The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) Read online

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  THE CHAOS ORDER EXCERPT

  THANKS FOR READING

  THE BLOOD ORDER

  FANGHUNTERS BOOK TWO

  LEO ROMERO

  Copyright © 2016 Leo Romero

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Cover art by Lou Harper © 2016

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  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Leviah still hadn't slept.

  The nights, and the days, had blended into one long repetitive sequence of boredom and apathy. He'd forgotten how long he'd been waiting for the darkness. A century? Two? Three? A part of him was already convinced the prophecies were a lie; a cruel joke just to keep him plodding along with his laborious existence. When would it end? Would it even end?

  He released a languid sigh as he poured himself a glass of blood from the bottle on the table ahead of him. With a more contented sigh, he picked up his glass and leaned back in his leather recliner to take in the heady aromas of his drink. He nosed a good measure of sub-Sahara African, laced with peasant Arabic, with just a hint of regal interloper thrown into the mix. A delectable combination. A drink of rarest quality. A real delight.

  He savored the scent, appreciating the good things about his existence. It helped stir the optimistic side of him. Despite the drudgery, a new spark of hope had recently been ignited within him. A new plan was afoot. One in the final stages of development. And this time it just had to work. It had to be the one that finally heralded the darkness. Surely, this time.

  But, as always, something unrelated occurred, throwing the proverbial spanner in the cogs of his Order's master plan.

  Drake.

  The name was like poison on his lips. Just when things were looking up, along came Drake and his treachery. Leviah had a suspicion Veronica was involved in his two-facedness; it was her who originally brought Drake into the fold. But, he couldn't be sure. All he knew was that because of Drake's actions, there would be more waiting. And that meant more apathy. He shook his head in disappointment. His eyes then fell on the glass in his hand.

  At least he still had blood to enjoy.

  He smiled and put the glass up to his lips. Just as he did, the elevator to his chamber pinged and the doors slid open, the fluorescent light from inside spilling out into the darkened building floor. Ensconced inside was Sammy the Saint, much to Leviah's deep chagrin. He watched on from his recliner with sullen, apathetic eyes, tapping the armrest with his slender fingers in a disjointed, passionless concerto. The occupants of the elevator stepped out into the room; apart from Sammy, Leviah didn't recognize the others. Nor did he care. Instead, he drank blood, enjoying the myriad of lifelines swarming over his tongue, the sensation transporting him all the way back to the desert incarceration, the sweat of the slaves a delight on his taste buds.

  "Hey, Pops," Sammy said in greeting, and Leviah was unceremoniously sucked through the void of DNA memory back into the dreary chamber he was confined to. He opened his black eyes and laid them on the people standing ahead of him. Their ordinariness was infectious.

  He placed his glass down on the table in a lethargic fashion, then leaned back in his seat. Under the dimmed fluorescent lights, he took on a blue tinge, devoid of life. His thick-set jaw, which was home to some of the meanest fangs in all vamp society, jutted outward. His brooding eyes burned with impatience. "Yes, Sammy, what is it?" he asked with a labored sigh.

  "We've found Drake," Sammy answered with what appeared to be a glint of excitement in his eye. Leviah was far too old to feel excitement; it was a trivial state of being, one that inevitably led to disappointment.

  He placed an elbow on the arm of his recliner and used the first two fingers of his hand to prop up his head by the temple. "So, where is he?"

  "Dead."

  "That's unfortunate," Leviah replied with a frivolous shrug. "And the relic?"

  Sammy's eyes began rolling. "Er..."

  "You did retrieve the relic from him, didn't you?"

  "We had a snag," Sammy finally said.

  "A snag?"

  "Yeah," replied Sammy, wringing his hands. "When we made it to his nest, he was vamos."

  Leviah released an agitated huff. So much for excitement. "So, what you're telling me is you lost him."

  "Not exactly."

  Leviah rubbed his eyes. "My patience is not the best tonight, Sammy..."

  "Someone else snuffed him!" Sammy blurted. "They bagged his body and the Eye."

  Leviah's eyes snapped open. He frowned. "Who?"

