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One has to pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while still alive. |
| [Introduction] ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
He who hunts monsters must take care Lest he thereby become a monster. Nietzsche |
Session #1 – The Fang .mistakes. Twenty-eight years old and Roman had blood running down the back of his throat. “No,” he tried to say. It didn’t matter. The fingers on the back of his neck tightened, and an arm was pressed harder against his mouth. Dark blood ran down his chin, staining his shirt and his skin. He spluttered, choked, tried to fight back. “No.” He ripped his head away, tried to spit the foul blood out onto the floor. “Drink,” the man said, and forced it down his throat.  The girl was young, blonde, and dead. She had a black velvet mask across her eyes and beads around her neck. She’d probably gotten them from Mardi Gras. They were the only things she was wearing besides the black pair of panties and the blood on her skin. Roman could smell the sharp, metallic scent, and he couldn’t stop the answering rumble of hunger. He hadn’t had a chance to feed yet and the beast inside him was getting restless. Reno had grabbed him as soon as he’d come in off the street to bring him this. He wasn’t under the delusion that the vampire was doing him any favors. They held each other in mutual disdain. “I put off calling the Undertakers,” Reno said. He smirked, and it was something smug and obnoxious. “Just for you, Sabinus.” Roman resisted the urge to snarl at him. His face stayed cold. “Who did this?” The question was unnecessary but he asked it anyway. He wanted to hear the man say her name. He wanted all trace of doubt removed before he did something he couldn’t take back. Still, the scent of French perfume and clove cigarettes lingered on the dead girl’s skin. Reno’s smile grew wider. He shrugged it off. “I can’t be sure. I wasn’t in the room. But I know she was a favorite of Giselle’s.” Roman couldn’t stop the low, animalistic growl this time. He didn’t move, but Reno took a small step back anyway, hands up in a placating gesture. It didn’t soothe his anger any, didn’t still the beast snapping at the bit inside his chest. That feral part of him whispered to just kill Reno and be done with it, but he kept himself still. Reno controlled the Bank, so he controlled the blood. He hated the new age. He hated politics. He used to be a soldier, used to be able to look his enemy in the eye from across a battlefield. Now he was nothing more than a thug for his father, cleaning up his messes. And apparently Giselle’s. There were rules now. There didn’t used to be. It used to be that the only thing the monsters had to remember was ‘don’t get caught.’ When Roman was human he remembered the word being nothing more than a horror story whispered on battlefields. They were the reason he’d put coins in the eyes of his dead, to guide them safely across the river to the afterlife and monsters from stealing their souls. Until the day his father had killed him and forced blood down his throat and turned him into one of the monsters. Now everyone knew about the vampires. And now there were rules. The Undertakers thought they enforced most of them. It was better to leave people their delusions. The truth was that vampires had their own justice. Someone had broken the law, and they would be punished for it. “How much?” Roman asked. Bitterness colored his voice. He bit down on his tongue to disguise it. Reno just smiled, and it was self-satisfied and smug. Roman wanted to rip it off his face. The song was about her. She sprawled naked on the sheets next to him, head resting in her chin as she watched him play. One eyebrow was quirked curiously and the corner of her lip pulled up in a crooked smile. Roman smiled back, taking it all in before he let his eyes drift shut. He focused on the sounds he was pulling from the violin, the music he drew from the strings with his fingertips. His hands were deft and light on the instrument, his bow dragging over the strings. The song was imperfect, but he thought it captured what he saw in her. She was sweet and whimsical and untamable. She was his goddess. When it was over he let the notes linger in the air, his eyes opening and focusing on hers. “That was beautiful,” she said. He smiled and his hand reached out, running his knuckles down her cheek. She turned her mouth to the side to kiss his fingers and then she rolled out of bed, tossing her hair over her naked shoulder. Her body was silver in the moonlight and he watched her with a hunger he thought would never die. “It will be perfect when you’ve gotten the faults out of it.” The smile on his face faltered. He licked his lips, trying to keep the frown off it. “The faults?” he asked. She answered him with laughter. “Of course. Didn’t you hear all the mistakes?” “Giselle,” Roman called. No one made eye contact when he entered her home. Not her human servants or the vampire guards that stood at the doorway. Sun would be rising soon, driving them underground and replaced by men with guns and earpieces. Her own personal secret agents, and some days he wondered if they knew what they protected. A vampire princess, second only to Gaius in their hierarchy. Her house was old, colonial, and decorated like she was still a French aristocrat. The lobby alone held portraits of water color flowers worth more than half of New Orleans. Every sharp edge was gilded in gold, a plush carpet covering the floor. Once he had adored her for it. Now he found it akin to makeup smeared across a bloating corpse. They were monsters. He didn’t see the point in pretending otherwise. He followed the stairs to the second floor and no one tried to stop him. She’d tried her little power games with him once, and it had gotten half her staff killed. If he was supposed to feel guilt for it, he didn’t any longer. The centuries had changed him, turned him into something ruined, something brutal and ruthless. Now people saw him and they stepped aside. He could hear her laughter echoing down the hallway, smell the familiar scent of her everywhere in this place. Her perfume, the faint scent of smoke and wine. Human pleasures that she still indulged in with a childlike glee. She was in her sitting room. He could hear music drifting out of it, and he could hear the inherent faults. Giselle was sprawled upon a red velvet sofa, one arm draped gracefully over the side and the other resting on the curve of her body. A shimmering gold dress hugged her form, locket hanging from around her neck and dark locks falling around her shoulders. She was perfect. An alabaster goddess that he’d once adored and prayed to and now he felt dark loathing just looking at her. Her prodigy sat at the piano. Her fingers danced across the keys, and Giselle just looked amused at her efforts. “Giselle,” Roman said. It finally drew her eyes towards him, dark and empty. “Roman.” She smiled but didn’t move from the sofa. Her gaze flicked up and down, lifting her eyebrow with quiet disdain. She looked like royalty. He looked like a thug. Once it would have bothered him. Not anymore. “What a pleasant surprise.” Gloria glanced over her shoulder but her fingers didn’t leave the piano. She’d been turned at seventeen and still looked like a child. She looked like a dead girl. All she was missing was the mask on her face. His gaze shifted back to Giselle and his voice was cold and hard as it ever was as he focused on her. “Did you kill a girl at the Blood Bank?” he demanded. Giselle’s eyes widened. She sat up on the sofa and pressed a hand to her chest. “Roman, what a terrible thing to say.” His lip curled, music drifting over head and all he could hear were the mistakes, the faults and flaws in it that made it scrape over his ears. He stalked across the room, fingers curling around Giselle’s arm and yanking her upright. A startled gasp left her lips and her hand fluttered towards her neck as his other hand curled around it. “Did you kill a girl at the Blood Bank? Answer me.” “Of course not,” she said. She was the portrait of wide eyed innocence and he didn’t believe it for a second. Her skin was warmer than normal. She’d fed recently. When he looked close he could see the trace of red in her iris. “I know the laws.” “Then you know the punishment for killing when you feed.” His voice lowered to a growl. “You know the cost of lying to me.” Something dark flickered through her gaze before it was gone, replaced with a smile. “Roman…” He cut the words off with the tightening of her fingers. She let out a quiet gasp but she still wasn’t afraid of him because he’d made him this way. The music died a moment after, a jangling of notes left hanging in the air. “It was me,” Gloria said into the stillness. Roman didn’t have to look at her. He saw the subtle shift of Giselle’s expression before he shook his head. “You’re lying.” Light footsteps crossed the floor. He felt the girl settle her hand on his arm and then she moved so that she was standing next to her maker. “It was me,” she said again. Her eyes were wide, needy with the urge to protect the monster that had made her. “I’m so, so sorry. I lost control and couldn’t stop. Please, just let her go. It wasn’t her.” Giselle studied him for a long moment before a smile fluttered across her lips. She tugged at the fingers around her throat to loosen them. “There,” she said. “You see? I told you it wasn’t me. This is all a misunderstanding. Now let me go.” A growl left his throat, an animalistic sound he couldn’t stop. “You’re lying,” he said again. “No,” Gloria insisted. “It’s the truth.” The beast inside him snarled with hatred and then he was releasing Giselle, his hand wrapping around Gloria’s neck instead. She let out a startled gasp as he dragged her towards the balcony, shoving the door open with his other hand. The air was heated with the approaching sunrise. He could feel it making his skin prickle and his eyes dry. “You take her sin then you’ll take her punishment,” he snapped. He shoved the girl against the balcony and pulled the silver chain from inside his coat. Gloves covered his hands but they hissed when he wrapped them around Gloria’s wrists. “Stop this Roman,” Giselle snapped. “It was a simple mistake. Just give her a warning and be done with this. Death is too much.” He finished chaining her together and then turned to face Giselle. She stood in the doorway, prim and unruffled despite the expression on her face. Annoyance, but no remorse, nothing but disgust that he had brought some ugliness into her house. He walked over in front of her, fingers coming out to grip her chin. “Admit what you’ve done,” he told her. “Admit your guilt.” For a moment he wondered if he was still talking about this moment, or about the list of sins she’d committed. He remembered her hands, her lips on his skin, and he remembered the smell of someone else all over her. He remembered her destroying him. Her head tilted up proudly. She bared her neck to him and the only two scars she bore. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” He snarled and turned back to Gloria. “Then she’ll burn for you,” he said. “Consider this your warning.” “What are you doing here?” Roman asked. He sat on the edge of his bed, sheet wrapped around his waist. He was still unsettled, lost from waking up a dead man. A thousand years and he still wasn’t used to it. Across the room Giselle smiled and walked towards him. Her legs swung up onto the bed, straddling his hips. Cool fingers brushed his jaw, tilting his head up towards her. Then her mouth was on his. She didn’t taste like he remembered. She tasted like someone else and what hurt more than that knowledge was that she didn’t try to hide it. She wanted him to know. The scent lingered on her skin, unfamiliar and smoky. A growl left his throat, as he shoved her roughly away from him. “What do you want?” he demanded. “What do you have left to give me?” she asked. Her hands didn’t leave his skin. Another snarl left his lips. “I have nothing left for you but hate.” He spat the words onto the floor and felt the truth of them darkening his heart. Familiar hands ran through his hair and she was here with him, but she wasn’t his. Not anymore. She laughed. One hand moved to grip his hair and she tilted his head up towards her. Her lips moved over his as she spoke. “Then I’ll take that.” Gloria screamed when the light hit her. The sound of it echoed down the streets and inside the room. It was tortured and agonized as her body began to wither and fry beneath the sun’s rays. Smoke rose off her skin as it flaked and burned, turning to ash right in front of them. The light stung at Roman’s eyes, but he didn’t look away. Next to him he could hear Giselle’s quiet, demure gasp. When he finally looked at her, there was nothing in her gaze. Her face made the appropriate expression of anguish, but it was a mask he’d learned to recognize, the same as the black velvet slipped over a dead girl’s eyes. He felt hatred well up in him before he pushed it down. He’d give her nothing else of himself. “It should be you,” he told her coldly. She gave a small sniffle and shook her head. Her arms were wrapped around her slim waist as she changed into the expression of hurt just as easily. “How can you say that Roman?” she asked. “I did nothing wrong. You heard her admit her sin.” He laughed and it was bitter and cruel. “Giselle, if you’d admitted guilt for once in your life than I would have let you both live.” Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second and then she was sneering. Her palm smacked across his cheek. “You’re a bastard,” she told him. The words were loud in the stillness that followed Gloria’s death. There were no more screams, no more sounds of cracking and burning as the sun ripped her body apart. She was gone, except for the pile of ash and a memory. He’d killed her for her mistress’s sins. He thought he should have felt guilt for that. He didn’t feel anything at all. Roman’s fingers settled on the neck of his violin. As soon as he started to move the bow across its strings he could hear the imperfections. Faults, mistakes, little flaws in his technique or the warp of the wood, it didn’t matter. It was damaged. It was something broken and he could hear the sound of it. He gritted his teeth and let his eyes slide shut in concentration. He tuned it without looking, listening to each string in succession. It didn’t matter. As soon as he started to play again he could hear every little flaw. The scrape of metal against metal, the discordant sounds that poured from beneath his fingertips. Once he’d heard music. Now he could only hear the wailing sound of something ruined. He pressed harder, fingers moving faster as if making the sounds louder could drown out all the faults. They didn’t. He snarled and then wrenched the instrument from his chin, tossing it on the bed next to him. There were bloody fingerprints left on its neck. |
.lullaby. Sam cuddled under the covers. Six years old and she still waited for her father every night to tuck her in. She didn't think she'd ever be able to sleep without his comforting voice at the end of the night. He came into her room and sat at the edge of her bed, pulling the covers up to tuck her in. In the other room, her brother Michael listened to his headphones to go to sleep. He smiled down and sang quietly, "The man in the moon looked out of the moon, looked out of the moon and said, 'tis time that, now I'm getting up, all children are in bed." It was a simple song. Sam hummed along with him as he repeated it and leaned down to kiss her forehead goodnight. "Night, Daddy," she told him. "Goodnight, Sam," he answered. It was the same every night until the day Sam's father disappeared. After that, she never sang the lullaby again. She wasn't much older than Bobby. Just a child. Her dark hair was braided in pigtails, a blue barrette on each. The playful ducks on her nightgown mirrored the wide-eyed expression on her face. Her eyes were distant and gone, glazed over and staring into the night, unseeing. She lay on her back and in her arms was a stuffed bear. It was new, judging from the cleanliness. The girl hadn't loved this bear, yet she clung to it like a lifeline. It hadn't done her much good. Two small, bloody holes were drilled into her neck. They were the only wounds. Whoever had done this had been careful with her. They'd made sure not to hurt her. It had probably been peaceful. Gentle. Sam wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. The girl had trusted whoever had done this. It was just pass midnight and the peak of the hour of fangs. That's what the Undertakers called it. It had been dark long enough for the vamps to stir, and still early enough that they weren't afraid of the rising sun. If things were to happen, it would happen now. Sam worked this shift and she'd seen all sorts of disturbing things. But it always hit a little close to home when there were children involved. It could have been Bobby taken from his bed. Sam kept that thought in the back of her mind while she worked. She had people she needed to protect. "Third one this month," Caleb, her partner, said beside her. They'd just finished roping off the area. They'd found the girl in a small alleyway between two apartment buildings. She'd been laid beneath a lamplight, making her easy to find. Whoever had done this hadn't wanted to hide her. They wanted her to be found. Sam watched as the detectives moved in. It was their job to solve this. Not Sam's. Sam's job was to block the place off, prevent people from coming in and not ask questions. She wasn't paid to find the killers. One day she might. But not today and she felt disdain and heartache when she watched them inspect the dead little girl. She wondered who her parents were and if they even knew she was missing yet. "They better catch this bastard," Sam said beneath her breath and shook her head. "Sick asshole." Sam shoved her uniform into her locker. The shift had ended and Sam could only think about the pretty dead little girl's eyes staring open towards the sky as she pulled her shoe laces tight. She wondered if the girl realized she was dying or if she just closed her eyes and went. "Want to grab a drink?" Caleb asked. She turned to glance at him, standing next to his locker. He pulled on a button-up shirt and then pulled his wedding ring from his locker, putting it back around his finger. He grinned up at her and sometimes Sam thought he was the only truly happy person left in the district. "Not tonight," she said, standing up and grabbing her bag from her locker, slamming it shut. "I've got stuff to do." Caleb snorted. "You're such a liar," he said, shaking his head. She just smiled warmly at him. "Just thought I'd offer. Rough case today, you know?" Sam nodded. "Go home to your wife, Rourke." He laughed, shutting his locker and turning around. He gave her a wave over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Sam." As soon as he was gone, the locker room seemed too empty. She hefted her bag higher on her shoulder and headed for the door. She wondered what the little girl's name was. Michael was in the hallway when she came out of the locker room. He leaned against the wall, chewing on a pencil. He was in plain clothes. It worried her sometimes that Michael dealt with vampires and other monsters first hand. It wasn't that she didn't trust her brother to be able to handle himself. It was that she knew what kind of a cruel world it was out there. "You know," she said as soon as he made eye contact with her. "People are going to start thinking you're a creeper if you keep waiting for people by the locker room." Michael smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes and she knew that couldn't mean anything good. Michael pushed himself off the wall with his shoulders and fell into step beside her as she headed towards the door to the parking structure where her busted up old car was waiting. "How are you doing, Sam?" Michael asked and just by the tone of his voice she could tell she wasn't going to like this conversation. "Peachy," she said, glancing over at him. "But you have that constipated look on your face that tells me my mood is about to change." Michael snorted, stopping and holding an arm out so she couldn't go further down the hall. She sighed and turned to face him, feeling that notion of apprehension creep over her as Michael looked up and down the hall, like he was afraid of someone overhearing. When he finally decided it was safe again, he turned to her and looked her square in the eye. "You were first on the scene with the dead girl today?" Sam tilted her chin up and she didn't like that her brother was asking about this. "Maybe. Why does it matter?" "Was there anyone there when you got there?" Michael asked. " Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, there was a fang with blood on his mouth that I let walk away because I didn't think he was suspicious. Of course there wasn't anyone fucking there. I know how to do my fucking job." "I didn't say you didn't," Michael replied, his voice calm. "This one was different." "Different how?" she asked. Michael leaned forward, his voice lowering. "We think the fang was the one who called it in." Sam frowned. "Why would he do that?" Michael shrugged. "Maybe he feels guilty, wants to get caught?" "Or maybe he's playing a game with you," Sam said. "Maybe he just likes watching you squirm." Michael smirked. "Maybe," he said. Then he leaned forward and kissed Sam's forehead. She sighed, hating it when he did that because it made her feel like a child. But she had to admit that it made the day seem less worse to know that Michael was there and working on putting this feral fang away. He'd been a father figure to her and Bobby. Ever since their father had disappeared. "Make sure Bobby does his homework." "Yeah, okay," Sam said, pulling away from her brother and heading to her car again. "Hey, Sam," Michael called. She stopped to glance over her shoulder at him. "If you need to talk about today..." Sam snorted. "I don't," she said. "What's another dead girl on the streets? This is New Orleans." She turned back around and she didn't hear her brother respond. She wasn't sure she wanted to. They lived in a grungy apartment in a poorer district of the city. It was a two bedroom apartment. Sam took one bedroom and Bobby took the other. Michael slept on the pullout couch every night. It was all they could afford. Undertakers didn't make a big salary and their parents had left them in debt. Sam tried not to hold a grudge against them for that. She wished she could give Bobby something better than this. But the kid never seemed to complain. Bobby sat at the table, cutting out cardboard and paper to make a diorama for school. Sam sat on the couch with a bottle of beer in her hand, watching their small television as the news came on. The story about the little girl was all over the news. The reporters were calling the killings the work of the "Lullaby Killer." Sam snorted at the name. A fang that targeted young children was something straight out of people's nightmares. A picture of the girl came up on the screen and Sam chewed her lip because in the picture, the girl was playing on a playground with her brothers. The picture faded to the girl's parents, talking about how they wanted the killer to come forward and turn themselves in or for people with information to please contact the Undertakers so this monster wouldn't strike again. They were tearful and devastated and Sam chugged back her beer because she remember what that felt like. "Sam?" Bobby called from the table. She turned to look at her little brother, pushing the news cast to the back of her mind. "Yeah, bratkin?" "Are you okay?" he asked. She smiled. Her brothers seemed to be able to pick out her moods better than anyone else could. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said. "Rough day at work, you know?" Bobby nodded like he did know. "Is it because of that girl?" "Yeah," she sighed, looking back towards the television. "Do you think Michael will catch him?" Bobby asked, his voice lowering slightly. Sam nodded, watching the pictures of the little girl flashing over the screen again. "Yeah, I do," she said honestly. |
.fake. It was scotch, twenty year, single malt Glenlivet. Roman drank it because he could almost taste it. Food didn’t have a flavor anymore, not to someone dead, but liquors he could almost get a hint of it. It was spicy and sweet when it hit his tongue, like chocolate and cinnamon syrup. It almost let him pretend to still be human. He was faking it. Roman sprawled on the sofa with a dull look on his face. One arm stretched across the back of it, the other holding a glass half full of liquor he couldn’t taste. He was broad with lean muscle and he looked like one of the ancient deities Gaius liked to pretend they were. It was a lie. He looked like a man and dressed like a man and underneath all of that was a beast always straining to get out. Noise radiated up from the bar below him. Flashing lights and loud music echoed off the walls, mingling with too loud laughter and the steady hum of voices. He listened with only half an ear, sitting comfortably above them in a private lounge. This place was his and nothing went on here that he wasn’t aware of. Sometimes he thought he spent more time here than at home. He heard the door open and close. “Roman,” Hannibal said. He didn’t bother with titles because he knew his maker disdained them. Hannibal was the only vampire he’d ever made, and he still wore his death scar across his face like a badge. Roman didn’t look up right away. He swirled his drink in his glass and gazed down into the crowd. It seemed frantic to him. Every motion seemed desperate and striving for immortality that they would never have. The fevered grasping at each other, the drowning in alcohol that he couldn’t taste, it all reeked of need that he couldn’t feel anymore. He’d been dead for over a thousand years and heartless ever since Giselle had ripped it out of his chest. His humanity was all but gone. He looked at them, and saw corpses, men and women that were going to be dead in forty or fifty years. It was a blink of an eye to him, and no matter how much he and his kind tried to pretend they were still human, that time had long since passed. Their lives mattered less and less to him. They were pawns in a war he was fighting with no hope of winning. Gaius wanted to turn them into kings. Roman wondered what the point was. He missed the simplicity of it. He missed meeting his enemy on the battlefield and carving through their flesh with his blade. He hated the games that vampire’s played. He hated the subtlety, the lies and the shadows. He hated that he had to smile at his enemy and pretend they were his friends while he passed money under the table to try and hide Giselle’s sins. “Roman,” Hannibal said. His voice was low and insistent. It finally drew his gaze towards the scarred vampire and he studied him for a moment. He was younger than Roman, but just as vicious. “Sydney’s here.” He nodded his head before looking away again. “Let him in.” The vampire sauntered in as soon as the door was open. Red hair was spiked up into a mohawk, piercings lining his ears and through his lower lip. A smile was constantly on his face, and it widened when he saw the bottle of scotch. “This any good?” he asked. He didn’t wait for answer. He tilted his head to the side and then took a swig of it like he was kicking back a bottle of beer. Roman snorted and chose to be amused instead of annoyed. “What are you doing here?” Sydney hesitated and Roman’s mood darkened. He knew what that meant, and he knew he wasn’t going to like it. He took another sip of his scotch and let it roll across his tongue. It wasn’t blood and it didn’t do anything for him except feed his lies. “Your pops pulled me off the street,” he said. Roman cast him a glance and he was scrubbing his hand through his hair nervously. “Oh? And why’s that?” he asked. “There’s another dead kid.” Sydney laughed and then flopped down in the armchair next to him. His feet kicked out on a dark wooden table and his head rolled back to look down into the bar. Below them people were dancing and writing and drinking together. He saw Sydney’s smile widen because he was still young enough to remember what a heartbeat felt like. Roman didn’t. “I doubt my father cares about a few dead children,” Roman said. He wondered if he still did. “Man, I don’t know,” Sydney said. He shrugged his shoulders, rolling his head to the side. He licked his lips and he was still nervous, because most people were around him. “He ah, he wants you to go take a look though. Make sure it’s not one of ours doing it.” Roman’s face darkened. His gaze focused on the scotch he could barely taste and he just felt disgust. “Of course he does.” They had to fake it after all. They had to pretend they were the better kind of monsters. The boy’s name was Joshua Powell. He was found just outside the French quarter, the same way as the other children. His hands rested peacefully over his stomach. He still wore his Lego Batman pajamas, his brown hair smoothed back out of his eyes by someone else’s hand. His eyes were open as he stared up at the night sky. Two precise, bloody holes marred his neck and that was the only sign he was dead. It was a particular brand of obscene. Roman had seen terrible things, women and children raped and murdered, but this was a different kind of awful. It wasn’t a random act of violence. It had been meticulously executed and savored. Roman knew all that from the television. By the time he got there, they already had the body in a black bag. Flashing lights cordoned off the alleyway, police and undertakers trying to keep back the small crowd. He knew the moment the parents arrived because the wail that Joshua’s mother let out was louder than the sirens still echoing off the walls. He could see her on the other side of the alley, collapsing to her knees in tears while her husband tried to hold her up. The undertakers weren’t aware of his presence at first. He slipped through the crowd on the other end and acted like he belonged. He didn’t, and he had no particular urge to be here. He was here because he’d been ordered to. The smell of blood was faint, but distinct. He picked that up first, followed by the lingering scent of death. “Hey! Who the hell are you? You’re not supposed to be here,” someone called. He heard the footsteps behind him before he felt a hand closing around his arm. He was moving before the man could get a grip on him, twisting his wrist and shoving him towards the wall. He let out a sharp breath of air when his face met the bricks, and Roman was barely trying. “And who are you to tell me where I’m supposed to be?” he asked. There was cruel amusement in the words. “Let him go, Sabinus,” Officer Moss said. Roman smirked when he heard his voice and then slowly relaxed his fingers. Immediately the undertaker was turning, reaching for the gun at his side. Roman took a step back, holding his hands up with a lingering smirk. “It’s alright,” Moss told the man. “I’ll handle him. Just go make sure no one else gets through.” “He’s a Fang,” the undertaker said. He was still hesitating, gaze locked on Roman. Then it shifted towards Moss, fingers tightening on his gun. “What if he’s the one we’ve been looking for?” Roman smiled at him. “Then you’d already be dead.” Moss sighed and then stepped forward to grasp the man’s shoulder. “Go,” he said. “I’ll handle it.” The officer licked his lips and then replaced his weapon. He gave Moss a sloppy salute and a “yes, sir,” before moving back towards the yellow line of tape. There was a prickle between his shoulders that said he was still being watched closely. “He’s right you know. You’re not supposed to be here,” Officer Moss said. “Not the brightest thing you’ve ever done.” Roman smirked and didn’t look over at him. He’d been aware of his movements, probably just as the man was aware of his. He wore a crisp black uniform that was startling to look a little rumpled as the night wore on. They all were. There was a woman across from him in a similar black uniform and for a moment he caught her gaze. He flashed her a smile before focusing on the crime scene. The flashing lights reflected off the wall, blue and red patterns dancing across the brick surface. There were white lines on the ground where the boy had been found, a tiny body outlined in chalk. He looked down at it expressionlessly. “Just passing through,” Roman said. Moss snorted and then shifted in front of him to block his view. “Is that so?” he asked. Roman didn’t answer. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked calmly back at the man. After a moment his voice lowered. They weren’t friends, but Roman didn’t hate him. Moss was a smart man, one who usually knew how to step around his kind. “Then go around.” Roman gave a low laugh, nodding his head at the small square of space behind him. The shadows seemed thicker there. It was probably a trick of the light. “Have you caught the one doing this?” he asked. The man’s face darkened and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Not yet,” he said. “But you’re not making yourself look good.” Roman sneered at him in response. “I don’t kill children,” he snapped. “At least not that cleanly.” Moss shook his head, something like disgust on his features. He took a breath and then his voice lowered so that no one close by could hear them. “Come on Roman,” he said, nodding his head behind him. “Since when does Gaius Sabinus care about dead kids?” Roman snorted in response. “He doesn’t.” His lip curled when he spoke, baring his fangs. “Only whether or not it’s one of ours.” Moss’s face darkened and he glanced away, looking over his shoulder at the crime scene. “And? Is it?” Roman studied him for a moment before another quiet chuckle left his lips. It lacked amusement. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed and meant it as anything that wasn’t bitter or cruel. He focused on the scene left behind, the sights and scents that lingered after the dead were gone. Most of the physical evidence had already been bagged, but it wouldn’t have helped much. He could smell the vampire that had been here. It was distant, faded, covered by the scent of human bodies that had come and gone, but it still lingered. He wasn’t ancient. Maybe old, but probably not older than the city itself. His gaze shifted back to Moss. He flashed him a wicked smile. “No one I know.” Moss snorted and then ran a hand over his mouth. “Sure. Of course not,” he said, nodding his head and looking at the ground. His shoes were looking as worn out as the man wearing them. “Would you tell me if it was?” Roman just laughed and it was just as fake and mean as he was. “Good luck with your investigation, Officer Moss.” “You could help you know,” the man called after him. “You’ve got my card if you find out anything.” Roman didn’t look over his shoulder. “You assume I care.” There were dead kids all over the television. They ran a report on Joshua Powell, showed footage from his childhood before they replayed scenes of the other three kids. He’d been eight years old. He was going to be an astronaut. His parents didn’t beg for the lullaby killer to come forward. The father said that he hoped the cops found the bastard who’d killed his son and that they strung him out in the sun to burn. Roman watched the report with a dull look on his face and a glass of scotch in his hand. When the tumbler was empty he threw it against the wall and let it shatter. |
.bitter. Sam sat at the edge of the bed, the sheets wrapped around her waist and nothing else covering her. The window was open and she could care less if anyone could see inside. It was early, the sun just rising and she let it fall across her skin, lighting her in pale golden hues and warmth. Her hair fell about her shoulders, messy and tussled from the previous night. Michael had the night off, which meant she could do what she wanted. Doing what she wanted meant she was sitting in Trent's bed, looking out at the view of the cityscape as he slept behind her. He wasn't her boyfriend and she didn't ever expect that to change. He was gorgeous, but there wasn't a whole lot going on upstairs. He worked an office job downtown which Sam was sure he only had because his boss was a woman and no woman in her right mind would turn Trent away. Even if he couldn't alphabetize the files. It was just fun watching him try. Her phone sat on the end table next to her. She'd missed a call from Caleb. She'd check it later. If it was an emergency, he would have texted also. But there was just one missed call. Trent stirred behind her. He groaned and his fingers played across her lower back, settling on her hip. "Hey," Trent mumbled. Sam didn't respond. She lifted her chin and closed her eyes against the warmth of the sun. Somewhere out there, a monster was walking around with four kids' blood in his belly. And that was just one monster. There were countless others and some days she thought she should be terrified of that knowledge. Terrified that if they wanted to, really, truly wanted to, they could be the ones in charge. But there were too many disputes between the houses of vampires. Too many other monsters. They'd never be powerful enough if they were busy fighting each other for power. Trent rolled over and his lips pressed into the small of her back. She sneered, but he couldn't see her face. She didn't want tenderness from him. "Maybe we could do something today," Trent said. A snort left her lips and then she was standing up, letting the sheets fall to the wayside as she grabbed her clothes and started pulling them on. "I have to work," she said dryly, not bothering to look back at him. Trent scoffed, propping himself up on one arm as he watched her. "Why do you always run away in the morning?" "It's not running away," she told him as she pulled her jeans on. Finally, she turned to eye him. "I told you what this was when we first met." Trent smirked. "A booty call." Sam smirked back at him, holding her hand out. "Exactly," she said. "Which means we don't do stuff other than..." she trailed off, waving her hand about. "Booty," Trent finished. "You're so smart," Sam said with a nasty grin on her face. Trent just shook his head and he was either too stupid to be hurt or was just as cold and detached from this as she was. She didn't do relationships. She stayed cold and detached because that's how people survived these days. That's how she survived. Trent rolled over and put his hands behind his head. Sam sucked in a breath because, damn, was he good looking. "What happens when you're eighty and still making booty calls? Think you'll regret it then?" Something cold passed across Sam's face and she stared at him for a moment. There was something nasty in his voice, but she wasn't sure he knew it was there or not. Maybe he was just feeling hurt and if that was the case, then she needed to call this off now before he got too attached and too hard to get rid of. The words struck deep and she just smirked when he looked over at her for an answer. "No, I won't regret it," she told him, pulling her purse off the chair and heading towards the door. "You can't regret it when you don't plan on growing old." She paused in the doorway and he just shook his head. "I'll call you," she told him. She probably wouldn't. Michael stood at the edge of the doorway. HIs suit looked rumpled and un-ironed. His face was passive, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes that Sam didn't miss. She sat on her bed, cross-legged with a pair of headphones on. She saw Michael's mouth move as he said something to her, but she pretended like she didn't. He sighed and came across the room. He pulled the headphones off and she gave him a scathing look, one that any sixteen year old would give their sibling. "Why aren't you dressed?" Michael asked. He wasn't mad. He was concerned and that made it all the worse. Sam shrugged and tried to pull the headphones back on. "Because I'm not going," she told her brother. Michael's hand came out to stop the headphones from going over her ears again. She huffed and tilted her head to the side to look at him. "I'm not," she told him. "It would mean a lot to me if you went," Michael tried and she almost broke down and got dressed at the tone of his voice. Almost. "What's the point," she snapped bitterly. "We're burying an empty box. There's not a body inside." Michael's face fell for a moment before he nodded his head, turning so he sat on the edge of her bed with his back to her. She watched him for a second and she thought she should regret the words, but she didn't. Maybe she regretted saying them to Michael because none of this was his fault. None of this was any of their fault. "Mom might be there," Michael's voice was soft, hushed, like he was afraid of the words or their consequences. Sam's grip tightened around the blanket, as though she could wring the hatred right out of the material. "She's not my mom," she grit out. "She stopped being that when she went fang." "You can't hate her forever," he said, one last plea. "No," Sam agreed. "Just until I die." "Nolan wants to see you in his office," Caleb said. Sam glanced up from the newspaper she'd been reading to look at her partner. She half expected him to be joking, but there was a serious look on his face that didn't really belong. Not everyone got called into Nolan's office. He was a big wig in the Undertakers and he was next in line in case anything happened to the Chief. He was a quiet man, stuck to himself inside his office. But when he spoke, you listened. When he gave a command, you obeyed. It was well know that Nolan could pull strings when he wanted to. He had a lot of connections, inside and out of the Undertakers. "What for?" she asked as Caleb sat down on the bench beside her. He shrugged, starting to pull off his tennis shoes to get dressed in his uniform. "Dunno," he said, then turned a cheeky grin towards her. "Maybe you're getting a raise." "Or a new partner," she said and laughed at the mock look of hurt that flashed across Caleb's face. "That cuts me deep," he said. Sam just shook her head and stood up, giving Caleb's shoulder a squeeze as she moved pass him and towards Nolan's office. The door was always closed and the blinds were always drawn. Half the time Sam passed by this office, she never knew if Nolan was inside or if he was off gallivanting around the city. She wondered if that was the point. Knocking lightly on the door, she heard a beckoning, "come in," from inside and twisted the handle so the door opened slightly. She peeked inside and the man behind the desk glanced up to look at her before his head rose and he motioned for her to come in. "Officer Moss," he said. "Come in, please." Sam closed the door quietly behind her, going to stand in front of Nolan's desk with her hands behind her back, standing at attention. "Captain Byrd," she nodded her head. "You wanted to see me?" "Yes," Nolan said, closing a black ledger book in front of him and shoving it in a drawer. "Of course. Have a seat." She hesitated for a moment before pulling one of the chairs back and sitting down. Even in this relaxed state, she kept her back straight and her eyes on Nolan. She didn't know why she was here. She already felt herself preparing for the worse. Was she getting fired? Demoted? Had she done something wrong? A part of her thought maybe Michael had said something to Nolan about the Lullaby Killer case and maybe he'd asked to keep her away from it. If that was the case, she was going to beat the snot out of her older brother. "Officer Moss," Nolan said, the smile on his face warm. "May I call you Samantha?" Sam cringed at the name. She didn't like people using her full name. It was too girly. Too formal. And for some reason, she really didn't like it when Nolan said it. He was a slender man in a pressed and expensive suit. His golden hair was neatly kept and his eyes were soft, withdrawn and calm. His face was sharp and chiseled and she couldn't decide if he looked like an angel or the devil in disguise. She hadn't heard good things about him. "Sam," she said. Nolan smiled at her. "Sam," he repeated. "How are things going on the Eastern patrol?" She shrugged slightly. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Things are a little stirred up with the dead kids cropping up, but nothing unusual. Why?" "You say it so nonchalantly," Nolan observed, that smile still on his face. "It doesn't bother you that there's a child killer out there?" "Sure," she said. "But I'm sure the detectives are doing everything they can to catch him. Until then, patrol is there to rope off the crime scenes." Nolan leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers in front of him and just watched her for a moment. She frowned beneath the scrutiny, her hand rubbing nervously on her leg. She wasn't sure what he was looking for. "That's a separatist attitude," he said at last. "No," she answered. "It's a survivor's attitude. If I let every little thing about this job bother me, then I wouldn't sleep at night." Nolan snorted. "I like you, Sam," he said. "That's why I'm going to offer you a special assignment." She watched as he pulled a folder out of his desk and slid it across from her. She reached for the folder and was surprised when his hand landed on top of hers, pinning it there. She stiffened at the touch. His face was suddenly darker, more menacing. It slipped away easily as he said, "This is assignment is between you and I, understood? You're not to discuss it with anyone." Sam frowned. "Okay," she said. "I mean it," he said sternly. "You cannot speak of this to Officer Rourke or Officer Moss. No one." "What do I say when they ask?" Nolan let go of her hand, leaning back in his chair again to regard her. "You're smart. I'm sure you can come up with something." Sam crinkled her nose and pulled the envelope into her lap. She doubted anything she told Caleb or Michael would go over. They wouldn't believe her. Both of them could tell when she was lying and as she flipped open the folder, she wondered if Nolan knew what a shitty liar she really was. It was an undercover assignment. She almost laughed at the thought of herself undercover. Glancing up from the folder, she gave him a funny look. "Is this a joke?" she asked. "No, it's not a joke," Nolan said and the smile slipped from her face. "I need someone who can get me information. Someone on the inside. Someone who is pretty and knows how to use it to get what she wants." Sam wasn't sure whether to be offended or take it as a compliment. She glanced back down at the folder. "But the blood bank...they don't talk for free in there." Nolan nodded. "Then give them what they want." Sam met Nolan's eyes for a long moment and then licked her lips, pushing the folder closed. She placed it on his desk and shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir," she told him. "I can't do this." Nolan didn't move to take the folder back. Instead he said, "How is your brother enjoying his detective position?" The unsaid threat didn't slip pass her and she gave a small, incredulous laugh, turning to look out the window. She didn't like this. She didn't like going into the lions den and she sure as shit didn't like going in without any backup. She could hold her own in a fight, but these were vampires and junkies. She made it a habit of staying away from places like this. This whole ordeal left a bitter taste in her mouth and she turned to give a stone cold glare to Nolan. "When do I start?" |
.puzzle. Roman’s eyes opened into darkness. He lay on his stomach with his sheets pulled up to his waist. They were in the same place they’d been when he’d gone to bed early in the morning. He didn’t toss and turn. He didn’t dream. He was a vampire. When he went to sleep it was the sleep of a dead thing, because that’s all he was. Even after a thousand years it took him a moment to adjust. There was no heartbeat in his chest, no breath moving out of his lungs. Some days he wondered why he ever woke back up at all. He didn’t have to see the sun set to know it was gone. He could feel it, the same way he did when it rose. The cooling of his skin, the fading pressure as it disappeared over the horizon. He could stay awake through the day if he wanted, but it would weaken him. The right side of the bed was empty and cold. His hand stretched across the sheets, feeling the chill seep through his skin. Then he dismissed it, rolling to his feet and sauntering across the darkened room. There had been three windows in the master bedroom when he’d bought the place, now they were all shuttered and curtained off. His door was reinforced with steel and only meant to be opened from the inside. He wasn’t Giselle. He didn’t trust human guards. He didn’t trust much of anyone. There was a missed call on his phone. It was from Gaius, demanding his presence tonight. He wondered what his father wanted, knowing even while he did it was nothing he was going to like. He avoided dealing with him. That was no secret to either of them. Grateful. That’s what Gaius said. He should be grateful that Gaius had turned him from a man into a god. He should be grateful that his first act when he’d opened his eyes as a dead man was to kill his wife and child. He’d drained her dry and left her body on the stones to cool. Didn’t matter that he hadn’t loved her, didn’t matter that she’d hated him for never being there. Didn’t matter that her son probably wasn’t his. He’d been bound to protect them and his father had made him destroy that vow. His room let out immediately into the study, bookshelves lining the wall and a small bar at the far end. A television hung on the wall, a loose collection of chairs and sofas scattered throughout the place. Moonlight was just beginning to come through the window. It illuminated the half finished chess game. He paused next to it for a moment, gaze sweeping over the board. His father controlled the white pieces. He was going to win, Roman could already tell. He was the strategist. The one who always had a plan, always looking to try and figure out where his opponent was going to move next. He claimed it was no challenge to play Roman because he was predictable. He tried to destroy his opposition a piece at a time until there was nothing standing between him and the King. Studying the board, he wondered if his father wasn’t right. He snorted and then moved a knight and knocked over one of his father’s pawns. The blood bank was always busy this time of night. It was underground, a series of lounges and private rooms that catered to all manner of vampire and junkie. It was frequently subjected to inspections by the undertakers, but all the humans were here willingly and as of yet there was no law prohibiting what they did. Roman didn’t particularly care for the place, but for the moment accepted it as a necessary evil. Which made Reno a necessary evil. He stood just inside the main lounge, a large, circular room with rounded booths along the wall. In the corner he could see Sydney sprawled across one of the couches, his fangs buried in the neck of a girl with black and red hair. In the center was a bar for the humans, the ones that liked to be coy or maybe the ones who were just scared to be here, to admit they needed this. Magnolia slid up next to him. He didn’t acknowledge her at first, mostly because he was sure it would annoy her. She was Reno’s left hand, the angel on his shoulder. Cage was the devil on the right. He usually won out. “You here alone?” she asked. He chuckled and finally glanced over at her. Her hair was cut short and choppy, dyed blue and swept across one eye. It hid the nasty scars that lingered upon her skin. He’d heard once they’d been left behind by wolves, others said by her maker. At the end of the day, he didn’t really care. “That sounds like an invitation, Magnolia,” he told her. Her lip curled in a sneer. “It’s not,” she spat. Her voice lowered and turned vicious as she leaned her head closer towards his. “Just wanted to make sure that fucking French whore of yours wasn’t going to leave behind anymore cold ones.” He smiled but it was cold and nasty. Then he stepped closer, hand hooking around her neck and dragging her ear towards his mouth. “She has been warned,” he snarled. “Now so have you. Don’t speak of Giselle that way to me ever again.” Magnolia’s hands came out and she shoved hard against his chest. He let her go but his darkened gaze followed her. “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em,” she said. The nasty sneer lingered on her face as she shoved past him. “Watch your step, Sabinus.” Normally Roman didn’t care who he fed from. He preferred women, but their names, their hair color, it didn’t matter. Sometimes he fucked them, when the blood lust was at its worst and the beast inside him clawing for more. They didn’t seem to care either. He was surprised if half of them remembered his name. Most of those who did stayed away from him. The regulars knew who he was. They called him unstable, violent and temperamental. He wasn’t sure if it was deserved, but he didn’t try to change that perception. He only took what he needed. If he was rough, it was because that’s what they wanted. If he was cruel, it was because that’s what had been made of him. He held no remorse for it. The scent of blood hung heavily in the air, feeding the hunger that gnawed away at him. It never went away, not completely. That beast was always there, craving the taste of it. He could ease the longing but it wouldn’t stop until he died for good. Grateful. It struck him as funny today. He was supposed to be grateful. His eyes roamed the lounge with a dull detachment, fangs itching to sink into human flesh. There was a girl at the bar watching him and he paused when he noticed her. There were scars lining her arms and her neck and he felt a small wave of disgust for her. Junkies served their purpose, but he couldn’t help the disdain he felt for them. They got off on the taste of death. “I told you to get the fuck away from me,” someone said. The woman’s voice drew his attention, an annoyed, sarcastic drawl that drew his gaze. “What part of that was confusing for you?” He glanced over his shoulder, focusing on the girl. She didn’t belong. That was his first thought. She leaned against the wall, posture stiff and aloof. Her arms were crossed over her chest, hand sticking close to her purse. If he had to guess, he’d say she probably had a silver knife waiting inside it. Her legs were a mile long, body slender. His gaze returned to her face, and he thought it was surprisingly petite and innocent for the dark look on it. Blaine leaned against the wall next to her, arm propped above her head and hand reaching for her waist. There was a smile on his lips, baring his fangs. “Come on baby,” he said. “We both know what you’re here for. Let me make you feel good.” A smile graced her lips in return, something mocking and cruel as she leaned close to him. Her voice was a low, nasty whisper. “Get. Bent.” Then she ducked under his arm, passing through the archway behind her. It led into a maze of hallways with private rooms and lounges. Something for everyone. That was the business model Reno had laid out and business was booming. Blaine glared after her before shaking his head. He moved towards the bar, smiling when he saw something he liked. Roman moved out into the hallway after her. Roman leaned his head down next to the girl’s. “You know what I find curious?” There was a small jerk of surprise, her head turning to focus her gaze on him. “Jesus,” she snapped. “Stalker much?” He smirked in dry amusement, the expression lingering as he shifted his gaze past her into the room. A girl sat on the couch across from them, smiling as Kelvin buried his fangs in her wrist. “You don’t like it here,” he said. The girl let out a scoff and he didn’t miss that she was keeping her eyes on him and a hand near her purse. “If I had to guess I’d say you don’t even like vampires.” A cruel sneer curled her lips. “Maybe I just don’t like you.” She turned, and Roman imagined she was going to try and walk away. His hand slid around her waist before she could, palm pressing flat against her stomach and yanking her back into his side. “Most people don’t,” he said. “That still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.” “It’s none of your fucking business now, is it Fang?” she spat. “Now let go of me.” “Scream if you want to. They won’t help you.” He chuckled, head lowering towards her neck. There was something familiar about the way she smelled, but it was so distant he couldn’t pin it down. Her scent was clean, not coated in death like most junkies, if that’s what she was. Somehow he doubted it. “It would be the best night of Reno’s life if I killed you.” She stiffened, her fingers grasping his to pull him off of her. If she was afraid of him then she was doing a good job of masking it. The scent was faint, masked by something like anger. “Wouldn’t that be bad for business?” she spat. “You don’t know much about vampire politics, do you?” he said. “Which again, begs the question of why you’re here.” She smiled and it was mocking and cruel. “Again, none of your fucking business.” Then she stomped on his foot and yanked out of his arms. He let her go with a slight wince because she had heels on and it had almost hurt. Immediately she was turning to face him, backing up to put space and distance between them. “Maybe not. But it is a puzzle to me. And I hate puzzles.” Then he jerked his head at the vampire behind her. “Kelvin,” he snapped. “Get out.” The vampire lifted his head to glare at him, blood still coating his fangs. He could smell it across the room, metallic and sharp, and it reminded him of his own hunger, still clawing at his stomach. For a moment his gaze shifted and he wondered what the girl next to him tasted like. Roman saw the moment Kelvin realized who was speaking to him and he smoothed the expression off his face, nodding his head and helping the human next to him to her feet. Once they were through the archway, Roman shut the door behind them. The girl watched the two of them retreat, leaving them alone in the small lounge with a dark look on her face. “Wow. If this is how you normally get girls then you must be a real playboy.” Her voice was a sarcastic, mocking drawl. Then she tilted her head to the side, tone subtly shifting. It was casual but there was a bite to the dig. “Or are little kids more your type?” He snorted out a laugh and lifted an eyebrow at her. “The lullaby killer?” When her expression didn’t change he shook his head, taking another step closer. His voice dropped and his head lowered towards her. “You think if I was, I’d just come out and tell you?” She shrugged her shoulders. “You strike me as kind of an arrogant prick. Figured it was worth a shot.” A smile hovered around his lips and then he shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you then. Children are too sweet for my tastes.” He flashed his fangs and didn’t bother to disguise his quick appraisal of her. “I prefer women. And normally they beg me for it.” Her face darkened. “I don’t beg,” she told him. “So it looks like you’re shit out of luck.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll see.” He took a step towards her and she immediately took a step back, keeping distance between them. The look on her face was of loathing and distaste. It was nothing he wasn’t used to seeing. “Are you going to make me guess?” he asked. He started to circle her, eyes following the slope of her neck, the dark hair that fell down her back. “You can do what you want,” she snapped. “I’m leaving.” As soon as she said the words she was headed for the door, hand closing around the handle. His hand slapped against the wood next to her head, holding it shut and earning an annoyed hiss from her. “You’re curious,” he guessed. “You’ve never felt the bite and there’s a little part of you dying to know what it feels like.” She snorted. “‘Dying.’ That’s cute. Real cute.” Then she shook her head, turning her back to rest the door and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s strike one, fang. Three strikes and I’m out.” He frowned, pursing his lips as he studied her. “You’re looking for someone then,” he said. She batted her eyelashes at him. “Aren’t we all?” She was mocking him. It made his frown darken this time. His fingers drummed against the door behind her. He didn’t believe she was a junkie. He doubted she’d even been bit before and curiosity gnawed at him. He caught the scent of her skin again and he felt hunger lance through him. “A friend or family member. You’re staging an intervention.” She outright laughed at that one. “Swing, batta batta, swing,” she told him. “Care to use your last guess, or can I just go now?” His tongue ran over his teeth and for a minute her gaze went to the fangs, back stiffening as it did. Her hand moved near her purse again. “Ah,” he said abruptly. “I see. You’re here looking for him. The killer. Are you looking for some vigilante justice?” A scoff left her lips and she rolled her eyes, but she didn’t answer him. “Well, this has been fun, but it’s time for me to go.” “You’re not going to find him, you know,” Roman told her. “Not here anyway.” He shrugged and turned his back on her, moving towards the abandoned couch and slumping back into it. He laced his fingers behind his head, a confident smile on his lips. Her back was still to him but she hadn’t moved, hand on the doorknob. She was stiff and still. “Are you telling me you could find him?” she asked after a moment. Her head finally turned, glaring at him over her shoulder. He shrugged his shoulders. “I could,” he said. “If I cared to.” She turned around, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the door. He thought again that the dark look didn’t fit a face that innocent. There was something contradictory about her he found curious. “What’s your name?” she snapped. “Roman,” he told her. “And you?” There was a moment of hesitation. “Sam.” Then her head tilted to the side. Her knuckles were white around her purse, her lips a thin line and her body didn’t match the relaxed posture she was trying to adopt. “And how much would it take to get you to care, Roman?” She spat his name out like a curse, like something hateful. “I can pay you, but not much.” He snorted and shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “And here you were doing so good, Sam.” He laughed and it was cold and cruel. “What makes you think there’s anything you can offer me that will make me care?” Her face was cold. She gritted her teeth and then said the magic words. “What about blood?” “Better. It’s always about the blood.” Then he tilted his head to the side. “Do you want me to fuck you?” A sharp, surprised cough left her at that, eyes widening as she stared at him. He tried not to laugh, but he enjoyed the shock written on her face. It was the reason he’d said it so bluntly. “What?” she spluttered. He smiled and it was a wicked thing. “Do you want me to fuck you?” “No,” she spat. “Hell no.” Roman shrugged like it didn’t matter to him either way. It didn’t, but he thought with her he would have preferred it if she’d said yes. She was beautiful and contradictory. For a moment he wondered why this mattered to her so much to sell herself to a vampire, but he doubted she’d tell him and doubted he cared. “Then I’ll take from the wrist. It’s less intimate that way.” She sneered at him. “Like how a hooker doesn’t kiss on the mouth?” He smirked at the analogy. He wondered which one of them was the whore. “Something like that,” he said. She was still on the other side of the room and he nodded his head to the couch next to him. “Come here.” She didn’t move. If anything she grew stiffer, arms across her chest. “I didn’t say we had a deal yet. How do I know I can trust you?” Roman just shrugged and smiled coldly at her. “You don’t.” |
