Rebel Obsession (6 page)

Yes, the persona known as Officer John Apostle, Apostle’s human visage, had been on the take. Big time. None of the humans he had worked with knew he had been anything other than another human named John. They had never seen him in his dreck form: Blue skin, blue blood, blue-black hair, gaunt features, fangs…real horror movie kind of stuff.

As such, he and the other members of his team, drecks who had also posed as cops, had received a hero’s funeral. He hadn’t seen the TV broadcast of the funeral personally, because he had been chained to the floor, but Bishop had told him about it between litanies of profanities. Bishop’s anger over Deacon’s death had since cooled, but those first few days back had been brutal, both physically and mentally, as well as audibly.

Which brought his thoughts full circle. Because it hadn’t been Apostle the police force of Chicago had mourned. It had been his brother. Deacon had only needed to stand in for Apostle for one shift, but it had proven to be one shift too many.

The door opened and the overhead light flipped on, causing Apostle to cringe and blink rapidly against the sudden pain. You knew you were fucked up when just light hurt you.

“You’re still not cleaned up?” Bishop sauntered in, one of those goddamn brown cigarettes between his fingers.

In the weeks Apostle had been here, he had grown to hate the smell of those shit-assed stink sticks.

Bishop approached him. “We have work to do, Apostle, if we’re to get you up to speed so you can take Deacon’s place.” Under his breath, he added, “Not that you’ll ever be as good as he was.” He turned toward the armoire in the corner of the room.

“I can’t take his place.” Apostle frowned and scratched the swollen bumps on his arms.

Bishop rummaged through the garments in the armoire one-handed, seemingly reluctant to part with his cigarette, and pulled out a shirt and pants. He tossed them haphazardly toward Apostle then walked around behind his desk.

“Of course you can take your twin’s place. And you will.” Bishop sat down, glaring pointedly at him.

He flipped through a file of what appeared to be photographs, hesitated, then picked one up and flicked it toward him.

“This will be your new human form.”

Apostle’s lip curled at the thought of doing what Bishop told him, but right now he was in no shape to argue. He picked up the picture. The man looked normal enough. Black hair, blue eyes, strong physique. Apostle imagined this guy had no trouble getting chicks.

“What does he do?” Apostle looked up at Bishop.

“Did,” Bishop said, standing up. “What
did
he do.” He slipped his cigarette between his lips, took a long draw, and blew out the smoke as he came around the desk and sat down on the front edge. He pointed with the cigarette. “Nothing. He was one of our earlier subjects. A beta tester for some experiment we ran several years ago. Here’s what he looked like when we were finished.” Bishop reached around, picked up another picture, and tossed it at Apostle.

The picture spun and danced in the air before landing in front of him on the floor. When he picked it up, the resemblance between the two images was nonexistent. The man’s skin was mottled with what looked like bruises. He was naked and his hair had fallen out, and his emaciated body hung from the ceiling like a starved side of beef. His wrists were bound above his head with chains and cuffs.

Apostle really didn’t care about the human, but he was curious what they’d done to him to make him look like this.

“What did you do to him?”

Bishop gave a flippant shrug as he inhaled on his cigarette. After exhaling a plume of grey fog, he said, “We were trying to alter humans into half-drecks to use them as foot soldiers or slaves.”

“Soldiers?” This was news to Apostle.

Showed how out of touch he’d been with his brother’s operation.

Bishop nodded. “Yes. Soldiers.” A wicked smile curved his blue mouth.

No further elaboration was given other than they had been trying to build soldiers. Did that mean that the dreck council was secretly trying to amass an army for an uprising against the vampires?

“Are you still trying to turn humans?”

Bishop shook his head, his smile widening. “No. We’ve found a better source than humans for our soldiers.” Those azure eyes of Bishop’s twinkled.

Apostle bristled. This could get interesting. “What?”

Bishop took one final draw on his cigarette then crushed it out in an ash tray behind him on the desk before turning back around, a satisfied smile on his face. “Mixed-bloods, dear brother. Mongrels. In time, we will use their own kind against the vampires. And we will destroy them for good.”

