Hello all! I'm starting to come out of the flu funk, and thought I'd celebrate with by starting the next Second City Tale.
First I wanted to update you on something else. Now I know I've postponed Hedgewater several times. To those of you who follow the story: I'm sorry you've waited so long. From the very beginning I knew exactly what was going to happen, and had a pretty firm outline. But now I've hit a snag and I'm blocked on how I'm going to fix it. I don't want to push out a crappy story because I rushed it. I love the complexity of Hedgewater and I intend to keep it that way. Therefore I have made the decision to push Hedgewater back until I'm ready to write it again. I've never done that with an ongoing story before, and again I'm sorry to those of you who were waiting for Season 2. It will be back. I do promise you that. I just need time to write it, and some creative mojo to stir my imagination. Thank you for being patient. I really do appreciate it.
Onto the reason you're here. I have to say that this next story from the Second City Tales collection is going to be one of my favorites. I loved Trey and Greg, but for some reason, these next two MCs are completely different than what I'm used to. I'm excited. I have a lot of ideas and a pretty good grasp on the plot this time around. Writing about a deaf assassin for the queen has been a challenge, but in the best kind of way. Adrian is just an awesome character to me. So I'm glad I get to share him with you.
Just a warning: I've researched using sign language as dialogue and there are a few ways to do it. I've decided, because I already use italics for my character's thoughts, I am going to use italics and quotations for signing. I didn't want anyone confused. But I read through the signing parts quite a few times and I believe it's all pretty easy to understand, even without this warning. Like I said, just wanted you to know. :)
Okay, I'm gonna shut up now and let you read. No playlist this installment. Just your imagination. Let me know what you think! I look forward to hearing from you guys. :D
~Night
Whispers in
Silence: Part 1
~Prologue~
2023. 10 miles north of Surgut,
Russia
Fourteen-year-old
Adrian remained still. His body blended into a crisp line of Scots Pines that
bordered the forest. Knee deep in snow he scoured the blustering tundra for
signs of movement other than the swirling cyclones of white battling it out in
the air. A fur lined hood tickled his forehead. Brassy curls fluttered against
his brows with every icy gust. His
breath was warm, circulating over his nose and lips beneath his protective
fleece covering.
Arms
crossed over one another, Adrian fisted his weapons near his shoulders, blades ready
for the poor soul who attempted to attack him from behind. His knives had been handed down to him by his
father, crafted by a small Russian forge revered for their quality and beautiful
design. Not only were the eleven inch
weapons pretty to the eye like antiquated masterpieces meant for an immortal
existence behind glass, but they were made to be used. His matte metal hunting knives had six inch
full, clip-pointed blades with intricately carved birch handles and inlaid
ivory filigree. Wenge spacers and cast
nickel silver fittings made these weapons works of art; each circle of metal
hand designed and one of a kind. And
since the forge had long since gone out of business, with only one of the
grandsons still practicing his family’s craft by exclusive appointment, the
knives were very hard to come by.
They
were one of the few material possessions Adrian actually cared about, gifted to
him by his father—a reward after his first night as a Hunter at the age of ten. Precious to Adrian, he gripped them with
purpose, lifting the ends outward to test the tension of the thin, leather
lanyards attached to his wrists. The
subarctic chill bit into his wrist when it was exposed, causing him to release
the tension on the leather in exchange for the warmth married between his glove
and coat arm.
He
looked over the windy terrain for the hundredth time that night. Snow drifted in giant shifts of air, sending
in mass speckles of white across the papery flat plain. If he hadn’t been trained to look past a
location’s aesthetically pleasing points, he would have dubbed the place idyllic,
like a moment captured inside of a snow globe.
But he wasn’t a tourist who frivolously wasted cash on cheap trinkets. And even tourists didn’t venture out to these
parts with a death wish; the elements sure to claim their body heat and their
last breath. No. Adrian was someone far from the norm, far from snow globes and
unplanned artic getaways of death.
Although
every slice of wind whipped across his face, battering the inches of exposed
skin on his face, Adrian did not hear the wind.
He did not hear the howl that should have called to him. He could not hear his own breath pant beneath
the fleece, or the sound of his heartbeat pulsating in his head in time with
the organ pumping in his chest. Adrian
didn’t hear a thing because he was deaf.
Born to
two Royal vampires Adrian was an anomaly amongst his kind, more precisely to
those who were deigned to know of his affliction. And only three vampires knew of his “handicap”. Should it be widespread before he was of age
to set out on his own, surely the others would flock to him, take him away, and
test him in a lab to make sure whatever was wrong with him did not trouble
their children in the future. To have a
physical weakness was a flaw to vampires.
It was a mark upon one’s name for the rest of their life and a reason
for the distinguished to shun an innocent creature. Thankfully Adrian had been spared of their
whispers and looks, hid away from his kind and hardened before maturity into a
stone cold killer.
One of
the three people to know of his inability to hear was his mother, and she had
taken his secret to the grave after a mission gone wrong in Prague when Adrian
was four. His parents belonged to a group
of the Queen’s Guard, a black ops sect of her army in Europe and bordering
continents that looked for traces of the enemy.
With a heavy presence of Assassins and traitorous Royals in New York
City and along the East Coast, most of the Royals believed the threat to be
concentrated there. It just wasn’t so. Adrian’s mother was proof of that.
Adrian’s
father, Davide, was one of a dozen Hunters for the Queen, and he taught his son
everything he knew—even if Adrian couldn’t hear him. Adrian still had the ability to see, to touch,
to think, and to breathe. He was just as
capable as any other. Up until now he’d
spent his life showing the outside world just that, although he reserved a deep
seated hatred for his voice and refused to speak for fear of the awkward way it
sounded to others. He considered it a
weakness, hated the vibration in his throat with no reward. He loathed the strange looks he’d catch when
he tried to say anything. He already had
points against him a child of two vampires, he didn’t think it necessary to continue
making a list. So Adrian had stopped
talking and read their lips, using other ways to communicate.
The two
people he usually conversed with knew sign language, ASL as it was often called. Nevertheless, his father had maintained other
resources for him to communicate so he wouldn’t become dependent on signing in
the presence of non-signing people. He was thankful for being born in to an age
of such technological advancement, using texting and emails to get his point
across. And if need be, he used a
notebook and pen to converse. But he hated the amount of time writing
took. It was frustrating to have
something to say, built upon the rush of need to get it out, and have to
scribble the words when all he wanted to do was stab the paper right through
and scream.
However,
none of his communication skills mattered at the moment. Only the ability to feel the air shift around
him and the sixth sense he possessed were necessary. He and Davide had shadowed a group of four
traitors since last week. Adrian, even
as young as he was in age was more than skilled at defending himself. And he was a pre-turn who looked and smelled
human to any creature, vampire or otherwise, and that was a valuable asset in
more ways than one. Undetectable, he
could slip by and collect quality information or go in for a kill and the
traitors would be none the wiser. The
more time Adrian spent in the field the more self-sufficient he became, and the
less his father worried about him should something tragic befall Davide, hence
the reason he was hiding out in the trees, waiting to kill on his own. His
father trusted him. Davide trusted his
son’s skill. Adrian was a good Hunter.
Adrian
had another secret too, one that worked in his favor more than his fighting
skills or his deadly aim. It was true
what they said about losing one sense only to have the others heightened. In his case he’d been born with a rare
ability not even his deafness could explain away. And when he sought to use it, it was the only
time he had ever heard other people speak to him.
Right
now he refused to call on his gift. That
took a lot of focus and a safe place to do so, not in the middle of a tundra
where anything could surface, things he wasn’t prepared for. Plus it drained his energy completely. He needed to devote his attention to the
vehicle that, according to schedule, should be moving into view anytime
now. The large, all-terrain truck would
carry the four traitors to Surgut during the storm to meet up with an enemy
informant, securing the traitors safe passage to the states in a private jet
sitting on Russian tarmac.
Adrian’s
mission was to take out the vehicle’s tires, guaranteeing the Royal traitors and
their driver would be trapped on the tundra with nowhere to go. Running would
be pointless for them as Adrian’s father waited on the other end of the tree
line, about five hundred meters to the west.
Davide would see the entire ordeal through the scope of his rifle and
strike. Enough holes would be made to
keep the Royals down long enough that Adrian and Davide could attack in full,
taking their traitorous heads. Then
Davide would meet up with three other Hunters waiting for his call in Surgut,
posing as the dead Royals to rendezvous with the enemy informant. They would blow the entire operation to
pieces and pounce on the scattering traitors who tried to leave the city once
their plan fell through.
The plan
was foolproof, no foreseen contingencies Adrian could think of. There was no one around to help the traitors
once Davide and Adrian began their task.
The pair of them was confident enough with their situation to keep
going.
Adrian
took to his knee as the first wave of unnatural light swept across the tree
line. He didn’t blink when the light hit
his eyes, coming from the headlights of a large vehicle. They were too far away to see the flash of Adrian’s
pale blue irises as he clipped his knives into the brackets at the sides of his
rifle. He raised the adjoining tripod up,
leveling his rifle with their tires. Two
hundred meters away the vehicle rolled slowly over the barely traveled road in
the tundra, a sluggish ride for them due to the fresh snow blurring their path.
The monitor below Adrian’s rifle gave him a clear view of the vehicle up
close. The camera embedded within his
scope zoomed in and recorded the short distance until his desired trigger
point.
When a
red cross blinked across his monitor, lining up his shot with a series of
configurations via the scope’s objective lens, Adrian pulled the trigger. In a succession of rapid fire, jerking the
rifle from left to right in perfect accuracy under pressure, Adrian took out
all four wheels of the SUV. Metal
skidded over ice, the hubcaps warped, and the undercarriage hit ground. The vehicle’s cab spun in three wild
rotations across the tundra before it lurched to a halt.
Adrian
didn’t hear the tires blow. He didn’t
hear the doors open when they did. But
he saw the men exit the vehicle quickly before they searched their surroundings
for the source of gunfire. It would only
be a matter of time until they caught onto his scent and homed in on his
heartbeat.
Adrian
clipped the tripod legs together with ease, pushing down until they disappeared
into a hollow canister underneath his weapon.
He flipped the monitor into a holding bracket, sheathed his blades on the
belt around his coat waist, and then flung the rifle set-up over his shoulder
with the help of a chest strap. He headed
west in the safety of the dark tree line, glancing to the left every few meters
to study the group of traitors searching the night. A previously dug trench allowed him to run at
top speed, using every bit of his youthful finesse to track light and quick
over the icy ground.
When the
wind sent his scent towards the group it would be too late for them to
react. Adrian made out his father’s
shadowy figure as he ran faster. Dressed
in white to blend in with their surroundings, any other person wouldn’t know
what to look for. But Adrian saw Davide’s
form shift ever-so-slightly against the trees.
Adrian
was almost to his father when something ripped through the air to his left, disorientating
natural wind patterns around them. A
tunnel of vibration hurdled towards them as he reached for his father in
warning. Just as his father’s hazel eyes
slipped into the moonlight, wide with fear, Davide’s hands shot out and pushed
Adrian back hard. Adrian conceded to
every ounce of his father’s Royal strength with that push, sending him through
the air to his back. Snow fluffed,
drifting up in slow motion like reversed rain around him.
A heavy
blast rocked the ground. Adrian ignored
the sprout of pain in his chest to scramble through the feet of snow outside
their trench. It was more important to get
to his father, to see what had happened.
Fire punctuated the darkness, more accurately, a man on fire lit up the
forest. His arms flailed to dance the
flames away. But another blast sent him staggering from his knees to his back,
another shot from a precision fire cannon atop the shoulder of one of their
enemies. The enemy had been prepared for
this ambush.
