The Red Circle: A Seven Sons Novel (Bad Moon Rising Book 2)

by DB Nielsen

  Until Kayne.

  Though she doubted Kayne had any Russian in his blood either. As far as she knew, he was the Father of them all and the only one who could claim to be solely himself, alone, a vampire.

  “Come,” he said. “You must be hungry. The blood here is the best in town. We are directly under a skate park. It not only masks the sounds of our feasting but often provides us with our feast.”

  Aislinn chuckled as they reached the end of the passageway. She hoped he was joking but knew it was unlikely to be the case. Inwardly, she grimaced. She felt that she would lose her appetite if a bunch of skater boys were on the menu.

  The doors opened upon a large banquet hall. And it was crowded. But it wasn’t what she’d expected at all.

  Holy shit balls!

  It was a “Dîner en Rouge” like the popular “Dîner en Blanc” held annually in secret locations across the world where humans dressed entirely in red and black: red or black dresses, red shoes, black stockings, black suits with a red tie or shirt, even red wigs and black masks. These guests paid for the privilege of being bused to a mystery location to enjoy a mass meal which they had to bring themselves. It seemed a daft idea to her, but someone was making money out of it.

  What these unsuspecting humans didn’t know was that they were the mass meal. She scanned the room. Blinked. Gave a cynical smile.

  Or maybe they did.

  “How does it work?” Aislinn asked, intrigued despite herself. “They come here with the promise of immortal life?”

  “I presume you don’t turn them all,” stated Varya, watching the human smorgasbord circling the room with hungry eyes. “And killing them en masse would be hard to explain away to the human population, unless you arrange a plane crash or ferry accident. But that seems like a lot of trouble.”

  Zhenya shot her a feral, manic smile.

  But it was Caleb who understood. “Look at them closely. Not all of them are going to be missed. Some are illegals, such as refugees. Others are runaways or tramps.”

  Stanislav shrugged, frowning. “We are not monsters. We do not discriminate here. Come. Drink. Vechnaya pamyat.”

  Aislinn narrowed her eyes. She spoke enough Russian to know that such a toast was used mainly at a wake or funeral where the dearly departed was to be remembered forever. She kept her expression as neutral as possible.

  The vampire mafia boss was waiting. It was a test. He expected her to drink. If she didn’t, all deals would be off.

  She smiled serenely, refusing to betray her moral quandary. She only fed on human pond scum, so she hoped there was someone amongst this lot that she could force herself to take a bite or two from and not offend her host. It would be ironic if the only crooks in the room were the mobsters standing beside her.

  As the humans flitted by, Aislinn began her usual mental tally, smelling their traits on their skin.

  Med student. A Chin refugee fleeing political persecution. Real estate agent—oh, there’s a possibility—keep it in mind. Dental technician. Food critic—too funny if she became the meal. Builder. Bus driver.

  And we’ve found a winner, folks—young man who gets his kicks from setting cats on fire. It wasn’t quite up there with the rapists and murderers she normally fed on, but she was disgusted by such acts of animal cruelty. Besides, it was the best she could do from this lot.

  “I do prefer a hunt rather than a ready-made meal,” Aislinn murmured.

  The tension in the room was palpable. It ran its length and was building in volume. They were jockeying for position. Edging closer. A strange sighing like a rising tide swelled, along with an anxious excitement among the guests as she made her choice.

  Aislinn reached out a pale, slim hand like a queen conferring a blessing on her subjects and fixed her dark, mesmerizing gaze upon the young man. There was a strange moment of clarity, as if she could read his thoughts in his eyes which spoke of evil deeds to come in his obsession with fire and pain. She beckoned him across the crowded room, and the others shifted restlessly.

  He had a dark heart and no conscience. Setting cats alight was only the start. She could read in his body language his desire to do more—and not only to animals—as he observed the crowd like a predator, his eyes holding an intense cunning and malevolence. He would be another Dorian if he became a vampire.

