Blood Law (32 page)

“Fine, suit yourself.” Damian slipped the Glock into its holster and secured it to his belt. “But when you get yourself shot or staked, don’t come crying to me.”

Varik continued to stare. The memory of a vampire running away from him, rocked by a shotgun blast, flitted through his mind.

It was supposed to have been a simple job. Track down a group of rogue vampires and eliminate them, but the information he’d been given was faulty. The rogues weren’t at the house, hadn’t been for weeks. One of their friends had come looking for them and ran
when he saw Varik. The kid was innocent, scared, but Varik hadn’t known that, and he’d killed a vampire barely out of his teens. An official investigation had cleared him of any wrongdoing, but he’d never forgotten it, and it’d been his last kill.

“Earth to Varik,” Damian said. “Get your mind out of the past and into the present.”

Varik raised his eyes to meet Damian’s stare. “Do you really think Alex will do it? Kill Black, I mean.”

“If it were
my
brother who was missing, Black would be one dead motherfucker.”

“I know her, Damian. She’s not a killer.”

“You’d better hope you’re right.”

“Almost there, sir,” the driver reported.

Alex didn’t want to talk to Black. She wanted to kill him. Varik knew that, had felt it through the bond. He’d seen Alex when she was pissed off, but the rage that consumed her now was something else.

Enforcers don’t kill people. We uphold the law.
Alex’s words rang in his ears.

Sighing, he pulled his Glock free of its holster, released the clip, and made certain it was fully loaded. He reinserted it and double-checked the safety before securing it once again.

He couldn’t let Alex kill Black. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to hurt her in the process.

Live oaks covered with Spanish moss dotted the expansive yard and shaded a large metal storage shed. Security lights attached to poles in the front yard
washed the house in bluish-green light, and yet the single-story clapboard house was half covered in the new night’s shadowy embrace.

As Alex parked behind Harvey Manser’s marked cruiser, killed the rental car’s engine, and stared at the house, a memory came to life. It’d been years since she’d been to Darryl Black’s home. Where it had once been a shining example of domestic bliss, it was now twisted into a nightmarish parody of its former self.

The crisp white paint she remembered was grayed with age and peeling away in strips. Green shutters flanking the windows hung at odd angles, barely able to maintain their grip on the wall. Windows that had glowed with warmth were dark and cold, dead eyes reflecting the broken soul within.

Gravel crunched under her booted feet. A breeze picked up her hair and whipped it around her face. The smell of blood and gunpowder hung in the air. Keeping a wary eye on the shed, she drew her Glock and thumbed off the safety. She cautiously approached the house steps and climbed, senses on full alert, searching for any indication of Harvey’s or Darryl’s whereabouts.

The front door was open, and the smell of blood and gunpowder intensified. She entered the shadows of the living room, crouching low to make herself a smaller target, and swept the room right to left with her Glock held at the ready. Nothing moved within, and she eased through to the next room. Systematically she checked each room and found no one.

Returning to the living room, she noted the shrine to Claire and the fresh pool of blood on the floor. She
squatted beside the crimson puddle and dipped the tip of her finger into it. The thickened consistency told her it hadn’t been spilled more than an hour or so prior. But was it Darryl’s or Harvey’s?

If she placed the drop on her tongue, she’d see the memories locked within it. It would be easy to determine its origin and possibly gain more answers, like where Stephen was being held.

She wiped her hand on her jeans, cleansing it of the blood. She’d already bitten one human against his will, and she refused to compound her damnation by adding another violation to the list of Enforcer misconduct.

As she stood, she saw a blood-splattered scrapbook lying facedown on the floor. She picked it up. Horror rocked her as she flipped through page after page of articles detailing her life, her father’s murder, and Darryl’s quest for vengeance.

The final computer-printed article regarding her father showed his University of Louisville faculty photo. Her fingertips trailed over it, and longing filled her heart.

Pervasive, bitter cold pierced her. Her breath left in a rush. The world spun away. When it returned she found herself standing beside Harvey, the scrapbook in his hands instead of her own.

Darryl faced him from across the room, a Beretta aimed at the sheriff. She watched as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew in slow motion and penetrated Harvey’s leg at the knee. He cried out as his legs gave way and he collapsed. The scrapbook tumbled from his hands.

