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  “Help me.” Seth stormed into the clearing with Erik close behind. Blood ran down Erik’s chin.

  “Seth!” Extending his hand, Roman hurried to meet him. Once he had a firm grip of Seth’s hand, he swung him aside, away from Erik. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded, keeping his gaze locked on Erik.

  “We only found one of the slayers in the woods. Erik caught him and fed. Then he turned on me,” Seth said, gasping for breath.

  Staring at Erik, Roman straightened and squared his shoulders. “Is that true?”

  Instead of responding, Erik growled and circled Roman.

  Off to the side, the warrior team closed in, preparing to defend their leader.

  Roman raised his hand to stop his men from charging, hoping to defuse the escalating danger himself. “Why’d you do it? Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on?” He hoped his old friend’s answer would provide insight to his bloodthirsty behavior.

  Fists clenched, fangs bared, Erik moved closer. “Prepare to die!” He drew his dagger and lunged.

  Roman jumped back, but not before Erik’s blade slashed his forearm.

  Swinging the dagger again, Erik grazed his chest.

  Trying to disarm the vampire, Roman grabbed the blade and cut his own palm in the process. With a blood-slicked hand, he plunged the dagger into Erik’s chest. Making sure the stab was lethal, he twisted the blade and drove it deeper.

  Erik fell to the ground. Blood gushed from his chest.

  Slack-jawed, the warriors stared at the fallen vampire. Blood trickled from the corners of Erik’s mouth. He’d been a member of their team, a trusted comrade, someone who worked alongside them whenever he came to town.

  “We found only one of them,” Seth said.

  “The other slayer was hiding in the back of the van. I killed him.” Roman drew in several deep breaths, filling his lungs with resolve, trying to forget the nightmare his team had just lived. Defeat and loss were never an option. Tonight the team came dangerously close to experiencing both.

  The sun’s rays peeked over treetops, bringing daylight. Daylight also brought exposure, increasing their chances of being discovered.

  Soon a steady stream of cars and motorcycles would snake along Ortega Highway.

  Roman climbed inside the wreckage. A case of water bottles sat behind the driver’s seat. He tossed each man two bottles of water to rinse the blood from their faces and hands.

  “There’s more if you need it.” Nothing would draw more unwanted attention from looky-loos than seeing a group of bloodied up men getting into a vehicle.

  They opened the bottles and poured water over their heads and splashed it on their hands. Each slipped into loose-fitting jackets and zipped them to conceal blood-stained shirts.

  “That’s enough clean-up. We’re running out of darkness. Start stripping the van,”

  Roman said.

  Gabriel tossed Roman a bottle of water. He tossed it back. “There’s something I need to take care of first.”

  The men had already snapped into action. They confiscated pistols, cell phones, and daggers. In the back of the van, they hit the mother lode—crates filled with cross-bows, flame-throwers, shotguns, and spears. They emptied the crates quickly and loaded the duffle bags with the smaller items. Larger weapons were strapped on their backs. They worked rapidly and efficien
tly, making sure nothing was left behind to indicate the dead men were slayers. The scene needed to look like an accident. Always an accident. Law enforcement would conclude the driver lost control and the vehicle careened over the cliff’s edge, killing the passengers.

  So much blood.

  “Alex, get me a sword.”

  Gabriel and Seth, loaded down with their newly acquired arsenal, watched.

  Roman checked his palms, flexed his fingers, and frowned. Cuts from Erik’s blade, were closing up, but hadn’t disappeared. Odd.

  He strode to where Erik lay and studied his body. What caused their former ally to turn against his own kind? It made no sense. He fronted a successful rock band. His career was taking off. “What demons tortured you, Erik?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he motioned Alex to come closer.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Alex said, walking toward Roman. “He was your friend. Let me do it. I never liked the son-of-a-bitch anyway.”

  Roman shook his head. “It’s my job. Give me the sword.”

  Handing over the weapon, Alex left Roman alone to finish the job.

  Gripping the handle with both hands, he stood over Erik’s twisted body. “Sorry, old friend, but you gave me no choice.” As he hoisted the sharp blade over Erik, his hands trembled. He swung the sword across his one-time friend’s neck, separating his head from his body. A crimson geyser shot up and sprayed Roman’s face. He dropped the blade, fell to his knees, and retched. From behind, someone grabbed his shoulder. He didn’t know who. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.

  “Get away from me.” He groaned and wiped the warm liquid from his face with his sleeve. “Go!”

  “Rome,” Alex said softly.

  “I need to be alone,” he said softening his tone, and turned to face his cousin.

  Alex touched Roman’s shoulder. “I understand.” He picked up his duffle, along with loose weapons and sprinted to rejoin the others as they effortlessly crossed the clearing and scaled the ridge back to the highway. Once they reached the SUV, they filled the back with everything they’d confiscated.