by Aja James
“And nothing more annoying than Rogues who flaunt the breaking of our laws before my face.”
The Queen uncurled slightly from her seat and straightened her back, the better to shoot daggers at each and every one of her personal guards from her elevated height on the throne.
“Maximus, report,” she ordered.
“The daily human body-count as a result of vampire kills has risen sharply,” the Commander promptly related.
“Over ninety-percent of the deaths are non-contractual; the humans did not Consent. In addition, many victims were found not only drained of blood and soul, but their bodies have been torn asunder and left in pieces in the aftermath of a vampire feeding frenzy.”
The Chosen shared ominous scowls upon hearing this particular abomination.
“Several of these crime scenes are located in the center of the city and have been blocked off by NYPD. The police’s official statement is that this could be the work of gang violence, symbolic of retribution for blood feuds, and the press is having a field day.”
Maximus nodded to Anastasia, the Queen’s head of security, to continue where he left off.
“Our investigation led us to the source of these killings,” Anastasia said, looking into the eyes of each of the Chosen in turn.
“Illegal fight clubs. Organized by humans, bankrolled and attended by vampires who revel in this particularly bloody spectator sport.”
“We have not been able to uncover the identities of the Rogues, nor have we been successful in catching them in the act. Fight locations change every time. This secret network of humans and vampires has yet been impossible to infiltrate. All we know is that this is impeccably organized and the members, human and vampire alike, are deeply embedded in New York society. We suspect they even have all of the human law enforcement branches on their payroll.”
“You might as well describe how it works,” the Queen said with disdain, shuddering delicately as if the sordidness of the crimes made her skin crawl.
“The rules are simple,” Ana continued, “there are no rules. Merely to fight until one opponent can no longer fight. Spectators bet on the match and choose the weapons for the fighters. They range from bare knuckles to maces, swords, lead pipes, you name it.”
“Some contestants are club regulars and spectator favorites. They usually get the most advantageous weapons. The winner takes a share of the proceeds from the match. More importantly, he gets to go home. Occasionally, death results from the ruthless beating, but more often the loser gets dragged to the ‘Cage,’ hidden away from the spectators where depraved Rogues drain his blood and steal his soul, and in the feeding frenzy, tear him limb from limb.”
She looked to Maximus to continue.
“What’s alarming is that these underground fight clubs are multiplying rapidly across the U.S., with the New England territories as the epicenter, and spreading around the world if our sources are right,” Maximus said, the black slashes of his brows drawing together in a ferocious scowl. “We’ve gathered sightings in Moscow, London, Tokyo, Rio De Janeiro.”
“The bloodlust and psychotic frenzy are escalating among Rogues,” he continued in a low growl. “They have no respect for the Dark Laws and risk exposing our Kind to humans at large. Humans who have aided us in the past are steadily backing out of the partnership. Others who know of us are forming vigilante groups that hunt our Kind to torture and kill in repayment for these senseless murders. If we don’t stop this vicious cycle, we will soon have a full-scale war on our hands.”
“Enough said,” the Queen announced, her face an iron mask of ruthless resolve. “We must stop the Rogues’ rampage before the mobs grow more powerful. Maximus, take Ryu to search out the fight club networks and vampire sponsors. Anastasia, take Devlin to notify and partner with our allies, heighten security for our civilians.”
With those few words, the Chosen warriors knew precisely what their Queen required of them.
As they bowed formally and turned to leave the Atrium, the Pure One’s Consul, all but forgotten in the shadows of the throne, asked quietly, “May I be of service?”
Jade Cicada tilted her head toward the Consul, curled her lips in a darkly ironic smile and said, “And what service would that be, Pure One?”
Seth ignored her sardonic tone and answered in all seriousness, “Your warriors are severely limited during the daytime, when these Rogues have the advantage in their human partners. Allow me to consult with the Dozen; the Elite may be able to reach where you cannot. We have a common enemy in these Hordes.”
The Queen considered his offer with a slight narrowing of her cat-like eyes.
But before she could reply, Simone interjected, “We cannot trust the Pure One, my Queen. It is too dangerous.”
Jade kept her gaze trained on the Consul and ignored the Keeper’s warning.
“Inanna,” she said, without turning to face the female to whom she spoke, “see what the Consul has to offer. You have my full permission to drain him if he betrays us.”
Keeping her gaze glued to his, she smiled more broadly and added, “but leave the last drop for me.”
*** *** *** ***
Gabriel collected a sleeping Benji from his next door neighbor and landlady, Mrs. Sergeyev, in apartment 5B when he returned from the hospice.
The elderly woman gave him a brief hug and a wet kiss on the cheek upon seeing him on her threshold, an almost excessive amount of emotion for the reticent Russian. She murmured some comforting words in her native tongue, the smoky bass of her voice blanketing Gabriel with empathy even though he did not understand what she said.
Cradling his son against his chest, Gabriel entered his own studio apartment and locked the door behind him. The cacophony outside his window in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, was mere background noise by now, and Benji didn’t so much as stir in his arms. Gabriel laid the boy in the full-size bed they shared since Olivia became hospitalized and tucked the covers securely around him.
