Fledgling & Archon (Tales of the Sanguinant #3)

Chapter 1

Becoming a bloodsucker had fixed her knee problems—which was, so far as Simone could see, the only good point.

Well, there was also not needing bifocals, plus her tinnitus had outright vanished.

The resultant sensory sharpness was a curse in its own way since there were so many things she would rather not see or hear.

Especially when she got through the door of yet another boot-scootin’ shithole and found that, as dismally expected, the entire bar stank to high heaven and there was another vampire present.

Five bucks to you, Barry. Her finder would be thrilled that his sucker-map algorithm was still tiptop. If it was indeed computer wizardry and not some kind of low-level psychic whatsis, which Simone did not quite rule out.

There was a whole lot she refused to disbelieve these days.

She gave every pair of peepers under cowboy hat or faded baseball cap plenty of time to take in her arrival, then stalked across a slightly sticky floor with a little extra strut in her Levi’s.

Each light bulb hanging in a dust-crusted fixture seemed to have at least two flies perambulating lazily below and the corner jukebox was a knockoff Wurlitzer currently thumpwailing some generic Hank Williams clone.

All the boots in the place were just as run-down as her own deeply vintage Tony Lamas, except for the brand-new glossy black numbers with shiny toecaps worn by the vampire at the end of the bar.

No doubt the locals thought he was just a weekend-rodeo stranger; his camouflage was as good as her own. The vamp stared over his brown glass bottle of domestic pisswater like he couldn’t believe another bloodsucker would have the temerity to walk into this dive.

Sandy-gold hair flopping over his forehead, check. Those narrow, close-spaced hazel eyes, checkity-check. Her sense from the blurry security camera footage was correct, too—he felt like a young one, and looked like he’d been bitten in his late twenties.

Honestly once she’d hit her late forties everyone looked like a baby. Of far more interest were the dark, microscopic flecks on his denim jacket and the quickly snuffed crimson pinprick in each pupil.

Well, I’ve certainly got his attention. Which was never a problem; vampires seemed a gregarious bunch, despite what the forum posts said. Of course, she probably had a leg up by being a fellow bloodsucking evildoer.

The dry spot at the back of her throat scratched, lightly. “Whiskey, please.” She tried a polite smile on the grizzled, plaid-jacketed bartender, whose bushy greying eyebrows twitched in what could have been surprise.

Me too, buddy. Here she was, plain old Simone Deschants of Trenton City, looking well over thirty years younger than her actual age and fitting into her college jeans as well. It was a miracle, Lord have mercy—but the price was steep.

“Uh.” The bartender’s pupils were blessedly human, dilating as faded blue irises shrank. He seemed nice enough—sad, yes, but that was to be expected in a place like this. “What kind, ma’am?”

Asking for the most expensive firewater would be showy, and too much for her slender budget as well. She had to remember who she was, despite the…

The fangs. And the thirst, and what it made her do. “Good old JD’s, please. Thank you.”

She turned as the bartender busied himself, letting her gaze rove, marking the position of every critter in the room.

Mostly male, only two waitresses—both with the type of high, crunchy hairsprayed bangs she hadn’t seen since high school, Christ this place was a time capsule—and a couple ladies in what was their going-out best, including large bright plastic earrings.

She even caught a breath of drugstore perfume from a blonde in an embroidered chambray shirt, who was staring owlishly at this new babe on the block.

For a moment Simone actually felt pretty.

Except she wasn’t in search of booze, a line dance, or a cowboy to take home for riding. Her business was with the man-shaped thing at the end of the bar, the monster staring fixedly in her direction—and those spatters on his jacket, all but invisible to human eyes.

Not to her, though. And she could smell it, red and iron-rich, stroking that terrible, insistent patch at the very back of her throat.

Blood.

Four packs left in the fridge, she chanted inwardly. It wasn’t going to be enough, but maybe she could get more once she was out of this pissant burg.

God knew she’d done far more difficult things in the past few years.

So she gave the barkeep a crumpled bit of legal tender, told him to keep the change, and held the other vampire’s gaze as she downed her whiskey, exhaling softly afterward as the brief alcohol sting faded.

Christ, she couldn’t even get drunk nowadays, though lots of the others acted like blood itself was pure-d Everclear.

Once again she was grimly unsurprised that booze didn’t ease that fucking dry spot. Nothing did but the red stuff, and even the bagged variety only imperfectly.

The vampire at the end of the bar was trembling.

Oh, that wasn’t visible to the normal folks, either; the liquid in his bottle barely moved, a few bubbles shaken free of smooth glass sides.

But he stared at her like he’d just found new meaning in the universe, and Simone wondered why they all acted so oddly.

Was it just because she was perpetually new in town?

