The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) (2 page)

"Hey, uh... Can any of you guys jab us?" Marlon then asked, glancing at each vamp, but ending on Leviah, his favored source of venom; the fangs looked like they packed a huge hit. "We haven't had a fix since Drake died and we've got the shakes."

Leviah's angular jaw rose in a small grin. He parted his lips, exposing his mighty, ancient fangs. Marlon flinched back in both fear and excitement. Leviah rose to his feet, put out a hand and said, "Come here." His brooding, menacing eyes worked Marlon's young mind;
come here, I'll numb your pain, I'll comfort you,
they said. A dreamy smile flitted across Marlon's face as he was drawn by those kaleidoscope eyes. By that electrifying stare. He floated across the floor, ghost-like, straight into Leviah's waiting arms. Leviah placed an ancient claw on Marlon's shoulder just as Marlon closed his eyes and lolled his head back, exposing his neck, allowing Leviah easy entrance. Leviah grabbed the other shoulder and pulled him in. Marlon gasped.

Leviah craned his neck back and opened his jowls wide, his gleaming, ivory fangs readied.

A smile spread across Marlon's face.

Leviah lunged. He dug his fangs into the flesh of Marlon's throat; they sunk in with minimal effort. Marlon's scream echoed around the chamber.

Leviah clamped his jaws down. A harsh tear of meat and crack of bone signaled the end of Marlon's screech. Leviah growled as he pulled away, taking half of Marlon's throat with him. He whipped his head to the side and spat the chunk of meat and bone from his mouth. It hit the wooden floor with a splat. He wiped the blood from his chin afterward, licking it off the back of his hand like a child suckling up remnants of sugar candy.

Marlon staggered backward, his bemused, bloodshot eyes bulging, his hand shooting up to the big gap where the other half of his neck used to be. Blood sprayed from the open wound with each beat of his heart. He glared at the blood on his hand in dazed stupidity.

He carried on with his stupefied stare as his life spilled from his body across the wooden floor. He just had enough time to cough up blood, before his eyes rolled up, not in ecstasy, but in shredded agony. The darkness of death then consumed him whole; his body slumped to the floor in a bloodied heap.

The other two blood sacks sprang into life, terror overcoming them. They both turned and ran in fear, hoping to make it to the elevator and their escape. Leviah pointed a casual finger in their direction, giving Sammy his cue. Sammy followed orders like an obedient dog. In one fluid motion, he pulled his Glock from beneath his jacket, aimed, and fired. The loud report was swiftly followed by a blood sack hitting the deck. The other one froze in his tracks, paralyzed with fear.

He turned his head to the side to be faced with the muzzle of Sammy's gun. "Why?" he asked in a breathless voice.

Sammy gave him a nonchalant shrug. "Just business," he replied before pulling the trigger without a jot of remorse. The blood sack's head snapped back, then his body dropped alongside his companions.

Sammy replaced his gun and straightened his jacket.

Leviah picked a small sliver of flesh caught between his fangs and flicked it away. "Fangheads!" he said, his voice laced with disdain. He spread his hands out at the mess on his once clean floor. "And this is why I forbid biting, Sammy. It spreads germs."

Sammy had an uneasy glance to the side. "Couldn't agree more, boss."

"Tell the others to stop, Sammy. I've warned you before. We have to be careful who we allow to turn."

"Yes, boss."

Leviah wiped Marlon's blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "Drain these peasants of their blood, bottle it, and have it refrigerated immediately," he then ordered.

"On it, boss," Sammy said, before approaching the nearest body.

Leviah retook his seat, straightened his cuffs, and ran his hands through his hair. "Oh, and Sammy," he then said.

Sammy stopped and turned to face him. "Yeah, boss?"

"Put a unit together. We need to get that relic back."

"No problem, boss. And what about the Dentist's daughter?"

Leviah's face darkened. "I'm tired of him now. He's broken the pact. He has to die. Him
and
his daughter."

