No Man's Land (9 page)

A noise brought her quickly to her feet. She snatched the knife from her waistband and listened, scenting the air. Had Mike come out to check on her and tracked her here? How angry was the werewolf going to be that she’d slipped his watch and snuck out? But the smell that hit her nose wasn’t werewolf; it was vampire. Not just any vampire — this was one from her family. She blinked at the tears that sprang to her eyes. Was this horrible nightmare over? Had they sent someone to bring her home?

“I expected to find you dead already.” The masculine was filled with horror. “But here I find you chewing on a bunny like a rabid dog.”

Kelly tensed as the vampire walked silently from the dark woods, her heart racing with hope and a tinge of fear. He was old — at least five hundred by his aura. She tucked the knife back into her waistband, wincing as the silver briefly burned a patch of skin, and stood at respectful attention. The vampire walked closer and circled around her, inspecting.

“The betting odds were that you killed yourself the moment you came to. Secondary odds were that you’d starved to death by now. Third that I’d find you incoherent and dying on the floor of the trailer. It was really a long shot to find you alive and hunting, although from the look of you, you’ve only got a couple more days. A bunny?” He shook his head. “Really?”

She stood silent, unsure how to answer that question. The vampire nudged the carcass with his foot. Bending over, he picked up the rabbit gingerly with his thumb and forefinger.

“Good Lord. You practically gnawed the thing’s head off.” He sounded outraged. “I think this is closer to incoherent and dying on the floor than alive and hunting.” He tossed the dead animal into the woods. “Pathetic,” he said, leaning close to her face. “You should have just killed yourself. It would have been more dignified. I should kill you right now. It would do the world a favor. And certainly do animal lovers everywhere a favor.”

Kelly kept her breathing steady as the vampire encircled her neck with his hands. Damn. All her struggle to stay alive and this guy was going to kill her because he didn’t like her eating woodland creatures. Easy for him to talk. He’d probably never been hungry since the day of his turning. Slowly the vampire ran his fingers down her neck and across her shoulders.

“Unfortunately, orders are to leave you alive. I am Rube Mohs, and I report directly to the Prince. The Master has a job for you, Kelly Demir of House Fournier. Plus there are betting odds to consider here, and some people would be very angry if I skewed them in my favor.”

Kelly practically hyperventilated in relief. He wasn’t going to kill her, and most importantly, he’d referred to her by her family affiliation. She was still in — on the outskirts, but if she did this job, she’d be back in. If she could keep the werewolves off her back, manage to not starve to death, and do whatever this senior vampire asked of her, the whole nightmare would be over.

The man pulled a small bag from his pocket and tossed it on the ground in front of Kelly. She trembled, staring at the package. Blood. She couldn’t scent it through the thick plastic, but she’d bet it was human blood. Only a pint or so, but, still, she went weak at the thought.

“We’ve lost a lot of scouts and spies lately — more in this section than anywhere else in the buffer zone, and I know they’ve not all been killed by werewolves. I’ll be back, and I’ll want to know of any Kincaid scum prowling around here as well as plots they may have against us.”

“How am I supposed to find that out?” Kelly panted, unable to wrench her eyes from the packet by her feet. “I have no transportation, no money. I’m still healing from my punishment; I can’t feed properly. How am I supposed to roam along the Virginia border searching for the enemy like this?”

From the corner of her eye she saw him shrug. “Not my problem. I’ll expect information when I return. And if you don’t have what the Master needs, I’ll be very happy to relieve you of your suffering, bet or no bet.”

He disappeared in a flash of speed. Kelly fell to her knees, carefully picking up the packet with shaking hands. She should take it back to the trailer where she could carefully open and pour it out so as to not spill a drop, but she no longer had the willpower to wait. She sliced a small hole with the razor blade and eagerly drank, collapsing the plastic in upon itself. Done, she lay down upon the dirt and leaves, feeling her limbs grow numb as her body concentrated on absorbing the desperately needed nutrients. All she wanted to do was sleep. This blood would get her through the day — a day she’d now need to spend trying to scout out other vampires instead of fighting for survival. Two competing interests. Starvation still stood patiently waiting like the grim reaper on the horizon, but death would be quick and sure if she didn’t do as her family commanded.

