Work Text
Taking an assignment along the Broken Coast always got a reaction. Everyone from the archivist gathering relevant case materials to people not even in Isaac’s department eagerly volunteered a list of their deepest fears as soon as they heard where he was headed. Storms out that way were ten times as crazy—tornadoes, hurricanes, flash floods that could sweep away anything or anyone in their path. Then all the earthquakes left over from the Break to boot? It was a miracle humans survived out there at all. The drive from Chicago alone was brutal, at least twenty-six hours, assuming the highways were in decent repair and smugglers hadn’t set up roadblocks to ambush travelers. No civic guards in the territories made it a wonderland for criminals plying their dark trades, from thieves to murderers. Any decent people that far outside a reliable grid scratched out an existence through hunting and gathering, their tech and habits straight from the paleolithic. The coast was as far from civilization as anybody could get without joining half of California under the Pacific. That’s why they never went any farther west than St. Paul, and if he were smart he’d follow their examples.So, Isaac had let out a sigh of relief when Director Khang told him this job was strictly classified. Not a word breathed to archives—all the info he needed would be accessible from his tab. Even his colleagues wouldn’t know where he’d gone until after he submitted a final report. As great as the other agents in his department could be, salt of the earth really, Isaac appreciated having breathing space to work. Nevermind if that work was the Coven equivalent of a wild goose chase. He got paid per diem anyway.He did have to admit his coworkers’ unsolicited past comments had one thing right. The drive to Nevada territory, while scenic at times, wore him out even when broken up over two days. He might’ve extended the trip to twice that long under normal circumstances if Director Khang hadn’t stressed urgency. Stopped to buy a pie at the shelter farms strung all across the Midlands since berries were in season. Taken a dawn hike when he hit the Rockies and allowed himself to think of his dad, tía, and cousins where no one could see him break down. Still, when he spotted a roadside rest stop with a little place to eat about an hour south of Sin Strip Beach, Isaac decided he’d earned a leg stretch and some breakfast.He parked under the last row of solar panels, patted his car on the hood, leaving a handprint in the layer of desert dust that had settled over it, then plugged it into the charging station. Eight other vehicles shared the lot even at three a.m. Mostly pickup trucks that had the rusty scars and mismatched parts of salvages, but there were a couple of humble sedans just like his mixed in. A breeze tousled his already messy curls but didn’t have the teeth to bite through his jacket. Under the smell of sun-baked earth and creosote, Isaac caught a whiff of sea brine. He squinted toward the western horizon. The glitter of stars remained unbroken until they met the gentle swelling silhouette of hills in the distance. No incoming storm clouds, not yet. Roads and weather permitting, he’d reach Eureka by mid-morning. Maybe he’d even manage to get some actual work done. Maybe.The rest stop had all its windows intact, metal storm shudders rolled up. Though a big terra cotta pot beside the entrance brimmed with gravel and cigarette butts, the walkway itself was swept clean. A little bell over the door tinkled to announce Isaac’s entrance. About a dozen pairs of eyes spared him a glance, but his old jeans and faded green flannel jacket sparked zero interest. Just another traveler passing through. He made a beeline for the narrow order window. No kiosk interface waited there, only a board on the wall listing menu items and a magpad to jot down the ones he wanted. The chilaquiles plate was crossed out, which was a shame. Isaac settled on a waffle, huevos con nopales, and coffee. He pushed the magpad and a credit charge chit through the order slot, nodded at the kitchen staff behind the glass, then snagged the only remaining table, luckily beside a window.Isaac pulled his tab from his jacket pocket and checked the outer screen. Two message notifications greeted him. The same two he’d been putting off replying to for a month. Jonah, ever patient, hadn’t added anything since sending his initial one, of course. The number of unread replies on Elfy’s, however, had ticked up, making for a grand total of fourteen. A long string of attempts to reach out, starting at hey, how’ve you been, morphing into I’m worried about you, and winding up around don’t make me hunt you down, prick. He'd answer soon. The moment he finished his assignment he’d get back to her, to both of them. A week, at max. Elfy would let him have it for keeping her in the dark for so long, but then they’d make plans to grab drinks and catch up once he returned home. Jonah would joke about Isaac training to become a hermit before telling him all about his weird adventures in the northwest territories, tracking down tales of dire wolves and Bigfoot. Maybe Isaac would even get an assignment out that way so they could see each other outside of the Coven’s winter solstice party for once. Nevermind how awkward the visit might be at first because of Isaac’s drunken decision making at the last one.Promises made, Isaac flipped his tab open to use the full inner screen. He tapped the file application and scrolled through until he found the assignment info Director Khang had sent him. He’d skimmed the basic objectives between rushing to pack for the sudden trip, so he took his time looking them over again. Sightings off Broken Coast. Integrated wereshark community in Nevada territory headed by Hart, Lawrence M. Verify eyewitness testimony. Coordinate search efforts and data collection. Isaac continued down to the attached transcription of statements. He kept them on one side of the screen while making notes on the other.Multiple unidentified creatures had been encountered along the shoreline as well as in open ocean, both near the surface and as deep as a thousand meters. Anthropoid from the midsection up—arms, hands, shoulders, rounded head. Below the belt, however…caudal fins or flukes. Tentacles. Even a spiny carapace equipped with four or maybe six segmented legs in one case. If the reports had come only from humans in the community, Isaac wouldn’t have bothered to accept the assignment, per diem or no. It wasn’t like drunk people seeing mermaids while they were out fishing was a first. The fact that the bulk of the details came from three weresharks, though…well.We couldn’t smell any plastic or rubber o algo así, claimed Tecla Santana Machado, speaking for both herself and the spirit of the great white shark bound to her soul. Didn’t smell like any prey we knew either. Se nos cayeron los chones cuando lo vimos. Scared the hell out of us tambièn. One second it was there, and the next it kind of, like, I dunno, flickered? And then it would show up somewhere else. From Anaru Shortland, a thresher. We could sense the little pins and needles coming off it when we saw it. The, you know, like, electricity. When it disappeared or, or teleported or whatever it was doing, it felt more like a current. Just water pressure swirling around.Isaac had formed a couple of hypotheses by the time the order bell announced his food was waiting on the pickup counter. First, that someone had figured out how to bind new types of animal spirits. While the Coven only had records of success with big cats, wolves, seven species of sharks, alligators, crocodiles, and bears (though not since the sixteenth century) that didn’t mean people weren’t experimenting. Isaac scowled while drizzling salsa over his eggs. He refused to congratulate anyone for butchering wildlife just because they didn’t like the species of spirit being handed down from their elders, or they wanted to stand out. Turning the culprit(s) in wouldn’t necessarily fix the problem either. The Coven might prosecute them, but once word got out that another kind of transformation had been discovered it would inspire other careless people to replicate the results. Not such a simple assignment, after all. Then again, the werecreatures Isaac had become familiar with preferred to enforce their own codes of conduct. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d buried his head in busywork while the community beat a greater sense of responsibility into a troublemaker. He added inquire about local customs to his list of notes.The second, more optimistic explanation for the whole situation involved forms of sorcery or witchcraft above his paygrade. Illusion or summoning or other stuff that involved drawing intricate chalk diagrams under a certain phase of the moon. In which case, he’d gladly report what was happening and let the higher-ups bicker amongst themselves about whether the werecreature or magic department held higher jurisdiction.Headlights pierced the night outside and slashed across Isaac’s vision. He shielded his face with one hand, peering through his fingers. A sleek black sedan with official-looking plates whipped around a corner of the parking lot, looking for a space. His heartbeat gave an arrhythmic jump and kicked into a faster pace. Corporate farm or railway reps never made a night more relaxing. Highway bandits and smugglers at least had the decency to let people go about their business after a modest bribe. Isaac slouched farther into his seat and noted all exits.A lone, short figure wove its way through the parked cars from the back of the lot. Isaac allowed himself to breathe a tad easier. Company shitheads were always at their most dangerous in packs. The light filtering out from the diner illuminated the newcomer as they approached. Clean-shaven, no suit or tie, although there was a white button-down shirt beneath their close-fitting athletic jacket. Isaac’s hand clenched around his knee when he caught a nocturnal-green flash reflected from their eyes. Or…no. No, they were just a naturally lighter color. He relaxed and stopped pressing against the window to stare. Straightening up, he did his best to fake nonchalance.Every gaze in the diner locked onto the owner of the fancy black car as soon as they were through the door. Rather than shrivel up and wither into dust, they offered a smile, complete with dimples, that could’ve been brought home to the most skeptical parents. They gave a sweeping bow to the room in general before strolling straight up to the order window. The click of leather dress shoes against the tile floor sounded loud enough to carry for miles into the surrounding hills.The newcomer paid no further mind to their audience as they put in a quick order and received a steaming coffee mug in return. Turning from the little window, they scanned the room for a spot to sit. A collective shift of unease rolled through the crowd. Isaac’s blood pressure doubled when the stranger’s eyes—a startling shade of blue-green like a tropical sea—settled on him and his window seat. He considered just getting up and leaving as they made a beeline for his table. Except a) that might spark a confrontation if they got offended, and b) he hadn’t finished half his plate yet. Isaac made the tactical decision to grit his teeth and stay put.“Olá, tudo bem?” The stranger motioned to the chair across from him. “Posso me sentar aqui?” Portuguese, spoken at a low pitch and rapid pace, but Isaac understood enough. “No hay bronca,” he mumbled.That did the trick. The stranger sat and gazed out the window, hands wrapped around the mug but not sipping from it. One by one, wary stares glazed over with indifference and disengaged. Breathing easier, Isaac turned his attention back to his food. Mostly. Between bites he snuck peeks at his uninvited guest. Smooth brown skin a couple shades lighter and warmer than his own. No ink, no mods, no scars or lines on face, neck, or hands. Early to mid-twenties, though one could never be sure. People tended to place him a few years over his actual age of twenty-nine—his grumpy attitude and habit of dressing like somebody’s abuelo threw them off, according to Elfy. Like Isaac’s hair, the stranger’s was black. Unlike his, it was combed and stylish, shorn close at the sides but left longer and tamely wavy on top. Even their brows didn’t have a strand out of place, thick and arched and providing a perfect frame for the unusual eyes that darted over and caught him.Isaac choked a little on a piece of waffle. He coughed and swallowed, a hasty apology loaded on his tongue. Too late. A dimple reappeared along with the stranger’s smile.“Você é local?”He had the courtesy not to sigh. At least the rest of the place had resumed their own conversations so one more wouldn’t stand out. “No.”“De onde você é? Você percorreu um longo caminho?”“Eh…”“Oh, desculpe! Você fala espanhol, não? How about English?”“Sure.”“I was asking you where you’re from. Sorry—the coast is the only place I get to speak Portuguese anymore, so I use it whenever I can.”Coming from anyone less well-dressed, Isaac would’ve flagged the question as a prelude to robbery. Not that he had much worth stealing besides his tab and the pistol he’d left in his bag in the trunk. Well, they could swipe the six silver-tipped bullets the Coven had issued him in the side zipper pocket too. He’d tossed the rifle the rounds had come with into Lake Michigan years ago, though, so unless they had their own he didn’t see much of a point. Interesting conversation pieces maybe.“I’m from Chicago,” said Isaac.“And I thought I had a long trip!” A second dimple appeared to match the first. Combined with lips and a set of cheekbones won in a genetic jackpot, it really wasn’t fair. “Ah, sorry again. Maybe I should make introductions before attacking you with questions. I’m Renato, he and him. A pleasure to meet you.”Isaac shook himself out of the daze that’d fallen over him and clasped Renato’s extended hand. Elfy would skin him alive if she found out an attractive stranger had crossed his path and he didn’t at least attempt friendliness. “Isaac, also he, him, his. So, um. I take it you’re not from the coast either?”“Oh, no, though I travel up and down it for work sometimes. I just finished a job down in the Floodlands and I’m on my way up to Denver for another. No rest for the wicked, as they say.”“What do you do?” Something illegal probably, but the ritual of small talk demanded he ask.“Security for a research organization. I’ll be escorting someone from the city to a new project out here for a few weeks. Something about taking stock of marine life.”“Like seeing how the fish population is doing, or looking for new species?” Hopefully not the mythical variety.Renato’s shoulders rolled in an elegant shrug. “Oh, I don’t know the details. I’m only the muscle after all.”Compact muscle. Isaac was willing to bet they’d come to the same five and a half-ish feet if they both stood—he might even beat Renato by an inch if he stopped slouching so much. He looked down at tan hands wrapped around the plain white coffee mug. Long fingers with short and manicured nails, prominent sinew under the skin, no nicks or bruises on the knuckles. Maybe he wore gloves when he punched people. Maybe he just carried a gun under that sporty jacket of his. Or, like Isaac, maybe he relied on negotiation instead of the skills he’d acquired on a shooting range (six months training followed by recertification every three years as required for all Coven researchers, plus blasting empty bottles or cans in a field for the fun of it sometimes). A face like Renato’s had to be a free pass to charm his way past a lot of obstacles.“What brings you out to the western wilds, Isaac?”“Well…something similar actually. I study big predators. Wolves and cougars mostly. Alligators once in a blue moon. I keep track of their movements and population sizes, births, deaths, habits, that sort of thing.” True, even if the predators in question spent most of their days on two legs and paying the bills just like him.“Que coincidência. Do you enjoy your job?”“Mostly, yeah. I get to travel a lot, see tons of interesting places, expand my horizons and all that.” Nevermind that if not for the Coven—and Elfy especially—he wouldn’t have made it through the past ten years without degenerating into a mat of depressed lichen on his sofa.“Doesn’t your sweetheart…or hearts…get lonely with you away that much?”Tension knotted between Isaac’s shoulderblades, but he managed to keep his face neutral. “I don’t have any to worry about. Turns out having a partner who isn’t home for weeks or maybe months at a time is a big turnoff for most people.” It’d definitely been a dealbreaker for Jeremy, who’d come to believe the long absences and great pay meant Isaac was secretly a smuggler kingpin. A couple of years after their breakup, the absurdity almost outweighed the pain.“Love is a tricky thing to keep, isn’t it? Like a rare fish in an aquarium. Too much of one thing, too little of another, the slightest unplanned change in conditions—anything can wind up killing it, even when you pour everything you have into its care.”Despite the dramatic delivery, Isaac found the corners of his mouth twitching with an urge to smile. “I take it you haven’t had much luck with romance either.”“Alas, no. Despite the fact my ex-girlfriend and I grew up together and went on to work for the same employer as adults, we were terrible for each other. Selfish asshole and spiteful bitch isn’t a winning combination, as it turns out.”Isaac’s eyebrows jumped up. “Is that how you’d describe yourself? An asshole?”“All my critics agree, and that many people can’t be wrong. Selfish, easily bored, insincere, manipulative.” He ticked each condemnation off on his fingers and sighed. “Who knew a pretty paint job could hide so much rot within the walls.”“Mm. Sure is a shame none of those qualities can be changed.”Renato nodded, his eyes wide and sad. The little divots starting to form on either side of his mouth, though, suggested his critics had a point. “Isn’t it? Things are going much better in my current relationship, though, so perhaps there’s hope for me yet.” He dipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a tab. “Do you want to see a picture of my darling Tes?”The sinking sense of disappointment in his middle caught Isaac off guard, but he made himself nod. After a bit of scrolling, the tab was offered to him. Isaac stared at the candid picture on the screens, then glanced up at Renato, who had to cover a grin that broke containment with one hand. He returned to the image again to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.“She’s beautiful,” he said with a snort. “Did you buy her a castle or a cave?”“Please. Meu amor deserves only the best—I got them a castle and a treasure chest that blows bubbles to decorate their tank. And I have no idea if Tes is a girl, now that you mention it. I’ve never bothered to look up if you can tell that sort of thing with goldfish.”“Either way, I’m sure your ex is seething with jealousy.”“She should be. I won Tes as a prize at a carnival game for her the night we had our final breakup fight.”“I can see why fish like you better than people do.” He soothed away any sting the words might have carried with a smile, though.“Oh, I’m told I can be charming company, at least in small doses.” Renato’s fingers were warm against his when the tab was passed back.“You must be, if you have any ex at all. Not to mention your own panel of critics.”“Such cruelty and judgement. You and her would get along great.” “Do you have her contact info? Is she still single?”“Sadism. Pure and simple. I can’t—” A notification ping interrupted. Whatever Renato saw on his screen put a dent between his brows.“Do you have to go?” The drop was much steeper for his spirits the second time.“No, no. It can wait.” The tab protested with another ping. “I’ve been driving nonstop since sundown, so I’m ahead of schedule really.” Eyes never straying from Isaac, Renato held down the device’s power button and slipped it back into his pocket.Isaac’s hopes rose again with a flutter. They also stirred up the old post-breakup excuses he used whenever someone showed interest in him. One by one, though, he swatted them down. Two years since Jeremy. Almost five months since he and Jonah had desecrated some poor archivist’s office. He could let that stretch into three years…ten…twenty-five…an entire lifetime measured in loneliness.Or.He could take a step toward rebuilding his crumbling personal life. If he made a leap of faith here and he landed in a huge pile of disappointment, well, so what? He’d be driving up the interstate come morning regardless. If it went smoothly, he’d have an exciting story to share with Elfy as an extra peace offering over those drinks.Isaac rested his chin in his hand and looked out the window. “So. Your car. Is it as nice on the inside as it is on the outside?”
