Authors: Michelle Rabe
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Lord of the City replied, his face a blank mask.
“You know. Jayson. Young kid all around. Seems to think the whole edict about cleaning up your own mess doesn’t apply to him. Am I ringing a bell here?” Nicholas asked. His words affected a tone of flippancy he’d heard from certain younger members of the staff at The Dracul.
“If he is not following the rules, he is clearly a renegade and, as such… not my concern. He will be dealt with by the Council’s Enforcers, no?” The elegant shrug that accompanied the question seemed out of place coming from him.
“By Council Law, whether dynastic or rogue, his Sire is to be held accountable for risking our secret like this,” Nicholas explained, working to hide his annoyance. Even the newest vampire knew the Council guarded their existence with zeal reserved for religious fanatics.
“If that is true, why is Julian Constantine still live?” Samair paused, waiting for Nicholas to react. The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch. Several of those watching shifted in place, an obvious show of agitation since they could remain still for hours. “Perhaps it is because of his ties to Lucian?” Samair leaned forward in his seat as though he meant to intimidate. Nicholas let his features fall into a blank mask and remained silent. “Or is it because he is Morgan Blackstone’s Sire?”
Nicholas suppressed the urge to roll his eyes like one of the young vamps at The Dracul. They had known as soon as he and Morgan went public with their marriage that this would happen. Someone would get it into their head to try and use her as leverage against him.
Well,
he thought,
“It was bound to happen. Time to nip it in the bud.”
Turning his attention back to the Lord of San Francisco, Nicholas spoke his voice strong and clear. “You might want to tread carefully, Samair.”
Samair didn’t back down. In fact, he stood, pulling an air of superiority around him like armor. “Does the supposedly fair Nicholas Falstaff show favor to his wife’s blood kin where others would be given no mercy?” The emphasis that Samair put on Julian’s connection to Morgan told Nicholas his sources were correct. Samair had sired Jayson and lost control of the young man.
“So, the whelp
is
yours.”
Samair sputtered. Rage flickered across his face as his mouth worked to form soundless words.
Nicholas smiled and let out a short bark of laughter. He narrowed his eyes and said in a low, threatening growl, “You changed someone with more attitude than you bargained for. Now he’s beyond your control. However, if you could somehow bring him back under your thumb, he’d be powerful among your people. As a result, you are reluctant to do what must be done.” Nicholas advanced on Samair one slow step at a time. He felt his fangs lengthen and knew his eyes had begun to swirl with what Morgan called dark storm clouds. “I will clean up your mess. However,
this is
your warning. If
my
people have to be called out here again because you
cannot
or
will not
control one of your own, you will not be shown any mercy. This is by order of the Council of Ancients.”
When he finished speaking, Nicholas stood barely a step away from Samair, invading the other vampire’s personal space. The Lead Enforcer took a deep breath. He knew if things went wrong, the situation would deteriorate quickly.
Someone needs to take that bastard down a notch or two. Better yet, remove him completely. Too bad I can’t do it without setting a very bad precedent.
Adrenaline surged through his system with every controlled beat of his heart. Nicholas’s mind spun with calculations. Rumor said that some of the vampires in the room hated Samair. So, he might find a couple of allies. He weighed his chances if Samair forced a confrontation, figuring out the best ways to retreat. His eyes scanned what he could see of the crowd and recognized a few supporters. Turning his gaze back to his adversary, Nicholas waited.
Samair reclined in his chair and threaded his fingers together as if considering a difficult problem. Tension in the room ratcheted up a notch as a thick cloying sensation coating the back of Nicholas’s throat.
After several moments of silence, Samair leaned forward in his chair and nodded. “I know how affection can cloud judgment, Nicholai. I agree that Jayson must be put down. My people and I will aid you in any way possible.” The Lord of San Francisco dismissed Nicholas with a wave of his hand.
That cocky son of a whoring bitch.
