No Man's Land: An Imp World Novel Page 2

  “Let me,” a deep voice said. Strong fingers gripped her jaw and expertly hit the pressure points. Her fangs snapped down, exposed.

  Tears poured from her eyes, and her breath came in fast pants as she felt the scrape of metal on her right fang. White light blinded her. Pain made all conscious thought impossible as the fang was yanked from her mouth. Kelly heard herself scream as if it were another person. Blood and venom from her glands filled her mouth, and she choked and sputtered instinctively to keep from inhaling the fluids. Crimson bubbled and spat from her mouth as she gasped for air. She’d barely had time to recognize the pain when she felt the metal on her second fang.

  “No, no, no,” she begged as coherently as she could with her mouth pried open and the flood of blood threatening to pour down her lungs. Again the hand held her jaw and she felt the white–hot pain as the fang was yanked from her mouth in one pull. Everything went dark.

  She came to, not sure how long she’d been unconscious, and realized they were unstrapping her from the chair. Was that it? They only pulled her fangs? Not that removing her fangs was light punishment. A vampire’s fangs were deeply embedded into the bone of their jaw, and nerve endings filled the tooth and canals leading to the venom glands. They were one of the few body parts that wouldn’t regenerate. Without them, she would need another vampire’s assistance to feed, or face a slow and painful starvation. But that was the future. Right now, she was hoping to survive long enough to face it.

  The two older vampires pulled her from the chair and dragged her by her arms out the back door to the private alley. Blood poured from Kelly’s mouth, dribbling a trail of red down her clothing and across the floor. Her glands had long emptied, leaving her mouth tingly with a sharp, bitter taste. The empty sockets, where her fangs had been, throbbed with agony. She thought about the day before, when she’d fed on a guest who’d borrowed heavily at the black jack table. His blood had tasted warm and rich with a tang of gin from the martinis he’d drank. She’d never envisioned that would be her last meal.

  Pierre thrust open the door into the alley, and the moonlight stung her eyes, the reek of dumpsters assaulting her nose. They weren’t just filled with rotted lettuce and banana peels; but also with dismembered body parts. She could smell them; the congealed blood, and the decaying flesh. Everything was so sharp, so clear. It was as the books had said — death brought her surroundings into clearer focus. The two vampires holding her arms spun her around. She caught a glimpse of Pierre’s smug face, and the emotionless, somewhat bored expression on the Master’s son before a fist in her stomach doubled her over.

  Blows came at her from all sides, and Kelly ineffectually tried to deflect them with her hands. It only meant the few that missed her waist and head bruised her arms instead. A kick to the side threw her off balance, and she curled into a ball on the oily asphalt, trying to protect her midsection.

  “Get her back up again.”

  Pierre’s frustrated voice sounded tinny in her ringing ears. A hand grabbed each of her arms, one twisting until she heard her shoulder pop and felt a snap of bone. The two elder vampires held her upright, while Pierre, grinning with glee, repeatedly punched her face.

  The pain all blended together with the tickle of wet blood from her arm, face, and mouth. It hurt to breathe, and in her blurred vision she saw the Prince standing ten feet away with his arms crossed, his toe tapping impatiently. Won’t get blood on his suit or shoes over there, she thought through the pain. Pierre’s fists left her face, and he drove a hard punch into her shoulder, ripping the splintered edge of her broken arm through the flesh.

  “Help him out. I don’t have all night,” the Prince drawled. One of the vampires that had been holding her upright, kicked the side of her leg, and Kelly felt her knee give way and heard the sharp crack as her thigh bone fractured. The vampire on the other side mirrored his move slightly higher, breaking her other leg. Now she was suspended by her separated shoulder, the weight of her body sagging in agony on broken ribs.

  “Kill me,” she pleaded, looking at the only man in the alley with the authority to grant her a merciful death.

  The Prince smiled. “But that would be no fun at all, and we have a long evening ahead of us. Let’s see how long we can make it last.”

