All third-gen vampires and below had rolled. But to where? Even most second-gens were lying low. No human wannabes would come near the club tonight. If he and his squad wanted to feed, they'd have to go out hunting, old school. Where was Carlos? Concentration was impossible. The master's beacon was nonexistent. Something was very wrong. If Carlos had been exterminated, he should have immediately felt the jolt. But there was simply an eerie void, an absence of power and presence.
He looked up slowly, watching the club's top-shelf reserves begin to rattle, flames consuming the labels, peeling them away, as black bottles began exploding. His second-gen bartenders instantly collapsed into a pile of ash.
His longtime friend, Stack, stood up with effort. His squad got to their feet, their eyes taking in the horror as the building began to deconstruct, deteriorating into an old, dilapidated structure. They were so tired they could barely stand. The atmosphere felt thick, heavy, as though daylight were creeping in.
"Oh, shit," Yonnie murmured.
"Resources are drying up, man," Stack said, breathing hard. "Rivera musta f**ked up, big-time. Maybe another master smoked him and the territory is realigning?"
"No," Yonnie said quickly. "A new master would be building assets, not destroying them." He held his hands out before him, feeling the vibrations, trying to search for a power pulse within the empire. He lowered his arms slowly and glanced at his five-man squad. "Feel it," he whispered. "I don't senseany master."
"Git the f**k outta here," Stack said, panic making his voice tight. "Rivera's rank just got knocked down a notch, maybe, but-"
"Feel it!" Yonnie shouted. "Lock in on the females. Where are they?"
Stack slowly opened his arms, palms facing out toward the crumbling walls, and he turned in a shaky circle. He blinked twice and balled his palms into fists. "Ash." Swallowing hard, he tried again. "The seriously old, fine ones are..." Stack's voice trailed off as he watched his hands darken and his arms fall away before his eyes.
Yonnie stepped back from his two-hundred-year-old friend in horror. Stack's expression of terror became frozen in a face that crumbled away as the others in the squad hit the ground beside him, leaving only their recently tailored suits.
For a moment, Yonnie couldn't move. He brought his hands to his face, wondering why he hadn't disintegrated along with the others. Feeding now was imperative. Yet he couldn't muster the energy for flight or transport. Breathing was more than an effort; it was nearly impossible. His hands went to his face, feeling its skeletal remains. Then he spotted a pair of golden yellow orbs low in a shadowy corner.
Yonnie immediately bulked up. His strength was severely compromised and he knew he was in trouble. The predator in the corner suddenly lunged. Huge were-demon jaws narrowly missed his face as he leapt back, but the claws of the beast opened five deep gashes in his chest. He gasped at the pain. In his weakened state, he was no match for a were-demon.
Sections of wall gave way as the were-demon slammed against support beams, pillars, missing Yonnie as he dodged with what was left of his vampire strength and leapt up to a ceiling beam and held on. However, exhaustion was rapidly slowing him down, and the were-demon seemed to sense that. It waited for a moment with a leering smile on its wolflike face-the form it had chosen to take. Its elongated fangs glistening in the full moonlight that now shone through a missing portion of the left wall, it stood on hind legs, flexing in a spectacular display of strength and power, clearly challenging Yonnie.
"Now, what's your strategy-since the Vamp Empire is mere ash?" a snarling, low voice asked.
Yonnie stared at the creature from his perch on the high fragile beam.What the hell had happened out there ? He needed to keep this dumb motherfucker talking. The portals to level five were wide open.
"Who said we ain't running shit?" Yonnie said through a snarl. "Just because you caught us on a slow night don't mean we won't have your ass seen."
The were-demon laughed and dropped to all fours and began circling beneath Yonnie. "Where's your master, bitch?"
The question taunted Yonnie. He gripped the beam tightly, his fingernails digging into the wood.
He glanced around, knowing that were-demons, especially those of the wolf persuasion, usually traveled in packs. But he couldn't detect any others. He could only assume this one was walking point for those soon to follow.
"I thought so," the stinking thing said with a sneer. "I told them your forces were vulnerable, now I know for sure. It's just like all your other vamp hidey-holes. Vulnerable throughout the empire." The beast laughed, vicious and triumphant, as he threw his head back and released a long, bloodcurdling wolf wail.
Knowing that he had only seconds to act before the place filled with were-demons Yonnie concentrated every last ounce of his strength. He felt his fingertips ignite. Every shard of broken, jagged glass behind the bar magnetized, drew together, and became an airborne blade that he sent flying into his tormentor's throat. Yonnie watched with no small measure of satisfaction as the wolf's call was abruptly cut off on a gurgle of blood and the stunned expression still remained on the were-demon's hideous, distended face when his head fell to the floor. Black demon blood spattered the walls.
Acting quickly before the beast began to smolder and combust, Yonnie leapt down to the floor. He needed to feed, and the shame of eating from the belly of a beast was beyond him. But this was about survival. In one deft move he slit the beast's abdomen, knowing that it wouldn't have attacked without feeding first.
Reaching in, he extracted a human arm and a section of torso, siphoning what undigested human blood he could from it, then cast it away in disgust, careful not to allow any remnants of the demon's foul blood to intermingle. Then he got up and ran, hearing the sound of wolf calls in the distance.
A team of hunters would be on his ass with the quickness to seek retribution for their fallen comrade. He needed someplace to lie low. If old lairs were compromised and graveyards were impenetrable due to prayer barriers, where could he go? Who was left? Why did all but him burn? If a master went down, the whole line and all its assets didn't torch.At least that was myth .
Tears stung his eyes as he kept moving. His master was dead; he had to be. Then what was the point of survival? He'd been an underling for years working for other ruthless masters. Rivera had been the only one to treat him with respect and dignity.
Yonnie stopped abruptly when he found himself in front of Carlos's Beverly Hills lair. The night became his cloak as he pulled it around himself and remained invisible. He closed his eyes, opened his arms, and slowly dropped to his knees. His emotions crashed down on him and he wept. Carlos was missing. Stack and the squad were gone. Their assets had disintegrated. He had been reduced to a carrion feeder.
"Where you at, man?" Yonnie asked the night. "If you go down, we all go down!" His voice hitched on a bitter sob. In a short time, he'd come to love Carlos like a true blood brother. No matter what had happened, who had won, he knew he'd follow Carlos into the very sun.
"Whoever did you, I will smoke," he promised the night. "Whoever stole from you, I will rob. We go to war, man. For you."
Silence answered Yonnie, the stars above teasing him with their glittering faces. It wasn't fair. Rivera had had it all. Yonnie stared at the abandoned lair, despair filling him as he yelled his master's name. "Carlos!"
Carlos watched Marlene go to Damali's side as soon as the captain had turned the seat belt sign off. The older woman moved with a slow grace, her steps measured, her expression grave. Damali turned her head away, and Marlene stooped beside her, taking Damali's hand gently within her own.