The Endangered (The Endangered Series Book 1)

by S. L. Eaves

  I rub my neck reflexively and study his intense disposition. He is tall, with the body of a runner and biceps of a boxer. He brushes shaggy dark locks from his face as he speaks, revealing captivating eyes. His face looks like it’d taken a few punches in its day, but he wears it well. When he speaks, there is a genuine sincerity behind his words. Go figure he is crazy as fuck.

  “I was brought into this war in 1988. I was twenty-five when I was turned. After a short span with my maker, a chap named Marcus took me under his wing, he’s been my mentored ever since. Marcus is a second generation and one of the few who survived the firestorm—what we call that horrific day in 1973. He has worked tirelessly to rebuild and form an army of warriors to battle the wolves. But our numbers are few.

  “Before the firestorm, nearly 100 vampires called The Covenant home. Now there are only a handful of us. We are building in number. Slowly. Only Purebloods can name another to be turned. If you turn someone against their wishes, you will be reprimanded and whoever you turned is eliminated. We do not oppose their will. We respect the hierarchy, so to speak. This is not a choice. They can and will destroy you, if I haven’t stressed that enough already. It’s important to understand because when you’re new it’s tempting to rebel.

  “That said, there are a number of rogues out there who do not respect these rules. The hierarchy has dissolved since the fall of The Covenant. Leaderships are divided, loyalties turned, questions raised…we are not without our problems.

  “A pack of wolves took credit for the fire. But a handful of vampires have emerged as conspiracy theorists, looking to place the blame inward for the fire, for the deaths of their brothers and sisters. But their lack of proof, of any solid evidence, caused them to fizzle and fade. They cast themselves out long before I ever entered the crusade.

  “We will not fall to the werewolves. We will not stand to be hunted. We work tirelessly to turn the tables on them. We are now the ones doing the hunting. On the defense, yes, but no longer victims. Recently, we’ve fallen off their perspective radars. Their focus has shifted toward humans. More are infected every day, bitten and recruited. Spreading like wildfire. That’s why you’re here. To help us stop the infection.”

  Apparently finished, Catch sits back and anxiously awaits my response.

  I stare at the glass of blood resting on the table between us. I pick it up and sniff it. It smells sweet. Something primitive inside me stirs.

  “So it’s not some random act of fate that has us sitting here, now. It’s you playing God with my life.”

  He studies his shoes, unable to make eye contact. My turn to wait. Eventually he looks up to face me.

  “It’s not a coincidence. Us both being here.”

  “I suppose I should be thanking you for not making me claw through six feet of dirt.” I shrug. “Cheers.”

  I lift the glass to him and down it.

  There’s no way that’s what blood tastes like.

  “I’m sure you have questions.”

  I stand and make for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Catch stands.

  “Out.”

  “You can’t go back. I’m sorry, but it’s how it has to be.”

  “Uh huh. Well, are you going to stop me?”

  “I can, but I don’t want to. I want to teach you how to survive—in this new state.”

  I open the door. I’m not testing him. He probably can stop me, but I just need some air.

  “I’m going for a walk. I need time to digest everything. And whatever that was,” I wave my hand at the empty glass, “could use a splash of vodka to cut the sugar.”

  “It’s blood, Lori. And you need more.”

  I start out the door. Catch calls after, “Don’t kill anybody.”

  “That’s a little hypocritical coming from you, isn’t it?”

  The door slams with a loud thud.

  I walk over to the elevator and pressed the up arrow.

  It is a blustery night. I pace the roof of the hotel trying to work up the courage to jump to the neighboring high rise. My present location is approximately twenty stories above the Upper West Side.

  If the loony Brit downstairs is telling the truth, then everything I know has been stripped away from me. If this is some dream, some nightmare, then a leap of this magnitude will surely wake me.

  Something is off kilter. I don’t feel like myself. My senses are reacting differently. My insides burn but my skin is ice cold. The details of the city scape are plain as day, yet it is dark as night out. I feel as if I just finished a race, yet there is no pulse to detect. I can’t find a heartbeat.

  Has to be drugs.

  This can’t be real.

  I am feeling better after that cocktail, but it was probably just a fresh dose. I am going through withdrawal, and he was just lessening the blow. That makes more sense than anything he’d been selling. Vampires. Jesus.

  I hear a noise behind me. Catch emerges from the stairwell. He starts to say something, but I don’t hear him. I break into a sprint, dive, and try my damnedest not to shut my eyes as the wind whips tears from them.

  My feet hit the roof about five stories below and I stick the landing.

  Legs bent to brace the fall, I’m still trying to figure out how I landed feet first, how I didn’t scream like a banshee, how I’m still conscious…when I realize I’m also still standing. The impact felt no stronger than if I jumped off my kitchen table.

  I did not wake up. And there is no drug in the world capable of making what I’d just done possible…or creating the fangs that are slicing into my lower lip.

  Some sort of transcendence has occurred and I’ve awoken a changed being. Like a caterpillar transforming into a butterfly. A really jacked-up, bloodthirsty butterfly.

