Hell's Warrior

by Jaye Roycraft

  Nate nodded toward the woman. “This is a friend. You can call her Cat. She wanted to meet you.”

  “A sister, I assume.” By that Cade meant a Sister of the Sun, not a sister by blood. It was an easy guess, for the woman’s buff bare arms and Amazon body bespoke a devotion to pursuits more dangerous than those most women engaged in.

  “She’s one of us, yes. Like me, she’s a moderate. Where’s your girl? The one with the green eyes?”

  “Dead.” The word reminded Cade that this was business, not pleasure, but even so, he was aware that a good portion of the tension in the air, like it or not, was sexual.

  “Not by your hand, I hope,” said Cat. “Or should I say, not by your fangs.” But her gaze was very much south of his fangs.

  Moderate or not, it was clear she carried a built-in loathing of his kind. Still, her bold gaze was visceral in its intensity, and it was plainly focused as much on his body as his gaze had been on hers. Her appraisal was as raw as the dislike in her voice. “No. Thor, did you search both of them?”

  “Of course.”

  Nate glanced at Thor and flicked his gaze back to Cade. “What’s this about? You didn’t take the trouble to search me yesterday.”

  “Last night we were in the first blush of young love, so to speak. Today is the morning after, when all the harsh realities come to light and we think that last night’s tryst was perhaps a mistake.”

  Nate raised his brows. Cat once again lowered her gaze to his crotch. Thor looked deadpan. Apparently none of the three saw humor in the reference. Indeed, there was none.

  “Explain,” said Nate.

  “After I left you last night, I was followed. Two assassins tried their best to send me to hell. Red got caught up in it, and they killed her instead of me.”

  Nate dipped his head for a moment, as if in tribute to Red’s passing. When he raised his gaze, he looked Cade straight in the eye. “I had nothing to do with it. Who were these assassins? Did you find out?”

  “They were vampires, professionals. One was called Ryder. The second was a half-breed calling himself Ran Jian yi.”

  Nate shook his head. “I rest my case. If I wanted you dead, you can be sure I’d do it with a Claw. I’d never hire a squid to do my dirty work. No Brother would.”

  Cade let the slur go. Nate’s prejudices were as much a part of him as his blood, but Cade did believe Nate’s denial of involvement in last night’s events. Still, he had to be sure. “Before I killed the first assassin, I asked him who sent him. ‘Sol’ was his answer. The sun.”

  Nate and Cat traded looks before Nate shifted his attention back to Cade. “It could be a name, but it’s not one of us. And it’s not a reference to the Brothers of the Sun. No one calls us Sol.”

  Cade nodded, but it wasn’t done. “Nathan, I need to be sure.”

  “Of . . .?”

  “You.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You must subject yourself to my power. Your mind to mine.”

  Nate’s eyes squinted, as if he smelled something sour. It was clear he didn’t like being the bottom in a game of domination and submission. “And what proof will I have that you’re being square with me?”

  “My word as doyen.”

  Nate laughed, but Cat didn’t. She merely sharpened her assessment of his body, as if by such scrutiny she could measure his very being.

  “I must do this,” Cade added. “When I tell you everything that happened last night, you’ll understand why. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

  Nate looked at Cat.

  “Do it. Let’s get this over with so we can move on.” She whispered the words, but Cade heard her easily.

  “All right,” said Nate. “Get on with it.”

  Cade focused his eyes on Nathan and began what Thor degradingly called the “mind-fuck.”

  SWEET SIGHS AND white thighs. Thor figured his role here tonight was that of muscle, to lend an extra set of fangs if things got out of hand, and as such he adopted the role of muscle, standing with his mouth shut and his face blank. But the little play before him and all its actors amused him no end, and he was entertained as he hadn’t been in a long, long time. Oh, he’d been properly pissed when Cade told him to chop off his hair, but since people around Cade had been dying in droves lately, Thor was more than willing to do whatever he could to increase his odds of surviving.

