Chapter 1
Dain smiled to himself as he once again spotted his shadow further down the crowded sidewalk. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the hunter stretch his neck to get a better view of the heads in front of him, but it was hard to fix the eye on a single head in the swaying mass of colors. That was one of the reasons Dain had chosen to go down this street, the youth of today always flocked here after nightfall and all of them wore their hairs in bright colors. Dain ducked and vanished among them, his own raven black hair only another head.
He stayed where he was, in the shadow of a doorway, to spy on the people passing him by on their way to or from one or another of the numerous clubs that sprouted along the street and spread like a virus. Only the best clubs could survive though, and there was always a new waiting to take over and all the new ones had to be explored by the fickle, adventure-seeking youth.
The youth came and went as well and the new ones were always explored by Dain. He saw a few now that caught his attention as he waited, one of them he put to memory. Her scent, her hair, her eyes slightly angled as if she had a drop of Asia in her blood.
She turned her head slightly at his urging and their eyes met between the heads moving by. He rewarded her with a smile that bared an even row of bright, white teeth and a glittering, piercing green look under dark, lean eyebrows. Her lips parted in that inevitable intake of a surprised, astonished gasp Dain knew always came once he met someone's eyes, he could hear it across the sidewalk and it sent a shiver of anticipation and pleasure through him.
Yes, he would remember her and she would remember him. Dain would find her again knowing she would return to this street looking for him, looking for his eyes and his smile. It was his territory; he had claimed it and no one else was allowed to hunt there.
But at this moment he was the hunted one and he was reminded of this fact when the redhead nearly passed him by, the prey momentarily lost to the hunter. But almost as if he sensed Dain's eyes yet again riveted on him, the young man froze and turned to stare at him in the doorway. Dain bared his teeth in a challenging grin and slid out of the shadows, brushing past the redhead with such graceful speed that he didn't even have the time to raise a hand to grab at him. It was so easy. He could lose the hunter in the crowd if he wanted to, could easily outrun him or vanish in the shadows as he had with so many others.
But this one was amusing in his persistence. Almost as if he had something personal against Dain. Though he knew it could not be so, this hunter was too young to have been around at the time of the Exodus. Heck, he couldn't even have been an itch in his daddy's pants by then.
Dain turned a corner and left the busy club street behind to melt in with the shadows in the dark alley. Sure, the chase was amusing, but only for so long. Now he wanted to take a closer look at the hunter himself.
He already knew him by smell, an alluring scent mixed of adrenaline and sweat, both elements of the chase, and the unidentifiable remnants of an aftershave used a day ago. The hunter stopped at the mouth of the alley staring down the street, one hand hovering close to the front of his black leather jacket where it could quickly slid in and grasp the grip of one of the two guns holstered there. Dain had smelled those too, the gunpowder residue that lingered in the barrels of the silencers, the cold metal wrapped with tape for a better grip, and the hateful silver bullets.
The shudder that trickled up his spine then was not so easily subdued. He had tasted a silver bullet once in his youth. He had been young and arrogant and had thought himself better than the seasoned hunter that shot him. The bullet had only grazed his shoulder, but he had paid for his arrogance with a fever and an excruciating pain coursing his body that had lasted for the better part of two weeks.
A lesson well learned, then. He would never make that mistake again.
Sure, he was still arrogant and definitely better than the hunters that were out there these days, but it was an arrogance backed by experience and skill and a deep confidence in his own abilities.
The tables had turned, now it was the hunter that thought himself better and he would learn it wasn't so.
The redhead turned slowly into the alley, lean eyebrows drawn under the edge of the black bandana that circled his forehead and kept the long, bright red bangs out of the way, eyes scanned every shadow and hideout along the walls though he did not yet step forward. A hand slipped in under the jacket and the head tilted to pick up any subtle, muffled sound that would tell him if his prey was there. As if Dain would make such an inexperienced mistake.
Dain tilted his own head and urged the young hunter into the alley, into his domain where he could be properly greeted. The hunter's eyes narrowed into pale, clear blue slits as if he sensed the urging. Dain didn't believe he could, the urging was too basic to be acknowledged by the human brain like anything even remotely similar to an intrusion. None the less, Dain decided to be more careful.
Then the corners of his mouth cocked up in a pleased expression as the hunter stepped warily into the alley and left the crowded street behind. One slow step after another brought him within reach. But Dain restrained himself, wanting to study this one closer before he initiated in anything more physical.
