The Endangered (The Endangered Series Book 1)

by S. L. Eaves

  Satisfied that he had extracted all he could, Marcus ended his suffering.

  “So Deacon is Striden’s brother?” asks Xan as he pulls out his phone and goes into the other room.

  “Yes. And they’ve developed a virus. Masked as a vaccine, a flu shot or something. Reece suspects they were devising a method of mass distribution, positioning it as a cure to the current flu outbreak that’s been hitting the entire continent. They may have even been responsible for creating the current strain that’s been making humans sick. He couldn’t say for sure. But the pharmacy that develops a cure will make a fortune.”

  “S&D would assume the hero role.” Crina’s face registers disgust.

  “Bioterrorism,” states Quinn.

  “That’s how Reece described it.” Marcus paces back and forth as he speaks.

  “We now have two leads. Reece said Franco is big into live music. He frequents a local venue several nights a week. Catch, you know what he looks like—you and Lori will find him. Make him take you to Striden. Or at the very least, learn where he is so we can take him out. And try to find out what the hell is wrong with the bastard. A vampire answering to wolves. Incomprehensible.”

  “No problem.” Catch gives nod and winks at me.

  “You said there were two leads?” Crina asks.

  “A possible location for S&D in New Jersey. We suspect it’s a front, but Reece gave us an address.”

  Xan walks in, “Jiro checked the address, says it along with several other buildings across the river are registered under either S&D or a Deacon Jones. He’s sending us everything he can find.”

  Marcus nods, “So the rest of us will go investigate. But I don’t want a repeat of the warehouse. Xan, I need you to pull everything you can from the files Jiro’s sending over and comb through Adrian’s papers while you’re at it. He rambled extensively about the virus and made mention of S&D. If it’s something that could harm us we need to protect ourselves before infiltrating their operations.”

  Chapter 28

  I scan the crowd through the haze. Roughly a thousand people stand crammed elbow to elbow in this tiny venue. Once a factory of some sort, the old brick building has recently been reincarnated. The upper level holds a bar and some seating. Both levels are equally jammed with patrons. Everyone is dressed head-to-toe in black and it appears a two piercing and tattoo minimum is required to get through the door.

  Smoke rises from a handful of concert goers attempting inconspicuous drags from their joints despite the prominently posted ‘NO Smoking’ signs. I sniff the air. Musky sweat and cheap booze. I can’t help but be reminded of the night I met Catch. More by the energy of the crowd than their smell. I force the memory back and focus on the task at hand.

  As I inch my way across the rafter beam, I press my body flat to keep out of the range of the rotating and flashing lights suspended from the ceiling. Between the lighting, dense atmosphere, and pungent aromas, I am out of luck. No way I can identify our target from this perch.

  “Anything?” Catch’s voice comes in faintly through my comm.

  “Negative.” I slide toward the center when the lights cut out. “You?”

  “They all look like him.”

  A metal band takes the stage and the crowd goes wild. My chest vibrates to the beat of the music. I let the sensation carry me across the beam.

  “Lori. I’ve spotted him. He’s toward the back of the crowd. Not far from you.” I look to the wall where Catch stands and follow his gaze.

  “Describe him.”

  “Buzzed head, black tank top, ripped jeans, a serpent tattoo running up his shoulder on his left arm.”

  “Got ’im.” I hop rafters and position myself directly overhead.

  The band on stage rages, fog machines crank into hyper-drive.

  I pounce.

  A stunned Franco doesn’t have a chance to react.

  We hit the ground and Catch, who had spotted my descent, mashes his way through the pulsating crowd, unfazed by our sudden presence. We drag Franco out the side door.

  Security comes over.

  “Too much to drink,” I explain as Catch pulls Franco past the equipment van and into a nearby alley, wasting no time.

  “Where is Striden?” Catch asks between punches.

  Franco vamps, hisses through his fangs, and struggles to get to his feet. Catch keeps striking and Franco keeps shaking his head, not saying a word.

