The Bitten Read online

  “Gentlemen,” Carlos said, materializing out of a beam of blue club light. “I like what you’ve done with the establishment.” He stroked the heads of his beasts and snapped his fingers twice, commanding the dogs to sit, and then extended his crest ring for Yonnie and Stack to kiss.

  “We added a new subterranean level,” Stack said quickly, bowing and stepping back from Carlos after appropriately acknowledging his rank. “While you were gone, we converted the basement level for VIPs so the club can stay open twenty-four hours without a light intrusion. It’s fully stocked with top-shelf and the territory’s best females.”

  Carlos nodded and smoothed the front of his black Armani suit, his gaze sweeping the club floor. His line of vision settled on Yonnie, who looked him square in the eyes. He liked that. A man with courage. A man of few words, wise enough to hold his counsel until he was asked to speak. Carlos smiled. The collective tension in the establishment abated. The music resumed.

  “Walk with me, Yonnie. Let’s have a conversation.”

  Yonnie nodded and neared Carlos.

  Appearing relieved, Stack stepped away from his partner’s side, his eyes holding an expression of pity. Carlos watched Yonnie stiffen from the corner of his eye.

  “Feed the dogs,” Carlos ordered as they left Stack. “They require a hundred and eighty pounds of meat. Take it from the old inventory in the freezer. I want that bullshit out of my club, understood? Only top-shelf from Nuit’s old holding in here, but no new bodies.” He glanced at the dogs, angry that he didn’t consider feeding them the leftovers from Blood Music. Carlos resumed walking with Yonnie a few paces behind him.

  They climbed the stairs to Carlos’s old office, and for a bit, nostalgia settled into Carlos’s bones. He approached two bulked security vamps who parted for them to pass. The good old days, when he was alive and this club had been the crown jewel of his human empire. So much had changed in such a short time, and he’d learned just how relative time was.

  Carlos took in his environment, walking around the spacious room, remembering, and fingering objects on his old mahogany desk. The room now seemed so small, so plain, compared to what he’d experienced since then.

  “Sit,” he bade Yonnie, as he found his old high-back leather chair and sat in it. He was amazed at how ordinary it felt in comparison to his council throne.

  But Yonnie didn’t sit. He stood before the wide desk, his eyes glittering with both fear and respect as he stared at Carlos.

  “Sir, we have a problem.”

  Carlos laced his fingers together and made a tent. “I know.”

  “Philadelphia was a disaster.”

  A slight smile tugged at Carlos’s mouth as he stared at the young vampire. Yonnie couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old when he turned. He wasn’t concerned about Philadelphia. But he was aware of the strong Guardian nest that had been uncovered there. Perverse amusement filled him. He now understood the chairman’s reactions to his visits to council chambers. So he waited, gathering the patience to watch how Yonnie would function when there was bad news to deliver to the boss.

  “We got blindsided there,” Yonnie said, his expression stoic, but the beads of perspiration forming on his brow gave away his calm exterior. “We’ll go back and address it, will root out all Guardian teams in your territories. Our resources had been strained—”

  Carlos held up his hand. “Let the Guardian teams, wherever you find them, be.”

  Yonnie blinked twice. “Sir?”

  “Strategy,” Carlos said, his gaze assessing every inch of the young vampire. “When their side gets that strong, it’s because our side has kicked up a notch. If Guardian teams are flooding my zones, then it stands to reason that the light has picked up on more than me in the area.” Carlos’s smile disappeared as Yonnie’s body swayed. “This is why I asked you to have a seat.”

  Yonnie nodded and sat slowly, his attention riveted to Carlos. “You were breached by another master?”

  “Appears so,” Carlos murmured, renewed fury making his incisors lower a half inch.

  “We’ll take him,” Yonnie said quickly. He stood again and began pacing, his agitation creating a crackle of electricity throughout the room.

  “Your men couldn’t take a well-fortified Guardian team,” Carlos said in a blasé tone. “You’re third-gens, and that’s my fault.”

  Yonnie stopped pacing and horror filled his eyes.

