Shadows May Fall (14 page)

“No.” Niko shook his head. “But be prepared for silence for a bit while he figures out how to handle himself. You need to remember it’s been centuries since he had real feelings for anyone. Even then, it was nothing like this for him. These are uncharted waters.”

“That is so ridiculous!” Lou snorted. “The man has women drooling all over him wherever he goes!”

“And that got old after his second pair of shoes.” Niko knew she wouldn’t understand, and it wasn’t his place to explain. “Max has been all about our people for so long. Hell, the only reason he has any real luxuries is because Abby takes care of it. Lou, this is the first home Max has ever had built, ever. He never put down real roots anywhere. He had four different apartments and a few townhouses in D.C. and before that, it was a flat here, a shack there. The toys and cars and planes, all that is for the Aegis and efficiency, not just because he can.”

There was so much to take in, Lou was having a hard time breathing. She wasn’t sure what to say or do, but the last thing on her mind was her current case. It was then it hit her. If everything they were saying was true, no wonder Max had left. He had years to get used to his role and deal with everything before she came along. Her assignment as Principate, learning all about the Sanguinostri, trying to figure a way to juggle things without even adding her feelings about Max to the equation had all made her want to run away. How could she blame him for needing a break?

“I think I need a drink and some hockey. I need time so that I can process all of this.” She told them. “I need to get my head on straight and focus on the cases and right now, my brain is mush.”

Niko got up and put his arm around her. “I think that’s a good plan.” He led her inside with Caroline and Dillon in tow and for the next hour they didn’t say a word unless it was to yell at the television over the game.

For the rest of the night, they put everything away and Lou let her subconscious settle with the revelations from the discussion. There was nothing she could do about any of it right then, so she needed to set it all aside. Tomorrow things would be clearer. Her head was on straight enough to know that her current case was the first priority, then it was the Black Blood trade. If Max did have feelings for her, it was because of her dedication to her job, not her behaving as a blithering idiot, love struck bimbo. She wasn’t about to behave like one now.

Sanguis
-inis m. (and sanguen , n.) [
blood
]. Transf. [
blood
-relationship, race, family, progeny; life-blood, strength, vigor]
Noster
-tra -trum [our , ours; of us, to us, for us]; m. Pl. nostri, [our
people
].

The Sanguinostri have
existed for thousands of years in secrecy and every corner of the earth. Long ago, before there was an Iraq or Kuwait, Syria, or Iran, between what we call the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, there was a small village where thirty or so humble peasants lived. They farmed, raised sheep, wove fabrics, and lived a simple but happy life. No one can say what happened for certain, even those who remain cannot recall what transpired with any accuracy. Some say it was a meteor, some the hand of Fate, but what is known is a fire fell from the sky burning the land and air with such fierceness that no one believed anything could have survived. But there were survivors. Any evidence to explain what took place had turned to dust, was blown to the stars or washed away with time. The surviving villagers grew critically ill. Some who had been off trading in the city during the firestorm returned only to find the dying and the dead. No prayers or medicine would help. Of those that did not perish in the scorching blaze, only a handful hung on until the new moon. Again, whether it was by Fate or a freak accident, no one will ever know, but one sister cut herself while tending to her dying brother. The blood from her wound falling on his lips as she washed his burned flesh. The unthinkable happened. His moans of agony ceased, his breathing grew stronger, his charred flesh gave way to new, healthy skin. The sister didn’t think; she just acted, forcing her wound to flow directly past her brother’s lips. The more he drank, the faster he healed. She raced to tell the others, and while some followed her lead and cut their own flesh to heal their loved ones, some refused. They cursed them all and fled, leaving their families to rot. Those who stayed took turns several times a day but even though their wounds appeared to heal, only a handful survived. When the moon once again vanished from the skies, only a dozen had survived. Though food sustained them as normal humans, without blood for prolonged periods of time, they would weaken, eventually falling ill again. Animal blood would stave off any further decline, but it just did not heal them or restore them the way the blood of a human had. They were at the mercy of those who would shed their blood for them. It was sacred and precious, as were those who shared it. From the purest form of love.

So the process of learning came. In this pursuit, the villagers learned that they not only survived, but they were better than before. Stronger, more agile and focused, adapting far easier and faster than they had ever been in the past. They also learned very quickly that outsiders viewed them as cursed, demons, and tried to kill them. It was then they discovered they would not just heal faster than ever thought possible; they could survive mortal wounds. Even regenerate chunks of flesh. The more blood they received, the faster they would heal. Even severed fingers and toes, if held in place, would knit back eventually. The only thing that was sure to kill them was cutting off the head and keeping it away from the body. For without the mind, the body withers and dies. It was when outsiders discovered this type of immortality that they began to be hunted and slaughtered. When only seven of the survivors remained they realized they could no longer stay in their home. They needed to hide and keep their condition a secret.