How? If they knew we were coming, then… One of their own was not who
they seemed. It was the only logical
explanation, one Adrian was certain of as Hunters lived and breathed on
confidentiality. They were, after all, a
handpicked team of cloak and dagger killers.
Horror
seeped into his soul. Adrian realized
his father was burning alive. His worst
nightmare, losing the one person he trusted to call family was now gone. His father’s instructions from earlier
drifted through his mind. Adrian
replayed every slow movement of Davide’s fingers, only now realizing the
emotion behind them as they signed each terrifying word. If
something happens to me, you run. Run,
Adrian, and don’t look back. Davide
had been nervous. It was now that Adrian
understood that.
No…
When his
father stopped moving, the flames engulfing his still form and the scent of
roasted flesh pungent through Adrian’s fleece, he knew his father was gone—even
if Davide was taking his last painful breaths.
Adrian stood there in the snow, permitting the fierce cold to wrap
around his heart. He eyed the traitors
who had done this. They were running
towards the trees, coming for their prize.
Adrian wanted to stand his ground and fight. However, he wasn’t so prideful to admit he
didn’t have the will to overpower them alone with his soul in so much agony. None of his training could’ve prepared him
for a broken heart. He wasn’t taught to
have one. Except now he’d been crushed
with reality. He loved his father. And now he would never communicate that love
again.
He
sneered, fighting back tears he refused to shed. He may be scared and young, but he’d seen
things that would give any other fourteen-year-old nightmares for the rest of
their life. He would overcome this. He would be stronger for it. But yet, he grieved for his father in those
last seconds he had remaining to run. He
longed to kneel next to his father’s body and touch his gloved hands to what lingered.
Run, Adrian.
Adrian
stifled a gasp, biting the inside of cheek until he tasted blood. The voices. One voice he had never heard but had longed to
since he was born, whispered through his mind.
He didn’t question who it was, he knew deep in his heart the owner of
that voice.
Run and I will always find
you. I will always be with you.
Adrian’s
tears gathered in the protective fleece over half his face. He took off into the trees, knowing now his
father was officially dead. Every few
meters he saw the shadow of a man blink into existence and guide him
ahead. Adrian wasn’t dreaming. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen this. Although this time, more than any other
experience in the past, he was scared to see the shadow’s face because of the way
he would always remember it, the way he always saw them. His gift offered up no
exceptions in all the times he’d pleaded to see anything other than the carnage,
the sometimes barren eyes, or the warped perception of someone’s last thoughts
mad physical. It was the way of things,
of his ability, nothing he could change.
Over an hour
later, when he fell to his knees at the edge of a clearing in the woods, safely
out on the outskirts of Surgut, he saw his guiding savior just out of
reach. Burned from head to toe, savagely
crisped except for the beauty of his hazel eyes, the solid ghost of Adrian’s
father smiled. With one last swirl of
his eyes, Davide’s ghost turned to the woods and disappeared into the dark. He was gone without a single word for his son,
only leaving behind a faint inkling of what must be done. Cold, shaking, and
his heart pounding, Adrian sneered at the lights piercing through the snowy
rain. He tossed his rifle setup into the
snow, readjusted his pack, and then ripped his knives from the belt at his
waist as he stalked toward Surgut with death in his heart.
Adrian
never heard from Davide again after that bloody night in Surgut. But he heard the others. They always had something to say, and it was
his gift to reluctantly hear them out.
Chapter
1
2032. Present day New York City.
SCCB–Second
City Crimes Bureau— Senior Detective Wesley Durren shouldered his way through
the shift change of warm bodies in the narrow hallway at the Bureau
headquarters. The Manhattan office
building was seven stories of grand, historic realty, but small where it
counted for larger guys like him, such as the low doorways of an old building
and tiny as hell hallways. He didn’t
even want to think about the size of the fucking half-stalls in the
bathroom. He hated those damn things,
made him feel like a giant in a preschool bathroom.
Towering
over the others, Wesley gave off a dangerous vibe that had everything to do
with his six-foot five-inch height and his two hundred and eighty pounds of
pure muscle. He started ripping at the
Kevlar vest still fitted to his chest, growling under his breath. One of the Guards narrowly missed getting
slammed in the chest with his elbow as it jutted out when Wesley yanked at the
Velcro. Wesley rumbled incoherently at
the Guard, who was only slightly smaller than him, but scared all the
same. Wesley’s square jaw twitched and
the Guard, without a word, took off quickly.
Finally
able to get the straps undone, Wesley yanked the vest off and held it in a tight
grip, nearing the end of the hallway. He
made no stop to calm his inferno of rage before he flung open the original
mahogany door with its stupid frosted glass window, signifying the Captain’s
office. He filled Captain Sutton Donohue’s
doorway and exhaled noisily, letting his extreme presence be known; as if the
door bursting open hadn’t offered his Captain a clue.
Before Captain
Donohue could care, Wesley pitched his vest at one of the chairs in front of
him. “I am sick and tired, Sutt, of you
giving me these damn infants to work with.
That rosy-cheeked, three-inch cock carrying, stun gun toting
motherfucker let our perp get away because he froze. He fucking froze like a little bitch who was
about to piss all over the street. “I
can handle this,” he says. “I’m trained
to take those bitches down,” he told me.
Apparently, he can’t and he’s not, because he stood like there like an
idiot while the only dealer with valuable intel on that lab ran into the city
like a mouse in the field. And now said
dealer is off telling his boss we’re on to them, and the lab will disappear
like smoke on the wind and we’ll be back to square one. Six months we’ve been trying to crack this
case, and that’s in between all this side bullshit you’ve had us working. Six fucking months and you shackle me to that
newborn! What the hell were you thinking?”
Captain
Donohue finally looked up from his computer screen. He didn’t look a day over
twenty-three with his slicked back black hair and flawless skin. A long, narrow nose and elfish face gave him
the appeal of male model or a mischievous aristocrat from old money. His unreadable brown eyes twinkled, trained on
Wesley. He sighed noisily. “Anything else?” He cocked his head, flicking his fingers flippantly.
“Anything
else,” Wesley repeated flatly. “Are you
kidding me, Sutt?”
Donohue’s
eyes flicked to the hallway. “Shut the
door, Detective. You’re distracting my
Guards from valuable work time,”
his voice raised in warning to the Guards gathering in their doorways to listen.
Never
looking away, Wesley reached behind him and slammed the door shut. One of his eyes twitched. “I’m waiting, Sutt.”
“I could
give you some I’m-your-superior-speech, but we both know it could have been you
sitting in this chair had you accepted Yuri’s promotion. I won’t get into the
semantics of his decision, as you were well aware of the need to promote Royals
and human-turns being a united front in these times. But
you turned him down and I’m the one who has to make the hard choices for all our
sakes.” Donohue calmly gestured to one
of the chairs before his desk. “Sit.”
“Why?” Wesley’s charcoal-colored brows furrowed, a
brief uni-brow set deep above his eyes.
“Tell me why you keep doing this to me first. I thought we were friends. I thought my skills and experience meant more
to you than this babysitting work. I
fought in the war overseas as a human-turn.
I killed my Queen’s enemy over and over for the safety of our children’s
future. I have never once failed a case,
and yet, you seem to want to prove something by failing me.”
“Oh,
Wesley, tone down the theatrics.” Rolling his chair back a few inches, Donohue
leaned away from his desk and gave Wesley an unforgiving stare. “These freshie academy kids are our future, Wesley. Who are you to deny them the privilege of
working at your side, of learning from the best so they can be the best when
they’re your age? You scare the shit out
of the rookies, but they respect you for reasons you just relayed. Every year the freshies from the academy beg to be your partner. They take bets to see who can stick it out
with you and claim who the real men are among the weak, because to them you are
the ideal man they seek to be. Did you
know that?”
Wesley’s
incredulous stare spoke volumes. He
gripped the armrests of his newly found seat.
“Say what?”
“Seems
you have a fan club on your hands.”
Donohue smirked. His manicured
fingers drummed on his desk. “I might
think about printing up one of those sexiest men of the force calendars with
you on the cover, start making money back from all the shit you’ve cost the
Bureau. Flex for the camera without a
shirt and bam, I’ve got myself a
replacement for that SUV you blew sky high last month.”
Jaw
dropped, Wesley breathed. “That piece of crap set of wheels was asking for it
and you know it, sending me to Battery Park with a baby and his pistol to
square off with a gang of dealers. And
now you want me to take my shirt off.
You’ve lost your damn mind! You’re
fucking with me, aren’t you?”
Donohue
hummed. “I believe I told you, more than
once in fact, to call for backup. And
the whole calendar idea could be enterprising.
I’ll pocket the idea for a later date.”
Wesley
mustered a growl. “You ask me to take my
shirt off for some sexy picture and you’re dinner, Donohue. I don’t care how far back we go. I’ll snap you like a twig.”
“Aww,
what’s the matter, Wes? Am I not you’re
type?” Donohue chuckled. “Relax. I had Montgomery’s team posted
rooftop. They cut the kid off before he
went ghost. He’s in lockup downstairs
being given the Royal treatment. He got
a nice facial from Junior Guard Feist for spitting in his face. And I’m sure Feist is itching to give him a
deep-tissue massage next.”
Wesley’s
eyes were flinty. His faced bloomed red,
a fiery scarlet that complimented the veins snapping to attention at his
temples. He cracked his knuckles. “You had me covered like some newb? I’m warning you, Donohue, I might just snap
crackle pop all over this fucking office.
That was my catch and you know
it.”
“I allowed
you to take your partner to stretch his legs, get a feel for things on his first day. I had no intention of
letting a freshie get his feet wet on his very first ten hour shift, especially
to face down with the only rat we have on this case. Surely you knew that,
being the capable, knowledgeable Detective you are.”
“So
that’s it? I’m the Bureau’s
freshie-sitter from here on out because those kids got a pre-fang tween boner
for me? Fuck that, Sutt. I’ll resign before I get with this.” Wesley rose.
He
looked past Donohue’s head to wrap his mind around the situation. If he stormed
out he knew he’d just come groveling back like a loser. The Bureau was Wesley’s life. Getting it together and counting to ten so he
could come to some logical agreement with Sutt was their game, and Sutt knew
it. The Captain allowed him a moment of
silence as Wesley studied the organized bookshelf behind Sutt with his icy gaze. Royal Law references, historical briefings, a
bunch of files all neatly tucked away. Organized. Perfect.
Just like Sutton Donohue.
A brass
globe, a miniature flag set that held the Queen’s insignia along with others
from around the world, Donohue’s first blade in a glass box, and then a simple
picture frame. Donohue never spoke of
the happy couple framed on his bookshelf—even though he’d been asked plenty
about them by his subordinates and colleagues.
The
women smiled wide as her husband kissed her cheek on some tropical beach. The man’s profile allowed his brilliant hazel
eye color to be seen, gazing adoringly at what must be his mate. Only mates
could smile like that and deliver such sincerity. His
windblown brown hair swept over her brassy curls. Her pale blue eyes looked directly at the
camera they both held. So much mystery
and an equal amount of warmth overcame Wesley every time he saw the picture. He couldn’t explain the flirtatious unease
that tickled his stomach whenever he looked at the couple. It was as if he knew
them. But he didn’t, in fact, know them
at all.
Donohue
reached behind and pushed the frame on its face, raising a brow at Wesley. “I’m going to put your fears to bed,
Wes. It’s obvious you can’t handle
molding our future, so I’m going to work on shaping your attitude. As your friend and now superior it’s my job
to tell you when you’re going off the deep end.
Each of the young men I’ve shackled
you to were some of the highest ranking students at the academy overseas. If you can’t be charitable enough to help
them along while you lose your shit, I can’t very well continue to watch you
scare them into resignation.