  Carlos shook his head and stood. “I should’ve had seconds in there watching my back.” He began walking in a wide circle around Yonnie. As he watched pure terror reflect back at him from the vampire’s young face, an old wound opened inside him. Alejandro should have been here. Julio should have been here. Miguel should have been here, just like all the others should have. “All my family is gone . . . all my old hombres, at a time when I need them most.” Carlos chuckled, and a sad, hollow sound echoed throughout the room. “Fate is a curious thing. I didn’t think I’d survive this long without them.”

  He stopped and stood before Yonnie. He reached out and placed a hand on Yonnie’s shoulder. He wasn’t surprised when Yonnie closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.

  “How old are you, man?” Carlos asked, his voice low and gentle. It hurt him that Yonnie was trembling.

  “I was turned at eighteen.”

  “Open your eyes. Talk to me. How long ago were you turned?”

  Seeming surprised, Yonnie opened his eyes. A silent understanding connected them. They both knew that Carlos could have dredged him for the information, but hadn’t invaded his mind.

  “Respect,” Carlos murmured. “Some things, between men, are just not done.” He dropped his hold on Yonnie’s shoulder and appraised his light almond complexion, wiry light brown Afro, and hazel eyes. “You’ve got a Southern accent,” Carlos said, leaving Yonnie and walking to the far side of the room toward the bar. He studied his old crystal decanter, which was now filled with blood, and poured a half goblet, offering one to Yonnie. “You ever miss your living family?” Carlos asked, extending the tumbler.

  Yonnie accepted the glass and took a shaky sip, his eyes never leaving Carlos’s. “They’re all dead by now,” he admitted quietly. “I was made just before Nuit overthrew my master. A lot has changed in the world since then.”

  Intrigued, Carlos stared at Yonnie, as the vampire polished off his drink and set the glass down carefully on the edge of Carlos’s desk.

  “That was in the plantation days,” Yonnie said slowly. “You cannot imagine what those days were like.”

  Carlos nodded. That was the stark truth, if ever he’d heard it. He didn’t know much about this kid, but he did know an honest man when he saw one. But the irony of it all was not lost on him. In human terms, Yonnie was most likely two hundred years his senior, but in vampire terms, because he was a third-gen, he was a junior ranking officer now in his camp. Twisted.

  “I gotchure back, man,” Yonnie said in a quiet voice. His eyes searched Carlos’s as he spoke. “I got into this by accident . . . it was more like a dupe. Had heard your turn went down like that, too. All of us from the old generation were rooting for you in that drag race, brother. We wanted to see one of our own, somebody who’d been played get the upper hand. So, when you came out holdin’ aces, it was one of the proudest moments in my vamp life—and that’s no bullshit. Go ’head, scan me, test me, but I mean what I’m saying, no matter how this night ends.”

  Emotion filled Carlos, but he kept that locked within him. He could appreciate where Yonnie was coming from, and didn’t need a mental probe to test for authenticity.

  Without fear, Yonnie stepped closer to him. His gaze locked with Carlos’s, and Carlos could feel the invitation to peer into his mind. He nodded his acceptance of the offer and allowed his hand to again rest on Yonnie’s shoulder. Horrible images filled his inner vision. A pretty, ebony-skinned young slave woman raped and brutalized by barbaric overseers. An almond-colored baby born and snatched from her arms, while she was forced to work. A
child abused and beaten when it cried for its mother. A tender caress in the dead of night to soothe a frightened little boy . . . who became a man that ran into the woods one night to find a way to save his momma from her misery.

  Tears streamed down Yonnie’s face. Carlos closed his eyes.

  “They told me that this old woman knew a man with power . . .”

  Carlos stepped away from Yonnie and nodded, not sure that his dead heart could withstand the story he knew too well. “And he promised you power like you’d never imagine.”

  Yonnie simply nodded, then drew a ragged breath. “I wanted to get them back for what they’d done to us. I wanted to give all my boys the chance to live forever and to be strong. Two of them had tried to run and go north, but Alabama was a long way from the Mason-Dixon. They dragged them back, strung them up, and burned them alive for us all to see. That night I stole away and got made.”

