Blood Hunt (The Bloodborn Series Book 1)
Copyright © 2020 Iris Walker
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1: Prowling
Chapter 2: Taken
Chapter 3: Exposure
Chapter 4: Escape
Chapter 5: Retrieval
Chapter 6: Cain
Chapter 7: Pursuit
Chapter 8: Evasion
Chapter 9: Refuge
Chapter 10: Journey
Chapter 11: Magnus
Chapter 12: Caster
Chapter 13: Rescue
Acknowledgement
Chapter 1: Prowling
Lucidia
The alley was dark, somewhere on the bad side of L.A., flooded by orange lamplight. There were puddles every few feet; a leftover from last night’s showers, which had left the air muggy. Lucidia Draxos, one of the deadliest strongbloods from House Xander, stalked in the shadows, her hood concealing her face in totality; not that anybody would see her – she was far too quick.
She watched as the pale figure made his presence known.
The half-formed vampire slunk out from behind the dumpster, zeroing in on the young couple. He had pale gray skin and hideous hair. He probably smelled as bad as the trash heap where he’d come from.
Lucidia Draxos was already in motion. Gotcha. Her lip curled up in a smile, and she palmed her weapon.
With a swift movement, she closed the distance between them and brought her nightstick down on the creature’s back. A sickening crunch echoed out in the alley.
He let out a cry, turning towards her with rage in his coal black eyes.
The creature snarled. “You’ll pay for that!”
“And you’re going to make me?” she taunted with a wicked grin.
The couple had scurried off, running away from the monster and the strange figure wearing a hood and nearly all leather.
The half-form lunged towards her with fingers curled into claws, going straight for her jugular.
They always aimed for the throat. It was a brute move, and about as predictable as a popsicle-stick joke, but the repetition made her job a lot easier.
She dodged and his hand came sailing through the air to the left of her hood. She jammed the nightstick into his ribs, and he doubled over, knocked to the ground.
In another second, she had the creature’s head between both of her hands and pulled him up to his feet. She was only about five-five, but his hunch gave her the advantage. Even so, whatever she lacked in height, she made up for ten-fold in speed.
She felt the magic imbued within her rise as she readied herself to destroy a supernatural creature. The marks that encircled hands and traveled up her arms began glowing a fiendish red, outlining the magical runes that had been scribed onto her skin during the pledging ceremony.
“House Xander sends their regards,” she hissed in his ear.
With one twist, she broke his neck and a gruesome crack echoed out.
She released the creature’s head and wiped her hands on her leather riding pants. His body slumped into a puddle, splashing water on her thick-soled boots. She grimaced and stepped away from him.
The deed was done. Lucidia flexed her fingers, feeling the power subside, leaving her exhausted but still riding the high of exhilaration.
She pulled out her phone to make the call to Master Darian, standard practice after completing a job. Stalk, kill, call, clean-up. Rinse and repeat. Lucidia often thought that the Grand Houses considered strongbloods like her to be their all-purpose janitors. In reality, they were magical half-breeds, born with more power than a human but less than a true vampire, making them excellent assassins, built for killing. She’d grown quite accustomed to her unique talents but could do without the vampires lording over her. Nothing to do about that, though; for as long as time existed, vampires had been calling “slave” on anything with a pulse.
She listened impatiently as the phone rang.
He picked up but said nothing, a typical power move on Darian’s part.
“It’s done,” she said.
“Very well. Do clean up.”
She hung up, glancing around. Nobody had ventured near their little slice of the city.
Lucidia opened the red pouch secured in her toolbelt and sprinkled a pinch of the charcoal-colored powder over the body. She took two steps back, and then pulled out a matchbook, striking one and watching the fire dance in front of her before casting it onto the body. It went up in flames, and a burst of heat shot out. She shielded her face.
Flash powder burns like a dragon’s asshole.
That’s why strongbloods used it; vampires allocated only the best for their elite warriors. In a second, the half-form had been reduced to dust, clumping in the puddle and dissolving into nothing.
She surveyed the area one more time before slipping into the shadows.
Robin
If this guy mentions one more type of mushroom, I’m history, she promised herself, tapping her foot against the barstool and maintaining her fake-interested smile.
The blind date hadn’t gone well.
First, he was verging on forty, she was pretty sure, not to mention he had ‘crazy eyes’. She’d barely said a single word in an hour and was still sipping her first coke and rum. He, on the other hand, was making quick work of his third beer.
Another one on the list of duds, Robin decided.
It was a Friday night in Portland, meaning everybody had come out of their holes and embraced the nightlife. They were in a nouveau bar, the kind that served microbrews and fusion drinks.
Her date mumbled something to her and got up on stiff legs, wobbling off to the bathroom.
