Click-click.
I’m a great believer in coincidence. Where other people see divine providence or fate, I see unconnected events.
Click-click.
What if the incident at the Falcon was unconnected with the other missing persons?
Click-click.
I had no evidence to support the assumption that the other missing people would be turned.
Click-click.
Suddenly I was thinking of Kurt at the Dog & Duck. He had been a staunch and steadfast supporter of the hunters, a friend to many, respected by all.
Click-click.
No way was he willingly one of Glavidia’s pets.
Click-click.
My mind went back further. Almost a year ago I’d known a hunter codenamed Saxon. He’d been a rising star in the Ministry, passionate about the war and brave almost to a fault—until he went missing for a few weeks.
Click-click.
When he reappeared, apparently dazed and confused, he was picked up by his team and taken to a safe house. An hour later Saxon had detonated a bag full of semtex, destroying the inn, killing seventeen people, including himself.
Click-click.
The vamps had mindbroken him, we found out later from undercover agents. Weeks of domination by powerful vampires had left him with no will of his own, completely and utterly owned by Lady Lucia.
Click-click.
What if the missing people weren’t going to be turned?
Click-click.
What if they were going to be mindbroken and returned as assassins?
Click-click.
I put the full magazine aside and started on another.
Click-click.
If we go with the assumption that Miss Evening Wear was nothing more than dumb corpsebait—a vampire groupie—who was turned rather than drained …
Click-click.
… and purple hair had nothing to do with the missing people from the other safe houses …
Click-click.
… and if the other missing people were going to be mindbroken and returned to wreak havoc …
Click-click.
… then …
Click-click.
… the first sign that we would have that Marcus’ plans were about to go into action would be when those missing people were returned to their homes.
Click-click.
I heard someone coming down the stairs. By the sound of the footsteps it was John.
Click-click.
Click-click.
Click-click.
Click-click.
“Afternoon, boss,” said John as he entered the bar.
Click-click.
“Afternoon, John,” I replied, standing up and stretching. “How’s things going?”
“Not bad,” he replied. “What’s up, can’t sleep?”
“No, it’s not that. I just had something on my mind. I think I may have just about figured it out. Where’s the computer?”
He reached over the bar and pulled out a black canvas computer case.
“You need me to get it up and running, boss?” he asked.
“Yes, I do,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “I’m an old man now so all this modern technology frightens me.”
He laughed and tossed me the bag.
“I’ll be back in a second if you get out your depth,” he said. “Did I hear the kettle?”
“Yep,” I said, opening the case and turning the computer on. “It should still be hot.”
“Thanks boss,” he said as he disappeared into the kitchen.
I logged onto the Ministry network and checked on the missing people. None had shown up. I paused and pondered the situation briefly, then sent an email to the Ministry intelligence command, requesting a phone call when—if—any of the missing turned up. While I was waiting for a reply I finished my breakfast and went back to reloading my magazines.
John came back out with a tray that contained two cups of tea, a spray can of whipped cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup.
“Everything up and running, boss?” he asked.
“Yeah, fine,” I replied with a shrug.
I turned and looked at the tray, then up to John.
“Okay,” he said brightly. “I’m going upstairs before you ask why I’m taking these with me.”
“I know why you’re taking those with you,” I said with a raised eyebrow. “Have fun.”
I turned back to the computer. There was a message from the Ministry confirming my request and promising to call if or when anything happened.
I sent off my thanks and disconnected the computer. Once everything was tidied away I made another cup of tea and went back upstairs. I was thinking I could probably sleep now that I’d figured out what was on my mind.
The desire to sleep lasted until I opened the door to our room. Marie was lying on her back, the sheet and blankets pushed down to her waist, her beautiful breasts bared.
I closed and locked the door, put down my mug and stripped off my clothes. I walked slowly around the bed until I was standing over her and, as I watched, her nipples hardened. I laughed softly.
“You’re awake,” I said in a quiet voice.
“No I’m not,” she said, trying to hide a smile.
“Oh, then you won’t mind if I do this,” I said as I pushed the covers off of her body.
She was shaking with suppressed laughter, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Or this,” I said, trailing my fingertips over her abdomen.
She shook her head, her eyes still tightly shut.
“Or this,” I said, my hand moving lower.
“Why would I ever mind you doing that?” she asked softly.
“I dunno,” I said, leaning down to kiss her. “I guess if you’re asleep you might be offended.”
“You are a sex maniac, you know that?”
“Hey, it’s okay for you, you only have to wake up next to me,” I replied slyly. “I have to wake up next to you, and it’s difficult to think of much else when that happens.”
I kissed her again, passionately and deeply. She gave an aroused moan as she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back.
“Stay right where you are,” I said.
I kissed along her jaw and down her neck, then trailed tiny kisses randomly over her body, pausing at each nipple to do a more thorough job, and then down to her stomach. I squirmed around until I was facing down the bed, and kissed her just below the navel. I kissed over each hip and thigh, and then brushed my lips over her pubis.