“This is
your last chance to cooperate before I put you on mandatory unpaid leave,
Wes. You’ve been at this for over a
century. You’ve stood tall next to
Royals on the field for so long they think of you as one of them. I
think of you as one of us, as my brother in arms and my friend, and I would
trust you with my life under any set
of circumstances. But you’re wearing
thin from the monotony of it all here in the states. It’s the same catch and kill every night with
you. There’s no challenge to it anymore
and you’ve grown aggressive towards your fellow Guards instead of reserving
that anger for the enemy. I can’t
distinguish the difference anymore.
“Sutton,
I’m sorry.” Wes exhaled, looking at the
ground. For his oldest friend to deliver
that kind of blow, carefully at that, made the situation clear to Wes. Sutton
never walked on eggshells for him. In
fact, most of the time, he was yelling and cracking jokes on Wes’s behalf,
jokes that would hurt his feelings had he been a softer man. He didn’t like this side of Sutton. He didn’t like to get delicate and tip toe
around real problems. More importantly,
Wes didn’t like being a problem. Up until now he’d been proud of his
achievements and the fear others regarded him with. He’d made it to the top. Short of being a Guardian, Wes was as decorated
as a vampire could be… for a human-turn.
Donohue
snorted. “Don’t cry on me, Wes. I’ve seen you at your worst and I don’t care
to see it now. Just stop. Get yourself together, man. Stop giving the freshies shit for being
young. They can’t help it, but you can help them. I’m done pairing you
with men and women who can’t ride the same wavelength as you. It just can’t be done, apparently.”
The air
whooshed out of Wes’s lungs in relief.
“Thank fuck. Can I get someone a
little grizzled please?”
“Grizzled? I don’t even want to know what you mean by
that.” Donohue laughed it off, although,
his eyes gleamed with interest. He
sniffed and reached behind him. “What
you need is a hobby, a little something to do with the week of downtime coming
your way before I hand you any more fresh meat.”
“A
hobby,” Wes said dryly. “I’m not
knitting you a scarf, Sutt. Forget the
week off too. I want to sink my teeth
into something. I can’t sit around
without anything to do, it’ll drive me nuts.”
When
Donohue turned around he held a book. He
dropped it on the desk and slid it to Wes.
“You’ll take a week off because I said so and because you owe me a few
days to breathe without shit blowing up around me or a dead freshie in the
locker room. While I’m away at the
graduation service, a reminder since you’ve obviously been neglecting your
calendar, I want you to take a look at this.”
He nodded at the book.
Wes
snarled and slapped the book, pulling it into his lap. “The fuck is this, Sign Language for Beginners? I am not
about to read this crap.”
Donohue
tensed. His chair creaked as he leaned
over his desk and growled. “Have some
respect, Wesley. That book is not crap. One more derogatory suggestion towards the
hearing or vocally impaired and I will snap you
like a twig. Understood?”
Wes
frowned, tilting his head. Sutt’s eyes were cold; an icy veil that alluded to a
sore spot Wesley had poked at. “What’s up your ass, Sutt? The fuck you care about this?” He lifted the book, his brows raised.
Easing
back into his chair, Donohue laced his hands together, propping his elbows on
the armrests. His nostrils flared once
before he composed himself. The icy
melted from his eyes like he hadn’t been angry to begin with. “You have one week to learn that book from
front to back. I’ve seen you learn
nearly dead languages in less time with that damn photographic memory of yours. So don’t give me that look. You’ll work with Constance in Public Affairs in
the evenings. I have it on good account
she knows her ASL. She’ll test you after
you read each section and give you a crash course of modern slang gestures so
you don’t look too stiff.”
Closing
his eyes with a huff, Wes flopped back in his chair and held his scruffy
chin. He shook his head a little,
reining in his irritation. “Are you for
real, Sutt?” he asked softly.
“I’m very serious on this. You’re a man of many talents, Wesley, taking challenges
head on being one of them. You want to
work a good case? Then you’ll do as you’re told and read the damn book. I’ve phoned ahead.” Wesley caught the scent of lies before it was
whisked away. Donohue snapped his
fingers. “Constance is waiting for you
on the first floor to give you a very quick rundown tonight before you begin
reading.”
“This
isn’t a joke?”
“Am I
laughing?”
Wes’s
gaze slid up to Donohue before landing in his lap again. He shrugged.
“Maybe you haven’t got to the punch line yet.”
“No
punch line, Durren. Read the book. Get with Constance. I’ll set up another meeting with you on the
matter once your week is up.” Donohue
aired out the collar of his dress shirt with his fingers, and then returned his
attention to his monitor, physically exhausted.
“That means now, Wesley. I have
to conference in with Yuri to let him know our dealer has been taken into
custody, unless you’d like to stick around and engage the Russian with your
freshie woes. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear them. Hell, I’m sure he’ll be elated to speak with me and I’m the Captain of the Bureau.”
Knowing
Yuri, the Russian as he was called at the Bureau, would rather spit nails at
Wesley’s face than see him hovering in the background of Sutton’s office, let
alone talk to him, he shook his head in resignation. Wes looked at the book, up at Sutt, then at
the book again. He sighed heavily. Sutt wasn’t going to back down. “Wanna get a beer at Webster’s, an hour?” he
asked instead.
The faintest
trace of a smile touched Donohue’s lips.
“I’ll meet you there. Save me the good stool.”
Wes
grabbed his vest off of the other chair.
He stood with the book in his other hand. He smirked, tapping the book on the
desk. “Jackass.”
As he
opened the door to leave, Donohue chuckled.
“Blow me, Durren.”
“Only if
you were my type, buttercup,” Wes called over his shoulder, wearing a shit eating
grin. He closed the door and put his
scowl back in place just to fuck with the eavesdropping morons who scampered
away. He stomped down the hallway,
sneering at anyone who got too close.
Once he reached the safety of the elevator, behind the closing doors,
Wes let his scowl drop and looked at the book.
Sign Language? Really?
When
Wesley made it to Constance’s office, Constance the loudmouthed Public Affairs
Manager who everyone loathed, he caught the end of her surprised phone
conversation.
“Yes,
Captain. Of course, Captain. He’s here,”
she hissed through fuchsia painted lips.
She slammed the receiver down, grinning like she’d been caught with her
hand in the cookie jar, and then gestured him inside her first floor office of
nightmares. Two leopard print chairs
faced her desk. A glittery red pen cup
held her writing utensils that were probably scented and lit up when in use.
Even her hair clip was blinged out, pierced through her teased coif of blond
extensions.
“Well,
well, Wesley Durren.” She grinned,
exposing a bit of purplish lipstick on her front teeth. “I hear you’d like to learn a bit of sign
language.”
“I’d
rather not.”
She
snorted, looked up at him with devilish green eyes rimmed in black liner. “But you will. Captain’s orders. And I just love following orders.”
Constance took a noisy sip from her iced coffee with all the trimmings,
prolonging the inevitable just because she could. It was her punishment for the way they
avoided her cave of rainbows the way one would avoid the Boogie Man or the end
of a loaded shotgun. And also
retribution for Wesley siding with the rumor mill, that spread on a constant
basis, Constance Thursgoode was clinically insane, one Hello Kitty eraser away
from the edge of bat shit.
Wesley
sighed like his soul was leaving his body and plopped into the chair that had
once been a large cat. He could almost
feel its ghostly paws running up his spine.
He shuddered, crossing his legs only to find glitter on the sole of his
boot, a shiny speck of red that had fled the pen cup out of shame. “Fuck.
Me.”
Constance
purred, “Oh, don’t I wish, darlin’.”
Chapter
2
2 hours east of Paris,
France. The Queen’s Guard Academy
Adrian
stood front and center, fifteen pre-turns at his back in the sizable gym they
used for training exercises every day.
In the center of the group of idiots were two Royals who had turned
within the last two weeks. The others, who weren’t of Royal blood, would pay
their debt by having a year of Bureau experience under their belts before they
were offered the gift of “everlasting life”.
Adrian didn’t have that problem.
His fangs would find him eventually.
Until that shining moment came,
he had to play like the rest of them: a nobody with gleeful hopes of being a good
little Guard. Good was not part of these
assholes’ vocabularies. They were a pack
of middle school bullies, whispering and taunting, pointing and leering to rile
Adrian up.
Yeah, right. Good my ass. Fuck them
all.
He didn’t
hear their murmuring side conversations.
Then again he wasn’t here to make friends and whisper with his school
chums. He had no chums here. He didn’t befriend farm animals who could
speak, which was how he perceived his peers.
Adrian didn’t make friends with anyone for that matter.
His eyes
were trained on his instructor’s lips, gathering information for their last
drill before graduation. It was the
final test, a joke of a final if you asked Adrian, but it was tradition and
vamps were big on their stupid traditions.
He was ready to get it over with so he could board a flight and get the
fuck on with life as a Hunter. He’d
played his cards right for the queen’s watchful eyes lurking around. He’d served his time here at this worthless
institution. Now it was time the queen
paid up and gave him something good to do, some scumbag to decapitate, or an
enemy coven to blow to smithereens. That
was the deal. Cool off for four years,
bag some “training”, and when she was content that Adrian hadn’t lost his mind
or his humanity then she would green light his Hunter status.
He was
so ready. He could almost taste his
freedom.
“You
will be paired off with one the vampires over there.” Briggs hitched his thumb
to the back wall where a line of Guards stood.
“The Bureau has been nice enough to lend us a few Guards for the
occasion, so don’t show your ass because you’ll get it handed to you. Your objective is to take your partner out of
bounds within the five minutes given to you.
You will get no second chances today if your partner takes you out of bounds. Should you fail this exam, you will be eligible
to reapply for your final in six months with the next graduating class. This is it, ladies. Keep it clean.” Briggs clapped his hands once under Adrian’s
watchful eyes, and then gestured Adrian forward.
Best for last is a bunch of
bullshit to make the weak feel better. I
don’t have to hold back for any of you anymore.
This is how it’s done, fuckers.
Dressed
in his Guard Academy issued black sweat pants and matching black cross
trainers, Adrian approached the blue mat with a large white circle on it. Briggs
gripped Adrian’s bare shoulder. He
stared him right in the eye. “Ready for
this?”
Adrian
nodded once. His eyes strayed to his
classmates. They were trying not to
laugh. Covering their mouths and leaning
in to whisper shit about him right in the open as if he was also blind. He narrowed his eyes at Carson Maloy, the
leader of the assholes and the biggest daddy’s boy of the bunch, wel,l more
like uncle, but who the fuck cared? He was still spoiled and a pain in Adrian’s
side. If Adrian hadn’t been warned more
than once to keep his ass in line at the academy and blend in, he would’ve
ripped Carson’s smug face off a long time ago.
Carson
flicked him off subtly, grinning like he wanted his newly dropped fangs knocked
out. He’d taken to the turn a little
over a week ago and thought he was the hotshot now that he’d acquired super
strength and speed. Like he knows how to use it.
Dumb jock. But Adrian had
been training to kill fucks like Carson since he could walk, Royals stronger
than Carson could imagine. Adrian smiled
back at the middle finger flipped his way, putting a cold twist to his lips. Oh,
really? I’d love to. Adrian cracked his knuckles.
Carson’s
smile faded. He licked his fangs. Carson’s eyes became slits, a power hungry
infant who wanted to keep his peasants impressed. Adrian fished his text to voice translator
out of his pocket and started typing. Under
Brigg’s waiting presence, Adrian hit enter.
“May I spar with Carson for my test, sir?” a recorded male voice asked.
Briggs
pursed his lips and shook his head. “Can
you handle that?”
“Yes,
sir,” he typed.
Adrian
waited for his instructor to reject the idea.
But to his surprise, Briggs grinned and nodded. “Carson! Front and center.”