She gave him a dismissive nod and ran her hand through her thick, blond hair, lifting it off her shoulders and revealing slender collarbones. Robin was built tall and was often jealous of more fun-sized gals, but she wasn’t without curves. What used to be stick and bone had turned into a fairly decent feminine form. At twenty-five, she wasn’t doing too bad.
But she could do better than mushroom man.
She glanced to the door with longing eyes, considering ditching. But a friend had set it up, and it wasn’t bad enough to burn bridges over.
Just as she brought her eyes forward, she caught someone sitting two seats down, staring intently at her.
The eyes belonged to a very handsome stranger, with thick dark hair and a strong jawline. Her interest had officially been piqued.
Very nice indeed, she thought, sizing him up.
She let him see her coy smile, and then turned forward, taking another sip of her drink.
A moment later, the air shifted as he took the seat next to her.
“Tell me you’re not on a date with him,” he said, flashing her a smirk.
She finished her drink and turned towards him, putting her knees between his legs, which were about as thick as tree trunks. They were definitely legs she could run her fingernails up. “I guess that depends on what you say next,” she said with an intent voice.
The stranger laughed softly and took her hand, kissing it with a slow, gentle movement. “I’m Reykon. Who do I have the honor of addressing?”
Her smile deepened. “I’m Robin.”
Reykon
As he sat in the crowded bar, kissing Ro
bin’s soft, vanilla-scented hand, he couldn’t help but think: Lucidia Draxos is going to be very, very upset with me. He’d worked with his fellow strongblood on a couple of joint tasks, where jurisdictional lines had been crossed and the vampires had gotten into a pissing match (it happened more than you’d think). But he felt no obligation to Lucie as a member of his own race, and quite frankly, every time they’d interacted, he’d found her to be an icy bitch.
But then again, she didn’t do a very good job at protecting her own half-sister, who she’d been charged to kill twenty-five years ago, so who’s fault would it be? Lucidia had committed treason by disobeying, and he wasn’t planning to follow suit. Reykon was a simple guy, after all. House Xander had always been a bunch of scheming spymasters, every one of them believing they were the smartest in the room. House Demonte, where his loyalties were, had always been more of a blunt force instrument. Simple. Quick. Effective.
And they recruited the best.
As Reykon studied his next target, he found a spark of emotion lurking in his mind. This girl was different. And not just because as a strongblood, he was usually found bagging druggies and stray vampire servants that hadn’t paid their dues. There was something unique about her deep down. It could have been that she’d had no part in their seedy underworld, that she’d been discarded to a human adopted couple because she wasn’t a pureblood, and therefore should have been killed at birth (Lucie’d be in a lot of trouble pretty soon here for that lie). That was, after all, standard procedure for any weakblood. Lucidia’s father was once a great man, one of the most respected strongbloods, but he’d eaten the forbidden fruit of a mortal and muddled his line. Enter, Robin, the weakblood. Lucidia had stowed her away in some corner of the human world and hoped nobody would find her. Likely, Robin didn’t even know she was adopted. That innocence, that sweetness untouched by the hard world they came from, could have been the thing that intrigued him. But… no, it was something else that he couldn’t put his finger on. Something that made him want to look a little longer.
He did.
He looked at her glacier blue eyes and her long blond hair, her pale skin. He did everything but lick his lips.
Although he was pretty sure she’d licked hers.
As intriguing as that little side mission would be, time was not on their side, and Magnus Demonte had never been a patient person. For some reason, he wanted the girl alive, and he wanted her yesterday. It wasn’t Reykon’s job to ask questions.
He released her hand and threw a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. Laying his coat over his arm, he cast Robin a mischievous glance. “Are you going to wait for mushroom man to get back or did you have a different plan for your Friday night?”
She stood, linking her arm onto his and giving it a squeeze. “Plans change.”
Reykon walked out of the bar and into the crisp night air, with soft, vanilla-smelling Robin hanging on his arm.
Lucidia
The trip back to House Xander went by without a hitch, but left her feeling worn out. She was eager to get over the formalities and go back to her quarters for some much-needed rest.
The long hall in the house (or private mansion castle on three hundred acres of isolated land) stretched on for about a football field length, with marble flooring and high mahogany ceilings. Everything was adorned in purple and black, and made of deep, rich velvet. Their House’s color scheme had always bugged her, but then again, she didn’t know the first thing about decoration.
She approached the large doors, not bothering to glance at the guards who pulled them open for her. She strolled into the grand hall.
The grand hall to a vampire was what a throne room for a king. Thick tapestries and candles and large, ornate furniture covered the room, which had marble floor. Chaise lounges sat at periodic increments. Lucidia didn’t look at what humans were occupying them this time; at a certain point, their faces blended together, and they all turn into a mess of limbs, splayed out, eyes half-closed in dazed euphoria, marked with those two red punctures. Poor unfortunate souls.