  I linger by the van at the alley’s entrance. Security eyes me cautiously. I light a cigarette and try my best to look casual.

  “We know you’re working for the wolves. Where is Striden?”

  Franco strikes, kicking Catch back; he jumps to his feet.

  “You got the wrong guy.” Franco rips free of Catch and hooks him in the jaw.

  Catch retaliates, alternating his blows midsection, head, midsection. Franco stays on his feet this time, braced against the wall.

  “Don’t break his jaw; we need answers,” I caution, hearing a crunch as Catch breaks Franco’s nose.

  I hang back at the end of the alley, exchanging defiant looks with the bouncers. A couple of actual drunks pour out of the venue, fists flying. Just the distraction we need.

  Catch lets out a cry. Franco had driven a knife into his thigh and Catch stumbles back, gripping his leg as Franco begins wailing on him. I sprint to his aide. Franco is already on top of Catch, stomping the knife deeper into his leg. Catch squirms under him.

  I pull a stiletto-shaped stake from my boot and ram it into Franco’s back.

  He screams and explodes into dust.

  “Shit,” Catch cries, jerking the knife from his leg.

  “That did not go as planned.” I reach to help him up.

  “Definitely not.” Catch’s eyes dart past mine. “Lori!”

  Over my shoulder, two vampires swing down from an overhead fire escape like crazed chimpanzees. Then everything goes dark.

  ***

  “Bloody wankers. I’ll kill you!”

  Catch’s voice sounds distant. I shake the fog from my head. The world jostles like a boggle board and I fight to right myself. Chains around my arms clank against the metal floor of the van. I recall the concert and the skirmish in the alley.

  The van is new. So are the chains.

  I drag them upward and make it as far as my knees. A large hand shoves me back. I try to fight it, but wires are bound tight around my wrists and the figure standing over me is huge.

  Catch is sprawled on his back, the other, smaller vampire, sitting on his wounded leg.

  “Tough talk from a pile of dust.” He jabs Catch in the face. “The fuck you want with Franco?”

  “Stop!” I lunge forward again, and again the chains do their job. So does the brute with the big hands. He throws me back against the van.

  “Lori!”

  My face is wet. Likely coated in blood from the blow it’d taken earlier. I can smell it in my nostrils. Sweet and sour.

  “Don’t touch her. I swear I’ll feed you your insides.”

  “You’re in no position to be making threats.”

  Catch swings his good leg up and conks the vampire hard in his side, throwing him off balance. In a blink he has him by the throat, pinning him against the floor. The van lurches and veers sharply left. The doors fling open and Catch moves to shove his attacker out head first. The second vamp charges Catch and he disappears from my sight.

  “Catch!” I try to call to him, desperately struggling to gain some sort of footing. I blink and squint to see past the blood in my eyes.

  Our pair of attackers are hunched in the doorway, their backs to me.

  “Well at least we got his girl.”

  They turn to me, shutting the doors. The van hits a pothole and something hard hits my head.

  ***

  Playing touch football in Central Park. Launching fireworks off rooftops in Alphabet City. Fucking a hot bartender on the pool table after hours. Riding a rollercoaster with tear jerking g-force. Partying ti
ll dawn at a kegger on the beach.

  The sun.

  I see my blood spray his face. Chains do not tear through flesh cleanly. The air whooshes, the metal stings, and I scream through clenched teeth.

  “Who are you working for?”

  I’m trying desperately to disappear inside my head to avoid the anguish; to think of fond memories, but there’s few to draw from. Come on Lori, think about something else, anything else…

  “What was your business with Franco!”

  My head throbs.

  “Tell me, bitch! What did you want from him?”

  Sweet cocktails with little pink umbrellas. Winning the lottery. Racing a sports bike through the desert at sunset…

  I am anywhere but here.

  Think, think about anything to block them out. You hear what they’re asking and you might be tempted to answer.

  Warm liquid oozes down my face, covering my eyes, dripping from my lips, nose, chin. I can’t see. Are my eyes open? Darkness everywhere.

  I am a rock star. I answer to no one.

