Blood Moon (Skye Morrison Vampire Series, #5.5)

by J. L. McCoy

  Two humans, one male and one female, approached Mira, both wearing standard issue black Kevlar body suits and hoods with a wooden stake and hammer emblazoned across the chest. Handlers. Specially trained to deal with vampires and equipped to kill if necessary. Among their weapons were UV torches, quick blasting light sticks able to direct a powerful beam of ultraviolet light at the push of a button. The female’s hand inched towards her UV torch as they approached Mira. She was a new appointee as Mira’s handler, who preferred to shoot first and ask questions later. Mira hated the mocha-skinned Amazon wannabe and would have loved nothing more than to rip her to shreds. Few females were allowed to be handlers, and this one had wanted to prove herself from the moment she’d been assigned to Mira.

  Once Mira might have acted on her desire to kill the nuisance handler and take whatever punishment she’d be given, but after years in this prison Mira had learned her lesson. Fighting back was best done strategically. Immortality was not invincibility, and she was no fool.

  “Arms out, slave.” The largest of the two handlers, a male with a deep voice, barked the order at her.

  “Come to congratulate me on my victory and adorn me with jewelry?” With a cocky smile, she held out her hands, awaiting the silver cuffs with which they’d restrain her.

  “Silence!” The male refused to look at her. He fastened the cuffs around her wrists and pulled back quickly, almost as if he feared what Mira might do.

  Silver stung her skin, but Mira wouldn’t let on that she was in any pain. “I always did have a thing for the strong silent types.” She smirked despite the discomfort the cuffs were already creating. Hives were beginning to pepper Mira’s smooth alabaster skin. An annoying allergic reaction, but she’d never admit how much it bothered her. Any sign of weakness could be exploited.

  The male handler refused to acknowledge her or engage her further. He continued to work shackling her feet and then connected another silver chain between the two sets of restraints. When finished, he pointed toward the door at the edge of the arena. The female handler pressed a few buttons on a small communicator device around her wrist. Above, the dome began to close, and the shafts of light surrounding Mira vanished.

  Thankful to be back in the dark, Mira nodded to her handlers as if to say, “Lead on,” and followed as they directed her away from the arena, down to the pens.

  Her moment of fame was over.

  Want to read more of the Chronicles of the Uprising?

  Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00I8PMB10

  Kindle UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00I8PMB10

  Nook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dissension-ka-salidas/1118479119?ean=2940148339656

  Kobo http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/dissension-6

  Smashwords http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/405032

  Prophecy’s Power

  By Brenda Dyer

  Chapter 1

  Friday, December 19th, 8:12p.m

  Surrey, British Columbia, Canada

  Soren parked his jeep behind a tall brick building, making sure his vehicle was obscured in the deeper shadows of the structure. He shut off the engine, killed the lights, and stared out into the night.

  A wave of weakness coursed through his body, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.

  I feel like crap wrapped in a layer of shit. Damn. He shouldn’t have waited so long to feed. Two weeks without blood was pushing it, but three was total stupidity, not to mention reckless.

  Last night he’d had the perfect opportunity to assuage his bloodlust. But instead of simply feeding from the hot brunette he’d set his sights on, he’d decided to take it slow and seduce her in hopes of getting more than blood. And all was going along as planned—the woman had been more than eager for a quick romp in one of the back rooms of The Green Tree—until Ace and Black called for back-up. He’d left with an empty belly and a raging hard-on.

  Pins and needles stabbed his toes and traveled up his legs.

  After making sure his dagger was well hidden under his coat, Soren opened the driver’s door and stepped out into the night. Frigid air blew over his face, carrying with it the scent of car exhaust, grease from fast food restaurants, and the faint but tantalizing aroma of blood—human blood. His nostrils flared and his stomach cramped.

  Time to hunt down a willing candidate.

  When he pushed the lock button on his keychain, the headlights from his red jeep flashed. He dropped the keys into the pocket of his black ski jacket then extracted a pack of cigarettes and lighter.