She held her shoulders high and walked the long gauntlet up to Darian’s throne, which was large enough to sit three on. Darian sat back in a relaxed position, his burning red eyes tracking Lucidia’s every move, his face fixed in a playful expression. He wore purple robes, which contrasted to his white-silver hair. Two humans curled up on the pillows next to his feet, resting their cheeks on his leg. She didn’t pay any attention to them. Darius selected new pets with alarming frequency.
“I see you’ve returned,” he mused.
She came to the edge of the carpet and stopped, bending one knee and lowering her head. “Master Darian.”
He rose, strolling down the stairs and sauntering towards her, his steps dripping with arrogance. She felt a single, pale finger hook under her chin and lift her face up.
“Your missions went well?”
“Yes.”
A wide smile broke out on his face. “You never cease to please me. Rise.”
She stood with her hands folded in front of her. She still barely came up to his shoulders.
Darius watched her with interest. “Care to enjoy the festivities?”
Lucidia glanced to the humans, watching him with longing eyes. No doubt they’d been kissed by him, still riding the narcotic high that a vampire’s kiss causes for humans. She found it disgusting and counted herself lucky that those parlor tricks didn’t work on strongbloods. The more she looked at the weak, fragile victims, the more nausea rose up her throat. “No, thank you.”
“As you wish,” he crooned, studying her one last time before giving a dismissive wave.
She nodded, lowering her head before turning on her heel and walking out the same way she’d arrived.
Lucidia walked briskly to her quarters, which were on the third floor, at the end of the east wing. After being in Darius’s service for so long, and for maintaining such an impressive record, she’d been given a large suite on the good side; a big promotion from her shoe closet in the west wing. She walked past guard after guard, giving them a nod here and there. Her facial expression was always a half-frown, but today, she felt irritated, and scowled deeper than normal.
Nobody bothered her as she closed the large door to her room and threw her bag on the chair. The suite was large, with high, vaulted ceilings. She’d requested it be painted dark purple, but really only cared about the thick blackout curtains which lined each of the windows.
Her massive bed sat opposite her and she eyed it with jealousy before turning to the bathroom.
This room was probably her favorite feature of the luxurious suite. A large shower with four showerheads and deep onyx tiles took up an entire wall. The rest of the expansive space had mosaics of black, white, gray, and purple, complete with wall length mirrors and marble countertops.
She slipped out of her thick boots, her leather pants, and her leather jacket. After wrestling off her athletic shirt, she entered the all-glass shower and turned on the water. Steam accumulated quickly, and she let the water pour over her, closing her eyes and relaxing underneath the scalding shower.
Robin
She couldn’t help but watch his face as he drove the sleek black sportscar to her apartment. This thing purrs, she thought, enjoying every aspect of the ride. He pulled the car onto street parking and then turned, studying her with a glint in his dark eyes.
“Home sweet home,” she murmured with a smile.
“After you.”
She got out of the car, ogling it one more time before facing her building. It was an older one, built straight up, with three apartments on each level and four levels total. Nobody had their lights on. She felt his arm against her back and started forward.
They climbed the stairs, nearly up to the second level when she realized how rash she was acting. She definitely wasn’t thinking with her brain, although he seemed like a nice guy. Charming, goofy. Not exactly serial killer attributes. But things were moving pretty quickly, considering s
he’d known him for an hour and decided to let him come home with her. A brief flicker of apprehension crossed over her, and she sighed, turning on the stairs.
He nearly knocked her over but stopped in time, rocking forward and then steadying himself. Her hand shot out, pressing on his chest to balance him. Even after he was fine, she let it hang there for a minute.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” she admitted, “but… I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Would my place be better?”
Robin rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I mean… I just, don’t really know anything about you.”
“Ah,” he said with a nod. “I understand completely.”
“Okay, then.” She felt like the biggest loser in the world, turning away this attractive snack, quite literally served up on a silver platter for her. “I’ll call you, okay?”
“May I walk you to your door, mademoiselle?”
She grinned at him. “Sure.”
They went ten steps to the last door in the row and she shrugged. “Alright, here we are.” Robin turned the key and opened the door a crack, turning back to him. “Thank you for the ride, Reykon.”
“Of course.”
“Goodnight, then,” she said begrudgingly.
He glanced around and shrugged his jacket off, laying it on the cement walkway. A moment later, he sat down on it, kicking his feet out and leaning his back against the wrought iron railing. “Goodnight.”
She laughed, a wide smile breaking out on her face. “What are you doing?”
“I’m waiting. Sooner or later, you’ll have to come out, and I plan, at that precise moment, to strike.”
“Strike?” she asked with a smirk.
“Oh yes. I have a signature move that no woman can resist.”
“What’s that?”
He leaned forward, eyes flashing. His voice was an excited whisper. “Breakfast.”
“You’re going to sit out here all night?”
“If that’s what it takes, I’ll sit out here for a year. Tell me, though,” he said, glancing around with mock concern, “is there a bathroom for your conquests to use, or do the others just hold it?”