Fangs of Fate (Untish #1)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

TATE

It was a rough day at the clinic. I may have aggressively stabbed a few too many patients—on purpose. As a result, Dr. Ferrari sent me to the back to do indexing and begin preparing the bags to transport via the couriers. After several hours of it, five o’clock finally came. I couldn’t wait to leave. My chest was still tight from my interaction with Shae. My one friend who hadn’t left for the adventure of the guara, who still made time to hang out with me and binge watch trashy TV, had chosen to leave. Shae was the only friend I’d ever tandem fed with. And she was abandoning me while insulting my mother at the same time.

We were a part of a society, I understood that. We had jobs and choices, I also got that. But the guara were a bunch of hunger crazy individuals who had no restraint. They were the ones often sent to Dispensary Hearings for overfeeding and killing; they were the ones to start bar fights; it was their world-walking passes that were often restricted because they were too volatile. And she chose them. I felt sick.

I filled the last duffle bag for transport and then grabbed the four bags I was responsible for, more tonight than normal after a higher collection day—the weekends were always prime days. The Glenn would be well fed this week. The clinic was a necessary evil, the blood draw saved lives—human and vampirical. The service I provided was vital; I had self-restraint where others may succumb to bloodlust. It was wired within me to protect them, even if they were just human. One more reason I hated the guara—they had no value for life, save for themselves.

Of course, we harvested blood from within the veil too, but I was far less interested in working at a processing or harvesting plant. The human-side offered something simple, a comfortable environment to take blood from willing vessels, even if it was a fragile facade. Here, I wasn’t the weakest. No one noted my limp or fangs thanks to my glamour. Here, I was one of the elites.

The door creaked as it opened, and Dr. Ferrari walked in; fan-fricking-tastic. She was tall, nearly six and a half feet. Vampirical females rarely surpassed six feet, but six and half? It was an anomaly. She had always bothered me, her appearance set me on edge. She wore a doctor’s lab coat with scrubs underneath. Her gold hair was beautiful, loosely falling off her shoulders in perfect full curls. Her green eyes were…mesmerizing. I froze, transfixed on her beauty. No one should be that beautiful.

Why had she chosen that glamour? Vampires were notoriously common, plain, but this female—this creature—strode toward the cabinet next to me with long, confident steps. She wanted attention, clearly. Her skin was pale, so very pale and it almost glistened. She nearly walked through me to reach the cabinet to my left. I guess I was practically invisible to her, well unless she needed me, and even then, it was usually for an unpleasant task.

“Can I help you, Tate?” she said the last word sweetly. Pure venom. Buy into it and you wouldn’t realize what it was until you were paralyzed, and your blood was being drained.

“No, no. I was just…uh, just lost in thought I suppose.” I paused, raising a brow in silent challenge. “It’s been a long day.”

“Indeed.” The blonde smiled, a smile that I could almost taste. “Perhaps you should get some rest. Have you finished cataloging all the samples from today?” Her scent was odd and ancient, like that of cinnamon—even that bothered me.

“Yes, they’re cataloged and packed for transport.”

“Good. Then that will be all, enjoy your evening.” She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a large chart. “Oh, and dear, do make sure you feed. You’re looking a little ashen and I don’t need any incidents on my watch.”

I shook my head in response.

She turned, file in hand and headed for the door, pausing before pushing it open. “You know, your pallor really does look sickly. Want me to draw your blood and run some tests?” She tsked, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t want you sick and infecting the rest of the staff.”

Naturally she wouldn’t. “No, I just need food and rest. Thanks for the offer.” I saluted her and turned my attention back to the computer in front of me.

My blood boiled. Of course, I needed to feed, I hadn’t since yesterday and even though that was an extremely filling feed, I couldn’t hold the cravings. A blood-drain and blood-high was fun until it wore off and then cravings started. I supposed it was one reason President Dale enacted the no-kill law. It preserved a precious balance.

Working with blood had been particularly challenging today when my self-control was slipping. Only thinking of Shae and her utterly shitty decision kept me distracted enough to not seriously consider syphoning some of the blood. I cracked my knuckles; I needed a feed, and I knew just the vessel I wanted to feed from.

Roy Mackalst had been on my list since last week. He only lasted this long because I was hunting the pyro perp—killing children placed you at the top of my list. Beating them? Well, that ranked you as next. Yes, he had this coming. I yanked harder on the grip I had on his shoulder, lifting his body further in the air. My heart raced; air seemed to escape my chest. Liquid beads slid down my cheek and chin as deep red covered the front of my shirt, my arm, my hand.

The scent of iron filled the air, and the floor began to stick. My maroon footprints covered the beige rug. It was the color of rubies, so deep and full of meaning—full of heart. It was a sign of life, a sign of passion, a sign of love. Now, it was also a sign of death. How many times had Roy himself been covered in the blood of innocents?

My hand began shaking, the adrenaline from the feed was still racing through my system. I could feel the strength pulsating through my body. I needed to stop; if I continued it would be another blood-drain. I could feel it, he was almost there—just a few more draws, and the drain would be complete.

Until recently, I’d never had this problem. I’d feed from my target and then ensured they met justice, via the human police. But lately, enacting my own justice and emptying them had been calling to me, a siren beckoning ships to the rocks.

Rage fueled my movements, rage at the loss of life, the abuse of sweet innocence. Anger at the betrayal of those we trusted.Justice, that’s what this was. I closed my eyes and drew again. Euphoric. That’s what I felt. It never felt like this with those first few feeds from vessels. Transitioning had been difficult. The guilt that accompanied my transition kill was smothering and isolating. No one, aside from my mother and Fletch, could relate. This, however, was easy.

