Blood Wars (The Bloodborn Series Book 2)

by Iris Walker

  Robin closed her eyes, thinking about the moments directly before that fire consumed her. “It’s anger. That’s what causes it. Anger and fear and just about everything else that comes up when I see your burning red eyes.”

  She expected to hear a quick comment, some snarky reply from the vampire before her, but none came. The only emotion in his voice was genuine concern. “Can you control it?” he asked, his expression hardened stone.

  She looked at him for a moment, truly looked at the gravity of his demeanor, and she knew what he was saying. Her voice was small when she spoke again. “I don’t know.”

  “You must try, Robin, because if you can’t, I won’t have another choice. The safety of everybody in this castle is my responsibility.”

  Magnus’s voice echoed in her mind.

  …with this weapon…

  …a tidal wave of destruction…

  …we shall destroy them…

  Robin shivered, understanding what Darian was saying. “I didn’t ask for this,” she said, her voice trembling under the gravity of his words.

  “I know,” Darian said softly. “Unfortunately, it’s often the innocents that get caught in the crosshairs of our squabbles.”

  “You could just let me go,” she said with a sad smile.

  “Even if you could walk, we don’t know what range your abilities have,” Darian said with a tinge of the same sad, futile amusement that she had. “Not to mention, we’re in the middle of the tundra. You’d freeze.”

  “Right,” Robin mumbled, letting her gaze drop.

  “I don’t enjoy killing people, Robin. I value life.”

  She lifted her head and scowled at him. “But you’re a vampire.”

  “And vampires do not possess the emotional capacity to value life?”

  Robin frowned and shook her head. “That’s not how that works.”

  “Oh? Because in my opinion, humans have a flagrant disregard for living creatures that’s just as destructive as my race may be.”

  “You can’t value life and keep strongbloods and humans as slaves at the same time,” she scowled.

  “My culture operates on subjugation,” he countered. “And I’ll charge you to look around; how are my subjects treated? Do any of them look malnourished to you?”

  “It’s not just about that… they’re not free to choose for themselves, and they’re forced to serve you out of fear.”

  Darian raised an eyebrow. “Lucidia has her ‘freedom’ and look at how well she’s doing. She’s slinking around the alleys of the western United States, tussling with rogues and renegades. She probably hasn’t had a good night’s sleep since she left House Xander. The human world is a cruel place, and no home for people like us.”

  “People like you,” she muttered.

  “No, people like us. You don’t belong there either and the longer you deny that, the more terrifying that truth will seem.”

  Robin bit the inside of her cheek. She belonged with Reykon. She belonged wherever Willow and Dag were going to hide them, in a small suburb of a small town, in human anonymity. But that had been a different Robin. The Robin that had come before. Her voice was bitter when she spoke. “I don’t have a place in your world. Except as a nuclear bomb, in your words. You think your people are going to accept that?”

  “That’s the thing about our world, Robin. There are places for everybody. When the strongbloods were born into existence, we made a place for them.”

  “As servants.”

  “And how many stray dogs live on the streets in your human world, starving and fighting to survive? Just because a human family chooses to keep the animal locked inside, to feed it, and love it, does that make them cruel slavers, too?”

  Robin let out a sharp breath. “I don’t know! Okay? I don’t know what I think about any of this, or how I feel. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and each time that fire burns, it takes more and more of me with it, and I don’t know what it’s leaving behind. So I just don’t know.”

  To her surprise and irritation, Darian laughed.

  “What the hell is so funny about my entire life being smashed to pieces?”

  He kept laughing, leaning his head back, until at last he sighed. “You sound like a baby vampire.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s a common problem that newly made vampires go through. An identity crisis, if you will. I’d say you have a bad case of it,” he said with a smile.

  Robin glared at Darian, who was still trying to suppress his laughter.

  “You’re focusing too much on what will be lost because of this transition. Calm down; what’s done is done. Focus on what you might gain from this.”

  “I was meant to be a weapon,” she growled.

  “So you might gain power. Weapons are powerful, and they’re used to threaten.”

  “Yes,” she said. “You’re proving my point.”

  “But is it not true that a sword can be used in both murder and self-defense?” Darian posed.

  “Maybe, but it’s still built to stop life. We don’t even know what I’m capable of now. Do you know what that feels like? Calliope made me to destroy your entire race. She changed me, somehow, to inflict as much damage as possible to as many people as possible.”

  “You haven’t killed a single person, Robin,” he said.

  “But-”

  “No. You need to hear that. So far, you’ve yet to kill a single individual. You’ve reverted many, many vampires back to their human states, but it was Calliope’s orders that killed them. Magnus deserved everything that happened to him, and in my opinion, it was about time somebody knocked him down a rung. You yourself saw Magnus at dinner, and I can assure you that Hubert is just as alive. You might not have control over what Calliope envisioned you’d become, but you can have control over what you actually become.”

  “How do you know that?” she asked sharply.

  “I’d like to think that I know a thing or two. Despite common misconceptions, I’m very old.”

  “I never would have guessed,” Robin muttered bleakly. “Your skin looks like plastic.”