.twisted. Sam didn’t move from her place at the door. Her hand hovered closely over her purse, the knife inside small comfort for the game she was playing with this vampire. She tried to pretend she wasn’t out of her element and wasn’t nervous as hell. She could hold her own in a battle of wits, but she was normally up against a locker room full of Undertakers, not a vampire who probably lived for god knows how long. She didn’t know what she was getting into, offering blood first thing. She didn’t want to, but she didn’t doubt that Nolan would use his rank and power to not only make her life a living hell, but Michael’s as well. She couldn’t risk Michael. He already had a lot on his shoulders. So she was stuck here in this twisted match of push and shove. She wanted to win, but she thought maybe they’d just have to compromise. His name was Roman. She made a mental note to look him up after this was over with. She wondered if he’d even have a record. The way he’d pushed the other vampire out of the room with just a simple command told her that he wasn’t just some pawn in this family feud. She didn’t know whose house he belonged to or anything more than that, but she would when she got back to the station. Caleb would know. It was sort of his hobby to know all the players. She just hoped she was right and Roman was on file somewhere. She studied him for a long time. He was right, she couldn’t trust him. But what choice did she have? This was the best lead she’d run into since she’d walked into this blood bank. He seemed powerful and cruel, but if she was being honest with herself, he looked better than some of the other vampires down here. Some of them just looked as cracked out as the junkies they fed on. But not Roman. He was cool, collected. There was a calmness masked across his face, but she doubted it. He’d shown flashes of anger and rage and when he snarled, she believed him. She believed he was a monster. Albeit, a good looking one. “Okay,” she said and Roman tipped his head back, a satisfied smirk on his face. “But if we’re going to do this, I need to lay a few ground rules.” Roman snorted, amused. “What makes you think I’ll follow your rules?” he asked. “You’re at a blood bank when you could be out in the streets,” she said. “You already follow the rules. And because I’ll gut you if you try anything,” she pointed her finger at him and Roman just lifted an eyebrow, looking like he didn’t believe her for a second. She didn’t think she believed herself. If he wanted to, he could take whatever he wanted from her. He was right when he said that no one would care if she screamed down here. She almost turned around and left. “What are your rules?” Roman asked, leaning back on the couch, looking relaxed and confident. Sam ducked her chin a little, taking a nervous step forward. “The deal is information for blood. If I don’t get what I want, you don’t get what you want.” Roman shrugged. “You’re not my only snack,” he said. “I know,” she told him. “But you must want me for something, or you wouldn’t have followed me in here.” She watched as he studied her face and she couldn’t tell if he was amused or getting fed up with her. She continued before she could find out. “You’ll take from the wrist and only the wrist. You try to take from anywhere else and I’ll shove a blade in your ear.” A laugh escaped his throat. It was a cruel and twisted thing. “That’s very graphic.” “I’m a graphic kind of girl,” she snapped back at him. “Last rule. If you try anything, and I mean anything – wrong information, copping a feel, selling me out – you’re through. Through in this city, through in this blood bank – you’re ended.” The smile that spread across Roman’s face was awful. He leaned forward, fangs barred and Sam held her chin up a little higher in defiance of him. “Do you know who I am?” he asked calmly. “No,” she told him. “And I don’t care. Do we have a deal?” Roman’s eyes roamed over her for a moment before settling back on her face. He sat quietly before he reached over to pat the couch next to him again. “Come here,” he told her once more. She grit her teeth and then complied. Sam woke up screaming. In her dream, her mother had been chasing her. But it wasn’t really her mother. It was the monster that wore her face. It was the monster she’d become when she’d sold her soul to the devil for immortality and had abandoned her children and husband behind. Her father was in her room in a moment, setting down on the bed next to her and pulling her into his arms. She was crying and the lingering memories of the dream kept her cheeks wet. It passed after a moment and then she was just buried into her father’s side. “Dad?” Michael asked from the doorway. Down the hall, Bobby was crying. “Go check on your brother,” her father said. She could imagine the warm smile he’d given her brother. Michael nodded and went into the other room to calm down the baby. They sat in quiet for a long time. The sheets were twisted around her legs the same way the dream had twisted the memory of her mother into something awful and terrifying. “You okay, Sammy?” her father whispered and he was the only one allowed to call her that. She nodded her head, but didn’t say anything or look up at him. “Was it your Mom again?” he asked. “I miss her,” she whispered. Her Dad just held her tighter, his chin resting atop her head. She’d remember this moment long after she could remember his face. “Me too.” The fangs slipped into the tender part of her delicate wrist. He had one hand holding hers, the other around her elbow, keeping her arm near his face as he bit. The pinch of the bite was over almost as soon as she felt it, instead replaced with a euphoric feeling that spread beneath her skin. She wondered if this was what getting bit like a snake felt like, only without the pain. She could feel the drug of the bite tingling in her veins. Sam’s head fell back against the back of the couch and she bit her lip, head rolling to the side so she could look at him. She was surprised to see his eyes on her face, watching her. A red twinge of color appeared around his irises and they grew dark and deadly. She thought she should be scared, but the bite was numbing. She felt nothing but euphoria, bliss and nonchalance. When Roman finally pulled back, crimson ringed his mouth and he licked it away, bringing a hand up to wipe away a drop from the corner of his lips. He placed her arm back down in her lap she put her hand over the two holes in her wrist. She was marked now. She figured she’d get a bracelet or wrist band to hide it. The euphoria slowly faded away now that his fangs weren’t in her skin and she immediately felt regret and shame that she’d have to hide this mark. Anger burned up in her chest and it was aimed towards Nolan and now towards Roman. She didn’t want to be here. Pushing herself to an upright position on the couch, she ran a hand across her face. Roman sat quietly next to her, but she could feel the gaze the lingered on her skin and she thought she hated him for it. She hated that he had any control over her and she knew she’d have to keep coming back. He was her ticket in. He was the information she needed to secure her place in Nolan’s good graces. “Did you get what you wanted?” Roman asked and Sam felt her stomach churn at the smugness in his voice. She plastered a fake smile on her lips and turned to look at him. “Make it worthwhile, Fang,” she spat. “I want to know who is killing those kids.” “And what do you plan on doing with that information?” he asked, leaning forward so his face was close to hers. She thought about pushing herself to her feet, but she doubted she’d stay standing for long. She needed a few minutes to get her strength back. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped. Roman nodded. “You think you can take on a vampire like that? I tell you who it is and you go and get yourself killed.” Sam snorted, rubbing at her wrist still. “Don’t pretend you’re worried.” She pushed herself to her feet anyhow, swaying a little, but managing to turn back around and grin at him. “I’m not your only snack.” |
.power. Roman watched her for another moment, arms stretched across the back of the couch and a thoughtful look on his face. It would be easy to blow her off now that he’d fed. Maybe she’d try and bury a knife in his head like she’d promised, but he doubted it. They both knew it wouldn’t end well for her. She was swaying on her feet, drunk off the bite, and he was freshly fed and a thousand years old. He held all the power here, and if he didn’t want to tell her anything there was nothing she could do to force it from him. He ran his tongue along his teeth, still able to taste her blood in his mouth. There was something spicy and sweet underneath the metallic tang and it reminded him of scotch. Maybe that’s why he had played this game with her in the first place. She was a curiosity to him, and he wasn’t prone to curiosity about anything. Besides, it didn’t cost him anything to play along. “Alright,” he called after a long moment. “Your killer is one of Carmilla’s.” She was already halfway across the room, footsteps uneven and clumsy, but she paused at the door. She frowned, turning around with a dark look on her face. “You already know who it is,” she said. He didn’t miss the subtle accusation in the words. For a moment he just smiled at her, watching her expression darken as she considered the possibility that he’d been playing her. Then he sighed and leaned forward. “No,” he told her, shaking his head. “But I know who it’s not. It’s not someone from the blood bank and it’s not someone from Sabinus house. That leaves you Bathory house or a rogue. And a rogue wouldn’t be so precise.” She sneered at him, arms crossing over her chest. “How do you know it’s not one of those other two?” His grin was wicked as he looked back at her. “It’s almost cute how ignorant you are,” he said. She didn’t look amused, but she didn’t look scared either. She kept the hostility and anger around her like a second skin. He imagined if she thought she could win, she’d already be pulling a knife on him. It made him smile wider. “We had a deal,” she snapped. “We did,” he agreed. “Which has nothing to do with explaining vampire politics to you. Unless you’d like to make another deal?” “Because you’ve really held up your end of the first one.” She spat the words out on the ground and then turned to go. He laughed and then he was next to her before her hand had even settled on the door handle. He curled his fingers around hers, holding the door shut and enjoying the small hiss of surprise at the show of speed. This close to her he could still smell her skin, her blood thrumming away underneath her veins. “Fine,” he said. “This one’s on the house then.” She frowned suspiciously and glanced up at him. Her knuckles were white around the door handle but she didn’t pull back, even with hi s cold fingers covering hers. “Why?” she demanded. “You haven’t been particularly helpful so far.” He smirked and lowered his mouth towards her ear. “Because you taste like scotch. It makes me sentimental.” “Alright,” she said, her voice still harsh and angry. “Then explain it to me. Tell me what you know.” “New Orleans has three major houses. The blood banks have been in the city longer than the other two and will probably be here after. Whoever controls the blood controls the city. At the moment, that would be Reno.” He flashed her a grin that was closer to a snarl. He was sure it didn’t hide his disdain, but he didn’t see a reason to. “Your killer wouldn’t be anyone from the banks because there’s no profit in it. Dead kids don’t usually drive people down here. Excluding you of course.” He chuckled when she finally yanked her hand back, wrapping it around her stomach. Her shoulder leaned against the door and he thought it was to hide how unsteady she still was. He hadn’t taken much, but it didn’t take much to get drunk off the bite. Especially the first time. The bleeding had mostly stopped but he could still smell it staining her skin. “So what about the other two?” He laughed dryly. “The other two are old and powerful houses that were fighting in Europe and continue to fight here. It isn’t Sabinus, because I would know. Which makes it Bathory.” “You would know,” she repeated, mockingly. “Gee, I wonder which house you belong to. You don’t think you’re biased?” His lip curled into a snarl, for some reason the words stirring his anger. “I would know,” he told her in a sharp growl. “And it would already be handled.” He glared at her, holding her gaze for a long moment as she glared back. But she didn’t say anything more and he tried to smooth out his expression into the cool mask. “Besides. It’s more Carmilla’s style anyway.” “Right. Well, you’ve been a big help,” she drawled sarcastically. “Guess I’ll just have to go ask her.” He barked out a laugh, still blocking the door. “Don’t be stupid. She’ll eat you.” Sam rolled her eyes and he leaned his head in closer. “I don’t mean your blood. I mean all of you. She’d devour every piece of you.” Then he smirked. “I’ll ask her. Wasn’t that our deal?” She studied him with narrowed eyes and he saw suspicion looking back at him. “It was. But know that I don’t trust you, fang.” It made him laugh. “Good,” he told her. “Don’t. It might even keep you alive.” She snarled wordlessly at him as he pulled the door open for her and she didn’t look at him again as she let herself out into the hallway. “Take care of yourself, Sam,” he told her. She didn’t look back. There were small pockets of vampires and humans along the side of it and the scent drew sharp gazes towards her as she passed. He kept his on her retreating form and wondered why he cared. He thought he already knew the answer. He was old. He was bitter and ruined. She was young. She was interesting and she tasted like scotch. It felt good. The power flowed through him and it felt like nothing he’d ever tasted before. He was a soldier, a legionary, and he’d always been strong and fast. This was different. This was a wave of it, something untamable and fierce. There was nothing in the world that could stop him. Not the hands pressing against his shoulders or the quiet whimpers moving past his ears. This was what it meant to be a god. It came from the warm wet liquid rushing down his throat. It tasted sharp, metallic, and familiar, but he couldn’t place it and didn’t bother examining his memory for it. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the rush it brought with it. “That’s enough,” someone said. He ignored them, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough, not until it was gone. He felt hands on his shoulders and he couldn’t stop the snarl that left his throat because they wanted this. They wanted to take it away from him and it was his. Something animalistic and primal roared to life in him, fueled by what was running down his throat and in his veins. He yanked away from the source of it, turning and hitting the man behind him with a hard backhanded blow. He was moving across the room before the other man had even hit the ground and he’d never imagined he could move that fast. Then his hands were fisting in the man’s armor, yanking him off the floor and slamming him against the wall. Red eyes looked down at him. The face was almost one he recognized, but it didn’t matter. Not until the man’s hand curled around his throat. “Respect your sire,” he growled. He felt himself letting the man go, his hands dropping from his armor. As soon as he did, something began to penetrate the fog in his mind. There was blood running down the back of his throat. He could still taste it and the monster inside of him crowed with glee. More of it stained his chin and his shirt and he looked down at it in confusion before he finally looked over his shoulder. There were two bodies lying on the ground. He recognized them with a dull detachment, something red clouding his vision. He licked his lips and he could still taste their blood on his lips. The source of his newfound strength, the cost of his power. His father’s hand squeezed his shoulder tightly. “This is what it means to be a god.” “Where have you been?” Gaius asked. Roman slumped in the chair across from his father’s desk. His sire stood at the window, moonlight making his skin glow pale silver. He didn’t turn around, hands clasped behind his back. “I was busy,” he said. He kicked his feet up on the edge of the desk. “Busy,” Gaius repeated. His voice was dangerously low. “I called you. You didn’t answer.” “That’s the meaning of busy,” Roman told him. There was a blur of motion and Roman was barely aware of the chair tipping backwards before his father had his fingers around his throat and slammed him against the wall. His teeth were bared in a wicked, animalistic snarl and there was rage etched across his features. “Do not test me, childe,” he spat. “I am in no mood for your ill humors tonight. Not after what you did to Giselle.” He felt a growl rising in his chest and he shoved back, knocking his father against the desk. “I cleaned up after her mess,” he snarled. “Anything else I did was under your authority. You entrusted me to enforce justice for your house, or did you forget?” Gaius was quiet for a moment before his face softened. “No,” he said. “I did not forget. But Roman… she loved Gloria.” Roman felt the familiar hate settle in his chest at that. His voice hardened, any amusement gone and replaced with the cold, bitter feeling that took its place. “Giselle doesn’t love anything or anyone,” he said. His father opened his mouth to argue but he was tired of hearing him pick Giselle first. “Now what did you want with me? I already told you, the child killer isn’t one of ours.” Gaius studied him for a long moment before he let out a sigh. He righted the fallen chair and then moved back to the other side of his desk. “A council meeting will be taking place within the next two days,” he said. “I expect you to be there.” Roman’s lip curled but his father’s back was to him. “Of course,” he said dryly. “Who else will watch your back?” “We need a firmer hold in the blood bank,” Gaius said. The words were more to himself than to Roman but after a moment he shook his head, looking back towards his child. “Blood is power. Power is godhood. Don’t ever forget it.” Roman snorted and thought he hated his father. “I never forget it.” |