  The man’s voice booms again, his Irish accent growing thicker with rage.

  “You gotta do this the hard way, don’t ya? Mo’ fun for us.”

  Another crack in the jaw. Please don’t knock out a tooth. I drop to my knees. Arms still tightly secured behind my back, I flex and feel wires cut through flesh. I lean against the cold cinderblock wall for support.

  I am a battle axe.

  Last I knew I was in a van with Catch. Where is he? Now I am somewhere with two thugs. They aren’t humans or werewolves. They are vampires and, likely, friends of Franco’s. Good friends judging by their actions. Which won’t bode well for me.

  Don’t know how long they’d been going to work on me, but my ribs are cracked up and they’d busted my face pretty good—nose is definitely broken. But they aren’t going to learn anything this way. I suffered years of abuse as a kid and I was human then. This is nothing. At least that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. But all I want to do right now is curl up in a ball and cry.

  A strong jab into my gut sends me sprawling backward. Hands twisting beneath me, legs jutting out. I want more than anything to crawl into a fetal position. Escape from here.

  Instead I lay vulnerable and completely powerless to my own fate. Sour blood trickles down the back of my throat.

  “Why’d ya do it?” His voice is gruff and doesn’t match his petite physique. His buddy is larger. The strong, silent type.

  I stare up at them, trying to focus, get my bearings. The smaller guy, one doing all the talking, pulls a gun from his back.

  “This is how iz gonna go. I’ma gonna keep shootin’ holes in yous ’til you start givin’ me answers.”

  Oh, this is gonna hurt.

  “You best start talking, lassie,” the bigger one throws in.

  No response from me.

  The room is temporarily illuminated by the spark from the revolver.

  The little fucker blew a hole in my thigh just above the knee. Probably aiming for the knee cap, but missed at point-blank range. Pathetic.

  “What was your business with Franco?” he tries again. He aims the gun at my abdomen.

  The door flies open. They turn swiftly.

  A voice bellows, “I spoke with Marcus. She’s not a rogue or a traitor; she works for Marcus and what’s left of The Covenant.”

  The gun quickly disappears. I try to turn my head without success. The small guy is first to speak. “Since when des the Cov’nant hunt their own kind? Fo’give me, Vega, but I have trouble believing—”

  Vega. How do I know that name? Pureblood?

  “Franco was a traitor,” I croak out.

  They spin from Vega to me, then back to Vega for confirmation.

  “It appears we’ve got quite a complicated predicament on our hands, but I won’t take any objections from you, Conner, and I won’t cross swords with Marcus. Whatever your feelings in this delicate matter, there is a logical explanation for Franco’s untimely demise.”

  They both nod obediently.

  ‘You are dismissed. I need to have a word with our…guest in private.”

  Hasty exits, followed by the slamming of a door not far from where I rest. Vega is at my side now, propping me up against the wall. Leaning me forward, he bends over and snaps the wires with his fingers. He then proceeds to wipe blood from my eyes with a handkerchief from his lapel.

  I rub my sore, bleeding wrists.

  “We’ll get you cleaned up. I have an excellent doctor here. I’m sorry about the boys; they get a little…overzealous.” Vega’s voice is calm and sincere.

  He stands about 6’5”, slender build, elegantly dressed, his black hair slicked back. His face is lean, with high cheek bones and a goatee hiding an exceptionally pointed chin. His lips, penciled on, barely move as he speaks in a Hungarian accent. Vega is the closest embodiment of the Dracula myth I’ve ever seen. A very intimidating presence indeed. His porcelain skin glistens like Adrian’s. A Pureblood. Then I remember why his name sounds familiar: Catch’s warnings.

  We take each other in for a moment.

  He examines my leg and helps me to my feet.

  “Marcus contacted you?” I manage.

  “No. I contacted him. I suspected you might be part of his clan. Atticus spoke of one like you.”

  “Atticus?”

  “Perhaps you know him as Adrian? He had many names over the centuries.”

  “I did, I share his bloodline. Marcus mentioned you, but indicated you were underground. He spoke as if he had no contact with you.”