Adrian
didn’t catch the quick argument from Carson, because the vampire had
deliberately turned his head as he spoke with Briggs. Instead, Adrian studied his would-be
opponent’s body language. His hands were
fisted, nails biting into his palms. His
back tense, shoulders rigid, a knot of muscle bunched between them. Carson kept checking over his shoulder
quickly, black eyes unsure as they turned back to Briggs. Adrian smiled wickedly and stepped away. Carson Maloy was nervous to fight him—even as
a pureblooded vampire now.
What
now, you son of a bitch? It’s my turn to
show you. The fuck do I care anymore about playing nice? I’m done with this place. Adrian cracked his neck, rolling his head
back while shaking his hands. He
centered himself, taking a nice deep breath to clear his mind. Briggs stepped outside of the white circle.
Carson stepped in. Apparently the new vampire decided he was man enough to
entertain Adrian’s request. He was a vampire now, right? So this final was legit to academy specs and
already stamped with a big fat pass as far as Adrian was concerned.
Standing
at four inches over six feet Carson was a big guy, just a few inches taller
than Adrian. Unlike Adrian, Carson was
built like a mountain, a farm boy on steroids look-a-like with wide shoulders
and bulky arms and thighs sculpted identical to a bodybuilder. Adrian knew Carson’s strength from prior
encounters during their “training” together.
But what Carson didn’t know was Adrian had held back the entire time,
suffering under the pressure of his queen’s orders. This time Adrian was going to lose the good
little boy pretense and use his sinewy body’s advantages to bring Carson Maloy
to his knees, preferably with a fair amount of blood. And if Carson wanted to stay on his knees
after the fact, for a little begging of worth via mouth to cock, Adrian didn’t
have any qualms about it.
Carson
cocked his head at Briggs, rolling his shoulders back in wait. It was a big mistake to be distracted with
Briggs when a killer was a few feet from him, just waiting for the signal. Adrian didn’t have to hear Briggs’s go ahead,
he simply moved in when Carson turned back to him. The vampire was unprepared for Adrian’s body hurdling
towards him. Carson attempted to spin
out, but even for a predator he was slow and new to the game, plus he didn’t
have the room within the circle’s boundaries to step out with that wide of a
stance. Adrian was already on him, head
butting Carson in the stomach to ram him to the ground.
Nails
dug into Adrian’s shoulder, slicing through his skin. He smelled his blood, a metallic scent he
could identify with merely a drop to go on.
He was going to return the favor with his preferred self-defense techniques. A long time ago Adrian’s father had
introduced him to the art of Krav Maga, among other fighting styles, but Krav
Maga held a special place in his heart.
It was his first love, his first step into the world of death, and also
his father’s favorite. Although Adrian
had been presented to the style for the purpose of self-preservation and
defense, he preferred the other side of the art—delivering as much damage in
the shortest amount of time possible. But
he wouldn’t let Carson know what he had in store. It was so much better to see the shock on his
face.
When
dealing with an opponent, Adrian knew better than to beat them into submission
physically. It wasted time and energy,
and if he wore out, a vampire would more than likely win unless Adrian was
saved by some miraculous act of god. In
Adrian’s world there was no god, so, no—he needed the upper hand, which meant
he had to test Carson psychologically by drawing on the vampire’s thought
process and occupying his mind. And that
was what he’d just done.
Rushing
a vampire around the middle was an amateur move. It left the back open and an easy escape for
the bigger predator to turn out or jump over.
Or worse, with a vampire’s strength and the right weapon, damage a
human’s spine and leave him for dead.
And Adrian wasn’t stupid, he just knew Carson was. He flung his upper body back, twisting out of
Carson’s arms. He made sure to grace the
vamp with a silly little look of fear and dwell on the expression so his body
would reek of terror.
Look at me, I’m so scared. Not.
Let
Carson think Adrian had made a mistake.
It was so much fun that way.
Plus, by rushing Carson, Adrian had gauged Carson’s weight and the force
it would take to send him the distance over the line. They had come less than two feet from the
edge of the circle. Close. But not close enough.
Carson
kicked out as Adrian flipped backward by bending and pushing up with his
hands. The Hunter didn’t miss the
perplexed look on Carson’s face. Adrian
spun out, fisting his hand to send at Carson’s midsection again, missing him by
inches on purpose. If Carson was of the
mind that Adrian was fixated on going for his solar plexus, then Carson would
indefinitely protect his chest and stomach first out of instinct, learned
instinct that was in fact a trick of the mind.
As
Adrian predicted, going in for another punch with the same fist, Carson bowed
his body protectively, arms bent at the elbow in a boxer’s pose, whereas his
fists should have been higher and more together to hide his face from the left
jab Adrian delivered to his neck. Carson
howled, silently to Adrian’s ears. His
fangs slid down, bared to the Hunter who could have cared less. To Adrian, fangs were just another weapon, a
smaller one that was part of the body for vampires.
They
couldn’t do anything with their fangs if they didn’t get near the neck, the
wrist, or the thighs to sever obvious venous systems that could bleed a human
out. Adrian looked at fangs as a sign
he’d pissed off his opponent and nothing more, not to say he didn’t know to
protect his blood at all costs or avert his eyes from direct contact with a
vamp’s, so as not to be under their control.
Carson
moved like a boxer instead of channeling his beast too, keeping his fists up
and his knees bent, shuffling around the mat in a clockwise direction from
Adrian. The vamp knew he couldn’t use
his fangs during this exam or use his eyes, but he looked pissed enough to do
it. Adrian just smiled and winked, and
then he opened his fists to reveal his palms.
He staggered his movements in an irregular path to throw Carson off and
to open the floodgates of Carson’s rage.
If there was one thing that pissed Carson off more than anything, it was
being shown up in front of his crew.
Too bad
Adrian was going to be the bearer of bad news today, because Carson was going
over the side of the mat if it was the last thing Adrian did. The vampire grew tired of the dance and
lunged forward to test Adrian’s boundaries.
He jabbed near Adrian’s hands to see how he would react. And Adrian let him, but nipped at Carson’s
fists with his fingers and kept his legs wide apart, seemingly open and
defenseless.
Carson
made a mistake when he flicked his eyes to Adrian’s feet. He brought his leg out, thinking he’d spotted
an opening to end the madness by crushing Adrian’s nuts with his knee, but the
Hunter wasn’t a fool. Adrian faked a
punch to the left, hopping back as Carson went to connect his knee. Carson’s head fell back to avoid the faux
blow to the face, but his right fist clipped Adrian in the shoulder. Just fine with Adrian, because the force of that
hit sent him spinning in a backward circle just like he wanted. Through the throb in his shoulder, Adrian
brought his left elbow up into Carson’s face.
He felt the crack and his mind journeyed to a different place, another
time.
A time
when he’d cracked a man’s nose in the dark four years ago. A man who’d snuck into his flat to kill him
as he slept. The enemy intruder had
received a bullet to the back of his head as he spun to the floor. But Carson was treated to something far crueler
than that. Adrian slid into that dark
place, forgetting himself or where he was, his eyes flinty as he rounded to
Carson’s back in less than a second.
Blood
dripped to the mat. Sweat gathered on
Adrian’s chest. He struck out. One. Two. Jab in the kidneys with the
excruciating pressure of his rigid fingers.
Knee to the lower back and Carson arched in pain. Open palm, fingers
stiff together, Adrian chopped down at the spot where neck met shoulder, sending
Carson to his knees and his vampire nervous system into momentary shock. Adrian was unrelenting, suddenly a soldier and
not a student. Mid fall, Adrian ducked
to hook his hand around Carson’s neck and sent the vamp’s large body spinning
right out of the circle.
The
white line didn’t end things for Adrian.
He saw a different face on the blond hulk of man sitting up on the
floor, blood lines marking his chin and chest.
The vamp bared his fangs and pushed to his feet. Adrian stood there waiting. He opened his arms and took the force,
digging his heels into the mat and levering the blow with his fingers clamped
onto the vamp’s shoulders. His heels
burned against the mat. His knuckles
white.
They
stopped, teetering for balance, and Adrian struck. He slammed his forehead into Carson’s face,
lifted his head, and punched Carson right in the jaw. Snap.
Knee to balls. Carson bent
over. Adrian fisted Carson’s hair and
connected his knee to Carson’s stomach, over and over until several pairs of
hands tried to pry him off of the vampire.
He screamed, completely unconscious at the moment over how haunting his
voice sounded. Carson breathed in and
stood up all in one move, like the dead rising.
Adrian exhaled, spun and kicked the vampire in the head. And Carson fell over in slow motion, blood
arcing from his mouth.
Adrian
was pinned to the ground by four Guards, yanked back into the real world from
his momentary lapse. He gasped and
struggled to get free. Nevertheless it
wasn’t until he settled, breathing fixed to a normal rhythm, that four faces
stared down at him. The Guards finally
loosened their grips on his body.
Briggs’s face appeared above him, shaking his shoulders in concern.
Adrian
pushed up to sit. He sat there and
breathed it out, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. Guards crouched around him, waiting to take
action should he freak out again. But
Adrian continued to sit, staring at his stunned instructor. He had no idea what the man was
thinking. If Adrian was in Briggs’s
position, he’d have sent Adrian straight to a cage for animals. It had been a long time since Adrian stepped
out of his body like that. The last time
he’d done it, he’d ended up in this place.
And now he had the sinking feeling he was no closer to getting out than
he was the first day he’d set foot on the academy premises.
He’d
lost his mind. He’d almost killed a
vampire, a new vampire that didn’t know what to do with his strength yet, how
to wield his body unlike a human. Adrian
had taken advantage of his fellow student’s anger just to show him up and blow
off some steam. He’d fucked up. The queen would hear about this now, and
Adrian’s name would be whispered among his peers and their families, fucking
his low key identity all to hell. There
was no way he could back to his Hunter life now. He’d almost killed a male of an affluent
family, someone of importance. That was
the kind of shit no one could cover up.
There were too many witnesses.
Briggs
lifted Adrian’s chin. His brows shot up
expectantly. Adrian sighed and shook his
head. “Fine,” he mouthed.
“Sure?”
Not in the least. Adrian
nodded. He accepted Briggs’s hand and
was pulled to his feet. The first thing
he noticed outside the circle of Guards was the men, his peers, standing there
with wide eyes. No one was whispering
this time. No one looked away from him. Adrian stepped forward on shaky legs to grab
a water bottle from the table and the group moved away as one. He stopped when a hand landed on his
shoulder. Briggs turned him around and
Adrian just knew this was it. They were
taking him into custody where he’d never be heard from again, deemed too
hardcore a human to handle, and a menace to society once he finally did turn.
“Hit the
showers. I’ll do what I can.”
This is worse than bad. He’ll do what he can? I’m so fucked.
Adrian just nodded. He grabbed
his water bottle and headed out. Two
things made him linger near the gym exit.
First, the Guard positioned at the door, watching the show. He smiled at Adrian. It was a subtle smile, but it was there. Did he like what he saw or was he
impressed? Adrian didn’t know. But the second thing to make him stop was the
exit door slamming open for Carson, who had cleaned his face and chest in the
hallway. Water rivulets dripped down his
skin and spiked his hair all over the place.
His cuts and bruises and twisted nose were pink, healing quickly because
of his DNA.
Adrian
stood his ground. He didn’t flinch as
Carson stalked by, brushing Adrian’s arm instead of smacking into him, which
was even scarier. Adrian hid his
surprise, his face empty of emotion. He
glanced at the Guard, who shrugged. Then
the Guard nodded in the direction Adrian had come. Spinning around, Adrian was shocked to find Carson
was back on the mat, opposite a Guard.
Briggs held the stopwatch in his hand, meaning Carson was next up for
his exam.
