Chapter 7 Erik #2
"Oh, Em—gee, why didn't I think of that?
" Lucian gasps dramatically, smacking his forehead like an idiot.
"It's almost like I haven't been trying to reach our favorite feisty savior for the past few hours.
Spoiler alert: the connection's about as dead as your Friday nights with your Netflix subscription and that sad pint of Ben & Jerry's.
But please, continue giving me vampire advice, Professor Single-and-Salty. "
"Well, try harder, Count Snarkula!" Emily snaps, as she throws her hands up in exasperation.
Lucian releases an exaggerated groan before closing his eyes in concentration. "Yo, firecracker, throw me a bone here," he mutters, fingers pressed to his temples. "Even just one tiny 'fuck you' would do. Hell, I'd settle for a mental eye-roll at this point."
The silence that follows is... concerning.
"Someone's blocking the connection," I state, my voice measured despite the implications. "Likely through arcane means."
"No shit, Mr. “I’ll Save You (But First, Let Me Frown)," Lucian snaps, his frustration manifesting in typical crude fashion. "What was your first clue? The radio silence, or the fact that our batshit crazy maker's witch friend is having a magical fucking field day."
I maintain my impassive expression, though internally, I calculate the growing complications of our situation. The ability to suppress a blood bond requires considerable magical prowess—power that could prove... problematic.
I clear my throat, adjusting my posture. "I need my computer." As if summoned by thought alone, Sable appears from the living room with my laptop. "Much obliged."
My fingers fly across the keyboard, executing a series of complex algorithms I developed during the dot-com boom.
Back in '95, I recognized the digital revolution as a new frontier of warfare.
While Rhyland focused on traditional combat and Lucian built his nightclub empire, I immersed myself in the emerging cyber realm.
Lucian can hack, but not like I can.
I breach the first firewall of the local real estate database, a ghost of a smirk playing at my lips as I remember the months I spent as a "security consultant" for various Fortune 500 companies.
Those arrogant tech bros never suspected the apathetic freelancer testing their systems was actually a vampire gathering intelligence.
I made a fortune finding vulnerabilities in their networks—officially, of course, through their "bug bounty" programs. Unofficially.
.. well, certain offshore accounts grew quite healthy during those years.
Their knowledge, combined with my pattern recognition and an impressive portfolio of zero-day exploits I've collected, made me a formidable force in the digital underground.
There's a certain poetry in how corporations will pay millions to protect themselves from exactly the kind of attacks I perfect in my spare time.
"What exactly are you doing?" Emily peers over my shoulder, her tone heavy with curiosity.
"Creating a Boolean search algorithm to cross-reference recent high-end property acquisitions with specific parameters that match Lilith's.
.. particular tastes," I explain, my fingers never pausing.
"The pretentious bitch hasn't changed—she still favors expensive architecture, private grounds, and ostentatious displays of wealth. "
Multiple windows populate the screen as I breach various databases—property records, utility activations, and shell company registrations.
Each piece of data flows through my custom-built tracking program, which I developed during a particularly enlightening stint with a black hat collective in Moscow in 2010.
I smirk as my customized program flags a hit. "There you are, you sneaky cunt." A recently purchased estate appears on screen, registered to a corporation named 'Inanna Holdings'— the Babylonian goddess of love and war.
"Got her," I announce, my voice carrying the weight of certainty. "Twenty thousand square feet of overcompensation, complete with underground wine cellar and private grounds. Purchased six weeks ago through a shell company that practically screams 'Look at how clever I am.'"
Lucian peers at the screen, his eyebrows rising. "Damn, bro. Remind me never to piss you off enough to hack my browser history."
I cast him a withering glance. "Your browser history is disturbing enough without my interference, brother."
"Location?" Emily demands, her impatience evident.
I verify the coordinates. "Vancouver BC. Nestled right along water."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Emily groans, throwing her hands up. "That's a four-hour drive from here, assuming traffic doesn't completely fuck us."
I shut the laptop with a decisive click, meeting Lucian's gaze. His usual smirk has been replaced by something darker, more predatory. "Then I suggest we cease this idle chatter and depart immediately."