  “And it wasn’t what you thought it would be,” Carlos said flatly. “It never is.”

  Yonnie wiped his face and nodded. “No, brother. It’s not.”

  “Stack’s been with you since then?”

  “Yeah,” Yonnie replied, drained. “All my boys were made by me. That’s the tragedy.” He quickly looked up, becoming tense. All vampires knew it was forbidden to speak ill of the eternal dark life, and he’d admitted his displeasure to a councilman.

  “It’s cool, man,” Carlos said with a wave of his hand. He sat on the edge of his desk, emotionally spent. “This shit is not what it’s cracked up to be, even at my level.”

  Again, a silent understanding bound them as they stared at each other.

  “But it is what it is,” Carlos finally said. “We are where we are, and what we are. So, the only option is to make the best of it.”

  Yonnie nodded and found his empty chair and slumped in it. “After two hundred years, man, there are some nights when it all seems like it was yesterday. Then, there are some nights when it seems like it will never end.” He laughed sadly. “And it won’t.”

  Carlos rubbed his jaw, hearing everything Yonnie had said. He was only a year old in his vampire life, and already it had been too long. He could only imagine the boredom and pure agony of hundreds of years of existence . . . and the master vampires who were very old had that reality as their Achilles’ heel.

  “You know,” Carlos said, his voice a low murmur, “as a councilman, there are some wrongs I can right.”

  Yonnie stared at him, new tension ebbing back into his body.

  “I need men I can depend on, men who died with honorable intent.”

  Yonnie had stopped breathing. Carlos stood.

  “My borders are shaky; another master has come into my territory and poached it.” Carlos walked to stand before Yonnie and motioned for him to stand. “If you don’t know anything else about me, you know I ain’t having that.”

  “No. I didn’t expect you would.”

  “I have certain rules about how I handle my business.” Carlos stared at Yonnie hard. “No women and children. No elderly. No innocents. It’s a long story, but it has to do with how I was made and who’s still under my mark. It has everything to do with how they half ate my brother when they turned him.”

  Yonnie nodded. “Nuit’s bite was nasty, man. We all hid from him. You ain’t got no problem from us. Where we came from, none of us has the stomach for babies and old folks . . . hate seeing sisters diced up and left on the morgue slabs. What humans have done is worse than what we’ve ever imagined.”

  “That’s why I want the dead meat out of my freezers. That’s why I don’t want any more floor shows with underage chicks. I want all my establishments run on the up and up, like we’re going legit—so the humans don’t swarm us. Top-shelf is siphoned from willing human donors only, already compromised motherfuckers who have lost their souls while still alive—and there’s enough of them walking the planet to fill vats.”

  “Got it. We stay off radar until the heat dies down.”

  “Correct.”

  Carlos extended his hand to Yonnie. And when he accepted it, Carlos pulled him in close. He studied the junior vampire’s jugular and waited until Yonnie threw his head back in submission. “You ready for a demotion to second-level, man . . . with the power to deliver this to your boys?”

  Tears of admiration filled Yonnie’s eyes as he choked out the word, “Yes.”

  “Make ’em all seconds with you,” Carlos whispered as his fangs lowered to a deadly eight inches. “Do it tonight. After that, your bites will make thirds, and unless I sanction the turn, you make none without my permission.”

  He could feel Yonnie trembling as he held him in a steel embrace. Yonnie swallowed hard, on the verge of weeping as a current passed through them. “I’d always wished . . . but never dared dream.”

  “I know,” Carlos crooned. “With this bite I give you the flight pattern to my lairs—guard them well. Watch my back. Protect my woman. Protect her family. Honor my strategy. Never question my judgment. Bring me information about which master has been in my yard.”

  “Done,” Yonnie murmured.

  The strike was so swift that Yonnie’s knees buckled. The shock of energy transfer coursed through the room, toppling chairs, shattering glass, and eliciting a garbled groan of pleasure from the junior vampire. Years of Yonnie’s torment entered Carlos and fused with his own, making Carlos’s hands tremble as he siphoned away the pain and wrapped it in a pleasure bond. Prisms of dancing lights formed beneath Carlos’s lids as he made his first lieutenant.