10

G
ideon Kincaid looked around, feeling awkward and out of place. These human diners always made him uncomfortable, even though he was safely within his own territory. He never really knew what to say to the employees, or how to treat them. Still, this was a suitable place to hold a private conversation, just south of the Maryland border. He’d been spending a lot of time in the northern part of his territory — more than he would have liked. It was nerve racking, waiting for the inevitable attack from the Fournier vampires. All he could do was gather as much information as he could, and put the right people in the right place to counter a strike.

He’d used this particular diner often to meet scouts and any Fournier vampires he’d convinced to betray their family. It was a good diner. The humans left him alone for the most part, and he liked the pancakes. Gideon glanced down at the nearly empty plate — a sticky mess of syrup and the few bites he’d left uneaten. Fried batter. Fried dough.

An image rose in his mind of ebony hands shaping a circle of dough with practiced ease. Long thin hands, their bones and veins raising the skin as they twisted and turned, flashing nimble fingers and soft pink nails. He remembered those nails. They had little crescents of white at their base, like tiny moons. He used to trace them with his fingers and imagine that she was marked, favored of the moon goddess. It was so long ago that he couldn’t remember her face, could remember nothing about his mother but her hands patting out the thin circles and laying them on the hot stones, flipping them quickly with the tips of her fingers to brown the other side.

A hand appeared in his line of vision to grasp the plate. Equally dark, but this one plump and rounded.

“Are you all finished with this, Sir?” a voice asked, soft with a light Virginia drawl.

He looked up at the waitress who smiled, waiting for a response.

“Yes,” he replied awkwardly. The woman took the plate and swished off while Gideon thankfully retreated to his paper and coffee. Glancing toward the door, he saw another vampire enter. Wes. The scout he was waiting to meet.

Wes slid into the booth across from him and took the offered coffee from the waitress, smiling as he did so. Gideon envied him his ease with the human woman, but, then again, Wes was a good two–thousand years younger than him. He probably still remembered his human name, the face of the human woman who bore him.

“Report?” Gideon asked, returning his eyes to the newspaper.

“Derrick found a scout just west of Charles Town,” Wes said, clearly trying to fight down the edge of panic in his voice.

Gideon frowned at his paper. Wes was just over two hundred and would never rise to more than a borderland scout. There had never been any vampire occupation of West Virginia because of the sizable werewolf population. The sudden presence of a Fournier scout was no reason to panic. One occasionally came in to Charles Town to look at a business or two there. It was probably just him, checking the border before heading back to Baltimore.

“Did Derrick kill him?”

“No. And it was a woman. She had an older vampire with her, one with an aura.” Wes squirmed in his seat, showing signs of agitation.

Gideon sighed in frustration. How this guy ever became Chosen was beyond him. “So? What did Derrick discover? Did he follow them to make sure they left the state?”

“The old one left, but the woman appears to be permanently assigned at the border. Derrick doesn’t know how long she’s been there or what she knows. She’s barely New, hardly smells at all of vampire yet.” Wes paused and squirmed again. “And she’s not feeding like a vampire. She’s living as a human would. We would never have known about her if Derrick hadn’t stumbled across her when the older one with the aura was there. He thinks she may have been in place for at least six months, if not longer.”

Gideon put his paper down in irritation and gave Wes his entire attention. “He needs to interrogate her and kill her. Make her disappear.” He tapped his finger on the rim of his coffee cup, frowning. “What did Derrick glean from her conversation with the older vampire?”

Wes squirmed in his seat. “Derrick had to stay pretty far back and couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but he says the older vampire was upset about her eating a bunny.”

“A bunny? As in a rabbit? As in cooked it over a spit and ate it?”

“No!” Wes’ eyes grew huge. “She drank its blood.”

Gideon fought down a surge of annoyance. Idiots, all of them. With scouts like this, he was in danger of losing more than just the northern half of his territory. “Derrick must have misunderstood. No one drinks rabbit blood.”

Wes shook his head. “He said that part of the conversation was very clear. The older vampire was disgusted and angry about her eating the animal. After they left, Derrick looked around and found it. It wasn’t a clean bite either; she’d chewed the thing’s head practically off.”