  "I think maybe these guys can tell you." Sammy cocked his thumb over his shoulder at the three blood sacks cowering behind him. They were disheveled and nervous.

  Leviah could smell the perfume of fear on them. They reeked. "Come," he said, ushering them with a tired flip of his hand.

  At first they were reluctant, the fear gripping them. They were taking nervous glances at the exotic torture devices stationed around the chamber. Leviah liked that; it was a pleasant appetizer to their suffering.

  Sammy then grabbed one by the scruff of his shirt and shoved him forward. "The boss wants to speak with you!" he sneered.

  The blood sack came to a halt ahead of Leviah; he stood before him, his head bowed, his shoulders shuddering. "Y-y-yes, highness," he said in a jittery voice.

  Leviah rolled his eyes. "What's your name, child?" he then asked with a huff.

  "Marlon." He turned back to the other two. "That's Craig and Jeff."

  "Were you all Drake's brood?"

  Marlon glanced to the side. "Yeah, I guess."

  "Tell me what happened to him."

  Marlon met Leviah's stare for the first time. "Someone came," he said. "Someone came to kill him."

  Leviah remained unmoved. "And did you see them?"

  Marlon's no
d was fervent. "Yeah."

  "How many?"

  "Two. A guy and a girl."

  Leviah glanced at Sammy, who nodded in return. Some semblance of urgency overcame Leviah; he clicked his fingers and pointed over to the desk in the middle of the room, which was strewn with empty bottles, guns, knives, and various pieces of communications tech. Sammy rushed over, picked up a tablet, and flicked it on. He began touching the screen as he approached the now eager Leviah. Once Sammy found what he was searching for, he turned the screen towards Leviah for him to see. Leviah gave him a brief nod, then pointed toward Marlon.

  Sammy went and showed him the screen. "Is this the girl you saw?" Sammy asked, showing him an image of the Dentist's daughter.

  Marlon craned his neck forward and squinted his eyes. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, his mind working over. Then, his eyes widened. "Yeah!" he said with a positive nod. "That's her!"

  "You're sure?" Leviah asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

  Marlon carried on nodding. "Absolutely, no doubt, man. I'll never forget that bitch. Who is she?"

  "She's not your concern," Leviah told him.

  "You are gonna smoke her, though, right?" Marlon asked, looking from Sammy to Leviah and back again with wide, eager eyes.

  Leviah and Sammy exchanged glances once more. "She'll be dealt with appropriately."

  "Good, cause I'm still hurting from what that bitch did to me!" Marlon rubbed his jaw as he spoke.

  Leviah sighed in irritation. "You said there was a man as well."

  Marlon faced him. "Yeah, he was already there before she came. I was about to take care of him when she jumped in and saved him."

  Leviah caught Sammy's stare and then pointed at the tablet. Sammy began swiping and touching once more. Soon, he was nodding. He glanced at Leviah.

  "Is this him?" Leviah asked while Sammy now showed him an image of the Dentist; the slayer of the old Order.

  Marlon frowned, his mind working once more. Leviah scrutinized him; he expected at any moment to see a spark of recognition ignite in his eyes. But there was nothing, just a blank stare.

  Marlon's mouth turned downward. "No," he said. "That dude's too old. The other guy was younger. A lot younger."

  "A younger man?" Leviah echoed. "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure," Marlon said with a vehement nod as if insulted. "I wouldn't have had a problem taking out the old guy, would I? It was a young dude; big, strong, difficult to take down. And I would've done if it wasn't for the bitch that shot me up with tranq."

  "Yes, yes, yes," Leviah said with a flip of his hand. "You've informed us ad nauseam." He then fell back in his seat. A younger man with the Dentist's daughter? A partner? A new apprentice of the Dentist? Someone to concern the Order?

  "And what about you two?" Sammy asked the other two blood sacks, who were standing in the background, silent.

  They both shook their heads. "No, it was a younger dude," one of them said in a timid voice. "Without doubt."

  Leviah mulled what he was hearing with some concern. Who was this new foe? What role did he play alongside the slayer and his daughter? Was he a danger? More complications.

  "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

  "Hello, 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.