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Not only was it nice, roomy with soft leather upholstery, it also had windows tinted enough that any passersby would’ve had to press their face against the glass to see him straddling Renato’s lap in the backseat. Not as private as an actual room, but good enough to let him switch most of his inhibitions off.“Do you mind marks?” The question, breathed against the crook of his neck, set off a shiver.“No.” His overheated brain cells sparked. “Well, yes. I mean…I don’t, but I, um. Have an important meeting coming up, so maybe keep them below the collar?”“Gladly.” Renato immediately undid the necessary shirt buttons, single-handedly continuing down the line without fumbling. Practice had apparently made perfect.Isaac’s attempts to return the favor were hampered by a series of nibbles along his shoulder. He got the job done, though, his reward a swath of chest and stomach tight with muscle as advertised. Isaac traced one of the neat surgical scars that curved beneath a pectoral, then its twin on the other side.“Enjoying the view?” Renato leaned back to give him some more of it.“Well, I’m technically a tourist, right? It’s important to see the sights. Take in the culture.”Fingertips skimmed over the ripples of his ribcage and slid down his waist, coming to rest just above his hips. “And what other ways do you like taking it in, Isaac?”“One thing at a time. I don’t like rushing.”“Would you follow my lead if I played the guide?”“Maybe—if I like what you’re showing me.”A laugh and then firm hands slipped around to cup his ass, pushing his hips closer, forcing his knees wider apart. “Ah, is that how it is?”He reminded himself to breathe evenly, slowly. “Unless you’re going to convince me otherwise.”One of the hands wandered up to bury itself in the curls at the back of Isaac’s head. A tug got him to tilt and expose a long, clean line of neck. Smirking, Renato leaned in and made an extremely persuasive argument with lips, tongue, and just a hint of teeth on the skin there. Reserves of dignity running into the red, Isaac squirmed. It wasn’t enough to break free, even if he’d wanted to. There was an amused hum against his throat, and the hand still on his rear left to creep under his shirt. Fingertips found the network of scars crisscrossing Isaac’s back. They followed the trails of decade-old agony upwards, skimming over growing knots of tension in the muscles beneath.Renato pulled away, eyes half-lidded. “It looks like I got carried away and left a mark after all, lindo. Forgive me?”The resulting rush of relief at not being questioned about the scars made Isaac’s head swim. Not only did he absolve Renato, he cupped his cheeks before bringing their mouths crashing together.Stinging, searing pain pierced his bottom lip. Isaac jerked back with a gasp, eyes watering. Dabbing the spot, his index finger came away smeared with something dark. Blood, shining black in the sheltered gloom of the car. He must’ve cut himself on a tooth while attacking Renato’s face.Glancing up, he understood why.His mouth partway open in a pant, Renato had revealed a pair of fangs. He stared at the seeping cut with pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of blue-green iris remained around them.“Shit! Bloodborn.” Isaac blurted. So far out on the coast? He’d been under the impression they mostly stuck to cities in the Central States where they had a steady food supply. Then again, what did he know beyond Coven basic training? He’d never met a vampire face-to-face.The word induced a complete transformation. Renato’s brows leapt up, his lips parting further in shock, even horror, judging from the way he recoiled. Isaac inhaled, about to reassure him maybe, definitely to make some inquiries, but a hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his voice and air.“Cast a spell and I’ll kill you.” Renato sounded out of breath himself.Isaac tried to explain that he neither knew any type of witchcraft nor had he been born a sorcerer. The weak croak that came out didn’t quite cover it.“Listen very closely. Either nod or shake your head to answer. Understand?”He nodded to the best of his ability.“Are there others here with you?”Regret struck immediately after his head shake. Should he admit to being on his own? He couldn’t weigh the consequences—his mind was already curling up and crumbling around the edges from lack of oxygen.Fangs snapped a hair’s breadth from his face. “Don’t lie to me.”Isaac added whimpering denials to the head shaking. The world around him blurred and spun. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe he’d pass out before he was killed.“Don’t scream. Scream and I’ll crush your windpipe.”The pressure around his neck went from strangling to merely stifling. He sucked in whistling breaths as quickly as possible. Hyperventilation became the new reason for the white fog creeping over his vision.“What were your orders? To distract? Delay?”“Werew—”Renato’s fingers constricted again. “I’m the one asking questions.”It took another round of head waggling and tugging futilely on his shirt sleeves to get him to relent.“Werewolfs,” Isaac gasped as soon as he was able. Not correct, and not even the type of animal he was there to see, but it was the first word his brain coughed up.More white showed around Renato’s dilated eyes, turning them uncanny, doll-like. His hand slipped up Isaac’s shirt once more, probing the scars etched into his back.“Son of a bitch,” he spat, retracting his touch, “you’re one of Mayer’s!”“Who—”A squeeze cut him off. “Of course. Why not? Because this job wasn’t miserable enough without adding wet dog to the list.” Renato scowled, his pupils shrinking a fraction. “Here’s what’s going to happen, my clever friend. You’re going to get out of my car—slowly. You try to run, you die. You signal to someone, you die. You attract any sort of attention, you and the witnesses die. I’m not in the mood to get rid of corpses, so it’s in both of our interests that you cooperate. Agreed?”Not at all, but no viable ways to protest came to mind. Careful not to make sudden moves, he crawled out of Renato’s—the bloodborn’s lap. His hand went toward his tab, carelessly tossed onto the seat, but a disapproving hiss made him freeze.“Leave it. Go.”Isaac wound up standing beside the car, shivering and clutching the sides of his shirt closed, until the bloodborn joined him.“Around to the back.”Ice water flooded his veins when the trunk yawned open and he saw the contents. A rifle—the kind that came in matte black and could mow down an entire herd of deer. An accompanying metal ammo box. Two small bottles of lighter fluid, zip ties, a cannister of salt. Not tools usually associated with marine biology.Renato picked up the ties. His eyes had returned to normal, but didn’t hold anything Isaac would’ve called human anymore. “Hands behind you.”Coven field guides recommended resisting when it came to bloodborn. Fleeing, fighting, screaming, anything but being taken to a more private location. None of those actions had spared him or his family ten years ago, of course. The nightmare amalgamation of pale man and white wolf that had stalked into their campsite just couldn’t have been stopped by ordinary means. Once the ragged claw wounds had become scars and the weight of survivor’s guilt on his back, Isaac had come to understand that. He also knew the same applied in the present situation, with one exception.His gaze turned toward the little rest stop diner. The silhouettes of people through its softly illuminated windows. People who had friends, families, a place in their community. A cursed werecreature would’ve torn through them indiscriminately. This monster with a human face tapping his foot impatiently was willing to settle for just Isaac.He brought his numb, trembling hands around behind him. Winced as the zip ties were drawn tight. The bloodborn helped steady him as he crawled into the trunk.Isaac didn’t bother to thank him. Just curled up, pulling his feet away from the rifle, and said, “You’re not going to get away with this.” It sounded weak, even to him.Eyes glinted night-vision green above him. “My performance reviews say otherwise.”The lid came down and sealed Isaac into the darkness of his lightly upholstered tomb.
