The Immortal Rules by Julie Kagawa Page B

resisted the instinct to scramble away from him, to flee into the nearest alleyway and head for home. Vampires weren’t the only predators to roam the city streets. And scavengers weren’t the only groups to stake their territories in the Fringe. While some Unregistereds were simply thieves, bands of kids looking to survive, there were other, more sinister groups. Reapers, Red Skulls, Blood Angels: these were only a few of the “other” gangs that had carved out certain parts of the Fringe for themselves. In this world, the only law was to obey the Masters, and the Masters didn’t care if their cattle occasionally turned on each other. Run into a bored, hungry gang, and you’d be lucky if all they did was kill you. I’d heard stories of certain gangs who, after having their “fun” with a trespasser, would slice them up and eat them, as well. Urban legends, of course, but who was I to say they weren’t true? That was why venturing out of familiar territory was a bad idea at best, suicidal at worst. I knew which parts of the Fringe were gang turf and had avoided them like the plague.
    And now we were walking right into their territory.
    I eyed the vampire at my side. “You know they’re going to kill us for being here.”
    He nodded. “I’m counting on it.”
    “You know that they eat people, right?”
    Kanin stopped, turning to me with intense black eyes. “So do I,” he said evenly. “And now, so do you.”
    I felt slightly sick. Oh, yeah.
    The smell of blood was getting stronger, and now I could hear the familiar sounds of a fight: cursing, shouting, the smacks of fists and shoes on flesh. We turned a corner and entered the back lot between several buildings, surrounded by chain-link, broken glass and rusting cars. Graffiti covered the crumbling bricks and metal walls, and several steel drums burned around the perimeter, billowing a thick, choking smoke.
    In the center of the arena, a group of ragged, similarly dressed thugs clustered around a crumpled form on the pavement. The body was curled into a fetal position, covering its head, while two or three thugs broke away from the circle to punch or kick at it. Another body lay nearby, disturbingly still, its face smashed beyond recognition. My gut twisted at the sight of the broken nose and staring eyes. But then the scent of blood came to me, stronger than ever, and I growled low in my throat before I realized I’d made a sound.
    The gang members were laughing too loud to hear and were too focused on their sport to notice us, but Kanin kept walking forward. Calmly, as if out for a late-night stroll, he approached the ring of humans, making no sound whatsoever. We could’ve sauntered right past them and continued into the night, but as we neared the circle of thugs, who still hadn’t noticed us, he deliberately kicked a broken bottle, sending it clinking and tumbling over the pavement.
    And the Blood Angels looked up.
    “Good evening,” Kanin said, nodding cordially. He continued to walk past them, moving at a slower pace, I noted. I followed silently, trying to be invisible, hoping the gang would just let us go without a challenge.
    But part of me, the strange, alien, hungry part, watched the humans eagerly and hoped they would try to stop us.
    It got its wish. With muffled curses, the whole group moved to block our path. Kanin stopped and watched impassively as a thug with a scar over one pale eye stepped forward, shaking his head.
    “Look at this,” he said, grinning at Kanin, then me. “Lucky night for us, ain’t it, boys?”
    Kanin didn’t say anything. I wondered if he was afraid speaking to them would clue them in to what he was; he didn’t want to scare away our food.
    “Look at him—so scared he can’t even talk.” Derisive laughter all around. “Shoulda thought of that before you came through our turf, pet.” Scar-face stepped forward, the jeers and insults of his gang backing him up. “Gonna drop your pants so we can kiss your