  But this made up for his shorn locks. Nate Burnham had brought a warrior princess with him, and it was all Cade could do to keep his eyes off her. Not that he blamed Cade. His own happy hunter would love to take aim at that dartboard. She was tall, almost his height, and built like a brick tower, all round and hard at the same time. Her outfit was as uncompromising as the rest of her—a black leather vest over a black tank top, blue jeans, and black motorcycle boots. She said little, leaving the conversation to Burnham just as he left it to Cade, but her interest was obvious. She tossed her long ponytail as she watched Cade, almost like a big cat swishing its tail in anticipation of something tasty.

  Still, as amusing as all this was, Thor reminded himself that these people were not friends, comrades, partners, or lovers. For as long as there’d been vampires, there’d been vampire hunters. But the Brothers of the Sun had taken both hatred and technology to levels never before achieved, and he couldn’t understand Cade’s willingness to strike a deal with the BOS, regardless of what carrots they dangled. He studied the woman again, more objectively this time. Maybe that’s all she was—a yummy treat to distract Cade from the matter at hand. Cade’s penchant for female flesh was legendary, after all, and Thor supposed the Brothers of the Sun were just as aware of it as the undead.

  Cade completed his mind-fuck of Nate Burnham and seemed satisfied with the results. Cade invited everyone to take a seat on the wrought iron chairs in the center of the garden—everyone, that was, except him.

  “Stand by the door, brother, and keep an ear for unwelcome visitors.”

  He nodded, not minding the order. He was still close enough to hear the conversation, yet far enough away that he could drop his tyro mask for a few minutes. It was a strain to maintain the mien of obedient learner all the time, especially when Cade’s words and actions were borderline reckless. Like tonight.

  Right then and there he put his priorities in order. He would look out for himself, first and foremost. Second, he would continue to watch Cade’s back, at least for now. But he wouldn’t trust Cade blindly, and he wouldn’t trust the BOS at all.

  CADE’S MIND HAD stripped Nate as bare as possible, and he’d detected little deception beyond that which every human carried in his psyche. There was prejudice, of course, and a hatred of the undead, but also sadness and regret. In this stew of emotion Cade felt no malice toward him in particular, and right now that was all he cared about. He was satisfied. Cade gripped Nate’s hand. “Then we’re agreed,” he said. “You help us, and I owe you whatever favor you call in.”

  “Agreed.”

  He sent Thor to watch the door, and they sat to discuss details. He recounted yesterday’s events, from the tail from Midnight Oil, to the battles with Ryder and the Asian, to Red’s death. Nate and Cat showed interest, but no sympathy until Cade told of Red’s end, but Cade neither expected nor wanted sympathy.

  Nate’s eyes met Cat’s, and Cade sensed unspoken things between the two, but he waited.

  After a moment, Nate turned to him. “I’ve heard of the two vampires who assaulted you. They’re pros, as you said.”

  “Do you know who hired them in the past?”

  “I can look into it.”

  Cade nodded. “I still think someone in City Hall is responsible for Deborah’s death. It would tie in with the simultaneous resurrection of the Goon Squad. A vampire might kill Deborah to get at me, but I can’t see the undead behind the club raids or condoning the k
illing of someone like Hester Phryne.”

  “I agree, but don’t close your mind to any possibilities just yet.”

  Cade wondered if Nate wanted a vampire rather than a human to be behind the chaos. It would be natural, given Nate’s feelings. Cade hoped that those feelings wouldn’t color his judgment.

  “If it is someone in City Hall, does your mole have any idea who?”

  “He doesn’t know for sure, of course, but there are several names you might check out.”

  “Koslik, Stammler, or Doyle, perhaps?”

  Nate smiled. “You’ve done your homework, Kincade. I’m impressed.”

  Cat sucked on her lip, and the erotic movement nearly undid Cade. “Have your mole do me a favor. See if he can find out who Sol is.”

  “Cade.” Thor’s voice was soft but insistent. “Visitors. Vampire and human.”

  “Probably a hunter and his prey, but we take no chances. Call me when you have something for me.” He looked at Cat. “I hope our paths cross again.”