He’s going to fight after
that? Finally Adrian showed emotion. He grinned at Carson’s back, overcome with
respect for the new vampire, his former enemy.
His smile didn’t last long. Once
again, and as always, Adrian masked what he was thinking and exited the
gym. Sticking around to watch Carson
fight would be bad. Adrian would spend
the entire five minutes wondering what the hell had just happened and why
Carson didn’t retaliate because that kind of blasé reaction wasn’t normal for
anyone.
Adrian
didn’t dwell on things like that, or people like Carson. He just didn’t do it. Deciphering a person’s reasoning and motive was
to form an attachment. In Adrian’s world
people did and they didn’t. It didn’t
matter why unless it was the key to life or death. Questioning his beliefs for one person, no
matter how out of character Carson was acting, was a dangerous thing. Besides, he needed to sulk in peace. His world was about to be pulled out of his
grasp. They wouldn’t let him return to
his former life; to the thing he loved doing the most, to being the keeper of
justice in a world with never ending crime.
Being a Hunter was who he was.
They couldn’t take his identity away from him, could they?
In his
own world, Adrian walked down the hall.
He placed his palm on a door at the end of the tiled corridor and
pushed, realizing too late where he was.
When it clicked, he was already inside the gym’s locker room with the
door shut behind him. Adrian swallowed
past the panic he felt and sucked it up.
He was going to have to clean out the locker he hadn’t touched since the
first week he’d been at the academy. His
other workout uniform was still in the plastic on the shelves, and the gym bag
he’d ditched after the first time here probably reeked of sweaty socks.
Two rows
of lockers trailed back into the dim room with long padded benches between
them. Enough metal storage for two
hundred students that were divided by year and branch of study within the
Bureau. Adrian’s class was made up of
seventeen men training to be detectives.
And wasn’t it just grand that their class’s lockers were located at the
very back of the room.
The guys
thought Adrian was a freak already. He
couldn’t hear for one. And secondly,
after his first trip to the communal locker room, he’d flipped the fuck out for
reasons publicly unknown and had never set foot in here again. For four years he had walked all the way back
to his private dorm room just to shower, stinking up the halls because he
couldn’t stand the thought of having a repeat episode. Not one of his instructors said a thing about
it. He was just the resident freak, best
not to poke at. Unless you were Carson
and his worshippers. They didn’t really give
a shit about unspoken rules.
Locker
rooms had never scared Adrian before. It
wasn’t the lockers or the smell, or even the idea of undressing and showering
with seventeen fit as hell men that set him off. He fucking wished he could have snuck in some
naked eye candy time to jerk off to later in the privacy of his room. Gay didn’t define you in the vampire
world. No one batted an eye over
sexuality, unless you weren’t exploring your sexual opportunities. Then you
were just weird.
No, it
wasn’t any of those things that haunted him about this room. It was something none of the others could see
or hear. To be precise, it was someone who freaked Adrian out. Someone no one but he could see.
Stop being a pussy and just get
your stuff. You’ll never have to come
back here again. A few minutes and you
can run like hell. Adrian checked around the corner for anyone
in the large open shower room. Steam
clouded the area after the first year class had cleared out from their
midafternoon run. But they had zipped in
and out before the senior exam, knowing to stay away if someone failed to make
the cut.
Thinking
along the same lines, Adrian didn’t want to be around anyone right now should
he have an episode. He had to make this
quick. He turned back to the door and
clicked the security lock into place, the one used for lockdown drills. After a few seconds he proceeded to walk down
the farthest left of the three aisles.
He treated each wall of lockers like a danger zone, putting his back to
the metal until he could peer around to the open bench space between. He let out a sigh after the first set was
clear of anyone and started up again.
Seven more to go, jackass. You can do this. You’ve been through worse. Much worse.
The
second set of lockers loomed ahead.
Adrian lifted his head high and marched up to it, set on not checking
the danger zone before he kept going. He
was passing the second set of benches when out of the corner of his eye he saw
a man. When he whipped around, only two
benches and lockers on each side were there.
Adrian’s heart rate spiked as he pressed two fingers to his wrist,
making sure his heart wasn’t going to explode.
He checked both sides of the aisle he stood in to discover them just as
empty.
The
lights flickered above him. A locker door at the end of the wall slowly
opened with no one there to touch it.
Adrian put his back to the aisle wall and kept walking sideways. Many times in his life he’d experienced this
kind of fear, fear of the unknown, fear of the people who appeared out of thin
air to talk to him. He never knew where
they’d be or when their whispers would breach his deaf ears to be heard, to beg
for his help, or just to make him feel as miserable as they did.
His
father had called it a gift. But Adrian
saw it as a curse most of the time. It
was rare he encountered a spirit with no intentions of terrorizing the ever
loving crap out of him. To seek an
intelligent spirit, he had to focus to call them out. It took time and energy, and when they
appeared it took more time to establish a connection and settle their issue
with the afterlife. Sometimes they
didn’t know they were dead and other times they did, but zapped his energy to
retain a direct line in the real world.
Although no matter how they appeared, they always came to him looking
exactly as they did when they died. Victims
of heart attacks or internal sickness were his favorites. They scared him, sure, but there wasn’t
anything horrifying about their appearance.
But here
in the locker room, he just knew the spirit creeping around had died a tragic
death. Adrian could sense it, the shock
the spirit experienced in those last moments, the fear and the confusion. When Adrian’s breath rolled out of his mouth
in a cloud and goose bumps rose on his arms, he was certain the spirit was
making contact. Adrian didn’t want
to. There was nothing this spirit could
say that would make him stick around, and the need to gather his things from
his old locker just didn’t matter anymore.
He was about to run to the door when all the lights died in the room.
Adrian
shivered. He slapped at the tile wall at
his back and tried to move in the direction of the door. When the lights zapped back on, a man was
standing three feet from him. Adrian
slapped a hand to his mouth to muffle his scream.
He had
short blond hair. A crew cut matted with
blood on the right, and had one piercing blue eye set in his sharp, angular
face. The other eye was bloodshot with
broken blood vessels and a tangle of busted capillaries around the socket.
Scarlet rivulets dripped down his neck from his right ear, blood welling in the
gray academy issued shirt he wore.
Adrian glanced down because he couldn’t look into those eyes
anymore. He couldn’t stand to see the
anger in them. That was when he noticed
that the dead student was only wearing a pair of white cotton briefs and water
pooled around his bare feet.
Can you hear me? Adrian thought about anything
other than death: kittens, parking tickets, and that roast beef sandwich he’d
had for lunch. I know you can hear me! Adrian shuddered at the spirit’s deep voice
rolling through his mind. He shook his
head and backed away. The solid ghost
took a step forward, reaching out with his wet hand. Please. Tell him.
Adrian
shook his head vehemently. He wasn’t
delivering messages from the other side tonight. His body ached and his heart rate was about
to sky rocket, landing him in a grave if he wasn’t careful. No! Go away!
Carson…
The name
in his head made Adrian look up. Spirit
Boy backed away to give Adrian space and turned his head to sulk. There on the right side of the ghost’s head
was a rectangular crater. Brain matter compacted
tight in his skull, framed by shards of bone and a never ending well of blood
that spilled onto his neck and shoulder.
Adrian bit back the bile rising in his throat. He may have seen death, been the deliverer
many times, but he’d never stuck around to survey the damage for long. Seeing a man’s skull cracked open so hard it
left an imprint in the brain from the obviously large murder weapon was
disgusting.
Adrian
regained his composure, some it anyway.
The ghost was still there, leaning against the wall, dripping blood and
water on the floor, vulnerable in a shirt and his underwear with no one else to
hear him. So maybe Adrian had been wrong
thinking the ghost wanted to hurt him or scare him. Maybe he’d just been waiting for four years
for Adrian to come back so he could talk, to deliver his message. How Carson played a part in the spirit’s
death was a mystery, but Adrian’s gut told him to listen. He hated his gut. And he hated listening. But for some reason he felt like he owed
Carson a debt for handing him ass like that, for crossing the line after the
line had been crossed.
Adrian
wasn’t usually a sentimental person.
Love and other emotions were considered weaknesses to him. Nevertheless, he felt the spirit’s suffering
as if it were his own. For a moment,
Adrian felt human again. He felt naked,
stripped of his Hunter upbringing and bared to the world in a blink. Who are you?
Toby. The
spirit was intelligent after all. He
even blinked unlike some of the full body apparitions Adrian had encountered in
the past. Adrian nodded and rested
against the tile wall. He kept a few
feet between them. So far so good. I’m
Carson’s older brother.
Say what?
Not good. Adrian went slack jawed
with the admission.
He
turned to Toby and Toby nodded back. He came here because of me. He wanted to be just like me.
So
Carson had a dead older brother.
Great. Just great. And apparently Carson wanted to follow in his
brother’s footsteps and try to make it as a Guard. Question was: why? When their family was prominent and rich in
the vampire community, why would both boys want to be Guards of all
things? Guards were respected, yes, but
they didn’t hold much weight among the rich.
They were shadows that protected in the background, served others so the
wealthy, comfortable vamps didn’t have to see the bloodshed and the mayhem.
Why here? Why you?
Toby
seemed to understand what Adrian was thinking.
He stared off into the line of lockers and started to walk towards the
showers. No mention for Adrien to
follow. He just did. I wanted
out after our father was killed here in Europe.
I wanted to have something for myself out from under my Uncle, who was
given custody of us. And once I
graduated, I was going to get a job and a place to live. I was going to bring Carson with me. I didn’t want him to finish school
there. Our Uncle… he…
Adrian
got the picture when Toby fisted his hands.
The room swam with his anger, piercing Adrian in the heart. He
abused you.
Both of us. He touched my baby brother when I was
gone. Carson didn’t have anyone to
protect him. That fucker touched him
just like he touched me. Toby stormed into the showers and
whirled around. Every shower head burst
to life, hitting his solid form with sprays of water. He’s
going to come here to see Carson walk that stage like he deserves to, like he
did something to help Carson become somebody.
He doesn’t deserve to breathe!
The
water turned red, blood splashing against the pristine white shower tiles. Adrian’s insides curled at the sight, but he
had seen much worse where the spirits were concerned. They had a penchant for
the theatrics, morbid theatrics. What do
you need me to do? He’d do pretty much anything at this point to make the
scenery revert to normal. He could
handle blood. Just not this much.
Carson can’t walk the stage like
that, with him watching, knowing what he did.
He needs the strength to go on.
After my death he almost lost his mind.
I don’t think he’ll be able to go on after this. He’s barely hanging on. He can’t hear
me. I’ve tried to tell him how proud… The blood stopped raining from
the showers. In a blink only water
remained, cool and clean against the metal drains. Toby sagged to his knees. He put his face in his hands. I’m
stuck. I can’t help him. But you can.
What am I supposed to do for him,
huh? I kicked his ass about ten minutes
ago. I doubt he’ll listen to anything I
have to say. Adrian
grew frustrated. What was he going to
do, give Carson a pep talk by signing to him?
He wasn’t about to talk, that was for sure. Carson already had it out for him. Just let the guy hear him speak. That would be fun. Not.
And what was up with Toby? How
did he die? It was beginning to look
like the Uncle wanted Toby gone to clean up his act, when Toby pointed to the
padded bench behind Adrian.
It was really early in the
morning, not even four. I told Briggs
I’d clock in a run on the indoor circuit so I could miss the first two hours of
training. He could view the tapes later
if he didn’t believe me. Toby rubbed his face. Blood came away on his hand and he sighed,
used to it. But he allowed it, said I was good for it. I miss his sorry ass, you know?
Sure. Keep going. I don’t have all night, man.
Toby
smirked. I didn’t either. I had to pick up my girl from the airport.