CHAPTER TWO

"
H
ello, Dempsey residence."

Dom hesitated. He took a steadying breath. "Hi, Dad. It's Dom," he said into the receiver.

"Who?"
came the reply.

Dom's heart sunk. "Sorry. I've dialed the wrong number," he said before ending the call. He threw the phone down on his bed and grabbed his pen. He crossed out the latest number he'd found in the white pages. A long series of lines drawn over numbers stared back at him. John Dempsey was a popular name in this city and that was making it harder. "Why couldn't he be called Theodorus Bloomwood?" he asked himself in lament. "Then this list would be like two numbers long at the most!" He stared at the list of numbers he still had to go through. He puffed his cheeks in exasperation. He still had a load of numbers to go through and he was losing hope with every call he made. The emotional drain of anticipation followed by disappointment was taking its toll. The inevitable feeling that he'd reach the end of the available numbers without finding his family was fast becoming a reality. And he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle it.

He sighed and gazed around his lounge; it felt like the walls were closing in, inch by inch, hour by hour. He rubbed his eyes and looked again and he swore the walls had just moved in even more. He flopped back on his couch and stared at the bland ceiling. Things were all disjointed, nothing made sense; there were too many questions and not enough answers. He thought back to the Drake job he did for Beauchamp. Now, staring at the wall, all he could see in his mind's eye were a pair of eyes. Not vampire eyes icing him, but two green eyes, putting him under a different kind of spell.
Who was she? Where did she come from?
She was a hunter, that was for sure. A slayer, a real life Buffy. She knew too much about them and was too well prepared to just be a random passerby. It meant there were other hunters out there. And that was a good thing. It told Dom he wasn't alone, even though he felt hopelessly alone. Nothing had moved since the Drake job; he'd gone back to who he was between his escape and the job itself. The whole time, those emerald eyes had been haunting him.

He thought of checking the deep web again for any new activity. There hadn't been any since Beauchamp's classified, and that was almost a week ago. He kind of expected to find plenty more leads to follow, more people out there needing help with disposing of any vamps in their area. A bit like
The Ghostbusters
. But, there was nothing. The deep web was dead as far as vamps and more specifically, vamp hunting were concerned. It was just people bitching about vamps, no one really prepared to do anything about it. Keyboard warrior stuff. And that crap didn't pay the bills.

He contemplated creating his own classified--like Vincent's--to try and drum up some business, but that would only alert every vamp in Chicago that there was a hunter in their midst
,
and he still had no idea how many of them there were. No, he'd have to try and link up with other hunters--like that chick with the green eyes, who he couldn't get out of his mind.

He rubbed his head in frustration. He'd been stuck in his cell/apartment for almost a week now. The job for Vincent had been a good ice-breaker; he felt confident he could take more vamps down, that he could make a real difference. But, on the other hand, his close shave with death, coupled with his true lack of knowledge--something Green Eyes taught him--was making him a little wary of going gung-ho. He needed to learn more about them, needed to find out who they were, how many of them there were, what made them tick. He had to become a vamp expert if he was going to survive past next week.

In his mind, he replayed the moment he won his grapple with that vamp and shot him with the stuff she called 'holy water'.
Holy water?
He couldn't believe that stuff actually worked. He thought it was just something in the movies. But, it worked a charm. The vamp went down and duly died. And that was his first kill, which was thankfully out of the way, and now he was itching to find more. Soon, the money he got from Vincent's job would run out and he'd find himself on the street. He needed to do something.

He went over to the window and looked outside. The whole apartment block was silent, barely a light on. Could there be vamps living in there alongside him? You just didn't know. He wasn't getting any tingles, the kind he got whenever close to a vamp. Yeah, that tingle up the spine; the craving. The thirst for a hit of venom. Somehow his brain knew when they were close by. He wondered if that would ever leave, whether he was cursed for eternity with that tingling.