Alone in the dark with his even darker thoughts, Gabriel sat next to Benji with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.
He would lose her soon, he knew.
The doctors said it was only a matter of time, varying between a handful of hours to as long as weeks. But there would be no miracle. She would not survive the winter. And in what days she had left, there would be little peace. She would ever shift between physical pain and mental delirium, often both. She would continue to deteriorate until only a dried husk remained.
Gabriel knew that this was the end. He knew, yet he couldn’t bring himself to accept the fact. It wasn’t in his DNA to give up.
The various doctors and specialists had all said the same: it was a hopeless cause. No surgery, no chemotherapy, no drugs or alternative medicine would be able to make his wife well again.
They’d discovered the second cancer too late. Her rapid decline from a stabilizing cancer patient to a veritable ghost took less than two months.
And in that time, Gabriel had sold his grandparents’ house in upstate New York, traded in the classic and impeccably maintained Ford Mustang for a cheap box with wheels, put on E-Bay and Craig’s List all of his own worldly possessions, quit his slave-labor job at one of New York’s premier architecture firms, got a couple of flexible-hours part-time jobs in the City instead, and moved his family to this rent-controlled five-hundred-square-foot studio in the Russian District.
It wasn’t enough.
Between Benji’s preschool fees and Olivia’s medical bills, his bank account was rapidly running dry. Last he checked there was less than two hundred dollars left.
Gabriel raised his head and pulled out a business card from the inner pocket of his shirt.
He knew what he had to do.
This was not how his shifu intended him to employ his training, but he had no other choice.
Quickly, he changed into a black hoodie and loose black joggers. He stopped by Mrs. Sergeyev’s apartment to have her keep an eye on Benji and swiftly d
eparted the apartment, taking off at a brisk jog toward the nearby metro station.
It took almost an hour to arrive at his designated stop. Then, he walked another mile to an abandoned warehouse by the Bay. The night was pitch black save for a pasty moon low-hung in the sky. If not for a few flashes of dim light from the warehouse’s broken windows, Gabriel would have thought the Russian mobster who’d tipped him off had lied.
Now, he cautiously moved toward the dilapidated building, stepping around refuse and broken glass along the way. As he entered, muffled echoes from deep within clanged against the rusted rafters. He followed the distant noise and arrived at an iron door locked from the inside.
There was no going back.
Taking a deep breath, Gabriel raised his fist and rapped three times on the door.
A narrow bar slid open to reveal two bloodshot eyes that peered suspiciously back at him.
“Get lost,” the man on the other side growled in a rough, accented voice.
Gabriel stared back unrelentingly. “I came to fight.”
The beady eyes looked him up and down. Gabriel could almost see the accompanying sneer.
“You ain’t got what it takes, eblan.”
“But I bleed just like any other dumbass,” Gabriel returned. “It doesn’t cost you anything to let me in.”
A few moments of pause. Then—“Suit yourself. You lookin’ for suicide, it’s a guaranteed but nasty way to go.”
As the man drew out the sss in nasty like a viper’s hiss, he exposed three gold capped teeth in a monstrous grin.
The door opened with a groan after a complex series of levers and locks unwinding, and Gabriel narrowly slipped inside past the tattooed hulk guarding the entrance. Without a word, the Russian led him down a dark corridor to another iron door that opened to a steep flight of stairs, taking them into the hellish belly beneath the warehouse.
Gabriel was suddenly assaulted by the uproar of shouting men, their fists full of bet slips, of cackling women who lost their inhibitions through sustained inebriation, of bottles broken, flesh pummeled, bones cracked, blood splattered.
Welcome to the fight club.
“Thou shalt not covet thy human subjects, nor the Pure Ones who are thy slaves. Subjects must be held at an objective distance, ruled by a fair hand. Slaves must be leashed with tight control, mastered by a strong will.”
—Excerpt from the Dark Laws, verse twenty-one of the Ecliptic Scrolls
Chapter Two
It was five o’clock when Inanna slipped back inside the hospice.
She had over an hour of night left, plenty of time to collect on the Blood-Contract and make her way back to the Cove before the early rays of winter sun started to weave their drowsy spell around her.
A little known fact was that Inanna felt less of the sun’s adverse effects than other vampires.
Only the Queen was aware of the truth.
To maintain appearances, however, she stuck to the usual vampire routine.
Checking briefly the guest log on the empty reception desk, she saw that Gabriel had signed out before midnight, having stayed much later than his usual visit. Perhaps he sensed somehow that this would be the last hours he would spend with his wife.
When he saw her next, she would no longer be among the living.
Inanna walked soundlessly through the corridors to arrive at Olivia’s room. She entered as if one with the darkness, a mere shadow flickering against the wall, and locked the door behind her.
Olivia was in the throes of what seemed to be a nightmare.
She was making pained whimpers, gasping for breath, while tossing and turning on her narrow bed, her hands curled into claws as she fervently scratched the skin around her IV and throat.
A cool breeze drifted through the open windows, carrying the soothing scent of jasmine from the trees that surrounded the hospice, but the writhing patient seemed immune to its therapeutic effects.
Inanna had seen this sight thousands of times.