.lost. Sam was cursing as soon as she was out of the blood bank. She'd pulled her light jean jacket in closer and then reached for the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. It was a bad habit that she'd been trying to break for a while. She'd managed to go three weeks without smoking. She didn't chastise herself for tonight being the night she broke down. Things were too stressful not to smoke. She flicked open the lighter and puffed smoke into her lungs, jamming the pack back into her pocket. She didn't know what to think of Roman. She knew full well that if he hadn't wanted to help her, he wouldn't have. He could have fed and kicked her out. A part of her wondered why he didn't. But a part of her just wanted to believe that she held something over him. He'd said she reminded him of scotch. She wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. She didn't like being reduced to a taste. It was dark out as she walked to her car. The moon was bright and half full overhead. Not a cloud in the sky and it let in the starlight. It was nights like these she was grateful for some light. If things got too dark, the night got dangerous. Sam couldn't shake the knowledge that she'd just walked out of hostile territory. She wondered how long Nolan wanted her on this assignment and what he would do with the information she got him. Pulling her keys from her purse, she approached her beat up old car and started unlocking the door. "Now you're an interesting little morsel," a voice said behind her. She jumped, not expecting it and she thought that she should have here, in the heart of vampire territory. She turned quickly, hand going for her purse in case she needed her knife. The monster standing before her looked like a freak straight out of the circus. He had piercings throughout his face. Tattoos covered almost every inch of his skin except his face. His hair was long and stringy, pale in the faint moonlight. She could see the gleam of fangs from where she stood. Plucking the cigarette from her lips, she blew the smoke out and appraised the vampire carefully. "Sorry, you're not my type," she snapped at him. The vampire laughed and before Sam knew it, he was at her side. She gasped as one of his hands grabbed her wrist hovering over her knife while the other held her hand with the cigarette. He dragged her hand to his lips, puffed on her cigarette and blew the smoke in her face. She tried to pull away from him, but his grip was strong and bruising on her wrists. "You're new to the bank, aren't you?" the vampire asked, giving her a cocky grin. Sam glared at him. "So?" she snarled. The vampire gave a small laugh. "So, you need to know your place," he said. "A pretty little morsel like you walks into the blood bank and you go to bed with a Sabinus?" He clucked his tongue. "Bathory house owns the blood bank." Sam frowned. "I thought Reno..." "Works for Bathory," the man insisted. "He's just reluctant to admit it. Reno knows where the power is. He knows who will watch his back when the world turns to shit. It's not Sabinus who will wind up on top." Sam shoved the vampire as hard as she could and she knew the only reason he stepped back was because he wanted to. "I'm not a part of your war," she said. "You'll become one," he said. "Roman Sabinus will learn who is in charge of the blood when his morsel only feeds Bathory house." A snarl curled Sam's lip up and she pointed a finger at him. "I'm not feeding you, ever. And I'm not a morsel. I'll do what the fuck I want, when the fuck I want and with who the fuck I want." The vampire snorted and shook his head. "Why are the pretty ones always so mouthy?" He shrugged and turned around. "We'll see what you decide to do, morsel. A lost little sheep like you out here in the woods is bound to attract the attention of the wolves. Be a shame to see something happen to you out here." Sam rolled her eyes. "If I was scared of you and your kind, I'd stay home." "Get along, little sheep." She felt lost. She felt alone and cornered and way out of her element. As soon as the name popped up on the screen of her computer, Sam felt her stomach drop. Roman Sabinus. She'd already established that he was of the Sabinus house, but she hadn't know he was the damn second in command. He was like a god damned prince of the city. There were very few pictures of him and the file was brief at best, detailing what little they knew about him. He was like a ghost. It made him deadly. Running her hands over her face, she stared at the one picture of him that wasn't blurry or too far away. She'd been sitting next to the devil's right hand man. If Nolan wasn't impressed with that, she doubted he'd be impressed with anything. She was basically in. Not only did she have a contact within the vampire community, but it was a Sabinus. A knight. She could probably learn whatever she wanted from him. She bet he'd talk all he could about Bathory house and after her run in with that freak, she would be glad to take them on. Flipping the screen over to a different file, she began looking through the pictures of known Bathory vampires. It didn't take her long to spot the one that had confronted her at her car. She could see a stark contrast between the houses. Sabinus were all beautiful, nicely dressed, luxurious. Bathory on the other hand looked straight out of horror flick. They were gothic and crazed looking. Some of them mutilated and all of the female vampires had scars across their lips. Except for the leader, Carmilla, herself. The vampire who'd confronted her was named Splice. She doubted it was his real name, but it was all they had on file. He was crazy and ridiculous. She wondered if he was the Lullaby Killer. Roman had seemed sure it wasn't a Sabinus or a member of the Reno's crew. She didn't know why she believed him, but she did. It didn't mean she trusted him or liked him. "Why are you looking at pictures of fangs?" Caleb's voice startled her and she nearly jumped out of her seat. She tried to close the files on the computer, but the damage was done. Caleb saw what he needed to see. "No reason," she told him. Caleb snorted. "You are the worse liar," he told her and she glared at him. If only he could have seen her with Roman tonight. He'd be singing a different tune. Pulling up a chair to sit next to her, Caleb flipped it backwards and straddled it, sighing as he appraised her. She kept her wrist tucked near her stomach so he wouldn't see. She was ashamed of it. She didn't want Caleb to know and she didn't know what to tell him if he asked. "So," Caleb started. "New assignment that you can't tell your partner about." "Yep," she said and glanced at the clock. "Aren't you supposed to be home?" Caleb shook his head. "No, I'm supposed to be with my partner," he said and she didn't miss the bitterness in his voice. "Is it dangerous?" "I can't tell you anything," she told him and she did feel sorry for that. Caleb didn't deserve to be deceived. Shaking his head again, Caleb bit his lip and watched her face. "Look, I just find it weird that Nolan Byrd calls a patrol officer into his office to give them an assignment. That's what we have deep ops and detectives for. We're supposed to ride around in our car, listen to music and bust a few skulls if necessary." "Is that how you define this job?" Sam quipped. It didn't deter Caleb. "All I'm saying is that this looks fishy. And if it's dangerous, I want to know and if you need back up, I'll come." Sam's smile faltered at the sincerity of the offer. Caleb was a good guy. Too bad he was married with a kid, but still a good guy. She nodded, looking down at her hands and she knew she had to give him something. "I can't tell you," she said, but continued quickly with, "But if I ever need backup, I will come to you." Caleb seemed to contemplate that for a moment before he finally nodded. "I guess I'll have to live with that." Sam nodded. "Yeah." "I'm just..." Caleb trailed off, floundering for words. "I guess I'm a little lost on how to help you." "You're not lost," she said and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. "Support and backup and you're right where you need to be." Caleb was quiet for a moment before he burst out laughing. "You're so deep, Moss." |
.empire. Roman could just see the moon outside the window. It hung like a smile against the clouds, a wicked grin that he couldn’t imitate. He hated council meetings. They were everything he didn’t like about the new age. They were all lies, and fake smiles, pretending they wouldn’t have eagerly ripped each other’s throats out if the opportunity presented itself. It had happened before, but the backlash had been brutal and violent from the rest of the vampire nation. Twenty years ago it had resulted in an entire house being ripped apart. No one liked the idea of any one house taking too much power for themselves. Now it was all a game. A game of chess that no one was winning because the board kept changing and the rules didn’t stay the same. Gaius claimed he could see the end game. He claimed that when it was over he would be last man standing upon an empire. Roman didn’t believe it, but he kept following his father. He’d been a soldier all his life. He was too old to change now. Instead he sat kicked back in an uncomfortable chair waiting for this to be over. There were nine of them sitting around the circular table, three from each house. The door was shut tightly and outside of it there were more vampires waiting in an uncomfortable lobby until the council was done. Last time they’d been on the verge of a fist fight. He’d had to drag Sydney forcibly out of the room. He thought it would be infinitely more interesting than sitting in here. “The mayor’s already taken the bill to the governor,” Giselle said airily. Roman tried to remember what she was talking about. She sat next to him, her dress low cut and revealing as always. “If he gets him to sign off on it than it’s as good as done.” “Hardly,” Dorian shot back, his lip curling derisively. “It’ll never pass in the senate. They wouldn’t be that stupid.” The vampire sat across the table to the immediate right of Carmilla. For a moment Roman’s gaze focused on her, wondering idly if she wasn’t the Lullaby Killer. He doubted it. He would have recognized her scent if it was. Besides, she didn’t get out much. She kept herself locked away in her estate just outside the city. That way no one could hear the screams of her victims. Unnaturally red hair was piled high on her head, eyes lined thickly in black. Her black and white dress was cut in Victorian fashion, complete with the little red heart next to her eye. She was always done up like a perfect doll, complete with dead black eyes. “No?” Gaius prompted. “Why not? Segregation isn’t a new concept. If they fear us enough, this will be the next step.” Dorian’s lip curled, leaning forward across the table. “Then maybe now’s the time that we take control of them.” Reno chuckled, slumping back in his seat with his fingers laced behind his head. It knocked his black top hat forward to cover his eyes. Magnolia and Cage sat on either side of him, her dressed in leather pants and him with a vest over his tee shirt. All three of them looked like fighters and rock stars. “Come on now, let’s not be hasty. Business has been booming.” Gaius sighed, fingers laced together in front of his face as he ignored Reno. “If we make a move, the first thing they’ll do is call in the military and the FBI and anyone else with a gun. They’ll come into our houses at noon and drag us out into the sun to let us burn.” Roman snorted and hid his laugh, because he knew his father better than that. He fully believed that humans should be brought to heel. He just wanted it done in his name with his house in control. Until then they were both stuck playing these stupid games with house Bathory and everyone in the room knew it. “Why Gaius,” Carmilla drawled. Her accent was thick, her words slow and calculating. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were afraid of the mortals.” Gaius fixated his cool gaze across the table. “Good thing that you do, Carmilla.” “The point is, we can’t allow this to pass,” Giselle said. “I won’t be… ‘relocated’ into some dingy little apartment.” There was disgust etched across her features. Cage snorted in response and then leaned forward, the tattoo on his cheekbone looking wicked in the light. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” he hissed. “Not all of us are rich little princesses.” She looked dully back at him. “No? Then what makes you think you matter?” “I’m bored,” Lilia whined. She stood up in her chair next to Carmilla, pulling herself onto the arm of it with light footsteps. She’d been turned too young, just above the acceptable age. It was one of the few rules everyone followed. No turning children. She’d probably been fifteen when she was turned, but she still looked thirteen, except for the scars across her lips. “Let’s do something fun.” Gaius’s eyes narrowed as he focused on her. She was dressed like a gothic Lolita, with ripped stockings and smeared makeup. “This isn’t a playground, child,” he said. There was a dangerous edge to his voice that Roman had heard enough times directed at him. “No.” She put her hands on her hips, curling her lip in a sneer. “Just a board room for a bunch of stodgy old vampires to bicker.” “The times are changing rapidly,” Gaius shot back. “We must be prepared for that.” Reno chuckled, kicking back in his seat until he could throw his heels up on the table. His boots landed with a heavy thump, and Gaius’s annoyed gaze shifted to them. Roman was torn between wanting to laugh and sharing the old man’s annoyance. He wanted an empire. This was what they were left with. “You must be prepared for that,” he corrected. “I think we’re in pretty good shape.” “Need I remind you that should we leave and another house take our place, there is no guarantee that they wouldn’t simply slaughter you and take what you have for their own.” Gaius kept his voice calm. “You are not an official house, not of strong bloodlines.” Carmilla smiled indulgently from across the table. “We would not allow that to happen.” “And what would be the price of your protection? Would you still allow the banks their autonomy or would you demand that they service only you and your…” Gaius paused and he offered her a smile, his voice dripping with disdain. His gaze shifted to Lilia, the girl sitting on the edge of the table swinging her feet in a bored and childlike manner. “Subjects?” Reno snorted and then his chair fell to the floor with a bang. “Got news you,” he said, grinning nastily. “I don’t need either of you. Either of you get the bright fucking idea to try and take what’s ours, you lose all of it. I’ll bring down the whole bank if I have to.” Gaius sighed and shook his head. “I am merely suggesting that you have as much to lose in this changing age as we do.” Reno shrugged his shoulders again. “Don’t see why. I’m just a business man.” Giselle smiled, toying with the locket around her neck. “Not just a business man,” she said coyly. Roman’s face darkened and he looked away, his gaze moving out the window again. He heard Reno laugh and he reminded himself that who and what she did wasn’t any of her business anymore. “Which reminds me, I was wondering if you could help us establish a bank in the French quarter.” Roman tuned out. He laced his fingers behind his head and kept staring out the window, listening with half an ear while they went over the same things again and again. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, circling the same drain. Bill proposals from the government about feeding programs that got Reno pissed off, veiled threats that got Gaius pissed off. Lilia whining that she was bored, Magnolia yelling at her to be quiet, Giselle laughing quietly at how uncivilized and crass everyone in the world was compared to her. It was old news. Nothing changed here and likely wouldn’t. This was all for show, a game that Roman disliked playing. The only time it would change was when Gaius or Carmilla got sick of it and moved in for a kill. Then he imagined he would be there, holding the blade. All to build Gaius his empire. “Lilia,” Roman said. The girl was halfway down the hallway but paused when she heard Roman call her name. She looked over her shoulder back at him, gaze finding him still standing on the staircase. Behind him he could hear yelling from Sydney and smell the faint tang of blood. “Roman,” she purred. Carmilla and her entourage didn’t pause, heading down the next flight of stairs ahead of her. Lilia didn’t seem scared. She turned and moved back towards him, her footsteps light like a dancers. Sharp white scars crisscrossed her lips, because her mistress didn’t like the idea of anything being more beautiful than her. “I think that’s the first I’ve heard you talk all night.” He smirked and stayed where he was, letting her come to him. “Everyone else was doing enough talking. What’s one more voice?” She laughed and stopped just in front of him, her gaze flicking up and down. He fought the urge to sneer at her because it felt subtly wrong, being appraised by what looked like a teenage girl. She was centuries old, but the appearance was there. There were more than enough other men who slavered over the chance for something like her. A teenage girl that was legal. “True enough,” she said. “But I think this is the first time you’ve stopped to talk to me. Which is too bad.” She pouted, her hand coming out to brush his arm. She circled him slowly, barely coming up to his shoulder. Her hand followed, moving around his back and over his coat. She paused when she came around in front of him again, toying with the collar of his jacket. It made her giggle. “So, what can I do for you, Roman?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. He caught her wrist, tugging it away from him. “Your mistress,” he said. “Do her tastes run more towards children these days?” Lilia kept smiling for a moment, mock confusion flitting across her face. “What are you talking about?” she asked. The ignorance was faked and he knew it. Then she fluttered her lashes. “Oh! You mean the child killer, right? Hmm, no I don’t know about that.” His fingers tightened on her wrist and then he yanked her towards him. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice a low growl. She was stiff for a moment, eyes wide and childlike as she looked up at him. Then her face puckered, lip sticking out in a pout. “Asshole,” she spat. “Here I thought you were interested in me and instead you’re just poking around because of some stupid kids.” She hissed at him, poking him in the chest and sneering at him. “You should be more worried about yourself. Carmilla’s not going to put up with your father much longer.” Roman snorted and turned his back on her. “No,” he said over his shoulder. “I imagine the feeling is mutual.” Roman stood in the doorway to the balcony. He could feel the sun rising. His skin began to prickle, his eyes stinging as he watched the horizon line. The sky above was starting to turn gray, slowly being streaked through with pinks and yellows. Some days he missed the sunrise more than anything. He missed being something more like human. He missed not feeling the beast in his chest when it snarled and demanded blood. Other days he couldn’t have cared less. He was old, and he allowed himself these small self-indulgences, but he generally despised the self-loathing vampire. There was nothing he could do about it, so there was no point in whining and lamentation. Still. He thought when he died that’s how he wanted to go. He wanted to burn to death feeling the sun on his skin one more time. He leaned against the doorway, watching the slow and steady rise of it on the edge of the city. He pulled his phone from his pocket while he did and punched in the numbers on the business card he’d been given. He’d only used it once or twice before and always for his own gain. For a moment he hesitated, wondering why he was wasting his time with this. It was possible he was just bored. A thousand years old, and there were few things that interested him anymore. Few things that felt new or exciting. For the moment it amused him to play games with a human that tasted like scotch. That, and a deep loathing he felt for the Bathory vampires. If this fucked with one of them than he was happy to do it. The phone rang five times before a low, bleary voice answered. “Hello?” “Officer Moss,” Roman said. The sun was just peeking between the buildings. The warning on the back of his neck was blazing now, telling him to step back, but he just wanted one more moment even while his eyes stung and burned. “I’ve changed my mind. The next time you find a dead child, give me a call and I’ll see what I can do.” There was a long, quiet moment before he heard the man clearing his throat. “I’m hoping we don’t find anymore,” he said quietly. Roman let the comment slide because they both knew better. “Alright. What changed your mind though? Is it one of yours?” “No,” Roman said. He smirked and didn’t answer. “Goodnight Officer Moss.” |
