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  The Forasaken

  The Vampire Touch | Book 1

  Sarah J. Stone

  Ryan Boucher

  Contents

  The Forsaken

  Extras

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  The Forsaken

  Chapter 1

  Daffyd.

  “Yes?” He answers my call in his usual fashion. I hate phoning him. I know he’s an ancient, and, in my kind, that means that my respect is dictated by his strength, but that does not mean I enjoy giving it to him.

  “Mason. It’s Daffyd,” I have no reason for having said this. He knows it’s me.

  “I know,” he replies calmly, “How can I help you?”

  “We’ve got an infestation,” I always feel a tad nervous when I speak to Mason. He’s by no means a bad guy, but his sheer strength, alone, puts me on edge.

  "I heard about the rebels. Where are they hiding?" His drawled demeanor puts a sour smile on my face.

  “Up by the river. There shouldn’t be any issues with this one. They’re–”

  “‘Issues?’” He cuts me off. I don’t even know why I said issues.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I retreat back into my own words.

  “I know. I just like to make you uncomfortable.”

  He’s teasing me. That’s not something I’m used to, but Mason has his rights among our kind. I tend not to go against what he has to say.

  “Just have it done by Friday. We’ve got the Forsaken coming by, and I’d prefer it if I had you at my side.”

  “Of course. Friday it is. Send me the location of the den. Our usual fee?”

  “Yes. Our usual fee.”

  I put the phone down and turn to the ruckus at my door. A stout man comes through it, with a young lady tailing him.

  "My liege!" The overweight man shouts, "The Forsaken have come early!"

  “Nothing to fret, Hamish. We have Mason coming through to take care of this on Friday,” I know I’ve become too reliant on Mason in my years, but he’s the best at what he does, and what he does is very important. I see that my words put Hamish at ease though only a tad.

  “Why are you here, Sarah-Lynn?” Hamish steps back. Sarah-Lynn takes her stand beside him and clears her throat. It’s all a very big ceremony; only because Hamish is here. Sarah-Lynn and I have a very special relationship. One that we keep from the others. Especially the Queen.

  "Your highness, I regret to inform you that another sect has defected to the den. Among them was Jonah," She hesitates a moment, no doubt from my scowling features, "He has proclaimed himself the leader of the rebels. We must consult the Council on this matter."

  “No. They’ve played their games, and, now, they will suffer for their crimes,” I reassure her.

  “You cannot send Mason on this job without going through the proper channels,” Sarah-Lynn only has my best interests at heart here. I contemplate a moment longer and then shrug it off.

  “I am King. The Council has appointed me to lead, and I will not bother them with the trivialities of every small matter that comes our way. They have their own problems to engulf themselves in, and, as I am not a part of theirs, they will not be a part of mine. If I show weakness, they will cut me down.”

  “But you are giving your tasks to a loner who does not conform to our creed, our way of life. He is an outsider, looking for cheap thrills under your hand, and you keep him at your side for the simplicity of having to not lift a finger.”

  It’s only after she speaks that I see the queen standing by the door.

  “You forgot your place, Brooke,” I understand her concerns, but Brooke is still young. She doesn’t understand our ways. Not yet, anyway. It’s about the bettering of our kind, not about who the task is outsourced to….

  “And you forgot yours, husband,” Brooke drearily strolls over to Sarah-Lynn and wraps a hand around her waist.

  "Perhaps it’s best if you leave now," I throw my hand out and gesture that the pair of ladies take their leave. Hamish is the first to begin stepping out, "But you must stay, Hamish. We must discuss the Forsaken."

  “They are already on premises, my liege. Are you sure we are safe?”

  “Yes. Aliana has already secured the room.”

  “Then what are we to discuss?” Hamish is a nervous man. The power he feels emanating off of the higher vampires keep him from being himself in these matters.

  “First, let the ladies go,” On my command, they leave this time. “We cannot discuss such fine details with the queen around.”

  I make certain Brooke can hear me as she walks out the door.

  “The Council will not be happy with what we are doing here, sir.”

  "When is the Council ever happy, Hamish?" I reply with a chuckle, turning back to my computer screen, going through a few tabs. My network has grown tenfold since the early years of my rule, and I can only admit that having science bringing such marvelous technological wonders out to support my needs is spectacular.

  “I worry, sir, that you place too much trust in the loner.”

  "Your concerns are noted, but we can trust him. He won't let us down," I know this statement has no true meaning behind it. In all honesty, I believe that Mason would leave me out to dry if the Council got their grubby mitts on him.

  "He is a mercenary to the highest bidder." This is the first time Hamish has stepped out of line, especially in terms of this. I let him speak, but the shift in my demeanor makes his tone change, "Forgive me, I forgot my place."

  I know that it is over.

  “Now what about the Forsaken issue?” I contemplate my own question.