CHAPTER SIX

Io was staring out the window of the Suburban when his phone beeped. He looked at the screen. It was a message from AKM Dispatch.

“What is it?” Sev said.

Like Io, Sev was probably hoping it was a call. It was damn slow tonight and the two simply couldn’t rock the warm and fuzzies between them.

Io frowned at the message. “Nine-one-one from Dispatch for me to call someone, but I don’t recognize the number.”

Sev exchanged curious glances with him, then Io punched in the number and waited. Who the heck would call him personally besides his immediate family or someone at AKM, especially while he was working?

“Hello?” A female’s panicked voice answered, but she didn’t sound familiar.

“This is Io from AKM. You wanted me to call you?”

“Thank God. I need your help. Miriam’s in bad shape. I’m not sure, but she might have overdosed again. Her father can’t see her like this. Oh my God. Please—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down. Who is this?” He didn’t know who the female was, but he did recognize Miriam’s name. That had been enough to lock up his balls and knife his gut. And if Miriam had overdosed again, shit could go critical in a heartbeat if it hadn’t already.

“My name’s Persephone. I’m Miriam’s friend.”

“Persephone, where are you?” Io sat forward in his seat, fear gripping his gut for the beautiful raven-haired female who had rocked his world two weeks ago. He motioned toward Sev.

“Um, I don’t know…um….” Persephone sounded like she was looking around.

“South Side? North Side?” Io said, trying to prompt her.

“South Side. We’re on the South Side. Oh God, she’s unconscious. Um…”

Fuck! Io needed to get there. He needed to save her. As a former addict, he knew what needed to be done, but he needed to get to her first.
Come on, Persephone, where are you?

“Are you at an intersection? Are there any landmarks, Persephone? How long has Miriam been unconscious?” Io raked his hand through his thick, brown hair.

Sev suddenly stopped the Suburban and got out. Io wondered what he was doing as he stood and sniffed the air.

Persephone started to cry. “She passed out about five minutes ago. I told her to stop. I told her she was taking too much.”

She was panicking. “Persephone, calm down. Calm down. Stay with me. I want to help, but I need you to stay calm.”

Sev jumped back in and threw the Suburban in gear and gunned it.

“I’m trying, I’m trying. Oh God. She’s going to die.” Persephone was in hysterics, obviously cranked on the blue buzz, too. “There’s an old warehouse, um, I think, I don’t know. I can’t see any street signs. Wait. Someone’s coming.”

Io looked up as Sev barreled around a corner. About a block down a silver Jaguar was parked on the side of the road and a blonde with long hair was pacing at the side.

“I see you. We’re almost there.” Io looked over at Sev as he disconnected. “How did you know…?”

“I marked them that night I gave them a warning. This is the same neighborhood they were in before, so I hopped out back there to see if I could catch their scent. Didn’t know they’d be so close, though. Talk about right place, right time.”

Io’s eyebrows popped. “Good thinking.”

“Eh, just doing my job.”

They pulled up alongside the Jag and Io jumped out and rushed toward Miriam. Just seeing the state she was in brought back memories of his own addiction. He scratched his forearms as they began to itch. It had only been a year since Arion had helped him kick his own cobalt habit, but the damn itching of withdrawal persisted. Would it ever stop? For six months he had been on the using end of that nasty shit, and he feared he would pay for it for the rest of his life. He wondered how long Miriam had been using. It only took a few uses of cobalt to go full-blown addict, and he already knew she had been using for at least a month, from what Sev had said.

Sev rounded up Persephone, and Io lifted Miriam out of the driver’s seat. She was in bad shape.

“I’m taking her to my place,” Io said.

Sev gave him a look. “No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am. Meet me there.”

“Io!”

But Io had already connected with Miriam and pulled her with him into the ether, shooting their molecules to his home on the North Side. Within seconds, he had pulled her through the mist and appeared in the shadows of the backyard, Miriam cradled in his arms. He ran to the back door, yanking his keys out of his pocket as he reached it. Quickly, he unlocked the door, rushed in, gently laid her on the bathroom floor down the hall, then ran for the ingredients he had used to help get himself cleaned up.

