Vamped Up (10 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“Elders have been spotted on the streets of Crimson Bay, though we don’t know why they’ve chosen this tumultuous time to come out of hiding. These vampires are our ancestors . . . treat them kindly, buy them a drink, offer them shelter in our haven. And then report their presence immediately.”

San Francisco Haven Newsletter: Note from the Primus, 2011

A
FEW MILES
OVER, down a couple littered blocks, past a long stretch of booming clubs and gritty bars, Ruan arrived at the hottest nightclub in Crimson Bay. Mirage, a novelty for otherworldly creatures, was ordinary—like any other mundane club with sexually charged patrons rubbing up against one another, getting drunk and high after work hours—minus the creatures partying within its blacked-out walls, of course.

Curvy waitresses wearing barely-there leather miniskirts stalked around the club offering beer or vodka shooters, or for the clientele with more particular tastes, a variety of blood on tap. Their specially branded Mirage O+—a knock-your-ass-out combination of blood, Red Bull, vodka, and some other unknown spirit—had made this place the city hot spot for vampires facing withdrawals. Not to mention mundanes paid no cover charge.

Between the sin on tap, the naive prey waltzing into the club on a free access pass, and the night-owl open-twenty-four-hours policy, the place was heaven for vamps and therians alike.

Therians patrolled the streets in front of Mirage as well as the shadow-riddled alleys along the side and back. If a vampire so much as dropped a fang within the presence of a mundane, therians cracked down, meeting their vampire-bagging quota for the month. They’d report to their leader, earn their vampire-killing merit badge or some shit, and come back to Mirage to patrol all over again.

As long as vampires kept their fangs in check and off the mundane patrons, therians would keep their stakes safe inside their trench coats. Both could party hard, enjoy the hip-hop music, and watch the scantily clad college gals getting down and dirty with God-knew-who or what.

Tonight, though, Ruan didn’t want to fill up on blood or drink. He was hungry as hell and could use something to take the edge off. But he was here to train. There wasn’t a better place in the city to teach preliminary reconnaissance than Mirage.

When he pulled up to the curb across the street from the club and blacked out his lights, two cars ahead of him followed suit, flashing their high beams to signal their position. His trainees had been waiting. Ruan killed the motor and rolled his window halfway down to listen to the city speak.

This part of San Francisco was bustling with nightlife. Police sirens echoed through narrow alleyways. Thumping beats from across the street vibrated the cool night air. Laughter from a group of girls waiting to get into the club caught on a breeze, mixing with banter from a handful of drunk guys kicking back against the brick wall of the side alley. Cars passed by, their tires splashing through puddles made by the misty plumes of rain that blanketed the city at sunset. Cars honked angrily from blocks over. Somewhere deep inside one of the buildings close by, a woman screamed.

Ruan scanned the high-rise out the passenger window of his Tahoe. Most of the windows were blacked out. The entry to the apartment complex was outlined in brick and very quiet. Shadowed. The perfect place for a newborn vamp to sit and wait for its next unsuspecting, and very inebriated, meal. He wondered if that was the reason for the scream. If his team was too late to catch a bloodlusting vamp dragging his victim upstairs.

As the woman’s high-pitched wail broke Ruan’s concentration on Mirage, a male moaned loudly after her. The symphony of their screams faded away together. Just another midnight romp caught by Ruan’s supersonic hearing. No doubt every other vampire within a two-block radius heard them too.

Three loud bangs on his partially rolled-down window had Ruan spinning around slowly in his seat. He stared, unamused, into the rough and ready faces of his three trainees. “Real smooth, leech,” he said to the pale-faced trainee with a dumb-ass smile and a fist still on the window, “You nearly got yourself staked in the face.” The trainee’s smile faltered. Ruan released the door locks. “If you’re done playing games, get in.”

All three trainees slid into the back seat, slamming the door behind them. They were covered head to toe in black: black hoods, leather pants, Docs covering their feet. Waistbands full of throwing knives, guns and ammo gleamed in the streams of moonlight slanting through the cab. It was a beautiful sight. Ruan’d had enough of his feelings about Eve, his nightmares, and the bullshit about the scrolls to land him in a mental ward. His body ached to do something physical. He had a good feeling that tonight would grant him that wish.

