The Endangered (The Endangered Series Book 1)

by S. L. Eaves

  Plus, I don’t want to be chased or followed.

  It’ll be easy. They are likely stoned or drunk, anyway. Everything will be fine.

  “What happened to you?” Fear laces Jeff’s words.

  I approach them cautiously.

  “Nothing. Life’s been a little crazy lately. Everything’s cool.”

  “You look different. And you haven’t been yourself lately. We’re concerned. What is going on?”

  I force a laugh. “You’re being dramatic. It’s nothing. I’m fine. No worries.”

  Their expressions say “bullshit.”

  “Look, I wish I could stay and explain, but I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  I continue down the hall, making like I’m going to push past, but Erica refuses to budge. Instead she plants herself in my path.

  “Jeff, would you please ask your girl to move. I’ve got places to be and sooner I’m outta your hair the better.”

  Jeff obliges, stepping back and motioning for Erica to do the same. Instead, she points at the mirror, looking from me to Jeff.

  “Not until you explain that,” she demands. I can’t help myself; I turn and look at the reflection of the two of them and a floating duffle bag.

  “Relax, the angle’s off.”

  “We want to help you. Just talk to us.” Jeff’s tone is desperate.

  “I’m beyond help. Trust me.”

  I begin to retreat to my room, giving up on the stairs.

  “I always knew there was something off about you, but you really must be a freak.”

  The comments I am successfully ignoring—the grip on my arm, not as well. Erica grabs me and pulls me back, spinning me around.

  “I warned you. Back off!”

  I shove her off me. Hard.

  Forgetting my strength, I see her leave the ground and smack into the wall. Her head hits first. The dull crunch of bone breaking. She falls to the floor, limp. Pieces of plaster land on her shoulders.

  Jeff, recoiling, lets out a gasp. In my anger I’d transformed. I wasn’t in control and my temper prevailed. I am in full panic mode, realizing I struck Erica back with such force that the cracking sound had come from her neck or her skull. As if I’d willed it.

  My impetuous act seals our fates. I cannot leave any witnesses.

  ***

  I meet Catch at the landing strip. Lights line the narrow runway and a flight control tower looms in the distance. I suppose this is a legitimate flight; who knows how they work the system. I can’t say it is my chief concern as I board the plane. Catch, having stuck his head out from the open doorway when the car pulled up, now greets me with a hug as I step on board.

  “You’re shaking. Did something happen?”

  Can he smell the fresh blood?

  “Everything’s fine,” I assure him as he takes the bag from my shoulder. I promptly crash on a plush suede couch.

  “Let’s leave this god-forsaken country and never return.”

  At that he smiles and takes a couple bottles from the shiny black mini fridge that sits perfectly positioned between a rich walnut end table and one of the three Barcaloungers that add to the opulent decor of the jet.

  I sit up, taking in the ambience for the first time. Catch notices, handing me a dark drink.

  “Nice, isn’t it?”

  “Nice? This is insane. Do they make planes nicer than this?”

  Catch laughs. “I’m sure they do. But needless to say, you’ll soon learn money isn’t an object—or issue, rather—with our kind.”

  A man in a pilot’s uniform steps into the cabin. I stiffen instinctively.

  He addresses Catch, "We’re preparing for departure. It shouldn’t be much longer, sir. Can I get you and your companion anything in the meantime?”

  “No, that should be all. Thanks for the update.” Catch waves him away politely and he disappears through a door in the cockpit.

  Catch turns to me and, speaking in a hushed voice, explains, “He’s the co-pilot. The front is that we work for a very successful Fortune 500 and that we are, of course, human, so just act natural.”

  “Got it.”

  Catch raises his glass.

  “A toast. To your new life. Our new life.”

  I sip a cocktail of vodka and blood. What transpired at the house has left me feeling ill and exhausted, like hitting a post-adrenalin wall. I stretch out on the couch.

  “You sure everything’s all right?” He pries a little.

  I can’t blame him; my distress is palpable.