The movements were deliberate and controlled, economical, no doubt honed from years of training one martial art or the other, as they tended to do nowadays. The body was tall, slender, yet the tight fitting pants and the dark turtleneck sweater under the jacket hinted at lean, tough muscles.
Fascinating. Seldom had the hunters Dain had previously encountered displayed such physical perfection. Sure, they had been fit, their bodies sharpened by the hunt itself, but not well trained by conscious choice like this one. He took his job seriously, then. A hunter to respect, perhaps even fear.
A sideways movement bared the belt around the hunter's hips and the numerous silver bullets in their fastenings. Dain scowled now. Bared, naked bullets where a bodily attack could lead to physical touch with the metal. He had to keep that in mind.
"I know you're in here," the hunter hissed. He passed Dain by with the next step and the gun left its holster. That was the first time he heard the man's voice and it was as pleasurable as he had imagined it to be, hinting towards depths of maturity yet still young.
"Come out where I can see you, asshole."
Well, the words weren't as nice as the voice, but that could be taken care of.
Without a sound Dain did as the hunter asked and left the shadows to stand in the middle of the alley. With an amused smile he looked on as the man took a few more steps and then froze. The shoulders tensed slightly as he realized his prey had decided to show itself.
A snarl slipped past clenched teeth as the redhead spun around and lashed out with the gun. But Dain didn't move; he knew the hunter wouldn't fire, the sidewalk was only ten feet behind Dain's back and filled with innocent pedestrians.
The gun was steadily aimed at Dain's chest, the blue eyes locked at the long desired prey.
"So close and still out of reach," Dain murmured and smiled just enough to show a hint of long, pointed canines.
"Don't move!" the hunter snapped back.
Dain's grin widened. "You think you can stop me?"
"Yes." A firm, confident reply.
"Then why don't you give it a try?"
Dain lunged forward just as the finger began to squeeze around the trigger. He was well out of the way by the time the bullet left the barrel with a soft spit of the silencer, but the hunter had shifted his aim along Dain's path and it ricocheted off the dumpster with a metallic clang before embedding itself in the alley wall.
Dain nudged the hunter in the side with a shoulder. Not hard, though at this speed it still made the man lose his balance for a moment. An angry curse and the redhead spun around to train the gun on Dain where he stood six feet away.
"How can you miss at this distance?" Dain taunted, straitening his formfitting black Asian coat.
The blue eyes narrowed under the edge of the bandana and an infuriated breath passed the lips.
There was a moment then when the two of them, the hunter and the prey, locked gazes. Cold blue met piercing green and both were amazed at the fire and color in the other man's eyes. Dain didn't realize it, but he held his breath.
Then the hunter let out an exasperated cry and squeezed off another bullet. Dain had been so taken by the moment he almost forgot to move, he actually felt the bullet brush through his hair as he ducked.
No more play. He tackled the other to the ground and made sure to hold the hand with the gun well away from his body and to keep any exposed flesh away from the bullets in the belt. As he fought to pin the gun hand to the ground, he took a blow to the ribs by the still free fist. He cursed under his breath and struggled to get hold of the other thrashing arm as well.
He eventually succeeded without receiving too many hits and found himself straddling the redhead across the black clad thighs, both arms pinned to the ground by his head.
"Amusing," Dain panted slightly and grinned down at the hunter under him. "Very few have offered me such a challenge."
"Get off me, freak!" the redhead growled. He showed no fear, only fury at the position he found himself in, and Dain thought that to be extremely exhilarating. All his victims had always shown fear, except the occasional hunter that he had been forced to kill, they had only shown a sad kind of admission of defeat. This anger in the face of death was a new taste and he liked it.
"Make me," Dain murmured in a deep voice and leaned closer.
He was so close now he could feel the redhead's ragged breath against his skin; it made the hairs on his arms prickle. The blue eyes wavered not for an instant from his gaze, in fact they stared back just as fiercely as his did. The ends of Dain's raven black hair touched the hunter's cheeks as he neared to the face.
He didn't know why, but he slipped out his tongue and let it brush the redhead's lips. The young man under him started and tensed at first, but then those lips parted to let out a gasp. Dain captured it with a breath and smiled.
The hunter's heartbeat pounded in his ears, fear, agitation, anticipation, and he saw the pulsating of the blood as it rushed through the arteries in his neck. So tempting to bite into that firm, fine flesh. But all he did was let his lips feather over it, let himself feel the heat and taste the sweat and adrenaline. A shiver shook him. He tore back with a hissing intake of breath before blood fever took hold of him.
"Tasty," he whispered huskily.
