Blood Moon (Skye Morrison Vampire Series, #5.5) (19 page)

Chapter
1

April 17
^th
, 2210 – New Haven City.
Westernmost
Province of the Iron Gate, Pacific Coast

The roar of the crowd, all twenty-five-thousand people in attendance, rose to a thundering crescendo when Mira delivered a bone-crunching blow to her opponent’s ribs. Standing only five feet tall, she might not have appeared a formidable warrior, but the thin, spiky-haired waif of a vampire could hold her weight and more when put to the test. Amplified by the superb acoustics, the sound of bones cracking echoed through the Superdome arena. The defeated, a red-headed male vampire staggered, punch-drunk, and then dropped to his knees. Dirt and sweat coated his face but could not mask the fear in his icy blue eyes. His was a look Mira had seen so many times before. Her opponent’s immortal life had finally come to an end, and he was ready to take the final deadly blow.

Above her, Mira knew the fifty-foot mega screen showed her hapless victim in brilliant resolution, ensuring that all who were attending, and those watching from the comfort of their homes, could see these last gruesome moments in crystal clear high-definition.

Mira gazed down at her opponent’s blood-soaked face. Though he was her enemy for the moment, she did not relish having to end him. No one should be forced into the arena and told to kill or be killed. It wasn’t right. But it was what was demanded of her, and given the choice between her life and someone else’s… well, there really was no choice. No matter the cost, Mira was a survivor.

She glanced up to the large private box overlooking the arena. A well-dressed man in deep-purple robes sat, enjoying what appeared to be a dinner of filet mignon and roast potatoes. Even here, in the dusty arena below, Mira’s enhanced senses picked up the tantalizing scent of very rare, bloody steak. She could hardly believe that a human could not only watch the murder about to take place, but also sit and eat the dead flesh of a once-living being while doing it. From the smell of it, the poor beast was practically still bleeding on his plate. Who was truly the more savage creature?

Over the crowd’s roar, an announcer introduced the well-dressed man, Lucian Stavros, Regent of the Iron Gate. Lucian gently and purposefully slowly set down his knife and fork. He took another moment to wipe his face clean and then smiled, acknowledging the roaring crowd.

Chants of “Death, death, death” rang out from the throng as a single unified demand.

The Regent listened for a moment, making a show of putting his hands to his ears to hear screaming hoard’s request, and then held a hand out, with his thumb pointed to the side.

As if the next moment were the most important, the anticipating mass hushed. Eerie silence filled the arena as everyone watched for the Regent to make his decision.

From her vantage point below, Mira saw the steely look of determination cross the Regent’s face. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he took this decision seriously; but then, he was human, and they never cared much if her kind lived or died. Lucian Stavros took a cursory glance down at Mira. Their eyes met. It was only a brief moment, but in that short time, Mira saw him waver.

Could it be true, she wondered, or was it just a trick of the light? No human actually cared about the lives of vampires. The moment faded, and the fleeting thought left.

Mira saw the Regent’s decision. He turned his thumb down. Death! 

The crowd went wild.

The last hope for her defeated opponent had vanished; Mira had to finish him. “Sorry,” she whispered to the half-dead vampire on his knees before her. Though her fangs tingled at the prospect of tasting his final dying moments — her reward, if you could call it that, for living through another battle —  she did not enjoy what she was about to do. Like her, he was a slave, forced into servitude to the humans as they saw fit. He had not asked for this, and neither had she. But, despite what either of them wanted, it was the will of the crowd, the humans, that had to be served.

Aiming to sever the carotid artery with her fangs, Mira dove at her opponent’s neck. His death would be quick. At least she could afford him that luxury.

Hot, sweet, and energizing, his blood flowed freely down her parched throat. She’d been starved for so long. Denied the one thing she needed. And now, free to drink her fill, it was all she could do not to let the beast within her take over. Blood was everything: food, drink, life-giving essence, and pure ecstasy. Even the smallest amount could provide healing nourishment and pleasure all at once. But Mira could not let herself take pleasure from it, knowing the source. This was no willing donor. This was a fallen comrade. A fellow vampire. One of her own kind. His death ordered by the command of the humans. No matter how good his blood tasted, it was not for her to enjoy. She’d take only what she needed to heal from her wounds, and let his death come quickly. 

More cheers erupted around Mira. The crowd, despite being entirely human, proved more bloodthirsty than she. The irony of it was sickening. Distantly, she heard the announcer proclaim her the winner.