Gideon stared at him. This was ridiculous. He needed information about Fournier’s probable attack. When. Where. Not some wild story about perverted blood fetishes.

“Clearly Derrick made a mistake. It must have been a dog that killed it,” he told Wes in a dismissive tone.

“No, Derrick said it would have been shredded if it were a dog. It was drained dry of blood. Sucked dry. Dogs don’t do that.” Wes stared at Gideon with huge eyes. “She’s crazy. Insane. Fournier has an insane vampire strategically placed right on our border.”

Every vampire family had fighters — those skilled in assassination, bodyguards, fighters trained to attack and protect. Legend was that every now and then one of them would exhibit signs of losing their sanity. Berserker rage, breaking laws and social taboos, amoral actions. They slid into madness, into the realm of the demons, and never returned to rational and civilized behavior. Insane vampires were dangerous and unpredictable. They were always killed. If a Master had the stomach though, he could point them like a missile at his enemies and follow in the path of their destruction.

“She’s living on the edge of starvation, keeping her feeding tightly limited so she can appear as a human,” Wes said in a hushed whisper. “She’s drinking the blood of
wild animals
!”

Gideon restrained himself from rolling his eyes. This had gone far enough. He wondered if he’d have to put these two scouts down, if they’d reached the end of their usefulness. “Wes, vampires do not drink blood from wild animals, especially with an entire neighborhood of humans right within reach. Besides, she’d need to have an aura, need to have been a fighter for at least three–hundred years before even a hint of madness would appear. She’s New. She’s just a scout. And some dog ravaged a rabbit. Have Derrick interrogate and kill her.” With a dismissive gesture, Gideon picked up his newspaper and continued reading.

Wes squirmed in his chair before he got up to leave. The older vampire watched him over the edge of his paper with a feeling of despair. He’d seized this territory almost three–hundred years ago when the previous Master had met an untimely end at sea. For nearly fifty years, the family had been in turmoil as factions schemed and assassinated their way to the top. By the time the dust settled, they’d lost nearly half of their family, and the financial foundations of the territory were in ruins.

The Kincaid lands were the poorest territory on the continent. Each tiny progress he’d made over the centuries was negated through human mismanagement or natural disaster. He had fought for the right to rule, worked tirelessly to rebuild a decimated family and dwindling funds. He was just starting to see progress and wasn’t about to give it all up to a Born upstart with a silver spoon stuck firmly in his arrogant mouth.

Gideon glanced out the diner window at the night. A light rain had begun to fall, and he knew it would turn to sleet within the hour. He longed for his favorite home in southern Florida, where the heat covered him like a humid blanket. He was old enough now that the sun was starting to bother him. It blistered his dark skin if he was out too long. He wanted to enjoy it while he still could.

The brown hand once again came into his vision, refilling his coffee. He looked up, and the woman smiled.

“Horrible weather,” she commented. “You’re gonna freeze not wearing any coat.”

The vampire looked at her blankly. Although he didn’t feel the cold like the humans did, Gideon disliked the dreariness of it, the way it reminded him of death and the grave — things he thought he’d escaped by becoming a vampire. Now, over two–thousand years later, he felt death on the horizon, in his near future. There was no escaping it, no matter what devil’s deal a person made.

“I saw you didn’t drive here,” the waitress added, looking away for a quick moment. “I can give you a lift home. My shift ends at two.”

Was this human flirting with him? It had been so long. It was like having a loaf of bread proposition him. She was food, though, and he was hungry.

“Ok,” he replied.

The woman beamed at him and practically skipped away. It was like picking up a ham sandwich, no big deal. This sort of exchange had been going on for thousands of years, although in the early days they hadn’t needed to be quite as careful.

He watched as the waitress went about finishing up her shift and thought again about his warm home, the sun that now singed his skin, of a future of darkness. At least he had Monica, he thought fondly. She was older than she admitted and hadn’t been able to tolerate sunlight since he’d known her. Of course, if he couldn’t manage to hold his territory together, to retain his status as Master of the family, Monica would leave.