  The two vampires at her side let go of her shoulders, and Kelly collapsed, her broken legs folding like sticks beneath her. Three sets of feet kicked at her, tossing her back and forth like a football with the force of each blow. Thankfully, one to the side of her head knocked her into blessed oblivion.

  3

  Jaq held her tall, thin frame absolutely still in the shadows of the propane tank. The three men with the big black car were vampires, and she did not want them to see her — or smell her for that matter. It was a few hours until dawn. If she hadn’t been out hunting, she would never have seen them drive silently up to the vacant trailer.

  Skirting the patches of moonlight, she darted to the rear of the trailer, assessing this new threat. One vampire would have been child’s play, but three? And these weren’t just lone scouts or spies; these ones were warriors.

  Half crawling, she cautiously peered around the cinder blocks that supported the mobile home. Two warriors, she corrected. They were both old and strong enough to give her pause, but the third one raised the skin on the back of her neck. He seemed an attractive human male in an expensive suit, but the feel of power rolling from him set her on edge. It was a young power, raw and untrained, but it still felt like a fist against her senses. The odds weren’t in her favor taking on these three. It would be better to take a hit to her pride and live to fight another day.

  “What stinks here?” the large one complained, holding a beefy hand in front of his nose. “Don’t these rednecks ever bathe? It smells like a cross between dogs in heat and old ham.”

  The one in the suit ignored him. Jaq could see by the buzzing street light that his outfit would have cost more than every car on the block combined. It fit well, like it was custom made, and glided in a quiet rustle as he moved. Silk, she thought, sniffing the air.

  They pulled something out of the trunk of the car bundled in sheets. It looked like a body. Jaq could smell the old blood. Lots of blood. Her nose told her it was a strange mix of human and vampire blood. Had they killed a human? she wondered uneasily. If so, she might not be able to let them leave without a challenge, regardless of how it would probably end. Trespassing was one thing, but poaching was unforgivable.

  But why was there a faint vampire smell to the old blood? None of the men appeared injured, so it probably wasn’t coming from them. Was it a dead human in that sheet or a dead vampire? And why would they dump a body outside their own territory?

  The large, complaining vampire tossed the body over his shoulder and strode up the rickety wooden steps into the trailer. Jaq saw a thin white arm dangle loose from the sheet and she caught her breath. A woman? A child? Silently she glided in the shadows back around to the rear of the trailer and peeked through a corner window. The large man threw the body down carelessly, unconcerned that a portion of it landed hard against the coffee table before rolling onto the carpet.

  “Take the sheet.” The tall one laughed. “Don’t even leave her with that.”

  The large one ripped the sheet from the body, thumping it against the floor and edge of the couch. “I’d take her clothes off and leave her naked if they weren’t so filthy with blood,” he said in amusement.

  The two men left the trailer and Jaq moved to see the inside better through the window. The woman on the floor was tiny, with a cap of dark hair. Her legs and arms twisted unnaturally, and blood seeped out in a slow spread across the carpet.

  Her scabs must have been ripped off with the sheet, Jaq thought. She watched the spread of crimson slow to a stop and winced. The poor thing probably didn’t have much blood left in her to lose.

  The trailer door banged open again and Jaq froze, afraid to move lest the vampire notice her looking through the window. The
man wearing the suit came in and stared down at the body. He removed something from his jacket and placed it on the coffee table.

  “Ten grand says you don’t make it three days,” he told the body. “I really like to win my bets, so I’ll leave you this gift.”

  He left the trailer, and Jaq heard the big car crunch its way down the gravel road. Carefully she made her way around to the front of the trailer and in the door, wincing as it squeaked open on rusty hinges. The body remained motionless on the ground.

  “Hello,” she called softly. The woman hadn’t responded from being tossed around the floor, but Jaq wasn’t taking any chances.

