Turned (14 page)

Would she go to the Bureau director? Would she seek out the president himself?

Unlikely, Mahone thought. She’d have to admit her spies had read Ty’s mind against his will, something she claimed vampires were honor bound not to do. She’d also have to admit there was such a thing as Rogue vampires in the first place.

The door to the gym opened and Mahone watched as Malcolm Creeley entered. He was a turned vampire, had been one for about two years now.

Creeley joined Polanski on the track, clapped a hand on his back, then picked up the pace. Mahone reached over to the bay of control knobs and turned on the speakers, listening in on the vampires’ conversation as they ran full-out around the track.

“How many miles have you done today?” Creeley asked Polanski.

“Fifty and counting.”

Fifty miles in about thirty minutes. Again, amazing stuff, but it ramped up Mahone’s worry. Hallifax seemed to think containing the Rogues would be enough, but Mahone wasn’t so sure anymore. What happened if the Vampire Queen, infuriated by what the FBI was doing,
decided against anonymity and peace, and launched a full-scale attack against humans? The U.S. certainly wasn’t ready for it. FBI Turning Program or not, they might never be.

On the track below the one-way mirror, Creeley continued the conversation. “You done any sparring yet?”

Polanski shook his head. “Later for the fighting. They say they’ll train me after I’ve overcome the worst of my—”

“Urges?” Creeley finished Polanski’s sentence, grinning as he did so.

A newly turned vampire had to feed. And fuck. Four months past his turning, Polanski’s feral instincts were fairly manageable but they were still very much there, under the surface. Sparring could cause a rush of adrenaline and bring out his latent violence. “If you can control them,” Creeley said to Polanski, not even panting, “you can really start to have fun.”

Together, the two vampires raced around the track, leaping over hurdles and other obstacles. Polanski whooped and pumped his fists in the air.

Like all the vets who had been recruited into the FBI’s Turning Program, Polanski was a gung-ho soldier, sworn to fight Uncle Sam’s enemies. Ethnicity, race, political bent—none of that mattered to him. As far as the FBI was concerned, it was a win-win all around.

Anyone with half a brain would know it wasn’t that simple.

Mahone watched as the vampires slowed to a stop.

“You know,” Creeley said, casting Polanski a sidelong glance, “we train you to be the best. Better than a mere vamp.”

“How so?” Polanski asked.

“Born vampires are losers,” Creeley sneered. “They hide who they are, posing as humans.”

“So we’re an improvement?”

“Yeah,” Creeley insisted. “We combine human ambition and vampire power. Those of us who’ve been turned are now the ultimate predators.”

Tension shot up Mahone’s spine.

Talk about proving his fucking point.

This wasn’t the first time he’d heard a turned vet diss full vampires. He’d heard them refer to “mere” humans in the same way. The FBI had wanted to create super-soldiers in order to fight its human enemies
and
an inhuman race. But now that he was hearing turned vampires identifying themselves as a distinct group, accountable to no one … He had good reason to be scared shitless.

Mahone’s attention was suddenly riveted on the track. Creeley had just punched Polanski in the shoulder. Polanski didn’t look happy. Mahone turned the volume up.

“What the fuck was that for?” Polanski asked.

This time Creeley shoved him, both hands on Polanski’s chest. “Wanna spar?”

Polanski backed up a step.

“Come on. I want to see what you’ve got.” Creeley swung a fist at Polanski’s face. The other man blocked the punch and threw a roundhouse, connecting with Creeley’s jaw.

And the fight was on.

Mahone was transfixed, as if he was watching a horror movie. The kind where you knew someone was going to die in a really bad way and the monsters were going to get away with it. Fists cracked against bone, skin split, blood spattered.

Polanski seemed to be giving as good as he got.

God damn Creeley. What was the turned vamp trying to do? He was taking a risk, calling out Polanski’s vampire instincts like this. If Creeley kept this up, Polanski would go feral. Granted, as the older vamp, Creeley should have the strength and training to take Polanski
out if the other vamp lost control—and whatever damage Creeley did to the man, Polanski’s body would regenerate. No harm, no foul. But still, sparring with another turned vampire until they’d both been cleared went against the guidelines.

Mahone had no power to stop the fight. He was here to observe, nothing else. Hands off. His role was to report to Hallifax alone.

