Vermilion Lies

by L. D. Rose

  Caldre had made it exceedingly clear he desired New York City, on more than one occasion. It usually ended in pandemonium, one of the greatest strigoi rivalries in the northeast. He’d even attempted to strike deals with Jacques in exchange for espionage and treachery. This time was no exception.

  Except this time, Jacques wasn’t quick to refuse.

  If Cindel was alive, he needed to find her. If there was the slightest probability she could’ve escaped Alek undetected, then they both could be together without consequence.

  Alek wasn’t the only one who’d been gutted by her disappearance.

  “What of the hybrid?” Jacques finally spoke before he lost himself in his musings.

  His sire peered at him, furious energy still pulsing between them. “What of him?”

  “As far as I know, he’s alone, without his tribe. Whether or not he possesses this so-called hostage, he’s weakened, especially after singlehandedly battling Enzo’s men. The time to strike is now, while the Trinity is preoccupied with Ballard and Dax is away from the protection of his brothers.”

  A tense pause before Alek’s mouth curved with approval. “Now you’re thinking like a General, Montague.”

  Pride and anticipation swelled in Jacques’ chest, but he kept it off his face. “I’ll send in a team tonight, small, discreet, a covert operation. Based on the timing of the attack and the boat’s location, I’m almost certain the hybrid is still in the area. Once we pick up his trail, it’ll be easy to sniff him out.”

  “Like wolves.” Alek chuckled darkly. “I’m impressed, Jacques.”

  Jacques inclined his head graciously. “Thank you, my Lord.”

  Alek folded his arms over his chest, regarding him with a blend of esteem and suspicion. “You want to see this hostage for yourself, don’t you, moy syn?”

  A bolt of fear crackled up Jacques’ spine. “Truthfully, Sire, yes. But it’s merely a bonus.”

  A flash of that predatory smile on his master’s lips. “You will join your team, then. And you’ll bring her to me, along with the hybrid . . . alive.”

  “My Lord?” Jacques tilted his head innocuously, even though he heard and comprehended Alek’s intentions clearly.

  The sire lifted his hands then dropped them in a botched attempt at an innocent gesture. “I’d like to see what all the fuss is about. And if this female is Cindel’s doppleganger, all the better. She’ll never replace my beloved, but a substitute will do.”

  Anger flared in Jacques’ veins, rising to meet the fear. “And what if she’s dead, my Lord? What if Dax has already disposed of her?”

  “Then bring me her body.” Alek’s tone hardened into galvanized steel but his malevolent smile never waned. “I’m sure I’ll find a use for it.”

  Revulsion squirmed like maggots in Jacques’ stomach.

  Straight face. Don’t blink.

  “You know the hybrid won’t surrender without a fight. We may have to mortally wound him.”

  “Alive, Jacques. Both of them. I will determine their fates.” His eyes blazed like brimstone, like the Devil himself. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

  Jacques bowed his head in deference, staring at the pale marble floor, if only to hide the fury burning in his eyes and searing in his chest. “Yes, my Lord.”

  Alek closed the distance between them, his seething dark aura thrashing at the air and pounding on Jacques’ skin in a show of dominance. The sire gripped Jacques’ shoulder in a near-painful squeeze when their eyes connected.

  “Do not disappoint me, child. You, of all people, should understand the limits of my tolerance for failure.”

  Jacques nodded his assent, stifling the fire in his blood. “I won’t fail you, my Lord.”

  “Good.” Alek smiled, a wide vulturine grin as he gave Jacques’ arm a good-natured slap. “Now go rest. You’ll need it.”

  SIX

  You’re obsessed.

  Madly in lust with a gorgeous leech who threw off raw sensuality in scores, who dragged the monster right out of him by his goddamn balls and the bastard fucking loved it.

  Dax crept to the end of the store aisle, removing a pair of throwing stars from the utility belt clasped around his waist. Warm silver kissed his palms as he measured their weight and balance, spinning them a few times to re-familiarize himself with them. Crashes rang out somewhere in the electronics section, followed by the rapid spit of gunfire and a dash of vehement Irish curses. Dax focused past the ruckus, listening to the soft footsteps of his prey fall on scarred linoleum, thinking about the hem of his T-shirt riding high on a lean porcelain thigh.