  I look up and see Catch standing on the roof’s edge.

  What if everything he said is true?

  What if it’s not drugs and I’ve actually physically been changed? How is this possible? What else is possible?

  I want to learn more. I want it all. Every last drop.

  I may be dead on the inside, but I can feel alive on the outside.

  The demon inside me is humming.

  Chapter 6

  “You must put these urges aside. The past has no relevance. It is as dead to you as you are to it.”

  Catch had pried the empty gasoline can from my hands, but I still hold the matches. I stand there, listening to his lecture, striking matches at his feet. He lets me taunt him with the flames, but his tone does not waiver.

  “I understand how you feel, but it will pass and you will see how silly, how—these childish human emotions render you weak.”

  “I really don’t care how childish I seem right now.”

  “Don’t you see how trivial these vendettas are?"

  I smile.

  “Maybe…but with this new power, I have the ability to operate outside the confines of society. My influence carries new strength.”

  I strike a match, hold it at arm’s length, over the gasoline. His eyes drift from it to me. I bring it deliberately to the cigarette resting on my lips.

  Catch has found me, as he threatened he would. Now we stand on an all too familiar street.

  “It belittles our purpose. We have nothing to do with the humans.”

  “Oh please, this whole war you keep going on and on about revolves around their existence.”

  “You cannot spend your time dealing out pathetic had-it-comings to those who offended you as human. It’s too risky and it’s not who you are anymore.”

  “And who am I now, then?”

  “You’re in the throes of your new state. You’re impulsive. You’re irrational. And you’re torn between your old world and your new one, both equally volatile.”

  “And you’re here to teach me how to control these impulses?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Well, you know what they say—two steps forward, three steps back.”

  With that, I
throw my cigarette into the gasoline. Instantly ignited, the flames dance all the way into the building, which it then devours in a glorious fashion fit for an audience greater than myself and Catch.

  And it promptly draws one, so we make ourselves scarce.

  Not before I watch the last Greek letter incinerate.

  ***

  Day comes and sunlight proves to be a more than worthy adversary. Not wanting to burst into flames, I have no choice but to obey Catch and take solace in his hotel room. Holed up in the hotel, I take the ‘learn the hard way’ approach and discover he is right about sunlight. And regeneration. A couple pints of blood and my blackened hand is good as new. We clamp the curtains with clothes pins after that; vampire proofing for curious newbies with self-destructive tendencies.

  So far everything Catch told me is proving true, and while I hate to admit it, I know he is the only one who can ensure my survival in this new form. As I have time to settle into this new demonic state, it becomes clear that I cannot go back to my old life. And that is difficult to digest.

  But it’s not as if I have a bad mentor. I don’t know if it is a metaphysical connection or an authentic chemistry, but we are drawn to each other. And the passion is nearly impossible to fight. I’d felt drawn to him the night I met him, back when I did not have his blood in my veins, so I prefer to think it is not by some otherworldly means that we are inseparable. Catch says that some of his kind can use hypnotism on humans, but he insists it is a skill he does not possess. Sometimes, though, I wonder.

  At night we venture out into the city, careful to avoid my old neighborhood.

  He explains the world as he views it. He unleashes an endless supply of stories of his adventures, of his experiences since he’d been turned—they come pouring out as though he’d kept them bottled up for just such an occasion.

  He needs someone to listen.

  I get the impression he has never had that before.

  Never had someone to share his world with. At least not intimately.

  And now I am that someone. Lucky me.

  Truth is I don’t mind. Filled with violence and destruction, his tales have all the ingredients for a killer action film. He is the most interesting person—er, being—I’d ever met. He opens my eyes to a fascinating new reality.

  So the stories I do not mind. Plus, he has a devilish smile and infuriatingly charming accent to accompany them.

  However, the presumable fact that these stories are not fiction and will now feature me as an unwilling participant—that terrifies my very core.

  ***

  I wrinkle my nose with brows furrowed and lips twisted into a snarl. Catch laughs. I extend the jar of animal blood—pig or cow most likely—as far from my face as my arm will allow.

  He shakes his head.

  “Nope, gotta down it. You need blood.”

  “This is rank. Nothing doing.”

  He pushes it gently toward my chest. “I drank mine. Your turn.”

  We’d just come from a butcher. He insisted I get used to finding my own food supply and then proceeded to introduce me to the hassle-free world of meat suppliers. I shoot him a resentful glare and take a gulp.

  “Whew, that is nasty.”

  “But it’ll restore your strength, quell the hunger. The longer blood has been separated from its host, the more it sours. Mammals have a little variance in flavor, but it’s the freshness that makes all the difference.”

  “Point made.”

  “Real point is that you can survive off stale stock if you have to.”

  ***

  “A hospital?”

  “You wanted a challenge.”

  “I wanted a decent meal. I guess I should be relieved we’re not at a morgue.”