  Winded, he dropped Yonnie to a chair and staggered away from him, torn. Part of him knew that the power transfer was a necessary evil to shore up his territory, but another side of him was deeply troubled. The pleasure that came from such power was nearly maddening. Now that he’d learned what it was like, he wondered if he’d ever be able to give up this new, dark life.

  He brought the back of his hand to his mouth and dabbed away the black blood. He stared at Yonnie, who was prone, breathing heavily, eyes closed, as though he’d just been with a lover. The image disturbed Carlos and he crossed the room for much-needed space.

  Without turning around he knew the vampire was slowly opening his eyes, which now glowed red. He watched Yonnie stretch out his arms and stare at the blue-black electric current running down them. Instantly, Yonnie stood and walked around in a circle, becoming giddy, almost as though he were high.

  “I descended,” Yonnie said, laughing. “Oh, shit, you made me, man! I’m your first lieutenant—Carlos Rivera’s first lieutenant!”

  Carlos poured a drink and downed it, his tone even, his nerves shattered. “Yeah, man. Congratulations. Go celebrate.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FINALLY MARLENE opened the bedroom door with Shabazz, Big Mike, and Rider leveling weapons in Damali’s direction. It hurt her soul to see her team’s expressions, each member meeting her at the front door armed, and prepared to fire. J.L.’s hand hovered over the hallway holy-water emergency levers. Tears were standing in Jose’s eyes and he couldn’t even hold up his crossbow against her. But it was that look in everyone’s eyes that cut more than any weapon ever could.

  “Let’s do this in the weapons room,” she said softly.

  Father Patrick nodded, and unsheathed Madame Isis. Her team allowed her to pass slowly, each person watching everyone’s backs.

  The walk down that hallway felt like the longest road she’d ever taken. When she entered the room, the teams filed in behind her, everyone standing far enough away and taking strategic battle positions.

  Damali’s gaze settled on Marlene first. She was the only one unarmed, and the two women exchanged a silent understanding. They both knew that the teams had been trying to bring her out through a gentler method to no avail. Now, the options were severe.

  “After Raven . . .” Marlene said quietly. “I can’t put down another daughter.”

  “I know,” Damali said, holding her head up high. “Father Pat Imam Asula have to be the ones.
Marlene . . . Mom . . . just know that I love you, ’kay?”

  Rider’s shotgun was tilted up, even though his finger was on the trigger. His face appeared so worn and his eyes were so red that she could barely look at him. She saw Big Mike waver, too, his shoulder cannon position was not dead aim like it should have been, but would only slow her down enough just to wound her. Shabazz held the line, but his gun shook as he aimed it at her, his eyes containing so much pain that the tears that glittered in them seemed like crystals. Dan, Jose, and J.L. had crossbows, but their aims were off, too. Only the Covenant held their weapons at full military readiness. That was to be expected. Family could never easily put down their own.

  She smiled sadly at them. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I am so sorry, big brothers. God only knows how much.”

  “What did you say?” Shabazz whispered, lowering his Glock, and stepping out of the battle stance.

  “I said,” Damali repeated, “that I am so sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

  They all continued to stare at each other.

  “She said the name of the Almighty,” Father Lopez whispered. He closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross over his chest, lowering his battle-ax.

  “At a time like this,” Damali said, confused, looking at each person in the room, “don’t you think that makes sense?” Then eerie awareness entered her. She’d turned, had been in some sort of horrible flux, where she was banished from even the name of the Most High. The nightmarish reality brought hot tears to her eyes. She’d been stripped of her mission. She was no longer the Neteru. She wasn’t even sure if she was still human.

  When no one spoke, she opened her arms as hysteria began to claim her. “Kill me now, but say a prayer over me—let family do it, not the dark side!”

  They were shaking their heads, tears standing in their eyes. Their mute response tore at her, and her voice escalated as hot tears coursed down her face. “I messed up! Not him. I baited Carlos into the bite. But I am not a creature of the undead! I refuse to feed off the living and suck the lifeblood from living things. I want to at least die with honor. That deserves a prayer on the way out, doesn’t it?”