Some fled to the larger cities to try and learn anything they could to help them survive while the others were nomads for a time. They discovered that not only did they heal but they did not age, unlike their family members who so selflessly saved them and sustained them. Through trial and error, and the whim of the Fates, a few learned that their condition could be shared under a very particular set of circumstances, and even then it was a fifty-fifty chance of surviving. In the end, only one family member remained unchanged so they knew they had to find others who would understand, help them and protect their secret. The thirst for understanding was far greater than any thirst for blood. The seven original survivors set out to learn all they could about what they had gone through. They split apart with carefully selected stewards and traveled to far away lands in search of understanding. They agreed to meet back at their old village after the passing of thirteen full moons. When they did, they had a much greater knowledge of their changed selves, their capabilities and weaknesses. They also understood where their place in such a tumultuous world was.

Through an inordinately difficult learning process, one fraught with misguided trust and fatal mistakes. They learned through trial and error that some people they turned grew power hungry and greedy with the changes. Those few believed they were superior and elite. That average humans were only valuable as servants and a necessary source of sustenance, nothing more. The original seven, the elders, saw this very quickly and knew those corrupted were a danger to them all. There was no disputing the need for removing the threat they had created. It was from this realization and understanding that laws were set to stone. A vow was made to protect each other and humankind first and foremost. Each was sacred and dependent on one another, even if by tiny threads. Thus, the Sanguinostri, the sacred family of blood was born.

Since that time the seven and their progeny parted ways to learn and grow wherever the winds carried them. They found places in the shadows but always in a position of influence, within the greatest empires humanity has ever known. As the empires fell and others rose, the need for growth, additional laws and enforcers became necessary. Ultimately the original seven chose six more and formed the Senatus Imperium, the counsel of masters. Each member of the Senatus was sent to govern, protect and provide for each empire. Those individuals are called Dominor and are the supreme rule over the Sanguinostri in their region. They have their own Aegis Council, who are the lieutenants. Soldiers who answer only to the Dominor and the Senatus as a whole. They hold the laws of man sacred as their own, but their own are above all. To protect the sanctity of humankind and sanguine-kind, even from themselves.

That was Maximilian Augusta Julian’s charge in this long and magnificent life. It was his privilege to serve his people and up until recently he thought he had done so with dignity and diligence. As he stood on the wooden deck of the Alaskan retreat, looking out over Indian Cove and the rain washing the snow into the sea, he remembered his history and his fierce passion for serving his kind. He remembered his childhood as a slave and the first pair of shoes he ever purchased with his own coin. He remembered the very day he met the man who would become his Dominor, one of the original seven survivors of that fateful night. After all those years, all the torture, pain and humiliation he had overcome in his old life. After working so hard for so long, to making his way up the ranks out of pure gratitude for the change in his circumstances, he now felt ashamed. How could he even consider stepping down over a transient moment of insecurity. How shameful to squander all that he had been given just because he was unaccustomed to having deep feelings for someone. What a coward he was.

“My Dominor.” A quiet voice spoke from behind him.

“Yes, Malcolm?” Max smiled at the small, weathered man.

“You’ll find the larder fully stocked, and there is dry wood at each hearth.” Malcolm had gone through his mental list before he spoke again. “Dinner will be ready shortly if you’d like to freshen up. I’ve taken the liberty of scrawling down a menu for your lunch meeting. If you could run through it and let me know of any changes or further requests?”

It had been a very long time since Max had heard anyone use the term larder. It made him smile. Malcolm was an old and trusted Steward that Max had always been quite fond of. He had made the trip from Scotland to Alaska ages ago and lived on the estate in a small cabin on the north edge. Malcolm was a poet and a fisherman and enjoyed the reclusive lifestyle that he had been afforded. It always struck Max as odd that the man didn’t live in the main house but opted for the small cabin. They rarely made the trip to Juneau, so it seemed like such a waste of space. But, Malcolm liked working in the house, just not living in it. For whatever his reasons, Max was just glad to have someone he could rely on to take care of things.

“I’m sure everything is perfect, Malcolm. I apologize for the short notice on the visit.” Max had only called him on his way to the airport.