With a roar, she threw her head back, ripping out her opponent’s throat, spraying what remained of his blood out into the air. They wanted carnage – they could have it. She had to keep her adoring fans happy lest they turn on her. In the arena, the life or death of a gladiator often came down to the will of the crowd. And though she was repulsed by what she had to do, she knew how to play the game.

The satisfying flush of fresh blood in her system and the heady rush that came with it was short lived. The reality of her situation was always close to the surface. Above, the giant dome roof parted, sending a hot blast of UV light down around Mira like a cage.

Not wanting to let them regain their strength, the humans were quick to remind vampires where their place was and who their masters were. Not even afforded a moment’s respite for her victory, Mira was already enduring the painful reminder that she was a slave. Worse, a prisoner.

Her skin singed where the light touched. Instinctively, she held up her hands in surrender. The faster she let them haul her away to the prison level, the better.

The crowd around still roared with applause. But were they cheering for Mira, or happy to see her being tortured by blinding light? A bit of both, probably. Humans loved to see any bit of vampire suffering. Though it angered her, Mira would not show it and invite their ire.

Two humans, one male and one female, approached Mira, both wearing standard issue black Kevlar body suits and hoods with a wooden stake and hammer emblazoned across the chest. Handlers. Specially trained to deal with vampires and equipped to kill if necessary. Among their weapons were UV torches, quick blasting light sticks able to direct a powerful beam of ultraviolet light at the push of a button. The female’s hand inched towards her UV torch as they approached Mira. She was a new appointee as Mira’s handler, who preferred to shoot first and ask questions later. Mira hated the mocha-skinned Amazon wannabe and would have loved nothing more than to rip her to shreds. Few females were allowed to be handlers, and this one had wanted to prove herself from the moment she’d been assigned to Mira. 

Once Mira might have acted on her desire to kill the nuisance handler and take whatever punishment she’d be given, but after years in this prison Mira had learned her lesson. Fighting back was best done strategically. Immortality was not invincibility, and she was no fool.

“Arms out, slave.” The largest of the two handlers, a male with a deep voice, barked the order at her.

“Come to congratulate me on my victory and adorn me with jewelry?” With a cocky smile, she held out her hands, awaiting the silver cuffs with which they’d restrain her.

“Silence!” The male refused to look at her. He fastened the cuffs around her wrists and pulled back quickly, almost as if he feared what Mira might do.

Silver stung her skin, but Mira wouldn’t let on that she was in any pain. “I always did have a thing for the strong silent types.” She smirked despite the discomfort the cuffs were already creating. Hives were beginning to pepper Mira’s smooth alabaster skin. An annoying allergic reaction, but she’d never admit how much it bothered her. Any sign of weakness could be exploited.

The male handler refused to acknowledge her or engage her further. He continued to work shackling her feet and then connected another silver chain between the two sets of restraints. When finished, he pointed toward the door at the edge of the arena. The female handler pressed a few buttons on a small communicator device around her wrist. Above, the dome began to close, and the shafts of light surrounding Mira vanished.

Thankful to be back in the dark, Mira nodded to her handlers as if to say, “Lead on,” and followed as they directed her away from the arena, down to the pens.

Her moment of fame was over.

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By Brenda Dyer

Chapter 1

Friday, December 19th, 8:12p.m

Surrey, British Columbia, Canada

Soren parked his jeep behind a tall brick building, making sure his vehicle was obscured in the deeper shadows of the structure. He shut off the engine, killed the lights, and stared out into the night.

A wave of weakness coursed through his body, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.

I feel like crap wrapped in a layer of shit.
Damn. He shouldn’t have waited so long to feed. Two weeks without blood was pushing it, but three was total stupidity, not to mention reckless.

Last night he’d had the perfect opportunity to assuage his bloodlust. But instead of simply feeding from the hot brunette he’d set his sights on, he’d decided to take it slow and seduce her in hopes of getting more than blood. And all was going along as planned—the woman had been more than eager for a quick romp in one of the back rooms of The Green Tree—until Ace and Black called for back-up. He’d left with an empty belly and a raging hard-on.

Pins and needles stabbed his toes and traveled up his legs.

After making sure his dagger was well hidden under his coat, Soren opened the driver’s door and stepped out into the night. Frigid air blew over his face, carrying with it the scent of car exhaust, grease from fast food restaurants, and the faint but tantalizing aroma of blood—human blood. His nostrils flared and his stomach cramped.

Time to hunt down a willing candidate.

When he pushed the lock button on his keychain, the headlights from his red jeep flashed. He dropped the keys into the pocket of his black ski jacket then extracted a pack of cigarettes and lighter.