  She was sex wrapped in danger, a Goth girl fantasy, a deadly combination that hit all the right buttons.

  And he loathed himself for it.

  Calmly stepping around the aisle, Dax locked the serrated blades into position and pitched both shuriken, his body naturally executing the motion thanks to years of training. The male leech made a futile attempt to dodge them before the death stars buried in his flesh—the first lodging in the hollow of his throat, the second slicing right into his heart.

  Bullseye.

  Dax didn’t stop moving, approaching the vampire as he glimpsed the giant target sign looming on the far wall. His lips twitched with amusement while the leech dropped to his knees, black eyes wide enough to show the whites. The vampire bared his fangs soundlessly, blood geysering from his mouth while he clutched his shredded trachea. Dax threw a kick at his chest, plunging the star even farther into the leech’s ribcage before the parasite collapsed to the floor.

  Dax ruthlessly yanked out the shuriken, blood ejecting from the wounds with one last pulse. After wiping the blades on his pants and sheathing them, he palmed his SIG from his shoulder rig. He planted two silver bullets into the vampire’s brain for good measure, obliterating the leech’s nose and punching a hole between his eyes.

  The stench of incense, gunpowder, and steamed blood invaded his nostrils, and all he could envision was Cindy, staring back at him from the end of the barrel, lips curved in a tantalizing smile.

  He didn’t have the gonads to pull the trigger then, but he sure as hell had no problem now.

  Scanning the inky darkness of the adjacent aisle, Dax let his eyes adjust from the muzzle flashes, heart thumping to an adrenaline beat. The entire department store was pitch black, located away from the sparse streetlights of Allstate Road in Dorchester. Hell, the whole neighborhood was a blackout, and he was amazed merchandise still sat on the store’s shelves.

  Without warning, another leech dove at him from above, and Dax turned to snatch the vampire’s Kevlar vest, propelling the male into a column of metal shelves using his own momentum. The impact was terrific, but the leech recovered swiftly, springing to his feet like a goddamn Slinky before lunging at Dax again.

  This bloodsucker was skilled, fast and lethal, but Dax managed to block him blow-by-blow. He remained on the defensive, hardly able to get in a strike as they passed several aisles straight into electronics, fighting each other furiously. The rasp of a knife leaving its sheath scraped in Dax’s ears and he ducked. The blade sliced through the air with a wicked whoosh, likely severing a few hairs on his head as it cut into the darkness behind him.

  Oh yeah, definitely trained. Probably one of Ballard’s.

  Morbid excitement hummed along Dax’s skin at the challenge, his blood running cold with the rise of his chi. Never had he felt more alive than when he was in imminent danger. He continued to deflect the leech’s attacks until he sensed a delay in a strike, only milliseconds of time, but enough to allow him to drive his fist into the vampire’s solar plexus. The leech doubled over, grunting, but Dax cut him off with a brutal jab to the throat, following up with a double blow to the head and a hard uppercut that sent the vampire crashing into a pile of coolers.

 
Yes. Dax’s pulse thundered in his ears like a war drum, his breath freezing into mist as the temperature around him plummeted. The air’s moisture surrounded him, drawn to his body like a magnet, coalescing about his fingers in crystallized whirls. He barely had to summon his element anymore, the act as natural as breathing, the response as rapid as a thought—

  BOOM.

  The floor tilted, hurling him against the shelves as the electronics section exploded. Debris filled the air, bursting over the aisles as pieces of plastic, bits of circuitry, and chunks of vampire rained down on him. A triumphant battle cry bayed over the chaos, the sound bloodthirsty and mad—a psychotic leprechaun at his finest.

  Barely giving Dax time to recoup, his forgotten opponent jumped him, blades glinting in the dark. Dax raised his hand before the vampire could carve him a Glasgow smile, pushing all of that harnessed energy into his numb fingertips. Arctic power erupted from his palm in all directions as the leech’s form froze in mid-flight, suspended for a split-second before dropping sharply to the floor.