The book hit the floor, and Alex staggered back from it, returning to reality in a disorienting swirl of colors and sensations. Usually she received only vague impressions of people, places, or events when touching an object. The full re-creation of the scene she’d witnessed left her mind reeling.

When the world stopped spinning, she was surprised to find a woman dressed in a flowing white gown standing before her. Her gaze darted from the woman to the portrait above the shrine and back. “Claire?”

Her sorrow-filled eyes bore into Alex. Then she turned her head to reveal the vine-wrapping cross tattoo on her neck. She raised her arm, pointing to a blank wall, and returned her pleading stare to Alex. An ethereal voice permeated Alex’s mind.

Stop him. Please.

Claire faded into the shadows, and Alex dashed from the house.

HARVEY AWOKE TO PAIN. HIS LEG FELT AS THOUGH
someone had poured acid on it. A sharp stinging blow landed on his swollen cheek. He flinched.

“Wakey wakey,” Darryl said in a singsong voice. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the best part.”

The smell of blood and chemicals permeated the air, making him gag. He tried to sit up and alleviate the pain radiating up his leg, but his wrists were shackled above his head to a thick wooden post. He looked at the wad of bandages and tourniquet encapsulating his leg and leaned over as far as he could and vomited.

“Son of a bitch,” Darryl mumbled, jumping out of the way. “That’s going to take forever to clean.”

A painful spasm traveled up his ruined leg and sent his head spinning. Darkness encircled him, but he fought to remain conscious. “You fucking shot me.”

Darryl grinned. “Well, I can’t have you running off to tell the vamps about my little hobby.”

“Hobby? You’re a goddamned murderer!”

“I prefer to think of it more as a public service. Isn’t that what you told Lieutenant Lockwood?”

“You’re insane.”

“No, I’m doing what should’ve been done when those goddamn demons killed my Claire.” Darryl cocked his head as if listening to an inner voice. “It’s time.”

“Time? What are you—”

Harvey saw the table bearing a golden-haired body as Darryl retreated to another room within the large metal building. The workbench was filled with tools, wood shavings, and crosses in various stages of completion. A broad-bladed double ax hung horizontally above the work surface. Finally, his gaze settled on the wide bracketed shelves, the four large jars, and the heads perfectly preserved and suspended in a clear liquid.

A barrier deep inside his psyche shuddered, snapped, and Harvey was set adrift on a strange ocean from which there could be no return.

Alex slowed as she neared the shed. Keeping to the darkest shadows, she crept forward and crouched beneath a window. Light and the sound of someone whistling spilled through the small opening. With her back braced against the wall, she rose slowly and peeked inside.

Darryl Black whistled softly as he rinsed a pair of pliers under the faucet in a sink to her left. Glass jars and racks of vials lined the open-fronted shelves to either side of the sink.

The faucet shut off, and she ducked down, out of sight. Footsteps and the cessation of Darryl’s whistling made her breath catch in her throat. She chanced another quick peek through the window.

The room was empty.

She felt a tug on the blood-bond, and the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood swept over her. The bond surged to life, beating in time with her racing heart, and Varik’s voice filled her mind, calling to her.

Go the fuck away.
She sent the thought over the bond along with a mental shove, pushing him out of her mind.

Alex! Back off!
Varik’s mental shout reverberated in her head.
Damian and I are—

Fuck you, Varik.
She thrust his thoughts aside and sealed the bond between them. She could feel him pounding at the thick wall she erected, trying to reconnect with her, but he was a distraction she couldn’t afford to entertain.

Her time to confront Darryl was ending. She darted to the corner and quickly checked to be sure her pathway to the door was clear. It was. She skirted around the building and paused by the door. She’d have only one chance to stop Darryl. Steeling her nerves, she tightened her grip on her Glock, eased the door open, and slipped inside.

Darryl held a cross-shaped stake over a golden-haired vampire’s chest. His other hand raised a heavy mallet in preparation for delivering a fatal strike.

“Swing that mallet and all you’ll have left is a fucking stump,” Alex said, aiming her Glock.

He didn’t flinch or move. Slowly he turned his head and pinned her with a malevolent scowl.