  Her lips curled into a smile. “I’m sure they will, Mr. Kincade.”

  He ran toward the edge of the roof and launched himself through the air, landing on the roof of the building next door. Thor landed beside him, as silent and graceful as a cat. They traded smiles at the joy of moving through the night as creatures such as themselves were made to move. They bounded from rooftop to rooftop, and the wind against his face and body felt good. It was like days past, better days, when Cade and Thor used to be nightly hunting partners, and the only things on their minds were pleasure and how much money the club would bring in that night.

  They traversed two blocks in half a minute and dropped down to the ground, blending into the shadow beneath a porch overhang. They’d moved as one, needing no words for communication, bound by familiarity and purpose, and they waited now in silence to listen for sounds of pursuit. There were none. After ten minutes they stepped into the yard, jumped the fence, and slipped down the alley. There they parted, for they’d come in separate cars and parked on different streets.

  A half hour later they were back at the safe house, and Cade no sooner opened the door when his phone rang. Nate’s number glowed on the display. “What news, Nate?”

  “The mole has a name for you. Sol is Antonio Sollazo. Ever hear of him?”

  He couldn’t remember Deborah mentioning the name. “No.”

  “According to the mole, he’s a mobster, and a big fish, too, not some two-bit jamook. There’s your proof the hits on you were pro jobs.”

  Vampires in league with the mob. He despaired for his people, yet he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t the first time vamps had aligned themselves with mortals. His allegiance with Deborah was proof of that. It certainly wasn’t the involvement in illegal affairs. Perhaps it was that the assassins had been made mere tools, to further not their own agendas, but some fat mortal’s. Yet was what he was doing with Nate so different? He had no moral ground to stand on, but he needed to think something set him apart from those like Ryder and the Asian. He needed to think he was doing all this for a reason.

  “Whoever the mob is in collusion with, I’m still willing to bet they’re mortals. As I said before, vamps wouldn’t want to resurrect the Goon Squad or raid the clubs. The Asian, and any vamp like him, are only puppets,” said Cade.

  “I agree. I think you’re theory’s correct. Someone on the council is pulling the strings. By the way, your rooftop visitors were a vampire and a girl. She couldn’t have been more than a teenager. I could tell you what I think about your practice of so-called hunting, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.”

  “It’s consensual, Nate.”

  “Not all the time, Kincade, and you know it. I’ll call back when the mole has more.” The call ended.

  Cade sighed. Yes, he knew it. Neither the Night Person Registration Act nor all the mortal laws in the world were going to change his people from deadly predators to choirboys in just twenty years. Hell, a century of mortal laws wouldn’t change a bloodsucker’s basic nature. Vampires broke man-made laws. Mortals broke man-made laws. It happened. There were hundreds of thousands of vamps in Chicago, and he couldn’t police them all.

  He was unsettled for the rest of the night, more restless than he’d been since the night Deborah’d been killed. He couldn’t conduct business at the club. He couldn’t hunt. He dare not show his face on the street more than was necessary. And he didn’t have Red.

  “Hell’s belles, Cade, you’re going to wear a path on the carpet.”

  He glared at Thor. He needed action. If not action, then a plan for action. “Thor, what do you do when you have an unseen enemy?”

  Thor shrugged. “You have to make him visible. Draw him out.”

  Yes. Cade stopped pacing. His tyro had never been a . . . what name had Nate used? Jamook. Thor had never been a jamook. “And how would you do this?”

  “Christ, that Claw-lovin’ bitch with the boobs has your head up your ass, doesn’t she? You’ve spent even more time in the gaming clubs than I have. What do you do when you got nuthin’?”

  He took the insult because it was the truth. He did have his head up his ass. Maybe it was being chased like a thieving dog. Maybe it was his lovers being murdered. Or maybe it was a cat with claws that looked at him like he was dinner. In any case, Thor was right. And Cade knew exactly what was in his mind. “Bluff.”

