The Hunted

by L. A. Banks

  “The only thing that’s keeping me sane is the fact that Damali’s third eye is half blind, she hasn’t sent a mental lock my way . . . ’ Cause if girlfriend ever wakes up and calls me . . . I’ll fucking torch myself trying to breach that line out there.” His voice dropped to a low threat. “But not before gorging well like I need to.” He eyed each one of his captors, his resolve to keep his soul in Purgatory wavering. “Some shit, gentlemen, is just nature.” He allowed his words to come out slowly, one at a time, to make his point. “Let. Me. Out. Very soon. I can’t hang indefinitely.”

  Father Patrick’s grip tightened on his weapon, as did the others around him. “Before we can do that, we need to be sure that—”

  “You need to respect our cultural differences,” Carlos muttered, finally opting for a cold plastic bag, and taking a swig from it before he totally lost it. His gaze went to the window again as another urgent call split his senses and ate into his brain. “Every man has his limits. Tonight, I just found mine.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  FREEDOM. PRECIOUS freedom. Carlos stood in the dense woods where he had first been made and breathed in the scents of the night. Things were so different now that there was no fear. The cicadas’ call merged with that of the night frogs. The leathery sounds of bats’ wings flapping echoed through him with the lonely hoot of a hunting owl. But the call of his female kind, now that he was beyond the barriers, was so visceral that he shuddered. But he couldn’t blow his cover. The empire needed to think he was still somewhere injured.

  As a mental diversion to sure temptation, he became mist, then indulged himself to transform into a large, black panther stalking nothing and everything until the cry of wolves seduced him to change again and become one of them, howling until they went still from known terror.

  Yes! Every sensation was heightened as he took his own form again, his peripheral vision casing the landscape, his night vision capable of detecting the slightest movement within the tall redwoods. From afar he looked up at an insect burrowing into the bark of a high branch. It seemed so close that he could reach it with his hands. The pleasure of being outdoors at night sent another shudder of sudden arousal through him that was stronger than had been anticipated. What a rush . . .

  Standing there breathing in the night, he realized just how much his vampire nature had been repressed. Out here, all alone, yeah, the clerics had reason to worry. He needed to hunt so badly that his fangs suddenly lowered without his permission. The erection that came with it felt like a lead pipe straining against his leather pants.

  Perspiration wet his brow as he thought of the human throat, what the veins looked like under the skin, how the blood sounded as it pulsed life through a body, and he trembled. He was for sure gonna drop a body tonight . . . go check out the ladies, establish a lair. Fuck going back into captivity. It was a wise choice for them to let him out tonight, probably for their own safety, but it was also the stupidest thing they could have ever done. Letting a master vampire out that hadn’t been fed right in a month?

  Carlos began walking, trying to decide what part of LA to dine in. Then he stopped. Oh, shit . . . He was like a virgin. He laughed and shook his head.

  His amusement soon dissipated as the harsh truth entered him. He’d only tasted blood from another vampire’s veins. Had only fed on the carrion Raven left behind—an already dead, half-drained security guard. Disgust filled him. Damn. He’d only taken a drink from the tap and bottled blood within the Dominican don’s vampire lair, and now was being sustained by monks. Their blood was as devoid of adrenaline as grain-fed beef. It was laughable. It was pitiful. It was a waste of sheer power. He was a disgrace as a master vampire. He was a virgin, after all. “Kiss my natural ass . . .”

  Gathering self-control, Carlos smoothed out the arms of his suit jacket. He couldn’t afford to psyche himself out. The erection would go down, just like the urge to sink fangs into a fragile throat would. Hopefully. He had business to attend to. Couldn’t go back into his territory and clean out poachers without having his shit straight. Not. And as badly as he also wanted to get laid at the moment, it was not about screwing himself for a little bit of tail. He’d never allowed pussy to come before business, not even while alive—no matter how raw it was. Not hardly. Hombre was many things, but foolish was not one of them.

  Carlos focused his energy and siphoned more from the life energy around him within the night. The smell of death entered his nose. It tasted like metal at the back of his throat. Good. The messengers were on their way. ’Bout time.