Nicholas spun on his heel and strode out of the room as if he owned the place. He knew his outward calm would symbolize a slap in the face to Samair though the Lord of the City had gotten his point across, as well. Samair’s unspoken warning hung over Nicholas’s head like a headsman’s ax. He knew he had to take care of Julian or someone else would.
As his mind spun, Nicholas’s feet carried him out of the building and to the car. He shook himself, clearing his head before he slid behind the wheel, and headed to the apartment building where he’d learned Jayson’s name.
He parked the car a couple of blocks from the building and approached on foot. The Victorian house looked a lot different than it had a few days before because a memorial had been set up for the two people who had been found dead. He’d seen it before. Part of human nature and the grieving process. Nicholas paused at the base of the memorial and took a deep breath, opening up to his vampiric abilities as he inhaled the scents surrounding the area. He swore under his breath. The candles and flowers had blotted out any residual trace of Jayson’s scent. Nicholas frowned as he left the memorial area, following the same path he’d taken the first time he’d visited the scenes. He hoped to pick up Jayson’s scent and locate his preferred hunting grounds.
An hour later, Nicholas strolled through the late night crowds. The strong scent told him that his prey must spend a lot of time in the area. The Lead Enforcer rounded a corner at the end of a building. Stepping into the dark alley, he had to bite back a bark of ironic laughter.
How cliché.
His preternatural sight allowed him to see more than the average human.
Why do alleys always seem darker than the rest of the city? Is it just because they aren’t well lit or is there truly something more sinister about them?
He rushed through the alley, his senses gathering details but finding nothing out of the ordinary.
I wonder whether or not Richard knows anything about this? If there is something different about alleys, it would stand to reason the Sorcerer’s Conclave might know more about it than the rest of us.
Nicholas froze, focusing his attention on a heap of dirty, ragged clothing near the shadowed corner where the buildings converged in a dead end. He paused and examined his surroundings, searching for either his quarry or prying eyes. Someone watched his every move, but he couldn’t pinpoint the location. At first glance, and smell, the alley seemed empty, but something teased the edge of his consciousness. He slinked toward the lump and slid one of the wrist daggers from its sheath. Crouching and sliding through the shadows, he avoided the detritus that had accumulated.
As he approached the lump, the scent associated with several stages of decay coated the back of his tongue. Swallowing hard to rid himself of the furry feeling, Nicholas lost the control he kept on his baser instincts.
There’s no sense in beating around the bush. Quick and dirty is best here.
He chuckled at his own frivolous thoughts as though discussing strategy with Marcus or one of his Enforcers.
Morgan would laugh if she knew I did this. She’d think it was hilarious that I talk through these things.
Shaking off his thoughts, Nicholas focused on his target for several moments before shifting position with speed no human could match. Closing the distance to the corpse, Nicholas snatched away the first layer of clothing covering the lump. He stumbled back a step, surprised by what he found.
“What the—” A dirty, foul smelling man demanded, turning his toothless snarl on the vampire. “How dare you…” he began, but Nicholas no longer paid attention. His mind had already turned to other possibilities.
A sharp pain in his calf brought the vampire’s attention back to the indigent man. The one he’d believed dead, crouched beside his leg an arm reaching forward. Nicholas’s eyes snapped to the hypodermic needle he held in that hand. Acting on instinct, Nicholas grabbed the man by the throat and raised him up to his own eye level.
“What in Hell’s name was that?” Nicholas demanded, his gray eyes boring into the man’s frantic blue ones. A trail of fire marched up the side of Nicholas’s leg followed by spreading numbness as an unknown substance moved through his system with every beat of his heart. The man’s eyes bulged and his flesh turned a mottled deep red color. Dirty, ragged fingernails clawed at the leather sheath on Nicholas’s wrist as the man fought to free himself. Nicholas smiled, a cold, heartless expression as his darker side took over.