  “What about these windows? Will sunlight be an issue?” Changing the subject.

  “There will be a point for a short while when the sun will be a factor, but you just push that button and shades will seal off all the windows. Easy fix.”

  “Wild. I’m gonna nap for a little, if you don’t mind. I’m not much of a flyer.”

  “Sure, rest up,” Catch encourages. “I’ve got some calls to make. I’ll try not to disturb you.”

  Sleep is a bad idea. As soon as I shut my eyes, the events at the house replay across my lids. I check Erica for signs of life, but her heartbeat has vanished. Jeff goes from petrified shock to hysterical screaming. Instinctively, I grab him and bite down hard on his neck.

  He goes mute and my head clears.

  I release my hold and push him away like I’d just tasted soured milk. His heart has slowed and he has slipped out of consciousness. I dial 9-1-1 from the house phone, a landline I’d never before used, and bolt out the door, wiping blood from my mouth.

  ***

  The room is cool and musty. I am alone with an upright mirror that stretches to the sharply angled ceiling. An attic. Consumed in darkness, the mirror is all I can see. I cross gingerly to it, the wood floorboards rough and cold under my bare feet.

  My reflection stares back dressed in the outfit I’d worn to the club the night I met Catch. The night I died.

  Then my reflection fades, giving way to an endless white corridor lined with glass enclosures. Huge hairy beasts snarl back from behind the glass. One howls, then they all start howling. Painful, piercing cries.

  Lightning flashes as if emitted from the mirror itself. I blink and suddenly the creature staring back has two puncture wounds on her neck.

  Blood begins to seep from the wounds.

  The eyes staring back are hollow, skin ashen, face sunken, body frail and emaciated…I am a corpse. A corpse bathed in blood, withering and grotesque. Everything in the mirror becomes soaked in scarlet, pouring from the surface onto the floorboards.

  ***

  Jolting awake, I flip with a start and fall right off the couch.

  I mumble incoherently. Catch is at my side as I open my eyes.

  He helps me back onto the couch.

  “You okay?”

  “Don’t suppose I could blame turbulence.”

  “You’re sweating.” He wipes damp hair from my face.

  “I had a nightmare.”

  “A vivid one apparently.”

  “I was dead.”

  “Oh.”

  “Nothing was as it should be.”

  “I can’t say nightmares were part of my experience when I was turned, but I know how traumatic it is, and we all process the change differently.”

  The change.

  “Don’t you hate when you wake up to find it wasn’t just a dream?”

  He squeezes my shoulders and forces a smile. I let him hold me. My shaking subsides and soon I am sobbing into his shoulder. I haven’t cried this hard since my mother died.

  Chapter 11

  The flight isn’t as long as I’d expected. A limo greets us once we set foot in London. The moonlit city glistens, offering a surprising air of liveliness in contrast to my expectations of dense smog.

  After a fleeting glimpse of cityscape, we are soon swallowed by forest. My face remains glued to the window. Catch occasionally rubs my arm, supplying facts about England and our destination. I involuntarily tune him out, captivated by my surroundings.


  All of this is so new. I’d grown up in New York City and only left the island to visit my dying grandmother in jersey when I was little, followed not soon after by a rather dark period in North Carolina. My mother was laid to rest somewhere outside Charlotte, where she’d been from. Then I stayed down there with my uncle briefly while he tried to foster me for the government checks; it did not end well. He chose booze over parenthood and I ended up back in New York City, where I bounced around various group homes in the system until I turned eighteen. A scholarship to NYU earned me a new start at life.

  So now I venture outside the city for the first time in nearly a decade. You could say I traded one island for another, but this was no Big Apple. Of course in the same time I’d managed to lose everything I’d spent twenty-two years working to achieve: my surrogate family of friends, my scholarship, my home, my pulse.

  We arrive at a gate, a lofty construct of wrought iron and concrete, daring me to enter. After a word from the driver, the gates creak apart. The next half mile proves to be the longest part of the trip.

  “Watch ahead,” urges Catch. “The mansion will appear as we round this bend.”

