Drinker of Blood

  Drinker of Blood

  (SPECTR Series 2 #3)

  Jordan L. Hawk

  Drinker of Blood (SPECTR Series 2 #3) © 2017 Jordan L. Hawk

  ISBN: 978-1-941230-37-4

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art © 2017 Jordan L. Hawk

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Annetta Ribken

  Chapter 1

  Gray balances amidst the branches of a live oak, every sense attuned to the night. The warm, wet wind brings him many scents; more than he’d ever imagined existing in the long millennia spent in dead bodies. Now that he is clothed in living flesh, the world has unfolded into colors and smells and sounds.

  He tips his head back, breathing deep. Spoiled fish and soured milk waft from a nearby garbage bin, accompanied by the sweet exhalations of gardenias. The August day baked the streets, and hot asphalt mixes with fading car exhaust. So many things to smell, but not the one he seeks.

  “Why are we here?” Caleb asks. “Not in general, but in this part of the city?”

  Caleb is mortal, and thus impatient. But that is all right. It is his body Gray inadvertently leapt into, during the few seconds Caleb died.

  Being with Caleb allows Gray to feel these sensations, and more. Pain and ecstasy, joy and sorrow, and above all love.

  They left John sleeping in their bed. They have hunted many, many demons over the last month. Lycanthropes, ghouls, and a therianthrope which took on the shape of a twisted alligator. Even Gray has not seen so many demons in such a short time, and John’s body is mortal and has limitations theirs does not. He didn’t stir when they slid from beneath the covers, dressed, and let themselves out the door.

  What if he wakes while they’re gone and wonders why they left without explanation?

  Caleb’s impatience is sparked now with worry. “He won’t. But if he does, I’ll just tell him we were restless and went for a run.”

  John would believe them, because he trusts them. And now they are breaking that trust.

  “You know why. We don’t have a choice. Barillo is just looking for a reason to assign us a different partner. Or worse. If John was involved in hunting this…whatever the hell it is…he’d feel duty-bound to file a report like a good little SPECTR agent. If our hunt became official, and we couldn’t find it, it would give Barillo an excuse to carry out his threats. And that asshole’s not getting any help from me.”

  Gray lets out a hiss of frustration. He loves John, but he dislikes all of the mortal rules and foolishness that John cares about so much. If only they could leave this place. Then they could hunt and copulate and live as they wish.

  “You know it’s not that easy. And you still haven’t answered my question. Why are we here, out of everywhere in Charleston?”

  I have spent five-thousand years hunting prey on this earth. Trust that I know how to track our quarry.

  “Demons. You hunted demons. This thing…isn’t.”

  Which is the problem to begin with. Mortals summon demons and become possessed. If forty days have not yet passed, an exorcist like John or Zahira can save them and banish the demon. After forty days…

  Then they are food.

  But this creature, whatever it might be, is not food. Its scent awakens no hunger in Gray. Yet it is not a mortal.

  Three times, they have encountered its trail. Once near the condo, with no demon in sight. Then it interfered with their hunt for the vila—though perhaps not intentionally. The third time, however, had been deliberate. It had shown itself to them while they fought the vila, silhouetted against a rainy sky, then vanished.

  They have caught its attention, just as it has caught theirs. It will try to track them—is already tracking them, perhaps. Which means it will likely be near the condo. But its hesitation to confront them directly suggests it will look for cover. A place to watch them without being seen. The trees offer the best places of concealment—for it and them alike.

  “I suppose that makes sense,” Caleb says reluctantly. “And if we don’t find it here?”

  Then we will continue the hunt another night. Patience.

  Gray slips from tree to tree, then onto a rooftop. He crisscrosses the area between the condo and the street where they first scented the creature, pausing often to sift the wind. There are still many hours to go before dawn, but the longer they’re gone, the more likely John will wake up and realize they left. And perhaps John will accept Caleb’s excuse, but perhaps he will wait for them outside the bedroom and see they dressed not for running, but for hunting.

  “You’re right. Maybe we ought to call it a night.”