A girl? This
kept getting stranger and stranger.
She was a flight attendant—met
her on a weekend trip to the UK with some of the guys. I’ll never know for sure, but my gut says she
was the one. My mate.
Whatever. I don’t believe in that shit. How the hell does she factor in to your
death? That’s what I need to know. Adrian
cocked his head. He glanced at the
locked door. Any minute Carson was going
to come to the locker room only to find the door unable to open. Then he’d get Briggs and shit would hit the
fan.
I had to get showered and changed
to go pick her up. I was going to have
breakfast with her at this little place I knew and then get back to the
academy. And after class I was gonna
spend the night at her place to celebrate before I had graduation the next
night. She was going to meet Carson for
the first time. They were going to be my
support while that fucker sat in the audience as I crossed the stage.
Adrian
didn’t dwell on the emotional details or the fact that Toby had died the night
before graduation. He wanted to feel for
him, but he just couldn’t. Feeling was
dangerous. Getting involved with
feelings meant Adrian had them. Adrian
finally snapped. Will you get to the fucking point? How did you die? Who killed you? That’s what you want, right? For me to call in the details at the Bureau
and get the fucker brought in on murder?
No one killed me. My phone was right there on that bench. I heard her ringtone and got excited, I
guess. I was in the middle of warming up
the shower, ran to the phone and slipped.
That corner right there got me right here. Toby pointed to gaping hole in
his head. I guess I went down pretty hard because I don’t remember anything after
that. But I do know I’m the reason they
padded the benches.
Motherfucker. You slipped?
That’s it! I’ve been avoiding
this damn shower and all that ass for four years because you slipped? Dammit!
Adrian
kicked the locker nearest him and threw his fists down to his side. Fuck!
All that ass, huh? Toby
appeared in front of him, startling Adrian.
Sorry about that. But I’ve been waiting four years to see you
again, and I need you to do something for me.
I know who you are, Adrian. I
know what you can do.
Adrian
blanched. What the fuck are you talking about?
How could you possibly know who or what I am?
An odd
expression crossed Toby’s face, somewhere between amusement and a serious calm
that scared even Adrian. I’m not the first one you’ve talked to.
Adrian
shivered. The others. Adrian had often wondered whether or not the
other spirits had just sensed what he could do or whether they could talk
amongst themselves freely, like a network of hoodoo voodoo. Guess he knew now. Would’ve been nice to know a long time
ago. Fine. You know.
What do you want then?
I told Carson a thousand times I’d
make the pain stop so we could live free.
You know exactly what I want you to do.
You have two days until graduation.
Make the pain stop, Adrian. Toby nodded at the door to the
locker room that had begun to shake, the handle twisting up and down. When Adrian looked back at Toby, the spirit
was gone. So was the icy chill of the
undead, but not the image of Toby’s inverted cranium and the brain goo leaking
out of his head.
Fuck. Me. Adrian
stormed to the door and unlocked it, almost tackled by Carson as he fell
against the open door. He looked up at
the massive blond, now seeing the distinct similarities between Carson and
Toby. Their blue eyes and their long
nose, traits no doubt passed down the family by someone with dominant genes—maybe
their father who was dead, leaving them alone with their twisted uncle and a
life full of unwanted sexual exploitation.
Adrian realized Carson was holding him upright, trapped between those
muscular arms and that broad chest.
Although
he was attracted to men larger than him—the process of overpowering them always
turned him on—he had no intention of letting his interest become more than
curiosity with Carson. The guy didn’t
deserve a bang and break. He was the
settle down type, someone who held a heart, feelings, and a fucked up
past. No need to put another ding in
Carson’s armor.
Adrian
stared up at Carson and nodded to himself, his mind made up. There was a reason why Carson was a
bully. Not just because he was big, but
because he needed to feel big after
he’d been made small, time and time again by his uncle’s vile debauchery. No one that big should be that helpless, yet
still, it happened every day to thousands of people who didn’t know their own
strength. Didn’t know how to fight back
because they were too focused on the fact that it was their family member
dishing out the abuse; the ones who were supposed to love them, to care for
them, were hurting them, but why? Many
victims spent years asking themselves that very question, while trying to prove
their worth to their abuser, to make them love them, to learn from the wrongs
they’d never done.
And
Adrian, with his vigilante whack job psyche, had been righting the world’s
wrongs for years. One more time couldn’t
hurt. With the added incentive of never seeing
Toby’s bloody head again, Adrian patted Carson’s washboard stomach and slipped
under his arm to exit the locker room. The
academy could keep their crappy socks and shitty gym bag. He was never going in that locker room again.
Chapter
3
After
doing a bit of research outside the academy’s secure online network, Adrian had
hopped the bus into town with his fellow classmates. He kept to the very front seat, understanding
from their gestures boarding the local transport that they were either going to
get fairly drunk, or find a warm body to bang, or a combination of both. This was supposed to be their free night to enjoy
because they’d all passed their final. While
Adrian avoided Carson like the plague and had no intentions of getting
plastered this evening, or bedding anyone for that matter, he did look forward
to enjoying something this evening. But
his definition of fun immensely differed from his classmates.
After
getting off the bus, Adrian lingered outside the bar for the pack of students
that weren’t out to drink this evening, the serious ones who thought the others
were a bunch of frat wannabes. Those who
were much more concerned with their ten year plan to mingle with “the
boys”. Six males split from Carson’s
crew and headed three doors down to an antiquated theater that had been running
since World War II, showing films to evacuees to keep their minds off the
devastating war at home. Or so the
ticket taker had once told Adrian. The
dusty brick building wasn’t anything as majestic as Le Grand Rex in Paris, one
of Adrian’s favorite places to let time slip away, also established in the
1930s and a good two hours away.
For what
it was though, this small town theater with its faded movie posters, cheap
tickets, and poorly lit marquee was all right.
They sold cigarettes and chocolate at the counter, and had wide seats in
the back row—something of an attraction to Adrian as he liked to stretch out. The theater was now a sort of hipster hangout
for the younger locals, and an ode to a different time, only showing foreign
films from at least two decades ago.
Nonetheless it was dark and the patrons were nice and drunk before the
lights dimmed, too bleary eyed from their cigarette hazed air to notice when he
slipped out as the vintage previews began.
Adrian had made sure Briggs and the group of men he’d followed in had
seen him enter the theater and sit down in the back row, so when a dead body
appeared the next day he wouldn’t catch any questioning. He had approximately ninety minutes to get
in, get the job done, and get out before anyone noticed him gone.
Adrian exited
out the side entrance in the hall, into an alley and followed the dark, winding
brick walls to a street on the other side of the theater. This particular French community was
older. Most of them turned in early so
they could wake at the crack of dawn to open shop, the area thick with family
run commerce and steeped in religious
morals that sent them to bed like good little boys and girls. Aside from the two hole in the wall bars near
the theater, the streets were fairly quiet and the lampposts were far and few
between. Adrian kept to the shadows,
feeling the call of lost souls in the vicinity because of the gated cemetery up
the hill. But he didn’t focus on
them. Drawing attention by noticing
would only give him away. He’d learned
that fairly young. Once you made contact, there was no going back.
His
attention was set on the lone hotel settled on the edge of the short downtown
drag. A cream building was attached to the apartment buildings on either side
of it, seated on a corner lot. Its
rounded edges, intricate balconies on all three floors, and historical appeal
made for a perfect place to lodge a bunch of vampires who had come to see their
students graduate. Adrian steered clear
of the well-lit entrance and the line of expensive rental cars tucked against
the curb. A doorman looked half asleep
on a stool at the front door, but stirred when a man exited the building with
an entire fleet of men behind him.
Adrian
sucked in air. He flattened himself to
the building and waited. His Uncle,
Captain Sutton Donohue stopped between two cars and waved at the men in his
posse. Adrian didn’t dare make a peep or
a scuffle of his shoes for fear his Uncle would notice. He’d avoided Sutton for as long as he could
remember, rarely replying to his Uncle’s concerned texts and ignoring surprise
video-chat calls from his cousin Quinton.
His cousin that was only calling so Sutton could know what was going on. Seeing Sutton Donohue was like digging
Adrian’s father up from the grave. They
had the same face. They had the same
mannerisms and subtle gestures. They
even shared the same look of concern.
Adrian
had already mourned one Donohue. He
wasn’t about to get close to another, just to watch him fall. It was better for everyone if Adrian stayed
away from the family who had it all together.
He was far different from them in every way. It wouldn’t work. He’d cut and run because the pressure to be
normal would be too much to bear. But
there he was: Sutton Donohue, Captain of the fucking Bureau and Adrian’s Uncle,
just yards away.
Adrian
should have known his Uncle was coming to graduation. He did it every year. Why would this year be any different? Unlike the previous three years, Adrian was
now a part of the graduation. He
couldn’t just book a seat on the train and disappear for a few days until
Sutton left this time. No. This time he’d have to shake his Uncle’s hand
and actually look him in the eye, the same eyes his father had in life. To Adrian, Sutton Donohue was a living ghost,
one Adrian couldn’t will away.
Before
he got worked up, Adrian closed calmed and waited until the cars pulled away
from the curb. Once the expensive fleet
had driven far enough away, Adrian huddled down into the basement service
entrance, a set of stairs going down from the street. His pulled a penlight from out of his jacket
and bit it between his teeth to illuminate the basement door lock. They must have been trying to keep out the medicated
elderly, because Adrian easily broke in with a low grade pick he kept on the
ring next to his dorm key. No chain to
cut or security personnel to stab, Adrian slipped inside to the vibration of
the heating vent on his left and the chill of the concrete basement.
Like
everything else in this town, the buildings were old, some of them built in the
1700s. This one was somewhere around
there, a maze of vaulted hallways, dark brick archways, with modern fixtures
and additions applied to bring them up to date.
It smelled earthy and musty even though the paint was fresh, within the
last couple of years, and concrete had been poured and smoothed over the floors
within the last ten. And like most older buildings, they had a lot of history,
which meant a lot of death. Adrian kept cool,
and thought about the reason he was here instead of the things lurking within
the walls or moving out of the corner of his eye.
He moved
in a slow heel to toe walk out of habit.
He was unable to hear his shoes squeak over the shiny painted concrete. There was no need to run, he didn’t want to
push his luck and be discovered over something ridiculous and preventable. He passed storage lockers with holiday
decorations, freezers used by the kitchen, and the open room where housekeeping
did the laundry. The dumbwaiter next to
a service telephone opened slightly, but not all the way. A foggy chill wafted
out from under the cabinet sized door.
He didn’t stick around to see why.
Call it a feeling he had.
The
closer he moved to the service elevator, the more aware Adrian became. He had to be very careful from here on out
with a building full of vampires. He’d
stuck around the theater long enough to soak his clothes in cigarette smoke,
and he kept his hood up as he boarded the elevator so at first glance no one
would note his most detectable features.
Sight
and scent were the first things a vampire took in. If he smelled familiar or like other
vampires, they would stop and want to know more. It was a part of their nature, a part he had
to be prepared for. The second thing a
vampire did was subtly read a human as they passed. Not in all situations, because a large crowd
tended to flit by unnoticed, but a lone human walking the halls of a vampire
flooded hotel was bound to be read.
Adrian
mentally went down his list of things to think about, clouding his mind over if
he was indeed read. Tourism was his best
bet. The sites and the restaurants he
wanted to visit here in town. Whether he
had enough battery to go another day on his camera or whether he should charge
it. How nice the man had been at the
front door when he’d entered. How much
should he tip the valet? He stepped into
the mind of a tourist as the elevator doors opened on the first floor. If
discovered he’d just be a lost little human looking for lodging.