  He isn’t kidding. Boy does it ever.

  As we turn the bend, the trees seem to bow toward the enormous stone structure. The stone gleams ghastly silver in the moonlight. The mansion is immense in its towering columns, tiered stories, and flying buttresses. Vines climb the walls, covering two-thirds of the façade.

  “This isn’t a mansion; it’s a castle. How far back does it date?” I ask in a hushed voice. This draws a chuckle from Catch.

  “1600s, I believe. Wait till you see inside.”

  The limo pulls to a stop outside two gated doors. I exit cautiously, still admiring the building’s architecture…a real life castle. Outside the entrance, I peer straight up and expectantly spot gargoyles perched high above.

  “Yep. Complete with gargoyles and everything. Impressive, isn’t it?”

  Catch, watching me with amusement, takes our bags from the driver who pulls away hastily.

  We are left in silence staring at massive wooden doors fit for a giant.

  “What, no doorman?” I ask Catch as he presses his finger into the buzzer.

  “Come on, you blimey wanker,” he mocks into the receiver.

  He smiles, explaining, “Xan let us through the gate a ways back. He knows we’re here. He’s just messing with us.”

  The buzzer responds with a click and Catch pushes open the doors to reveal a grand multi-story foyer fit for royalty. I hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the granite pillars and curved archways leave me speechless. Not to mention the rich, dark upholstery and oriental rugs, all of which perfectly reinforce the gothic ambiance.

  “Catch!”

  A tall, lanky man in jeans and a tee shirt runs up and embraces Catch with enthusiasm.

  “Great to see you, too, mate,” Catch responds, his dialect becoming less American by the minute. “Xan, meet my companion.” Catch gestures to me. We shake hands.

  “Xan, Lori. Lori, Xan. He’s the brains behind our little operation here.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Jiro carries most of that burden.” Xan looks embarrassed.

  “Nice to meet you.” I smile.

  Xan’s ordinary appearance clashes with our environment. I’d half expected Dracula himself in a double-breast suit complete with flared cuffs to waif through the entranceway. Instead we are greeted by a rather geeky-looking teenager in tattered clothing, eighteen, maybe twenty max. Then again, he’s probably five hundred.

  Catch picks up his bag.

  “I’m going to get settled in and see how the others are faring. Xan, I trust you’ll give Lori the grand tour.”

  “Love ta, good to have you back.” He pats Catch’s shoulder.

  “I have to report in. I’ll find you later.” Catch winks at me and leaves us standing in the intimidating marble corridor.

  “So you’re the American. From New York City, I hear?”

  “Yes.” I nod politely.

  Two thoughts run through my head. One is that his jeans are way too tight and second is if his Ninja Turtles t-shirt is authentic because it certainly looks like he bought it in the eighties.

  “I was there once, years ago. Strange, beautiful city,” he remarks. “Can I take your bag?”

  I am temporarily hypnotized by his powder blue eyes.

  “I’ve got it, thanks. Your eyes—they’re not gray like Catch’s and Adrian’s.”

  He smiles warmly. “No, they were blue before I turned. Now they’re brighter than ever.”

  “Strange…mine were brown…”

  “Yours are gray now but they may change over time, plus blood affects the coloring. You drank recently,” he observes.

  It takes me a minute to realize he doesn’t mean alcohol. And that wrenching feeling of dread returns.

  “Are you from here?” I can’t discern much of an accent.

  “From around. Oslo originally. Lived all over.”

  “I’m blown away by this castle. It’s enormous—and gorgeous.”

  “Yes, it certainly is. Come on, I’ll show you around some, introduce you.”

  “How many people—err, vampires—call this place home?”

  “It varies. There are only a handful of us that reside here full-time. And lately we’re always out hunting, fighting. We have enough suites to house nearly a hundred. But as I’m sure Catch explained, you’ll find most empty. We have whole wings to ourselves.”

  A visual of a room filled with one hundred vampires makes me shudder. We are standing in a hallway large enough to drive a truck through.