She saw him tense and took a half-step forward. “Try it and I swear Claire won’t recognize you in the afterlife.”

“You’ve got no right to speak her name, demon.” His voice was a tense, harsh growl.

“This is between you and me, Darryl. Let Stephen go.”

Confusion momentarily flashed in his eyes, only to be replaced with grim determination. He tightened his hold on the cross-stake. Shaking his head, he planted his feet. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

Roaring, he swung the mallet and Alex pulled the trigger.

Gravel pinged against the bottom of the Ford Expedition as it barreled up Darryl Black’s driveway. Varik didn’t wait for the vehicle to reach a full stop before leaping out. He hit the ground running. “Alex!”

The rapid pop of multiple gunshots split the cold night and made his heart stutter.

“No!” he screamed, and charged the metal shed, following the noise. He pulled his Glock free and primed it as he ran, fear and adrenaline giving his feet wings.

He could no longer hear gunfire as he reached the shed. Without slowing, he kicked the door. Wood splintered and flew inward like shrapnel. “Alex!”

Fluorescent lights damaged by bullets buzzed, hummed, and flickered overhead, creating a dizzying
strobe effect. A body lay on a table, a cross-stake protruding from its chest. Harvey Manser sat in a corner, his wrists shackled to a wooden post and blood staining the floor beneath him.

Sounds of a struggle issued from the shadows beyond the table. He rushed forward to find Alex straddling Darryl Black on the blood-covered floor. The man was screaming in a combination of rage and pain, his mangled hand pinned by Alex’s knee. She knocked a Beretta from his free hand, and Varik lost sight of the weapon in the chaotic flash of light and shadows. Black dodged a punch aimed at his head, then sank his teeth into Alex’s arm. She howled and jerked away.

“Alex!” Varik shouted, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her backward and off Black.

“Let me go!” she screamed.

Varik pulled her toward the exit. “You can’t do this, Alex.”

“He killed Stephen!”

Varik glanced at the bloody body on the table. Golden hair framed a pallid face. Unseeing eyes stared into the heavens. “Alex—” Movement to his right drew his attention back to Black. “Shit,” he breathed, and spun, holding Alex tightly to his chest.

The gunshot sounded like a bomb in the confines of the metal shed. Pain seared his chest, and his left arm numbed. Alex slipped from his grip. The force of the bullet knocked the air from his lungs, and he crashed into a wall before sliding to the floor.

Gasping for breath, he reached for Alex, but she sprang away from him. He tried to call to her, but pain
robbed him of his voice. He watched, helpless, as Alex charged into battle without him.

The gunshot deafened her. She felt Varik’s body jerk against her and smelled fresh blood and charred flesh. She continued the spin Varik had begun and found Black holding his reclaimed Beretta in a shaky hand.

He drew a ragged breath and spoke: “And ye shall tread down the wicked, for they shall be ashes—”

Alex slammed into him, grabbing his arm. The gun fired into the floor. Her voice was a harsh whisper. “Thou—”

She clenched her fingers. The bones in his arm snapped, and he screeched. “Shalt—”

His howls of pain died as her fist connected with his throat.

“Not—”

He gagged.

“Kill!” Her final punch sent him crashing through the metal wall and into the night.

She ran to the hole made by Darryl’s body and peered into the darkness. Flickering light from the interior strobed over his bloody and battered form. A broken two-by-four timber, once part of the wall’s frame, now pierced his back and protruded through his chest. Wide eyes, devoid of life’s spark, stared into the black, star-filled heavens.

Behind her, Varik groaned and struggled into a sitting position.

Alex moved toward him.

He was pale, and his left arm dangled uselessly at his side. “Fucking A,” he groaned. “That burns.”

“Are you—”

A flash of light seen from the corner of her eye turned her head. Time slowed. Sounds grew distorted and movements sluggish.

The ghostly vision of Claire stood in front of the table. A shadow formed beside her, stretching, roiling, and morphing into Darryl Black.

She watched, enthralled, as Darryl swept Claire into his arms. Claire appeared to be laughing, her face radiant, as Darryl lifted her and twirled in place. When Alex’s eyes met Claire’s, she once again heard the woman’s voice in her mind.