  The trees looked liked they’d split cells and doubled as four hooded entities stepped out of the shadows, their red eyes glowing in faceless black holes within their dark robes. Carlos smiled.

  Brandishing scythes, one moved forward, pointing a skeletal finger in Carlos’s direction. “You called us.”

  “Yeah, man. Que pasa? I need to get word to the Vampire Council.” Carlos waited, knowing that there was an inspection to pass.

  “He is clean,” one of the others said without advancing. “He still bears the council’s mark. It is Rivera.”

  “We were concerned,” two said in unison. “You did not report in after the battle in the tunnels. The slayer was lost for three days. You left no trail.”

  Carlos put his hands behind his back and let his gaze settle on each entity one by one before speaking. “I was to bring her to the council, and also hit Nuit. I did that—hit Nuit. But I ran into a roadblock.”

  “Continue,” the lead messenger said. “We have registered that kill, as well as many others by your hand. Of that, the Vampire Council is pleased.”

  “Aw’ight, then chill. I had her in my arms, trying to get her through the tunnels, when I was ambushed. You know that, because your squads got there late.” Carlos allowed his fangs to come down in a mock show of sudden rage. “I was calling for backup, and you slow motherfuckers left me out there hanging, hombre. I got half my face ripped off, my shit jacked, you feel me? The best I could do was put my body between Nuit’s forces and the Neteru to ensure the cargo didn’t get damaged.”

  All four entities nodded. They blinked, the red orbs in their eye sockets disappearing.

  “This is a statement of truth,” the lead messenger said.

  “Damn straight it’s the truth. Now I have a message—”

  “Wait,” the entity said, holding up his hand. “How did you regenerate? They left you for dead in the desert. We tortured one of theirs and learned that much before eliminating the captured—”

  “Long story,” Carlos scoffed. “Suffice to say, I feared failing the Vampire Council more than the sun. So I crawled my mauled ass into a cave as far as I could. Some carrion feeders came to eat from what they thought was dead meat—and lemme just say that all I needed was for one coyote to get within my reach. You dig?”

  The messengers all nodded.

  “There was a pack of them,” Carlos went on, knowing the messengers were blocked to his mind unless he gave them permission to see certain images. Enjoying the game, he embellished the story to make it gruesome enough to pass their test. “Desert dogs, however, only gave me enough strength to repair the basics . . . but later, there was this quaint little Mexican town nearby . . . filled with innocents. Until I fed, I didn’t even have telepathy or projection capability. Had to take them down one by one the old-fashioned way. It was regrettably messy, but effective.”

  He could feel palpable excitement run through the eerie foursome like an electric current. “Come, smell,” he offered, knowing that the donated monk blood reeked of innocence and had no adrenaline trail to it. That alone would be enough to convince the messengers that he’d fed on a school yard of children.

  The leader leaned in close to Carlos, its decaying scent stinging the insides of Carlos’s nostrils. But the thing came away from him with no glowing orbs showing. It hissed, and released a sigh that was the things’ version of ecstasy.

  “Ohhh . . . yeeesss . . . the Vampire Council will
be pleased with this transmission.” The entity shuddered and opened its eyes, which had gone from red to dark green then red again as it spoke. “They are pleasured beyond your scope of understanding, as am I, your messenger, Master Rivera.”

  Another of the entities approached the lead messenger and touched its shoulder, sending a collective shudder through the group. “It is almost as good as when he had ripening Neteru in his nose. You must tell us of this town where the blood runs so pure.”

  Carlos nodded, not about to send a pack of vampires to descend upon a defenseless country town. “Later. Back to the point, so we don’t piss off the council with delayed info.”

  The messengers all nodded, apparently aware of the extent of the Vampire Council’s potential wrath.

  “After I recovered,” Carlos said, resuming his story, “I got back on point and tracked down the Neteru. She’ll let me in—she thinks I saved her and her team’s lives.”

  “Brilliant,” the leader said. He cocked his head, as if listening to some inner voice, then said, “The Vampire Council has monitored and heard this conversation, and would like a word with you—personally.”