  “This is the East wing. The training facility can be reached down those stairs.”

  I nod, admiring the artwork, sculpture, and security cameras that line the walls.

  “The facility is where you’ll be spending most of your time, at least initially. Though I have to admit, I still spend most of my time down there. I’m an inventor of sorts. Always trying new weapons.”

  “Sounds cool…I guess. What exactly does training entail?”

  Xan smiles, “Did Catch tell you much about the war?"

  “A little.”

  “You know what we do here? I mean, have a general idea.”

  “The word training came up a lot.”

  He smiles. “Yes, well, weapons and martial arts skills have become necessities. It’s not enough to simply get by on our abilities anymore. The wolves outmatch us in strength, they’re powerful animals. We need to elevate our capacity to outmaneuver their brute force with speed, technique, strategy…a lot of our training is rooted in martial arts, which improves our ability to react quickly and adapt…and advanced weaponry. Ever fire a gun?”

  I shake my head.

  He points at his eyes. “With these bad boys you’ll be an excellent shot.”

  My eyesight has been vastly improved. I no longer need my glasses or contact lenses. There are some perks to vampirism.

  “So yeah, you’ll start with the basics, like firing a pistol, then go from there. This base is state of the art. We’ve turned this castle into a modern day fortress.”

  “Well, I don’t doubt it beats your average military camp.”

  “Yeah, pretty good disguise for a base camp, huh?”

  We tour the various wings. A gymnasium, gun range, and an infirmary reside on the basement level. Weapon and tech facilities and a blood bank complete with refrigerated storerooms can be found on both the basement and main levels. The second and third floors house the living quarters. There are recreation rooms with bars, elaborate entertainment centers, billiard halls, and other luxuries scattered around the castle. More for aesthetics than anything else, I gather.

  Vast libraries complete the north and south wings of the main level, stocked to the ceilings with leather-bound volumes.

  Gardens with overgrown topiaries, ponds, and wooded trails decorate the grounds. As does a large detached garage that looks like
a recent addition.

  Xan points out the various cameras as we walk. Part of an elaborate security system. It is a lot to take in at once, he admits, suggesting I explore the castle on my own when I feel up to it. He stops outside a door at the far end of the hall, fishes in his pockets for a moment, then reveals a plastic key card. One swipe and the light blinks green.

  Smiling, he turns the handle.

  “Modern upgrades include a security system I designed.”

  “So like, umm, where is everybody? All out on assignments?”

  “They are in the War Room, for lack of a better term. It’s where all of our mainframes are housed. We run the technical side of our operations from there. If you’re out in the field and you need an address, the blueprints of a building, any sort of intel—our resident hackers, meaning myself and Jiro, will be on it. We provide an extra set of eyes when needed. You’ll be equipped with an ear piece for communication, the kind that can’t be traced, and a GPS tracker, so you can be traced.”

  I raise my eyebrows, as if to say “you can’t be serious.” He continues.

  “It’s for your own good, so don’t remove it. You encounter a pack of wolves, you’ll want us to be able to send backup.”

  He leads me into a hotel-style suite. The living room boasts a big screen television, an overstuffed couch, and a wet bar in the corner to serve as the kitchen.

  “This is your room. Everyone’s got pretty much the same setup here; bedroom down the hall, bathroom attached. Those windows open to a balcony. Keep the drapes pulled during the day, though. Both layers. We haven’t installed UV-protected windows. Marcus insists the current ones are antiques. Historic preservation or something,” He sighs.

  “This is my quarters?” I exclaim.

  Everything is shiny and modern.

  “Meets your approval?”

  “Haha, yeah, I wasn’t sure what to expect from a place like this.” I eye the flat-screen TV, push down on the plush couch. “Certainly wasn’t expecting all these amenities.”

  “You were expecting a coffin?” Xan is pleased at my excitement. “We have access to everything and anything you could want. When I say we’re ahead of the humans, I mean it in terms of accessibility not just the food chain; we’re able to access military-grade hardware and such. State-of-the-art is old school to us.”