  Thor smiled. “Bingo.”

  He called Nate back. “Can your mole deliver a letter tomorrow to each of our three targets—Koslik, Stammler, and Doyle—in such a way that the letters can’t be traced back to the mole?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Meet me back at the rooftop in a couple hours. And don’t make any plans for the next forty-eight hours.”

  “You got it.”

  Cade disconnected the call and winked at Thor. “Time to go on the offensive, brother. How good are you at writing love letters?”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chicago, Illinois

  September, 1894

  THE EMPTY FIGHT ring was like a whore. It held all eyes, the bright center of a room filled with smoke, shadows, and sweat. It started the juices of every man there flowing with its promises of pain and pleasure, blood and brutality. Anticipation whetted the appetite of all to a near frenzy.

  Cade was no different in his eagerness for the next fight to begin. He stood in a haze of cigar smoke inside Black-Eyed Susan’s Sporting Club and waited. It was to be a bare-knuckled bout—illegal, of course—but he had no worries that the cops would shut down the match. All the coppers and politicians in the First Ward were on the take, and Cade had greased their palms more than enough to look the other way.

  As his fervent gaze swept the crowd, he decided that Black-Eyed Susan’s was the best acquisition he’d made in a long time. It was primarily a bordello, but as the name of the club implied, violence was a part and parcel to the business of pleasure. When he’d purchased the club four months ago, boxing matches had been held only once a week, on Saturday night. Now they were scheduled for three times a week. It wasn’t so much that he was greedy for the betting income the fights generated, or that he enjoyed watching mortals beat each other to a bloody pulp, although these were certainly true, but that he knew it would all come to an end soon. He needed to exploit the fights while he still could.

  Since the introduction a couple years ago of the Marquis of Queensberry rules, every proper boxer had abandoned the brutality of bare knuckles for the legitimacy of gloves. The only fighters he could get nowadays were the down-and-outers, those either lacking in talent to make it as a professional, or those simply desperate for a few bucks and the promise of their pick of the whores if they won. Very soon the quality of fighters would diminish to the point where they’d be of no use to Cade at all.

  A cheer rose like steam fr
om the heated bodies of the crowd when the two contestants entered the ring. Cade’s own blood raced as the two men played to the throng of onlookers, raising their fists and thumping them against their chests like apes. He was lucky to have both in his stable, for both were more than able fighters, but one was past his prime, and the other not yet seasoned enough to make it as a pro. Though the men didn’t know it, they’d just arrived at the Pearly Gates, and Cade was St. Peter, there to accept or reject, not into heaven, of course, but hell.

  Cade’d had his eye on the boy with the blond hair for weeks now. He was a farm boy from Iowa or someplace, muscled yet lean, as though he’d never been able to down enough flapjacks to make up for a workday that started at four in the morning and ended well into the evening. Yet it wasn’t the boy’s size or strength that impressed Cade, but his skill and perseverance. Tonight would be a real test for the boy, for his opponent was Big Jim Camden, the biggest fighter in the Black Eye stable.

  Some jeered Sweet, mostly because of his name, but the taunts of “hey, Peg-leg” drew laughs instead of hoots, and the few women in the crowd downright cheered him. He was a pretty boy, with yellow hair, blue eyes, and the fresh-faced innocence of a young soldier yet to experience a real battle. The fight started with a roar from the crowd, and Big Jim Camden charged at his opponent like a dog after a scrap of meat. Peleg Sweet backed away, but as though he were baiting the bigger man, not retreating in fear. Big Jim cornered him and stood poised, his arm like a weapon at the ready. Sweet waited, took the blow, and smiled as if to ask, “Is that all you have?”

  It looked reckless, but Cade knew the boy was smart. He was testing Big Jim, drawing his best punches early in the match so there’d be no surprises later. Sweet side-stepped, as light on his feet as a dancer, and Big Jim pursued. The crowd heckled Sweet for his apparent cowardice, but Cade smiled, knowing better. When Sweet allowed himself to be cornered three more times, the crowd jeered.