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Being deployed to the coast had been wretched enough to begin with. How had Cassius phrased it? A series of errands rather than a full-scale operation? But a life-long career as an Aquila had drilled a couple of fundamental facts into Renato: 1) His sire never told the whole truth, and 2) shit jobs could always get worse. Proof of both was trussed up in the trunk.Sliding into the driver’s seat, he buttoned his shirt back up, scowling. A pair of big brown eyes, some flirty banter, and he’d rushed straight into the trap. If that sneaky little shit had been a fully vested Hellhound he could’ve just shifted and opened his jaws wide—snap! Off with Renato’s head. Instead, he’d gotten away with a lighter sentence of being humbled, hungry, and horny.He hit the ignition button and headed back out onto the interstate. According to the soft blue glow of the clock display a few hours remained until dawn. More than enough time to make it to the safehouse. Plenty of time to seethe on the way.Renato had reached the turnoff onto the dirt track when the open trunk icon lit up the dash. He swore and stomped on the brake, tires raising a dust cloud as they skidded on the gravel. By the time he got out and to the rear, Mayer’s little henchman already had his feet on the ground. He must’ve brought his arms up around his legs, cut the zip tie with the machete, then pulled the inner trunk release when he felt the car slow for the turn. With inexperienced hands, he fumbled to raise the civic guard-issued rifle he’d just finished loading. It wasn’t every night that Renato ran across human Coven agents with such fire, especially if they hadn’t come from an enforcer background. Most sulked when caught, but were content to comply, sure that their superiors would negotiate for their release. They never showed any real fighting spirit until the deal fell through, and Renato’s fangs were already ripping out their throats.The human found a comfortable grip on the rifle. Determination carved a deep line between his thick but well-shaped brows, put a hard glint into his dark eyes. Not as charming as the unfocused and half-lidded look of pleasure from earlier, but Renato still had to tamp down the urge to take a few bullets just to kiss him again. With a grimace, he buried an uppercut directly into the human’s solar plexus instead. He hadn’t used anywhere close to a supernatural level of strength, but the impact still caused the little fellow to double over and drop to his knees, retching.If their positions had been switched, Renato wouldn’t have received mercy, let alone courtesy. It still made his heart sink to use cruelty on someone weaker. He’d stained his soul so deeply with all seven shades of deadly sin during his career as an Aquila that no amount of Ave Marias on his mother’s rosary would ever wash him clean. Why add wrath against a helpless human due to his own laziness to the list? He’d have to be more careful going forward—he wasn’t up against a trained fighter. Resourceful and scrappy, but all the more reckless because of it. Renato tugged the gun from his would-be opponent’s hands as if taking a toy from a puppy’s mouth, ejected the magazine, and did his best imitation of his sire’s disapproving stare.“Please don’t make me pull over again. There’s no need for heroics. If you cooperate, I promise to do my best to see you safely returned to Mayer, okay?” The mangy bastard did have a habit of executing his lackeys for failure, but that wasn’t something Renato could control.“I don’t…know who…that is,” the human wheezed.“Of course. You’re just a simple human who happens to be aware of bloodborn. And whose back is covered in old claw marks. I’m sure you’re as innocent as a lamb, not just wearing its wool.” He jerked his head toward the car. “Inside.”Despite Renato’s sarcasm, the human’s wide-eyed look set off another twinge of guilt in his chest. Still, he refused to let himself help his reluctant passenger clamber into the trunk. After zip tying his prisoner’s wrists again, he slammed the lid shut, then stowed the weapons and ammo in the backseat, picking up the human’s surrendered tab while he was there. He slipped it into a pocket of his jacket, closed the door, and turned.Crimson eyes glinted in the gloom just to the side of the headlights. Renato froze at the sight of a rangy canine form, its head lowered, triangular ears alert, four legs set in a wide, defensive stance. Much too small and natural-looking to be a Hellhound. A fox or coyote or stray mutt. Renato’s muscles unwound a notch. He inched toward the open driver’s side door, making no sudden moves. Normal or not, most animals didn’t have any love for bloodborn. Sensing the offered olive branch, however, the skinny thing slunk off toward the main road, bushy tail tucked between its legs and sullen red stare never turning away. By the time Renato returned to his seat and glanced in the sideview mirror, it had disappeared, swallowed by the darkness.The rest of the trip passed, thankfully, without further incident. Renato let himself breathe easier once he parked outside of the post fence surrounding the property. He got out, noting a second set of fresh tire tracks in the dirt nearby. Finally, something in his favor. Breaking bad news to Ollie when she wasn’t close enough to slap him was always preferable.Renato walked around, popped the trunk, and stood by while the human cautiously sat up—bound hands in front of him once again. “Come on out. I don’t have all night.”His unwilling guest complied, watching him with the same wariness the coyote had, shoulders hunched, fists pressed defensively against his stomach. Renato ripped out another sprout of pity before it could take root.“Walk toward the house. Don’t do anything stupid like making me chase you.”Still clutching his middle, the human began to limp forward. Even following within arm’s reach, Renato could smell the fear wafting off of him. Acidic yet sweet, reminiscent of freshly peeled citrus. A dull, throbbing ache flared to life at the roots of his fangs, and he ran his tongue over tingling gums. Sinking teeth into the fluttering pulse in his unfortunate companion’s neck would make it burst like a slice of orange too.Those had been his favorite, once upon a time.Not that he would do such a savage thing. He wasn’t a fledgling anymore, drooling just because someone nicked themselves while shaving or whatever. He was just sick of the whole flaming trash heap of a job, and avoiding ugly tasks by seeking pleasure had always been one of his worst habits—an impulse that landed him in this mess to begin with, hadn’t it?Renato opened the gate with steady hands. As if the thought of thick, hot blood dribbling down his chin wasn’t running in the background of his mind. Because as much as the glitter had worn off of being an Aquila, he was a goddamned professional.“You’re making a mistake,” the human said, shivering despite his jacket.“Oh?” He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the scab on his guest’s lower lip. Sucking on it until it opened and started bleeding again wouldn’t be as terrible and gnawing on his throat. Not from a purely practical standpoint.“Whatever’s going on…whatever it’s about…I don’t care. I’m just a researcher. A nobody. Let me go. Please. Take my tab, my bag, my car, anything. Just let me walk away.”Renato’s attention snapped up to meet brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Take anything?”The poor thing instinctively shielded his neck with raised hands, recoiling a step. Renato followed—chased the scent of sun-ripened terror clouding the air—but caught himself before he could go so far as to lunge. He settled for gripping the human’s upper arm, hard enough to hurt if the wince it evoked was any clue.“My patience for bullshit is currently down to zero percent. So, Isaac, or whatever your real name is, I suggest shutting up and dropping the act, okay? Now, come on.”He half-led, half-dragged his prisoner across the sparse expanse of the yard and up onto the porch of the sprawling single story ranch-style house. Renato jabbed the entry code into the lock on the door before shoving it open. A few paces in he was jerked to a stop. The human had dug in his heels to the best of his ability on tile flooring, pulling against the hold on his arm, stubborn as any mule. On another night it might’ve been adorable. As it was, Renato grabbed the little nuisance and slung him over his shoulder, carrying him past the unused kitchen, down the hall, and to the last room on the left. Marching in, he flung his precious cargo down onto the bare mattress with perhaps a bit more force than strictly necessary. Before he was done bouncing, Renato had the chained collar attached to the bedpost in hand.He pounced as his captive attempted to crab-scuttle away. Small laughs huffed out of Renato while he wrestled into position on top of his squirming opponent, sitting his full weight on the human’s heaving chest. He’d fought stronger and better trained foes, but it’d been a while since he’d faced one with the will to struggle even in the face of certain defeat. Or one who looked so tempting pinned underneath him. Such an agent was wasted on Wes Mayer and his baying idiots.Grabbing a fistful of the human’s tangled satyr curls, Renato slipped the collar around the poor thing’s neck. Not that it dampened the human’s resolve any. He continued to kick—even clawed at Renato’s sleeves as the collar snapped shut and the clasp locked. Not the way he’d imagined his new friend marking him up in bed, but nothing else had gone right. Why start now?His guest’s flailing doubled when Renato grabbed the leather blindfold hanging from the bedpost.“Don’t,” the human said, eyes showing white all around.Renato did. Like a hooded hawk, the fight drained out of his captive with the blindfold strapped into place and locked. His hands retreated from Renato’s forearms to curl against his own chest as if in prayer. Did he believe he’d be taken advantage of? That he’d been captured by that sort of monster? To be fair, being stared at like he was dessert hadn’t done much to dispel such a fear. Carefully, Renato crawled off the bed and stood.“I’ll be in to check on you here and there,” he said, brushing the wrinkles out of his slacks. “If you behave, I’ll even bring you some food. Oh, and the bathroom’s behind you—the chain should reach.”No reply. Not so much as a rude gesture. What remained to be said? Nothing until their superiors, or at least Cassius, gave an order. Renato swallowed the absurd urge to apologize and left the room, closing the door behind him.He did a quick circuit through the house, barring and locking the aluminum storm shutters over the windows as he went. A rampaging seven-foot-tall Hellhound or—heaven forbid—Hawthorne’s cackling abomination with the scorpion tail made of skulls could just smash right through the wall, but the shutters did block out sunlight better than curtains. Renato wondered why Cassius hadn’t arranged for a ship to stay anchored off the coast so he and Ollie could shelter belowdecks during the day. It would’ve been equal parts funny and unsettling to relive their childhoods as Break refugees. Then again, if Mayer controlled the weresharks, perhaps sticking to the desert was for the best.Renato popped his head into the room Ollie had claimed. Personal effects and discarded items littered the bed and floor as they would have back home. Ripped jeans, fishnets, leather jacket encrusted with band logos featuring goats’ heads and pentagrams. That chainsaw Cassius had forbidden her from buying, along with the speargun she’d shot Renato with after he’d cheated with Debra (but before Ollie had committed the exact same crime). A topographic map, northwestern area circled with black lipstick from the unzipped makeup bag resting on one corner. Among the debris he spotted a two-way radio cradled in a charging base. He grabbed it and shut himself in the smaller, bare room two doors down.Ignoring his unpacked bags, Renato tuned in to channel three.“Ollie? I’m back at the safe house. Where are you?”Silence.“Something came up while I was out. If you have service, I need you to message Cassius for me.”If a cold shoulder could be transmitted via airwaves, a layer of frost would have formed on the speaker casing. Renato raked a hand through his hair, willing himself to be patient when all he wanted was a shower.“I know you can hear me, Oleander. Or at least see the little receiver light flashing. I’m not going away until you answer. Ollie. Ollie. Ollie, Ollie, Ollieollieollieolli—”The screech of a conflicting signal cut him off. Smirking, Renato let his finger off the talk button.“Asshole,” came through loud and clear.“You had me worried, meu querida. I was starting to think you’d fallen into quicksand or something.”“No quicksand in the desert, shit for brains.”“Well, thank goodness. I’d hate for anything unfortunate to happen to you if I weren’t there to watch and laugh.”“You got something to report or what? I’m busy working on our mission, not fluttering my eyelashes at the locals.”He could picture her white knuckles as she gripped her radio, a hint of fang showing behind her black-painted lips as they twitched from a suppressed snarl. Definitely not the time to press his luck. “I captured a spy. He’s one of Mayer’s.”Silence again, but shocked instead of scornful. “Bullshit.”“I have him chained up right now. Message Cassius and find out if he wants to negotiate with the mutts.”“I’m not your fucking secretary. You want someone to make calls for you, train your precious goldfish to do it.”“Tes is already my attorney. Anyway, there’s no service out here in the middle of nowhere.”Which she was well aware of—she just couldn’t give in until she’d vented her resentment over having to work with him years after their romance had imploded for good. Not that he could blame her. Seeing that goddamned speargun again had him in a mood too.“You did not bring down a Hellhound all by yourself.” Yet a quiver of uncertainty ran through Ollie’s denial.“I said he was a spy for Mayer, not a werewolf.”“Then kill him and plant his corpse with the rest under the fence already.”“Cassius told us to avoid violence as much as possible.” It was the whole reason their sire had picked Renato to chaperone. Given enough time and weapons, Oleander could figure out how to kill God, the Devil, or anything between. Her people skills, on the other hand, involved joint locks on a good day.Faced with the wishes of the one person on Earth she didn’t despise, Ollie had no immediate argument. Renato seized his opportunity.“He didn’t want the situation with Hawthorne to turn into a bloodbath, so it’s safe to assume the same goes with Mayer involved. We’re just supposed to keep an eye out for anyone or anything that might invade the town. Distract or drive it off for as long as possible, but try to do it without provoking anybody into sending reinforcements, remember?”“I was standing right next to you in Cassius’s office, you little prick.”“Well then. You know how much he’d appreciate hearing about this recent development and how closely we’re sticking to his orders. Especially from his favorite fledgling. You can even take credit for the capture, if you want.”“Oh, kiss my ass. I’ll message him, but you’re gonna owe me later.”“I’ll buy you a bikini so you can lounge on the beach. Maybe work on a tan.”She didn’t bother to snarl a retort at him. Just switched her radio off so when he pressed the talk button all he got was a click and dead air. Renato sighed and tossed the radio onto the bed. Like old times. Except picking fights with the closest thing he had to a friend out on the godforsaken coast was the last thing he should’ve been doing.What the hell was Cassius thinking, having them chase after a story as flimsy as fish people? Renato wouldn’t have expected that level of gullibility even from Mayer. Which meant his sire had lied to two of his most dependable fledglings. Something game-changing, something real, had to be up for grabs in Nevada territory. A prize that could entice—threaten?—an ancient bloodborn who had an entire secret supernatural organization underneath his thumb.One that might allow Renato to bring Cassius crashing down, if he could get his hands on whatever it was first. No more Cassius, no more Coven. No more having to beat, threaten, steal, or kill to keep either in power.Renato’s eyes strayed to his suitcase. He did have someone else he could call. While not exactly a friend, they’d proven more than willing to take his superiors down a peg when given the opportunity.Opening his suitcase on the bed, he reached under one rainbow-hued stack of meticulously folded shirts and pulled out a hand mirror. A heavy antique thing cast from bronze, the porcelain backing bloomed with painted morning glories. His mother might’ve hoarded such a romantic piece among the inherited treasures from her pre-Break life as a daughter of high society. Maybe his unlikely associate had picked the mirror up in whatever era it had originally been made—they’d occupied the top spot on the Coven’s Most Wanted list at least three times longer than Renato had been alive, and stories of their frightful deeds went back even further. Good reasons to take a courteous and cautious approach whenever dealing with them.He dug a liquid chalk marker out of the front of his bag and, while giving it a good shake, considered what to say. Whatever he wrote had to interest his acquaintance enough to not only make them march all the way to Nevada territory, but insert themselves into a standoff between three factions who’d put aside any temporary differences to destroy them if discovered. A small oval of glass didn’t leave much room for Renato to plead his case. Maybe keeping things to the point was for the best.Careful not to rest his hand against the surface, he formed each powder-blue letter with precise strokes.
Trouble in Eureka, NV. Msg me?