I felt her hand wrap around my erection and start to rhythmically squeeze. I lifted my head and fixed her with a stern look.
“Stop that,” I said.
“Why?” she said cheekily.
“Two reasons,” I said. “First, I can’t concentrate when you do that, and second, this morning is about you and not me.”
She smiled and took her hand away, beaming an innocent smile.
“Behave yourself,” I said. “Lay back, shut up, and enjoy it.”
“Revenge is it?” she said, laughing.
“Paying off a debt,” I replied.
“And what if I don’t want you to?”
“Do I look like I’m asking for your permission?” I asked, one eyebrow arched.
“Oh, help, help,” she cried softly, her eyes sparkling. “I’m at the mercy of a sex-crazed stud who wants to do kinky stuff to me!”
I shook my head and laughed. I turned to find her legs were bent, the knees firmly pressed together.
“Oh no,” I said. “You don’t get out of it that easily.”
I pushed my hands between her knees and forced her legs apart. She was easily strong enough that I would have needed a crowbar if she’d been serious. I kissed her at the top of her thigh, working my way inward, one kiss at a time, until my mouth filled with the taste of her and she let out a soft gasp of delight.
For the first time in my life I was focused on giving pleasure, unconcerned for rec
eiving it. To my surprise, it was the most pleasurable act I could ever remember performing.
CHAPTER
35
We patrolled around the town, finding a whole lot of nothing. Around midnight we met up with Knuckles and her team. It was a cold, miserable night, with an annoying drizzle and what my granddad used to describe as a ‘lazy wind’—a wind that was too lazy to go around you so it blew straight through you instead. We were sheltering in the lea of a couple of tall buildings.
“Anything?” I asked, popping a boiled sweet in my mouth.
“Not a bloody thing, boss,” said Pogo, shouldering his shotgun and pulling out a packet of cigarettes.
He took one and offered the pack around. Billy took one with a grateful nod and the pack was pointed at me. I stared at the cigarettes for a second, my mouth suddenly dry.
“No, thank you,” I said in a hoarse voice. “I quit.”
Marie gave me a warm smile and kissed me on the cheek.
“For the first time in years,” said Pogo as he lit his cigarette, “this place is vampire free.”
“Yeah,” said Rock Ape, disgustedly. “We’re wandering around here totally surrounded by no vampires.”
“I know what you mean,” said John. “It’s like we won the war and nobody bothered to tell us.”
Cally lowered a satphone and deactivated it with a snort.
“It’s the same all over,” she said. “Nothing. Not a bite.”
Marie sniffed the air.
“No, there’s vampires around here, they just seem to be lying low,” she said.
“Well I’m getting sick of it,” grumbled Rock Ape. “I could do with some action.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” said Knuckles affectionately.
“Why?” said Pogo.
“Uh, what?” said Knuckles.
“I said, why? Why should he be careful what he wishes for?”
Knuckles was looking puzzled and we were all exchanging looks.
“Surely you know how that saying ends, right?” said Anna.
“No, how does it end?” said Pogo.
“Are you shitting me?” said Anna, her hands on her hips and a shocked look on her face.
“Nope, never heard of it,” he replied.
Oh, this was good. This was very good. I looked around. John had figured out that Pogo was winding us up. I could tell that Rock Ape had caught it and Knuckles was trying not to laugh. Everyone else seemed to be taking him seriously. I caught John’s eye and held up my hand, fingers spread. He nodded and I wandered a little away from the group. I could do with a pee and I thought I saw a little area with some trees a little way back. John would know where I was going, I’d given him the ‘I’m taking 5’ signal, so that was cool. Not that I really needed anyone looking over my shoulder. Speaking of which, when I looked back John was whispering in Marie’s ear. She nodded and gave me a little wave.
To tell the truth I was actually hoping I’d get attacked. Anything to relieve the boredom of the night. Be careful what you wish for, eh?
I found a tiny green area, about a hundred yards wide, with a half dozen trees dotting the grass. The mist was getting thick and the rain wasn’t helping visibility so I picked a likely tree, leaned my FAL against the trunk, shuffled around to the side and began, in the slang of my youth, to ‘siphon the python’.
“Well look at this,” came a voice from behind me and to my left. “There’s a man with his dick in his hands.”
I groaned silently. The voice was recognizable, from the overdone faux eastern European accent to the slight speech impediment of the newly turned unused to fangs.
“Anyone ever feed from you down there?” asked a second female voice.
“Nope,” I said, staring at the bark in front of my eyes.
Typical. You could take a one-man shuttle to the moon, hop behind a boulder to take a slash, and somebody would wander past. I swear, if I were the last human on Earth, the day I got caught short outside would be the day that aliens would land right behind me.
“It’s supposed to be good,” said the first voice. “Makes a blow job feel like a kiss from your maiden aunt.”
I sighed. At least I wasn’t getting stage fright. On the contrary, I wondered if I’d ever stop peeing.
“And when it’s erect,” came a third voice that was trying for sophisticated and missing by a mile, “all that blood just comes gushing out. A girl can hardly swallow fast enough.”