As he fished out a smoke, he surveyed his surroundings. Across the street was a strip mall containing the usual shops: a drug store, small-chain grocery store, a Subway sandwich shop, pizza joint, and a gym named Sculpting Curves. All the storefronts were decked out with bright Christmas lights and plastic Santas.

An old Christmas carol played in his head, with an added touch of his own:
Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fuckla, la, la, la la, fuck it all.

The parking lot yielded a few humans dashing to their cars, trying to escape the cold wind.

Dizziness made him sway. He sucked in a gulp of air and closed his eyes. Shit, if he didn’t feed, and soon, he’d pass the fuck out. But none of the people in the parking lot would do—there was no place to feed in privacy. And a vampire needed privacy since secrecy was the name of the game.

With a shaky hand, he lit his cigarette and inhaled deep. Nicotine made the lightheadiness worse.

Soren turned from the lights and activity of the strip mall and headed up the street toward town. By the time he finished his smoke, his body was a mass of quivering muscles. Each step became harder to accomplish. Although a steady stream of pedestrians passed him, the opportunity to single one out hadn’t presented itself.

He stopped at an intersection. Fuck. Now what? With each second that ticked by, his strength dwindled.

But luck at last reared her beautiful face. Across the street in the parking lot of a convenience store, three women—two blondes and a redhead, probably in their early twenties—stood beside a green truck. And since luck decided to play nice, they were predominantly hidden in the shadows cast by a cluster of tall hedges.

Perfect.

Soren’s heart kicked up the pace as he waited for a break in the traffic. His mouth filled with saliva in anticipation for the warm, energy-giving blood that would soon be coursing down his parched throat.

One of the women broke from the group with her cell phone pressed to her ear. She was shorter with bigger curves than the others. She looked appetizing. Well-rounded hips rocked as she walked toward the building. Even from this distance, Soren sensed her agitation. She flipped red hair over her shoulder, apparently engrossed by whatever the caller was yapping about.

Well, well. Could this get any better?
Nope.

The traffic light turned red. He jogged across the intersection on weak legs, his gaze riveted on the two blonds —probably sisters judging by their similar features and coloring—as they chatted. His thoughts reached out and merged with the blond closest to him. Like a drill, his psyche burrowed deeper, pushing through her stored memories. Images of a house party flashed through her mind. She stopped talking and rubbed her forehead, then her expression went blank.

The moment he stood next to them, their blue eyes swung his way. Fear, smelling like burnt leaves, spiked through their lithe frames. Two hearts raced, pushing blood faster through their veins.

The beast within roared to life. His fangs poked through his gums, but he forced them to retract. With his mind still combined with the first woman’s, he planted a thought.
Ignore everything around you. Continue talking about the house party. You’ll linger in a trance until your redheaded friend speaks to you.

The other flaxen-haired beauty frowned. “Hey...What’re—?”

Before she could voice her obvious concerns, Soren focused on her. Their gazes locked and he planted the same thought in her brain.

They disregarded his company and resumed their conversation. He scrubbed his image from their memories as if cleaning a spill with a damp paper towel.

His fangs punched down. And this time he left them exposed. Bloodlust raged through him like a speeding dump truck without brakes.
Time to eat
.

He turned to the redhead. She stood with her back to him. The moment his thoughts entered her mind, he sensed her annoyance. She was arguing with her boyfriend.

Hang up.

Without saying good-bye, she ended the call.

Soren stepped in front of her. She glanced up. When her gaze centered on his fangs, confusion registered in her hazel eyes.
Let her look
. It didn’t matter—he’d clean that memory from her anyway.

Come with me. You won’t resist, and you won’t scream. Nod if you understand.

She nodded.

He clasped one of her hands and laced their fingers. If any onlookers watched, they’d think them nothing more than two lovers out for a stroll. With his other hand on her lower back, he led her behind the building.

She followed like a robot into the blackness. Soren guided her behind a clump of tangled blackberry bushes and shrubbery. This wasn’t the most private place, but it’d have to do—he couldn’t wait any longer.

Staring deep into her eyes, he allowed his thoughts to flow into her.
Let your mind go blank, and relax—I’m not going to hurt you.

The tension left her body as she stared straight ahead.

Good.
He positioned her back against his chest and tilted her head, exposing her pale throat. Her perfume, a nauseating musky scent, which tried and failed to imitate vanilla, wafted up his nostrils. Jesus, he hated perfume, especially cheap shit.