  Perhaps, Gray begins. Then the wind shifts, and he smells it. Burning metal and hot stone, mingled with the richness of broken earth. The scent belongs to nothing mortal, yet it stirs no sense of hunger within him.

  Before Caleb and John, he would simply have ignored it. Assuming he could even have sensed it while inhabiting a corpse; demons had been the only smell he knew, calling him to the hunt. Likely he would have passed this one by without ever knowing it was there.

  Caleb tenses, just beneath the surface of their shared skin. Gray moves slowly, carefully, following the trail but not too quickly. They do not know what this entity intends: if it is curious, or dangerous, or both, or neither.

  Another smell joins that of the entity: rot. A decayed body, accompanied by the faintest traces of mange-clotted fur and sour musk.

  “A lycanthrope?”

  Yes. But dead.

  They find the body lying in the middle of a gazebo where they have seen mortal couples wed. The scent of the not-demon lingers around it, already fading. Once he is certain the other entity isn’t lurking nearby, preparing to ambush them, Gray drops to the ground and goes to inspect the lycanthrope.

  The bodies possessed by demons decay quickly, as if they had died the day the demon was summoned. Little remains of the lycanthrope at this point: twisted bones, flesh going to black slime, a wretched stench. There is no way to tell how it died.

  “But the entity killed it, didn’t it?” Caleb is grim. “And left it here for us to find.”

  Gray straightens. The wind picks up, threading through the shifting mass of his long hair, bringing with it the last, fading trace of the creature they hunt.

  Yes, he replies. It did. This was a message.

  * * *

  The moment he stepped into the Paranormally Abled Support System meeting, Caleb felt some of the tension he carried constantly these days slip away. Despite his initial uncertainty, he’d come to look forward to the meetings held every week in the back of a bookstore. Since he lived with John, PASS was the one place he could get completely away from SPECTR bullshit.

  A cheery chorus of “Hi, Caleb!” greeted him when he entered. That alone was a nice change of pace from SPECTR, where people tended to greet him with scowls or suspicious looks. And sure, there were definitely exceptions: Zahira and Karl, and a few others. But PASS was the only place everyone seemed genuinely happy to see him.

  “‘Bout time your lazy ass showed up,” said Deacon with a wink. He carefully pulled the folding chairs out of storage, using nothing but his TK. “Thought I was going to have to do this by myself.”

  As usual, everyone was doing whatever they could with their paranormal talent. Nigel, the group leader, chilled the bottles of soda with cryokinesis, while a pyrokinetic lit scented candles. Which was also a nice change from everyday life, where most people tried not to draw too much attention to their abilities.

  The only paranormal ability the group lacked
was an exorcist. Which was a good thing, because even the most half-assed exorcist would sense Gray at this close of a range.

  “Sorry—wouldn’t want you to break a sweat or anything,” Caleb replied as he took up position by Deacon. “It might mess up your hair.”

  Deacon laughed. He and Caleb met for lunch once or twice a week, whenever work didn’t get in the way. Deacon was his point of sanity, a friend outside of all the carnage and horror of SPECTR.

  If only Caleb dared tell him about Gray. Possessed people usually meant screaming and death, and he didn’t want to sabotage their friendship. Still, who knew? Maybe eventually he’d work up the courage. Introduce Gray to Deacon.

  “I do not find these mortals interesting,” Gray informed him. “I do not wish to meet them.”

  Your loss.

  “I doubt that.”

  Caleb shook his head. Seeing the gesture, Deacon frowned slightly. “What’s wrong?”

  Crap. Caleb had gotten sloppy, talking to the voice in his head. “Just thinking about work.”

  “Sounds like something you should share with the group, then,” put in Nigel. He was ex-SPECTR himself, and besides Deacon, the only person at PASS who knew where Caleb worked.

  “Yeah, okay.” As much as he could tell, anyway. Which wasn’t a lot, considering Gray’s involvement in most of it.

  Everyone shuffled into the circle once the seats were arranged. As usual, Caleb was the only one without a donut or soft drink. “Health nut,” Haylee the empath teased as she took a seat across from him.

