“Turn that damn music down so we can talk.”
The music toned down without anyone touching a knob. She refused to ask.
“Hey bro, you made good time
—
this has to be the female. Hello, I am Trump.”
Unlike Deck he could smile, a big toothy catchy smile. She wasn’t sure what to make of all of this.
“Alex has found us a place to stay. He is sending in reinforcements.”
“I do not need help to keep her safe.” Deck’s voice was a low rasp.
“Yep, and I am going to call the boss and tell him how to run his business, then I am going to dust myself. Anyways, you and I will be the only ones to have direct contact. My mate has told me that if I even think of touching her, I will sleep in the cold for two years. Female nightwalkers are a bitch when it comes to being possessive.” He grinned again, looking very proud.
With all of this, Deck just sat and looked like his usual statue.
“I see you are talking too much again, Deck. Okay, follow me.” The window of the other vehicle closed and took off with a scattering of gravel.
She looked around as they were moving
—
okay, flying at ground level
—
up to ninety. What was with these guys, a need to see if the speedometer really worked? Just to make the night rush complete, the radio was loud again. She heard the announcer introduce Aerosmith and AC/DC. She was going to have a headache. She could only hope the safe house wasn’t too far away.
She could see that they were in a mountainous area but the two vehicles didn’t slow down. They drove at these breakneck speeds for most of the morning on into the afternoon. They came into some suburbs. She saw, among rolling plains with mountains surrounding, large buildings for a good size city. Reading the signs she saw out in the middle of nowhere the sign for the Denver, Colorado Airport. It was impressive and modern but looked totally out of place in someone’s farm land. It must be many miles from the city.
The two cars finally had to slow down to move with the heavier traffic. She wasn’t sure what she had expected in a safe house but it was not what she was driven to. They turned to a high rise apartment complex, then down into the parking area. This parking area was enclosed with heavy metal gates. But something in the two vehicles triggered the gates as they swung out of the way for the SUVs to enter.
They parked together near the elevator banks. She watched as Deck took their luggage. She took her purse, grabbed the bag of garbage and followed. They went past the first two elevators to one that had no buttons. The doors opened as they approached. When they entered it closed and began to ascend. She looked around
—
no buttons, no floor indicators, just two arrows, one pointing up, which was lit, the other pointing down.
When the doors finally opened she saw that they were on the top floor, in the penthouse. Yep, she could handle this type of safe house.
The suite was beautiful. The entry was marble, leading to the deep carpet that was lush and white. The furniture was low rich leather. The back wall was all glass with a balcony that looked out over the city. In the distance she could see the mountains topped with snow.
She saw the kitchen behind the dark black marble bar. That was the first place she went. She found that she was really hungry. The small kitchen was a work of art. All the appliances were black, with black tiles behind the black marble counter top. As she entered, a low light came on under the cabinets. She found that all the cabinets, even the refrigerator, had dark glass fronts.
She was really hungry, so she was surprised to find the fridge fully stocked. She pulled out sliced turkey, lettuce, tomatoes, even mayo. She looked around to find the bread, the good kind, whole wheat. It took her two minutes to whip up a great sandwich. She found fruit juice in small bottles. She took her small hoard with her into the main room to sit on the floor by the coffee table.
The coffee table was large enough to seat a football team around. She munched away, watching the two men
—
no, get used to the name, the two nightwalkers
—
talking. Trump was sprawled on the couch. Deck was pacing, having his usual conversations.
Yes
and
no
. He took a look at her, which brought him to a halt, leaving him standing like a statue. So what was new?
Trump was doing most of the talking. That made sense, as she knew Deck. But it was getting worse. They were talking about people she didn’t know. They were also slipping into another language frequently. Also, it was obvious that Trump was subordinate to Deck. He might talk more, but he was looking to make sure everything was approved by Deck. She also knew they were talking about her as she saw Deck’s eyes turn to her every now and again.
So her temper, which either got her in trouble or got her through troubled times, took over. “Hey guys,” she stood up and yelled. “The lady in question is in the room. She is getting a little pissed that for the last couple of days she has had no say in her life. Enough is enough. So tell me, now, what is going on?”
There she stood, feet apart, hands on hips in a room with almost five hundred pounds of bloodsuckers, but she really was pissed.
Both men looked at her. It was quiet in the room. Finally Trump spoke. “Okay, Decimus, you have your hands full. I am going out for a snack.”
Trump got up and went to the elevator. He left as the hiss of the doors took him down.
“Going out for a snack? Does that mean he is going out to find someone to drink some blood from their neck?” She was so shocked she still stood with her hands on her hips.
Decimus tilted his head as he looked at her. “That is the normal routine.”
“Shit, will it kill them?”
“Trump does not kill to eat.”
She looked at him a long time. “You need to eat also, don’t you?” Her voice broke a little.
He waited to answer, but didn’t look away. “Yes.”
He felt her emotion but he had no name for it. Still any emotion was good for him. He knew it was not a good one for her. She was having difficulty with the thought of him taking blood from a mortal. Did she know that they took blood from other nightwalkers? She knew nothing of them.
Chapter Eight
He felt her emotion but he had no name for it. Still, any emotion was good for him. He knew it was not a good one for her. She was having difficulty with the thought of him taking blood from a mortal. Did she know that they took blood from other nightwalkers? She knew nothing of them. She stood there so strong, facing her fears, torn with confusion.