He spun around in his seat, facing the back, measuring anticipation in his trainees’ faces.

“So what’s the plan?” Dante asked from the middle seat, his hands clasped into fists in front of him. The sucker looked larger than Ruan remembered. Maybe the warehouse lights had played tricks on Ruan’s eyes. His shoulders were broad—too wide to fit the two trainees in the back seat alongside him. They were cramped uncomfortably against either door, looking like sardines squeezed beside a slab of steel. Although his jaw was solid as a rock, and could probably break some knuckles if they connected with it squarely, his eyes were captivating. Yellow gold with a mysterious shine behind them. Like the sucker was keeping secrets.

Just the guy Ruan needed for a mission like this. He’d be tantalizing bait for the ladies inside . . . and the therians waiting outside. All Ruan had to do was send Dante in, have him hook up with a mundane, and slip around back. The rest of the trainees would get to observe some therians in action.

“Reconnaissance in battle is everything. It’s crucial to know your enemies inside and out,
before
they know you. Here.” He unzipped a black duffel on the front seat and took out three binoculars, handed them to the trainees, then continued. “Take a look through that alley and over to the next street. What do you see?”

They hunched over one another, peering through the binoculars. The shorter of the three, a thirty-something gal with a head of white pixie hair spoke up first. “A girl in a miniskirt and knee-high boots is puking behind that Dumpster on the right. Her friend is holding her hair.”

The trainee on the far side of the Tahoe piped up, leaning far over Dante. “Where? She bending this way?”

Dante elbowed him in the chest, putting him back in his seat, and returned his attention to the task at hand.

“Besides the girls,” Ruan said, cracking the back window. “What else do you notice?”

“A group of three guys and one girl just exited the back door of the club.” Dante’s voice was as thick as the plumes of midnight fog gathering in the street. “Except not all of them are mundanes. There’s a vamp in the group. Maybe two.”

“How do you know?” the pixie asked, taking in a breath of dank air flowing from the street into the cab. “I’m not picking up a scent at all.”

The trainee in back huffed. “He’s guessing.”

“He’s right.” Ruan stared him down. “Two vamps hanging out after hours with two mundanes doesn’t look promising. They’re up to no good and the therians surrounding this place can sense that a mile away. Now let’s find the therian before he finds them.”

The trainees scanned the street, searching left and right for the therian waiting to make a move. The instant those clubbing vamps dislodged their fangs, therians were bagging and tagging. Silence stretched into two minutes, then three, as the trainees sat at a loss.

“He’s there,” Ruan said, unbuckling his belt. “If you can’t find him from here, we’ve got to get closer.”

“But he’ll know we’re here,” Pixie said. “We definitely don’t look like we’re hitting the club. Aren’t you worried about giving away what we’re doing?”

Ignoring her rookie comments, Ruan grabbed his gun and a handful of throwing knives, slid them into the holster on his waist, and exited the Tahoe with the trainees slipping out behind him. He locked up and trudged across the street, bypassing the front entrance, and headed straight for the dark stretch between the two buildings. He stopped when he hit the shadows at the mouth of the alley.

Laughter echoed down the narrow corridor along with the sound of the drunken girl heaving again.

“Can you feel him?” Ruan asked, his senses on overdrive. Putrid wafts of sewer burned his nose along with mundane cologne that was so spicy it lingered on his tongue. Above all that, he could smell the therian’s natural scent, dark and musky. He could sense its movement, above them on the roof, then at the other end of the alley, hiding behind a cardboard box. The therian might’ve shifted into a cat. No, maybe a rat. Ruan picked up hints of canine, but no dog he’d ever seen could move that fast. Damn, his senses were way out of whack tonight. “He’s close and he knows we’re up to something.”

Ruan could feel its eyes on him. It was still. Zero movement.

Ruan almost laughed. It was waiting to see what he and his trainees were going to do with their own rowdy bunch, who were nearing its position behind the cardboard. The two vamps posing as mundanes still hadn’t done anything wrong, but that could change in a heartflicker.

Thin streaks of clouds hovering low in the sky started to break. Ruan looked up between the buildings, spotting tiny droplets of rain shimmering to white specks by the light of the partly-covered full moon.

He glanced back to the alley in time to see the club-hopping mix of four dodge between a row of Dumpsters on the right.