The redhead stared up at him in disbelief. Then blinked and in the next moment his whole body tensed.
"Don't bother," Dain told him. "I'll be going now. I have a date with a beautiful blond and I don't want to be late."
The hunter cursed and Dain leapt off his body as he began to struggle anew.
"I guess I'll be seeing you around, hunter." Dain melted in with the shadows as the young man lunged to his feet and trained the gun at him, or rather the place where he had been. But no shots were fired; the weapon trembled slightly in a not so steady grip.
********
Dain watched from the rooftop as the young hunter searched the alley in vain for a prey he must know wasn't there any longer. Thorough, one must admit. And quite good. A professional and worthy of his respect.
Dain frowned. He knew they would meet again and that the hunter would be prepared then. Dain looked forward to that meeting; this one would be a much worthy opponent.
"You shouldn't play with ‘em like that." The voice from behind was just as rasping and thin as he remembered it and not a welcome one. "You'll only piss ‘em off and the next prey they go after will pay for it."
Dain didn't bother to answer that statement or acknowledge the presence with a look. "You are not welcome here, Lupus. You should know better than to tread into my territory." He knew a turned back was an annoying thing to this one. And sure enough, there was a slight trace of irritation as the other man answered though it was hidden under an amiable tone.
"Oh, I do know, Dain. But I'm here at the council's command."
Dain turned to look at the other one then. "So, state your business and be gone, Lupus. I will have no uninvited guests."
Lupus' thin lips cocked up in a crooked smile and he made one of those slithering, wavelike motions he always did when he knew something others didn't. "There'll be a meeting on the next full moon. They want you to be there."
"I will, then." Dain stared at the other one until the hands came up in a calming gesture and he took a step backwards.
Lupus gave Dain wide berth as he slithered over to the roof edge and peered down into the now empty alley. "Let me have that one", he asked and the tip of his tongue flickered between his teeth.
So he had seen the little encounter with the hunter. No doubt the council would find out too, there wasn't one hunter or relay the council didn't know about. And those hunters known to the council were always free pray on the street. Damn. Dain wanted this one for himself, at least until he had tired of him.
"No, he engaged in me on my territory, and as long as he's here he's mine to deal with."
"But he's such a sweet red, Dain. Since when do you like redheads?"
"I said no." Dain crossed his arms and gave Lupus a piercing look. "Now, be gone or suffer my ire."
Lupus jumped back and made a mocking shiver at the threat. His thin laugh lingered behind even after he had disappeared on the other side of the building.
Dain scowled. Lupus was no match for him, an inferior lowblood as he was, and an annoying one. Dain had more than once restrained his desire to punch the slithering little weasel to the ground. Such an act would have angered the council and that was an anger he couldn't afford to draw upon himself.
A meeting. Dain sighed. He hated those meetings when all the highbloods as well as lowbloods had to share the same space, breathe the same air. It was beneath the highbloods' dignity to mingle with lowbloods other than to be attended by them or to command them.
But a meeting was a meeting, and whatever was said there concerned them all.
********
He woke with a jerk and a cry, sweat drenched and struggling with the sheets that had wrapped themselves around him like an attacker trying to strangle him. In heedless panic he tore at them until he was free and then bounded out of bed as if they would continue their attack.
On shaking legs he stood in the middle of the room, staring wide eyed at nothing, the remnants of the nightmare slipping out of memory like so much mist.
Finally he could breathe again but the hand that ran through the tangled mess of his hair was trembling. He looked at it and cursed under his breath. Never before had an encounter affected him this way. Nightmares? Hell, never before had a prey behaved like that. He shuddered in disgust; despite a long shower in scalding hot water he could still feel the hands, the tongue over his lips and the light touch of a mouth on his neck.
It hadn't been a simple prey like the others, he had known that the moment he saw him, but he hadn't thought it would be anything like this. He should've known. He should've been prepared. It wasn't until his prey had vanished so easily a second time among the crowding pedestrians that he had realized he had stumbled – rather carelessly – over a highblood, and that had happened only because the bastard had been hunting, oblivious to everything else but his intended victim. Pure, dumb luck!
Stupid. He should've realized long before then it was a highblood, only they had hunting grounds as luscious and rich as the club street. Unless it was a lowblood trespassing, but that never happened, the highbloods guarded their territories with malignant fervor.