  As he fished out a smoke, he surveyed his surroundings. Across the street was a strip mall containing the usual shops: a drug store, small-chain grocery store, a Subway sandwich shop, pizza joint, and a gym named Sculpting Curves. All the storefronts were decked out with bright Christmas lights and plastic Santas.

  An old Christmas carol played in his head, with an added touch of his own: Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fuckla, la, la, la la, fuck it all.

  The parking lot yielded a few humans dashing to their cars, trying to escape the cold wind.

  Dizziness made him sway. He sucked in a gulp of air and closed his eyes. Shit, if he didn’t feed, and soon, he’d pass the fuck out. But none of the people in the parking lot would do—there was no place to feed in privacy. And a vampire needed privacy since secrecy was the name of the game.

  With a shaky hand, he lit his cigarette and inhaled deep. Nicotine made the lightheadiness worse.

  Soren turned from the lights and activity of the strip mall and headed up the street toward town. By the time he finished his smoke, his body was a mass of quivering muscles. Each step became harder to accomplish. Although a steady stream of pedestrians passed him, the opportunity to single one out hadn’t presented itself.

  He stopped at an intersection. Fuck. Now what? With each second that ticked by, his strength dwindled.

  But luck at last reared her beautiful face. Across the street in the parking lot of a convenience store, three women—two blondes and a redhead, probably in their early twenties—stood beside a green truck. And since luck decided to play nice, they were predominantly hidden in the shadows cast by a cluster of tall hedges.

  Perfect.

  Soren’s heart kicked up the pace as he waited for a break in the traffic. His mouth filled with saliva in anticipation for the warm, energy-giving blood that would soon be coursing down his parched throat.

  One of the women broke from the group with her cell phone pressed to her ear. She was shorter with bigger curves than the others. She looked appetizing. Well-rounded hips rocked as she walked toward the building. Even from this distance, Soren sensed her agitation. She flipped red hair over her shoulder, apparently engrossed by whatever the caller was yapping about.

  Well, well. Could this get any better? Nope.

  The traffic light turned red. He jogged across the intersection on weak legs, his gaze riveted on the two blonds —probably sisters judging by their similar features and coloring—as they chatted. His thoughts reached out and merged with the blond closest to him. Like a drill, his psyche burrowed deeper, pushing through her stored memories. Images of a house party flashed through her mind. She stopped talking and rubbed her forehead, then her expression went blank.

  The moment he stood next to them, their blue eyes swung his way. Fear, smelling like burnt leaves, spiked through their lithe frames. Two hearts raced, pushing blood faster through their veins.

  The beast within roared to life. His fangs poked through his gums, but he forced them to retract. With his mind still combined with the first woman’s, he planted a thought. Ignore everything around you. Continue talking about the house party. You’ll linger in a trance until your redheaded friend speaks to you.

  The other flaxen-haired beauty frowned. “Hey...What’re—?”

  Before she could voice her obvious concerns, Soren focused on her. Their gazes locked and he planted the same thought in her brain.

  They disregarded his company and resumed
their conversation. He scrubbed his image from their memories as if cleaning a spill with a damp paper towel.

  His fangs punched down. And this time he left them exposed. Bloodlust raged through him like a speeding dump truck without brakes. Time to eat.

  He turned to the redhead. She stood with her back to him. The moment his thoughts entered her mind, he sensed her annoyance. She was arguing with her boyfriend.

  Hang up.

  Without saying good-bye, she ended the call.

  Soren stepped in front of her. She glanced up. When her gaze centered on his fangs, confusion registered in her hazel eyes. Let her look. It didn’t matter—he’d clean that memory from her anyway.

  Come with me. You won’t resist, and you won’t scream. Nod if you understand.

  She nodded.

  He clasped one of her hands and laced their fingers. If any onlookers watched, they’d think them nothing more than two lovers out for a stroll. With his other hand on her lower back, he led her behind the building.

  She followed like a robot into the blackness. Soren guided her behind a clump of tangled blackberry bushes and shrubbery. This wasn’t the most private place, but it’d have to do—he couldn’t wait any longer.