She turned and walked out to the balcony. He let her have her time alone. This gave him time alone.
Nightwalkers were turned or born. Those that were born start out stronger than those that were turned. They inherited some of the talents that their parents had. He had been born, but the memories of his family had been erased by the horrors of the training camp. His memories went back to the first nights in the camp. He only had glimpses now of the life before the camp. The Master of the camp would have preferred that they had no memories.
They were all brought in together in groups. The flickering flames of the torches were around them. There was total confusion. First they had been picked up in a fine carriage, their families proud, waving goodbye. Suddenly, out in the country, they had been torn from the carriage, tossed into a caged wagon with others that were basically their age, about the same size.
Later he had been told that he was lucky, that he had been stronger because he had parents who had talents on both sides. It was what helped him survive. They were taken in the dark to a place that had high walls and heavy gates. They were herded through, tossed down into a deep hole. The hole was so deep that none of them could climb or leap out. They were just left there and it was like they were forgotten. It was their first test. It was their first lesson.
They huddled, waiting. Some of them quietly talked to each other, exchanging names along with information. It rained, and they were cold and wet without clothes or covers. There had to be some mistake. The sun came up but it did not shine directly into the hole. Still, some of the young ones were in pain from the light. The hunger began to set in. He moved away from the others. He thought about the last time he had eaten. It was from someone who had agreed.
Night again, and there was a lot of restlessness. Everyone was hungry, some more than others, depending on their size and the last time they had eaten. His family had been generous. They had brought a volunteer to feed him on his last night at home. Finally one asked another if he would share. The answer had been no. But the
no
came from a thin nightwalker who looked scared. The thin male began to back away, wrapping his arms around his body.
By this time it was hard to recognize any of them. The rain had turned the sides of the hole to mud. Most of them were covered in it. All that could be seen were eyes and teeth within the muddy bodies that paced in hunger. Then it happened. He smelled the blood. He never knew who it was because of the mud. There was more than one body taken down. But he needed the blood, so he did not hesitate. He found a limb, beginning to feed, his teeth already out at the first odor.
The confusion mixed in with the turmoil in the mud was like a scene from paintings that he later saw in museums. The art was done by an artist named Bosch. There were legs, arms, dark mud, and rich red blood. He was in the middle. Whatever limb he could hold onto, he took blood. If someone bit him, he pummeled them until he was free. He grabbed someone else, fed some more. Finally, he was sated. There were others like him that were full. There were bodies that did not move, there were some that had not eaten enough but were still alive.
In the night, torches were lit to show the ladders that were lowered. Those that were strong enough climbed out, the rest were left. He never questioned what was done with the ones still at the bottom of that hole, he just knew he was not there. They were hosed down, then while still wet, they were thrown in cages, inside a cavern. Then it started. Combat training.
He came back to the present, to the female who was on the balcony. Thanks to his Lord, he had spent more time in sane soft places than he had in the dark killing places where his previous Master had trained his body for killing. That was the difference. The killing Master had his body, trained and unfeeling. His beautiful Lord had his loyalty and his mind.
Now, through this female, he had feelings. But he knew there was a danger out there. It was not just the occasional rogue. There was someone of power, someone like his old killing Master, who could amass followers. Someone who had the funds available to arm them and send them for her. According to what Lord Alex had told him, someone had already made a very large offer for access to the serum produced by Lord Alex’s mate and her sister, mated to the enforcer Radames.
Those two nightwalkers were too powerful for anyone to intimidate or attack to get to the females or their blood. But the possibility that a new source that was not yet claimed might be available would put a great deal of interest and effort into the hunt for that source.
He needed to keep her safe until Lord Alex, his liege, could make use of the help of Radames, the strongest enforcer of the nightwalkers and find a way to get to them. Those two strong males would get her into an untouchable position. He needed to keep her safe, because she was his.
He waited, not moving, like a statue as he was trained, as had become second nature to his body, totally alert as his mind was divided into compartments. This was the trick that kept him alive. The front compartment was alert to everything around him, each noise, each movement. He had the compartment set aside for her, that knew where she was, if she was breathing, how fast her heart was beating. Finally there was the working compartment. If he had to work out plans or decisions, it would be busy, but right now he had let it fill with the memories. So he stood and waited for Trump to return. He felt his hunger and knew he had to feed in order to be safe around her, because the draw to taste her was becoming harder to resist.
Finally he saw her come back into the room.
“Did you put my bag in one of the bedrooms?” She walked across the deep carpet, looking into the open doors of the bedrooms. There were three of them, each with its own bathroom. The bathrooms were about the size of her whole apartment.
“The last door.” He did not move, sure that she was capable of finding the room. “You okay if I leave when Trump returns?”
She stopped in the opening. Without turning around, she answered. “I know you saved my ass a couple of times, so I owe it to you to accept what you are. Also, it is probably safer for me if you both aren’t hungry.” She went on into the room.
He stood and watched the opening. He saw her move around in the room. She went into the bathroom and closed the door. At about the same time, the elevator door opened, allowing Trump to enter the room.
He needed out fast, needed to eat fast. At this point he did not want to hurt anyone
—
no, not true. He wanted to kill, to hurt a lot of rogues. He needed to put hands on a lot of anyone who might hurt her, anything to release the heat in his body.