  “True. I am. And our exchanges have been limited. I came to the States a few months ago because Franco and Conner had gotten involved…well, I’ll spare you the details, but he got in over his head with some vampires he’d been dealing blood with. I do not make a habit of cleaning up his messes, but the climate has been tense and I wanted to see just how bad things have gotten for our kind since the escalation of the war. Perhaps you can offer some insight on that end."

  “Catch.” We are ascending a stairwell. I hobble on my good leg as he guides me down a long corridor. “Where is Catch?”

  That’s my last thought before the shock and adrenalin wares off enough for the pain to pervade and I lose consciousness.

  Chapter 29

  I awake in a cot. The room has wooden floors with faded lines and a tattered basketball net at the far end. An old gymnasium. The hum of florescent lights fills the room. A table with medical supplies sits a foot from my bed.

  My pant leg has been cut off and the bullet hole stitched, as has a gash in my side and the laceration that reached around my jaw and across my nose, I discover upon taking inventory of my wounds.

  Bride of Frankenstein.

  A female vampire emerges from a door to my right. She smiles when she sees I’ve awakened. She disappears and comes back with a pitcher of blood, a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of cotton drawstring pants.

  “Drink up. You lost a lot of blood. Your body wasn’t healing fast enough so we stitched you up.”

  I run my fingers across the bridge of my nose, pick at the dressings.

  “Stitches are the dissolving kind. They don’t look as bad as they feel…I brought you a change of clothes. I hope these will be adequate for the time being.”

  She speaks softly, her voice full of pity.

  “Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. You the doctor?”

  She laughs. “I masquerade as a nurse to score blood and whatnot from hospitals. I’ve picked up a few things, but let’s just say I’m glad you didn’t need major surgery. Can I get you anything else?”

  I eye the pitcher.

  “A beer bong.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Where is Vega? How long was I out?”

  “Not long. He’ll be in shortly.”

  “Okay. Thanks for stitching me up.”

  She nods and leaves. I gulp down the pitcher. Warmth rushes through me. I can feel the life enter my veins, r
egenerating all I’ve lost. It’s wonderful.

  I exchange my stained and tattered clothes for the clean apparel. The blood has revived me, but I am still well below a hundred percent. I limp to the door, but it opens before I reach it. Vega’s tall frame fills the doorway.

  “Ahh…I see you’re up and about already.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the hospitality.”

  “Can we have a word?”

  “Sure.”

  He leads me down the hallway.

  “Where are we? If I didn’t know better I’d say a school.”

  “You’d be right. We’ve taken up temporary residence. Seems to have been boarded up for quite a while. Saved us the trouble.”

  I am about to ask who exactly “us” is when suddenly the door at the end of the hall bursts open. Vega stops, but registers no alarm.

  It’s Catch. Sword raised, dragging the little Irish punk behind him. Catch immediately freezes, eyes fixed on Vega. The sword vanishes back in its sheath and his unconscious hostage hits the floor with a thud.

  “Hello Catch.” Vega is the first to speak.

  Catch’s expression registers recognition, but his jaw gapes open, speechless.

  After a moment his gaze shifts, as if seeing me for the first time.

  “Lori!” His voice is shaking.

  “My hero,” I utter dryly.

  Vega’s thin lips purse at the corners. A smile.

  “You are here for Lori, no doubt?”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Your reputation precedes you,” Vega continues. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am—”

  “I know who you are,” Catch interrupts. “I apologize for my intrusion. It’s just that…Lori and I…Earlier we…”

  “It’s perfectly all right.” Vega gestures down the hall. “We were just heading to my study. Care to join us?”

  Catch merely nods. I’ve never seen him so rattled.

  ***

  As a Pureblood, the extent of Vega’s strength and abilities are far superior to the average hybrid. Granted, a human turned by a Pureblood would amass a great deal more power than a human turned by a second or third generation and so on…however, a Pureblood’s powers are inconceivable even to the strongest of us hybrids. Or so I am told.