Prey till the End (The Endangered Series Book 3) Read online

  Prey till the End

  The Endangered Series

  Book 3

  By

  S.L. Eaves

  PREY TILL THE END

  THE ENDANGERED SERIES, BOOK 3

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, places,

  incidents, and dialogue are the product of the author’s

  imagination and are not to be construed as real, or if real,

  are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

  locales, or persons, either living or dead,

  is purely coincidental.

  FIRST EDITION

  Copyright © 2017 S. L. Eaves

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1977530753

  ISBN-13: 978-1977530752

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in

  any manner whatsoever without the prior written

  permission of the publisher, except in the case of

  brief quotations embodied in critical

  articles and reviews.

  For Bibi & Larry

  “We are born into the world we need

  and we live in the world we deserve,

  so we fight for the world we want.

  And in the end, the world we die in

  is the only world we know.”

  Chapter 1

  The door to my apartment beeps as the lock slides back and permits me to enter. I slip off my heels and rub my feet. I’m switching to boots tomorrow. The dim glow of recessed lighting illuminates the hallway as I cross the living room and trigger the motion sensors. But I don’t want them on. I want to watch the sunrise unobstructed by their glare.

  “Lights off.”

  The voice activation system responds to my command and the room goes dark once more. I’m not adverse to the traditional method of flicking a switch; I just don’t know where it is. Everything in the apartment is controlled by motion and speech.

  Possibly the best part of not having a reflection is the ability to stare out across the city without having to look myself in the eyes.

  The entire exterior facing wall of the apartment consists of floor-to-ceiling windows. A bold choice given my affliction, but worth it for the impressive skyline view. I have measures in place to keep the sunlight out, amongst other things. The windows have UV coating, which offers some protection from indirect sunlight. Once the sun is fully above the horizon, blackout screens will lower and I won’t see the city again until sunset.

  Watching the city begin to stir just before sunrise has become my favorite ritual. I cherish those precious few minutes before the curtains drop. Tonight, I’m home early though and I’ve got a good hour or so to wait.

  And, apparently, someone to wait with.

  “Hello, Vega.”

  There is a moment of silence. I wait it out patiently, my gaze not wavering from the window.

  “Hello, Lori,” the familiar voice surrenders to the uncomfortable silence. “Your security system is impressive. I thought I managed to slip in undetected.”

  I turn from the window and lock eyes with the figure sitting in my living room, hands clasped in his lap, his posture relaxed as if he were watching the evening news.

  “You did. When I installed this security system I thought to myself, ‘If anyone can get past it, it will be a Pureblood.’ Not that you needed to. You could’ve called.”

  “Didn’t have your number. Had to do some digging to find this address.”

  “Yes, I imagine you would have.” I cross to the screen suspended on my foyer wall and reactivate the lights. I pull up the security settings while I’m there. The system is showing no indication of an intruder. Not a single alert on my phone went off. I sensed his presence when I walked in, but it’s alarming to me that he managed to walk in through the front door. A vampire doesn’t need an invitation when the inhabitant isn’t human. That’s half the reason why I installed the damn thing. Half.

  I pause noticing the timestamp. The system is on a loop, repeating the last three hours as if they never happened. Vega has hacked my system.

  “Nice place you have here.”

  “Thanks.” I move to the kitchen. It’s an open floor plan and the kitchen is sparsely appointed, really more of a wet bar that serves as a divider between the living room and an office space I’ve carved out at the far end.

  “Get you a drink?” I ask, busying myself looking for clean glasses.

  “No. Thank you. I will make this a short visit. I don’t like to intrude.”

  “All evidence to the contrary.”

  I see the faint outline of a smirk under the dim lighting.

  “I need your help, Lori. Something has happened and it could be very bad for our kind.”

  Shaking my head, I pour some blood into a brandy glass. I really need to do the dishes. I sip it slowly, pretentiously, just to annoy him. It’s gratifying and somewhat flattering, having him come to me for help for a change. I allow myself to savior the moment before turning him down.

  “You know I’m out, Vega. I’m not fighting anymore. Not for vampires. Not for humans. Not for years now.”

  Vega stands up. “I don’t know how I feel about this new you. It’s nice not having you show up battered and bloody at my doorstep and not having to constantly repair my windows, but it’s also rather…dull.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Problem is, things are starting to look as if they may get a lot more interesting, and not in a good way. I could use your brand of entertainment. It’s preferable to theirs.”

  Theirs? No, I won’t be drawn in.

  “Glad you find entertainment in my torment.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  Vega approaches. I start to object, but he simply raises his hand and slips me a card.

  “You change your mind, call that number.”

  He moves towards the door before turning around. “Have you found what you’re looking for?”

  I haven’t had a vision in years. Not a real one, nothing more than a glimpse here or there. And the nightmares have all but stopped. Now all I see when I close my eyes is comforting darkness. No bloodshed, no violence, no Catch reminding me what he died for. I want to believe he’s at rest. I need to believe he’s found peace, so I too can be at peace.