When Io had been fucked up beyond all recognition, Ari had stayed with him every day, helping him detox, feeding him the concoction he was about to give Miriam and injecting Io with his own venom to fight the addiction. Ari had sacrificed so much to make sure Io got better and kicked the blue shit, sitting with him, holding him through the violent chills, cleaning him after throwing up God only knew how many times. Ari had never given up on him, saving Io from himself.

And now Io had to do the same for Miriam.

He pulled out the tin of ancient, powdered herbs and scooped out a quarter-teaspoon, mixed it with water, and then put it on the stove. He added raw vinegar and a drop of an elixir that had been provided by AKM’s medical center.

Phew! The shit stunk. It was enough to bring back bad memories

While the brew heated up, he hurried into the bathroom. Miriam was slumped on the floor, and her long black hair draped her body like a death shroud.

“Time to get up, baby. Come on.” Io lifted her and crushed her body to his as the glands in the roof of his mouth kicked into gear, churning up his venom.
Vampire blood trumps dreck blood. Vampire venom trumps dreck venom.
Being that cobalt was made from dreck blood and venom, vampire venom was a key antidote to detox an overdose.

He bit into her neck. Back at AKM, the medics would have put in an IV and injected it into her system. He didn’t have time for that shit. She needed his venom now.

Miriam shuddered and drew in a shaky breath as his venom burst into her veins. First would be euphoria then would come the pain as he pushed more venom into her than he would during a simple feeding. And fuck him if she didn’t purr. He had never known a female vampire to purr in the way a male did when aroused, but shit, Miriam was purring deep within her chest. But then, Io had never known a female with such pure bloodlines as Miriam’s, either. Perhaps that was what made her different.

Soon enough, the purring stopped, and her body quivered. Then shook. Her teeth chattered and her long fingers dug into his shoulders. The pain was breaking through as his venom sought out the intruder and destroyed it. She whimpered and groaned then finally let loose a scream so full of despair tears welled in Io’s eyes.

But at least she was alive.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Miriam came out of unconsciousness screaming, her body convulsing with pain. And what the hell? Some crazy-ass fool was biting her. Too bad she couldn’t control her limbs enough to punch the guy, and her voice was too busy screaming to be able to form coherent sentences. Not that coherent thoughts were in big supply right now. Her brain was a pile of cobalt-stomped mush.

For several seconds, she jerked and spasmed as her screams echoed and choked her throat, but finally she was able to squeak out, “Stop.”

In her head, she had heard that coming out a lot differently. Louder, for starters.

She tried again. “Stop.” That was a little better. It sounded more like an actual word and not a mouse trying to speak.

“STOP!” Wow! That time she hadn’t even tried.

Her attacker released her neck and jerked back to look at her.

Oh my God. Io.
Where had he come from? Was she only hallucinating? She had hallucinated on cobalt before, but not like this. He looked so damn real.

Gorgeous, greenish-brown eyes bore into hers, full of concern, and she reached for him, wanting to brush her fingers over his thick, dark brows. Instead, she punched him. Okay, yeah, so she didn’t have complete control over her faculties.

He ricocheted to the side from the impact but seemed unfazed as he swiftly turned back.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got you. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

No, no, don’t go!
But she couldn’t get her voice to work again. It was like a bad case of Tourette syndrome. When she tried to speak, she couldn’t. But then out of nowhere…

“NOOO!”

How embarrassing that he was seeing her like this.

“Don’t worry, I’m still here,” he said from the hall. “See, you can hear my voice. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice grew more faint, but he continued calling back to her. She heard the sound of cabinets opening and pans and cups hitting the counter. “This is my house. You’re in my home. I’m going to take care of you. See, you’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

He sounded like he was talking to make sure she knew he hadn’t forgotten about her and hadn’t poofed into ether. That was nice. Very nice. Comforting.

As soon as he reappeared in the doorway, holding a large mug of something that smelled atrocious, her mind relaxed again.

Io!

She reached for him, her arms flailing out of control, heat still rippling through her limbs in waves as the pain and burn continued to subside. Instead of taking her hand, though, he knelt down beside her and lifted the mug to her lips.