  A sick crunch resounded on impact but the noise was music to Dax’s ears as he levered to his feet. He drew his gun and wasted no time popping a few slugs into the leech’s iced brain before the bloodsucker decided to wake up again.

  Then it struck him like a crowbar to the chest.

  His heart slipped out of rhythm, galloping like a crazed horse behind his ribs. The arrhythmia hit him at full throttle, incited by his brief hypothermia and the power exertion. His breath quickened, shallowed, but he focused on tamping down the mounting anxiety in his throat, willing his pulse to slow. He squeezed his eyes shut before vertigo spun him out of control and let out a forceful cough.

  Nothing, no response, his heart bucking like an angry bull.

  Arching his head back and turning it to the side, Dax pressed his fingers into his exposed carotid, massaging the vessel just beneath his jaw. Finally, the damn hunk of muscle fell back into rhythm, easing the death-grip around his chest as he expelled the breath from his lungs.

  “Frosty, you good?”

  Dax whipped around at Kayne’s brogue, sensing him at the end of the aisle, and he managed not to shoot him. “Yeah,” he whispered, pasting on a smile. Nothing wrong here. “Did I mention I don’t miss you at all?”

  Kayne let out a low laugh, keeping the volume down. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Frosty baby, but not that fucking blizzard of yours. Bloody hell, it’s freezing in here.”

  Shaking off the episode, Dax moved toward him, reasserting his grip on the SIG. “You should be used to the cold by now, boyo. Besides, if you didn’t brilliantly decide to blow shit up, I wouldn’t have to go all Sub-Zero on your ass. Which, by the way, genius, turns you into a target as big as that red bullseye on the wall.”

  Kayne shrugged, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “No risk, no reward.”

  “We’ll see about that—”

  Out of nowhere, the entire place lit up, fluorescents frying Dax’s retinas. He yelped, slapping his free hand over his eyes as pain speared his gray matter like shards of glass. His shout echoed around the department store, a sound of both surprise and agony.

  Kayne chuckled softly. “God said, let there be light, and there was light.”

  “Motherfucker!” Dax hissed, frantically trying to focus, blinking rapidly and urging his eyes to acclimate. The fluorescents snapped and crackled, some of them flickering while others were burnt out from years of disuse. When he managed to discern the Irishman, Dax looked past him to find three vampires caught in mid-stride, also near-blinded and desperately attempting to see. Kayne noticed the same situation over Dax’s shoulder, because he stilled as soon as his eyes settled in the distance.

  Ballard’s goons.

  In that instant, all the vampires regained their vision. They snarled at once, hurtling straight toward Dax and Kayne at lightning speeds.

  Neither Dax nor Kayne said a word, simply reacting to the threat. Reading each other’s body language, Kayne bent, offering his back as Dax leapt on him, using the solid mass of muscle and bone as a springboard. Kayne boosted him from below, sending Dax soaring to meet a vampire in midair, spinning a roundhouse kick as his boot slammed into the leech’s chest. Drawing his second gun on his descent, Dax fired at the others, bullets ripping through air, metal, and flesh.

  The vampires scattered when Dax landed, but the relief was short-lived before they piled on him again like a pack of hyenas. He unleashed his wrath, fighting them tooth, blade, and SIG. Death exploded in every direction in high-definition and surround-sound, and he didn’t stop until they ceased fighting, didn’t blink no matter how gory, didn’t breathe until every last leech was a mutilated mass of destruction.

  When the tornado finally passed, he and Kayne were the last monsters standing, drenched in blood as they took great gulps of stale air. Dax absorbed the carnage before him, vaguely dissociated from his own aching body, his mind senseless with that anesthetizing static. Awareness revealed that he’d cut down a lot more than three vampires. At least six lay in bloodied heaps at his feet, maybe more, but he couldn’t tell.

  A fluorescent sizzled above them, sparking as it went out, dimming the aisle as if sparing them from the sight of their own sins.

  Retrieving their weapons dispersed amidst the carcasses, they both reloaded with calm, steady, bloody hands. Then they pumped silver into anything that looked remotely like a vampire’s skull.