It wasn’t lost on him that most of the world, including most of the FBI, was being kept in the dark about vampires. What, then, was
he
being kept in the dark about?

Hell, if vampires existed and lived hidden among humans, who was to say that other paranormal creatures didn’t exist, too? Werewolves. Mummies. Ghosts. Assuming they did exist, did the FBI have some other grunt observing them, too? Or were they still managing to conceal their existence? Because they’d certainly be smart to.

Could be that the worst thing to happen to the vampire race was being discovered by the FBI. Mahone just hoped that discovery didn’t end up being the worst possible thing to happen to the human race as well.

In the gym below, Polanski lost it. Howling, screaming gutturally, he ripped into Creeley, who kept that fucking grin on his face and danced away. The main doors to the gymnasium opened and Ross Newton, another agent, rushed in.

“Get him under control!” Newton yelled.

Creeley just shook his head, still smiling. “Can’t. He’s gone too far. Only thing to do now is let him feed … and fuck.”

Newton stopped in his tracks. “Fine. I’ll get him something to eat.”

“Bring me a feeder, too. I’m hungry,” Creeley said.

Newton stormed his way out of the gym, flicking his gaze over the blood-spattered floor in revulsion.

“That’s right, human,” Creeley said to the closed door. “Better do what I say when I say it.” He ducked as Polanski swung at him and laughed. “Hold on there, man. Soon we’ll be drowning in blood and pussy.”

So Creeley had forced Polanski into a frenzy that only blood and sex would satisfy, and wanted his share of the feast. Selfish asshole. Mahone’s cell phone rang. The number on the screen didn’t surprise him. He’d been half waiting for this call ever since Carly had told him that a vampire had read Ty Duncan’s mind.

The caller was Rhonda Locke. The woman who, along with her husband, headed up the FBI’s Strange Phenom Unit. They’d discovered the existence of vampires, and today remained in close contact with the Vampire Queen. Locke was the equivalent of an ambassador, keeping peace between humans and vamps, which was why she’d never been told about the Turning Program.

Until now, he suspected.

“This is Mahone.”

“I need to ask you a question.” Locke’s voice, clipped and angry, sounded in his ear. “You get one chance to answer me, so think before you do.”

“Go ahead.” He kept the phone to his ear as he kept his gaze on the gym and on Polanski, writhing on the floor, screaming for blood.

“Is the FBI turning humans into vampires?”

“Yes,” he answered, with no hesitation. She knew. That meant the Vampire Queen knew. There was no point in lying.

A quickly indrawn breath.

“You’re part of the program.” She said it as a statement, not a question.

“Yes.” For now, Mahone thought. He wasn’t sure if the program would survive the Vampire Queen’s inevitable fury.

“Why wasn’t I told?”

The door to the gym opened again. A man—strong, young, Hispanic—was shoved into the room. The bile Mahone had tasted earlier now surged into his mouth. “Why are you asking?”

“You know exactly why. The Bureau has been dealing with born vampire traitors. Now those vampires—Rogues, I believe you call them—are out of control and the FBI’s trying to cover its ass.”

“Correct.”

Mahone leaned in close to the one-way mirror. Had this feeder been provided to the FBI by Salvation’s Crossing? After all, they believed Salvation’s Crossing was supplying vampires with migrant workers to feed on, workers willing to do anything to provide a better life for their families. Why wouldn’t the Rogues have used some of those same immigrants to fulfill its obligations to the FBI?

In the end, it didn’t really matter who’d brought the man here. The way he stared, open-mouthed and unmoving, at the frenzied and blood-soaked Polanski told Mahone all he needed to know. Didn’t matter what race this man was or what lies he’d been told. What he saw wasn’t something he’d signed up for.

Polanski caught sight of his victim. Mahone fought the urge to close his eyes. If he interfered, his superiors would be notified, and he’d never be let back inside Building T. He couldn’t risk that.

“This can’t continue, Mahone,” Locke said.

As soon as she said the words, Mahone’s misgivings about the Turning Program solidified. Belladonna would have to see its mission through. But once the Rogues were out of the equation …

“You may be right, Rhonda,” Mahone said, his voice flat. “And we do need to deal directly with the vampire leaders eventually. Hallifax believes the Rogues can be
contained and somehow, eventually, the Turning Program can resume. My team’s supposed to make that happen.”