  “They have come in hordes with Zeus at the helm.”

  "So, it's the Greeks that have come to play?" I rather enjoy their company from time to time.

  “No, sir. Zeus’s merely leading this party.”

  “The polytheistic nature of man,” I go off on a rant, but cut myself off. Hamish is my second in command, even he should not hear my distaste for the Forsaken, however.

  “Welcome them, of course. Give them all they need to remain comfortable until Friday when we have our meetings and celebrations. We have nothing more to discuss, for tonight.”

  Chapter 2

  Mason.

  “Yes. Our usual fee.”

  “Good,” I whisper. The line is dead, and I know he did not hear this, but the King knows his place in my world. I discard the phone into my left breast pocket.

  “Ankh,” I call, pulling from my coat’s holsters, two Walther PPK’s. The guns are small in my hands. Very much so. I do find that it is their slim design that attracts me.

  “Yes, Mason?” The slender form ducks his head under the doorframe.

  I rise from my seat, towering over the young giant, “Are my bullets coming along nicely?”

  He’s holding two c
artridges in his hands. When it comes to my weaponry needs, Ankh always provides.

  “Yep,” he steps closer handing the cartridges over, and I slide them into my gun. The satisfying click they make when slotting into place always makes me smile, “I have a whole batch for you. I call them From Russia with Love,” Ankh pauses, waiting for me to say it. Ever since I picked up the Walther PPK’s, he’s been finding silly ways to make his James Bond references.

  “And why’s that?” I ask, indulging him.

  “Because I’ve crafted it from Jarilo’s own blade.”

  “You know I don’t follow the deities,” I lazily look down to my guns. As long as they do their job, his tales I can deal with.

  “Jarilo is the Slavic God of war. I won’t bore you with the details, but his sword was uncovered a few years back by one of my sources. I was able to change that puppy into your bullets….”

  He paused suddenly, “Why do you even need bullets right now?”

  “I’ve got a job to do.”

  “A job?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And what are we hunting?”

  “Vampires.”

  This tedious back and forth happens rather often. Each bullet is made in a unique way. These have this ability, those have that ability. Again, I do not mind the run around so long as they are effective.

  “Then those aren’t the bullets for you right now,” He snatches at my gun, and I use it to bat his hand away.

  “And why’s that?” He holds his hands out, and I drop both cartridges into one hand respectively.

  “Because these are Shifter killers.”

  “And you’d know because?”

  “No, I’ve not tested them. Jarilo was a Shifter. His magic was linked to his sword, luckily. Made it easier to change them into shifter repellent.”

  “Then what do you have for my current cause, Ankh?”

  "Well, I've got something," He disappears down the corridor, leaving me in his under-furnished living room. I fall back into the desk chair and wait. When he returns he holds six cartridges, "Made these with a piece of metal from the Holy Grail."

  “The Holy Grail?”

  “Yes, that Holy Grail.”

  “And when you say piece–”

  “Like a tiny fragment,” he cuts me off before I can finish my sentence.

  “And that’s enough for all these?”

  “I wouldn’t touch them with my hands, if I were you,” I trust Ankh’s opinion and leave him to it. Time will tell if they have the strength he suggests.

  “Now can I get on with it?”

  “Yeah, get out of my house.”

  Ankh walks me out of his home. The sun has only just set. The long pathway from Ankh's front door down to where the King's car waits for me is quiet. We do not share a word. The Demi-God keeps his home protected by the magic of the Gods. Out here, there is no protection from those who eavesdrop.

  When we get to the car, Ankh opens the door for me and I get in. The driver looks to me and hands me a file in silence.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I must come see you about Friday’s meeting between our houses.”

  He closes the door, and the guard begins to drive off. I start reading my dossier. Not a page in, and I hear something making a noise beside me.

  “So, who are you going to let play today?” He looks exactly like me, though he wears all black. His pale features only accentuating the darkness of his suit.

  “No one,” I reply.

  “Why not?”

  “There is no point. It’s an easy task, my friend.”

  “You say that now–”

  I speak before his sentence comes to an end, “No. I merely have to wipe out a horde. They are nothing. Not like us,” I turn to him. The driver scoffs from the front seat, and, immediately, I feel his confidence rise. Unwise, I consider but say nothing.

  “True. Especially not Jonah Marx.”

  “Yes. He was but a sireling a hundred years ago?” I question. My memory has been impeccable since the day of my conception, yet from time-to-time I need the aid of those around me.

  “More or less,” Not the answer I was looking for, but it will do.

  “And what about the driver?”

  “What about him?”

  “Oh, you know. That little chip on his shoulder now that you’re talking to yourself.”

  “Well, if he had any power, he would be sitting here and not driving me around.”