With his baser instincts in control, Nicholas struck, reveling in the feeling of his fangs sinking into the soft flesh of the man’s throat. A small area at the back of his mind screamed that something wasn’t right, the flesh tasted wrong… not a homeless man. The sharp tang of dirt and old sweat wasn’t there.
A disguise. What am I dealing with here?
While Nicholas retracted his fangs from the man’s throat, his victim’s eyes went wide, and Nicholas threw him aside like a rag doll.
“You won’t get far,” the raspy voice taunted as Nicholas turned and started to run. High-pitched laughter chased him as numbness spread through his veins. Nicholas fought to open himself up to the connection he shared with Morgan until he hit what felt like a brick wall. As his limbs succumbed to numbness, Nicholas clawed at the wall.
Morgan
, he yelled still trying to connect, but soon realized he couldn’t reach out to her. The poison acted fast, and the muscles in his legs gave out, bringing him to his knees. Nicholas barely managed to catch himself as he dropped to the ground, falling face down.
What the hell… I can’t… Lucian’s move? Oh Gods… Morgan!
Out of nowhere, battered boots blocked his already limited view.
13 - San Francisco, CA - October 11, 2012
Morgan stepped out of the car and scanned the neighborhood in both directions, getting a sense of her surroundings, Eric at her side. Shops that had seen better days, dive eateries, and two nightclubs lined the street. She sighed and glanced at her watch, with an unimpressed frown.
Lack of foot traffic… Rundown buildings… Missing streetlights… Traffic passes through rather than hanging around. Yes, lovely neighborhood. Excellent location.
Morgan rolled her eyes as she walked over to the realtor who stood talking on the phone.
The small man continued his conversation, oblivious to the client he kept waiting. When he turned and acknowledged her, Morgan had been tapping her foot for several minutes.
“You must be Miss Blackstone.” He plastered a grin on his face and waited for a second. When she didn’t react, he stuck out his hand and waited.
Morgan’s eyes flicked to the proffered hand, stayed there for a second before shifting first to the building and then to the little man. His dull brown eyes widened and the pupils contracted. Morgan knew what he must be seeing. She was certain her pupils were the warm orange of fire and tendrils of the same color had been working their way through her usual emerald green irises. Aware that she needed to get her emotions in check before her control slipped, she said, “I am.” Still ignoring the offered hand, she added, “Now, stop wasting my time and let’s get to work.” The realtor had already refocused his attention to the phone again, only half paying attention to her words.
He coughed a few times, clearing his throat. “Yes, yes, of course.” He gestured to the abandoned building. “This location has-”
“No.” Morgan interrupted, her voice firm. “That,” she gestured to the building, “is a waste of my time.” Her gaze shifted to the man’s phone. “And
that
is rude.” Morgan stepped forward, closing the space between them, forcing him to look up at her. “Now, are we going to get along or am I going to take my commission elsewhere?” She took a step back, putting a hand on her hip and cocking an eyebrow high.
“I… I… I, I don’t know what to say. I apologize. Miss Blackstone, please allow me to show you the location.”
“I’ve said it will not do. The neighborhood is not acceptable and the foot traffic is atrocious. I shudder to think of the cost of renovations. If I don’t miss my guess, any contractor worth his salt will tell me that I would do better to have the place burned to the ground and begin again. Do you have anything else to show me or has this meeting been a complete waste of my time?”
“Well.” He frowned, brow pulled down low. “I really thought this was the perfect property for you. Won’t you take a look inside?”
“It is not what I am looking for.” Morgan’s frustration with this human continued to grow. Her blood warmed in her veins, and she knew her flesh would be warm to the touch. Closing her eyes, she breathed deep, trying to soothe her nerves as the human prattled on about the advantages of the property. The cell phone in his hand chimed and without missing a beat, he glanced down at the screen.
“The neighborhood isn’t great, but it’s in an area of the city…” His words slowed and trailed off as his phone drew the majority of his attention again.