Hundreds of thousands.
It was the last feverish battle of the dying.
The drugs were losing their effects; the patient’s body was rebelling against her. She was flailing against the onset of death.
Inanna knew what she needed.
“I am here, Olivia,” the Chosen said, drawing near to sit beside the mechanical bed, taking one of the patient’s hands and squeezing lightly to calm the frenzied shaking.
“Do not fret. I am here.”
Olivia turned toward the sound of her voice and opened her chapped lips, but only incoherent grunts and mumbles tumbled from them.
As if frustrated with her inability to speak clearly, she began to shake her head from side to side, hot tears slipping from the corners of her eyes.
“Shall I ease your pain a bit?” Inanna asked, not really expecting an answer.
She drew one boney wrist closer and quickly sank her canines into the barely-there vein.
With the first slow draw of blood, the venom from her fangs trickling into the patient’s bloodstream like the most powerful sedative, Olivia stopped thrashing immediately and began to breathe more evenly, more deeply.
Stopping after a few small sips so that Olivia was calm and lucid enough to open her eyes, temporarily clear of pain and drugs, Inanna licked the wound closed and regarded the human woman with patience and understanding.
“Thank you,” Olivia began weakly, “thank you for giving me one more night with him.”
“He needed to hear your heart,” Inanna answered. “You have waited much too long to tell him.”
“I was a fool and a coward,” the patient agreed. “Even at the end I do not think he believed me.”
Inanna felt a long-stored anger unfurling in her stomach, stretching its way toward her throat, burning the tip of her tongue with a caustic reply.
Perhaps Olivia sensed it, for she admitted, “I know it’s all my fault. I have no one to blame but myself. He has given me, in so many ways, for so many years, a love I don’t deserve while I only hurt him with my stupid, thoughtless mistakes.”
The patient’s eyes took on a faraway sheen as she inhaled deeply the soft flowery fragrance wafting from the open windows and murmured, “Our old neighborhood was lined with jasmine trees. He used to follow me around when we were teenagers, you know. At first I thought it was because we walked the same way to school since we lived across the street from each other, and then I thought this shaggy-headed new kid was stalking me.”
She gave a small chuckle. “I was pretty full of myself back then. Being the head cheerleader and prom queen tended to inflate a High School girl’s ego.”
“But later I realized he was protecting me, since I often went home well past dark. Isn’t that strange?” she asked the question, but Inanna did not think she expected an answer.
“He has been protecting me ever since the beginning. But hard as he tried, he couldn’t save me from myself. All the terrible mistakes I made.”
Inanna kept silent, lowering her gaze.
Yes, she knew everything about those mistakes. She knew the couple’s entire tragic story. It didn’t have to be this way, she often thought.
It seemed so blatantly simple for Olivia to make the right choices, more pointedly, to choose her husband.
Gabriel.
To choose her son, Benjamin.
But the woman seemed wired for self-destruction. Her choices in life not only hurt everyone who loved her, but ultimately, herself.
What a waste!
She felt a slight tug on the hand that still held Olivia’s wrist and looked directly into the patient’s eyes.
“You will take good care of them, won’t you?” Olivia beseeched her with tear-filled eyes. “Please make them happy. I can’t bear that my mistakes might outlive me.”
Inanna had to swallow twice before she found her voice, made it neutral, soothing. “I always keep my promises. Gabriel and Benjamin will lack for nothing.”
Olivia nodded, trusti
ng the vampire completely.
The vampire who had been her secret friend for as many years as she’d been married. Perhaps because Olivia had a rather fanciful nature, perhaps she simply did not care, but she had known from the beginning of their unlikely acquaintance that Inanna was not of her world.
Not human.
They’d met while Olivia was hospitalized after the “incident.” She’d shared a room with a patient dying of leukemia because the hospital wards had been over-occupied during the holiday season due to traffic and other accidents. She’d witnessed how this honey-blonde goddess-like creature had all but floated into the room, bent solicitously over the dying patient and whispered words of reassurance, promising to end his pain.
The man had neither family nor friends. He could no longer afford hospital bills and was essentially at the mercy of city charity. He might have been able to linger on for another month or two, but he was in a tremendous amount of pain. Olivia had heard his fervent prayers the night she’d been brought into the ward.
He’d prayed for death.
And death had come for him in the form of an angel.
Olivia had heard some of their hushed words. The woman would stay for hours talking soothingly to the dying man. She’d hold his hand and smile at him with understanding and care.
On the second night that Olivia was there, the night before her release from the hospital, she’d heard them speak of the Contract.
“I told him about you,” Olivia said now to her Angel of Death. “As much as I knew about you.”
She paused and then said, “Except that you’re not quite human.”
A small smile curved Inanna’s voluptuous mouth.
“What a euphemistic way to put it,” she murmured.
Olivia shrugged almost imperceptibly.
“It doesn’t matter to me what you are. You’ve been a better friend to me than anyone else in my life. Except for Gabriel.”
She took a deep, steadying breath.
“Do you suppose he’ll be angry with me?”
“He has that right as the man who loves you,” the Chosen answered. “But what you do with your life is your choice.”