  The body stayed still, and Jaq cautiously approached, leaning down to check the periodic pulse and occasional breath. This woman shouldn’t be alive, she thought. Legs were twisted practically backwards, bone protruded from a shoulder, and probably from elsewhere given the odd lumps in her clothing. The woman was covered in blood and vomit, urine and some kind of glandular secretion. She smelled of vampire, but that might have been from her attackers. Wanting to make sure, Jaq leaned closely and sniffed, jumping back as the sharp, familiar scent hit her nose. Vampire, but weak and heavily tinged with human odors. Whoever she was, she’d been turned less than two centuries ago.

  They’d left this woman here for dead, but vampires didn’t die all that easy. She still had her head on, still had a heart somewhat beating in her chest. She’d pull through if she had food and blood to regenerate. If not, then she was in for a horrible, lingering death. Jaq stared down at the battered female in indecision. Vampires were the enemy, but it was hard to see this tiny woman on the floor as anything but a victim.

  This was their land, and they'd never tolerated a vampire here, although living in the middle of two fractious vampire clans had its challenges. This woman should die. If she survived her horrendous injuries, she wouldn't survive here for long. Trespassers never did. It would be sensible to kill her now, while she lay helpless on the floor. It would be merciful to end her life now. Jaq had put down plenty of dying animals in her life, and this was no different. Vampire or not, this creature had to die.

  But something stayed her hand. “Poor thing. What did you do to deserve this?”

  The fragile woman on the floor didn’t look at all like the vampires she’d faced over the years. This was no threatening enemy; this was a broken bird on her doorstep, and despite her fierce reputation, Jaq had always had a soft spot for broken birds.

  Gently she straightened the vampire’s legs and pushed the protruding bone back through her shoulder. It must have hurt, but the vampire didn’t give any indication that she felt pain. Jaq placed a tentative finger against the woman’s face, feeling bone like bits of gravel shifting under the skin. She should heal. She should be fine, Jaq chanted silently to herself, but she wasn’t convinced. The woman had lost too much blood, and the faintly human smell of her led Jaq to doubt that the dark–haired woman had the regenerative powers to come back from this level of injury.

  It would be best if she died now, quick and painless on the trailer floor. Best for the Pack, and best for this poor creature. How could she feed it if it began to heal? Would Jaq come home from work one night and find the neighbors drained of all their blood? It would be cruel to nurse this woman to health only to kill her when she recovered and proved to be just as much of a threat as every other vampire that crossed the border.

  Taking a deep breath, Jaq looked toward the ceiling of the trailer, as if she could see straight through it to the stars above and the god that she hoped watched over them all. “I’m a fool. I’m a fool for letting her live, and I’m a fool for what I’m about to do.”

  A white band of light twisted around her left hand to join with a golden one from her right. Jaq guided the light down through the tiny woman before her. It was like diving beneath the surface of another’s skin, feeling along muscle, bone, and nerve, but this was unfamiliar territory. The woman’s body appeared to be the same as others she’d healed, but there must be differences. What else could account for the fact that when she pulled the light back into her core, the woman remained just as battered and broken as before.

  “Well, I tried. I guess whether you live or die is truly up to you, and whatever god looks over vampires.” Jaq rose to her feet. She couldn’t heal the woman, but perhaps there were other things she could do.

  Briskly and efficiently, Jaq searched the small trailer. The electricity and water were on, but the fridge was empty. A few dishes and some silverware lay dusty in the cabinets, but nothing else. There weren’t even sheets on the bed. As she stood, contemplating what to do, her gaze drifted to the coffee table. A knife. A well–made filet knife with a carved bone handle and a blade of silver alloy. Why in all that was holy had that vampire chosen to leave this woman a suicide knife? What was wrong with these people? Torturing one of their own, dumping her in enemy territory, and then encouraging her to end it all. She'd never understand them, didn’t want to even try.

  Jaq picked up the knife, using her shirt edge to guard her fingers against the silver. Walking to the kitchen area, she shoved the knife in a drawer. No suicide for you, little one. There was no way she would let that happen, even to a vampire.

