facial makeup and wore contacts over his odd green eyes. His black hair was tipped with red—the opposite to most Kurjans—and was easily altered. Even his skin was just pale, not the frightening white paste color of others. “What?”
“The sedative is working. They traveled nearly a hundred miles today without mishap, sir.” Milton flashed sharp yellowed fangs. “I’ll miss Seattle. The weather agreed with me.”
Kalin returned the grin. “Someday we won’t fear the sun. My uncle Erik is closer than ever to creating a cure.” Erik was actually Kalin’s second cousin, but the term uncle brought a closeness to Kalin’s ascent to the throne that he liked. Erik, a brilliant scientist, had created Virus-27, and he’d create an inoculation against the sun someday. “Think of the women in bikinis we’ll someday hunt.”
Milton threw back his head and laughed. “Yes, sir.”
The acknowledgment of seniority had Kalin’s chest swelling. Milton was at least five hundred years old, yet Kalin, in his midtwenties, led all troops. His entire life had been filled with fighting, killing, and planning. Someday, when he killed Erik’s brother, Franco, he’d lead all Kurjans. For now, Franco ruled from a remote area of Nova Scotia, leaving the military troops to Kalin.
He gave a curt nod to Milton, irritation sweeping that he had to look up. He’d only reached a height of six feet, six inches tall, which was short. For a Kurjan. He’d still top or meet eye-to-eye with most vampires and shifters.
The breeze picked up, scattering pine needles across his boots. The moon tipped over the far mountains, brightening the scene.
As one, the beasts stopped eating and stilled. Snouts switching, they closed their eyes and lifted their heads. Bliss crossed their furry features. A melodic keening came from them collectively as they worshipped, the sound reminiscent of whale song.
A chill swept across Kalin’s neck. Creepy. Every night the same routine. He cleared his throat. “How would you boys like a treat tonight?”
Slowly, languidly, they lowered their heads, opening their yellow eyes. The tallest one stood and shook out his dark coat. He’d taken to standing on two feet, a position most werewolves who’d survived the virus more than seven or eight years preferred. Somewhere, somehow, he’d become the unofficial leader of the group. Kalin had dubbed him Jack. The monster did have a hobby much like Jack the Ripper’s.
Speaking of which ... “Why don’t you release our friend?”
Milton nodded, jogging over to a horse trailer and jumping inside. Chains rattled, and he yanked a vampire out. Well, what used to be a vampire. The man stumbled, his gaunt body swimming in the dirty, shredded clothing.
Kalin rubbed his chin. “I think I’m about done with you.” Had been for about three months, actually. But torture was so much fun.
A desperate hope lit the vamp’s metallic purple eyes. “I’ve told you everything I know about the Kayrs family.”
Which had been just about enough to determine their current location. “You’re a lowly soldier from a different country. You don’t know the Kayrs family.” But his information had checked out.
“I knew enough.” He coughed out the words, his throat no doubt dry.
How long had it been since Kalin allowed him food? He shrugged. No matter. “Give him to Jack.”
The vampire’s eyes widened in his thin face. Bruises still mottled his white skin from the beating the day before. “No.” Bruised knuckles grabbed at his chains, yanking away from Milton.
“Yes.” Kalin took two steps, wrapping his hand around the vamp’s throat. “Catch, Jack.” He lifted the prisoner, throwing him one-handed across the clearing.
The vamp landed with a hard thump, denting the dry earth.
The animals leapt for a fresh kill.
His high-pitched scream pierced the peaceful night. Growls and yelps mingled with cries of pain as the beasts ripped limbs from the body ... digging in
“The sedative is working. They traveled nearly a hundred miles today without mishap, sir.” Milton flashed sharp yellowed fangs. “I’ll miss Seattle. The weather agreed with me.”
Kalin returned the grin. “Someday we won’t fear the sun. My uncle Erik is closer than ever to creating a cure.” Erik was actually Kalin’s second cousin, but the term uncle brought a closeness to Kalin’s ascent to the throne that he liked. Erik, a brilliant scientist, had created Virus-27, and he’d create an inoculation against the sun someday. “Think of the women in bikinis we’ll someday hunt.”
Milton threw back his head and laughed. “Yes, sir.”
The acknowledgment of seniority had Kalin’s chest swelling. Milton was at least five hundred years old, yet Kalin, in his midtwenties, led all troops. His entire life had been filled with fighting, killing, and planning. Someday, when he killed Erik’s brother, Franco, he’d lead all Kurjans. For now, Franco ruled from a remote area of Nova Scotia, leaving the military troops to Kalin.
He gave a curt nod to Milton, irritation sweeping that he had to look up. He’d only reached a height of six feet, six inches tall, which was short. For a Kurjan. He’d still top or meet eye-to-eye with most vampires and shifters.
The breeze picked up, scattering pine needles across his boots. The moon tipped over the far mountains, brightening the scene.
As one, the beasts stopped eating and stilled. Snouts switching, they closed their eyes and lifted their heads. Bliss crossed their furry features. A melodic keening came from them collectively as they worshipped, the sound reminiscent of whale song.
A chill swept across Kalin’s neck. Creepy. Every night the same routine. He cleared his throat. “How would you boys like a treat tonight?”
Slowly, languidly, they lowered their heads, opening their yellow eyes. The tallest one stood and shook out his dark coat. He’d taken to standing on two feet, a position most werewolves who’d survived the virus more than seven or eight years preferred. Somewhere, somehow, he’d become the unofficial leader of the group. Kalin had dubbed him Jack. The monster did have a hobby much like Jack the Ripper’s.
Speaking of which ... “Why don’t you release our friend?”
Milton nodded, jogging over to a horse trailer and jumping inside. Chains rattled, and he yanked a vampire out. Well, what used to be a vampire. The man stumbled, his gaunt body swimming in the dirty, shredded clothing.
Kalin rubbed his chin. “I think I’m about done with you.” Had been for about three months, actually. But torture was so much fun.
A desperate hope lit the vamp’s metallic purple eyes. “I’ve told you everything I know about the Kayrs family.”
Which had been just about enough to determine their current location. “You’re a lowly soldier from a different country. You don’t know the Kayrs family.” But his information had checked out.
“I knew enough.” He coughed out the words, his throat no doubt dry.
How long had it been since Kalin allowed him food? He shrugged. No matter. “Give him to Jack.”
The vampire’s eyes widened in his thin face. Bruises still mottled his white skin from the beating the day before. “No.” Bruised knuckles grabbed at his chains, yanking away from Milton.
“Yes.” Kalin took two steps, wrapping his hand around the vamp’s throat. “Catch, Jack.” He lifted the prisoner, throwing him one-handed across the clearing.
The vamp landed with a hard thump, denting the dry earth.
The animals leapt for a fresh kill.
His high-pitched scream pierced the peaceful night. Growls and yelps mingled with cries of pain as the beasts ripped limbs from the body ... digging in
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