by S. L. Eaves
Crina takes her time eyeing the inventory.
“You should pick by comfort. You’ll be repainting it later, assuming you don’t wreck it.”
After perusing, she chooses a sleek Kawasaki ZX-14. She grabs a couple plates from the back room, along with keys.
“Put this plate on for now and these keys should work. If not, you’ll find others in the back. They’re sorted by series. Helmets back there too.”
“What’s a vampire need a helmet for?”
“Bugs.”
I follow her instructions, choose a silver ZZR with way more torque than I can handle, and soon we are blazing through the streets of Bristol.
Off balance and shaky at first, I have some trouble adjusting. Ten minutes in, I am unstoppable. We cut through the crisp night air. As we ride along the river, the distinct sweet and salty aroma begs me to breath it in. Every second feels like my first and last on earth. We weave in and out, cutting through parks, playing chicken with cars. After a few hours of joy riding, we find ourselves clanking along the wooden planks of the docks.
Before I know what is happening, Crina is zipping full speed down a long stretch of pier, heading straight out into the water. When she gets to the end, mere inches from the edge, she leaps straight up into the air, flipping backward as her bike continues its forward surge right off the pier and into the water.
She lands on her feet, standing coolly as she watches her bike submerge before her.
I gawk from the base of the pier, my helmet partially raised above my head. She strolls nonchalantly back toward where I stand, straddling my bike.
“Now that was a rush.” Crina is grinning broadly.
“You’re nuts.”
“You need to learn how to live, now that—”
“Now that I’m dead,” I finish.
“Now that nothing’s holding you back,” she corrects.
“Uh huh…”
“Let’s go retrieve my car.”
She hops on the back of my bike and directs us back to the alley where we’d stowed the coupe.
When we return to the mansion, I spend some time in the stables admiring my new toy. As it happens, the stables are equipped with a body shop and house an array of exotic sports cars, motorcycles, and even a couple ATVs. Access to a collection like this could get a less disciplined individual into some trouble.
Chapter 16
It is a crisp fall evening and I awake with the distinct feeling I’m not alone. Unsettled, I roll over to find Catch perched at my bedroom window, a statue on the sill, the curtain pulled back. The sun has almost completely set and he watches the indigo sky.
“Catch?”
He turns, regarding me with warm eyes.
“When did you get back?”
“Just before sunrise. I couldn’t sleep. Somehow I wandered in here.” He cracks a smile. “I guess I missed you.”
I sit up. “Four long days. Was your trip a successful one?”
“Yes, gladly, the mission was a success. The streets of Rome are safe from wolves again. Will you take a walk with me?”
I throw a sweatshirt on over the tattered Sex Pistols tee I’d swiped from Catch’s collection. I’d acquired the habit of sleeping in his shirts, and he laughed when he saw it and offered to bring me more.
We stroll the paths around the grounds. Our trail is cloaked in ancient trees whose branches reach across the sky, illuminated in the twilight. I take my time soaking in the atmosphere. Catch is the first to break the silence.
“I know things have been…different lately, tense sometimes. I want you to know it’s not what I want, but it’s how I feel it has to be. I don’t want you to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I feel like I should, but it’s not even possible. No matter how hard I might will it. Do I trust you? Probably more than I should. Do I love you? I don’t know, but I feel something and it’s not hatred.”
Catch takes my hand in his.
“I can work with that. Trust, love…must be earned.”
He returns my questioning expression with edgy laughter.
“I hate it. Used to be only time I felt passion was during combat, now…you bring out a side of me I didn’t know I had. Very unnerving.”
He pokes me flirtatiously in the ribs. I mess up his already disheveled hair.
We walk like this for a while, enjoying a comfortable silence and playful jesting.
“How is training going?”
“I finally got to leave the base.”
“That so?”
“Crina took me out on one of her hunts. Took me shopping too.”
I feel like adding that last part would lessen any negative reaction to the first. It doesn’t.
“You went after a wolf? The two of you?”
“Yes. She did all the legwork. I just…observed. Are you mad?”
“No, just disappointed. I wanted to be the first to take you out on a hunt.”
“You still can, officially. I don’t think Marcus knows I joined Crina.”
“Ah well, good then. I’m glad she took on a mentor role in my absence.” He nods as if trying to convince himself.
“Regardless, it was nice to get out. Not that our ventures haven’t been fun, it’s just I sometimes feel like a prisoner more than a contributor. If this is my future then I want to at least make myself useful.”
“It didn’t bother you? Watching her kill one?”
“Uh not really. I mean I can’t say it was enjoyable, but knowing what he was and what he did—it seemed justified, in my mind.”
“Sometimes the hardest part is seeing them as monsters. Especially if you still identify with humans.”
“Well I am not about to go all cheerleader about it, but I get it. I’m starting to understand… and I think once I see these wolves in action I won’t have a problem taking up your cause.”
“Our cause.” He smiles.
“Right… anyhow, tonight I get to play with knives and swords and such.”
“Ooo, they’re trusting you with the heavy artillery. Scary.”