  “All that sugar is going to put you in an early grave,” he shot back, though that had nothing to do with why he wasn’t stuffing his face. Truth was, Gray had dialed every sense up to eleven. Soft drinks tasted like battery acid, and artificial sweeteners made him want to gag.

  Just one more way he was set apart from the rest of humanity.

  “I do not understand why you would wish to be more like these mortals. You are yourself.”

  “All right, Caleb,” Nigel said, settling back in his chair. “It sounds like you’re having some problems at work. Is there anything you’d like to share with the group?”

  “Yeah.” Caleb wiped his hands on his jeans nervously. “It’s been kind of crazy lately—we’re really busy. So I get that tempers are short. Things have been really strained with my boss, in particular.” Which was putting it lightly, given the district chief had drawn a gun on them the last time they’d been in his office. “He doesn’t like my…status. You know, my paranormal status.” Not quite a lie, since Gray was a part of that. “I’m on probation right now, and things have been fine for the last few weeks, but I can’t help worrying it’s just a temporary reprieve. That he’s just looking for a reason to get rid of me.”

  How Barillo would get rid of him, Caleb wasn’t entirely sure. Drop him in a SPECTR black ops hole, most likely. Or try to.

  “We will not be imprisoned again.”

  They’d barely escaped when Forsyth locked them up, and even that had taken outside help. He’ll try to use John against us.

  “We will not allow it.” Though how Gray thought they would prevent it, he couldn’t guess.

  “That sucks,” Haylee said. “Fucking norms.”

  “Haylee,” Nigel said reprovingly. “We do not use slurs against anyone in this space.” He turned to Caleb. “Have you tried speaking to his manager?”

  The Executive Assistant Director would be next up the line. Caleb had never met the guy, but he was one of the few who had managed to hang onto his position when Kaniyar took over as Director. Since he’d been the one to appoint Barillo in the first place, Caleb had his doubts. The Charleston office had been the hotbed of rebellion that brought down Forsyth; Barillo’s appointment had been meant to reassure the higher-ups and Congress that the agency line would be toed from here on out. “I haven’t,” he admitted with a shrug. “I have a feeling it wouldn’t do any good.”

  “At least try,” Nigel advised. Everyone else nodded.

  “Maybe I will.” And why not? Would it really make things worse?

  Nigel smiled at him, then glanced around the group. “Who wants to go next?”

  “I have some news,” Deacon said. “Good news. I heard from Mike last week.”

  The mood shifted; looks of concern appeared around the circle. “How is he?” asked Haylee. “Is he all right? Is he coming back?”

  Deacon took a sip of his drink. “He’s doing good. I guess he must be seeing some kind of therapist, because he said someone’s been helping him come to terms with what happened. To not feel scared all the time. He wants to come back to PASS soon and share some tips with us, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course,” Nigel said. “Mike will always be welcome here.”

  Obviously, this Mike was someone who’d been at the group before Caleb had joined. He didn’t ask, not wanting to waste the group’s time. When the meeting was over, though, he made sure to leave with Deacon. “So who’s Mike?”

  They walked side-by-side down the cracked sidewalk. The sun had slipped below the horizon, but waves of heat still rose off the concrete and asphalt.

  “That’s right—I forgot he’d left by the time you came to your first meeting.” Deacon shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “Mike got jumped by some anti-paranormal assholes last spring. They beat him up pretty bad. It’s taken him a while to get his head together.”

  “Shit.” Caleb’s gut twisted. At least that was one thing he didn’t have to worry about anymore. If anyone tried to jump him, they’d be in for a nasty surprise—and that was even if Gray didn’t manifest. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Deacon shrugged. “I hope so. But things like that…they leave a mark on your soul, don’t they?” He shook his head. “It didn’t help that he and Nigel got into an argument. Nigel went to visit Mike in the hospital, and…well, let’s just say Mike wasn’t in the mood for Nigel’s touchy-feely approach at the time. I think that’s one of the reasons it’s taken him so long to come back. He wanted to do something about it, not let things go and move on.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Caleb said.