The
narrow service hallway held a few offices and more storage, and a back entrance
to the kitchen that swung back into place as if someone had just gone through. Meant
the kitchen was still working after dinner and was off limits on his little
tour. On his left was a peek at the
lobby. Red carpeting with a creamy
floral laid underneath a ring of polished mahogany sofas with plush cream
upholstery. They even had a chandelier over
the concierge desk. Of course they have a chandelier.
Adrian
shook his head at the sniveling man behind the desk, who was obviously nervous
and overeager to help… Sutton. Shit.
I thought he left! Adrian stayed levelheaded and popped back
around the corner to hide. Sutton got
one whiff of Adrian, or felt his panic and he’d investigate. It was why he was head of the Bureau, Sutton
Donohue was an investigator with a nose for trouble—he’d sniff out the tiniest
feeling in his gut and follow through until he found resolve.
Skirting
around a tea service tray, which was most likely for a vampire guest, because
who the fuck had tea this late at night, Adrian glimpsed the staircase through
a series of columns leading towards the dining room. Sutton tapped his fingers against banister
pole. His brows drew tight—his look of
thought. Adrian held his breath until
Sutton slowly ascended the stairs. He delayed
until the concierge ducked out of the now empty lobby to have a cigarette with
the doorman, and then Adrian rushed across the cushy carpeting and up the
stairs.
Through
his research on his private laptop at the academy, Adrian had hacked every
possible hotel database within an hour radius until he’d confirmed Ulysses
Maloy checked in at Le Cheval Rouge; the little hotel that had once been owned
by a wealthy horse breeder, hence the name, The Red Horse. Adrian didn’t give a rat’s ass about the
history, but he’d done all the research he could on the suite layouts posted at
the hotel’s website, and from recent tourist pictures stupid visitors had displayed
for anyone to see.
Every
floor was marked by a golden horse ornament with a corresponding number. As if there were so many floors they couldn’t
possibly keep count. Adrian rolled his
eyes at the pointless decoration and continued his quiet trek up the
stairs. So far he had yet to run into
his Uncle, but at the third floor he detected movement around the corner. Shadows played against the sconce fixtures
dotting the walls. Adrian opened a door
marked private and shut the door to the darkened room, just enough not to be
seen. He pulled deep breaths in, letting
them go through his nose.
His
fingers met his wrist and he counted his heart’s beat per minute, slowly
willing his body to calm. He’d been
trained from an early age how to talk to his body, how not to give away the
spike of his heartbeat and how to control his facial expressions against internal
forces of natural instinct. Viewing
through the crack of open door space, Adrian watched in his safe space as
Sutton talked with a young boy, maybe fifteen and evidently human. He couldn’t possibly belong to a Royal. Dirt clung to his malnourished arms and
streaked his cheeks like he’d just skidded into home plate. His clothes were outdated, probably thrift
store bargains, and too short in the pants and sleeves. But he had pretty eyes and a boyish innocence. A face out of place that Sutton would feel
the need to investigate.
Sutton
put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and said something again, but Adrian
couldn’t make out the words. The boy
shook his head, stepping away sharply. It
was too dim from his side of the hall and too far away to understand what was
happening. But Sutton eventually let the
boy go down one hall while he stood there watching him go. Whatever the boy had said distressed Sutton
far more than he let on. Those dark
brows knit tightly together like Adrian’s father’s had long ago, a look of a
man pondering his next move. Something
was afoot and Sutton’s eyes stayed locked on the hall around the corner,
tracking like a dog about to jump at his scurrying prey.
Adrian glanced
at his phone. From the dark closet that
smelled like bleach, Adrian noted he only had an hour left before he would be
suspect after Ulysses’s body turned up dead.
He mentally told Sutton to fuck off and move along, but Adrian’s Uncle
stood sentry at the staircase, waiting for something Adrian couldn’t see. The hair on the back of Adrian’s neck rose
when Sutton looked directly at his hiding place and placed his finger to his
lips.
The fuck was that? He can’t possibly see me. Can he?
Sure
enough Sutton crooked his finger at the closet Adrian was hiding in. No
way. No fucking way is this happening
right now.
Adrian
waited for another vampire to walk by the closet and his worst nightmare to
end. Sutton was just waiting for
someone. That had to be it. But as the minutes ticked on and no one came
by, and Sutton continued staring at the closet, Adrian knew he’d been
made. All of his tiptoeing around had
made no difference. His confidence as a
spy, as a Hunter dwindled just a bit. If
his Uncle could spot him, then most likely anyone could.
Fuck him. I’m a goddamn good Hunter. I’ve done this a thousand times. I can…
Sutton
huffed and waved Adrian out of the closet.
He tapped his watch and cocked his head.
I hate him.
Fuming
mad, Adrian stood in the dark closet and slipped into the hall. He shut the door behind him. A staring match ensued. If his eyes could shoot lasers Sutton Donohue
would have been obliterated. Years stood
between them, a distance no amount of family blood would close. Adrian had no desire to stand face to face
with his Uncle or speak with him. He
wanted to cut ties with all familial connections and be free of
everything. All he wanted in life was to
get his revenge on the traitors who had taken his mother and his father. He wanted to follow in their footsteps, to
take up arms in the name of the queen they so loved, and paint the streets and
the whispering shadows with traitorous blood.
He didn’t want to have to answer to anyone except the woman funding his
mad search of the globe, the one who held his precious resources.
Adrian
wanted to go it alone. He was a one man
army.
Sutton
shook his head, humor manifesting in his dark eyes. Putting his middle finger down on one hand, Sutton
touched his chest and gestured forward with his hand. “What’s
up?” He signed casually as if he
were a teenager and he hadn’t just caught his nephew sneaking into a hotel full
of Royal vampires.
Adrian
snarled, and held up his middle finger.
He walked over and slapped Sutton’s hand down. Adrian tapped his mouth, his way of telling
his Uncle to speak and that he wasn’t an idiot.
He hated sign language, even though there was a comforting familiarity
when he used it. But that was exactly
why he hated it. He and his father had
signed back and forth for hours when Davide was alive. It was their
thing. Not his and Sutton’s thing. Signing with his Uncle felt like a betrayal
of sorts. And Adrian wasn’t having it.
“Fine. Mind telling me what you are doing
here?” Sutton raised a brow. He gripped Adrian’s ready hands. “I could smell you outside. You smell just like him.” Sutton leaned in and yanked Adrian’s jacket
to his nose. He looked up. “And an ashtray.”
Angrier
with every passing second, Adrian yanked his jacket out of Sutton’s hand. His nostrils flared. So much for masking his emotions; Sutton had
a way of pissing him off that no amount of meditation could hide. “What
do you want?” He gave in, his fingers moving furiously. He didn’t have time to waste by texting and
Sutton knew ASL anyway. But Adrian
didn’t have to like it. In fact, he
hated it just like he hated Sutton.
“What do I want? What do you want? You came to see me.” Sutton
frowned. He looked Adrian up and
down. “Didn’t you?”
Adrian
clucked his tongue and waved Sutton off.
Don’t flatter yourself,
asshole. He shook his head and
started scoping the room numbers out.
Six suites with little gold placards on each door. He craned his neck to peek around the
corner. Suite 6 was at the end of the
hall. That was where he needed to be,
not with fucking Sutton and his ego.
Sutton
grabbed Adrian’s chin and brought his face around. “Did you follow that boy up here?”
Adrian
raised his hand to his forehead, touching his fingers as if he were grabbing
the brim of a baseball cap and tapped them together. He shrugged, questioning Sutton with his
shoulders. “Boy?”
“I know
you saw him.” Sutton leaned in. “6.” He held up his fingers and
pointed. “Did she send you here?”
“Who?” Now Adrian was really
confused. What the hell does this boy have to do with anything? Who did Sutton think sent me? And why was Sutton talking about suite 6, the
suite I’m supposed to… Fuck it all to hell! Adrian connected the dots. He growled at door number 6 and whipped back
to Sutton. “N-I-N-A does not know I am here. I did not know you were here either.”
Sutton’s
face fell. He put a hand to his mouth,
giving Adrian his back for a moment. When
he turned around Sutton had his shit together again. “Who? Don’t lie to me.” Sutton pushed Adrian with his palm to show he
was serious. “Name.”
Adrian
shook his head and scowled, flipping Sutton off. His Uncle wasn’t deterred. He pushed again until Adrian was forced to
step back. “Who?”
“A man who deserves it.” Adrian defiantly lifted his
chin. He had one weapon on him and it
wasn’t to use on his Uncle to cover up his premeditated crime. He knew better than to attack Sutton
anyhow. After all, Sutton Donohue used
to be a Hunter himself.
Sutton
grabbed Adrian by the back of the neck to bring their foreheads together. “Who?”
Adrian
pushed against his Uncle’s lean chest to get away. He met resistance as the hand on his neck
tightened. Adrian sagged in defeat. He twisted away when Sutton’s fingers
released him. “Please, A-D-R-I-A-N. Tell me
why I should cover for you.”
“You don’t have to. I will not owe you.” Adrian
pulled his hood back up.
Sutton
yanked it back down. He blocked Adrian’s
path. “I am your family whether you like
it or not. I will cover for you because
you are my blood. Tell me who and you can
go,” he mouthed. With rooms full of
vampires, Adrian knew his Uncle would never dare say such things out loud.
Adrian
brought his hand up to the side of his head, and then brought his hand down
with his pinky and thumb out, the rest of his fingers turned toward his palm. His eyes revealed so much anger, along with a
well of confusion. “Why?”
“You are impossible. All you had to do was tell me who. That is all I asked.” Sutton
rubbed his face. He looked at Adrian and
then at suite 6, signaling his nephew ahead.
Impossible
was exactly what Adrian strived to be.
It took work and a level of independence that bordered on depressive,
but he did what it took to be the best Hunter his queen had ever seen, a male
his parents would deem worthy if they were here to watch him serve his brand of
justice as a simple pre-turn. The feats
he’d performed were extraordinary. Yet no one knew of his past or who he
actually was to praise him for them. The
only man besides his queen and the few that had fought beside him stood before
him, resigned to the fact Adrian held no feelings for his own family, the ones
who would be proud to give him the praise he deserved.
For a
single moment, Adrian caved to his humanity.
Offing a pedophile wasn’t a mission Adrian deemed humane, because the
bastard was going to suffer for what he’d done.
But giving Sutton a bit of grace, if only to get him off of Adrian’s
back was. “U-Y-L-S-S-E-S. Young boys.”
Davide
had often talked about his brother’s beast, and how sometimes when they were
children he’d feared for his life if he’d pissed his brother off. But Adrian had never seen that creature for
himself. He saw it now, gradually
swirling through the dark irises of Sutton’s eyes in ribbons of gold, and clamoring
to be set free through Sutton’s rigid fingers now curling into fists. Sutton licked his fangs, eyeing suite 6 like
it was to be dinner served on a silver platter. If Adrian was a betting man
he’d say Sutton was withholding his power with everything he had so he didn’t
attract attention from the others in their rooms.
Adrian
waved his hand in front of Sutton’s face, snapping his Uncle’s attention to
him. Sutton nodded. “I’ll
deal with the boy. Make it quick and
painful.”
Sutton’s
hand gestures were rigid, his fingers like knives as they sliced through the
air. Adrian could deal with this Sutton
Donohue, he even felt a bit of himself in those hands, hazardously associating himself
with his Uncle for a minute as the tension grew thick between them. Not only DNA made them part of the same line,
so did the mercenary that lurked under their skin, a kindred bond only few
understood and even less had lived to tell about.