“Not at all, my Dom! Everything was prepared, save for some groceries. I was do for a trip into town anyway.” The man was quite jovial. “I do hope you will stay a few days? Anik is quite excited to try out his culinary skills on someone other than me!”

Max grinned. “I won’t be leaving before Thursday. Tell Anik to have fun and I look forward to his creations.”

“Excellent, my Dom.” Malcolm smiled brightly. “Oh! I almost forgot! The secured satellite is better than ever so all of your gizmos should be in tip top working order!”

“Thank you, Malcolm. But I think the point of being up here is for me to un-plug for a while.” Max Looked back out over the water.

“Well, I will leave you be, sir. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” Malcolm started to leave when he remembered something else. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee brewing and some Jameson 18 on the table by the fire. The dogs won’t be botherin’ you either. I’ve got them at the cabin.”

“Oh please don’t lock them away on my account. You know I’m quite fond of the animals.” Max remembered Malcolm always had Irish Wolfhounds roaming the place. “Perhaps they would accompany me on a walk, if the rain lets up?”

Malcolm flashed a sunny grin. “They would love that. I’ll let them be then. If they become a nuisance, just yell.”

“They’ll be fine.” Max watched the man head out the door and listened to the crackle of the fireplace. It was extraordinarily peaceful there, and he wondered why he didn’t make the trip more often. Everything seemed much clearer to him now, and the suffocating ache in his chest was almost bearable.

He would meet with Peter Radisson in the morning and brief him on their blood trafficking problem. Hopefully, Peter would be a pair of fresh eyes on the situation, and they could formulate a plan of attack to root out any traitors among them. For now, Max had more time to himself, without distraction or complication. He walked to the bookshelves and examined their contents, selecting a first edition of Yeats. After pouring himself a cup of the freshly brewed coffee, and a dram of the Irish, Max took a seat in the large wingback chair adjacent the huge fireplace that crackled and snapped. He carefully opened the First US Edition of Yeats’ The Wild Swans at Coole and began reading, only to find it was the worst possible thing he could read in his mood. He promptly returned the book to its proper place and just sat and enjoyed his whiskey, the warmth of the fire and the view of the rain on the water. He didn’t need to read about green eyes; he would think about Lou later. For now he would sit and enjoy the rare moments of solitude while he had them. He would confront his beloved demon soon enough.

The seduction had become a little too easy. Men. Impudent, repugnant
toads were so predictable. After all the planning, all the preparation, hooking the fish had been the least satisfying part of the hunt. Anticlimactic, if you will. The trickiest part was staying off the grid but being visible enough that they just could not resist when she dangled the bait. Researching their movements, staying a safe distance, finding the right spot, the right time, just on the fringe so no one would ever take notice, that was the thrilling part. At one point in her reconnaissance, she found herself humming “I know something you don’t know”. That was powerful, intoxicating and addicting.

Her love of sports growing up, and in school, had been her training for these moments without her even knowing. Soccer then softball, how could she have known back then how valuable all that strength and stamina would be to her later on? Back then it was all about not having to go home. Practices, games, being invaluable to the team so that she always was required to be there. Getting the scholarships to get her as far away as humanly possible. Sports were her ticket out. Recently, however, she had been focusing on yoga. Lean muscle and endurance were the keys, and she had been religious in her new training. It also helped to keep her physique slight, rather than muscular. Men liked gymnasts, not weightlifters, her mother always preached, when she could form a sentence. As if she truly gave a shit what men wanted. Her mother had cared, look where that got her. She was nothing like her mother. Men were the prey, not the other way around.

After securing her hair under the plastic cap, she zipped up her coveralls, donned her rubber boots and good old playtex Hand-saver gloves. Josh Rawlings sat lazily on his red leather couch, but he was starting to twitch which meant it was time to get the show on the road.

“Josh?” She called his name to get his attention. “Oh, Josh?”

“Yes, mistress?” He was articulate and compliant which meant her dosage was perfect again.

“Are you ready for me?” She asked though she knew he never could be. At least not for what she intended to give him.

“Oh yes mistress!” He probably would have been drooling if she hadn’t drugged him.

“Alright then!” She planted her feet and balanced her stance. “Here we go!”