Laughing, I say, “Well I wouldn’t call fencing heavy artillery. They haven’t let me near the explosives or machine guns yet.”
“And if they’re smart, they won’t,” he jokes, running his hand up the back of my sweatshirt.
“The swords are made of silver…” I pull his hand away and he responds by shoving me against a tree. “…to pierce the heart.”
He kisses me fiercely, pinning my arms above my head against the trunk.
When he unglues his lips from mine, he looks into my eyes.
My gaze is defiant. “I am not the answer to anything and I cannot fix you.”
It had just erupted. Months of bottled-up insecurity.
Catch is not thrown by my outburst. In fact he reacts as if he expected it. My arms are still pinned above my head, spine grinding the tree bark. He whispers into my ear.
“Adrian believes you’re the answer, not me.” He steps back, his words still hot against my cheek. “And if you can’t fix me, no one can.”
He grins shrewdly, releasing his grasp.
And thus is our dance. The continuous bantering of a love, hate, can’t live with-can’t live without you relationship.
We are inseparable and, very possibly, insufferable.
***
Weeks pass and I have yet to participate in battle. The others would argue that I had indeed joined them on many excursions, but not having yet killed my first canine, I maintain rookie status. Leaving meant going to kill something, so I realize the irony in being anxious to get my own mission, but I can’t stay holed up watching the rest of the clan come and go. Most of my time is split between the physical—weapon and combat training—and the mental—studying intel, reading reports, surveying targets. I log many hours in the tech room helping Jiro comb through reports of wolf attacks.
Catch and I do squeeze in the occasional joyride through the lush English countryside. He’d been teaching me how to dr
ive, but those outings are few and far between. Vampires come through sporadically, replenishing their supplies, receiving new orders, then dispersing. Marcus has an open door policy for rogues. Even if they don’t want to take orders, if they come with information on werewolf activity, they are welcome to blood and a place to crash for a few days.
The open invitation also draws in many vampires on the verge of demise. Many having received nearly fatal blows in attacks from wolves, slayers, and other demon predators I can’t quite wrap my head around. But I hear the stories. And I see the gruesome afflictions, the agony, the despair.
Xan and Jiro field incoming werewolf sightings, monitor tracking, and occasionally Marcus sends vamps out on recon—typically indicating surveillance, but more often it stood for “clean up.” Covering our own tracks often takes more work than the actual hunt.
I wait—albeit impatiently—for my first official assignment. And the more I see, the more I learn, the more the hate inside me festers. I start to understand the cause and appreciate the sacrifices being made for it.
The two libraries, or “vaults” as Catch calls them, consume much of my down time. The most extensive collection of literature is kept in the main study on the first floor, while the rarer volumes are kept in a library on the third floor, Marcus’s private collection. Marcus joins me some nights in the main study as I peruse the volumes. He tells me stories and helps me decipher some of the ancient works; he is a great teacher. Sometimes we sit in silence, drinking grain alcohol and blood over a game of chess. These nights are few and far between, however; the war is escalating and both our plates are full, his especially.
I hate when Catch leaves on assignment. Not because I can’t bear the separation, but because I am jealous, itching to be fighting by his side. Their training, the constant commando mentality—it is effectively brainwashing me. Marcus assures me it won’t be long.
He feels I am ready and I know I am ready, but there are other issues to consider. Exactly what I’m not sure. Is he saving me for something? Awaiting word from Adrian?
One night when the team is out chasing a couple wolves through the streets of Dublin, Marcus challenges me to a game of chess. I join him in the library. Marcus does not often engage in combat. I’m not clear on why but got the impression the others felt he was too valuable to risk in the field. Believable, sure, but I can’t shake the notion that they are covering for something.
Catch has said he used to participate in the front lines until Adrian’s reprimand—the careless turns—and that Marcus only joins combat when direly needed. I once heard him proclaim “he was too old for this.” The rumors of his days as a vicious mercenary are hard to miss.
Looking at the refined creature seated across from me, it is hard to believe him a ruthless killer. His notorious ‘fly off the handle’ temper seems all smoke and mirrors to me.
“A man I once knew said, ‘When the honorable lay down their swords, the weak will die and evil will reign supreme.’”
As if he is reading my mind. “Does that make us the honorable ones? The heroes?”
“Either that or it makes us the weak.”
“Weak or strong, without evil, without enemies, we have no heroes,” I respond.
Marcus raises his eyebrows, eyes still studying the board.
“But without heroes we have only ourselves to blame.”
“The eternal struggle.”
He moves his pawn.
“You think us nothing more than a cliché?” He speaks without looking up.
My eyes go to the board.
He continues, “We fight because we have to, but we also fight because there are those that cannot. Those that need protecting. Those necessary to keep the balance intact.”
I move my bishop and meet his gaze. “Understood. But that implies we are the good, we are the courageous, the honorable, when there is little redeeming about our kind. Our breed exists as a catalyst for destruction.”
Marcus smiles. “The same could be said for humans.”
He takes my bishop with one subtle sleight of hand, replacing it with his knight. He continues, “Vampires cannot be heroes?”