He went into the bathroom to splash cold water in his face and wash the back of his neck and stood there leaning against the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. High cheekbones and a lean jaw told of youth though he was at least three years older than he looked. Cold, blue eyes stared back under drawn eyebrows, the left one split in half by an old scar, pale white against the fading tan, like the five long scars marring the right side of his ribcage. His hair was red, not his own color, but blood red suited him better, he thought, in this line of work he had chosen.
What had happened? Speed, strength and mental influence he could all handle, but this… physical… he was not so sure. Indignation surfaced at the heels of uncertainty and then a healthy bout of anger. He would not let this one slip past him again. But he couldn't run head first into it. He needed to prepare himself; he needed guidance in this matter. Perhaps Father Morris could be of some assistance.
********
The church was quiet and still as it always was in the hour after early Morning Prayer and before mass. He bowed his head slightly as he stopped at the first row of pews in the back of the church, but no more than that, he had never believed in God, that simple gesture of respect was meant for the priests here that had raised him.
There was only one of the black clad men here now, the one he had come to see. The balding man turned away from the candles at the foot of a blindly staring Mother Mary as he approached down the shadowed left wing aisle and a faint smile made the lips thinner, a smile that never touched the eyes.
"Ah, I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up again." The old priest blew out the long match and tucked it back among the others. "How long has it been?"
He shrugged. "Too long or not nearly long enough, whatever suites you best."
Father Morris tilted his head. "Something's bothering you, my boy." Straight to the point as always, the old priest had never been much for beating around the bush.
"Understatement. When isn't it ever?"
"True, true. Come, sit. And tell me."
With a gentle hand on the shoulder of his dark leather jacket Father Morris ushered him towards the pew closest to the Mother and they sank down on the smooth worn wooden seat. He stared down at his hands for a moment, wondering how Father Morris would react to what he had to say, but why prolong it.
"I met a highblood two nights ago." One of his hands curled into a fist as Father Morris betrayed his shock with the sharp intake of a breath, other than that he kept silent. The silence gnawed at already frayed nerves and he couldn't help but blurt out.
"He played with me like it was some kind of game." He couldn't help but curse then, long and vehemently and slam a fist down on the knee of his jeans. Father Morris didn't even lift a brow at his foul choice of words; he wasn't that much of a hypocrite.
"Well, highbloods are tricky," was his comment.
"Understatement! He played with me, Mo. He came this close", he leaned into the priest's face, "he made physical contact and all he did was…" He couldn't finish the sentence. Frustrated he raked a hand through his hair and the long bangs fell freely down over his face now that they weren't kept in check by the bandana he always wore when he worked.
Father Morris's head tilted again. "He touched you? A highblood? And didn't even bite?"
He shook his head, as confused as the priest obviously was. "No bite."
"Hmmm." Father Morris rose slowly and clasping his hands behind his thin back he stood staring at the candles, lost in thoughts he needed to sort out before he could turn them into words. "How many pearls do you have now, my boy?" he asked after a while and looked at him over a shoulder.
"Still thirty-one. I had hoped that one would've made thirty, but that was before I knew he was a highblood." The fist curled again.
Father Morris turned to look straight at him then, judging, gauging. "I wouldn't tell you this unless I thought you up for it." He made a pause when blue eyes turned to the priest in rapt attention. "There will be a meeting in the next full moon."
And there it was, the way to restore his pride and honor. To put an end to his nightmares. To put an end to it all.
"What? Where?" He shot out of the pew. "Tell me, Mo."
The priest looked steadily at him, unaffected by his violent temper. "Are you up for it?"
"Yes."
"You know he'll be there."
"Yes!"
"Personal vengeance will only get you killed, Martin. When there's that many gathered at the same place you have to use your head and take out as many as possible." He faced him now and locked eyes with the younger man. "You are not allowed to follow your heart. You must never follow your heart or it will be the death of you!"
"I know! I never have and I never will, just as you've taught me, Mo." He grabbed the priest's arm. "Now, tell me where."
********
Father Morris had everything he needed, right down to the schematics of the very building where the meeting would be held. They spent the next two hours behind the locked door to the priest's study and drew up entryways and escape routs and the best locations to place explosives, wires and every other little neat trick and trap they could pick out of the priest's arsenal.
"You won't have any backup, you know", Father Morris said tiredly as he was putting the last of the grenades into a bag. "Jason is in L.A. and Nichole is still recovering from her last hunt."
"I know, Mo. Don't worry, I'll be fine." He took the bag and shouldered it with a grunt, there were quite a lot of goodies in it and he would make use of every one of them. "I'll drop by when I'm done." He headed for the door. "And it's Voodoo. Not Martin."
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