Not his most eloquent, but it would have to do. Frowning down at the message, Renato figured he should’ve asked his not-quite-a-friend how long it would take for them to notice it. Having a mirror in his suitcase wouldn’t raise suspicions, vain as he was, but the writing across it would.Darkness rolled across his worried reflection like spilled ink. Sucking in a sharp inhale, Renato pulled away before it blotted out the entire glass. No light glinted off the blackened surface. The mirror became a miniature portal to an abyss sitting on his bed. He hugged himself to keep from shivering.The darkness melted away as he watched, leaving the glass clear and free from any trace of his handwriting. At least wondering wouldn’t keep him awake.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Isaac received confirmation of his impending death as soon as the bloodborn dragged him into the house. He’d been terrified while being forced into the trunk, and demoralized after the punch to his gut. But the sight of a rolled up blue tarp and pair of dirt-caked shovels propped in one corner of the otherwise eerily empty living room launched him past the breaking point. He wrestled against the bloodborn’s grip on his arm, sneakers slipping and squeaking on the smooth adobe tile. It didn’t matter if he wrenched his shoulder out of socket or tore a muscle. The pain would be a welcome reminder that he’d lived.Isaac’s stomach lurched as the bloodborn gave him an irritated glance and hefted him into an over-the-shoulder carry without even a grunt of effort. Kicking did next to nothing with an arm wrapped tight around his legs. He didn’t have the leverage and bounced around too much with each step to get any good hits in with his fists.Before Isaac could restore any sense of balance he was flung onto a padded surface—a bare mattress. Metal jangled. His head snapped up to see the bloodborn holding a steel collar fitted with a chain in one hand. Horror pierced Isaac through the chest. If he was going to be slaughtered then let it be over and done with. But being kept as livestock? Or worse. He’d force the bastard to kill him rather than endure that kind of torment.Getting his hands underneath himself, Isaac started to scramble backwards. The bloodborn leaped on him in a blink, straddling him, pinning him down. Isaac clawed and dug his too-short nails into any part of his attacker he could reach: arms, chest, ribs. He bucked and kicked, but he was a researcher, not an enforcer.The bloodborn didn’t budge. Tears burned in the corners of Isaac’s eyes as his captor grabbed a fistful of hair at the roots. The cold metal of the collar slipped around his neck and made his skin creep like it wanted to slither right off his body. A heavy padlock clasped it shut with a sharp, final click.His throat closed around a jagged sound when the bloodborn picked up a blindfold better suited to a dungeon. Because what could be more nightmarish than being chained up, waiting to be snacked on? Being unable to see the stab or the bite or the punch coming.Isaac grasped the leather straps of the blindfold as it came towards his face. He couldn’t let it touch him. He wouldn’t. His captor laughed under his breath while they wrestled and the skin of Isaac’s hands turned red and raw. Panic drowned out the pain as the bloodborn pinned his wrists.He whipped his head from side to side. It didn’t make a difference. The blindfold blotted out the world. Straps wound around the back of his skull, underneath his jaw. They crushed his will to fight as each one tightened and locked in place. His struggles wound down to a stop.He’d tried. He’d tried and failed. There was nothing left except building a barricade of numbness between his sense of self and whatever unspeakable thing was about to be done to him.The bloodborn’s weight shifted. Disappeared. Isaac moved on instinct, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball like an armadillo. Over the roaring rush of blood in his ears, he thought he heard his captor speak. Isaac waited, breaths coming in short, shallow pants. No more words came, but there was the swish of a door shutting. A click from a lock? In the following silence he didn’t dare move. He strained his hearing for any sign that the bloodborn was still standing over him, deciding what indignity to inflict next. The ache in his legs and back had graduated to cramps before Isaac cautiously relaxed a fraction.He waited, temples pounding from an adrenaline hangover. No monster jumped in and tore him to pieces. His tongue rasped across his lips, too dry to wet them.Okay, okay. He was alive. Sore and sticky with sour fear-sweat, but otherwise physically unharmed. That was something. Better than regaining consciousness in a hospital with his back stapled and stitched together. He’d survived the beast who’d meant to eat him in the woods all those years ago by sheer luck. He could survive this one if he used his head.Extending his shaking hands, Isaac found the edge of the bed. He groped around, getting a feel for his surroundings. The mattress wasn’t large, maybe a full-size. It had a headboard made of two hollow but sturdy metal posts with another pair of horizontal crossbars between. Isaac followed the smooth links of the chain trailing from the heavy collar around his neck. Much longer than he’d expected—well over six feet. The end had been welded to one of the bed posts. He yanked, each attempt more desperate but just as useless as the last.“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”Isaac dropped the chain and took deep breaths through his nose to fight off the urge to scream, cry, vomit, or all of the above. That’s what this bloodborn wanted: a victim too off-balance and afraid to resist. He had to stay calm. Focused. He had to be ready to seize any opportunity he could find.Each of Isaac’s muscles protested as he climbed off the bed. Hands straight out in front of him, he shuffled forward. Six half-steps brought him to a wall. Another two and he discovered the locked door. He found nothing in the other direction before his leash pulled tight, so Isaac turned his exploration to the other side of the room. He crossed over the bed, careful not to get the chain tangled, and bumped into another door, open this time. On the inside wall he found cold tile instead of painted drywall. Bathroom. His spirits cautiously lifted. There had to be something he could use.More fumbling revealed a sink with a rectangular mirror set above. Breaking the glass could give him something sharp to work with. Less as a weapon and more as a tool. Or…well…as a last resort, if it came down to that. Isaac set the thought on a shelf in a dark mental back room. He slurped handfuls of tap water until his throat wasn’t lined by sandpaper anymore, and moved farther into the bathroom.The toilet tank lid could make a convenient blunt force tool. Isaac’s mind flashed not to the locked door but to the wall next to it. Hope unfurled in his chest. He could smash through and undo the lock if the bloodborn ever left. That left just the collar to contend with.No curtain hung from the walk-in shower, but he did find a towel rack with a removable bar nearby. The only other thing of note was a roll of toilet paper. Kind of his captor to consider such a detail. Unless…did bloodborn still need to use the bathroom?Isaac didn’t intend to ask.He made his way back to the bed and sat facing the direction of the locked door. Blindfolded, without any distraction to cling to, no option remained except to wait. It wasn’t so different from an incident during his first year at college, when he and Elfy had gotten arrested and held for sixteen hours because they’d told some civic guards to quit hassling another student. At least his lack of sight wasn’t from being maced this time. Elfy still fantasized about sneaking one of the haunted dolls from her collection into the guard station and letting it enact spooky revenge.Isaac drew his legs up onto the mattress, not caring enough to kick his sneakers off. He shouldn’t have avoided the handful of people who still bothered to check up on him. Should’ve skipped this assignment, period. He definitely should’ve minded his own business and focused on work. If he lived to regret anything, he might even attempt to do better.Somewhere in the derelict house a door slammed. Isaac tensed, attention concentrated in his hearing. A voice called out, too muffled by walls and distance to make out what it said. Isaac’s heart picked up into a trot. It couldn’t be someone looking for him, could it? An armed Samaritan who’d seen him being forced into the car? A rogue wave of nausea rolled Isaac’s stomach. Unless this would-be rescuer knew anything about the supernatural they’d be dead within five minutes. He remained still, anxiety crawling under his skin.Another voice spoke up—the bloodborn’s. Louder? No, nearer. Isaac bolted upright, perched on the edge of the mattress as if there were anywhere to run or hide. The new voice moved closer as well, growing more distinct. He couldn’t make out any words, but the sharp, aggravated tone came through crystal clear. The bloodborn gave a short but more measured response. Isaac’s heart plummeted into a deep, cold well.His captor had an accomplice. They couldn’t be human either, not from the way they kept interrupting with impunity.“Motherfuck.” The situation kept finding ways to evolve into new forms of worse. Isaac crept over to the locked door, mindful not to make the chain rattle too loudly and give him away.Even with his ear pressed to the wood he only caught fragments. The second bloodborn spoke with a Flood- or Midlands twang that sharpened its scornful edge. Mayer was namedropped a few times on both sides. Something about dogs? Floodlands mentioned looking for an uroboros symbol in the desert. The bloodborn stressed a need for patience, which was not appreciated. In the heated reply that followed, Isaac thought he caught waste of time and let God sort ‘em out. Floodlands favored a direct approach.He smooshed his cheek harder against the door, but the voices drifted out of hearing range. Isaac, heart and mind racing, attempted to assemble the jumbled pieces he’d collected since this nightmare began.Neither of his captors could be registered with the Coven if they were snatching humans off the side of the road. Isaac had never really paid attention to alerts about illicit bloodborn activity. Most only affected the northwest territories, Olympia being a stronghold for vampires who’d refused to acknowledge Coven authority. Jonah would’ve known something about them. If Isaac had bothered to call in the past few months he might’ve picked up a vital bit of info.Well, okay. He didn’t know anything offhand about renegade bloodborn. What about these ones? They’d clearly kept humans prisoner in this house before, if the collar and blindfold were any indication. For feeding? Isaac bristled at the thought. But Renato—if that was even his name—had mentioned something about talking to Mayer—whoever that was—on his behalf. That pointed to Isaac having more than nutritional value.He shuffled to the bare bed again, weighed down by the chain hanging from his neck and the choices looming over his head. The bloodborn would be back, probably after sunset. Isaac needed a plan by then.Playing along like he was with this Mayer person could buy him time to figure out an escape. Except what happened when it came out that he wasn’t part of the territorial dispute or whatever he’d stumbled into? Chomp, that’s what.Invoking the threat of retribution from the Coven looked like the smarter bet. Isaac would be dead by the time an investigation launched, but that wasn’t important. He had to convince the bloodborn(s) that killing him now was more trouble than it would be worth later. And that he definitely wouldn’t run to the enforcers if released.Isaac had never been good at lying, but that was nothing performing under pressure couldn’t fix.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The prickling sense of being watched woke Isaac from an uneasy doze. He scrambled into a sitting position, pressing his back against the headboard. There was no noise, but a subtle current in the air told him he wasn’t alone. Not a chill like when a ghost showed up. Something warm, electric.“Who’s there?”Silence. Then, “I see you got some rest. Good.”Isaac had imagined dozens of scenarios while he’d waited for night. Now that the moment had arrived his body froze, unable to do anything but huddle on the mattress. As if some primeval part of his brain believed that staying perfectly still could convince the predator in the room that he wasn’t there.“I brought you a little dinner,” the bloodborn said, voice all sparkle and charm. “I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting it myself, of course, but the stand I bought it from is popular.”Isaac’s hold on his reactions slipped as soon as the smell hit him. Savory pork. The tang of salsa verde and a note of sweetness from fresh grilled corn. His stomach grumbled and whined like a begging dog. The bloodborn wasn’t even using conventional instruments of torture and he’d rattled Isaac already.A warm hand slid into the crook of his arm, making him jerk and pull away.“Easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”“Anymore?” Isaac tensed as soon as the accusation left his mouth. Sweat gathered on his brow and under the metal collar as he imagined his silent captor’s expression.“I just meant to take off that blindfold. That way you can see while you eat at least. All right?”It wasn’t. The thought of letting the polite creep touch him made his guts feel like he’d swallowed a live tarantula. But if it gained him an advantage, Isaac would endure it. He scooted over until he sat on the edge of the mattress, and then turned slightly, presenting the back of his head. His reward was the tinkling of keys. Gentle fingers slid into his greasy hair, but Isaac refused to shrink away. The straps crisscrossing his head loosened. Dazzling light pierced the darkness and his retinas.“There. Isn’t that better?” his captor chirped.Glaring didn’t really work while he swiped at the tears his startled blinking couldn’t hold in.Laughing, the somewhat blurry bloodborn hung the horrible blindfold contraption on a bedpost. “Aw, come on now, don’t look at me like that. I already feel awful for being so rough with you before. Here, consider this a peace offering.”The bloodborn lifted a wooden tray from a chair positioned across from the bed. As he turned and sat, the tempting smells from before wafted over Isaac again. His nose hadn’t been mistaken. The tray held a bowl full of tender chunks of pork swimming in chile verde. Corn tortillas had to be inside the rolled bundle of foil beside that. A baying howl rose from Isaac’s stomach.“You aren’t allergic to anything, are you? I forgot to ask.” The bloodborn stirred the lightly steaming food slowly with a spoon. He’d worn a dove-gray shirt for the occasion, collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. The ruler-precise creases of his dark slacks just brushed Isaac’s shins.How many of the people who’d been held prisoner in this room had heard the same questions? Some must’ve eagerly answered, thinking emotional intimacy would make them harder to kill. More human and less like walking bags of O positive. Isaac’s mouth dried up.He knew bloodborn absorbed someone’s energy through feeding. That it was less about any exchange of fluids or actual nutrition contained therein. But no field guide could’ve adequately described the veneer of friendliness over the predator sitting across from him. It was like Isaac’s death wouldn’t be enough. The bloodborn wanted to break his victim’s will and suck out the spiritual marrow. Isaac couldn’t stop his lip from curling back. “You feel bad for roughing me up. You don’t want to give me bad food. You fucking kidnapped me.”The bloodborn’s stirring hand faltered, just for a split second. “I did.”