Rich, sticky iron filled my internal wounds. Only one more, then I’ll stop. On my third attempt I was met with nothing. He was dead. My body tingled and my head felt light; the high from this was even stronger than the last drain. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be an addict. I should be worried about the Glenn finding out; about violating President Dale’s no drain law, enforceable with a Disciplinary Hearing, punishments that could entail death. But all I could think about were the children this monster harmed.

“It hurts, Mommy!” Maroon eyes looked up at green ones shadowed by sandy blonde hair.

“I know, it’s going to be ok, Thaila. Just hang in there,” Mama whispered, rubbing my tiny back and looking at my mangled leg. It was red and swelling quickly. The pain from it was sharp and felt severing.

“Make it stop!” I cried, leaning into her touch. I didn’t know what had happened, I only wanted relief.

A door down the hall opened and then shut, jarring me from my thoughts. The giant lay before me, cold and lifeless. His face still held hues of shock, fear, and pain. The blue eyes staring up at me were cold, icy. He would no longer be a threat lurking in their little shadows, bruising tiny faces, and filling their heads with nightmares.

I bent over to pick him up. Grabbing his wrist, I pulled as I hoisted him across my back. Snap! His arm fell to the floor. Damn it! This needed to be cleaned up, no more questions. That’s what the Glenn required for our cover story to succeed—the virus needed to stay contained. If mortals thought it was spreading again, if corpses were popping up everywhere, then the clinic would lose its tight hold on the human population.

My heart rate increased; it became erratic. I could clean this up, the mess could be remedied, and the body discarded—no one needed to ask any questions. I just needed to calm down, take a few breaths . The song sung to little vamplings filled my synapsis:

Sweet, sweet birdy. She came and fed her nest,

She came and got some rest,

She came and put her chicks to the test.

One by one she pushed, she nudged, until at long last, each little birdy was thrown from the nest.

Some flew, some struggled, some didn't make it. This is the way we learn sweet, sweet bird.

This was the song they sang to us at infancy; the song that was played during our first feed, our first kill. This was the melody that made us killers, transitioned us into our vampirical nature. Only fitting that it would be my anthem as I cleaned up the mess that my nature created. Not my fault . Fletch would agree. Afterall, did we punish a wolf for hunting and devouring a deer? Roy was no deer—he was a predator himself.

New strength filled my veins. The world would understand if they knew. They would thank me, or at the very least, his children would no longer be at the end of his butcher’s mallet. That dead bird needed to flop. I was no monster, I was the hero in this story—and if my actions did, by some accounts, make me a horror, then I’d gladly take up that mantle if only to protect the defenseless.

Looking around, I surveyed the room. The cherrywood executive desk had splatters of blood across it. I wiped it clean. The papers, once neat and stacked atop the desk, now lay scattered across the orange tile. What a stupid choice for an office, but then again, he was a stupid, stupid man. I threw the papers out.

The modern black lamp in the corner lay on the floor, the shade surprisingly intact after his silly struggle—as if he stood a chance. I picked it up and positioned it near the desk. The two chairs in front of the desk were overturned, thankfully not marred by the man’s odious blood. An easy fix. The shag rug he lay lifeless atop would be the perfect thing to transport him.

I bent over and rolled the body up, throwing the busted arm on top of his near severed neck—a fitting coffin for such a man. The look on his face when he saw me lurking in the shadows, such shock and horror. When I dropped my glamour and he spotted my fangs, he sucked in such a deep breath and let out a high-pitched scream. Who would’ve thought this bird could sing?

Humming the tune, I surveyed the room: it was bland, but clean. Throwing the rug filled with the maimed man over my shoulder, I walked out onto the balcony I’d come in through—its mere existence a testament to his ego—and jumped off toward the ground below. Thankfully, it was only a couple stories down to where the truck I’d ‘borrowed’ waited. My feet hit the ground and I rolled. Not my best, not my worst. Twisting my left ankle in a circle I released the building tension and willed my left leg to stop throbbing. These jumps were a lot for me; even in this world, I had limitations.

Dropping his body in the truck with a sickly ‘thump’ I winced. Did something snap off? Whatever. I shrugged as I climbed in the driver’s seat and moved it back further to fully stretch out my legs and then drove miles outside of town to the large cliff. The roads were empty this time of night; ever since the virus became widespread, people were more fearful to be out at night. I reached a pull-off that was rarely used and put the truck in park.

I threw open the door and hopped out. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from my internal temperature. I reached for the shag rug and hoisted him over my shoulder, then began walking to the cliff edge. Even bloodless, this man still weighed an astronomic amount. A large root from a nearby tree caught my foot and— oof! My speed only hastened my impact with the ground—I hit hard. The corpse in the rug flew from my grasp toward the edge. Pop! The rug unraveled, and the corpse rolled out as it plunged down into the ravine. The head snapped off and caught on a bush, eyes wide and mouth open. His severed arm caught on a root sticking out from the cliff while the rest of the corpse fell about twenty feet below before getting caught on a tree branch. Damn it!

He almost went all the way over. Judging the distance, I didn’t have the desire or fitness to scale the cliff to knock him all the way over. Somehow his final posture seemed fitting.

I stretched my leg out and shook it, trying to distill the ache taking root. My vision was beginning to halo—a weird effect from a blood-drain. One more reason we weren’t supposed to kill—a breach to nature’s balance could mean unintended consequences. I looked around, no one used this road often even in the day. It was unlikely he’d be discovered and even if he were, his decapitation would hide my fang marks—at least I hoped it would. I was tired, the high from feeding was messing with my senses. I needed to get the tote bags of blood back to the Glenn before my protective coating wore off and I fried in this atmosphere. Turning around, I hopped in the truck and headed for the veil. I hummed the nursery rhyme as I commanded the roads before me, a lone vigilante.