Ruan slid to the side fast, his trainees mirroring his tactic, until they were flush against Mirage’s brick wall, blending with the shadows of the nightclub’s small roof overhang.

“Idiots,” Ruan whispered. “No wonder therians think we’re nothing more than parasites. And they don’t even know he’s onto them.” He faced his team, eyeing them carefully. “We sit tight, wait until the therian makes his move, and see how many more he calls in. Nobody moves an inch until then.”

“Why don’t we act now?” Dante asked, flipping a blade around in his hand. “Before the vampires do something that’ll get ‘em staked?”

If the vamps sucked an ounce of blood from those mundanes, which made them guilty according to therian law, and Ruan stepped in to assist in the fight, he became the therian’s next target for unjustly intervening. Therians were judge, jury, and executioner when it came to breaking drinking laws.

Ruan shook his head. “We’re here for reconnaissance, remember? We’re here to study our enemies. I’m not about to step into a situation that could endanger our team. If those drunk vamps want to get staked for their own stupidity, it’s on them.”

Toe-curling screams filled the alley. A big-ass black dog, much larger than any dog Ruan had ever seen, darted from the cardboard box on the left side of the alley, toward the Dumpster on the right. Loud banging of bodies on metal followed. From the sound of things, the therian was beating the tar out of the vamps—introducing their faces to last night’s garbage.

Pixie took two steps forward, itching to get into the action. Ruan pressed a firm hand against her middle and shook his head. “It’s not our job to save them,” Ruan reminded. “Do you know how many therians are out here or are you letting adrenaline rush to your head? I’m guessing we’re outnumbered at least five to one on these streets. You do something stupid like standing up against a therian when he’s trying to enforce the Zero Kill law, and he’ll set his sights on you next.”

Pixie nodded, falling back against the wall behind him.

Ruan hissed as his attention returned to the alley. Five therians turned the far corner, running at a full sprint to join their canine buddy behind the Dumpster. One therian could’ve handled the situation just fine, but six? Against two vamps and two helpless mundanes? From the hard glare of their eyes and the serrated blades in their grasp, Ruan knew justice wasn’t on the docket for tonight; those shifting bastards were going for blood broke.

His instincts were spot-on. The power-hungry group of five swiveled the blades in their palms and held them high into the air as they disappeared behind the green heaps of metal. Dull thuds resonated in Ruan’s ears: the sound of heavy bodies falling to the concrete.

“Damn it.” No one, a bloodlusting vamp or otherwise, deserved to be ambushed by a wild pack of therians. Ruan acted fast, pointing to Twitch, who was a burly sucker with an eager trigger finger and shifty eyes. “You get yourselves to a shadowed position on this side of the

Dumpsters and wait for my mark. Go!”

Pixie and Twitch stepped into the middle of the alley, dodging from shadow to shadow, guns outstretched.

Ruan turned to Dante. “You stay here and block this exit to the club. Don’t let anyone out this door, you understand? Don’t let anything take you away from this post and watch the street behind you. A therian walks by this alley, you take care of business, all right?”

Dante nodded, withdrawing his blade.

“I’m going to the roof to drop in on their little party. We’re going to show these therians what it’s like to be ganged up on.”

Dante growled in excitement, his eyes narrowing to determined slits.

Ruan only made it a few strides before flashes of brilliant white light engulfed the area behind the Dumpsters. Like a strobe light gone haywire, the area flashed between light and dark so quickly, Pixie and Twitch looked disjointed. Like their movements were staccato and forced, instead of fluid, like the attack maneuvers Ruan had taught them over the last month.

What the hell was going on?
The whole place was lighting up like their Winter Solstice celebration.

His trainees eyed him intensely, their eyes full of surprise and wonder. They were as confused about the situation as he was. Unlike him, their surprise made them stupid. They rounded the Dumpster on their own command, knives at the ready.

The strobe lights died out. Darkness reigned. Pixie screamed.

Running full-speed with gun drawn, desperate to save his team and get the hell out of there, Ruan turned the corner of the Dumpster, squinted into the light, and stopped. A beast of a man—well over six feet tall, with short stubbly hair and skin pale as the moon—hovered over a pile of crumpled forms on the ground: two vamps and Pixie and Twitch. The light surrounded him like it came from him. It formed a perfect, pure circle of light.