“You’re holding me prisoner against my will.”“I’m afraid so.”“You’re going to interrogate me, then drink my blood like I’m a bottle of cheap wine and toss me in the gutter.”“I do have questions…but it doesn’t have to end badly for you. It all depends on whether you’re willing to cooperate.”“Right. Because you wouldn’t want to force me to do anything.”Those inhumanly vivid eyes tightened at the corners. “We’ll start easy, with reintroductions. I’m Renato Faria Dimas, one of the Aquilae. As you might have guessed.”The bloodbo—Dimas raised his left forearm to show off a tattoo stretching almost from wrist to elbow. Isaac checked his memory for any symbols of a sword’s silhouette wrapped in thorny rose vines, and with a red outline of a crown circling the point. The style did remind him vaguely of the Coven enforcer sigil. Just without the much cooler dragon and sun emblazoned on a shield behind the blade.“An aqua…?” Isaac raised his eyebrows.“A-qui-lae. You know, como uma águia. Just in Latin.”“Why’s it always that or Old Norse with shitty supernatural gangs?”Dimas dropped his arm and sat back with a bark of laughter. Even in bland overhead lighting his eyes flashed and shone. “My sire came up with idea, so don’t blame me. Speaking of names, is yours really Isaac?”“Isaac Soto Márquez. Coven researcher, werecreatures department.”“See? Not so hard, was it? Here’s a little something for your trouble even.” Dimas scooped up a chunk of pork and blew softly on it several times. He moved the spoon towards Isaac’s scowling mouth.No way. It had to be a joke. Except Dimas watched him, expectant, with a completely straight face.Survival. Food equaled staying alive and having the strength to escape later. Nothing mattered beyond that. Isaac snatched the meat from the spoon and recoiled like a wary animal. His mouth tingled from the spices, but he tasted nothing as he chewed.Dimas scooped up another piece. “Now, Isaac, would—”“No.” His bound hands clenched until the knuckles throbbed. “You don’t get to use my name like we’re friends.”Another long, inscrutable look that made Isaac think of Elfy’s cat watching roosting pigeons through the living room window. “Agent Soto. Would you care to tell me what brought you out to the coast, all alone, so close to storm season?”“I was on my way to meet with the weresharks in Eureka as part of an important assignment. They were expecting me this morning.” More like a potentially useless assignment, hence Director Khang not wanting anyone else to know about it. And the shark community probably wouldn’t think twice about Isaac showing up late, given he’d been coming from as far away as Chicago. But the more Dimas believed there’d be consequences for eating him, the better.He took being offered the next bite as a favorable sign. “Have you worked with the weresharks before?”Chewing let Isaac stall long enough to work out that lying wouldn’t gain him much. “No, I’m covering for their usual researcher, who’s on vacation. I normally work with the wolves and cougars throughout Montana, Utah, and the western part of the Floodlands. We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over the past nine years or so.” That, and they appreciated Isaac’s lack of interest in reporting their communities for infractions.Dimas could sneer at Coven law, but he had to recognize the danger in pissing off a few dozen werecreatures by eating a human they liked.“Where did you get those scars on your back, Agent Soto?”“None of your damn business.”“Except it is. Wes Mayer’s underlings—wolves or humans—aren’t supposed to be within a hundred miles of the western coast, yet here you are.”Wolves? Did Dimas believe the old stories about humans turning into werecreatures because of bites or scratches? Could be why he’d kept prodding about the scars.“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Isaac said.Dimas snorted, but more importantly, didn’t offer food. The scrape of the spoon against the bottom of the bowl grated against Isaac’s nerves.“Bring me my tab and I’ll show you my assignment details.” And maybe send out a message, if he could get away with it.“There’s no network connection out here. Anyway, I already know you were deployed because of the mermaids.”The hinges of Isaac’s jaw broke, leaving it hanging open.“Don’t tell me you thought you’d be the only one out here looking for them.” Dimas’s expression suggested his opinion of Isaac would drop significantly otherwise.His mouth wouldn’t close, but it did move. “Why wouldn’t I be? The Coven’s whole purpose is to research and regulate supernatural stuff. What about you? Why would a bloodborn be looking into fairy tales?”A disappointed sigh. “For a moment, I thought you were a good liar. Maybe even better than me.”“Well, have you considered I honestly have no fucking clue what’s going on?”The spoon stopped stirring. The longer Isaac held Dimas’s bright, hungry stare the wilder his thoughts fluttered and bumped around inside of his skull, but he persisted.“What were your exact orders, Agent Soto?”“I told you: to meet with the Broken Coast’s weresharks. They were supposed to explain some sightings of mermaids they reported. Alleged mermaids. Then I was going to help them coordinate an investigation.”“And you came out here alone?”“Unfortunately.”“You weren’t warned to be on the lookout for, let’s say, handsome bloodborn at rest stops?”“I wouldn’t be here if I were.”“What about undead things?”The flutters turned into a buzzing that made Isaac want to tear his own hair out. “No! Are you kidding? That’s something the enforcers would handle!”“Did the creature that gave you those scars have white fur?”Thought and action overlapped. Isaac lurched to his feet and grabbed two fistfuls of Dimas’s shirt. He didn’t know what he thought he’d do. Pull the bloodborn out of his chair maybe. Or shake him. Dimas didn’t look particularly concerned by either possibility.“I’ll take your reaction as a ‘yes’.”“How do you know what it looked like?” Isaac’s voice squeezed from his constricted throat raw and cracked.“Take a seat.”“Tell me!”A brutal yank on the collar’s chain snapped Isaac’s head down, his neck bones popping in protest. His hands went from crumpling Dimas’s shirt to pushing against the bloodborn’s chest to keep his balance. Out of the corner of his eye, Isaac saw Dimas’s lips twitch up in a faint snarl, showing fang tips.“Let me put things into perspective for you, Agent Soto. You are fucked.”Isaac tried to shy away as breath tickled his cheek. The collar didn’t let him retreat.“Even if you’re telling the truth—”“I am.”“—your superiors obviously think you’re expendable enough to let you walk straight into danger. The only way you’re going to live through this is by throwing yourself on the mercy of my sire. And to do that, you need to follow my instructions, understand?”The details or whatever catch came with this supposed mercy? Not one bit. The underlying point, though? Isaac nodded stiffly.“Fantastic. Now, sit.”Another tug on the chain, and then Isaac was released. He didn’t sit so much as fall, twisting to catch himself with both hands. Fear of being pounced on again prickled through his limbs, and he straightened up as quickly as he could.Dimas hadn’t moved. He only watched, eyes cold and bright as aquamarines set in the unreadable mask of his face. But there was a new tightness across his shoulders maybe. A stiffness to the way he picked up the tray in his lap. Isaac’s stomach groaned to remind him it was still mostly empty. Two bites of food weren’t going to last him through the night, even if he conserved his energy.Before Isaac could debase himself by pleading not to be left alone and unfed, Dimas transferred the tray over to him, careful not to make physical contact. Isaac didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the spoon as best he could with his hands still zip-tied together and started shoveling food into his mouth. Once he’d gotten about halfway through the bowl he slowed enough to glance up. Dimas had let his impassive façade slip by arching his eyebrows. Under the circumstances, Isaac wasn’t inclined to apologize for his lack of table manners.“What do you expect me to do exactly? I can shoot but my other strengths are mostly, uh, academic.”That earned a soft snort of laughter. “Oh, you’re not getting a gun. Your role’s going to stay more or less the same. You’ll just be working for us instead.”“Las Águilas, or whatever.”“Aquilae, yes. Since you’re not a fully vested Hellhound, Cassius will accept your defection.”Isaac reviewed what little info he’d been given so far while pulling open the foil holding the tortillas. “Cassius is your sire?”“Yes. He’s a bastard, but not quite as obvious about it as Mayer or Hawthorne.”“Is Cassius the other voice I heard earlier?”A frown. “No, that’s Oleander, and she prefers to shoot, slash, or explode anything that gets in her way. You won’t be working directly with her, but if she gives you an order, I advise you to obey.”Good to know. “Who are the other…people? Or whatever. Mayer and Hawthorne.”“If you truly have no idea, consider yourself fortunate and pray your luck holds.”“So, you want me to go talk to the weresharks like nothing ever happened, and to report what I find to this Cassius guy, your sire.”“Basically. We did have another human agent in Denver lined up for this job, but since you’re already here and know something about werecreatures you’ll make a good substitute. I’ll be tagging along, of course.”His appetite dwindled at the news, but Isaac made himself continue to dip tortilla pieces in salsa and eat them. “Why are you doing this?”Dimas cocked his head.“Chasing fairy tales,” Isaac clarified. “Why would bloodborn be interested in rumors about magical fish people?”“Is that your opinion on the matter?”“The Coven’s existed since, what? Like, the sixth century? And we’ve never had a shred of evidence to support the existence of stuff like mermaids, unicorns, or dragons.”The dimples in Dimas’s cheeks peeked out. “You believe in werecreatures and bloodborn, but not mermaids?”“Until I see some proof, no.”“Well, Cassius, Mayer, and Hawthorne believe, and two of the three are willing to kill over the matter. I suggest you keep that in mind.”Neither went down easy, but Isaac swallowed both that and his food. “What happens to me if I don’t find any mythical creatures?”Fingers tapping on one knee, Dimas considered. “No one will punish you for that. If you’re who you claim to be—”“I am, goddamn it!”“—Cassius will offer you protection in exchange for your full cooperation. Compensation too.”He’d be on the clock while being held prisoner. What a relief. “And after my assignment?”“One hurdle at a time, Agent Soto.”Could he wrap the chain around Dimas’s neck? Was it possible to strangle a bloodborn? Isaac glared down into the empty bowl. He didn’t make a fuss as Dimas stood, took the tray—empty foil, utensils, and all—from him, and set it aside on his chair. But when the bloodborn reached for the awful blindfold Isaac didn’t try to hide the way his breathing sped up and his posture shriveled into a cower.Dimas stared down at him with bright, inhuman eyes. Slowly, his hand returned to his side, empty.“I’ll be back to collect you in a bit, Agent Soto. Continue not to do anything stupid in the meantime.”Balancing the tray in one hand and holding the chair by its backrest in the other, Dimas turned toward the door.“The white wolf,” Isaac blurted.A questioning glance over the shoulder.“You’ve seen it. Where?”The pause dragged on so long that Isaac opened his mouth to demand an answer.“In a cage. Down in the basement of an estate on the northeast coast.”“Do you know if it’s still alive?”Another hesitation, but one of assessment, weighing options. “I’ll tell you the story after I get back. We’re going to be spending enough time together for it.”Isaac stayed quiet and let him leave. He already heard as much as he needed to.Renato Faria Dimas was worse than a liar. He wanted to string Isaac along with promises of protection and rewards and closure. Anything to make him pliant. To get him to stay put until he could be used and discarded. The way forward was clear.Isaac would escape that night or die trying.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Status report logged: 1-14-80 0124
Agt: I. Soto
ID: 784
Zone: 93
Case Code: 1897
Unregistered bloodborn noted at 0124 in all-nite diner next to old interstate. Pretending to drink coffee. 2 sugars, 2 creamers. Obviously not human since it takes more like 10 to choke down shitty brew in this place. Subject scoped place for marks while stirring.Physical characteristics: Medium brown skin, no tats, no scars, no mods. 5 o’ clock shadow going on around outline of jaw but clean shaven otherwise. Blue-green eyes that have two employees finding excuses to wander out of the kitchen--both already tried to restock the full condiment station. Dark brown hair, wavy, trimmed around the ears and longer on top. One of those deals that takes an hour to make look effortless. Average height, about 5’ 8”. Can’t be sure about build because of jacket but estimate a solid, fit 150 lbs. Overall, appearance of male in mid to late 20s you can take home to parents. No wonder we haven’t tagged this one. Nobody expects fangs behind a smile and dimples.Waiting for subject to move. Will observe from distance, see if nest can be found.
Re: Status Report of Case #1897 logged: 1-14-80 0201
Admin: R. Khang
ID: 209
Zone: 163
Tag noted. Good catch, Soto. Profile being compared with previous sightings. Keep head down, do not engage. Back up to be deployed as soon as description is run. You know the drill.
Update report #1897 logged: 1-14-80 0413
Broke off pursuit approx 15 min after leaving. Subject walked at easy pace, hands in jacket pockets like he could feel cold. Headed for edge of downtown, ran into acquaintance standing outside local dive. Couldn’t tell if friend was bloodborn or potential meal. Unable to find excuse to hang around, disengaged. Will see if I get another hit tomorrow.
Re: Update #1897 logged: 1-14-80 1238
Admin: R. Khang
ID: 209
Zone: 163
No matches. Either new one or damn good at hiding. Both bad in their own ways. Little too far south for Desmond Walsh’s brood, but you never know. Continue to hang back. Sgt. Alan Curry and Corp. Tina Yi are on their way.
Update report #1897 logged: 1-15-80 012
Subject at diner before me tonight. Crap coffee and stir/scanning again. Wish I’d sat closer. One employee worked up enough nerve to start a chat, but they're too far to be overheard. Will look weird if I suddenly change booths. Is what it is.Subject looks no different except for change of clothes. Bloodborn looking flushed after a feed is mostly BS, I know, but sometimes they do seem, I dunno, more present somehow? Probably wouldn’t be going through the motions if he’d chomped someone already, though. Will follow to see if his new admirer is in for killer hickey later on.
Re: Update on #1897 1-15-80 0635
Back up arrived, Soto. Meet at location provided in map attachment within next hour.
Re: Update on #1897 1-15-80 0723
Soto, status? Sgt. Curry says you haven’t shown.