Did they get bored looking at normal people’s faces?

Doesn’t matter. Naturally vampires were more visibly different to her now; she could see the matte-poreless skin, the wild shine to their eyes, the gloss of their hair. Regular, happy ol’ people had imperfections, pimples, scars, bedhead, wrinkles.

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t just, it wasn’t right. But there was nothing she could do except her self-chosen job, so Simone simply gave the bartender another half-apologetic smile and headed for the door.

She knew the other vampire would follow.

It wasn’t quite a one-horse town—eight stoplights, the nearest hospital reachable by half-hour highway drive, three churches and four honky-tonks on the main drag.

Outside the imaginary village limits, grassy plains stretched westward until purple mountain majesties decided enough was enough and put a stop to that nonsense, thank you very much.

The wind sweeping across miles and miles of almost-nothing tasted like grass, cows, wildlife, an occasional tang of balsam or river, and forever.

Hard diamond stars glittered endlessly, but she had no time for beauty or philosophy because the bloodsucking fucker was mean as well as fast, and her claws might have a hard time getting through his skin.

Sure, he was ‘young’—but now that they were both on the move it was clear he was a bit older than her, which seemed to make the bastards far more difficult to deal with. Her only hope lay in the fact that he was also weirdly uncoordinated, almost too excited to fight properly.

Every bloodsucker she’d interacted with went shaky-psycho when they got close to murder, and Simone didn’t have time to think about why she seemed to have missed that boat.

It could be a function of accumulated age? Or maybe she just didn’t notice her own altered perceptions. Both horrifying prospects, to be sure.

Getting her prey to the town limits was simply a matter of running fast enough; a carefully chosen gully yawed to her right, precisely on schedule.

She plunged into its arms, twisted in midair, bounced from side to near-vertical rocky side, dodged half-seen or merely sensed obstacles, and when he attempted to hit her from behind she was almost, almost surprised.

But not entirely, and she had a bit of experience nowadays when it came to ripping up vampires.

Plus, visiting this very ravine right after dusk had given her a good idea of its layout—not to mention the tangle of abandoned barbwire rusting comfortably in its crooked elbow, perhaps deposited by a long-ago flash flood.

She dropped flat just in time; the blond bastard sailed right over her into the mess. A yip like a surprised coyote, followed by a thrashing and a sweetly metallic scent.

More blood. Vampire blood.

Okay, he’s not so old as I thought. Great. But she couldn’t wait around for a motherfucker to die of tetanus.

He stagger-streaked from the iron cobweb-tangle, arms outstretched and claws out. Her own fingernails were extended—tough, razor-sharp, and more than ready.

The hardest part was shoving away a lifetime’s worth of training—you can’t do that, girls don’t hit people. Use your words. Be nice!

Fortunately, her body’s hateful new instincts knew what to do. She just had to get out of the way.

Plus, before catching a bad case of vamp-itis she’d been on the downhill side of fifty and the rocks of a bad divorce besides.

There wasn’t a lot of nice left in Simone Deschants, taking her maiden name back in a big way and dodge-weaving close, left hand flickering to open up a big ol’ steaming rip in the monster’s guts.

During each and every fight she remembered the thing that had infected her, how it had screamed when morning sunshine filtered through the church basement window.

She heard those cries once more as she tore at the drunk-staggering bloodsucker, ducking and bobbing, claws ripping over and over until finally, eventually the wet rot racing through its tissues turned to glittering dust.

Another monster went poof, caving in as she caused more damage than preternatural flesh could heal until nothing was left but irritating iridescent particles, grit working itself finer and finer into every crevice.

Simone backed toward the gully’s wall, rubbing her hands together frantically, shaking out her hair, and finally brushing at her clothes with maybe a little more force than necessary.

The grainy stuff itched, but only briefly.

Worst of all was the way her conscience dug its spurs in.

Maybe this guy had been attacked one night, turned just like her, and was only trying to survive.

Maybe one day Simone herself would go nuts from the thirst’s constant scratching and have to be put down like a rabid dog.

She leaned against the ravine’s wall, ribs heaving though the fight was indisputably over. “Sorry,” she heard herself whisper, over and over. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, I hope it’s better now. I hope you’re at peace.”

A crowd of dry, twinkle-giggling stars watched avidly from overhead, along with the low-hanging, evil-grinning gibbous moon.

Neither cared about her silly little emotional pangs.

Good ol’ Ma Nature was beautiful, sure, but she was also a stone-cold bitch.

Maybe vampires were simply an evolutionary niche, biology getting day-drunk and deciding to have a little fun.

Simone let the soft, frantic catechism of regret drain away as she braced herself against the ravine’s wall, calculating the hours left until dawn.

Just enough time to get home and check in.