That comment made me pause. Had Anna and John ever…? No, I didn’t know and I didn’t want to know. Finally the stream was slowing. I finished, shook off, and put it away, carefully zipping up. I turned to look at my audience. There were four young women, all of the ‘former corpsebait’ variety. Sheffield really had a large collection of dumb young female vampires. This usually indicated that the area contained at least one fairly powerful—but not too powerful—older female vampire. The older vamp would turn a few young men to play with and they, being younger, dumber and, let’s face it, young men, would use their new dashing romantic status to get young women, usually a different victim each night.
If the older vamp was unable to completely control her male subordinates the area would sprout young female vamps with surprising speed.
Three of the four were displaying considerable confusion over what constitutes a cool look for the vampire about town. One was in fetish wear, all leather straps, zippers, buckles and studs. One was in a miniskirt, tube top and six inch spike heels—vampire hooker chic. The third was wearing something out of an early ‘80s music video, a look that must have gone out of fashion at almost a decade before she was even born. She had the full New Romantic look, from the top of her big hair to the soles of her red velvet pixie boots.
The fourth was dangerous. She’d opted for a one-piece catsuit, Doc Marten boots, and a waist-length leather jacket. Whilst the others were trying, with varying success, to maintain a pose of artful disdain, she was simply standing, casual and relaxed, observing and saying nothing. Under other circumstances she was the only one I’d bet on making it to the end of the year. Right now I wouldn’t wager a single penny on any of them making it to the end of the night.
“So do we get to play or are you going to try to resist us?” said the hooker, the first voice I’d heard.
“Oh please resist,” said the New Romantic, a new voice. “It’s so much tastier when the blood is spiced with fear.”
I sighed and reached around the tree, coming back with my FAL.
“Shit,” said the one in the catsuit. “I told you he was a hunter.”
I could see, behind the vamps, figures emerging from the fog. It was Knuckles and our teams and, off to my right, Norse and his crew were hurrying over.
I flicked the safety off and raised the rifle as the four vamps started to run. I drew a bead on the one in the catsuit and squeezed the trigger. The round left the FAL’s barrel and traced a bright red line to the vamp’s spine, sending her falling forward with a bloodcurdling scream, then I swung the FAL around and shot the New Romantic.
“Wait!” yelled Bolt, bringing his Dragunov sniper rifle into firing position.
“Ten quid says you crack first,” said Cally, her Accuracy International AWSM already pointed.
“Twenty,” said Bolt without hesitation, his dark eyes intent in his dusky face.
I’d seen this game played before; it was the sniper’s version of chicken. The two targets ran and the two snipers waited. Whichever sniper ‘flinched’ and fired first lost the bet. Of course, the bet only counts if the winner actually takes down their target too. Cally’s British-made AWSM had the edge in range over Bolt’s Russian Dragunov SVD, but neither shot would be made at anywhere near either weapon’s maximum. The danger here was that the targets would disappear into the gloomy night. The Dragunov was semi-automatic versus the AWSM’s bolt-action, but the bet only counted if the target was killed with a single shot, so there was no edge there. Both were using the same night vision scopes: no e
dge there.
I pulled out my own night vision goggles and took a look. The two girls were still running like the taxman was after them and, with the fog and rain they’d be out of sight in seconds. As I was watching I heard a loud report behind me. The vampire that was dressed like a hooker went down. A second shot went off, deeper and louder, and the vamp in the bondage gear fell in an ungainly heap.
“Nice shot,” I heard Bolt say as I turned around.
He smiled and handed Cally a rumpled £20 note.
“Maybe I’ll take you out to dinner,” she said as she pocketed the money. “That was a pretty sweet shot yourself.”
The two of them started to compare rifles and were quickly lost in a world of muzzle velocities and effective ranges. I thought I heard the beating of tiny cherub’s wings. Some romances are made on chance encounters in bars or meetings at work. I wondered how many were based around a pair of sniper rifles.
Marie slid her arm through mine and bumped shoulders with me.
“What exactly were you thinking?” she asked softly.
“Call of nature,” I said. “Besides, it wasn’t like they were any problem.”
“Hey, boss?” yelled John, over by the dead vamp in the catsuit, beckoning to us. “What the hell did you hit this one with?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked as we walked over.
“Well, take a look, boss.”
I looked down at the corpse and shuddered. The vamp’s back was split wide open, from waist to neck, and wisps of greasy smoke were drifting out of the charred flesh.
“Holy crap!” I said, shocked. “It was the tracer round!”
“Fire and sliver,” said John quietly. “That’s nasty.”
“Fuck,” said Norse, wrinkling his nose at the smell of burning flesh. “You have any more of those?”
“Not for that popgun,” I said, eyeing his AUG. “I got ammunition for man-sized guns only.”
Norse laughed and turned to Hacker.
“You call this in?” he asked.
Hacker was talking rapidly into a satphone and waving Norse away.
“Okay, so we call this one and go back to the Falcon for a cuppa, right?” asked Norse.
Pagan (MPRD Book 1) Page 22