Blood Moon: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Vampire Novel (The Superiors Book 1)

by Lena Hillbrand

  The sun started to go down, and everyone stumbled around cleaning up and trying to keep their feet if they’d drunk too much. Cali had drunk a little too much, but it made her lively and happy again, so she didn’t care.

  At least not until later, when her Superior came and banged on the roof of the house. He didn’t like to go into the house, so she had to go out and let him eat. She stood trying not to lose her balance, although she’d gotten dizzy from standing up too fast. He always ate standing up now, just took her arm and ate and left.

  She stumbled a little and he jerked her back, wrenching her shoulder in the process. She gasped and clutched her shoulder with her other hand and bit back the tears that tried to jump up in her eyes. After he left, she stumbled away in the dark and got sick between two houses. She hoped the owners didn’t mind too much. The night had sucked the heat off the day, and in the dark with the stars and the lights and car noises outside, a kind of tired peace settled over Cali.

  She still felt sick, and her head seemed to have grown two sizes too big, and her shoulder hurt like crazy, and of course her arm hurt like always, a constant, dull throb. But still, she’d made it home to the Confinement, and her sister had gotten married, and a boy wanted to marry Cali. Things would work out, even if not exactly how she’d expected when she came back. Some of the surprises might even turn out to be good ones.

  37

  Draven accepted the glass of sap, still warm from the source, and bowed his head in respect. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome, mister,” Marisol said, smiling sweetly while she reminded him of his inferior station. She turned and walked to the door of Byron’s study, hair done up in the same provocative manner as the last time Draven had seen her. She didn’t have much in the way of hips, but she knew exactly how to move them. If she lost any sexiness in physique, she gained it back in mannerism. And she looked natural, not full of plastic implants, and that in itself made her desirable—at least to Draven. She turned at the door and raised an eyebrow and smiled again, as if to make certain the men were appropriately captivated. They were. “You boys have fun in here talking all your big, bad, serious business,” she said with an exaggerated pout.

  Byron laughed and Marisol let her smile widen to show her lovely white teeth between her red lips. She met Draven’s eye for a second, then turned and left. He could have sworn he saw a bit of a challenge in her look. Perhaps she liked to play that game, flirting in front of her husband, but Draven didn’t like it one bit.

  He turned back and cleared his throat and peered into his glass of sap.

  “She’s something else, isn’t she?” Byron said.

  Draven looked up, then glanced at the empty doorway. “What is she, sir?”

  Byron shook his head. “Oh, never mind. It’s just an old saying. I forgot you Thirds don’t use those expressions.”

  Draven sipped his sap and remained silent. He didn’t like it when Byron did that. It reminded him of the way he said similar things to Cali—she wouldn’t know because she was only human. And in a way, Seconds did think of Thirds as closer to saps than themselves. After all, Seconds had owned the saps that became Thirds. In a way, they still owned Thirds. Ruled them, in any case. No one had ever owned Seconds, not even when they were human. They’d always owned themselves.

  “What is this news you would share with me, sir?” Draven asked after a time.

  Byron smiled. “You’re direct. I like that.”

  “It is about Ander? The man from the restaurant? That has been quite a while back, if I remember correctly.”

  “Yes, almost a year. But these things take time. And now we have reports of his whereabouts. He’s been seen several times.”

  “I see. This is good news, then. I’m glad to hear it. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

  “Actually, I’m glad you said that. I’ve been watching you since the night we almost caught him. I thought you were very brave, if rash, in that situation. You kept your head and you weren’t afraid to act.” Byron paused and sipped his sap, making a satisfied smacking sound after tasting it.

  “Anyhow, I’ve been getting to know you, keeping my eye on your chances for a future promotion. I had begun to wonder if that was just a fluke, if you were not ordinarily so quick to act and so willing to do the right thing regardless of your own safety. But if there’s anything to be learned from your behavior a couple weeks ago, it’s that you are indeed a brave and reckless man.”

  “I only did what anyone would do, sir.”

  “Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend. Many Superiors, they get used to this life, and they grow timid, afraid of losing it after all this time. What we need are more men like you. You’re a true soldier, Draven. You were made to kill, and although you were never required to do so, your instinct remains intact.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I’ve never killed so much as an animal since I’ve been Superior. Sir.”

  “That’s due to your life circumstances. Anyway, that’s all semantics. I have a proposal for you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We need someone brave, someone who will face Ander even if the chance of surviving the encounter is chancy. I think you’re the man for the job.”

  “You’re sending me on a suicide mission?” Draven considered his mundane life, the life he sometimes loathed. And he thought of the stack of anyas in the tin in his apartment, the money he’d imagined would change his life. He’d had the good fortune to capture three saps, as well as returning Cali. The money added up quickly.

  “Not sending you,” Byron said. “We’re only offering you a chance to do good for your nation. That’s what soldiers do.”

  “And let me ask you this, one man to another. What is my nation going to do for me?”

  “Ah, you’re smarter than I thought,” Byron said, laughing. “Your nation is going to pay you handsomely if you succeed in your mission.”

  “Define success.”