"Uh, hello? Did you forget we have a literal jet at our disposal?" Lucian interjects. "We could be strutting down the tarmac in thirty, landing in BC before Erik's expression changes—in Maple Leaf territory, ready to kick some bitchy ass."
I grunt my acknowledgment, despite my distinct aversion to air travel. The efficiency cannot be denied.
"Road trip from hell it is," Lucian quips, but there's steel beneath his sarcasm. "I call shotgun and DJ privileges."
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. "Touch the radio, brother, and you'll find yourself running alongside the vehicle."
"I'll stay here and watch over Damon," Sable states with quiet confidence. Though she possesses minor witch abilities, her intelligence and technological expertise make her a valuable asset—qualities I've come to appreciate in our operations.
"Listen here, Witchy Wonder," Lucian waves his hands dramatically, like a deranged traffic conductor.
"That reinforced door stays locked tighter than Erik's ass cheeks during a pole dancing competition.
Blood bags are in the mini-fridge—one per hour, like some twisted vampire McDonald's drive-thru.
No supersizing or I swear to whatever unholy deity is listening, I will come back and personally kick your magical behind into next Tuesday. "
He points an accusing finger, "And for fuck's sake, do not go all Mother Teresa on his bitey ass. Getting within fang distance of a baby vamp is like trying to diet at an all-you-can-eat buffet—somebody's getting hurt, and it'll be the menu—aka—you. Capisce?"
I observe their exchange with measured attention, noting that despite Lucian's theatrical delivery, his instructions are fundamentally sound.
"I think I can handle Vampire Daycare." Sable fires back. "Or did you forget the weeks we spent making sure you didn't go full Walking Dead on us during your convenient case of paranormal amnesia?"
"First of all, rude," Lucian clutches his chest in mock offense.
"Second of all... okay, yeah, you've got me there.
But in my defense, I was a fabulous disaster to babysit.
Like, we're talking five-star Yelp reviews of chaos.
'Would definitely recommend this vampire's amnesic ass again, great entertainment value, minimal civilian casualties. '"
Internally I question, not for the first time, how I'm related to this theatrical imbecile. Sable's experience managing Lucian's... condition... does qualify her for this task.
Emily rushes about gathering a few supplies while Lucian snatches the keys. I mentally catalog our weapons and necessities—grabbing a few viles of Dani's blood she keeps stashed and stocked in the fridge—when Seraphina's melodic voice cuts through our hasty preparations.
"Wait." Though gentle, her command carries an unmistakable authority that stops us in our tracks.
"What's troubling you, Cupcake?" Lucian's voice softens as he wraps his arms around her waist, his usual snark momentarily subdued.
Seraphina cradles his face in her delicate hands, her honey-colored eyes swimming with celestial worry.
"Are you truly prepared to confront her, Sparky?
" The angel's intuition, as always, proves sharp—she senses the turmoil roiling beneath Lucian's carefully constructed facade.
The psychological warfare Lilith waged against him took decades to overcome.
"Hell fucking yes," Lucian declares, though I detect a slight tremor in his voice.
"I've got you now, Phina-baby. My own personal angel therapist who fixed my broken ass.
" His signature grin returns, though tinged with genuine emotion.
"Ready to go show that psychotic bitch what happens when you mess with a reformed bad boy with his heavenly honey. "
Seraphina tucks a strand of golden hair behind her ear.
"Okay, but maybe we could, you know, come up with an actual plan first?
" Her melodic voice remains gentle as a summer breeze.
"Instead of our usual 'run in guns blazing and hope we don't die' approach?
Because that's been working out super great for us. "
The weeks among us have clearly left their mark on heaven's messenger.
"Holy shit, would you listen to that sass!" Lucian practically bounces with delight. "I've created a monster—a totally adorable, celestial monster. Should I be worried you're gonna smite my ass now, Cupcake?"
"Someone must be the voice of reason among our little family," she counters. "Since you're all ready to charge in like vengeful warriors without divine guidance—"
"A strategy will be devised during transit," I interject, checking my watch. "The journey provides ample time for planning."