ALERT: PROTOCOL 1997 1-15-80 0805
Zone: 163
Curry, Yi, I don’t think the bastard was after the restaurant staff. Find them.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It was embarrassing how fast it had happened. Isaac had always been sure he’d put up a good fight at least—death before dishonor and all that good stuff—but there hadn’t been any warning. No footsteps rushing up behind him. No ominous chuckles from the darkness of an alley. No hair raised on the back of his neck until an arm had snaked and constricted around it. A few moments of pressure on his carotid arteries turned the world white, then black. When it returned, likely only a handful of seconds later, it was too late. The dry texture of a fabric gag cut into the corners of his lips and zip ties trussed his hands to his ankles. Disappointment in himself outweighed any panic over being bound and gagged in the trunk of a car at first. Slowly, though, reality began to sink in.He would be dinner and a show if he didn’t get his ass in gear. Isaac’s priorities abruptly realigned themselves. He scrambled to think. The subtle hum of the electric engine and gentle bumping and rocking motion meant they were on the move. Trunks had latches to open them from the inside. He could maybe wriggle around and grope until he found the one in there. Roll out into the road. Hope he wasn’t turned into an interstate pancake by any vehicles following in that lane. It had to be preferable to what awaited at the end of the ride.He’d just completed Step One—felt the rush of free air against his skin, heard the dull roar of its passing—when the car began to lose speed and drift toward the shoulder. Desperation had gotten him as far as up onto his knees before time ran out. The crunch of shoes on gravel came around the side of the car and the bloodborn loomed over him against the backdrop of the lightening sky. His features didn’t stand out too clearly in the gray haze of pre-dawn. Except those eyes. Same color as a tropical sea and backlit by the power of stolen lives. He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket with what might have been an apologetic expression. Isaac would have given anything short of his life to shove him headfirst into a woodchipper—forget the sun-cured stakes.“I didn’t want to resort to this, but I can tell you’re going to be a handful.” The bloodborn’s voice projected goodwill, giving away only the barest hints of accent around the vowels. Spanish or Portuguese most likely, especially this close to the Broken Coast.“Fuck you,” Isaac replied, his own basic, Central States tone muffled by the gag.Smiling, the bloodborn pulled his hand from his jacket pocket. Something small and made of glass winked. A syringe. He pulled the cap off and tossed it to the gravel.Isaac thrashed, cursed, strained muscles. It didn’t stop the bloodborn from getting an arm around his neck again, only to restrain this time, while the needle stung his bicep. That task completed, the bloodborn threw the syringe aside, calmly reached into the trunk, and wrenched off the escape latch with a jerk of the wrist. He still wore the same magazine photoshoot smile while sealing Isaac back into his lightly upholstered tomb. Fuming became the remaining option. There’d be plenty of time for it, he suspected; whatever the bastard had injected him with would work even slower for having to be absorbed through muscle. That meant a long ride ahead.It took what he estimated to be a half hour before the drug slipped into his brain, picking at the tangled threads of terror, outrage, and despair. They unraveled, fell away. Combined with the gentle hum of the engine and rocking motion of the car it turned his eyelids and limbs to lead.Isaac Soto rode to his doom not with a roar or whimper but a snore.-He woke with a snort. Something warm and wet coated his cheek. Wiping at it with one hand, Isaac discovered he’d been drooling. He blinked at his fingers, brain processing frantically as it came back online.Daylight. All around him. Limbs free, he propped himself on one elbow to look down. A double bed beneath him. Clean, crisp sheets and blanket, ergonomic pillows, soothing scent of lavender detergent throughout. Nordic-style furniture in the rest of the room: nightstands, dresser, a full-length mirror in a corner by the large window. Functional and elegant in their simple, straight lines.Isaac threw off the covers and got up. That lasted two seconds before blood rushed to his skull and drowned his motor skills. He plopped back onto the mattress, dizzy. His second attempt went at a slower pace, introduced him to all his new aches, but met with success. Isaac frowned down at his bare feet for a moment. Whoever had brought him to the room had also been considerate enough to remove his sneakers before tucking him in. They sat patiently under the nightstand, waiting. Turning toward the mirror, Isaac and his reflection exchanged perplexed scowls. While he had no complaints about being alive, he couldn’t riddle out the how. Or, more important, the why. If he’d expected to wake up at all he would’ve bet it would be in a cage. As an animal waiting to be slaughtered. Not put to bed like the friend who’d had one too many at the bar the previous night.He studied the window. The heavy, royal-blue drapes framing it. The gauzy…undercurtains? was that a thing?...beneath those. Bars of sunlight slanted in through the spotless glass. Shit fire and save matches, he could hear birds singing.It took Isaac two strides to get to the window and shove the curtains farther aside. He spared just a few seconds to note the modest yard one level below, complete with synthetic grass and patio furniture. Instead, his interest went to the metal latch on top of the sliding section. Grabbing it, he yanked. Didn’t budge it. Progressed to cursing and yanking on the damn thing. Still not so much as a wiggle. Finally, with his nose pressed close enough to steam up the glass and pick up the faint whiff of dust he understood why.Someone had soldered the latch permanently shut. Banging a fist against the panes told Isaac more bad news: the window wasn’t made of glass. Glass didn’t make such a dull thump when struck or feel that sturdy. Bullet-resistant acrylic or polycarbonate, however, did.So. He’d woken in a cage after all. Just a more pleasant one than imagined.“Motherfuck,” Isaac said through jaw muscles screwed tight. Not a turn of phrase that had gotten him into honors English at university maybe, but an apt expression of his mood. Well, he’d try the door as a formality before searching for something to start pummeling the walls with.Mouth a thin, dire line, he went over and gripped the knob. Almost jumped clear out of his skin when it rotated without resistance and the whole damn thing swung open. He caught his balance after a stumble. A short hallway leading to another ajar door ran off to the right. Through the crack he could see a tidy bathroom. Stairs waited to the left. Marveling at the absurdity of still needing to worry about such mundane concerns, Isaac made a pitstop at the former before descending the latter.A townhome. That’s what they called these sorts of split-level apartments. Couple of spaces upstairs, another bedroom on the ground level, plus a sitting area, kitchen, and half-bath. In this case, the downstairs room had been left empty except for more blue drapes and the smell of fresh paint. Isaac’s examination of the other two were perfunctory; the real matter at hand was the front door.He approached it as if it were a growling dog. To be honest, his caution went beyond the suspicion he’d find this somehow blocked off too. Each step he took toward the door dropped another leaden lump of dread into his belly. By the time he could reach for the handle, cold sweat slithered down his spine, beaded his brow, and slicked his palms.Not just a door. He knew it couldn’t be just a fucking door. Yet, ever the optimist, he made the mistake of turning the knob anyway.A hideous sucking sound, like a large creature hauling itself out of bog mire, accompanied a gray hand oozing out of the wood. It’s gnarled, clammy fingers clamped around Isaac’s wrist. Though he could see right through its mottled gray flesh its grip proved solid enough to start applying crushing pressure to the delicate network of bones inside his forearm. Stench rolled off the phantom limb to help prove its reality as well. Humid wafts of vegetation, animal meat, and waste stewing in stagnant water. Being rendered into the next layer of sludge.The sagging face that slimed its way through the door after the hand was overkill by that point really. A gargling scream bubbled out of its ragged, sagging, stinking hole of a mouth. Isaac answered with a much shriller one of his own. Half-choking on the reek of the thing’s breath, he wrenched his arm out of its grip and fell on his ass hard enough to put a second crack in it. His nails and heels scrabbled at the hardwood flooring, dragging him away from the wretched specter.Slowly, it melted back into the door, empty eye sockets never looking away until the face vanished. Only a faint sheen of something that dripped down the paint remained to show it had been there at all.Isaac lay panting on the living room floor, glad he’d used the toilet minutes before.Once his heartrate had returned to something like normal he sat up and began to review his options in light of this new development.Almost ten years. He’d been a field researcher on the Coven’s payroll for that long. Since he was nineteen. Since the jagged claw marks crisscrossing his back had turned to scars. He knew monsters, in other words. Knew some about magic too, though that hadn’t been the specialty he’d chosen. Everything he’d encountered since waking up came from his mental file of Very Bad Things.For instance, while studying the subject of bloodborn, he’d learned many broods of unregistered individuals ran underground businesses. Black markets full of charming items like charred infant bones, choice body parts culled from suicides or murderers, or various fluids from select portions of the mortal population—virgins and children born at certain times of year counted among the usual targets. Then there were the so-called mortuaries and crematoriums that disposed of the, ah, byproducts from such markets. Of course, they didn’t turn away paying human customers either; cartels and sundry other shady organizations were more than welcome to drop by and have material evidence destroyed for a convenience fee.The most horrifying, in Isaac’s opinion, had been the part about real estate. Namely, how one bloodborn with some financial acumen, or a group, would buy property somewhere quiet, out of the way. A complex of townhomes an hour or two away from the old interstate, say. These would be outfitted with various means to hold something or someone against their will. For days perhaps. Maybe weeks, months—longer, who knew? It really depended on the renter, who might be anything from a serial rapist to a director of hardcore bondage streams.Not to mention, not infrequently, a bloodborn who couldn’t give half a shit about the Coven’s rules and regulations regarding feeding. Who preferred the old-fashioned method of stalking a human and tearing their throat out once in a blue moon. Or sipping their life dry over a longer period. Either way, the result came out the same.It took Isaac around twenty minutes to exhaust his supply of expletives and tears. Another fifteen to recuperate enough willpower to drag himself up off the floor and go to work.Roughly seven hours of daylight remained, if the comm screen on the fridge was correct. Seven hours with which to search that slaughter pen decorated with impersonal catalogue-ordered furnishings. Not much time, but maybe, if he used it wisely, enough to save his life.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Night had fully taken over before the bloodborn came through the door. Isaac fumbled and dropped the cabinet hinge he’d managed to pry away earlier, but kept hold of the stake he’d been sharpening—or attempting to anyway—with it. There hadn’t been any tools to be found in the townhouse—of course there hadn’t. So he’d done a lot of kicking, wrenching, pulling, and sweating to obtain anything with metal or sharp edges. He was covered in the scrapes, bruises, and sweat to prove it too.The bloodborn shut the door behind him. Set the tote bag he carried down on the floor. His Caribbean-blue eyes fell on the stockpile of makeshift weapons Isaac had managed to throw together. Not much really. The wood from cabinets, dresser, and bed slats under the mattress split too easily most of the time to make trustworthy stakes. He doubted they would withstand the force needed to pierce up under a ribcage—forget through one—and stab into a heart. Without tape or glue there wasn’t much he could do to reinforce the tips. Still, it beat sitting in despair and writing eat me across his forehead.“I see you’ve kept yourself busy. Good.” A note of genuine pleasure in the bloodborn’s voice said he meant it too.As it turned out, fight or flight weren’t the only two responses embedded into the human brain. Freeze held enormous influence as well. Isaac had played out dozens of scenarios through his head while toiling away. Now that the moment of truth had arrived, though, his body didn’t want to sync up to any of his brain’s careful plans. As if some primitive part of him believed that staying perfectly still long enough would deceive the predator in the room that he wasn’t there.Instead, all the bloodborn did was smile and lunge.Panic crowded out any hope of rational strategy. Nothing but a hammering heart, constricted throat, and tensed muscles remained. Isaac brought the shoddy stake slashing down in an overhead arc just as the blurred form of the bloodborn came into range. The crudely sharpened tip struck his enemy in the shoulder. It didn’t splinter. Didn’t penetrate either. Strong arms captured him around the thighs. Lifted him straight off the ground. Isaac’s stomach lurched and he squawked like a baby bird falling out of the nest as he was tossed up and over, did a terrifyingly slow somersault, and landed awkwardly on one of the sofas. The breath flew from his lungs in a painful whoosh. He’d barely managed to suck in half a gulp of air when his host vaulted easily over the sofa’s back and landed on top of him.Panic pumped a fresh shot of adrenaline into Isaac’s system. He thrashed and kicked, aiming for any soft parts he could. He nearly took out one of those lambent blue-green eyes, but the bloodborn jerked back in time to get away with red scratches raked down his cheek. Isaac paid for it by having his wrist captured in a crushing grip. The other fell not long after. Both were pinned above his head. He continued to buck, hoping to roll the bloodborn off, maybe get the upper hand somehow, but the bastard kept his full weight securely on his chest the whole time. At last, Isaac exhausted himself. Tense and trembling, he glared up into glittering inhuman eyes with a depth of hatred he hadn’t realized himself capable of.It took a bit for the bloodborn to speak. “What’s your name?”Calm. Utterly rational. Friendly even. If Isaac hadn’t already used the fuck you line he would have spat the words in the thing’s patiently polite face. No reason to make himself predictable.“Does it matter?” he shot back, bitter as ashes.The simple reply came without missing a beat. “Yes.”He stared. No sign of mockery or madness could be seen on the bloodborn’s features, though.“You’re unregistered.” Isaac sounded as bewildered as he felt.Amusement touched the corners of the full mouth. “I am.”“You kidnapped me.”“I did.”“You’re holding me prisoner against my will.”“I’m afraid so.”“You intend to murder me.”“Eventually…yes.”Isaac’s temples pounded like bass drums. “Then why give half a shit what my name is?”That puzzler put them on equal mental footing at least. The bloodborn regarded him for a full minute with raised brows. “You’re the first person to ask me that.”“What. An. Honor.”A sigh, followed by another pause. Good grief, he was actually throwing together some half-assed explanation. Despite himself, curiosity snuck into Isaac’s thoughts. He’d heard the bullshit unregistered bloodborn spewed to try to justify guzzling down human lives: that it made them more physically and mentally powerful; because the Coven had no right to impose human moral codes on inhuman beings; and the ever popular it’s just in our nature. But those had been second hand accounts. What would it be like to see the body language that went with the rationalizations? To tear them apart in a debate? He had an idea it might be therapeutic, if nothing else.“You aren’t an animal. Some of us might convince ourselves otherwise, but I’m not one of them.” The bloodborn brushed away the four rows of flaky red that had dried on his cheek. Any trace of the scratches beneath them had already healed. “And it makes the process easier, in some ways.”Okay. So. Not the exact brand of BS he’d been ready for. Fine. He’d roll with it. “Easier for who? You or me?”“Me, I think. But you might find it helpful as well, depending. My name is Renato, by the way. Renato Faria Dimas.”Right. Now they would shake hands and go on a coffee date. The sarcastic thought set off a fresh spasm of terror in Isaac’s guts. “You’re insane. Batshit. Loco.”“No, not really. Just self-centered.”The worst part had to be realizing how little ammo he had to argue against such unflinching honesty. Whatever else the bloodborn was didn’t include deluded or easily ruffled. Those eerie eyes never wavered while answering. Nothing cruel had crept over his features, but they had been equally as empty of pity. He had pondered his dining habits. Meditated on them for much longer than it took to finish a cup of coffee or take a stroll through a park, for sure. And he’d come to the conclusion that he loved his own existence more than anyone else’s. Accepted it without varnish. Isaac shuddered, ignoring the questioning look it earned him.