  “Yes, well, age changes all creatures. But in my multitude of years, I’ve dealt with many, many humans that were turned into vampires against their will and then discarded like trash. They’re always concerned about the same things. What if I break somebody’s neck? What if I hurt people? Will I turn into a soulless killer? It’s all terribly brooding.”

  “And do they?”

  “Yes,” Darian said simply. “They do hurt people. Because that’s the only way to get them to the point where they don’t hurt people. But if they were to ignore the truth of what they’d become, they’d only push off the eventuality that new creatures need to flex their muscles in order to gain control. Luckily, though, you haven’t broken any necks.”

  Robin let out a long breath. “And what if I die? What if I burn up?”

  “If we cannot find a way to control this, then I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ll be forced to end your life anyway. You have no choice but to embrace this change and hope that it’s enough.”

  Robin nodded slowly, looking up at the stars that shimmered between the midnight blue clouds. “Why are you even risking this?”

  “What better place for a weapon of mass destruction than in the hands of those who don’t wish for it to destroy?”

  Robin chewed it over, letting a silence slip between them.

  “Do you think I can control it?” she asked after a few moments.

  Darian looked at her, piercing her with those red eyes, no longer holding anger and greed but now something softer; genuine. “I think people are a lot more resilient than they first believe. I know that Lucidia maintains the same sentimentality, though she wouldn’t dare admit it, and I’m inclined to think that Reykon Thraxos would likely agree as well.”

  Robin nodded slowly, watching the stars and memorizing the feel of the boat underneath her. “I’ll try.”

/>   Reykon

  Reykon walked down the stairs of another building owned by Landon, this one a warehouse, deep in the industrial district. After a couple days of impatient pacing, he’d finally convinced the head vampire to let them proceed with the search.

  The air was cold and slick as they ventured further through the maze of metal cage walkways and stairs, going down level after level.

  They arrived at a set of double doors, guarded by two hefty looking vampires.

  Reykon glanced to Landon, quirking an eyebrow up. “What exactly are we walking into, here?”

  Landon nodded to the guards, who swiped a keycard and opened the doors with a loud, whirring buzz.

  “Somebody that may know where to start looking for our wonder girl,” he said, scanning the hallway.

  The walls were painted white, and metal doors stood on either side, with magical runes inscribed into them.

  “This is your prison?” Reykon assumed.

  “Yes. One of them.”

  Reykon ignored that little comment and looked behind them, feeling vulnerable and exposed in the gauntlet, with the vampire that he didn’t know and certainly didn’t trust.

  But Landon had one thing right; Reykon was smart enough to understand that his situation was dire. He would never have a chance at finding Robin without help.

  They came to the end of the row, where another door stood, heftier than the rest and painted in more runes than there was space for. Landon nodded to a camera in the corner and the door buzzed open, swinging automatically. They stepped into another corridor, and Reykon could tell by the screams that it was for interrogations. Noises of pain and suffering clattered around, echoing down the dark, yawning hallway.

  “When you combine forces with other races, it opens up a world of possibilities for diverse methods of information retrieval,” he said with a glint.

  “I’m sure,” Reykon muttered. His own interrogation skills were minimal compared to this operation. Magnus tended to leave that responsibility to his most trusted vampires.

  Where are you, Magnus? Reykon thought.

  He hated the hulking former-master.

  Or at least, he wanted to, and certainly should after everything he’d done to Robin. Lucidia, and just about every strongblood that hadn’t been imprisoned or tortured by their masters shared the same internal controversy towards those that had owned them as warrior slaves. It was a strange blend of hatred and meager nostalgia for all the customs, traditions, and memories made.

  After all, House Demonte had been his home. This place, crawling with humans and cutthroat creatures on the run, was nowhere near safe. Now, though, Reykon had no home, and no master. He was lost in a sea of humans, trying to find his way back to some sense of safety and normalcy. And first on the list of that normalcy would be Robin. They could go somewhere together, be safe together, hide together.

  Reykon cleared his mind as Landon stopped, two doors from the end of the hallway, and turned to him. “Ready?”

  “What’s waiting on the other side?”

  “You’ll see,” Landon said with a grin. The vampire opened up the door and stepped inside.

  Reykon’s eyes adjusted to the low light, tainted purple with magical restraints. There was nothing in the room, save for a single, solitary chair, fitted with shackles, and a rolling table of gruesome implements, shoved carelessly in the corner.

  A woman sat in the chair, with dark, curly hair, short cropped to her face. She was wearing rags, tattered remains of an outfit that could no longer be identified, and a sheen of sweat slicked her skin, glinting in the purple light.

  Reykon scowled and covered his nose, the putrid stench of the prison cell hitting him full force. The woman brought her head up slightly, and then hardened her expression. It’s not her first rodeo, Reykon observed.

  “This,” Landon said with a wicked smile, “is Calliope Dragomir’s protégé caster. I believe you two have some matters to discuss.”

  Reykon narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. Every ounce of anger that he held for the caster who’d started this whole thing boiled to the surface, clouding his mind. He gave Landon one tense nod before turning his sights to the table in the corner. “I believe you’re correct.”

