Fang Chronicles

Chapter 3: Part 1

Marcus opened his eyes as the sun went down. Modern convenience was such a blessing. The dark metal shades on his windows retracted with barely a sound and the moon and stars shone bright. He could hear Ivan charging up the stairs.

Ivan opened the door and entered the room. "I know you're hungry, so don't even try to deny it."

Marcus gave him the look that would frighten a terrorist, because it held worse than the promise of death.

As usual, it left Ivan unfazed. That's why he knew Ivan was a fool. Marcus hadn't killed anyone in the past decade, but today might be a good day to end his streak.

"Mary is waiting to feed you and she offers gladly. She's lovely and she worships you. Break your fast and make her happy. It won't kill you. However, if you don't stop starving yourself, you might go blood crazy and kill us all. I made a vow to die protecting you, but not to die at the hands of your blood-deprived self."

"Shut up and send Mary to my room." With Ivan's departure, he had a moment of peace, and then heard a tentative knock on the door. While Mary's blood tasted wonderful, she was a timid creature, and he loathed himself for causing her stress. When he fed from her, he felt her fear as her blood flowed through his body. He used to love the fear pulsing through the feeder. Victoria cured him of that thrill two centuries ago.

"Enter." He watched Mary walk slowly toward the bed. She might be his least favorite, but to keep the Pack healthy, he needed multiple donors. As it was, he'd waited one day too long and knew he wouldn't be gentle with her. Mary disrobed and joined him on the bed. His hand threaded through her hair then caressed her shoulder.

"If you don't want this, Ivan can feed me."

Mary gazed at him with nothing but trust. "I want to do this for you. I love you. I'm sorry to be afraid. I'll try and be calmer this time."

Marcus sighed as her heartbeat accelerated the smell of fear filling his senses. He couldn't do it. He leapt from the bed, and in a flash quicker than could be followed by the human eye, he was out the window and into the night.

He seldom hunted for it was now too dangerous for his kind. Modern forensics was his least favorite aspect of today's technology.

He only had an hour. He was hosting a board of trustees meeting at his home this evening and needed time to prepare. His business was more than successful; he was one of the wealthiest men in America. As the bloodlust was running through his veins and he was thinking about tonight's meeting, he heard a faint scream.

He changed directions and landed at the corner of an alley in one of the unsavory sections of the city. He glanced around the corner and peered into the dark space. A man was ripping the clothes from what appeared to be a young girl. The girl was struck in the face by her attacker's fist as she feebly tried to dislodge his hands.

This scenario played directly to his needs. He would be eating a good dinner this evening. Marcus was on the man before he knew what hit him and was dead soon after. The problem was, since Marcus left no blood in the body, they couldn't afford for it to be found.

Calling through his line with the pack, he notified Ivan. "Send a team." He stared at the girl. Thankfully, because she was unconscious, she'd live. He would have hated to kill her, but he protected his secrets at all costs.

She stirred as he moved the man's body behind a dumpster. He glanced her way, then walked over and lifted her body against his chest. Alba could deal with the girl and find her a safe place to stay until she was on her feet or ready for foster care.

He was home in minutes. His burden felt lighter than he thought possible for a human. She smelled bad, the tang of narcotic drugs in her system was noticeable, but underneath that smell was another he hadn't noticed in the alley. His breath caught. He had not smelled blood that electrifying in centuries. Not since Victoria.

In that moment, Marcus almost killed her. He wasn't sure if he could have this child in his house. She might be the death of him.

***

Amy awakened to discover she was lying in a soft bed with the faint glow of a night lamp shining. A stunning young woman used a warm washcloth that smelled of soap to clean her aching face. She winced at the blood on the cloth as the woman rinsed it, knowing it had come from her cheek.

The woman smiled at her. "It's about time you rejoined the living. I was getting worried. I think it's the drugs more that the blow to the face. However, I'm not a doctor."

"What drugs?" she asked in a scratchy voice that didn't sound like hers. Flashes of the scene in the alley were running through her mind and fear surfaced.

"No need to worry, they'll soon be out of your system. We can connect you with a good drug abuse center. The Master will take care of everything and you'll be a new person."

The Master? A drug abuse center? Amy kept these thoughts to herself. The events of the night continued to filter into her brain. Two thoughts hit her at once. A man tried to rape her. And, she hoped it wasn't too late to call Brian before he hit the panic button and had the entire police department searching for her.

"May I use your phone?" Amy asked, struggling to control her rising dread.

"All our phones are located on a lower floor. I can have someone called for you. Do you have family that will worry or are you trying to reach a dealer?"

Amy realized how she must appear. "I'm not who you think I am. I'm a reporter. The friend, I need you to call, is a police detective. I don't want a city-wide alarm sounded because he hasn't heard from me." In spite of her weak and shaky voice, Amy felt more like herself with every minute that ticked by. Her eyes narrowed. "What happened to the guy that attacked me?" He had to be the killer of the young, nameless prostitutes? Why was she rescued when those other poor girls suffered? Were the drugs in their system because he injected them?

The journalist in her slammed the fog from her brain and began writing the story in her head. It took her a moment to realize the woman standing over her had a look of complete horror on her face. Amy actually glanced over her shoulder, to the other side of the room, before she realized the woman was staring at her and she was the cause of the woman's fear.

The next moment, the door was thrown open and two men came in. Amy could see the hypodermic needle in the hand of one of them. The other man was her beautiful rescuer, but he moved so fast, Amy couldn't keep up with what was happening. This time, his eyes were brown and not the amber she remembered. He held her as the other man jammed the needle into her arm. Her last thought wasn't fear, it was, not again.