Generation 18 by Keri Arthur, now you can read online.
Chapter One
Being a spook wasn't what Samantha Ryan had expected. Long nights, sleepless days, yes. She'd faced that, and worse, during her ten years as a State Police Officer. In that time, the agents of the Special Investigations Unit had breezed in and out of situations, always on edge, always on the move. Always looking like they loved what they were doing. So the sheer and utter boredom that filled ninety percent of a spook's job had come as something of a shock.
She sighed and shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position on the icy metal step. Watch the back door, Gabriel had said. Make sure the vamps don't hit the blood bank from the alley. This, despite the fact that in the five previous robberies, the vampires had always gone in through the front door.
Why the hell would they change a successful routine now?
They wouldn't. He knew that. She knew that.
She rubbed her eyes wearily. She could hardly argue, though, as he was her senior and in charge of the investigation. And with intel stating that this blood bank would be the next one hit, she couldn't argue with orders that were little more than covering all the bases.
What the intel wasn't saying was whether it was actually vampires doing these robberies. Hell, with recent estimates saying that at least thirty percent of newly-turned vampires were unable to control their blood desire, human blood had become a hot commodity on the streets. Combine that with the recent spate of deaths through infected blood products in all the major hospitals — leading to the situation where private blood banks were inundated with people wanting to stockpile their own blood — and you had the perfect opportunity for those wanting to make a quick buck on the streets.
So here she sat, in the cold night, on a cold step, waiting for robbers who weren't likely to come by the back entrance, while her goddamn partner watched the front door from the warmth of the car.
Bitter? Her? Oh yeah.
He was certainly making good on his statement that he would never work with a partner. Whenever possible, he left her in her box of an office doing paperwork, or he sent her on inane errands. This was her first "real" duty in the three months since her transfer, and she suspected she was here only because Byrne had given him a direct order to take her.
The wind picked up, running chill fingers through her hair. She shivered and flicked up the collar on her coat. Overhead, the starlit sky was beginning to cloud over. The rain they'd been predicting for days was finally on the way. She could smell the moisture in the breeze. Could feel the tingle of electricity running through the night air, charging her body with an odd sense of power.
Why she could feel these things was another point of concern, though it was one she kept to herself. There were only two people she trusted enough to sit down and talk to, anyway. Finley was still on leave, recovering from the injuries he'd received in the bomb blast three months ago, and her goddamn partner was harder to nail down than a snowflake in a storm.
And it wasn't just on a professional level that he was keeping his distance, but a personal one, as well. Given how well they'd gotten on during their investigations of her former partner's disappearance, she'd thought that they could at least be friends. Obviously, she'd been very wrong.
God, how bad was it when he wouldn't even go for a cup of coffee with her?
"Sam, you there?"
His warm voice whispered into her ear, so close she could almost feel the caress of his breath across her cheek. Except that he was tucked nice and warm in the car half a block away.
She was tempted, very tempted, to ignore him. But she'd spent ten long years as a cop doing the right thing, following all the rules — like keeping in constant contact when on watch duty. Even when her partner was being a bastard and deserved to suffer, it was a habit hard to break.
"What?" Her tone left no doubt of her mood. He'd left her sitting here so long her butt was almost frozen to the step. If he expected civility, he needed a brain transplant.
"Just checking you're still awake."
Yeah, right. Like she was the one sitting in the nice warm car. "The cold's doing a fine job of that, thank you very much."
He paused. "Do you want to swap for a while?"
She raised her eyebrows. Just for an instant, the compassion in his voice reminded her of the man she'd known before she'd become his partner. "You got coffee on board?"
"Freshly brewed."
And he hadn't offered her any until now. It was lucky he'd only equipped the two of them with stun rifles, because she was tempted, very tempted, to march right over there and shoot him. "Sure you can spare a cup?" she said tightly. "I mean, you older types need some sort of stimulant to keep you awake at this hour of the night, don't you?"
"Do I take that as a yes or a no?" His warm tones held an undertone of annoyance.
But she was way past caring at this particular moment. "That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you intend to freeze me out, figuratively or literally."
He made no immediate reply. She waited, wondering what he'd do now that she'd finally called him out. Down the Main Street end of the alley, she heard a soft thump, as if someone had jumped off a rooftop. A dog yelped somewhere to the left of that thump, a short sharp sound that spoke of fear. She frowned and stared into the darkness. The electricity filling the night stirred, running over her skin, standing the small hairs at the back of her neck on end. Heat followed quickly. Then her senses exploded outwards, and she was tasting the secrets of the night.
A kite creature walked towards her.