  Byron sipped his beverage and smiled over the rim at Draven. He seemed delighted at the glimpse of intellect in his underling. Draven knew he was no match for Byron, and he enjoyed his advantage for a moment. No one had ever accused him of being too clever.

  “Success means that you assist in Ander’s capture or slaying. You will be paid even if we don’t succeed, if he slips away again. You will receive five hundred anyas for your service.”

  Draven tried to conceal his shock, but he knew by the Enforcer’s amused expression that he had let it slip. Draven made that much in a year, and he used most of it for necessities. “And if I am killed?”

  Byron shrugged. “Then you will be killed. But if we catch the man, you will receive a thousand anyas for your part in the capture, if you are active in the struggle.”

  “You—said—you said five hundred,” Draven said, trying to calculate how much more he needed to buy Cali. Compared with his life, even a thousand anyas was slim. But if he lived…

  “Five hundred if you take the assignment and fail.”

  “Five hundred anyas, even if Ander escapes.”

  “Yes. You wouldn’t be going in alone, either. You’re the best man for the job, not only for your instinct in these situations, but also your disregard for your own safety. And you’re qualified because you know Ander’s scent. You’ve followed him before, you know what he is capable of, that he’s slippery and deceptive and mean. You know he’s strong, and dangerous, and vicious. And you tracked him anyway.”

  “Yes. I would still know his scent if he were near.”

  “Good. I will be going in with you.”

  “You? But you’re a Second. And you have a family.”

  “Did you think we’d send you to face him alone? I’m strong, smart and strategic, and I know how the man thinks. I’m willing to make sacrifices for my country, the way all of us should be. The man must be stopped. He’s killed several, leaving a trail of the dead for us to follow.”

  “And you’d risk your own life fo
r the mission?”

  “The kinds of things he does are repulsive to my very nature. And I owe him personally for the harm he did me. I still have scars to show for his bites. I’d be only too happy to rip his head from his shoulders.” The threat sounded strange coming from the mouth of this respectable gentleman.

  “So you and I would take this journey. Anyone else?”

  “Just the two of us. We’ll have time to become even better friends, I’m sure. I respect you immensely, and I hope the feeling is mutual. And I know you could use the funds. You can take a few days to consider if it’s worth the risk. But think about it.”

  Draven already was. Five hundred anyas, plus what he had saved would be just enough to buy a healthy female sap of breeding age. A thousand…that would be enough for him to get a place with an extra room, perhaps even facilities for a human. He wouldn’t have to keep Cali in his small place, and she wouldn’t have to live in discomfort until he could afford better housing.

  Draven finished the sap in one long draught and ett the glass on the desk. “I don’t have to think about it, sir. I accept the assignment. When do we leave?”

  38

  Ander sat on the hood of his car and wiped the bloody dagger on his pants. Wasn’t the first time he’d killed for food, wouldn’t be the last. Once, someone had told him killing for food was primitive, that Superiors had evolved beyond consuming an entire being to a point where they could eat from saps without destroying their food source. Ander didn’t know about all that. Killing for food seemed as good a reason as any. He’d killed hundreds of men in the War, and for no good reason at all. Just because someone pointed him in that direction and said, “Shoot.”

  Ander had shot.

  He figured killing wasn’t an option for most people, so they didn’t consider it at all. Besides, it took a lot of finesse to kill a Superior, even for another Superior. Killing a Superior was a complicated operation requiring proper materials, specific procedures, and deadly accurate aim. Har-har, deadly. Ander smiled and pushed the dagger back into his boot. He had a better one. The longer one, a short-sword really, he used when he had time to plan. He hadn’t counted on the sap farmer coming out to check on the source of the commotion, not during the day. But there he’d come, and Ander hadn’t had much choice. He had to kill or get arrested.

  He knew well enough where people like him ended up—on trial. That was all moonbeams and roses for those lucky enough to be born with good looks or good manners. Neither of which Ander had in the least. He didn’t much care for those qualities—useless in the run of things. Still, looking and speaking and coming across a certain way, that’s all that really mattered in a trial. Oh, yes, Master Superior, I’m so innocent and contrite. Bullshit, all of it. If you’re so contrite, then why’d you do it? That’s what Ander had wanted to know when he’d sat in on a case once. He hadn’t been asked to judge again.

  Ander had no illusions about his demeanor. It came in handy in his line of work. But at a government trial—not likely. He looked intimidating, just like the sort of man that he was. He looked like a tough guy, a guy who might run a restaurant that let sickos and creeps indulge their perversions for a fee. He looked smart and cunning and all the other things that didn’t help out in a court of law. No, in court it behooved one to look uncertain and attractive and effeminate, to be small and soft spoken and, of course, to look very, very contrite. Always the damn contrition.

  Ander didn’t give two shits about contrition, his or anyone else’s. Why should he be sorry? He only met demand with supply. That’s what a good businessman did. The government ought to just line up all the perps and put them in front of a firing squad, the way they had during the War with captured enemy troops. After all, if every man who got off on molesting bloodbags was off the streets, Ander wouldn’t need to run that business out the back of his restaurants.