Beyond the apartment block, Chicago was ticking along; on its last legs, but still pushing on. The Windy City wasn't about to be blown down no matter how much the gangs, the dealers, the politicians, and yes, the vamps tried. Dom knew she'd remain standing against adversity and come through this darkness that was plaguing her--the recession, the crime, the vamps. The light would burn away the dark.

Man, that was deep.

He sighed and turned away. A thought then popped into his head. From nowhere, he remembered something, something that may aide him in his next move. He rushed over to his wallet and flipped it open. With a sense of eagerness, he flicked through the various cards he had. Then, he found the one he was looking for. The member card to Club Venom.
Ironic name, dude.

He knew where it was; on the outer edges of The Loop, but couldn't remember ever going in there, nor when he received the card. But, his name was etched across it, so he was definitely a member. Maybe there were clues there as to how he ended up in that basement.

But, what if there were more vamps and fangheads waiting there?

He scratched his head, contemplating the dangers.

It's a risk I have to take,
he then told himself, realizing he had no other choice.

And it was the truth. He had to get answers, no matter the risk, and Club Venom was the only thing he had right then that even resembled progress in that regard. Whatever might be there waiting for him, he just had to face it full on or he'd go around in circles forever.

CHAPTER THREE

C
lub Venom was lit up in blood red lights when he got there. He stopped across the street to check the place out. A small line of revelers lined the sidewalk outside, waiting to get in. Stationed on the door were a couple of beefy bouncers, radios in hand. From where he stood, Dom could hear the faint rumble of drums and basslines emanating from deep inside the club. He watched on as the pair of girls at the head of the line strode past the bouncers and entered the double glass doors.

Dom sucked in a lungful of night air and then began walking along the sidewalk parallel with the line of people. A tiny knot of nerves began tying up inside his stomach. He wanted this to be something, some kind of clue as to what happened. The thought of yet another dead end was just too damn depressing. He crossed the street and then strode up to the back of the line, déjà vu messing with his head. Yeah, he'd definitely been here before, he was sure of that, but he had no idea when. The walk up he recognized, at least some part of his mind did, but he couldn't quite place it.

I might get a better idea inside
.

He hoped that would be the case. He joined the line; he found himself standing behind a chick with a fur coat and pink hair, big shades covering her eyes even though it was after dark. The music was louder here; he could feel it bouncing inside his chest. He took a look up at the building. It towered over him like a sentinel. He checked the time on his cell: 11:15 pm. The party would only just be starting...

As the line dwindled, and more people came and joined it behind him, the nerves intensified. He wanted this, needed it, he just had to know what happened.

He watched the pink-haired chick and her girlfriend disappear through the double doors before he stepped up to them. One of the bouncers came straight over and placed a rough hand on his chest, halting him. Dom looked up to meet his stare.

"Members only," the bouncer informed him, his face like granite.

With an air of cool about him, Dom pulled out his wallet, retrieved his card, and handed it to the bouncer. The bouncer snatched it, took a brief look at it, then handed it back. He gave Dom a short
,
sharp nod of the head and ushered him toward the double doors. Dom inhaled a relieved breath before stepping up to the doors and opening them. A hot wave of beats and misty smoke blasted him in the face. He stepped into the dim darkness beyond and the door shut behind him, encasing him inside the womb of Club Venom. Up ahead was a ticket booth where more bouncers awaited. One of them ushered him to step forward. Dom steeled himself and made his way up to the booth with steady steps, that sense of distant familiarity growing with each step he took. On reaching the next wave of bouncers, he was asked to stop. In the next instant, a handheld metal detector was running up and down parallel to his body; it was like he was visiting the penitentiary. He was then asked to turn, and the procedure was repeated. When done, the bouncer pointed at the ticket booth while chewing on his gum in a steady motion. Dom headed for the booth to be greeted by a heavily pierced Goth whose face he could place, but not name.