He watched as Polanski charged, racing faster than humanly possible, his prosthetic feet a blur. The man he ran toward let out a high-pitched scream. It was the cry of someone who feared death, but Mahone knew from past experience the man wouldn’t be allowed to die. Newton would allow Polanski to feed and then intervene, pulling out the feeder before he was drained of too much blood. Standard protocol.

Mahone still didn’t want to see it go down.

Turning away, Mahone reached over and turned down the volume. So Locke couldn’t hear the screams, he told himself.

“The Bureau thinks it’s choosing the lesser of two evils,” he said to her. “Give me more time. Let my team hunt the Rogues and figure out exactly what kind of threat they’ve become. If I get proof that the FBI is in over its head, it would help.”

“Have the turnings been authorized by the president?” Before he could answer, Locke sighed. “Of course they have,” she said.

Something thudded behind him and Mahone automatically turned around. A spray of blood had hit the one-way mirror, obliterating his view. But he knew what would follow. The feeder—the man used to satisfy Polanski’s blood lust—would be dragged out to be treated. Then a woman, a prostitute, one who bought into the whole vampire fantasy or the notion of serving her country no matter what, would enter. And Polanski would fuck her until he was spent.

Like the feeders, like the males who had been turned, all these people had supposedly volunteered to do what they were doing. But in his heart, Mahone knew that
even if that had been true in the beginning, it wasn’t the case anymore.

Not a godddamn thing he could do about it.

Most of the born vampires they knew about followed rules and customs long established. They respected the authority of their queen. But there were rebels. Anarchists. Rogues—the born vampires the FBI had connected with, somewhat at random. They didn’t seem to follow the same law as the vast majority of vampires. They were the immediate problem. But so was the Vampire Queen’s refusal to provide the Bureau with crucial information about her race.

Even if Belladonna contained the Rogues, continuing peaceful relations between vampires and humans depended on humans believing that vampires in general weren’t a threat.

“Do you think Queen Bianca will meet with me?” he asked Locke.

“Why?”

Just listen, he wanted to scream. Because humans and vampires need to come together,
work
together, to fix this. It was the only way.

“To exchange what information we have. To see if there’s a way we can stop this crazy crap from going any further.”

“You’d do that?” Locke asked, her voice tense. “Even if it could mean your job? Your life?”

The blood spatter on the one-way mirror trickled down. Mahone cast a glance below before quickly looking away, sickened. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

A minute later, he ended the call. Thought things through. Then dialed a number.

When the man on the other end answered, Mahone took a deep, silent breath, then said, “Hallifax. This is Mahone.”

“So talk.” The assistant director of the FBI sounded less than thrilled to hear from him.

“I just got a call from Rhonda Locke. Queen Bianca knows the Bureau has been working with rogue vampires.”

Hallifax’s response was short and curt. “And?”

“And I’ve set up a meeting with her.”

“To what end?”

Mahone hesitated a moment again. He obviously wasn’t going to tell Hallifax everything, but he had to tell him something. “I’m hoping I can convince her to do what we originally asked. Work with us so our need for the Rogues is eliminated.”

“You’re a fool, Mahone. It’ll never happen. The Vampire Queen isn’t interested in playing nice. She’s waiting for a chance to strike first. In the meantime, we’re doing what we can in the way of preemptive measures.”

Mahone waited for an explanation. None was forthcoming. “Are you saying you don’t want me to meet with her?”

“What if that’s exactly what I’m saying, Mahone?”

Mahone hesitated, not liking the hint of a threat in the man’s voice. He forced himself to respond calmly. “I understand, sir. I just thought this could be another way to get what you want.”

After a tense silence, Hallifax chuckled. “Good to know where your loyalty lies, Mahone. Go ahead. Meet with the Vampire Queen. Feel her out … or feel her up, for all I care. Doesn’t matter to me. Like I said, I think you’ll find she’s not prepared to play nice. But do let me know if I’m wrong.”

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Two weeks after Ty had delivered an offer of employment
, Ana sat in the back of a plush sedan, wondering if she’d lost her mind. Even if she had, she thought, there was no going back. Not now.