  “Yeah, Vega, I think I have.”

  He nods. “Good. You may want to beef up your security system. With what’s coming – no one is safe. Doesn’t matter how untouchable you think you are.”

  “It’s an illusion, I know.”

  He raises an arm, gesturing at nothing in particular. “This isn’t you, Lori. You can live the life you’ve always wanted, you can hide behind those fake contacts and the bronzer, you can tell yourself you’re content, happy even. But at the end of the day the sun will rise and you won’t be able to hide who you are.”

  Holding up the card, “Always a pleasure, Vega.”

  He opens the door and I can’t help myself.

  “Hey Vega?”

  “Yes?” He glances over his shoulder.

  “Give my regards to Rex.”

  He smiles, “Happily, but I’m sure he’d prefer you to deliver that message in person.”

  Chapter 2

  Alarms blare, the overhead lights go out and red emergency LED panels blink to life. Rex and Crina stop in their tracks and look around the gymnasium. Rex lowers his staff, a curious expression on his face.

  “What's that?”

  “Jiro triggered our intruder alarm.” Crina jumps down from the pillar and grabs Rex's arm, pulling him towards the exit.

  “Intruder? This place is a fortress. Who
even knows about it?”

  He starts peeling off his hand wraps. Crina shakes her head.

  “Leave them on.”

  The gym is part of the large training facility that sits in the basement of the mansion. Located in the rural outskirts of London, the mansion had exchanged hands over the years, most recently serving as home to Marcus' clan during the war with the werewolves; it now houses the few remaining survivors.

  They ascend the steps in a blur; Crina sprinting towards the control room, Rex in toe. The control room, formerly referred to as the “War Room” from their days fighting wolves, sits in the heart of the mansion and serves as the base of operations. Jiro runs the system; monitoring security, surveillance, tracking, and testing throughout the mansion and its extensive grounds, as well as any operation that might be going on in the field at the time. Jiro stays within the confines of the facility most nights, living in a virtual world of screens and codes. If the control room is the heart, Jiro is the brains.

  In recent years, with the werewolf war long over and just the occasional stray causing trouble, Jiro's focus has shifted to medical research. The clan brought tons of data back from their overseas excursion. The remnants of the private military company they dismantled, Trion, left them with a lot of new technology to explore and advance.

  The data and prototypes they recovered paved the way for new weapons and protective gear. Daylight suits were constructed, deconstructed, and refined though a work in progress. As was the synthetic blood recipe Brixton developed. After numerous iterations – and as stem cells became more accessible – it was finally at the point where the clan could routinely process small batches; these days they consumed the blood substitute exclusively.

  They'd essentially picked up where Brixton and her cohorts from Trion left off. Except this time no one was killed in the process.

  With everything the mansion now housed, it didn't come as a complete surprise someone – or something – might try to rob them.

  Xan and Crina nearly collide in the hall.

  “Did you see anyone?” Xan's voice is panicked. He'd been at the gun range and his thin frame is dwarfed by the two assault rifles he's carrying.

  He’s a genius when it comes to designing artillery, but you wouldn’t know it in the field. His gentle demeanor and quirky mannerisms are completely aberrant from how you’d expect a gun-toting blood-thirsty demon to carry himself.

  They shake their heads as he staggers under the weight of his weapons.

  “You'd have to be crazy and stupid to break in here.” Crina checks the nearby rooms. After Marcus’ demise, she’d assumed the role as leader though at the time she wanted nothing resembling responsibility.

  It made the most sense for her to succeed after Marcus. She was one of the few survivors from the fire that wiped out most of their kind; a natural born fighter, her instincts in the field had earned the respect of her clan. Her eastern European heritage didn’t hurt, either. Over the years, she’d played the part when needed.

  “Could it be a false alarm?” Rex glances up and down the hallway.

  “No,” Crina and Xan shout back in unison as they rush past the conference room, the library, and the various lounges that comprise the ground floor.

  When they reach the control room they freeze.

  “Jiro?”

  The room is in shambles, screens are broken, lights are blinking, Jiro's desk is overturned, his chair still spinning. His wheelchair and robotic leg prosthetics remain untouched in the corner.

  Jiro was paralyzed as a human; he'd hoped being turned would repair his damaged vertebrae. It did not. But when he was brought into the clan, his vast knowledge of computer programming had made him a vital asset to their operations and, more importantly, given hope that with access to nearly unlimited resources he could find a way to walk again.

  However, unless by some miracle today is that day, his fate is looking grim.

  “His chair is still here. Where is he?” Xan runs back out into the hall. “Jiro!”

  Rex freezes when he reaches Jiro's desk.

  “Shit.”

  “What?” Crina sticks her head out of the adjoining interrogation room. Rex stops the spinning chair and turns it towards her, pointing to the wooden arrow lodged in its black leather back. Crina freezes.