  “Oh, no,” Carlos said fast, putting up both hands and walking backward. Maybe the blood scent thing was over the top. “I don’t do the tunnels ever again in life—or death, you know what I’m saying. Been there, seen it, and don’t ever want to do it again.”

  “While we can appreciate your trepidation, Mr. Rivera, the Vampire Council’s word is final. That is why they sent four of us to escort you to their chambers.”

  This was mad-crazy bullshit. A meeting below would eat up precious night. He still had to feed, and had other things he wanted to do. All he was trying to accomplish was to keep council off his ass and at bay—not go downstairs for some corporate conversation. Shit! “I’m done with subterranean meetings, man.”

  The lead messenger conferred with the other hooded creatures behind it for a moment, and their eyes disappeared in their hoods. Carlos waited until their transmission was sent, and when their eyes opened again, he eagerly anticipated the determination.

  Shaking its head no, the lead messenger pulled out a scythe. “The Vampire Council says the conditions on all levels above six are inconsequential and they will assure your safety through the realms on your descent to chambers.”

  “Inconsequential?” Carlos walked in a wide circle. “Tar pits, and black maggot-covered stagnant ponds, it even fuckin’ rains maggots and whatnot on the levels above ours down there—plus it stinks like the worst garbage day you can imagine, and I need to establish a lair. I have been rehabbing for a full month, trying not to burn excess energy or draw poachers from other territories to me who might be following a female’s trail to me, which means I was out there solo, without—”

  “They understand your delicate master vampire sensibilities, and say that passage will be brief. On level four, the Amanthras are engaged in a civil war, as their supreme council has sent legions after the rogues that dared band with Fallon Nuit’s vampires to form the Minion. That side of the equation guarantees our quick passage—and topside, we have hunted down and eliminated all of Nuit’s remaining lair supporters. The Minion has been broken. Even our human consultants have eradicated his dens of human helpers.”

  “Can’t it wait till tomorrow night, man? Can’t you just let them know—”

  The lead messenger shook his head slowly. “The Vampire Council will not wait, and they demand a word. It is done.”

  The messenger lowered his scythe to the ground and violated the earth—just as he had when Carlos had been first summoned. But this time, Carlos had no fear in his heart, nor did the phenomenal speed suck the air from his lungs as the earth opened, uprooting trees, forming a giant pit that pulled him down into the blackness. He changed into something more appropriate to wear while hurtling downward. Old World conservative.

  He looked on with pure disinterest as the four messengers used their blades to hack at demon hands and tentacles that grabbed for their cargo, him. He might as well have been riding the subway, watching the dark columns go by, watching the freaks come out at night. But when he passed level five, a slight shudder ran through him. It was an erotic pull, not a frightening one. Hmmm . . . later. Level five was the black forest where the things that could only temporarily hold their human shape lived—were-demons. He returned his focus to the matter at hand. You didn’t fuck around with the Vampire Council.

  “You know the procedure,” the lead messenger said, pointing down the long corridor of blackened stalactites and stalagmites when they landed in a swirl of charcoal smoke.

  Carlos brushed the splinters of tree branches, tiny rocks, and earth from his tailored black suit, and willed his shirt white again, then smoothed his hair. They needed to figure out a much less dramatic way to roll, he noted, stepping over rotting bodies as he made his way toward the chamber.

  This time the stinging smell of bat urine in the damp cavern didn’t make him wretch, it was just mildly annoying—they also needed to do something about their messenger service. He heard the titter of laughter coming from the high, vermin-covered ceiling. Bats huddled and winked at him with red, glowing eyes, and treacherous fangs.

  But one could never be quite ready for crossing the moat around the Vampire Council’s chambers. Carlos looked down into the orange-red lava, the inferno of the bubbling pool created translucent heat waves just above its surface. He had to cover his ears to the shrieks and cries coming from the Sea of Perpetual Agony. Poor bastards, he thought to himself, as he crossed the narrow, slippery strip of rock-bridge. Coulda been him. Hell, if he didn’t play his cards right, that would be him.