.stormy. Sam woke to the sound of thunder. She blinked blearily against the faint light coming through her window. Rain pounded down heavily on the window and the fire escape outside her window, a metallic, lulling sound. Lightning flashed and she sighed because the storm was bad, but she still had a job to do. She hoped it passed by the time she needed to head out for the night. She couldn’t tell what time it was by just looking outside. The sky was gray and cloudy, darkened from the storm. Her eyes went to the clock on her nightstand and it was early in the afternoon. Bobby would be coming home from school soon and she’d have to get ready to go to work. She’d have to call Nolan and check in. A part of her was hesitant and reluctant to return to the blood bank. There was no guarantee that Roman would be there and she wasn’t sure she even wanted him to be. Sure, he’d followed through with his end of the bargain, but that was just once. She didn’t trust him. But the alternative was that she’d find another vampire who may not be willing to help. Who may take more than she was willing to give. It made her stomach churn and she realized what a predicament she’d gotten herself into. Caleb had guessed what she’d been up to. She’d made him promise not to tell her brother. Michael probably wouldn’t understand and he’d probably do something stupid that would jeopardize his position in the Undertakers. This city needed Undertakers like Michael. Just as much as Michael needed the Undertakers. Pushing herself up in her bed, she ran a hand over her face and made her way towards the bathroom. She could hear Michael out in the living room, cleaning up the place. She showered and got ready for the day before heading out to the living room and pausing in the doorway. Michael had started vacuuming. She licked her lips and glanced down at her wrist. She’d found a bracelet that was big enough to cover the marks Roman had left on her skin. She wondered how long she’d be able to hide it from her brother. “Morning, Sam,” Michael called over the vacuum cleaner, not evening turning around. She snorted. “Morning,” she responded and moved pass him into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal. She hopped up onto the counter, her legs swinging over the edge and watched him as he finished vacuuming, putting it away in the closet. As soon as he was done, he turned to come over to her. “How’s patrol going?” Michael asked and she paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth, glancing at his face for any sign that he knew something was amiss. She quickly composed herself and shrugged. “Same old, same old,” she said, eating a spoonful of her cereal to try and hide the lie as soon as it was off her tongue. Michael raised an eyebrow. “You sure?” he asked, trying to duck and catch her eye. She gave him a look and this just felt wrong. She’d always been open and truthful with her brother and she felt a burning anger swell up inside her towards Nolan for taking that away. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?” she asked, scoffing at him. “I can only listen to Rourke talk about football for so long before it starts to get old.” Michael smiled at her and nodded. “Rourke’s a good officer.” “Yeah, he’s alright,” she said and reached over to put her empty bowl in the sink. Straightening back up, she saw Michael’s eyes still glancing over her face. She plastered whatever fake smile she could onto her lips and brought her foot up to playfully push him away from her. “What? I don’t know what you want from me.” Michael shook his head, but a relaxed smile fell across his face and she tried not to sigh with relief at the sight of it. “Nothing. I just want to make sure everything’s okay with my baby sister.” She snorted at him as he turned to grab his jacket off the kitchen chair. “I have to go to work early. You’ll pick up Bobby from school?” “Yeah,” she told him. Michael turned to smile at her again. “You know that Lullaby Killer?” Michael asked. Sam licked her lips and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” she asked. “I think we’ll get him soon,” Michael said. He turned to leave without saying anything else and Sam watched as he closed the front door behind him. “Good,” she whispered to herself. The rain came down in heavy torrents against the windshield. Sam’s broken down windshield wipers weren’t doing her justice as she tried to maneuver down the empty streets. She hated the rain, but she especially hated it at night because the lights trying to shine through the blanket of rain on her windshield made the world just a blurry, fuzzy place. She had to pause every so often to make sure she was still on the road and not driving along the sidewalk. She was going to see Roman. The blood bank would probably be slow tonight with the storm raging out here. She hoped Roman was there. If he was, she was going to have to make him come up with a schedule so she wouldn’t have to guess and take the chance that some other vampire would feed from her. The storm was fierce outside the car and her nerves were starting to fray as she made it closer to the blood bank. She pawed blindly into the passenger seat for her cigarettes and grabbed the pack, pounding one out with one hand. She jammed it between her lips and grabbed for her lighter. She’d barely gotten the cigarette lit before a flash of something in the road had her slamming on the brakes. She gave a small yell, the cigarette slipping into her lap and she struggled to grab it before it set her on fire and avoid whatever was in the road at the same time. She managed to grab her cigarette at the same time she felt the front of her car bump into something. The car screeched to a stop, sliding a little on the slippery roads. She sat for a moment, just breathing. She wasn’t sure what had been in the road, but the way it had popped up towards her windshield and rolled off, she felt her stomach drop at the prospect of what, or who, it could have been. Growling, she kicked open the driver’s side door and climbed out. She pulled her coat around her, but even just a few seconds outside of the car, she was already soaked from the rain. She rounded the car and found the street to be empty. There was a sizeable dent in her front bumper and she frowned, looking along the side of the road for whatever she’d hit. The sides of the streets were completely empty. There was no sign of anything. Trying to brush her wet hair from her eyes, she grumbled in annoyance as she climbed back into her car, slamming the door shut and turning up the heat. She was soaked to the bone and she felt a shiver run up her spine. She closed her eyes for a moment. It was probably a dog. Or a deer, though they didn’t often come into the city like that. Whatever it was, it had probably run off. She glanced in the rearview mirror, frowning at the funny look her backseat had. The arm that snaked around her neck was unexpected. She let out a yell, still not used to vampires not having a reflection. She brought her hands up to try and pull the arm from around her neck, but the grip was tight, stronger than a mortal’s. Whoever had a hold of her rubbed his nose and chin against the side of her cheek. She tried to elbow him, but it didn’t work. “Hello, Officer Moss,” the voice said and she sucked in a breath because not only was this a vampire. It was a vampire that knew she was an undertaker. She swallowed thickly and tried to look behind her. The vampire moved out of her sight and she tried desperately to pull the arm from around her neck. “You don’t need to know who I am,” the vampire said. “I work for Nolan Byrd. I’m his eyes on this operation. You do what you’re supposed to, everything will be fine.” Sam swallowed thickly. “I don’t need someone to spy on me.” The vampire laughed. “Not spy. Keep in check. You’re not to favor one house over the other. I’m here to make sure that’s true. You step out of line, I take you out.” “Captain Byrd didn’t agree to that,” she argued. “He doesn’t have to.” |
.untouchable. The rain pounded against the windshield, falling from the sky in a steady torrent. Thunder rumbled through the sky, followed by crackling lightning that darted in bright forks over dark clouds. It had been storming all day, and probably would all night. For a moment Roman sat in the black sedan, the rumbling quietly. He never turned the radio on. He had no patience for music. Water slid down the glass around him and he stared out into it with a dull detachment. He was tired. It weighed on him heavily, something pressing across his shoulders like the dark clouds over his head. He felt it sinking into his bones, reminding him of how many years he’d lived and making him wonder how many more he had left. The hours had dulled the fleeting curiosity he’d felt playing games with a mortal named Sam and his patience dulled by the council. A bitter smirk played across his lips. The rain always made him maudlin. He climbed out of the car, unconcerned with the torrent that immediately soaked through his jacket and wet down his hair. He tipped his head back towards the sky, feeling the droplets strike his skin like cold, hard bullets before dripping off his chin. “Just tell me one thing,” he’d asked. His own voice, harsh and ragged. “Did you ever love me?” Rain couldn’t blind him to the look in her eyes, the soft hands on her face. It couldn’t deafen the quiet “no” that followed. He wasn’t bothered by the vampires that lingered outside the bank. He could see faint, wavering lights as eyes followed him from beneath the overhang, followed by the faint flashing of fangs. He didn’t find it intimidating. They knew better than to fuck with him. They wouldn’t touch him, no matter how many of them were Bathory and would probably love to see him bleeding out in the gutter alongside the trash and old cigarette butts. It would be the last thing they did with their miserable immortal lives. The rain had slowed business for the night, but there were still junkies in every corner and vampires welcoming them with sharp fangs. Roman scanned them with a distant expression. He had no idea if Sam would be here, or if she’d come here every night since that first. It didn’t matter to him much either way. If she was then he would feed, and if she wasn’t, there was always someone else. Familiar scents assailed him, blood and death soaked into the walls of this place. Enough people had walked in here that had never walked out again, and if he walked deep enough into this place he could find the vacant eyed junkies that used to be them. There might have been a point where that mattered to him, but the emotions had been crushed in him long ago. He made his way through the bank, glancing in the rooms he passed with little interest. The beast was hungry, clawing at his stomach for the taste of blood, and that was the only reason he was here. He despised this place and the people that came to it, including himself. He wondered if there was anything in the world left that he didn’t hate and it was almost funny that he didn’t have an answer. He heard the quiet struggle from the hallway, the shuffling of feet and the thump as a body hit the wall. Then he heard a familiar voice. “Get the fuck off me,” Sam hissed. He paused in the doorway, eyes lidded as he watched. Blaine was behind her, body pressing her hard against the wall and his hands wrapped around both wrists. She held her knife in one hand, purse on the floor and the contents of it spilled out across the carpet. Blaine clucked his tongue, mouth nuzzling her throat. “Now that’s not very nice, is it pet?” he asked. “I just want to make friends.” “You’re about to make friends with the wrong end of my knife you stupid fuck,” she snarled. She bucked in his grasp, foot stomping down on his instep as she tried to get herself free. Blaine cursed and then shoved his leg between hers, forcing her harder against the wall. She cursed him, voice full of venom as he gripped her hand punishingly until her knife clattered to the ground. “I want you to remember this,” he said into her ear. “I tried to be nice. His mouth opened and then Roman’s hand was curling around the back of his neck, throwing him with a casual boredom. The vampire struck the opposite wall before dropping to the ground in a crouch. His head snapped up, eyes dark with fury and his fangs bared in animalistic hiss. In the space of a heartbeat he was across the room, hands curled into claws. Roman caught him by the throat and easily slammed the vampire into the wall, pinning him there by his neck. “Blaine,” he said, his voice a slow, wicked drawl. “Is this going to become a problem?” It was a moment until the haze faded from the vampire’s eyes, a moment where he could hear Sam’s heart beating, slow shallow breaths going in and out of her chest. He was aware of her standing behind him but didn’t bother to look. His gaze was focused on the monster in his grasp, his fingers digging brutally into his windpipe. He could snap his head from his body with a single motion, ended his long life there if he chose to. He toyed with the idea as he looked at the vampire, the urge growing the longer the silence stretched. “Roman,” Blaine said. Surprise and something like fear flickered through his gaze before his eyes narrowed, feet scraping against the wall behind him. “Come on,” he whined. “I was just trying to feed.” His fingers dug into his arms, struggling weakly against the strong grip. He tilted his head back as the pressure grew worse, instinctually curling his lip to bare his fangs. A smirk curled Roman’s lips. “You touched what doesn’t belong to you,” he said. The vampire hissed. “I didn’t realize she was yours.” He heard Sam make a noise behind him. “Fuck you both. I’m nobody’s but my own,” she snapped. It drew Blaine’s gaze back to her, the snarl growing worse. Roman tightened his grip on his neck, forcing him higher up on the wall. For a moment he contemplated killing him. His head tilted to the side as he wondered if it would be worth it. Then he dropped him abruptly, head jerking towards the door. “Out,” he snapped. The door was banging shut before the word was fully out of his mouth, but it left a lingering, bitter smile on Roman’s lips. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam, her hand rubbing at her neck and a dark look on her face. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth but she cleaned it off with her fingertips before wiping it on her jeans. “Fucking fangs,” she muttered, picking up her knife. Her eyes widened slightly when she stood to find Roman in front of her. He smirked and began to walk in a slow circle, aware that she never put her knife away. She didn’t trust him. He thought it was good, because he would have thought her stupid if she did. “Nice friends you’ve got,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes followed him as he moved. “Not my friend,” he corrected. Her eyes followed him as he moved behind her, his gaze traveling the length of her throat. A lazy smile curled his lips as he leaned closer. “And you’re welcome, by the way.” “Don’t expect a thank you,” she spat. “I’m not sure you’re the lesser of two evils.” “No. Be sure, I am the greater.” He laughed and then his arm wrapped around her waist, earning a hiss of surprise. He pulled her back against his chest, one hand pressed flat against her stomach and the other grasping her wrist to still the knife she was holding tightly. Her knuckles were white around the handle and her heart was still racing, pumping adrenaline through her veins. His mouth lowered, smelling her hair, her skin. She was warm to the touch, a sharp contrast to the coolness of his flesh. He was a dead man, a monster. The warmest he’d get was when living blood was running through him. He moved his lips against her ear, his voice a low rumble. “You know what you look like?” “Roman,” she said. She gritted out the words through clenched teeth. “Let me go.” He laughed, quietly and cruelly, and ignored her. “You look like a lamb to the slaughter,” he told her. His mouth moved down her ear before shifting to her neck. He could smell blood just under her skin, the sharp scent making his fangs lengthen and the beast in him claw away at his stomach. “A sheep walking among wolves. Tell me little sheep, are you frightened?” “No.” She snapped the word a little too quickly and he thought she was lying. Her body was stiff and tense, the faint scent of fear on her skin. That and the faint whiff of something dead, lingering on her throat. “You’re breaking the rules,” she said. “No touching.” A low chuckle left his lips but he still didn’t move. “I believe the terms were ‘no copping a feel,’” he said. “Which I’m not. Yet.” “The terms were ‘you don’t try anything,’” she snarled. The venom in her voice made his smile widen, the way her fingers dug into his wrist made it cruel. He could hear her heart thudding in her chest, blood pumping away in her veins. That dead smell lingered, but it could have been from any vampire making a grab. “This counts as anything. Now get your fucking hands off me, Fang.” His mouth moved over her ear again with a wicked smirk on his lips. “Just my hands?” Her head turned over her shoulder, lip curled into a sneer. “Anything you’re not prepared to lose.” As soon as he released her hand she was whirling, bringing the knife to bear in front of her. He didn’t think she was attacking him but he grabbed her arm anyway, dragging the knife towards his own flesh. She let out a hiss of surprise as he pressed the point to his neck. “A word of advice, little lamb,” he told her, baring his fangs as he spoke. The silver hissed as it touched his skin, a point of dark blood welling underneath its touch. He was aware of the pain, but indifferent to it. “Unless you have the strength to cut through bone, I don’t recommend drawing your knife on me again. Anything short of killing me just makes me … irritable.” Then he pushed her hand away, wiping off the blood so she could see as the small cut began to heal shut. She watched it for a moment before licking her lips, eyes going to his face. No fear looked back at him, whether she felt it or not. “Keep your hands to yourself and it won’t be a problem,” she said. “Those are the terms. You don’t get to touch me.” Something stirred in his chest at that, the curiosity that had made him forge a deal with her in the first place. He liked this game. It amused him and he found that surprising. He liked that when he pushed, she pushed back, savored the challenge of it. A slow smile curled across his lips and he stepped closer but kept his hands to himself. “And what if you ask me for it?” he said. She scoffed and her lip curled into a sneer. He wondered if she realized she was baring her teeth. “That’s never going to happen.” He chuckled and then turned his back on her. “Never is a very long time, Sam.” |
.strength. Sam glared at Roman’s back. She thought about turning around and leaving, just to teach him a lesson. He was very close to crossing the line and she didn’t put up with shit like that. She didn’t like the way he touched her because she didn’t like him. What was there to like? He was a Fang. He was a prince in his house and he was dangerous. He’d probably kill her in a heartbeat if he wanted to. Probably on some whim and she’d be powerless to stop it. He was strong. He was brutal. But he was all she had at the moment. Roman sat gracefully down onto the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms hung over the back. He was the picture of leisure and carelessness. This was his element, not hers. She still held the knife in her hand, but it was little comfort to her against him. She was quick, but not quick enough. She knew how to kill a vampire with this knife, but Roman was fast. Nothing in training could prepare a person to face a vampire for the first time. She’d never killed one of his kind before. She’d seen it done. But she’d never been the one holding the knife. You had to go for the spine. The back of the neck. You had to crush bone and you had to have the strength to do it. Both literal and physical. Physical because if you didn’t sever it completely, they were still dangerous, still “alive.” They were like snakes. You could stab it and shoot it all day long, but until its rattle went quiet, you could never reach down to pick it up. Vampires were like that. She could try her hardest to kill it, but unless she severed the spinal cord all the way through, they were still dangerous. Beyond the physical aspect of killing a vampire, there was the emotional. It was easy to say you would kill a vampire without a second thought. But there was a part of the mind that didn’t get over that they used to be human once. They looked human. They felt pain, even if it wasn’t on the same level as mortals. That’s what made it hard. They were human once. They weren’t always monsters. It took a lot of effort to put her knife back into her purse. She snapped the purse up and held it close to her chest, not moving from her spot near the opposite wall to where Roman sat. He was watching her with lidded eyes and a lazy smirk on his face, like he found her amusing. She was suddenly conscious of herself. Conscious of how she looked. She wanted to look tough to him, because if he thought she was tough, maybe he wouldn’t mess with her. Sneering, she ground out the words, “I need information.” Roman lifted an eyebrow, a quick chuckle that sounded as fake as ever passing through his lips. “I thought I got my taste before giving you anything. Isn’t that how this works?” “No,” she spat, pointing a finger at him. “I get my information and then you get your snack. It’s too easy for you to screw me over if you feed first.” Roman stared at her for a moment before nodding his acceptance of these conditions. Sam nodded back and then found herself at a loss for words. What did she want from him? Did he know who was killing the children? Should she just jump into that information or wait and get something smaller first? Not knowing what else to say, she looked Roman squarely and asked, “Do you know a vampire named Splice?” Something like confusion flashed across Roman’s face. It was barely there, but she caught the subtle change in his gaze. He titled his head to the side, frowning openly at her. “Perhaps. I don’t tend to mingle with his kind.” Sam snorted. “What do you know about him?” “He’s Bathory,” Roman stated and gave a light, nonchalant shrug. “All of Bathory is a little…off.” Roman pulled his arms down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Why do you ask about him?” Sam smiled coyly. “You don’t need to know.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to the side. “What have you found out about the Lullaby Killer?” A sharp smile curled Roman’s lips, exposing his fangs and Sam stiffened at the sight of them. It made him look vicious and wicked. She wondered what he’d been like as a human. “Nothing more than what I had last time.” Sam frowned at him and opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t good enough, but he held up a hand. “But I have connections and when the next body shows up, I’ll have more.” “Hopefully there won’t be a next body,” Sam said. Giving a small scoff, Roman shook his head. “You’re the second person to say that. And you sound like you believe that just as much as he did.” “Whose he?” Sam shot, frowning at him. Roman shook his head, climbing to his feet. He sauntered as he moved closer to her. “You don’t need to know,” he shot her own words back at her. She scowled at him as he moved closer, starting to circle. Like a shark to its prey. She stood stiffly under the scrutiny. “I’ve given you what you’ve asked for. Now it’s your turn.” “You’ve given me jack shit,” Sam shot at him. Roman smirked, his fingers playing with the tips of her hair. She reached up to brush him away, but he caught her wrist. She stood angrily staring at him as he played nimbly with the bracelet around her wrist, pushing it up her skin to expose the scar he’d left there days ago. His eyes lifted to meet hers. “I’ve given you everything you’ve asked,” he told her. “I’m curious. What do you do with the information I give you?” “I told you that’s none of your business,” she spat. “So you have,” he agreed. “But I still want an answer.” He pulled her close, arm wrapping around her waist again and she growled at how close he was. He was muscular and strong. She found herself strangely drawn to him, even knowing he was a monster and that was something she’d never let him know. She’d never let herself feel anything but hatred towards him. He was her source, her tool and he’d be nothing else. “I could guess.” “You’d be wrong,” she snapped. Roman chuckled, still holding her tightly even as she tried to push him away. “How can you be sure if you don’t hear my guess?” “Because,” she told him and finally he let her push him away. She took a few steps back. “I’m here on my own business and no one else’s. There’s nothing to guess. I want this vampire off the streets and when I find out who is doing it, I have my ways of making a Fang go away.” Roman seemed amused at this, but shrugged. “Very well,” he said. “Now, sit,” he said, jerking his head towards the couch. Sam drew in a breath and stared at the empty spot on the couch. She held her head high as she walked towards it and sat down. Roman slid onto the couch next to her, pushing the bracelet up on her wrist. “You’ll tell me one day,” Roman said, exposing his fangs. “What you do with your information.” Sam shook her head. “No, I won’t.” |