  “I figured you’d agree.” Deacon paused. “Want me to give you a lift home?”

  If they walked, they might come across the not-demon’s trail. “Nah. It’s a nice night. I think I’ll just take a stroll.”

  He lingered and watched Deacon drive away. “We should obtain a vehicle,” Gray suggested. “Then, when a demon tries to evade us using one, I can follow.”

  Caleb snorted. I’m not letting you drive. You don’t even know how.

  There came the odd sensation of someone else shuffling through his memories. Flashes of driver’s ed, making out in the old beater he’d owned at the time. The motorcycle safety course at the community college he’d attended for a couple of years. “You know how. Therefore, I do as well.”

  Huh. That was interesting. What about what your other hosts knew?

  “Some. But it is not as…immediate.”

  Right. Because before Caleb, Gray had only inhabited dead bodies. No color, no scent besides the trail of demons, memories faded and worn. No emotion, really; or at least none so intense.

  “It was…more peaceful,” Gray admitted. “But I prefer this. I prefer you.”

  Good thing, since we’re stuck together. Their forty days were long past. Now let’s get home and eat something that isn’t full of high fructose corn syrup. I’m starving.

  Chapter 2

  “All right,” John said the next day, as he shut the door to the exorcism room behind him. “Everyone ready?”

  “Ready!” Zahira chirped. After she had seen the footage of Gray fully manifested during the battle at Fort Sumter, John and Caleb had both expected her to react as badly as the rest of the agents. Instead, her enthusiasm had drawn out Gray, who ordinarily ignored everyone but John. He’d agreed to answer whatever questions she might have for him. The outbreak of possessions across Charleston had mean
t they hadn’t had an opportunity for the interview until now.

  Just because Gray had agreed to the interview didn’t mean Caleb was entirely happy about it. “Do we have to do this in an exorcism room, Starkweather?” Caleb asked. He rubbed the toe of one heavy black boot against the silver circle set into the floor around the lone chair. The chair itself was made of solid steel, bolted to the floor and equipped with attachment points for chains. “It’s not really making me feel all that comfortable, got to say.”

  Zahira clasped her hands together nervously. “We could go to one of the conference rooms instead.”

  “If we’re doing this, we should get all the data we can. We chose this room because it’s set up to record video, barometric pressure, and temperature,” John said. “And because no one will disturb us in here, no matter what.” He stepped closer to Caleb and ran a hand lightly down the back of his thick leather coat. “But if it bothers Gray…”

  “Gray doesn’t give a damn,” Caleb muttered. He glanced at John, then sighed. “Fine. Let’s get on with it. At least you could have brought us a pillow for the chair.”

  Caleb seated himself, slouching in the chair, his hands stuffed in his pockets. John suppressed a sigh and went to the panel on the wall, which housed the switches for the recording equipment behind a plexiglass shield. The exorcism rooms were designed to be as damage-proof and easily cleanable as possible, just in case. Nothing but stark concrete floors and walls, the steel chair where a subject would ordinarily be chained, and the silver circle to add power to the exorcism and help contain the NHE.

  “We’re live,” he said, closing the shield back over the switches. He listed the date and time for the record, then: “Interview of the Non-Human Entity known as Gray. Class: drakul. Host: special contractor Caleb Jansen. Attending agents: John Starkweather and Zahira Noorzai.”

  John’s eardrums ached as the pressure in the room shifted, heralding Gray’s arrival. “I am ready,” Gray said.

  His voice was Caleb’s, but not: deeper and underlain with a rumble like distant thunder. His posture had completely changed as well. Gone was Caleb’s bad boy slouch. Gray sat straight, as if someone pressed a ruler to his spine, his claw-tipped hands resting lightly on the chair’s arms. His black hair swirled around his shoulders in an unfelt wind, and his eyes had gone the color of a moonless night, the darkness interrupted by tiny flickers of light, like lightning on a distant horizon. The smell of ancient incense and rain-kissed sand saturated the room. John breathed deep.