  Now, what to do about food? Jaq made a quick trip back to her own neighboring trailer, careful not to wake her snoring brother, Mike, as she raided their refrigerator. What could vampires eat? It's not like she had bags of human blood in her freezer, or bags of human anything in her freezer. Ugh. Humans tasted worse than anything in the world. Worse than salad. Although neither she or nor anyone she knew had actually eaten a human. The angels would exterminate them all in a blink if they started feasting on their neighbors. Throwing her hands upward in frustration, Jaq finally grabbed a huge steak Mike had thawed for dinner and carted it back to the other trailer, stuffing it in the empty fridge.

  Hoping the vampire had the presence of mind to look for her offering once she awoke, Jaq stared at her, watching the broken body as it began to twitch on the floor. The woman moaned, and Jaq couldn’t help but go to her, stroking her torn cheek and soft, silken black hair.

  "Shhh. It's okay. I’ve got you. I'll keep you safe."

  This was wrong, so very wrong. By morning others in the Pack would know this vampire was here. Jaq would need to let them know, to provide some sort of protection for the woman until she was strong enough to leave. But leave she must, because their land could never be home to any vampire.

  ****

  His father kept his attention firmly rooted to his paperwork as Kyle approached. It wasn’t the first time that the Master refused to acknowledge him. The distance had been growing between them over the last few decades, foretelling the future when they'd go their separate ways, when they'd become adversaries instead of allies. It was the way things were. He may be his father's flesh and blood, his only son, the only Born he'd sired in his very long life, but when a child reached a certain age, all fatherly instincts went out the window. Territory, status, dominance were survival, and a young, powerful Born son threatened all of that.

  Kyle knew he was strong. He'd proven himself to be an excellent leader. His staff both loved and feared him. You’re not ready, an uneasy inner voice reminded him. You’re too young to control a large vampire population, to hold a territory. Maybe not, but he could tell his father was on the edge of a decision — throw him out, or lock him away where the son could no longer be a threat to the father. Either way, it would be sink or swim — carve out a place of his own, either from a rival or his sire's territory, or perish in an eventual bloody fight for dominance.

  Kyle dropped into a chair and propped his feet on the desk, purposely pointing the bottom of his shoes toward the Master. He didn't want to appear a weak clingy son that his father needed to throw out of the nest. Better to be seen as insolent. Better to turn his subtle challenges overt. It was time for him to get his own territory, time to leave the family before the things between his father and he turned deadly and
split them all down the middle. He wasn’t ready yet, but some things couldn’t wait for a person to be ready.

  “It’s done,” Kyle told him, his tone emotionless as befit a vampire of his stature. “I doubt she’ll survive the week.”

  “Where did you dump her?” the Master asked in an equally emotionless tone.

  “Outside Ranson, West Virginia.”

  The older man gave a short bark of laughter, and Kyle shrugged with nonchalance. West Virginia was beyond the southern edge of their territory. There wasn’t a vampire around for a hundred miles of there. If she didn’t starve or go insane from exile, one of the Kincaid scouts would execute her. Or worse. West Virginia was home to a particularly vicious pack of werewolves. There wasn’t much in the state worth defending, but the brainless idiots guarded it like it was the Garden of Eden.

  “Stacking the odds pretty hard against her, are you?” the Master asked, his voice light with amusement.

  Kyle shrugged again. “It’s a ruthless world. She screwed up.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments.

  “You’ll be heading up to New York now?” the older man asked.

  Kyle tensed. He’d been given Delaware, Maryland, and Pennsylvania to manage. Did his father’s comment suggest that his sections were stable enough that he could manage them remotely from Manhattan, or that he was too incompetent to handle the states and should crawl back into the womb? Talking with the old man was like playing a never–ending game of chess.

  “No, I’m heading back to Baltimore,” he said, brushing a speck of lint from his pants.

  “You’re not strong enough to move against Kincaid, my boy,” the ancient vampire told Kyle, his words coated with cloying affection that rang false in Kyle's ears. “Give yourself time to mature a bit more. Go to New York. I’ve got some lobbying work I need you to do. I’ll send Durand down to Baltimore.”