Soren trembled as he opened his mouth.
Take it easy. Don’t lose control
, he warned himself. Gently, he positioned his fangs over her jugular and bit down. A breathy gasp escaped her, but she didn’t struggle. Warm blood filled his mouth, the taste rich and sweet. Her blood was potent—clean of illnesses and drugs. A deep groan of satisfaction escaped him. His fangs withdrew into his gums, and he swallowed. The moment the thick fluid hit his stomach, power exploded throughout his limbs. A roaring like the wind sounded in his ears. Smells became sharper, and his vision cleared.

He gulped down another mouthful. His strength returned. The quaking in his muscles ceased.

Oh, yeah. Much better.

Closing his eyes, Soren drank deep, careful not to leave a pink blush on her skin. His cock hardened against her ass, but he ignored it. Although cute, she wasn’t his type. Too young and too innocent. He liked his women sexually experienced with no desire for a commitment. Exactly like him.

After he swallowed his last mouthful, he took a moment, allowing the raging energy a chance to mellow to a more manageable level.

The woman remained quiet in his embrace, her arms hung loosely at her sides, her mind still melded with his. Soren licked off the thin trails of blood trickling down her neck, then sealed up the two holes.

Shit, he did leave a slight pink mark. No matter. It’d fade soon enough.

Soren extracted the cell phone from her fingers and placed it on the middle of the gravel path that led back to the parking lot. She couldn’t miss it.

Now to remove all traces of himself from her recollections. He flipped through her memories.
Ah, there I am.
He smiled.
Fuck, I’m a handsome bastard. Nice shot of my fangs too.

Once his image was gone, he planted another thought:
You lost your phone and decided to check back here.

While the redhead lingered in a daze, he walked down the path, away from the convenience store. He released his hold on her mind as he disappeared out of her line of sight.

“What the hell?” Soren heard her say. “Oh...there’s my phone. But how did it get here?”

He laughed. “You’ve just been my unwilling blood donor. That’s how.” He continued down the pathway, feeling like a new vampire.

He followed the trail for a few more minutes, wondering what to do next. Maybe a drink or two at The Green Tree before the nightly demon hunt? He checked his watch. Eight-thirty. Hunting didn’t usually start until ten. Lots of time to get a nice alcohol glow on before he met up with Sin and Ace.

With his mind centered on an alley behind The Green Tree, his body trembled and his surroundings distorted. But just before he dematerialized, he stopped and shrugged. The night was crisp and clear. Perfect evening for a stroll. Plus, he felt rejuvenated—alive, and he could use the exercise.

A deep laugh rumbled from his throat. He patted his rock-hard abs.
Exercise, my ass. I’m in perfect shape. A shape the ladies love.

A rush of wellbeing filled Soren. Even the Christmas lights didn’t put a damper on his good mood.

Half a block from The Green Tree, a familiar sensation flooded him. The hairs along his neck and arms rose, and the scent of rotten flesh signaled a demon was close.

Soren stopped, sniffed the air, and opened his mind. The creature’s sinister essence slammed into him. Scrap that. Make that three demons, and they were heading away from the nightclub.

Like a shark following the scent of its prey, Soren pursued the invisible trail. Eagerness quickened his heart rate. His muscles shivered and his hands curled into fists. This night couldn’t get any better. A fight was exactly what he needed.

He jogged up the sidewalk. Pedestrians, buildings, and cars whipped by, but he paid them no heed. His mind was firmly locked on his targets.

Soren rounded a corner. The Green Tree, a long rectangular building, sat back from the road. A green palm tree set atop the flat roof cast the area an unnatural pale green. A line of diehard clubbers spread from the double doors and down the sidewalk.

Must have a live band scheduled, which most likely accounts for the early lineup
.

“Excuse me,” Soren said as he shoved his way through the crowd.

“Hey, asshole,” a young male said, grabbing Soren’s arm. “No buddin’ in.”

Soren stopped and pegged the prick with a hard glare. The young man’s face went pale. He slowly released Soren’s arm.

Leaning forward, Soren snarled in the guy’s face. “Word of warning,
asshole.
Careful who you grab. Next time you may lose your hand.”

Soren continued his pursuit. The demons’ essence became stronger. They weren’t far now.

His body’s reactions strengthened the closer he got to the enemy. The hair along his arms rose, and his blood pumped faster.

Finally, he spotted them. Three male demons dressed in dark overcoats, carrying briefcases sauntered up the sidewalk. So far they appeared ignorant of his presence. Time to change that.

Soren quickly closed the gap between them. When he was ten feet behind the trio, the demons stopped and whipped around. Their clean-cut expressions hardened.