  But this young man didn’t have Dorian’s ability to coerce and seduce. Dorian had truly fooled her. Though perhaps she had fooled herself, since she wanted to believe that someone so angelic looking could be given a second chance. And maybe that was the problem. As Dorian looked so much like Kayne, she couldn’t resist turning him. And what a tragedy it turned out to be. Never again. Once bitten, twice shy. She would not be fooled again.

  By the time the young man stood in front of her, she felt no qualms or regrets in choosing him.

  He didn’t even try to put up a fight or resist her. He couldn’t. Her allure was beyond anything he’d ever experienced. He felt his heated blood pounding in his veins.

  Her thin nostrils flared in response, as if breathing in his scent.

  The crowd was now utterly still, frozen like mannequins. The silence of the chamber allowed for the vampires to hear the shallow puffs of breath and the quivering heartbeats, rich and intoxicating.

  The young man took her cold hand and looked up at her from the bottom of the steps. His hand was clammy with a fearful thrill, and his blue eyes never wavered from her perfect face, expressing his wicked longing to become like her. Immortal. Powerful. Dark.

  There was almost something intoxicatingly sensual when she took the young man in a fast embrace. A soft sigh rippled through the crowd of spectators. This was, after all, what most of them, the rich and corrupt ones, had paid to be part of.

  And when she bit him, her ivory incisors penetrating the soft, smooth skin at his neck, piercing his jugular vein, it was as if the humans collectively released their indrawn breath of heated longing.

  Aislinn had no desire to whip the crowd into a frenzy. She drank until his heartbeat began to slow, but instead of finishing him off or dropping him to the floor, she passed the body to Stanislav in a gesture of friendliness. A shared repast.

  He precisely fitted his incisors over the holes she’d made and drank.

  This was a signal. The response was so fast that the humans stood in stunned disbelief while it happened. Not a sound. Not a single protest uttered.

  Before there was a second to react, it was already too late. Finished.

  Zhenya and several of the guards leaped forward, and the young man was completely obscured from the others’ vision. There was a feral, tearing sound, and when the mafioso finally stood back, the body of the young man was a pale, broken corpse on the floor. A gasp of horror flowed through the mass of partygoers in front of them.

  Wiping away the blood drops from her lips, Aislinn focused on Stanislav rather than the beginning of the vampires’ feeding frenzy. Such sights sickened and appalled her. Her stomach rebelled at the murder of innocents, but she managed to keep her meal down. One misstep and she and her friends wouldn’t make it out of here alive either. That was the risk she was taking.

  “Come, leave them to enjoy themselves,” Stanislav said in a deep, low voice, ignoring the screams and shrieks of the human horde behind them as he turned her toward another set of doors to the side and led her out into a dim passageway. “We have much to discuss.”

  She’d passed the test. She could breathe a sigh of relief.

  Leaving behind Varya and Caleb to feast, she accompanied the wily mafia boss to his office in the deepest subterranean levels of his headquarters. They would have accompanied her had she requested it, but she was in no danger from Stanislav now and was glad to leave Varya behind where the less she knew, the less she could be forced to report back to Julius.

  Chapter 16

  Guards opened the double oak doors for them as he strode through his domain, the daughter of Kayne by his side. It was a pleasure to be in the company
of not only an illustrious guest but such a beautiful woman. It had been many decades since he had conversed with a female he was not also bedding at the time. This meeting was a novelty.

  He was charmed by the striking Malum. Her coloring reminded him of the ethereal beauty of the ballerinas from the Bolshoi Ballet performing “Swan Lake” when he had last attended in 1901. He was a man who appreciated beautiful things.

  Particularly when she was so enchanted with the magnificent interior of his office which he had chosen to model on the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg with its white walls, neoclassical columns, rampant gilt decoration, parquet floor, and ornate chandeliers.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, sighing. Her eyes soaked it all in as he gestured for Aislinn to make herself comfortable. He had long ago lived in the shadows of the Kremlin. Though his family may have been poor, he was no peasant. Now he was able to build himself his own palace, or fortress, if one chose to see it that way, which he often did. And he had no qualms that it was built on blood money since blood was the currency of the Underworld and all their species.