  Staring deep into her eyes, he allowed his thoughts to flow into her. Let your mind go blank, and relax—I’m not going to hurt you.

  The tension left her body as she stared straight ahead.

  Good. He positioned her back against his chest and tilted her head, exposing her pale throat. Her perfume, a nauseating musky scent, which tried and failed to imitate vanilla, wafted up his nostrils. Jesus, he hated perfume, especially cheap shit.

  Soren trembled as he opened his mouth. Take it easy. Don’t lose control, he warned himself. Gently, he positioned his fangs over her jugular and bit down. A breathy gasp escaped her, but she didn’t struggle. Warm blood filled his mouth, the taste rich and sweet. Her blood was potent—clean of illnesses and drugs. A deep groan of satisfaction escaped him. His fangs withdrew into his gums, and he swallowed. The moment the thick fluid hit his stomach, power exploded throughout his limbs. A roaring like the wind sounded in his ears. Smells became sharper, and his vision cleared.

  He gulped down another mouthful. His strength returned. The quaking in his muscles ceased.

  Oh, yeah. Much better.

  Closing his eyes, Soren drank deep, careful not to leave a pink blush on her skin. His cock hardened against her ass, but he ignored it. Although cute, she wasn’t his type. Too young and too innocent. He liked his women sexually experienced with no desire for a commitment. Exactly like him.

  After he swallowed his last mouthful, he took a moment, allowing the raging energy a chance to mellow to a more manageable level.

  The woman remained quiet in his embrace, her arms hung loosely at her sides, her mind still melded with his. Soren licked off the thin trails of blood trickling down her neck, then sealed up the two holes.

  Shit, he did leave a slight pink mark. No matter. It’d fade soon enough.

  Soren extracted the cell phone from her fingers and placed it on the middle of the gravel path that led back to the parking lot. She couldn’t miss it.

  Now to remove all traces of himself from her recollections. He flipped through her memories. Ah, there I am. He smiled. Fuck, I’m a handsome bastard. Nice shot of my fangs too.

  Once his image was gone, he planted another thought: You lost your phone and decided to check back here.

  While the redhead lingered in a daze, he walked down the path, away from the convenience store. He released his hold on her mind as he disappeared out of her line of sight.

  “What the hell?” Soren heard her say. “Oh...there’s my phone. But how did it get here?”

  He laughed. “You’ve just been my unwilling blood donor. That’s how.” He continued down the pathway, feeling like a new vampire.

  He followed the trail for a few more minutes, wondering what to do next. Maybe a drink or two at The Green Tree before the nightly demon hunt? He checked his watch. Eight-thirty. Hunting didn’t usually start until ten. Lots of time to get a nice alcohol glow on before he met up with Sin and Ace.

  With his mind centered on an alley behind The Green Tree, his body trembled and his surroundings distorted. But just before he dematerialized, he stopped and shrugged. The night was crisp and clear. Perfect evening for a stroll. Plus, he felt rejuvenated—alive, and he could use the exercise.

  A deep laugh rumbled from his throat. He patted his rock-hard abs. Exercise, my ass. I’m in perfect shape. A shape the ladies love.

  A rush of wellbeing filled Soren. Even the Christmas lights didn’t put a damper on his good mood.

  Half a block from The Green Tree, a familiar sensation flooded him. The hairs along his neck and arms rose, and the scent of rotten flesh signaled a demon was close.

  Soren stopped, sniffed the air, and opened his mind. The creature’s sinister essence slammed into him. Scrap that. Make that three demons, and they were heading away from the nightclub.

  Like a shark following the scent of its prey, Soren pursued the invisible trail. Eagerness quickened his heart rate. His muscles shivered and his hands curled into fists. This night couldn’t get any better. A fight was exactly what he needed.

  He jogged up the sidewalk. Pedestrians, buildings, and cars whipped by, but he paid them no heed. His mind was firmly locked on his targets.

  Soren rounded a corner. The Green Tree, a long rectangular building, sat back from the road. A green palm tree set atop the flat roof cast the area an unnatural pale green. A line of diehard clubbers spread from the double doors and down the sidewalk.