.hide. Roman’s fingers closed around Sam’s, his other arm stretched across the back of the couch. She shifted uncomfortably with the close proximity of him, but it didn’t hurt him. She didn’t like him. She’d made no secret of that, but for the time being he just found it amusing. He was curious what had brought her to a place she hated to make a deal with the worst kind of devil. He knew exactly who and what he was. He was a monster. Even if he wore a man’s face, that’s all he was. He could hide behind his clothes and his human skin, but underneath there was nothing but the beast inside him, the one that hungered for her blood. He could smell it, sweet and sharp as it rushed beneath her veins. His fangs itched to sink into the flesh inches from his mouth. His eyes shifted towards hers as his lips parted. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, something wicked and cruel as he dragged out the moment. A dark look gazed back at him and then she shifted uncomfortably. “Wait,” she said. He laughed quietly, tongue running over his sharp teeth. “You’re not backing out on me, are you?” “No.” Sam shook her head, body tense on the cushions next to him. His eyes wandered over her face, down the slope of her neck. He wondered what it would feel like to bury his fangs in her throat while she wrapped those long legs around him. “I think we should work out some kind of schedule,” she said. “I don’t want to have to guess which nights you’ll be here.” Another laugh pulled from his lips, something cold and emotionless. “A schedule?” He leaned forward so that his mouth was near her neck. “I can promise you nothing, Sam. I do have responsibilities.” “Responsibilities?” She scoffed. “Like what? Kill a kitten, defile some virgins, reupholster the old coffin?” It almost made him laugh. His hand lifted to toy with her hair. “Like whatever the lord of my house tells me they are.” “Your lord?” He chuckled when she managed to say just those two words with a sneer on her lips. She shifted on the couch, moving her head away from his wandering fingers. The strands slipped from his grasp and he let her go, making a noncommittal noise as he turned his attention back to her wrist. His thumb slid over her skin, feeling her pulse beneath it. “And who would that be?” He snorted at how casual she tried to make it sound. He ducked his head, lips hovering over her skin. He could smell her blood, so close it was calling to her. “None of your concern.” She scoffed. “It wouldn’t be that hard for me to find out.” “Even so, he isn’t part of our discussion. Call it a condition of this little arrangement if you wish but I will not discuss him or any business that affects my house with you.” He smirked, fingers toying with her hair. “Now, if you’re done stalling?” Her lip curled into a sneer but she didn’t relax. “I’m not stalling. I just don’t see how this can work if I can’t find you.” The mocking smile lingered on his lips as he studied her. She had a point. The scent of Blaine still lingered on her skin and he realized it annoyed him. Their game would be over before it really began if she was devoured by some Bathory vampire or dragged down into the bowels of Reno’s blood bank. He knew people disappeared down here. He thought it would irritate him if it were Sam. He tipped his head back and nodded. “Alright,” he drawled. He pulled a pen out of the inside of his coat, pressing the tip to her skin. She stiffened but all he did was write his number along her forearm, scrawling an “R” next to it. “Satisfied?” She frowned at her arm before nodding her head sharply. Roman smiled and then lowered his mouth to Sam’s wrist. His eyes stayed on hers as his lips parted and he saw the flicker of emotion across her face. Unease, regret, and distaste colored her features as she looked back at him and then his fangs were sinking into her skin. Blood burst across his tongue as he pierced her flesh, the sharp sweet taste flowing down his throat. It was power and life, flooding him in a rush of taste and sensation. His senses sharpened, the sound of her heart pounding, the quiet breaths leaving her throat. His eyes never left hers, feeling her lifeblood rush through him and strengthening him. He was a monster. He lived off her blood and he reveled in it, loved every second of how it tasted and felt. Sam shifted on the couch next to him, head lolling to the side and resting against the cushions. Her breaths were coming quicker, eyelids sagging and her legs stretching out in front of her. Her other hand lifted, running over her face and back through her hair as he drew on her vein. Inside him the beast growled in contentment. If it had its way, he wouldn’t stop until she was drained. He finally pulled back, blood still in the corner of his mouth and his eyes reddened from the feeding. A feral grin curled his lips as his tongue snaked out, licking the last of it away. The flavor burned at his tongue, sweet and spicy like scotch. He savored it. Sam pulled her hand from his as soon as he was done, cradling it across her lap. Her other hand covered it, fingers against the wound. “Well, it’s been fun,” she spat. She shifted forward on the couch, elbows resting across her knees for a moment. Her breath was shallow, her body listing to the left away from him and a faint pallor to her skin. Roman smirked, his hand moving to the back of her neck. His fingers moved to the back of her neck, locks sliding between them before he settled against skin. She jerked at the touch, trying to shrug him and push herself to her feet. His hand tightened, holding her against the couch. “Sam,” he drawled. He gentled his voice as much as he could. “Relax. Give it a moment to wear off.” She frowned and shoved at his chest. “I’m fine,” she slurred. “Like you give a shit.” He laughed but didn’t respond. He kept his hand on her neck, fingers wandering up and down her skin. He didn’t doubt that he was pushing her buttons, but he wondered how much she would allow. He wondered how close she would let him get. “You know what I think?” he drawled. She tilted her head to the side, offering him a glare. It just made his smile widen and he leaned closer to her. “I think this is personal. Your hunt for this killer. Who is it you’ve got at home, Sam? A son? Daughter?” She sneered at him. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Like I said, what I do with this is none of your business.” He smiled and opened his mouth to argue when his phone went off. He paused at the sound of it, the quiet jangling breaking up the stillness in the room. His fingers stopped their motion over her neck, meeting her gaze as she turned towards him. He tried to smile but it wavered and died. He held her eyes as he drew his phone out, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear. He didn’t glance at who it was but he suspected it was Gaius. “Yes?” “Sabinus,” the man said. “This is Officer Moss.” He smirked. “I’ll assume this means you’ve found another body?” Sam stiffened next to him. He smiled faintly and pulled his hand away, toying with locks of her hair as he did. He ignored the sudden tension in her body, pretended he didn’t feel the same. He kept a cold mask across his face. Dead children didn’t mean anything to him anymore. “No,” the undertaker said. Roman frowned, sitting up slightly. It put distance between him and Sam, letting the chill start to fall over his skin again. “Not dead. Apparently a vamp tried to get into an orphanage and this kid hid himself in the broom closet and called the cops. Look, we don’t know if it’s the same vamp, but maybe you could come down and check it out. ” He paused, gaze flicking over Sam’s face. The sweet scent of her hit his senses, making the beast inside growl with desire. This was what she wanted in return for her blood. This was what he needed to continue their game. “Give me the address,” he snapped. Moss read it off to him. He committed it to memory before hanging up, sliding the phone back in his pocket. “Well, you might be getting what you paid for tonight,” he told her dryly. Sam was still sitting on the couch next to him, fingers pressed against her wrist. There was blood smeared on her skin and he could still smell it. A play of emotions flickered across her features before she hid them away. It made him smile, the moment calling to something in his nature. “He got another kid?” she asked. She kept her voice cold, but it wavered slightly when she spoke. Roman snorted and stood next to her. “No,” he said. “But he tried. I wouldn’t get your hopes up. I suspect this is a false alarm.” She used the back of the couch to pull herself to her feet, yanking her arm away when he grasped her elbow to keep her steady. “But you are going now, right?” she demanded. There was something needy in her gaze that made him hesitate on answering. His head tilted to the side and a smile played on his lips. “Tell me why this is worth so much to you.” Her gaze darkened and he saw something almost hurt looking back at him. He was surprised at the expression, more surprised that he didn’t like it there. Then it twisted into something hateful, something he found more familiar. It made the smile widen, even if it was never anything but bitter. “The deal is blood for information, Fang. Pay up.” Her bracelet slid down towards her wrist, drawing his eyes back to the bloody marks in her wrist. She jerked in surprise when he pulled it from her hands, snapping it open. She mouthed a curse, reaching for it with clumsy hands. He let her take it, once he had the knife back in his hands. “Roman, what-” The point of it dug into his thumb until a drop of blood welled up on his skin with a hiss of smoke. Then he handed the blade back to her, aware that she kept holding it in her hand, a curious frown on her face. As soon as her head lifted he was stepping closer, crowding her against the couch and holding his hand by her lips. “Taste it,” he snapped. Her eyes widened in surprise before her lip curled in a sneer. She tried to shove his hand away. “Not happening.” He smirked, his other hand coming out to grasp her by the back of the neck. She hissed as he dragged her closer, holding his thumb just beyond her lips. “It won’t turn you,” he told her, his fangs flashing wickedly. “Just taste it. Consider it a favor.” She sneered at him. “I don’t need those kinds of favors.” He laughed and pressed closer. His voice lowered, mouth moving towards her ear. “Sam, the longer you refuse me, the colder the trail’s going to get. Make your choice.” There was pure hatred looking back at him when her lips parted. He smirked and offered her his hand. Then her tongue was scraping over his skin. He felt a jolt race down straight his spine, fingers tightening compulsively on the back of her neck. It made him crave her with a sudden intensity, the beast in his chest purring with satisfaction. Then she pushed his hand away, a sneer on his face. “Happy?” she demanded. “Never.” Roman smirked, letting her neck go and grasping her wrist instead. He yanked her hand up, turning to show her the marks on her wrist. It was turning pink, the two sharp punctures scabbing over in front of her eyes. He smirked and let her go, taking a step back. By tomorrow there would be nothing left but the two white scars on her skin. “I’ll see you soon, Sam.” He got to the door before he heard her voice stop him, abrupt and resentful. “Wait,” she snapped. “Take me with you.” |
.Lies. It hadn't taken much convincing. Sam was beyond the point of believing that it had anything to do with Roman giving a shit about her. If she believed it, she'd be lying to herself. Roman thought this was a game. That much was clear. She just didn't know how a winner would be determined. She wondered what would happen once he decided she wasn't worth his time anymore. She hoped there would be a warning sign. Something that would tell her to get out before he slaughtered her like the lamb he thought she was. She didn't know why he agreed to bring her to the crime scene. After they left the blood bank, it made her wonder what she was thinking. She couldn't be seen going to a crime scene with a vampire. How would that look to other Undertakers? As far as she knew, Roman hadn't caught on that she was an Undertaker and she wanted to keep it that way. She wondered what he'd think of her once he found out. Maybe he'd say their arrangement was over. Or maybe he'd give her further information. He seemed to get a kick out of dishing information on Bathory house. She didn't blame him. They were insane. If she had to choose one side or another, she supposed she'd choose the Sabinus house. They were both dangerous, but Bathory seemed dangerous in a way that wasn't predictable. At least with Sabinus house, you knew what you were getting into from the get go. Roman had a car and she wasn't sure why that surprised her so much. Maybe because it felt like a lie while he was driving. She'd always thought vampires didn't need vehicles like this. A part of her still believed they turned into bats and could fly away whenever. She knew they were strong and could move faster than she could blink. It seemed counterproductive to drive a car at a human's speed. But she had to admit. It was a nice car. She felt uncomfortable and unsure of herself in the passenger seat. It looked like something a president or prince would own. Black, sleek and she imagined he usually wasn't the one driving it. He probably wouldn't have bothered at all if she hadn't asked to go with him. He was relaxed behind the wheel and his eyes kept drifting to the mirror to look at her. She wondered what it was like to not see yourself looking back. Swallowing thickly, she glanced down at her wrist. Pulling the bracelet back, she observed the two small pinpricks in her wrist. They were healing quickly. She chewed her lip and tried to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible as she asked, "So does that blood trick work all the time?" Roman smirked, amused. "Yes," he answered. "Having trouble believing we're good for something?" he asked and she could hear the disdain dripping from his voice. "Yes," she shot back at him and it earned a side glance her way. She tried to keep the sneer on her face. She stared at the side of his face and asked, "Would it like...cure cancer or some shit?" It earned a chuckle that wasn't quite truthful. "No," he answered and didn't go on. "Why not?" she demanded. "How does it work?" Roman smirked, rolling his head to look at her and she didn't like the look on his face. It was like he was talking to a child. In his minds, he probably was. "It's not something a mortal would understand." She sneered back at him and wondered if he was fucking with her. He laughed afterwards and looked back out the window, driving through the city. There were few people out tonight. Those that were out were mostly looking to score something. Drugs, sex, the bite. She saw herself starting to reflect back in their eyes. She could be them one day, craving Roman's fangs sinking into her skin. She could say she would never be like that. She could say a lot of things. They were approaching the crime scene. Police cruisers blocked the road ahead, the flare of lights glistening off the buildings. The orphanage was in the center of town, a seedy part and she always felt sorry for the kids that had to go through it. Without Michael, she'd be one of them. Her and Bobby. Reaching out to put a hand on Roman's arm, she shook her head. "Stop here," she said. Roman glanced at her hand against his arm and she pulled it back quickly to not give him the wrong idea. He raised a brow at her. "Afraid to be seen with me?" he asked. "Not afraid," she snarled at him. "Just pull over." At first, she didn't think he would do it. She wondered who was out there that would see her with him and if it would matter. She could tell them to mind their own fucking business, but there were a few people she couldn't do that with. Michael and Caleb, for instance. They'd demand to know. And on the flip side, Roman would see the way they reacted to her. She didn't want him to know. She suddenly wondered what the hell she was doing here. Roman finally pulled the car over and she was opening the door before it came to a complete stop. "Don't follow me right away," she said, making sure her knife was in her purse. A badge lay tucked away in there somewhere. "Give me five minutes before you come out." "You're playing with fire," Roman said and her eyes shot up to his face. His head was ducked so he could look at her. "Balancing all these acts. You're bound to drop some of them." She sneered at him. "I don't need advice from you," she spat. Then she slammed the door shut and walked away quickly. It didn't seem quick enough. Sam made her way up the sidewalk and around the corner. There were more Undertakers and officers here. She licked her lips and let out a slow breath, making sure the bracelet covered her wrist. She glanced down at herself and cursed at Roman's phone number written on her skin. She pulled the sleeve of her jacket down to try and cover it. It was still partially showing, so she crossed her arms over her chest. Glancing up again, she let out a slow breath when she saw Michael standing in the middle of the scene, barking orders at other Undertakers. His partner, a detective named Gibson, stood a few feet away. Swallowing nervously, she made her way towards Michael. She knew the moment he spotted her because he stopped suddenly, a frown on his face. Then he was excusing himself from the others and dipping beneath the yellow police tape, coming up to meet her in the small crowd that had gathered. "Sam," Michael said, a look of confusion and worry on his face. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Um, crime scene," she said, waving her hand towards the tape. Michael snorted. "Yeah, but," he swept his arm up and down. "I mean, you're not on duty, are you?" She wasn't sure what to say to that. Technically, yes, she was. She was undercover, getting information from a vampire in the heart of the blood bank. But she hadn't told Michael that. She'd been told not to tell him at all. She stared for a moment at her brother and she hated lying to him. She hated that she couldn't tell him the truth because he deserved it. But she was afraid of what Nolan would do when Michael stormed into his office demanding his baby sister get taken off undercover work. She knew that's what he'd do. "No," she said, the lie slipping off her tongue with surprising ease. "I was at Joe's, the bar up the street?" Michael gauged her for a moment before nodding his acceptance of that explanation. "Ah, well, in that case..." he trailed off and turned to look at the scene. "Almost had another kid killed here. The vampire made a mess of it though. Really screwed up. Makes me wonder if it wasn't actually our guy." "It wasn't," Roman's voice surprised both of them from behind. Sam snapped her head over her shoulder to glare at him. Michael turned and she was surprised to see recognition on her brother's face as he looked at Roman. Her heart suddenly dropped at the thought that the two of them knew each other. It would make this secret a hundred times more difficult. "Roman," Michael greeted, a grim look on his face. She didn't miss the way Michael moved his shoulder in front of her, protecting her from the monster standing in front of them. "What took you?" Roman smirked, his eyes going to Sam. Before he could open his mouth, she stuck her hand out to him and said rather quickly, "Hi, I'm Sam. It's nice to meet you." To his credit, Roman just lifted an eyebrow curiously. Michael turned to give her a look that said it had surprised the shit out of him how forthcoming she was with her name and greeting. Roman's hand came up to take hers and she shook it, like she was meeting any other person in the world. Michael had a strange look on his face and his hand came up to break theirs apart, guiding her back behind him. "Excuse us, Roman," Michael said. "I'll be right with you." Roman smirked. "Take your time," he said and there was something cruel in his voice. She stared at him for a moment before Michael physically turned her around and guided her away from Roman. "Stay away from that one," Michael told her. She turned to glance at his face, but there was no sign that Michael knew anything about her and Roman's deal or the fact that she'd known him before now. She licked her lips and hoped it stayed that way. "Let me get a squad car to drive you home." "No," she said, turning to face him. "I'm here, let me help." Michael lifted an eyebrow at her. "Sam," he said, shaking his head. "We've got this covered. Bobby's probably waiting for you at home, anyhow." Sam sighed, because that struck a nerve. She hated that Bobby was home alone, especially with a child killer roaming the streets. "Come on," she pried. "You could use an extra set of eyes out here, right?" "Excuse me," Roman said, having snuck up on them again. Michael turned, this time the glare not able to stay off his face. He obviously didn't want Roman anywhere near her. But before Michael could say anything, Roman's voice lowered, his head dipped and a small smile on his lips. "I don't want to raise the alarm. But we have an audience." |