  “Now, let us have proper Russian drink,” Stanislav said in his thick accent. He pulled out a bottle with Cyrillic script on its label that was probably smuggled into the country along with a shipment of arms and drugs. Aislinn knew it didn’t come from a legit source like the Blood Bank. But she was able to appreciate that Stanislav was a smooth criminal. He poured the deep vermillion liquid into two crystal wine glasses and handed one to Aislinn.

  The scent was strong, though not overpowering, and there was a loamy, starched note that characterized it.

  “Drink.”

  Aislinn took a mouthful and choked. She managed not to spill the contents of the glass by an astounding act of dexterity and luck. Her eyes briefly watered, and she blinked back tears. Like all vampires who found the discomfort of others amusing, Stanislav laughed loudly and deeply, slapping his thigh.

  Holy Vlad! No wonder this stuff was only available on the black market. It was pure, one-hundred percent Russian.

  “Drink,” he instructed again with a nod.

  Warier now, Aislinn took a sip and was surprised at the warmth that flooded through her. As she quietly complimented the vintage, Stanislav sat across from her in a gilt Bergere chair that seemed too delicate for his large frame. He pensively swirled the liquid in his glass.

  “I apologize for all the cloak and dagger subterfuge. We live in an Underworld and cannot be too careful.”

  She said nothing, blue eyes watchful. He frowned.

  “As we are not cursed with fallible memory, I shall presume you understand my meaning when I refer to a Nubes whom you dispatched in a parking lot recently,” he said softly, raising a dark brow.

  The hair on the back of her neck rose. “Perfectly.”

  “It may surprise you to learn he was my brother,” he said, watching her carefully. “My twin brother, when we were both mortal.”

  Her skin turned to instant goosebumps. What could she say? She could hardly offer her condolences: I’m sorry I killed your batshit crazy brother, but he wanted my motorbike.

  She opened her mouth to say something comforting and tactful. “Personally, I can’t see the resemblance. He was a douchebag.”

  Mother of Vlad, Aislinn! You didn’t think that one through! She stared at the drink in her hand, blaming it for her lack of discretion.

  She wished she had mastered diplomacy or at least hostage negotiations, since she had a feeling she would need both tonight, but these were lessons Caleb couldn’t teach her. She was a terrible student of theory and preferred the art of decapitation. It was the quickest method of negotiation she knew.

  She waited for the fallout, but instead, Stanislav chuckled. “Indeed, he was. Vechnaya pamyat.” He gave a salute and downed his glass in one draught.

  “Vechnaya pamyat,” she repeated, understanding now why he had used such a unique toast earlier. She sipped more slowly.

  “He was, indeed, a douchebag, but Sergei was my only brother,” he replied, his words threaded with amusement. It was the type of amusement that led to traitors ending up in tar pits. He poured himself another glass. “I am not interested in revenge. Or, at least, you are not the one responsible for his death.”

  “I’m not?” Aislinn asked quickly. “Who is responsible?”

  His gaze was shuttered as it brushed across her face. “That is what I intend to find out.”

  There was a long, drawn-out silence. The minutes ticked by.

  Aislinn looked at Stanislav’s squarish face. It was sober and utterly still. She deeply hoped he didn’t expect her to hunt down whomever was responsible for Sergei’s demise, since she didn’t feel even remotely obliged to do so.

  Yes, she had killed him, but there was no blood debt that Aislinn felt she needed to pay for ridding the world of another asshole. The world ought to be thanking her. Maybe they ought to be thanking the person that Stanislav was intent on putting out a contract on.

  As if he could hear every word she was thinking, Stanislav removed a small packet from the inside pocket of his jacket and, without any apparent concern, tossed it over to her. She deftly caught it in her free hand and frowned.

  “Drugs?” she asked, looking at the packet of pills in its transparent plastic bag. Initially revolted, she wanted to throw the packet back at the vampire mafia boss. She wasn’t going to get drawn into some shady drug deals. But as she examined them closer, she hesitated.