Adrian
pulled up his hood once more, this time unconcerned Sutton would try and stop
him. He slipped his hand to his pocket
where he found a pair of black leather gloves, a needle, and a thin coil of
wire. The gloves went on with a perfect
fit as he stopped in front of suite 6 and knocked. The door opened for a male about twenty-five
in appearance, wearing a dark red robe tied in the front. Ulysses Maloy looked like a Ken doll,
meticulously groomed and attractive as if he just stepped out of his cardboard
box for a stroll. From what Adrian could
see, his chest and legs were waxed and oiled, the baby powder scent hitting
Adrian hard enough to make him nauseous.
Maloy’s
blond hair was brushed back around his ears and wet, freshly showered. But what grabbed Adrian in the gut about
Uncle Maloy were his blue eyes that the family seemed to pass down from
generation to generation. The same blue eyes Toby and Carson had shed tears
from, had watched from in horror as their Uncle violated their bodies and
ruined their lives.
Adrian’s
lips twisted into a cruel smile as he spoke without caring of the way his voice
sounded. “I heard you like little
boys.” He flicked the cap off of the
needle he’d taken from the infirmary while the nurse was gone to lunch.
“Excuse me? Who the fuck are you?” Maloy looked him up and down, muttering
something Adrian couldn’t read.
Adrian
winked. “Death.” His hand shot out, stabbing the vampire in
the chest, and he pushed the paralyzing agent used for new turns into Maloy’s
body. It was developed by vampires for
vampires, normally to ease the transition from human to other, to give the nurse
a safe way to issue the painkiller if they reacted strongly to the turn. In this case, Adrian was going to use the
agent as a way to keep Maloy awake yet immobile while he killed him.
Maloy drew
in a breath, stiffened and went down onto his back, flat as a board from head
to toe. Adrian stepped over Maloy’s
body, smiling down at him and then dragged the male into the room. He let Maloy
drop near the bathroom door. He left the
front door open for Sutton to slip in as Adrian continued what he’d started. In the corner the young teenage boy from
earlier cowered behind a blanket. He
quickly covered up his naked body and huddled near the floor, tears wetting his
cheeks.
Adrian
looked back at Maloy, his eyes full of hatred.
He didn’t have to say anything else at this point. He had permission from the head of the
Bureau—not that he needed it because Maloy deserved everything he had coming to
him. and Adrian wasn’t under the academy’s thumb now that he’d passed his
final. But Sutton’s help allowed him to
focus on his prey without distractions of being caught or how to clean up the
mess.
It was
like old times; Adrian stepped into the role of a Hunter, a killer for
justice. He kneeled next to Ulysses
before he glanced at the poor boy Sutton was comforting out of the corner. The teenager wiped his eyes. He stared back
at Adrian while trying to cover his ankles with the blanket. It was then Adrian noticed what he hadn’t
been able to hear, the clank of cuffs against the chain tethering the boy’s
ankles together. He noted the boy’s wet
hair and skin scrubbed to pink as if he’d been roughly rubbed down of the grime
from the street. His cheap clothing had
been taken off in haste, marking a trail to the bathroom that lent a strong
soapy scent to the bedroom. Judging by
his thin arms and the bruises on his wrists and neck, this boy had come here as
a street kid being offered a room for the night by the rich and charming male
paralyzed on the floor, most likely seduced with Maloy’s vampire control.
Instead
he’d been chained and scrubbed of his filth, prepared for a sexual nightmare
he’d never forget.
Although
he was still human, Adrian growled as he turned to Ulysses Maloy. He gave in to the urge and punched the Royal
in the face, over and over until he was barely able to breathe. Maloy’s face was bloody, but his splits and
breaks healed in minutes. Adrian wanted
the damage to be permanent. He wanted to
end Maloy’s predatory streak to save the world of another piece of trash. While there wasn’t much of a game to Adrian’s
mission, dancing around to figure out his target’s next move, this time he
didn’t care. This was for Toby, the man
who never got to see what that new life would be like. This was for Carson, the strong male who felt
weak in his own skin, who needed to be able to walk across that stage into the
life his brother had wanted for him.
This was for Adrian, because if Davide had been here, his father would
have done the exact same thing.
Adrian pushed
to his feet. He pulled Ulysses’s robe
up, exposing his nude body, and wrapped the fabric around Ulysses’s head so the
carpet wouldn’t stain, and then dragged him by the arms to the bathroom. The tub would be easier to clean up than the
bedroom. Too much fabric. Too much evidence.
Looking
into the bedroom before closing the door, Adrian gave the boy and Sutton a dark
nod of assurance. His eyes received the
boy’s fear. He’d make this right. Not just because it was a ghost’s last
wish. But because it needed to be done. Sutton hoisted the boy into his arms, the
chains slinking down to slap against his hip as he turned with his cargo. Whatever his Uncle had said to the boy, the
teen now appeared calm and sleepy. He’d
awake the next day with no memory of this.
Just as well not to remember what could have happened.
Adrian
slammed the door, cutting off his connection with his Uncle. He pivoted to the tub where Maloy’s long legs
were sprawled, bent stiffly because they had no room to stretch out. He looked every bit the fool he was with his
robe pulled over his head. And his eyes
still registered shock when the robe was yanked away. Adrian removed his jacket. He removed his t-shirt and shoes, piling them
together under the sink where they’d be free of blood. He smiled at Maloy as he took off his pants,
and stepped out of them so they could join the rest of his belongings.
Adrian took
the wire in his still gloved hands. He
unfolded the wire and pulled the length tight between his fingers. “Do you still like young boys now?”
Ulysses
could only flick his eyes back and forth.
The Royal knew what was about to happen.
And he could only watch; his body unable to fight back. Just like his victims had been weak against
his strength in the past. Adrian stepped
up to the tub and crossed over the porcelain edge with his long legs. Standing above Maloy in his vulnerable state,
Adrian eyed the man’s groin. He knew
exactly where to start.
Chapter
4
Graduation
night came. The common rooms were packed
with families and friends, distinguished Royals, instructors, and students who
chatted amongst each other. But the
spotlight centered around the Guardians who had flown in for the occasion,
specifically the Original and his mate who shook hands with eager students. They stuck out in the crowd, dressed in
tailored tuxes with red sashes and gold embellishments, tagging them as the
Queen’s right hand. For all the good
they’d done, Adrian couldn’t help but be jealous of them. He’d never know that kind of publicized rank,
never wear a sash with his accomplishments, nor would his father, who had made
the ultimate sacrifice in the line of duty.
No one would ever hear about his dutiful heroism.
Adrian slipped
out of the gala room. He straightened
his black service cap, careful not to smudge the high gloss visor or jostle the
twin gold tassels on top. His Queen’s
insignia was polished to shine, gold and almost weightless sitting on top of
his visor. With subtle pride, Adrian ran
his hands down his form fitting black jacket, with the double row of gold
buttons that disappeared under the red belt around his waist, and stopped at
his belt buckle. His crisply pressed
black pants also had a stripe of red down the side of each leg, all the way to
his polished black dress shoes.
He
looked like a soldier, a man about to be presented as a Guard into vampire
society. Most would miss seeing this
occasion, one of the only times in a Guard’s life where he or she would be
recognized as significant. They would be
issued their service weapons with their initials engraved into the metal. They would shake hands with the Original,
acknowledged as one of his men or women in the fight that never ended. They would be given their orders and be
expected to follow through without complaint, because this was the life they
had chosen, this was their sacrifice to their people—even if they were never
thanked another day in their life for it.
Adrian
felt a certain peace settle in his chest as he walked to the private dorm at
the back of the facility. The more he
thought on it, the more he realized that these Guards weren’t so different from
him. They may not have been raised to
kill and had led normal lives until brought into the fold, but they too would
never openly ask for praise. They didn’t
need it. They were stronger in their
silence. They were just as deadly,
except for a few who wouldn’t make it very far.
But those lives, however unprepared they were to be a soldier for the
queen, were just as important because they had wanted to make a difference.
Just
like Adrian. At one time in his life,
when he was little, he’d looked up to his Father and his Uncle as
superheroes. He had been under the
impression they saved people from evil and righted the wrongs of the world one
bad guy at a time. He had wanted to be
just like them, crusaders in the fight without a cape. Then he’d grown and saw the world for what it
was; a bloody mess that took and took and never gave back. Taking became Adrian’s life. He took because the world took from him. Over and over she never gave him back the
people he was told he didn’t need, but needed more than anything in his life to
continue on. When he’d come to the
conclusion that emotions weakened his drive for revenge, he’d stopped caring
for anything with a heartbeat.
But
there were times—Instances like when Toby had bared his need to him—Adrian
couldn’t ignore the flicker of sadness that questioned his steadfast
anger. In those moments, he merged what
humanity he had left with the Hunter that needed out. He let the two do their magic to satiate his sorrow
until he was okay to go on again. That
was the moment he was the superhero he’d dreamed of being. The rest of the time he was a killer, a cold
blooded killer who only abided by the rule of silent revenge.
His
clipped steps gave him something to focus on because he refused to linger over
the details of the other night. Ulysses
Maloy’s death had been ruled a suicide by the Bureau. The remains marked with
the highest level of security under the queen’s command. Sutton had found him
standing over what was left and quickly called it in to someone he
trusted. To her. He’d called her. And surprisingly, after
Adrian had bathed and dressed and was left with the after-numb of what he’d
done, Sutton hadn’t said a word about it.
No one was questioned. The only
witness had been escorted to his grandmother in a nearby town and left with no
memory of the incident.
Ulysses
Maloy’s remains were zipped into a bag, carted down the stairs by a group of
men, and taken into the service elevator, and then burned. A suicide was what he’d always be. And Carson had believed every word when
Sutton sat him down to tell him the news.
His last remaining family member was dead. Carson had looked sad, haunted was a better
description, but then…he’d looked relieved.
Adrian’s
mind was on Carson when he slipped on his white dress gloves and then pulled
the intricate stationary envelope out of his pocket. The last of his mission had yet to be
delivered. And while he wasn’t a rule
enforcer by any means, he still believed carrying out the dead’s wishes, if he
chose to do so, should be done right and all the way through.
He
stopped in front of Carson’s open door, finding the blond seated at the edge of
his perfectly made bed. A single
suitcase was propped up by the door. The
rest of the room was spotless and devoid of any personality, ready for the next
student to take Carson’s place after tonight.
Adrian rapped his knuckles against the open door. He braced for a fight or a sneer at the very
least, but Carson simply looked at him and reached for his hat.
“Briggs
need me?” Carson said slowly. It was the first time Carson had cared if
Adrian understood him or not. The larger
male held his hat with both hands against his chest. He looked pitiful, broken, and like he hadn’t
slept a wink the night before.
Adrian
stepped into the room carrying the envelope in front of him. He swallowed.
“Not yet,” he said and Carson’s mouth opened before he could hide his
surprise. Adrian never spoke to the
other students. Screamed, yes, but never said anything. “Delivery.”
He handed the envelope to Carson.
Carson
took the gift with a gloved hand. He put
his hat on, visor aligned with his eyebrows so he looked every bit the dashing
soldier he was meant to be. “Thanks.”
Adrian
nodded. He wanted to say more, although
he didn’t. By speaking he’d said enough
already to Carson Maloy. The Hunter
turned around, knowing he’d never lay eyes on Carson again. He’d wonder some day in the future where the
blond ended up, what his life was like and if he had a family now, if he’d
gotten over the death that clung to him like a disease and made something of
his existence. For now Adrian just
walked away. He walked away from his
finished mission with pride. One brother
had died. The other would live. And he
would know how much his brother loved him—even though love wasn’t in Adrian’s
vocabulary. He left that to people who
could live with a weakness. Or people who could move on with their lives after reading a simple piece of stationary.
I promised you
freedom, a promise I would never break.
Walk across that stage as a free man. Hold your head high and know that everyone
in that room is proud of you, including me.
~T
TO BE CONTINUED...