“How old are you? How many humans have you killed here?”Though he hadn’t surrendered his name, Isaac’s investment in the conversation brought a flush of pleasure to the bloodborn’s face. “Not so old really. I was ten when California sank into the sea. My family and I were survivors of the first quakes and tsunamis to hit. We fled to Texas—what’s called the Floodlands now.” His grip on Isaac’s wrists eased ever so slightly. “And, if you must know, I’ve taken sixteen lives here.”Beneath the numbing layer of horror at the situation, the usual currents of Isaac’s mind continued to flow. They carried the tidbits of information to the banks of his memory for safekeeping. He’d met few registered bloodborn who remembered the world before it had decided enough was enough and began burning, starving, sickening, and washing away the overpopulated human civilization infesting its surface. It was the biggest reason the Coven wanted bloodborn identified aside from their tendency to eat people without proper laws in effect: They were walking, talking records of history. Who knew how many ancient ones and their secrets had perished alongside mortals in the same cataclysms, their daytime bolt holes exposed to the sun by upheavals or shelled out by fires. Loss on multiple levels.“That puts you at, what? A little over a hundred or so?” Isaac said.“Something like that. You still haven’t told me your name.”“I don’t see any point in making my death easier to swallow for you—pun intended.”The thing that called itself Renato Faria Dimas regarded him with a faint smile touching his lips and a faint V of disappointment—maybe even hurt—etched in his forehead. “Do you really want to die anonymously?”A hot flare of rage struck in his chest, Isaac flexed his wrists, testing the grip around them. Still too strong. If he kept up the talk, though, it was possible that might change. “Either you’re stupid or an asshole. I don’t want to die at all. But if I have to I’m not going to help absolve your guilt by pretending we’re friends.”He shook his head. “It has nothing to do with guilt. I left that behind when I decided to go down this path. No…it’s about responsibility.” He paused, considered the weight of the of the last word, and nodded. “I learn the names of any I kill. What they like, dislike. Who they are, who they want to be. I see that their remains are given final care and returned to family and friends. It’s my way of showing gratitude for the deaths that give me life.”“So you consume them in every sense. Then tell yourself it’s all right because you didn’t throw the leftovers into some Dumpster behind a McDonalds later on.”The Renato-thing mulled that over. His refusal to jump into knee-jerk reactions was quickly becoming the thing Isaac hated about him most. “That’s the whole point, though, isn’t it?” His voice had softened, lowered, almost like he spoke to himself. “To consume them? It doesn’t work as well by any other method. I’m stronger, faster, more aware than any bloodborn twice my age or more will ever be who only sips, who does no harm. Acting like humans are beneath me, treating their bodies like empty food wrappers, would diminish the power of the exchange, not to mention be wrong.”“It is the same old shit with you then. Just with a few poetic flourishes thrown in.” Somehow, the fact loosened a few knots across Isaac’s shoulders and smoothed the jagged edges of fear on his thoughts. With nothing special about the bloodborn complicating matters his chances of survival rose.Rather than argue, Renato-thing shrugged. Believe what you want, the gesture declared. He proceeded to shock Isaac yet again by releasing his wrists and sliding off of him.Now. Now was the time to attack, according to his brain. His body knew better, though. He sat up slowly, hurting and sticky with sweat all over.“Have you eaten anything today?”Might as well have asked him if he’d taken a shit or jerked off. Isaac shot him a sneer of disgusted disbelief. “Yeah, Mom, I did. Found the stuff you stocked in the fridge and cupboards when I was ripping them apart. Liver. Beans. Fortified grains. Leafy greens. Great stuff for anemia. Real cute.”If his lack of appreciation nettled, Renato-thing’s smile didn’t show it. “I brought you a few more things, if you want to see. Why don’t you get cleaned up and there will be something ready for you to eat when you come back?”What the hell was this creature’s major malfunction? Did he think Isaac would willingly offer his throat in exchange for fetching his slippers and giving him a shoulder rub? That doting equaled mercy?His thoughts must have been flashing in neon across his face because the bloodborn’s smile turned rueful. “Or you could try to fight me again. I have to warn you that your odds aren’t good since I can tell you don’t have any formal training. Didn’t the Coven offer you any?”Isaac’s annoyance spiked into alarm. “How do you know I’m Coven?”“You referred to me as ‘unregistered’ earlier, don’t you remember? And you never had to ask what you were doing here or what I am. I was already quite sure when I first saw you in the diner, watching me. Then trailed me on the street. Either you were one of their agents or thought I was attractive but were too shy to approach directly.” He tilted his head, eyes glittering, expectant. “I was a little disappointed to find the first hunch correct.”Heat rushed over Isaac’s face. Not from the flirtatious gaze directed his way—he’d been the target of enough of those to handle the attention any way he wanted it to go. No, it was because he realized how transparent he’d been. How reckless. The Coven did offer all sorts of training in self-defense—required six months of it and passing a competency test for all new agents, in fact. He’d jumped through the hoops, proved he was at least a decent shot with small firearms at the range, and thought no more of fighting. What did field researchers need to worry about aside from carpal tunnel? He had no intentions of wrestling a wereanimal or other subject to the ground to take its measurements. If he saw something really sketchy, he could report it and keep tabs. Let the enforcers come in, put their more extensive training to good use, and do their jobs. Besides, he’d joke with anyone who’d tried to get him to sign up for jiu-jitsu or whatever, he ran regularly. He could do that anywhere an assignment sent him and cardio kept him fit enough to flee in the opposite direction of anything scary.Yeah. Big ouch to his pride on that one.“You’re not going to get away with this.” It sounded like stock dialogue in a bad movie even to Isaac. All the bloodborn needed was a moustache to twirl.The thing called Renato smiled his sphinx’s smile. Lips closed, never a hint of fang. Not yet. “Are you going to get up? I’m not planning on taking any blood tonight, if you’re worried about that. And, just so you know, not showering isn’t going to deter me. Four of the others tried to make themselves as disgusting as possible—one even smeared shit on himself and the walls. It’s difficult to clean someone while they’re fighting me, but I’m not opposed to a little hard work.”After a minute of glowering and failing to ignore the way his heart sank like a punctured balloon, Isaac decided getting up wasn’t giving in. No point in making himself miserable. His host already had that base covered.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When he came back downstairs, showered and moisturized and smelling of sage soap, Isaac found himself alone. A plate of still steaming, delicious-smelling food waited for him on the kitchen counter.Apparently, the bloodborn had seen what he needed to see. He’d also taken all of the hard-won scrap from the floor, bastard. Isaac huffed a humorless laugh before taking the plate (ecofriendly bamboo and thus poor weapon material) to the sofa. Rather than watch anything on the holo—which had numerous connection restrictions anyway, he’d checked—he schemed while he ate. He replayed the whole confrontation that evening, from the front door opening to him stomping up the stairs to wash. Any tidbit endowed with significance he sifted out. He combed over his memory again for anything that might have hidden layers. All these he contemplated separately, in pairs or trios, and then arranged them into larger frameworks.Dinner was long gone and Isaac had laid on the sofa, under the blankets from the broken bed, for hours in the dark before reaching any conclusions. Only then did his mind allow him to sink into uneasy sleep.During daylight hours he continued to test the bounds of his prison. As before, dread nearly crippled him whenever he approached either the front door or high fence around the perimeter of the backyard. The multitude of putrid spirit hands that seeped out of the latter pulled him down no matter how he tried to climb. He’d even dragged the ruined bedframe down to prop against the fence. Once done tugging him to the grass, the ghastly hands ripped and crushed the wood to unusable splinters. On the bright side, Isaac believed there was a possibility he could use that knowledge later on.Shouting to anyone in the neighboring townhomes produced nothing but a hoarse throat. Not so much as a face peeping out from behind the closed curtains. Either the units in each complex were enchanted to block off sound or no one gave a damn about screams. They were almost one and the same thing really.The bloodborn found him eating at the counter when he came in a few hours after sundown. Isaac had been busy with the patio furniture and spirits guarding the fence much of the afternoon. Results had been favorable; the stuff out there had proven more sturdy. The table legs were metal, hollow but serviceable after the hands had wrenched them apart. Rather than get caught with his pants down like the night before, Isaac had made sure to stow them away with daylight still in effect. They were going to come in handy soon. Oh, yes.Renato-thing regarded him with approval for a moment. “I’ve ordered a new bedframe. It should arrive in a few days.”“You must have a lot of money,” Isaac said, already planning what he might do with the pieces.“I do well enough.” A modest shrug.“You must be part of a powerful brood. Which one?”That got a coquettish smile. “I’ll tell you if you give me your name.”Isaac shook his head. One of his conclusions had been on that very point: resistance made him more interesting, more appetizing, and ironically, more likely to be kept alive longer. There was a fine line, of course. Attempts to hurt himself would probably get him restrained somehow, so he had to maintain a balance. Give a little here, push back some there. The amused quirk to the bloodborn’s lips supported his theory.“I’m not that curious,” he said to Renato-thing. “I’ll tell you what I really do want, though.” Just as he’d imagined while laying awake last night, he paused for effect.Leaning forward a bit, the bloodborn prompted him with a, “Yes…?”“I want a way to record thoughts and observations. A writing tab, a stream-cam, bark and charcoal—whatever.”Those unnerving stained-glass eyes widened slightly. “Do you mean to keep a diary?”“I’m a researcher. Absorbing and organizing information is what I do. No one’s captured the process of dying by bloodborn—we have autopsy records, of course, and lists of physical symptoms, sure, but that’s not the same as an inside account.” He stabbed a piece of well-done steak on his plate, cracking one of the tines of his bamboo fork. “Besides, that’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to cling to a purpose? To not give up? To be full of life?”Isaac had imagined a lot of reactions after such a statement. None were as frightening as the look of…Christ, what to even call it? Flat, naked hunger was there, oh yes, but another emotion eclipsed it. Something that softened the predatory sharpening of features. A feeling that made Renato Faria Dimas tremble, starting from his shoulders and working its way down to his knees. It put a dint between his dark brows as if he were holding back tears in addition to the urge to rip out his guest’s throat.Gratitude. The word struck Isaac’s mind like a brick hurled through a windshield, bringing the rest of his thoughts to a screeching halt. Shit the bed, gratitude, that’s what it was. The bloodborn stared in awe and thanks for finally being understood, barely restraining the urge to drink him down for the favor. Isaac pushed his plate away, all pretense of appetite withered.“Well? Are you going to give me anything or not?” he snapped. If had had to look at that insane expression for three more seconds he would puke.Fortunately, the bloodborn turned on his heel and marched right out the front door. Isaac allowed himself a dram of cold satisfaction.Four and a half hours later he had a brand new, top of the line writing tab in his hands, along with two sleek data drives. More than enough space even if he were to survive the next twenty years.“Do you mean to leave your notes to the Coven?” the thing called Renato asked while he powered up the tab. He’d got a grip on himself during his little shopping expedition, apparently, and his expression had returned to its usual creepy congeniality.“Who else? The world doesn’t know monsters exist and probably wouldn’t care. Too many other problems going around. And I can’t make any money or guest appearances on conspiracy streams if I’m dead, can I?” Not that those tinfoil hat-wearing morons would do much with proof of the supernatural aside from argue amongst themselves whether aliens or the world government were controlling it.“What do you think they’ll do with them?”“Learn. Improve.” Possibly avenge him, assuming Renato-thing didn’t know any Coven ciphers. He’d certainly edit out the obvious personal information Isaac meant to put in.“Is there anything you want your family or friends to have?”“My family is dead. My friends are all Coven anyway.”Well-shaped eyebrows leaped up at that. “Dead? All of them?”“All the immediate members. I don’t really keep in contact with my distant cousins and the rest.”“Some type of accident?”The ragged stripes of scar tissue slashed down his back prickled. “No.”“Was it—”“Shove it. You’re not my shrink. I’m not going to spill my deep, dark secrets to you, okay? Anyway, for all I know you’re a fan of the old vampire myths were you guys chomp your way through whole households like Pac-Man with fangs.”Whether the flinch that tightened the Renato-thing’s smooth face for an instant sprang from hurt or anger—maybe a portion of both—Isaac couldn’t pinpoint. It did lend credit to another of his theories: the other sixteen victims before him had probably tried to make nice at some point. They’d answered every prying question, thinking emotional intimacy would make them harder to kill, more human and less like food. Little did they guess they’d only been whetting the monster’s appetite.A good stretch of silence followed. Isaac finished setting up the tab before it ended.“You were going to get me killed.”Stylus partway through his first sentence, he peered up to meet the bloodborn’s shrewd stare.“You must have reported me to the enforcers. You knew what they’d do, but you condemned a stranger without stopping to wonder anything about him.”Isaac snorted. “I can’t say I feel bad about it knowing what I do now. Anyway, you’re unregistered.”Another reflective beat of quiet. “Did one of us kill your family?”“No, and I already told you to drop it. Why don’t you—”The tab tumbled from his hands as he was gripped under both arms. Without so much as a grunt of effort, the bloodborn lifted him clear off the sofa, holding him in the air as if he were made of nothing but straw, his feet dangling well above the floor.