  He laughs. “Then I will leave you to it. Remember, the boys are waiting,” he finishes, and before I can say another word, he is gone. A figment of my imagination. A shadow person. They are all alike. Memories that I have created to retain my knowledge from each new and past life. They are one and same as myself, and yet, they are all greater. We are one, yet we are divided. Merely figments of my imagination, holding my thoughts.

  It’s beautiful.

  Chapter 3

  Mason.

  I was left outside a rundown building on a hill, overlooking the den. From here I can tell they are all weak. Jonah seems to have managed only a small cult this time. A few believers in the cause. How many times do we have to speak before he listens, I wonder, preparing my weapons. There is no hope for one like him. One who is driven by ambition, yet I recall my own youth. Perhaps it is just that, youthful exuberance.

  From the hill, I can see them swarming below. The ruckus they cause. There are humans among them. I hear them screaming from below. The sound near inaudible, even to me. They are far down.

  Very far down.

  I begin descending on the building. Each step I take, makes the den’s noise grow. The building is dirty, old. It’s in worse condition than the building on the hill. I know that money is no issue to Jonah, so living in squalor is their choice. Who am I to go against what he thinks is right for his people?

  I chuckle at the thought as I grow closer to a pair of guards on duty.

  "You hear about Mason?" one guard asks his companion.

  “Mason?” the other replies, kicking the dirt at his feet.

  Each step I take the voices becoming clearer. I pegged the pair from the top of the hill. Neither are anything to stress about, though. These dens seldom are.

  “Yeah, that lapdog vampire.”

  It’s as if they were trying to raise my ire.

  “Oh yeah. What about him?” He looks up, and it’s as if he’s staring directly at me. Yet his gaze shuffles off to something out in the distance a moment later. A pair of sirelings. Had they any weight behind them, they would have at least sensed something was off by now. Not that I ever let my power show.

  “He might be coming out.”

  I stop. I’m interested to hear what more they have to say.

  “Coming out? Like out of the closet?”

  The more I look at him, the more I see how distorted his features are. Tall and frail with the face of some cartoon character. Pointed nose and high, raised eyebrows.

  The council definitely would not have approved this turn.

  Why am I thinking about the council? I groan.

  They hear the groan, and their attention fixes on my position. Perhaps they have some chance yet.

  Before I finish that thought, I am upon them. The twinkle in my eye shows my intentions, the baring of my fangs only adds to those. They fire off a few bullets, those itchy trigger fingers, but then it's over. I hold two hearts in my hands, squeezing the blood from them.

  The screaming is louder down here. Still, a passer-by would have no idea what was happening down there. But me, I can hear every aching whisper.

  ~ ~ ~

  Stepping through the doorway, I get the sense that it was an elaborate ruse to throw others off. The building is clean. White, like a hospital. Low hanging ceilings, so low that my fedora grazes it as I walk. This was more like Jonah. Money was thrown blatantly at something silly. There is only one long hall, the light shining down to a silver door. An elevator; the up arrow
of which had a sticker covering it saying Out of Order. Down it is.

  Again, I begin descending.

  The more I move downwards, the louder the screams become until suddenly both the elevator and the screaming stops.

  The doors slide open and there he stands, behind a fortress constructed by his rebels.

  Clap.

  Clap.

  Clap.

  “A slow and drawn out clap?” I ask. Not the reaction he was expecting, by the look on his face. For this was his third attempt at breaking away with a band of rebels, and it was the third time we’ve caught up to him.

  “Trying to play supervillain?” I take a step forward, and those who held, aimed their guns ready.

  “You don’t want to do that, Mason. I’ve already given them shoot-to-kill orders,” His hand slides into his baggy, hooded jacket and from it comes a gun. Golden, beautiful, not unlike my Walther PPK’s. In fact, as I inspect, I find it to be the PPK’s.

  I groan again. The showmanship, the one-upmanship. I retrieve my own guns and hold them loosely. Not aiming any, though the threat is always a welcomed barrier.

  “Then so be it. Do your worst,” The bullets begin to flood out of their weapons. One by one they strike. We are a stone’s throw away, so the ones that miss are the ones that go through the open wounds a flurry of bullets will induce.

  I fall limply to the ground.

  “Mason, Mason, Mason,” I’ve lost both legs, an arm, and the other is hanging by sinew, “Did you really think you had any chance against us? I’m more organized this time, pal. I’ve done it enough times now to know my mistakes. You didn’t have a shot,” he reiterates.

  And then I laugh.

  A raucous, rapturous laughter. My jaw line is shattered from the bullets, my lungs are hanging from holes that his bullets created, but, still, I have the strength to let it all out.

  The tension in the room rises.

  Those who had such arrogance, are now on the back end.

  My laughter continues as every drop of blood that poured from me slowly begins returning. Drop for drop, they move from the walls. Chunks of meat liquefy and pour back into the puddle that forms around the laughing mass on the ground.