  “You have to pay a mortician to bag it. And it’s often contaminated with embalming fluid. Trust me, blood banks are your best option.”

  “This is a hospital, not a blood bank. Ever hear of the Red Cross? I’m sure they have some version of it over in England.”

  “We do, but tell me this—if you were a wolf looking to hunt yourself some vampires, where would you go hunting?”

  “You think the wolves are staking out blood banks?”

  “I know so. At least they were. They’ve changed their focus lately, stopped targeting us. But I’m not about to risk it.”

  “I see.”

  “Besides, this place has one of its own, so go in there and get us some dinner.”

  I look to him for more direction, but he didn’t offer it.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  I walk right through the front door like I own the place, past the waiting area, past the front desk. Much to my surprise, the place is a flurry of activity at 3 a.m. I study the signs posted at the end of the hall. They even supply a floor plan. A gurney speeds by, doctors yelling orders, juggling IVs.

  I press my back against the wall to make room. As they rush past, the scent of fresh blood hits my nostrils and I immediately react. I bring my hand to my mouth and feel a hand grab my shoulder.

  Catch pulls me into a nearby stairwell.

  “Calm down. Control your senses.”

  I sit on the steps and after a moment the fire leaves my body.

  “That was a close one.”

  “No kidding. You really didn’t consider all the open wounds in this place?”

  “Can’t say I had.”

  I stand up. “I’m good, Catch. I can do this.”

  He shakes his head, clearly about to protest, then reconsiders.

  “Alright then, follow me this time.”

  Turns out he knows the place like the back of his hand. He snags us some scrubs to change into and minutes later we are standing in front of a refrigerator.

  “Here.”

  Catch grabs a cooler from the shelf.

  The door is unlocked. Like stealing milk in a grocery store.

  We head through a door marked “Employees Only” and nearly smack into a nurse.

  She points at the cooler. “Is that for Jackson? Chopper’s due any minute.”

  Completely unflustered, she doesn’t miss a beat as she rushes by and we simply freeze, nodding dumbly.

  A few minutes later we are sitting on the roof across the street, watching the chopper land on the helipad.

  It was that easy.

  Besides the whole ‘not turning into a demon at the sight of blood’ thing.

  ***

  “You did good.”

  “It wasn’t much of a test. I failed the really challenging part.”

  “True, but you’ll learn fast. It’s difficult to control your impulses. You have to start somewhere.”

  “Guess I should hang out in hospitals till I’ve mastered it.”

  Catch laughs. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

  “Will they accept me? The others? You said before about rules…a hierarchy…”

  Catch gives a comforting smile and squeezes his arms around me.

  “Babe, take my word for it. They’ll be treating you like a savior.”

  “What was it like when Marcus brought you in?”

  “Relief. I found what I’d been craving all along.”

  “I don’t share your passion for this power. But I admire your confidence. You weren’t worried they’d reject you? Eliminate you?”

  Catch shakes his head. “Since Adrian turned me, I was untouchable. We share his bloodline, you and I. We’re all connected. You won’t need protecting.”

  Treat me like a savior? What can I possibly offer them that would warrant that?

  “And you still won’t answer me why?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t explain it. Don’t hate me for it.”

  As implausible as it is, there is a real apology in there somewhere. An apology will never make up for what I’ve become, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to hurt me any more than he already has. And it is enough to get me to stop
pressing.

  “Come on, it’s going to be daylight soon and we’ve got to get across town.”

  Chapter 7

  “I want to go home, Catch.”

  We are sprawled on a fairway in Central Park, our backs flat against a grassy knoll, eyes on a gray, seamless sky.

  “I thought we were done with this rubbish. You cannot go back to your old life.”

  “It’s been well over a week; my friends will be worried.” I continue, “Besides, this Adrian guy you’re so intent on me meeting hasn’t shown. You’ve been waiting for orders that haven’t arrived.”

  “He’s shown.”

  Catch is not looking at me, so I don’t bother to hide my surprise.

  “And?”

  “He is observing us to see how you’re acclimating, our progress.”

  I scan the horizon as if expecting to spot a shrouded figure spying from afar.

  “Ahh…so he’s the man behind the curtain? This is a test?”

  “If anyone’s being tested, it’s me. He’s put you in my hands from the beginning. He’s letting me see it through. It’s a matter of duty, of completing my assignment.”

  “He’s responsible for all this, isn’t he?” My voice laced with pain.

  “It’s not that black and white. He gave me the final say. You have only me to blame. Only me to hate for it.” His voice trails off.

  We lie in silence for some time.

  Catch can recount his conquests till sunrise, but when it comes to emotions, he is as guarded as they come. I make him feel human. I make him feel whole again. I make him feel.

  He cherishes and loathes me for it.

  We share a mutual love-hate relationship.

  “I didn’t mean to call you an assignment.” Catch clears his throat. “Force of habit. It came out cold and that’s not how I meant it.”

  “I didn’t take it personally.”

  He scoops me up, holding me tight as he whispers into my ear.