  Must have a live band scheduled, which most likely accounts for the early lineup.

  “Excuse me,” Soren said as he shoved his way through the crowd.

  “Hey, asshole,” a young male said, grabbing Soren’s arm. “No buddin’ in.”

  Soren stopped and pegged the prick with a hard glare. The young man’s face went pale. He slowly released Soren’s arm.

  Leaning forward, Soren snarled in the guy’s face. “Word of warning, asshole. Careful who you grab. Next time you may lose your hand.”

  Soren continued his pursuit. The demons’ essence became stronger. They weren’t far now.

  His body’s reactions strengthened the closer he got to the enemy. The hair along his arms rose, and his blood pumped faster.

  Finally, he spotted them. Three male demons dressed in dark overcoats, carrying briefcases sauntered up the sidewalk. So far they appeared ignorant of his presence. Time to change that.

  Soren quickly closed the gap between them. When he was ten feet behind the trio, the demons stopped and whipped around. Their clean-cut expressions hardened.

  Fuck, they looked like bankers—probably were. Since demons housed their spirits inside humans bodies, they could blend in, work alongside humans. This advantage gave them the perfect edge to corrupt and turn humans from their Creator, allowing Lucifer to then steal their souls.

  The tallest of the three cocked his dark head, indicating for Soren to follow.

  Soren nodded. Both vampires and demons knew the importance of secrecy. Would do neither side any good if humans found out about the existence of vampires or demons, not to mention the war for their souls.

  He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and trailed after Lucifer’s shit-spawn. Maybe he should call for backup? Surrey was Mel and Kal’s hunting territory after all.

  Ah, screw it—he didn’t need backup. He could take these three pieces of monkey shit, no problem. He wasn’t second-in-command for nothing. His fighting skills were unrivalled. And besides, he’d just fed. Power pumped through him like a living entity.

  Flexing his muscles and smiling at the bastards’ backs, Soren bided his time like the soldier he was.

  Soon they entered the packed parking lot of the neighborhood Walmart. Soren knew exactly where the demons were headed: to a small wooded area stretched between the big-box store and
a sprawling subdivision.

  Ideal place to hold a battle—that was if it was clear of humans. Well, they’d soon find out.

  Soren’s luck held. The woods were deserted. Good fortune for him, bad for the demons. They’d be heading home—back to hell and their master—tonight.

  The demons stopped beside a towering fir tree. Lights from the back wall of the building filtered through the fir and cedar limbs, illuminating the well-groomed quality of the creatures’ faces. Three sets of eyes glowed red. As one, the demons dropped their briefcases and shrugged out of their overcoats.

  Jesus. Their synchronized routine reminded Soren of the Three Musketeers. He fought to suppress a laugh.

  “So, is it just you, or should we wait for the rest of your merry band of maggots to arrive?” Mr Tall, Dark, and Soon-to-be-Dead—and apparently the leader of this trio of banksters—asked as he unbuttoned his black sports jacket, and slowly withdrew an eight-inch dagger. He twirled the knife in a circle. Dim light reflected off the serrated edge.

  “Nope. Just me.”

  “Ready to meet your Maker, I see.” Head Honcho smirked.

  Soren unzipped his coat. From the sheath strapped around his waist, he pulled out his dagger then glanced at his faded jeans, green T-shirt with a picture of a Harley on the front, and black hiking boots. He shrugged. “Nah, not dressed for it.” He waved his blade at the demons, indicating their dark business suits. “But you guys on the other hand, are all gussied up in your Sunday best.”

  The leader laughed. “Three against one, vampire. Odds are stacked against you.”

  “Lucky for me I root for the underdog.”

  The two lackeys hauled out their blades—blades Soren knew were coated in silver, which just so happened to be deadly to vampires.

  “And a dog is exactly what you are—”

  Soren cut the piece of shit off. “Look, ladies. I’ve a date with a cold beer, so can we hurry this along?” He crouched into his fighting stance.