.haze. “…and after a while you fall into this state...this sort of dream state…” “…and things don’t mater like they used to. Nothing feels the same. Nothing feels at all…” “…days…weeks…years…they all pass in the blink of an eye…” “…and you’re just walking around in this haze.” “…people you meet, places you see…they’re all the same. Nothing changes…” “Nothing matters.” It was a vampire. Roman was aware of eyes on them, the prickle on the back of his neck, the uneasy sensation of being watched. He caught the distant scent of something dead and knew it for one of his kind. He just didn’t know which house or what they wanted. Sam looked up at him, something cautious in her gaze. A warning, or a plea? It widened the smirk on his lips. Moss shifted, putting himself between the two of them again. It was almost enough to make him laugh, aware of the fierce protectiveness looking back at him. He’d heard Moss’s whispered words, a quiet warning to Sam that he doubted she’d listen to. It was an interesting twist in this game they were playing. He wondered whose hands it would play into. “Who? And where?” he asked. His gaze moved past Roman towards the crowds, the scattering of people gathered on the streets in a mixture of pajamas and club wear. Bright lights reflected across their skin, normal human eyes reflected back at him. Even still, the feeling didn’t fade, skin prickling like spiders crawling over his flesh. The air was still thick with the rain that had fallen all day, a heavy fog covering the city streets in a white haze. Half the streetlights in this area were broken, the thick cloying scent of garbage lingering in the shadowed alleys. A bum crouched inside a cardboard box. “A fang,” he drawled, flashing his teeth at the slur. “Not sure where. But he’s watching.” Moss ran a hand over his mouth and then nodded. “Gibson!” He let out a whistle, drawing the other man’s attention. For a moment he hesitated, glaring at Roman before he crossed the sidewalk to talk to his partner. The man was quiet, but Roman still heard him. It was hard to get anything past vampire hearing. “Get a patrol together,” he said. “Sweep the streets. The suspect might still be here.” Roman smiled and then looked back down at Sam out of the corner of his eye. She was standing stiffly, arms crossed over her chest and a dark look on her face. “So,” he said quietly. “Sam Moss, is it?” Her head tipped back in a challenge. “Roman Sabinus, is it?” The smile fell off his lips, his expression thoughtful as he turned to face her. She still wasn’t looking at him, her eyes on Michael as he gave orders in quiet, firm tones. The thought had crossed his mind that they were lovers, but the energy between them was all wrong. He was protective, not possessive. His hand came out, fingers toying with her hair. “When did you figure it out?” “After the first night,” she told him. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.” A quiet laugh fell from his lips before he leaned closer. “Sam, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.” She shifted next to him, cocking her hip and brushing his hand from her hair. When she looked up at him there was no fear looking back. She was good at masking it from him. “I’m thinking arrogant prick. That sound about right to you?” He never stopped smiling, but it twisted, turned into something mean, baring his teeth at her. “Careful, Sam. That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.” His gaze dropped to her lips and the bitterness faded just as quickly. He nodded his head before glancing purposefully over at Michael. “I guess that answers the question of what you were planning on doing with your information.” She lifted her chin higher so she could look up into his eyes. “Does this affect our deal?” His hand moved lower, fingers brushing down her throat. He could feel her pulse just under his fingertips, his eyes still lingering on her mouth. She stiffened under the touch but didn’t push him away. He considered the question, the ramifications of giving her information that would get passed on to an undertaker. Gaius wouldn’t like it. He didn’t much either. But it did raise the stakes of the game. He smirked when he thought that, her pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. There was something about her that fascinated him. The way she challenged him, showed him no fear when another would have. No one had gotten through this fog, this haze that held him distant from the world. Not since Giselle. His gaze darkened abruptly at that, fingers still wandering over her skin. She was looking up at him, waiting for his answer. He felt her pulse beating, her life so strong under his hands. He could snuff it out in an instant. He could kill her with her brother’s glare burning a hole in his back and a force of undertakers and none of them could stop him. She couldn’t stop him. She would just die. Just another human life snuffed out in an instant. Another body to be buried that would slowly rot until nothing was left but bones and within a hundred years there would be no one left who would remember her. Probably not even him. “It’s a yes or no question Roman,” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “Is this going to be a problem?” He was aware of the flashing lights of the cop cars, the quiet rustle and murmur from people on the streets. He could hear a woman’s voice as she talked to a little kid next to a cop car, probably the same kid that had almost been made a midnight snack. He smirked, looking back at Sam. He wasn’t concerned with the undertakers, but he understood what they thought of him and his kind. There were undertakers fanning out down the side alleys, searching on Moss’s orders for whoever still had their eyes on them. He could still feel the sensation on the back of his neck. He could have found the vampire, if he cared to. He didn’t. “No,” he said. “Not for the moment.” She nodded her head, something like relief on her face. She reached up and shoved his hand away from her, turning her attention back towards her brother. He was making his way back over. “Michael doesn’t need to know about it,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Roman laughed quietly, watching him as he crossed the sidewalk. His face was dark, intense and serious as his gaze moved between Roman and Sam. He didn’t imagine Moss would like the idea of his sister dealing with vampires. He wasn’t sure yet whose hands that played into. The man looked like he wanted to drag her forcefully away from him. “Agreed.” “Good.” Her lip curled in a sneer. “Then maybe you should back the fuck off now.” “Roman,” Moss said. “You said this wasn’t the same vampire as before?” He spoke with a forced casualness, reaching out to rest a hand against Sam’s arm. He angled his shoulder between them again, all of it done like it was completely natural. It made him smile. He shook his head, squinting as he focused on the door of the orphanage. “No,” he said. “Not the same one.” Moss nodded his head. He managed a tightlipped smile. “You staying to help?” he asked. Roman laughed, a sound lacking amusement. The man wanted him gone. He could hear it in his voice, the way he glared at him and kept Sam behind him. She still had her arms crossed over her chest, expression dark as she looked over her brother’s shoulder. “No,” he said. “I was just leaving.” He leaned closer, baring his teeth. “Don’t waste my time again, Michael.” “…you’re not human anymore…you forget what that word means…” “…you forget why you’re still alive… why you still try…” “…and that’s what it’s like. You ask me what it means to be immortal?” “It doesn’t mean anything.” “Nothing.” The vampire waited in the alley by his car. Roman scented him before he got there. He probably thought he was hidden. He lurked in the shadows, boxed in by a crooked dumpster and the maze of cardboard boxes spilling out of it. It should have masked his scent, almost did, but Roman caught the whiff of death before he reached his car. His hair hung in his face, lank and pale as his skin. He was covered in tattoos and piercings, a Bathory through and through. On a normal day, Roman wouldn’t have been able to recall his name. But he’d already heard it once tonight. It fueled him with anger and suspicion. He hated spies. His lip curled and he didn’t give the vampire a warning before he was next to him. His hand curled around the back of his neck, turning him and slamming him against the brick wall. “Splice,” he drawled, lip curling in a sneer. “I don’t like being followed.” The vampire fought back until he heard Roman’s voice. Then he stilled, laughing quietly. “Sabinus,” he drawled. He heard the vampire laugh, his hands curled into claws against the wall. “Who says it’s about you, fuck-o?” “Then correct me,” he said. His voice was cold, grip unyielding on the back of his throat. “What are you doing here?” He chuckled again, but there was a snarl in his voice when he spoke. “Maybe I just wanted to snack on some kiddies.” He turned his head over his shoulder, baring his fangs at Roman. His eyes were clean, fangs bloodless. He’d tried and failed. Roman wondered if that was really an accident. “Heard they tasted sweet, like candy.” “And who’d you hear that from?” He tilted his head to the side, voice icy. He could hear footsteps on the next alley over, the steady pounding of undertaker’s boots and the sound of their voices. They would probably sweep this alley next. Splice grinned at him. “Friend of a friend.” Roman slammed his head off the wall. There was a solid crack as bone struck brick and he did it again for good measure. Then he leaned his head close, fangs snapping next to his ear. “I don’t like being spied on,” he growled. “Understand that the moment I decide to, I will destroy you and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Now. Your friend’s name?” Splice snorted. His smile was wicked and cruel. “Lilia,” he drawled. Roman smashed his head off the bricks again and then dropped him, barely restraining his rage. His hands scraped over the wall as he slid to his knees, looking up with dark, hateful eyes. His lip curled into a sneer before he spit blood out onto the ground. “Watch yourself, Bathory,” he spat. “...I died. Some days I think I never got back up.” “…I think this is all a dream…” “Sam.” “Wake me up.” |
.wrong. Sam stood leaning against one of the Undertaker squad cars. Michael was still barking orders, handling reports. They hadn't spoken after Roman left. Sam had wanted to get out of the way, since Michael seemed reluctant to let her get involved at all. She wondered if he suspected anything between her and Roman. It felt awful and wrong to lie to him. She didn't think it would be long before he found out the truth. She just hoped she could get something worthwhile before that out of Roman. Letting her gaze fall down to her arm, she could see the beginning of Roman's phone number written on her skin. She couldn't help the sneer that threatened to curl her lips. What would he do if she called? She doubted he would subject himself to her beck and call. Why would he? If he wasn't hungry, he didn't need her. The pale marks beneath her bracelet meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him and she wondered what she'd do once he grew bored or tired of her. Why would he still help? She didn't understand, but she needed him. As much as she hated to admit it. She needed him. Pushing Roman to the back of her mind, she lifted her gaze towards the little boy who'd almost been attacked. He probably didn't realize how lucky he was. Smart kid. Getting away from a vampire. She could picture him just like the others, laid out on the ground with dead open eyes, staring away into the sky. She wondered if the other children were scared. The bite itself wasn't something unpleasant. She tried to take solace in that. That the kids didn't suffer. The bite would wash away all their fear. It was almost euphoric. She found herself itching at her wrist and when she realized it, she immediately pulled her hand away. She could almost feel Roman's hands on her skin, his fangs sinking into her flesh and she licked her lips in anger because she didn't want to be thinking about it. She didn't want to yearn for the bite. The minute she started, she'd never be able to stop on her own. She wouldn't become like that. She couldn't. Michael finished speaking to a recruit Undertaker and she saw him glance her way. He excused himself for a moment and headed towards her. She tried to stand a little straighter, hiding the marks on her skin. Hiding any signs of Roman and what he'd left her with. Michael couldn't find out like that. She'd tell him when it was right. The lie felt wrong in her head as soon as she thought about it. "There's no reason you have to stay here," Michael said and she glared at him. "I love you too," she snapped. Michael lifted an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his face, even if it was sheltered behind a grim haze. "I didn't mean it like that," he said. She leaned back against the car, eyes searching out the surviving little boy again. Michael turned and leaned against the car next to her. "Kid got lucky." "Yeah," she said. She turned to glance at her brother's face. His eyes were distant, lost in thought and she wondered if he really thought the kid was lucky, or if they were being played. That's what it felt like. How could a kid outsmart a vampire? There was something else going on here that Sam couldn't put her finger on. "So," she said, changing the subject. "Roman." Michael snorted. "What about him?" Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Is he like...your informant or something?" "Something like that," Michael said, turning to look at her. "There are worse fangs out there, but he's dangerous. At least with some of the fangs, you know they'll be confrontational. With Roman..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I can't ever tell what he's thinking." Sam nodded her head and resisted the urge to tell Michael she knew exactly what he meant. "I didn't know you had informants." Michael shrugged. "The higher you get in the Undertakers, the more informants you'll need to make. I'm sure the higher ups have them everywhere." Sam stiffened, the thought of the vampire hiding in her car coming to mind. "You think Byrd has informants?" she asked. Michael laughed at that and she raised her eyebrow at him, not getting whatever joke he thought she'd made. He shook his head, the smile lingering on his face. "Byrd has eyes everywhere," he said. "That guy...I wouldn't be surprised if he made Chief one day." "Yeah..." she shrugged. An undertaker from across the way lifted his arm to wave at Michael. Michael nodded back at him and shoved off the car, turning to face her. He put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her forehead. She closed her eyes against it because sometimes she was just glad to have her big brother be there for her. She almost told him about Roman. Almost told him about her arrangement with Nolan. She hated to lie to him. She hated it. It was wrong in the worse sense of the word. She kept her mouth shut. Michael pulled back. "I'll see you at home," he said. "Sure," she said and watched him walk away from her. Sighing, she ran a hand over her eyes and headed towards the sidewalk. It wasn't too far of a walk back to where she'd parked her car. Roman had driven her here, she'd paid attention and knew how to get back. The walk wouldn't take her long. She got lost in thought for most of the walk. Her arms crossed over her chest, her head down. There was a security knowing her knife was still in her purse. But her mind wasn't on any of that. It was on Roman. As much as she didn't want to think about him, he was a contradiction to her. She didn't like fangs. Not since what had happened with her mother. She didn't like them and she didn't trust them. Their very being went against everything she'd believed in as a child. It was wrong, against what nature and religion said about the world. She didn't understand them or how they could exist and she didn't like that. She didn't like not knowing. But Roman, she didn't know. Michael had said he was dangerous, unpredictable and she wouldn't disagree. But there was something interesting about him. He was helping her and for what? Just to feed? Everything in her gut and in her heart told her it was wrong, told her to watch out for him. But she found it interesting. She found him intriguing and terrifying all at the same time. She'd never let him know. She'd never show fear around him because she didn't want him to know she was scared of him. If she even was. Shaking away the thoughts as she got to her car, she climbed in, making sure to check the backseat this time. She'd have to make a habit out of that. The drive home seemed to take forever. She turned on the radio, singing along to clear her mind. If she went home lost in thought, Bobby would know and he'd ask her about it and she already was lying to one brother. She didn't want to have to lie to her younger brother too. She needed to protect Bobby from things like that. The parking garage to their apartment complex was dark when she arrived. She climbed out of the car, locking it behind her and made her way towards the door to the stairwell. She paused at the door, listening suddenly. Something had caught her attention, some noise, but she wasn't quite sure of what it was. She turned to glance over her shoulder, peering into the darkened parking garage, but she saw nothing. No one walking, no eyes watching, no darker shadow. She frowned and stared, daring something to pop out at her again because she wasn't having any of that anymore. Fuck whoever thought they could mess with her. Nothing came. Nothing showed itself and she chewed her lip, turning back to the door. She pulled it open and glanced one more time into the parking garage. When nothing showed itself further, she closed the door and made her way upstairs. She shook herself, laughing a little to herself. Now she was just getting paranoid. |
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