  Lucidia

  Oh Jesus, Lucidia thought, watching that smug, arrogant, hair-gel wearing vampire from the transport van walk towards her.

  “We meet again,” he beamed. “I’m Zane. Second in Defense.”

  Lucidia nodded.

  “Not very talkative?”

  Lucidia shot him a look and walked towards the car as he clicked the fob. The sound echoed around the garage.

  They came up on an expensive sportscar, electric blue, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. No doubt it was Landon’s doing to have them ride in style.

  “This standard for perimeter runs?” Lucidia muttered.

  Zane barked a laugh, shaking his head with humor.

  They peeled out of the garage, under the neon lights of Seattle at night, banking for the east side of the city. Zane had one arm on the wheel, and both windows down, blasting electronic beats.

  Not exactly stealthy travel.

  “What do you think so far?” he asked, raising his voice over the music but never moving to turn it down.

  Lucidia crossed her arms, one foot planted on the dash. “He’s certainly a visionary…”

  “But he’s got the hutzpah to make it happen,” Zane said, flashing her a crooked grin.

  “And it exposes us to how many humans in the process?” she muttered.

  “The humans are the least of our concerns. Most of them have no clue we even exist, and the ones that do adore us.”

  “For now,” she warned.

  “We’ll see how it plays out, but I’m betting on us. Humans are different than they used to be. They’re daring now. They’ve lost their danger-radar and a lot of them like the thrill of it.”

  Lucidia shrugged. Her entire life had been lived under strict rule, under law and order, and under an immobile class system. Vampires, where she was from, didn’t embrace equality. They liked to control things, they liked their power, and they certainly didn’t enjoy doing grunt-work perimeter runs with half-breed strongbloods.

  “And you’re totally cool with all this?” Lucidia asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “With this whole ‘all on the same page’ crap? Sharing common space with strongbloods and casters?”

  Zane narrowed his eyes, red glowing orbs under the LED streetlights. “Typical,” he said with a sly smile.

  “Come again?”

  “Everything is so strict with you imperial types. We’ve been doing this unofficially for decades, Lucidia. Just because we showed up to conferences with all the right outfits and guard groupings doesn’t mean we didn’t kick our shoes off and relax when we got home. You guys were just too busy running around for your masters to notice. At House Prior, we work together, and we don’t let DNA get in the way of our common interests. We’re all just trying to live in a human dominated world.”

  Lucidia chewed that over and focused her gaze to the streets, busy and crawling with humans.

  “The noise doesn’t bother you?” she asked after a few moments.

  “You get used to it. And it’s nice, being surrounded by humans. It’s like a constant soap opera.”

  The corner of Lucidia’s mouth curved up. “All the vampires I know don’t like the noise.”

  Zane laughed. “All the vampires you know were born before writing was invented.”

  “Not true,” she balked, her smile widening. “I know plenty that are still under the thousand mark.”

  “Oh, Christ,” he laughed. “I was born during the Napoleonic Wars, and I feel ancient already.”

  “From what I hear, you get used to it,” she said, resting her arm on the window and feeling the air slip past her fingers.

  They continued driving around the city, Zane giving her the ‘grand tour’, or so he called
it. His witty charm reminded her of Clay, and every time he gave her a crooked grin, it brought that sadness, that guilt, and that gaping concern up, like ripping open a wound.

  But she had to admit; House Prior had dug their roots deep in this city and had a remarkably good system for merging cohesively into the human world. It might actually work, she thought, after hours of driving and laughable commentary.

  Now, they sat in an old lot, looking over a hill at the sparkling nightscape of downtown. A couple of other cars were parked around them, one junker, and one minivan that rocked suspiciously, steam fogging up the windows. Zane had already given her a play by play of what the clumsy high schoolers were attempting, courtesy of his hyper-hearing.

  It was 1 a.m. when Zane’s phone rang. A few words later, and he was gunning the engine. “Got our first bite,” he said, his lips pressed into a thin line.

  Chapter 6 Control

  Robin

  She slowly opened her eyes and looked around. Charlemagne was slumped against the chair, talking to Harley, who was covered in blood and bruises, but looked more alive than Robin had ever seen her.

  Little flashes of light danced around the edges of Robin’s vision, but she fought to stay conscious, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. She looked at her hands, at the purple restraints that were fading rapidly, flickering like a computer hooked up with bad wiring.

  Harley’s eyes flicked over to Robin’s, and she tapped Charlemagne’s knee.

  “Heya, soldier,” Harley called. “You with us?”

  Robin nodded, looking around. There was no sight of Darian, or anybody else for that matter. The room was dark, except for a couple of lamps.

  And it was sweltering.

  The air nearly shimmered with heat. Robin was drenched in sweat, and there was a faint burning smell hanging in the thick air.

  Robin peeled herself off of the bed, gingerly planting her feet on the ground and rising.

  “Woah,” Harley said, jumping up and walking over. “You good?”

  Her legs were shaking, but they held up, and she nodded, resting her hand on the nightstand for support. As she bent over, her eyes caught sight of the bedsheets.