  There's a pile of dust on the seat and more on the floor by Rex's feet.

  “Something got him, Crina.”

  “What?” Xan appears in the doorway.

  “Hunters? There's no way humans got inside. They wouldn't have made it past the gate. It has to be something else.”

  They trade shocked expressions. Xan takes a moment to collect himself, standing in the doorframe as if too afraid to enter. His eyes don't waver from the chair.

  Crina and Rex both turn for the weapons room. Xan staggers over to the computer screens and tries to pull up surveillance footage.

  “Cameras are offline. All of them.” His voice is rattled and he’s visibly shaking as he tries to bring the system back online. He manages to turn the alarms off, but not much else.

  “They destroyed our hardware. This mainframe’s useless.”

  He punches desperately at unresponsive buttons.

  Rex places a hand on his shoulder and hands him a thermal scope.

  “We’ll find them, Xan. We’ll find them and kill them,” Rex assures him, looking over his shoulder at Crina as she loads silver bullets into her favorite pair of pistols. Werewolf or not, she always opts for steel bullets with silver cores. There’s not much they won’t stop.

  Rex picks up his Beretta, slides some extra mags in his back pockets and heads out into the hall. A former solider in the U.S. Army, he’s stayed loyal to the weapons he relied on as a human. And he's a damn good shot.

  “Is Malik here?” Crina asks. “I can’t remember the last time I saw him, I think it was a few days ago.”

  “No, he left last week, or a couple weeks ago.” Rex scratches his head. “He went to meet up with Vega, I think. But he’s definitely not here.”

  “Anyone else? I mean besides our attackers.”

  Xan shakes his head. “Quinn and Dade are still on vacation. Haven’t seen another vamp come through in months.”

  “Okay then, we’re accounted for. Let’s go find this son of a bitch.” Crina gestures to the doorway with her gun.

  A white light flashes in the hall followed by a bang. Rex ducks. Crina and Xan crouch down behind him.

  “What the hell was that?” Xan holds the scope in his outstretched hand, scanning the room and down the hallways in both directions.

  “Anything?” Crina looks over his shoulder.

  “Nothing.”

  Rex starts down the hall; crouched, gun at eye level.

  Another flash as something moves past them in a blur. Crina fires several shots into the haze.

  “I didn't pick up anything on the thermals. And whatever it is, it can move faster than us and it isn’t registering heat,” Xan whispers.

  Crina turns and asks, “Where’s Rex?”

  “Rex,” she calls down the hall.

  The corridor is dark except for a few dim red pulsating lights. Normally their vision is excellent in the dark. So when she looks down the hall and sees it empty the pang in her gut is impossible to ignore.

  “Rex!” Crina and Xan yell in unison as they run down the hall towards where they last saw him. Paintings have been knocked off the walls. A gust of air rushes from behind them. They spin to find its source and a white flash collides into them, knocking them backwards.

  They scramble to their feet as it rushes them again, striking hard, tossing them like ragdolls into the wall.

  Chapter 3

  The clipboard hits the desk with a loud clank as I drop the latest inventory report off in the manager's office. After turning off the remaining lights, I press the code for the alarm. It beeps to life as I exit and pull the door closed behind me. I heave the last bag of trash into the dumpster by the door and slide
the cigarette from my ear. A warm breeze cuts through the alley; I don’t have to inhale to smell the trash. Being of the undead variety, there are times I wish not breathing was more useful.

  It’s just after two a.m. and the city is quiet; only faint sounds of screeching car tires can be heard in the distance.

  I start down the street and my phone buzzes.

  At this hour it has to be one of my colleagues. Most likely the owner checking on the night’s numbers, asking about inventory. Rarely do we make it through a night without any drama. There is usually someone to gossip about afterwards, but tonight was pretty quiet. So much so that I’d sent the other bartender home early.

  Still, I find my pace slowing as I reach for the phone. It’s funny how quickly old habits return. You never break them; you just get better at ignoring them. After Vega's visit, I'm second guessing everything.

  If he found me, who else knows how to?

  It’s been a week since his visit and while it’s been easy to go through the motions of the new life I’ve built for myself, it’s been harder to focus. A dark shadow from my past now obstructs my view of the future.

  I’m wondering, maybe even hoping, if it’s a voice from the past calling.

  Tonight had been a typical one at the bar for a week night; nothing eventful and the last of the patrons had cleared out by midnight, so I’d managed to finish the inventory report and close up at a decent time. I preferred the late nights; the nights where the energy is lively and demands at least three or four of us to work past last call. Those are the nights you don’t want to end. And we often stayed well after the doors were locked, playing cards and trading stories while we made a dent in our own inventory. I did a lot of lying those nights.

  But it was fun to pretend. And to not feel lonely.

  I’d arrive home just before sunup feeling relaxed, happy, and normal. Feeling human again.