“Just because we are fighting something evil doesn’t make us good. All I’m sayin’.” I concentrate on the board.
“This mansion is filled with warriors. Without werewolves, without adversaries, who would we be? Where would the inner demon focus its energy?” Marcus sighs. “The hunger is not simply for dinner; it’s for something much deeper, something primordial. And if we can find an enemy to feed it, well, it helps to have something to fight for.”
I’m not comfortable with the illusion that we are the nobler of the species. But in the absence of the illusion there is a reality I am more fearful to know.
I slide my queen across the board.
“Checkmate.”
Chapter 17
Twilight settles in on the quaint London park. Tamik and Jake are enjoying each other’s company. Having spread out a large, comfy blanket across the park grass, they are blissfully oblivious to the world around them. Reckless and uninhibited—this was how it’d been before the change, and it remains so even after. Now their little bubble is about to burst and the world would come crashing in to strike them down. Brutal and tragic, as it were.
And I’ve been assigned to be the one to deliver this message, so to speak. My first official mission. Finally. I’d exercised patience, following Jake around, familiarizing myself with his world. But he is moving fast. A number of maulings have been reported in the area. And he’d bitten his fiancé on my watch. I expected him to retreat from his life after being bit, as many chose to deal with it solitarily or join up with fellow wolves. They do not typically share the news of their new freakish condition with loved ones, let alone invite them into it.
Now there is a pair of wolves terrorizing campers and tourists throughout Argyll Forest Park, an otherwise peaceful and breathtaking region of Scotland. I have managed to trace Jake back to the wolf that turned him, a recruiter who left Jake with instructions to form a pack of his own. Dade is now going after the recruiter, probably this very minute. I am on clean-up duty.
It was foolish to act so brazenly, to shit where he ate—literally and figuratively. You are not untouchable, none of us are. Made him an easy mark to locate. You would think the wolf that turned him would have at least advised him against blatant, headline-worthy kills. But then again maybe his recruiter had been betting on a distraction. He’d certainly bet correct. And, upon observing him and his female companion, they do not seem the least bit phased by the added police presence in the park. I stand motionless at the edge of the clearing, roughly fifty yards away from where the two are otherwise occupied.
Tamik pulls Jake closer, unbuttoning his shirt. He leans forward, pushing her onto the blanket under him. After a moment, he lifts his head and looks around. He can’t discern what his new senses are indicating, but they are trying to tell him something.
“You’re distracted,” she scowls.
“I think someone’s nearby.”
He hasn’t spotted me yet.
“They’ll bugger off.” She kisses his cheek.
He whiffs the air. That’s when he catches a glimpse of a figure standing in the distance. He freezes, squinting. There is someone there all right, and she appears to be staring right at them.
“Look.”
Tamik twists her body around for a better view.
A moment passes. Neither party moves. Finally Tamik breaks the silence.
“Hey. Can we help you?”
Jake is on his knees. He could sense that there is something off.
“Strange. Let’s just leave.”
They begin to gather their clothes.
I wait. I can take them out from where I stand. Possibly. My marksmanship needs work. But I had hoped to catch them while they were out hunting in wolf form. I’ve already taken to calling them by their names and not as targets one and two. I’ taken an interest and now
I wrestle with the idea of executing them in cold blood, knowing full well I will not get a better opportunity than the one I just gave up.
There is another way to look at my first assignment: that it should test my skills, that I should challenge myself. Give them a fighting chance. From where I stood, this was going to be too easy.
Easy being subjective.
I take several steps in their direction. I am holding a gun at my side, close enough that they likely can’t spot it outright. The cartridge is in my other hand; I twirl it lightly between my fingers. This action catches their attention.
“Hey creep, you don’t know who you’re messing with!” Tamik calls out.
I continue my slow and steady approach. They are starting to transform.
Bang.
I’d fired a warning shot over their heads. It achieves the desired reaction.
It is likely they knew they could control certain aspects of their affliction, but being newly turned, they don’t have a firm grasp on their abilities. A high-stress situation provoked the change almost immediately.
But they do not charge me. Instead Jake takes to the woods for cover, barreling full speed on all fours. Tamik scrambles after him.
Pretty soon I am racing in pursuit as they tear through the thick brush, leaving a trail of snapped limbs in their wake. They try to stick together, but eventually fear and instinct prevail. Given the way they had been behaving, particularly Jake, it is amusing to me how easy it’d been to scare them. One lone vampire with a gun and they take off running, tails between their legs.
Do they not realize the strength they possess? Even under a new moon, acting together, they’d have posed a threat. Together they’d have stood a chance.
We come upon another clearing. Jake sprints foolishly into the open field; then, as if realizing his mistake, bolted left to take cover.
It is too late. I fire off several rounds, striking him in the side, back, and eventually the head.
He reverts to human form before my eyes and falls to the ground, lifeless and riddled with bullets. I stop along the tree line and hang few yards back in anticipation of his companion. It doesn’t take her long. Reaching the clearing, she returns to human form and falls to her knees in horror.