“Would you prefer I act more like a monster?” The question held no edge of menace, yet Renato-thing’s usual amusement had sharpened into intense focus.Isaac considered kicking him and discarded the notion as suicidal. “You’re going to do whatever you feel like regardless. I’d just prefer to skip the pretenses.”Slowly, he was lowered to the floor. The bloodborn’s hands slid down to the bottom of his ribcage, radiating warmth. People were always so surprised to learn that: the cold flesh and pall of the tomb from folklore didn’t match the vivacious, deceptively human reality. They stood close enough for their body heat, breath, and smells of clean skin and hair to mingle between them. Being about the same height, Isaac could see directly into those impossibly vibrant eyes. Notice the gradients of spring green to teal to aquamarine and the chips of cornflower-blue scattered through them. He couldn’t find his own (likely terrified) reflection floating in them, as if the bloodborn had devoured even that. He didn’t wonder that anything so beautiful could belong to a creature that thrived on death. The whole universe revolved, evolved, on the push/pull of those two concepts.When one of Renato’s hands left his side and cupped his cheek, Isaac’s heart was already pumping full-throttle. He stood ready as the other hand slipped into that jacket for something more sinister than a simple syringe full of sedative.His knee slammed into the bloodborn’s groin. A hiss of pain escaped Renato, his lips peeling back from white teeth and finally, there they were: a neat set of fangs, uppers and lowers. They didn’t come for Isaac’s neck, though, oh no. That would have been game over. Despite romantic popular opinion, those teeth were meant for killing just like any animal’s, not making precise, petite punctures. That’s what needles and other pointy implements were for.Their struggles sent them tumbling onto the sofa, causing it to flip over and dump them on the floor behind. Isaac got a few decent kicks in before being expertly pinned with full body weight, the hand that had tenderly cupped his cheek now pressing it to one side, exposing his neck. Two choices lay before him: keep struggling and risk tissue damage or be still and think of God and Country. Isaac heaved in deep breaths between gritted teeth as he tensed to accept Option Two.What gave the experience an extra layer of gall was how it mirrored the Coven’s standards for feeding. Except there was nothing sterile about the burn of the needle—originally part of a venous catheter—seeking a big vein in his neck. Nothing routine in the first hot pulse of blood spilling from the puncture. Definitely not a bit impersonal with Renato’s mouth sealed over the wound, tongue pressing at his skin, lips working to suck out his life with each greedy swallow.Isaac kept his eyes squeezed shut against the burning tears of humiliation and rage. With much more difficulty, he fought to repel the idea that under entirely different circumstances he might have relished being pressed chest to chest, hips to hips, and legs akimbo under Renato Faria Dimas.What could have been anything from ten minutes to ten years rolled by before he started up the struggle again, afraid he’d be drained in one go. The bloodborn, mercifully, raised his head without any answering protest. A smear of red ran from a corner of his mouth to streak across his cheek, like lipstick ruined during a tryst. Relieved not to find himself feeble from anemia already, Isaac broke free and scrambled away, back hitting the hallway wall. He slapped a hand over the side of his neck to discourage any further bleeding. Or biting.Renato sat on his heels a minute, eyes shut and head bowed as if dozing off. Isaac thought of the metal patio table legs he’d stashed away. A few strikes to the skull wouldn’t kill, but maybe give him time to search for keys or anything else useful in that jacket.The opportunity passed before Isaac could get up, though. Raising his head, Renato fluttered his lids open. If his eyes had glowed before, they had become incandescent now. Powered by all-natural, zero emission blood, of course. Isaac’s dinner roiled in his stomach. He opened his mouth to make a sarcastic remark—to scour away the sense of violation and animal fear with scorn, but his host standing shut him up.Without a word, Renato fetched the writing tab from the living room floor. It in hand, he came toward Isaac, who tried to scuttle away. Like a naughty toddler, he was caught by the arm, hauled to his feet, and dragged forward. He began to raise his free hand, curled into a fist, to fight. Saw they were headed straight for the front door. Stopped.The only dread he experienced belonged to himself he realized a second before the way was open, and both he and Renato stood together under the clear night sky. His arm was released. His back nudged to get him to stumble off the stoop and toward the driveway. He spun to face the bloodborn, but the only move Renato made was holding the tab out to him. Open-mouthed, dumb, and generally the complete opposite of everything he should have been once free, Isaac gawked.“I…I don’t understand.”That trademark mysterious smile returned, with just enough parting of lips to show a glimpse of gleaming, scarlet-stained teeth. Male Mona Lisa with fangs. “Not now maybe. Not yet. But I’ve no doubt you will. Just like you understood before. And here. You’ll want these.” A set of keys were tossed lightly at Isaac’s feet.A rash of gooseflesh that had nothing to do with the cold desert air rippled down his arms and back. Because the cobwebs of confusion were already being dusted away while he goggled at the writing tab, the keys which had to start the car parked in the driveway.A hunter didn’t want to trap their greatest kill in a cage to shoot it. That took away the thrill. They wanted to meet their prey in its own habitat, on its terms. Stalk it. Learn its secrets. Pit their wits against its instincts until the final clash. Let Mother Nature sort the bodies afterwards.He also understood a stay of execution when he saw one. Isaac snatched the tab away. He didn’t dare bend down for the keys until Renato had stepped back and shut the townhouse’s front door quietly, still wearing his blood-painted smile. Not letting the entrance out of his sight, Isaac sidled up to the car. Fumbled blindly to touch the handle and heard the driver’s side lock pop open. Only breathed once the engine started and nothing reared up from the backseat to murder him.Around fifty miles down the road he finally allowed his foot to ease off the accelerator some. The car’s heater had helped take away the chill of shock, but could do nothing for the shards of ice buried in his heart. Not even rolling down the window and chucking the writing tab out to shatter on the asphalt could cure that. Nothing but the sun cresting the horizon could bring that kind of relief.At least until the next night followed. Just as sure as a bloodborn with eyes like a tropical sea, who had unknown resources at his disposal, would follow him. Would follow him to the ends of the earth, taking a piece of him at a time even without a needle or fangs in his neck. Because Isaac was a survivor. He meant to live at any cost. Because—God, Devil, Prophet, Buddha, Whoever help him—he understood.The car’s autopilot system took over as Isaac’s vision blurred with tears and exhaustion. He let both overtake him, knowing he would get a grip eventually. He couldn’t afford not to. Once he reached some form of civilization, had some means of contacting Admin Khang, there would be much work to do. Giving an official statement. Medical treatment. Reporting the location of the townhouses—which would surely be abandoned by the time they were raided. Giving his superiors every bit of information of his captor that he could remember. Not to mention signing up for jiu-jitsu or whatever finally.A swift death for Renato Faria Dimas to prevent his own slow one. He understood that all too well.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Renato stood outside the door after he’d locked it, listening. The chain tethering Soto to the bedframe clinked, a footstep scuffed across the floorboards, then…quiet. Not that there was much to smash in the room, but Renato had at least expected a round of feisty wall kicking. A silent prisoner meant one of two things: submission or scheming. The fury and pain that had simmered beneath Soto’s parting questions made it clear which way he’d lean. Fuck the whole Mayer family back to its founding members. All Renato had wanted was a bit of sweaty, sticky fun before committing to the job. Instead, he’d managed to pick up the one human in the area with ties to the Hellhounds. At least, that had been the logical conclusion before questioning Soto. With training, some humans could resist the hypnotic effects of staring into a bloodborn’s eyes, but a sudden, cloying cloud of the scent of fear couldn’t be faked. Either Soto believed his own lies in the moment enough to summon emotions…or he really didn’t know who—or what—he’d been working for. Face scrunched into a scowl, Renato strode down the hall towards the kitchen. Doubts wouldn’t do either Soto or him much good this point. He’d gone with his gut, and what was done was done. Besides, one thing was for sure: Soto hadn’t shown up by accident. If the Mayers had sent him into the middle of a squabble between Cassius and Hawthorne, he couldn’t be all that harmless. Renato dropped off the dishes in the sink, then made straight for Ollie’s room. Light spilled out of her half-open door. He scrounged together as much patience as he could, took a deep, fortifying breath, and raised his hand to knock. “Quit lurking, creep.” So much for beginning on a friendly note. Renato swallowed a sigh and stepped inside. Ollie sat cross-legged among the weapons and clothing scattered on the bed. Her dark blonde hair hung over her shoulders in a pair of braided pigtails. Despite the dip in temperature outside, swaths of pale skin showed through her ripped jeans and spiderweb-pattern halter top. A tattoo of the pink flowers and green, spear-shaped leaves of her namesake spilled down her slender left arm, still vibrant even after a century. Renato had held her other hand, the one branded by a cross-shaped burn scar, through each session. A shame their love hadn’t proven as strong as the ink. She continued to paint on eyeliner, not glancing up from the compact mirror in her hand. “Lemme guess. You’re here to beg me to babysit the stray you picked up.” True, but she didn’t have to sound so smug about it. “Just for a bit. I need to check my messages, and I don’t want our guest doing anything drastic before I get back.” Ollie lowered her little mirror and graced him with a direct glare. Outlined by dark makeup, the blue of her eyes was electric. They’d always been so much easier to read than his, never concealing her mood or intentions. “Not my problem.”“It isn’t…but you’re going to be waiting in the desert anyway. At least here you won’t be crouched behind a rock covered in tarantulas.” “Spiders are cool. They’re useful and great at hunting too. Unlike some vampires I know.” “Ha ha. Look, I’ll be back before you—” Ollie snapped the compact shut and chopped his reassurances in half. “No.” Renato resisted the urge to bare his teeth at her. “I’m asking for help with one itty bitty thing. Do you want me to get on my knees and beg or what?” “It’d make you the perfect height to kiss my ass while you’re at.” His voice stayed steady even while his hands tightened into fists. “Oleander. Please.” Her lips, still a natural pink, curled into a smile that came nowhere near the cold, glittering slits of her eyes. Ollie picked up a pistol from the bedspread and stood, looming over him even without her combat boots on. He pushed down the instinct to back away or avert his stare. “You really want my help that bad? All right.” The sharp click of a round being chambered punctuated her words. “The help I’m looking for doesn’t call for weapons.” “That’s ‘cause you’re thinking short-term. One bullet’ll make your job a whole lot easier, I promise. Well, two, just to be sure.” Renato’s muscles tightened until they thrummed. “I want this human alive.” “What for?” “He’s a useful tool. The weresharks are already expecting him—and this way I don’t need to drive all the way to Denver for a human proxy.” Ollie’s stare slowly drilled into him, searching for any sign of weakness. Renato withstood the inspection, giving her nothing to find. But, for some reason, her fangs still peeked out through a thin slash of a grin. “You feel sorry for the poor bastard, bless your heart.” It made him want to rip his hair out every time she used that tone on him. Equal parts contempt and condescension, like he’d failed to measure up to a secret set of standards. “I didn’t say anything like that!” Her free hand reached up to pinch his cheek. “You didn’t have to. It’s all over your sad, stupid face.” A growl crept into Renato’s voice as he slapped her offending fingers away. “I told you—” “Yeah, yeah. Strategy, gaining an advantage or whatever. Bet you haven’t had a chance to fuck this guy yet either.” “That’s the furthest thing from my mind.” Last of the top five things anyway. “Uh-huh. Look, I won’t hurt your new chew-toy, but I’m not hanging around to watch him for you either.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Ollie poked him in the chest with the barrel of her gun. “Forget it. You’re on your own.” Renato searched her eyes but found neither sympathy nor apology. Chipping away at her resolve would only spark a real fight. Fine. To hell with her assumptions. Oleander could have fun with the sand and scorpions for all he cared. He stomped out of the room without another word. Renato didn’t take any chances by returning to the rest stop from the other night. Soto’s car would vanish on its own within the week, either stolen or impounded, and it was best not to remind anyone that he’d been witnessed leaving with somebody. Instead, Renato drove northwest until he hit the shantytown within sight of Sin Strip Beach. He cruised through a grand total of three packed-dirt “streets”, passing twice as many tin-roofed bars, a score of assorted hole-in-the-wall shops, and a sad, sagging imitation of the casinos swallowed by the sea. Swarms of humans milled in and out of the gaudy buildings: bikers bearing a variety of heraldry on their jackets and openly carrying weapons; fishing crews or tradespeople still in coveralls and waders; food vendors scrambling to serve customers crowded around their carts or makeshift stalls. The dark crevices between each building saw its own ecosystem of customer come and go. Outside a bar at the end of the third row, Renato discovered a quintet of cars worth as much as his. Though he parked alongside them, he didn’t switch the engine off or get out. Checking his tab, he sighed with relief to find it had partial signal. Renato drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for his messages to open. A sudden tapping drew his attention to the passenger side window. He looked over, face hardened into unwelcoming lines. His expression collapsed as recognition hit him. Renato pressed the button to roll the window down and barely managed not to stammer. “You!” Kinslayer cocked their head and stuck their hands into the pockets of their bomber jacket. Renato wondered what fate had befallen the poor fool responsible for the bullet hole punched through the left breast. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re none too pleased to see me, lil cousin.” “No, you’re…I just wasn’t expecting you to show up in person. I hope you didn’t rush out here on my account.” Especially if that meant they’d magically tracked him. Kinslayer’s eyes, a black so profound that it swallowed the glow of the shantytown’s gaudy lights, locked on him with the intensity of a falcon’s. He dodged their stare by noticing everything else. Their appearance hadn’t changed much in the decade or so since the first time he’d met them. Still tall, still lean, their gender, ancestry, and apparent age likely to differ depending on the viewer (fluid, somewhere in Southeast Asia, and mid-thirties were Renato’s guesses). Half of Kinslayer’s hair was shaved like he remembered, but they’d allowed the other side to sprout into a glossy black curtain that dangled just above their smooth jawline. Life partially spent in sunlight had deepened their copper-brown complexion to perfection. Which was completely unfair—if psychic vampires and bloodborn truly belonged beneath the same supernatural umbrella, then Kinslayer should’ve had to resort to UV tanning lamps just like Renato. “Was in the neighborhood already, matter of fact. Coast’s gotten real lively recently.” Their drawl had double the strength of Ollie’s. “About that,” he said. “I have an opportunity which might interest you.” “Do tell.” “All but one of the remaining Unseen Hand members are set to be distracted for the next few weeks. I thought I’d let you know in case you had any plans that required slipping under their notice.” One corner of their mouth twitched. “Kinda sounds like you’re inviting me back to kill the other four.” “Well…I wouldn’t be there to let you through the door personally this time—though I can give you info about the compound’s updated security measures.” “Much obliged, but I’m gonna have to pass on the offer for now. I’m busy, and anyhow, it’s been a real pain to show my face out east since your sire doubled my bounty.” “Ah. Cassius had been complaining recently about how he still hasn’t found a worthy replacement for Tristan yet.” Renato, meanwhile, had welcomed no longer needing to wonder whether he’d run into the pale, leering inquisitor whenever he turned a corner back home. Kinslayer clucked their tongue. “Doesn’t take much in the way of brains or balls to torture people who can’t fight back.” An image of Soto’s wide, haunted eyes flashed through Renato’s mind. He quickly stuffed the memory into a mental box and stored it away to be dealt with at some other time. “No, I guess it doesn’t.” A pause descended, awkward but not unbearable. Not at first. As the gap in conversation widened, the sense of a presence in the passenger’s seat grew and grew. Which was ridiculous. One glance at the reflections in the windshield would reveal nothing crouched behind him. No ghosts. No doppelgänger of Kinslayer hissing icy breath down the back of his neck. Absolutely nothing. So, Renato didn’t check. “You know, cousin,” said Kinslayer, “you never mentioned what you’re doing out in the ass end of the country.” Lying to a class two psychic vampire like Tristan Knox had been a white knuckle-type of experience. Renato didn’t want to find out what the consequences for failure were with a class one. “The Unseen Hand is at one another’s throats over a territorial dispute. I’m stuck here until they decide to kiss and make up again.” Kinslayer neither moved nor blinked. The presence that definitely wasn’t lurking in the passenger’s seat leaned against him with a concerning impression of weight. “Wasn’t aware anyone had staked a claim along the coast aside from your sire’s railroad.” Renato lowered his hands from the steering wheel to wipe his damp, clammy palms on his slacks. “Ah. Well. The Hellhounds have some sort of connection to a town a little farther north. Weresharks. It’s probably a place to store or smuggle contraband, if you ask me.” Which they hadn’t, so why couldn’t he shut up? Slowly, Kinslayer reached out and pulled his door open. “I think you and me ought to sit down and compare notes over a drink or two.”