  With all the human-rights activists crying equality, you’d think they’d take his side. But he just couldn’t win. The activists wanted humans to have rights like Superiors, but they sure didn’t want them to have to work like Superiors. Seemed like half of Third Order women were whores, so why shouldn’t sap women have the same job? That would be true equality.

  But saps weren’t equal, never would be. Still, saps were great for food. They made great whores. They were expendable. And renewable, for that matter. They had babies faster than you could think up a name for the last one. And they made for an easy fuck now and then.

  Ander climbed into the stolen car and checked on Nina. She didn’t look so hot anymore. In fact, he was pretty sure she was dying. Might as well have one last go-round before she hit the switch. He circled around Houston and drove out on the lumpy track that had been a road during the War. Ander had been up there a bit, seen some action in the area. Texas lay just north of there, where he’d been captured once and almost put to the firing squad. Good thing he’d been as unscrupulous then as he was now.

  He’d gotten away with his life that time, although he couldn’t say the same for his captors. He’d killed a handful of them, plus a few of his own comrades. Each man for himself, Ander’d always thought. Superiors could talk all night long about community and togetherness and cohesiveness and all that shit. Didn’t make one bit of difference in the end. They just didn’t want to admit they still had the same petty jealousies and animal natures as sapiens. Each and every Superior, just like every human, only wanted one thing—to come first, to eat first, to win, to live. That’s all it came down to.

  Ander drove out into the desert and had his entertainment from Nina, who didn’t look as entertained as usual. Ander had forgotten her medications, and she hadn’t been the same without them. Plus, she was just a sap, so of course she’d gotten attached to her drugs, like any weak and mutable thing would. Now she depended on them, and without them, she just sweated and stank and moaned a whole lot, and puked in his car and out the window and anywhere else she could find to puke.

  He’d gotten pretty sick of her anyway, and he wasn’t about to carry her around with him in the desert. She put up a good fight, let out some good banshee shrieks while he drained the life out of her. But he didn’t figure he’d eat much for a while, so why not get what he could? She’d die out there in a few days if he left her, and all that sap would go to waste. So he drained her dry as a snakeskin and left her in the car. Let those damn lawmen deal with the remains.

  Enforcers were the biggest hypocrites of all. They all wanted to cry mercy on the saps, but every last one of them owned sapiens, and he’d be willing to bet they weren’t all moral and high-handed dealing with their own bloodbags. Probably half—no, pretty near all of them—had dallied in illicit behavior with their own livestock. It wasn’t regulated. No one could prove a crime unless a sap died, and it was easy enough to keep them alive even if mistakes were made and they lost a limb or two in the process. Besides, everyone had to be curious now and then, wondering if it would be different from how they remembered. And an Enforcer could cover anything up. They were the law—how could they do anything against the law? The idea itself was circuitous.

  “Goodbye, teeny Nina,” Ander said, slamming the car door down. It caught on her foot and made a satisfying crunching sound, like a dog chewing up a bone. Ander opened the door and stuffed the mangled, dangling foot back in and closed the door again. Then he set off. His spirits ran high—he’d stuffed himself to the gills with blood, and energy charged through him. No better way to start the night. Ahead of him to the north lay Texas, where he’d heard of a funny little man who could supply him with the necessary documents to end his life as Ander and begin his new life as someone else.

  People gravitated towards others of their own kind, and Ander had never had any trouble finding the connections he needed in his illegal affairs. He’d heard of this guy who supplied papers to down-and-out Thirds who had lost or sold their papers. What a great way to run black-market ID papers. Put the face of charity on it.

  So the guy ran a charity to cl
everly disguise his other operation—the one where, for a fee, you could become whoever you wanted. A criminal could become one of the obedient masses. A man could become a woman, or a woman a man. A Third could become a Second, for a very large sum. And a Second could stay a Second, for that same very large sum. Ander didn’t know the exact sum, but he didn’t worry. He had enough. He’d done it before, years ago. Now things were more tightly regulated, papers harder to counterfeit, and more papers required. But he didn’t see a significant obstacle. Ander might not look like the kind of man who could convince a panel of North American judges, but he looked like the kind who could convince another man like himself.

  39

  Much planning went into the mission to catch Ander, and several weeks passed while the men completed preparations for the journey. The night before setting out, Draven left work with a promise his job would wait for him if he returned alive. He had the night off, and he did what he could to prepare. He’d worked out for the weeks since his injury, and he had regained his strength and then some.

  He’d grown more agile, too. He did yoga with Hyoki, and she taught him a little Judo. He’d become more flexible and faster, something he would need on his journey. He had always been quick, even for a Superior. It was one of the only natural advantages he had been given.

  The last night in the city, Draven did his exercise routine, and when he had finished with this, he packed a few things—jeans, an extra pair of linen trousers, underclothes, a few t-shirts, a light canvas jacket. He added a tent, a few dozen packets of dried sap and a mummy bag for sleeping. Ander remained in the wilderness, close to the outskirts of Houston, where he visited to feed on the livestock of others.