It felt as though her heart stopped with the first swing. Everything in slow motion as her arms flew with the weight of the bat and she watched the black stick collide with the side of his head. She could hear the wet crunch as she followed through and knew that Josh was leaving the party, if not already gone. But she was just getting started. The position that Josh’s head was lolling at the moment of impact caused the first strike to land precisely across the left zygomatic, sphenoid and temporal bones. She probably caught part of the parietal, but that always took more work. Surveying the first blow, and then her new toy, the high-grade polypropylene bat had been a solid investment. She wiped it off on her coveralls and checked it carefully. Not one nick, excellent. With his head permanently tossed back, she took aim for his chin. Well, more for under the chin. The goal was to pop that sucker right off and let it roll behind the couch. With a grin she took her stance, balanced her weight and set up. One deep breath in as she focused then exhale as she let it rip! The sound was fabulous although his head didn’t detach as she hoped. She shook her arms out, rolled her shoulders and gave it another go, and another, and another. Finally with a squishy snap, his head tumbled over the top of the couch. She dropped the bat and raised her arms in the air, her invisible audience cheering, she pumped her fists high and laughed with joy.

After a few minutes of taking her victory dance, and when her imaginary fans piped down, she perched herself at the bar and finished her wine. One glass would help loosen her up for the rest of the job. This is what sustained her. The adrenaline and singular power of conquering the beast. The fact that dominating them was what they wanted, what they paid volumes of money for and enjoyed. That is what disgusted her, and this is what made her happy. The ultimate form of domination, grinding their piss stupid brains to the nothing that they truly were.

When she finished her wine, she retrieved the fence post from her duffel bag to complete her work. Bringing the duffel never raised any eyebrow with her clients. After all, she needed her tools of the trade. Getting the drug in them wasn’t hard either due to the fact they were all debauched deviants, up for anything that would enhance the experience. Again, the seduction was all too easy; the destruction was the art. Pounding the skull to bits was the focus as she used the fence post like a battering ram, hammering down over and over until anything that resembled a human head was gone. The exhaustion mixed with the adrenaline was so satisfying and exhilarating. Clean up was a small price to pay for all her efforts.

Meticulous precautions were taken, so there wasn’t much clean up at all. Arriving in rubber and latex was handy that way. A good pair of coveralls, cheap and disposable boots and gloves, forensics would be a bitch. Regardless, she took great care in washing the counters and the glasses. No need to be rude and leave an unnecessary mess. Once all was in its proper place, she gathered her things, laid out a plastic drop cloth and removed the gloves, rain boots, and coveralls. The latex rubber socks and cat-suit would stay on for a bit longer, but she had a nice pair of gloves to match that would get her out of the house without a hitch. She looked at the clock and saw she only had five minutes to spare, so she made haste bundling up the soiled wearable, grabbed her duffel and took her position next to the sliding glass back door. She checked her watch.

“Four, three, two...” As she looked out in the yard, all the landscaping lights went off. She slid the door open and made her way out along the east side of the building then along the hedges, pulling a sweater coat out of her duffel as she danced across the front lawn. By the time she hit the sidewalk, she had the floor length duster on and a knit cap. Her gait slowed and she hunched over as she walked, pulling a shopping cart out from between the neighbor’s bushes. The elegant, lithe, homicidal dominatrix had vanished and a bent homeless woman waddled up the street around the corner and down an alley. It was all mapped out precisely, which streets, which alley. They say it’s always darkest before dawn for a reason, and she used that darkness to her advantage. Oh yes, this was the final rush, the last jolt she needed to get her through the three-mile walk to her car. By then she had ditched the shopping cart and changed into a light track suit and running shoes. The perfect ensemble for the gym and a quick steam, then a shower and a well-deserved massage. After that, maybe some pancakes at her favorite breakfast spot, she could use the extra carbs after her night. Once she got home, she would sleep like a baby until the next morning when the hunt would start all over again.

After the hockey
game was over, Lou had excused herself and climbed into bed with the puppies before the Late Show ever started. She had woken up at two to find the pups had abandoned her, just like Max. They all had snuck out behind her back. She tried to focus on her case but somewhere between her imagining what she would say to Max when he got back, and trying to figure out how the two dead men were connected, she must have fallen asleep, hard.

“Tallulah!” Shevaun yelled while bouncing on the bed. “Tallulah Louelle! You are late! Dillon is downstairs waiting so get your ass up, young lady!”

“Okay!” Lou answered her mother and got straight out of bed and headed out of her room.

“No, baby.” Shevaun ran and stepped in front of her sleep-walking daughter. “We gotta wake you up some more. Actual clothing would be nice too.”

“Aw yeah, Momma!” Lou went along with her mother’s ushering. “Clothes are nice. You have really nice clothes.”

“Marta!” Shevaun yelled for the housekeeper.