  Using his energy as a magnet, he hurried across to the other side and stood before the huge, black marble doors that bore golden knockers with fangs. This time, though, he knew not to grab them. They would bite. Instead, he pounded on the massive double doors with his fist and waited for the left side to eerily creak open. Shit, they had his scent and could do the security check a little smoother.

  There was no period of disorientation, and the denser air didn’t make his lungs struggle to absorb it. He walked through the double doors, his shiny Bali slip-on loafers echoing against the black marble as he strode toward the pentagram-shaped table and bowed slightly in deference to the four-seated council members. He noted that there was still an empty, tall black throne positioned at one of the table’s star points. Yet, the table still held power, its red blood veins flowing through the black marble and keeping each council member’s gold goblet filled with the ruby power liquid. Blood.

  Carlos assessed the elderly entities, who did not bother to waste illusion energy to make themselves look more appealing. Things seemed in order. The walls still bore torches in huge iron holders, black tallow dripped from the candles mounted in heavy iron floor candelabras. Above the table still swirled the screeching, black funnel cloud of smoke that carried messengers and served as his transport out of there. But this time, he could read what had been strange hieroglyphics that covered the room’s arches, graced each throne, and surrounded the huge, fanged gold crest in the middle of the table. It was the history of each of the five original vampire lines on the five continents, with the history of the empire’s founder in the center of the crest. Deep.

  Now if he could only read the expressionless faces that studied him. Their pale grayish-blue skin showed the black blood flowing through their veins. That it was moving slow was a good sign. When excited, he remembered, or angered, you could see their blood pulsing faster beneath their pale skins. Everybody’s eyes were glowing gold. Cool. Nobody was in the red zone. Nobody’s claws were growing, and all fangs were at the normal two-inch, non-hostile level. Civility was in order. Carlos bowed again. The Vampire Council nodded.

  “Mr. Chairman, Mr. Counselor, members of the council, I report per your request.”

  “We are extremely pleased with your efforts,” the chairman said, adjusting his high black hat that resembled a
pontiff’s cap. “We understand the difficulty you’ve experienced, as well as your period of incommunicado. Your plan to restore our cargo, Mr. Rivera—now that she knows you are a master vampire?”

  “Since there is no need for pretense, normal seduction should work . . . . I’ve held her in my arms, been inside her head, and she clung to me in the tunnels. I can get to her. I have seven years, correct?”

  The council members passed a nervous glance between them.

  “We would like to know that she is fully compromised of her own free will well before the next ripening window. While we appreciate your efforts, seven years is—”

  “A blink in the eye of time,” Carlos said fast, chancing the break in protocol by cutting off the chairman. He instantly regretted the move, but kept steady.

  The chairman replied with an even glare, his tone distant, and very cool. “We have other plans for you. There is an empty throne, which you have already experienced. Its power is unparalleled. One so valuable as you should not be lost to minor topside battles. You are a general, not a foot solider. Now that we know the slayer’s whereabouts, we can most assuredly break her spirit with another, insignificant human male. One from our compromised human pool. We wouldn’t send a vampire on such an easy assignment—that would be a waste. This would achieve our aim, and seven years from now, we’ll send our best, nonmasters to collect her for the planting ritual.”

  Carlos remained very still—but that was not going to happen. He listened to the chairman but wasn’t hearing him. He didn’t care what the old man was talking about. Human or not, nobody but him was breaking Damali in, and after that, fuck it. They could stake him, but he wasn’t letting another male near her—unless he heard her say she wanted it that way . . . even then . . . sheeit.

  “As you know, the effect that a Neteru has on master vampires, when she’s in cycle, is too strong a temptation . . . she’s like a drug, Carlos. We need you clean and in a stable frame of mind,” the chairman pressed on, trying to persuade Carlos of what was in his supposed own best interest. “Plus, we have already lost many of our top generals in the battle with Nuit. We cannot send a master of value for the collection—we have come to understand . . . only third- or fourth-level lieutenants that pose no threat to our goal can bring her in without tampering with our vessel.”