  The pills were as red as blood and glittered as if they were composed of crushed garnets, sparkling temptingly as they caught the light. Even without handling them directly, she could feel the strange but familiar emanations of dark, corrupt energy and something else. She stiffened, a mix of fear and anger coursing through her.

  She carefully opened the packet and sniffed.

  “Vlad’s teeth!” Her head reared back in shock as she looked at Stanislav out of dark, dilated eyes. “Vampire blood. Ancient vampire blood. I don’t recognize the origin. But this stuff is highly refined. Is this one from your own chemist?”

  “No.” She heard the sudden edge in Stanislav’s voice. “The drug you are holding is called Black Magic.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’ve heard of it. For some reason, I expected it to be black like its name.”

  His eyes were very dark when they met hers. “You are not entirely mistaken. As you have just learned, there is dark magic at work here.”

  “And vampire blood,” she said, her tone came out accusingly.

  He inclined his closely cropped head in agreement, not taking offense. “And vampire blood. But, like you, I do not know the source.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Perhaps we do, though it may be contaminated by dark magic and that is why neither of us can recognize it.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed, giving her an approving smile, his eyes craftier than ever. “But the issue of who is orchestrating the sourcing, manufacture, and distribution is only one problem. You see, there’s enough vampire blood and dark magic in each pill to provide a significant high without turning a human. For vampires ingesting the drug without extracting it from its host carrier, well, you’ve seen the effects.”

  Aislinn looked at him in shock. Clearly, she’d been ignoring what was happening on the streets but couldn’t avoid it any longer. “Are you suggesting that someone has intentionally created a drug to give to humans in order to feed off them in this state?”

  Stanislav’s lashes half closed over his dark eyes, giving him a mean, bestial look. “Da. That’s exactly what I’m saying. The rush of endorphins in a human’s brain and blood provides a greater thrill for vampires. Imagine feeding off a human boosted with endorphins and adrenaline when they are at their peak. For a brief period, the vampire gains greater agility, power, speed. Blood is, after all, life.”

  Fury flashed across Aislinn’s gorgeous face. Such temporary benefits came at a cost and a significant backlash. The vampire would easily recover but would demand more and
more enhanced human blood like any addict to get the same thrill. But Stanislav was right. Blood was life. This enhanced blood wouldn’t just be of benefit to vampires.

  Dark magic. Dark mages.

  “But vampires cannot use the Black Magic drug in its original form?” she asked, trying to remain calm.

  “No.” He turned the filled glass between his palms, watching the ruby highlights. “No more than we can cannibalize our own species and not suffer long-term effects such as vampirencephalopathy.”

  Aislinn blinked. That was a mouthful. “Wait. Sorry? What the Vlad is that?”

  Stanislav smiled wryly. “Chronic, degenerative brain disease. Like the vampire version of Kuru or Mad Cow Disease. Vampires believe ourselves to be immortal, as we regenerate quickly. But such a disease, when a vampire becomes addicted to the Black Magic drug, attacks the brain and blood with dark magic. The corruptive nature of it is already evident. Time will tell if it also proves fatal.”

  So basically, it means batshit crazy. Seriously, he could have just said that.

  Aislinn gazed at him for a long while. “You’re a businessman.” She didn’t think it appropriate to call him an arms dealer or drug dealer, both of which were equally repugnant to her, but she felt the need to address the elephant in the room. “Are you attempting to recreate the drug? Distribute it? What’s in it for you?”

  Stanislav’s jaw tightened. “Revenge, pure and simple. For my brother, of course. But as you said, I’m a businessman. This drug is bad for business. Our world balances precariously between the mortal and immortal worlds. Blood is our currency.”

  “But only a small population of vampires will be affected,” she reasoned. “Only those vampires who attempt to take the drug directly.”

  “True. But we have yet to explore how the drug may aggravate the blood rage of those who use it to enhance their abilities by feeding on these jacked-up humans.” His expression was solemn.