“I’m coming!” Marta answered as she charged into the closet with them, holding a bowl of ice water with a hand towel soaking in it. “Alright, back up Missus..” Marta instructed, and Shevaun took three steps way back and nodded. “You know I love you, Miss Lou.” Marta said before she draped the ice-cold cloth around Lou’s neck then backed up fast.

“What!” Lou screamed and flailed then ripped the freezing cloth away from her skin. “Holy crap! What’s going on?!”

“Tallulah you overslept.” Shevaun continued with the all too familiar routine. “Put these on.” Her mother stuffed underwear, jeans and a t-shirt in her hands. “Then we will wash your face and brush your teeth but you gotta hurry now!”

Lou’s sleep inertia was back in full force. Fortunately, her instincts had her doing what her mother said. Shevaun had to repeat what was going on a few more times, but Lou had only managed to crack her head on the wall while reaching for shoes, so all in all, it was a minor spell. By the time she finished brushing her teeth, she was coherent enough to know she needed to wash her face and grab some mascara and lip gloss for the road.

“I packed what you need here.” Abby materialized behind her and handed her a small zipper bag.

“Where have you been?” Lou glared at her. Knowing full well that she knew what had transpired the day before and had known about Max’s feelings and never told her.

“Look, I love you, Lou. I do. But you need to understand and know that he is my Dominor, and I will never betray him. He is our Dominor. If the ship is sinking, he gets the lifeboat, we stay.”

“Well, that sucks but thanks for your honesty.” Lou grumbled as she dragged a brush through her hair.

“That’s not to say that I won’t make sure you get picked up first by the rescue ship!” Abby helped her smooth out her hair. “But this whole thing is quite tricky for me to navigate. I couldn’t tell you without betraying him, just as I couldn’t tell him without betraying you!”

“You didn’t know anything to tell him!” Lou tried to act insulted, but it was hard to do while she stuffed the deodorant under her shirt and scrawled it into her armpits.

“Oh shut the hell up.” Abby grinned. “You two may have each other fooled but give it up with the rest of us. We all know!”

Lou huffed at her and stormed out of the bathroom. “I’m not dealing with this now. I have murders to solve.” She fastened her holster to her belt then fished her gun out of her drawer.

“Right. Plural murders.” Shevaun reiterated as she handed her daughter her commuter mug. “As in another one. Dillon is getting in the truck so move.”

Lou gave her mother and Abby a kiss before she flew downstairs. She was conscious enough to make it without incident, and she didn’t want to waste time asking her mother what she meant when she could find out the details from Dillon on the way there. As soon as she got in the SUV he handed her a file.

“Marcus Medina.” Dillon explained. “BHPD emailed us both a copy of the file this morning. You probably have a dozen voicemails from them. Your phone is plugged in here, by the way. You left it downstairs last night. I grabbed it while I was waiting for your mom to get you up.”

“Crap.” Lou hated it when she was sloppy. Not plugging her phone in the second she got home was a rookie move.

“Don’t sweat it.” He reassured her. “There isn’t much more that we didn’t know already. Pervert scumbag drug dealer got his block knocked off and bashed in. Same M. O. as Griffen.”

“So someone is hunting pervert scumbags.” Lou flipped through the file.

“Yep and we are about to meet pervert scumbag number three.” He glanced over at her.

“It hasn’t been a week yet.” Lou wondered what prompted the up in the timetable.

“Maybe bashing Griffen’s head in wasn’t as tough as Medina?” Dillon shrugged.

Caroline texted Lou just as they were exiting the freeway onto Slauson informing her that she would be on scene within forty-five minutes. They were just on the fringe of Inglewood, another nice, throwback era neighborhood where everyone kept their yards neat, but the architecture was far more faithful to the original. The iconic building of the old Wich Stand that had been turned into a Simply Wholesome back in the eighties just happened to be their landmark for a right turn. Another right and they could see the street cordoned off by deputies four ways. The house on the southeast corner was where they were headed.

It was a beautiful old two-story Spanish place with the white stucco, lots of wrought iron and arches. After parking the SUV, they were instructed to head down the Orchid Street side and walk around through the carport. Lou noted that street lights were few and far between with lots of mature trees to provide good cover. When they got to the back yard, it was gated but there were no security cameras or lighting. What illumination there appeared to be was strictly ornamental and meant to highlight the architecture. A deputy standing guard informed them that they should cover their shoes immediately because forensics was already working on things. There was a narrow path outlined for them leading to the open sliding glass door. On closer inspection, the door wasn’t open, the forensics team removed it entirely.