AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Besides, he had been working too hard to accomplish his goals.
Kurling’s motive was obvious. As far as their bloodline was concerned, Xhex had earned her banishment to that lab twenty-plus years ago by associating with a vampire. That Blade wasahvengingher? Well, it proved he had a little too much of “the weakness” in him: Half-breeds were tolerated only if they declared their association with what was considered, in these underground environs, the better half of their mix.
To do something to benefit another? Unheard of, insymphaths. To defend the honor of ahalf-breed sibling who had chosen the lesser side of herself to be with? Impermissible.
And his bad choices were threatening the respect and station of his bloodline within the hierarchy of the Colony.
Perhaps his dear cousin had witnessed him coming and going, and had followed. Or maybe there had been some footprint in the sand of his obsession that had been an inadvertent tipoff.
The whys did not matter now.
Reaching forward, he pinched the little lens between his forefinger and thumb. Then he pulled the tiny camera out as if it were a splinter, the wiring coming along until it reached a terminal point of tension.
With a jerk, he dislodged all kinds of volumes as the wire went on a goose chase down the back of its shelf. The scattered thuds as the textbooks hit the bare wood floor were like a tap dancer with heavy feet and no rhythm, and he took satisfaction in the noise and the disruption of the order. Eventually the fragile optic nerve snapped, and he wound up the considerable tail, as well as the ocular head, and put the lot of it in the pocket of his robe.
Standing over the open-faced tomes, he regarded the texts. Unlike the decor and furnishings, the writings were new, going by the drawings of complex circuit systems, the details of computer motherboards, and the depictions of artificial limbs and joints.
Kurling had been smart not to come for Blade in the Colony. That was not a good hand to play in this game, for such intraspecies aggression came with a swift and sure censure from good King Rehvenge.
Indeed, the new regime looked down upon rabble-rousing, and penalties were severe.
Additionally, Blade was a powerful enemy. Outside, on the fringes of the human world—that was a better field of combat. More fun, too, for it added a necessary complication that no doubt Kurling had enjoyed surmounting with his little windup toys.
Alas, the subterfuge was over.
It was time to fight this war out in the open.
May the best male of the bloodline win, Blade thought as he strode back to his own quarters.
EIGHTEEN
ONE GOOD THINGabout it being mid-November in Caldwell? Sunset came early.
As Xhex re-formed downtown on the fringes of the financial district, the chill seeped through her leather jacket and tightened the flesh of her shoulders and arms. She ignored an involuntary shiver. She would adjust quick.
After John Matthew materialized next to her, they both scanned the environs. The alley they’d chosen was on the narrow side, and there was a buildup of trash running down both sides of the chute, like a river of the shit flowed on the regular and the periphery caught the loose chum to create a shore of soda bottles, plastic bags, and flyaway newspapers. Off in the distance, a deep-throated horn blasted on an overpass leading up to the closest of the two bridges, and off to the south, there was a squeal of brakes, as if the warning sound had triggered an accident in another part of the city.
John Matthew put his hand on her elbow. When she nodded in response, they walked forward.
The Black Dagger Brotherhood had been fighting a war for centuries with the Lessening Society, and the threat to the vampire species had migrated over the Atlantic Ocean to the New World with the race’s relocation from the Old Country back in the eighteen hundreds. Courtesy of the tragic continuity, as well as the inevitable passage of time, the Brothers had established facilities to support their efforts all over the urban field of conflict, from safe houses embedded in human neighborhoods to storage units and armories—and most recently, even a soft serve ice cream place.
That serviced Rhage, of course.
Emerging onto Market Street, a wind coming off the Hudson River carried a familiar stink that was muted by the thirty-degree temperature, and they hunkered into their jackets as they headed three blocks farther down, to a set of fire-station-worthy garage doors. The building the panels opened into was a nothing-special that was kept grungy on the exterior on purpose—and she and John Matthew were granted access at a side entry immediately.
Inside, things weren’t much warmer or fancier, but they didn’t have to be. The arching interior space was all raw concrete blocks, caged lights, and exposed electricals and duct work. Then again, the main attraction was inanimate. The floor spacewas almost completely taken up by a mobile surgical unit that had always reminded Xhex of the one fromStripes: The vehicle looked like an upscale RV, but inside, it had been retrofitted with everything Manny Manello or Doc Jane might need to save a fighter who’d found the wrong end of a gun. Dagger. Rocket launcher.
Vishous stepped out from around the front bumper. The Brother was strapped up under his own black leather jacket, his already powerful body padded by the bulk of the holsters under his armpits and the ammo belt around his waist. In the center of his chest, strapped handles down, were the deadly black daggers he used against the enemy with such skill and ferocity.
“Come on,” V said. “I’ll take you downstairs.”
As her mate nodded, Xhex had an out-of-body experience as they were led over to a steel door in the far corner. After V entered a passcode, the locking bolt retracted, and she caught a flash of copper as the Brother stood aside and she was the first to enter a well-lit concrete and steel stairway.
When they got to the lower level, V stepped forward again and did his business with another keypad. The corridor that was revealed was a short-and-sweet, and she did not have to ask which of the doors was the morgue’s.
It was the one that was a meat locker, all stainless steel once again, with a righteous latch and asystem of flexible aluminum cooling ducts around the jambs that made it look like an octopus was trying to eat the entrance like a piece of metal toast.
No passcode this time, and no talking. They all knew why they had come and the reason for this visit was nothing that lent itself to casual chatter like how good Fritz’s turkey dinner had been back at the mansion, or what anybody wanted to do for New Year’s, or whenDeadpool 3was coming out.