  Mercifully, the volume in Dax’s ears didn’t turn back up until the shooting abated, his brain filling with the dull roar of his pulse and the shrill ring of close-range gunfire. His mouth tasted like ash and tarnished pennies, his fangs fully lengthened and throbbing against his lips. The cloying reek of vampire demise enveloped him, suffusing him with that strange, inexplicable sense of peace he felt after a good massacre. Deep, gnawing hunger held his guts in a vise-grip, squeezing hard enough to remind him of his true nature.

  You know nothing of what you are.

  Oh, yes. Yes, he did.

  Dax glanced at Kayne, and the Shamrock met him with the black eyes of their enemies. His short, dark hair was matted with vampire blood, his olive skin saturated with it, his dark clothes dripping crimson. If he suffered any wounds, it didn’t show, but once the adrenaline wore off, they would both be hurting. Kayne visibly shivered, jaw trembling, but the cold didn’t seem to bother him as he smiled in sheer satisfaction, flawless white incisors in a bloodstained face.

  “Want to measure our knobs?”

  Laughter burst from Dax’s lips unchecked, a loud, rough bark he couldn’t suppress. Kayne had outrageous down to an artform and Dax loved him for it.

  “Mine’s bigger and you know it.”

  “What’s your shoe size?”

  “Get the fuck out of here. Seriously. Before every leech in Southie decides to take a shopping trip to Tar-Zhey.”

  Kayne pouted but indicated the back of the store with a tilt of his head, waggling his brows. “This way to me Lucky Charms.”

  “God help me.” Dax groaned and tailed the Irishman through the macabre obstacle course.

  “Ain’t no god helping you now, lad.”

  You’ve got that right.

  They picked up the pace, navigating the battlefield of the department store. The battered bodies of the fairly large nest were strewn everywhere, lying in halos of dark blood. They skirted the corpses, guns held in hand, remaining vigilant for any sign of movement. A few aisles before the employee entrance, Dax stopped abruptly, putting an arm up to signal to Kayne.

  Both men halted, listening hard. A mewling sound, the cry of a hungry kitten. Dax turned his head, getting a sense for the direction of the source, reaching out with his proverbial feelers. Out to the right, near the ladies clothing section.

  He motioned for Kayne to keep moving. “I’ve got this,” he murmured as he
fell back. “Get the Explorer.”

  Kayne started to shake his head, but Dax pushed the Knight past him. “Go.” He made it an order not a request, tossing a glare at him. “Get out of here.”

  Kayne opened his mouth to protest but Dax bolted before the Shamrock could stop him, disappearing into the heart of the maze. Holding his trusty SIG in hand, he kept the gun pointed at the floor as he prowled on silent feet.

  He paused at every aisle, listening past his pulse for the feline cry. As the sound amplified, it became less furry and more human. He stopped when he entered the ladies clothing section, surveying the area. Dozens of circular clothing racks stretched out like land mines, hiding potential dangers within. The flickering fluorescents were harsh, sharpening the shadows and making everything look surreal.

  Clothes stuffed the racks, now layered with a powder of dust and age. Nothing moved, everything still as stone. The only sign of life was that terrible whimper hitched with short, choppy wheezes.

  Is that a human in this hellhole?

  Staying close to the outer racks, Dax slunk in a wide circle, crouching low in order to remain as small a target as possible. He peeked around every rack into the open rows, his senses emitting like sonar, radiating out to pinpoint a more accurate location on the source. Taking a deep breath, he stole across the threadbare carpet, heading due northeast.

  About halfway en route, the sobbing suddenly hushed, and he cursed inwardly. Whoever, or whatever, it was detected his presence. Bodies shifted, the clink of metal against metal, a rustle of fabric, the rub of tread on carpet. He squatted down about three racks away from the noise, lifting his SIG. He heard the soft sounds of struggle, quick breaths and a heavy weight dragging along the floor. The sickly-sweet smell of vampire blood permeated the air, reaching into his nose and tugging at his frontal lobe. Either a dead or an injured leech was nearby.