Blood Judgment (Judgment Series) Read online

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” he said.

  “I had to.”

  His gaze darted away.

  She touched his arm. “Vali?”

  He finally met her eyes.

  “Are you using drugs?”

  “Just Ritalin.” He shrugged. “Helps me cope. Makes me feel good for a little while.”

  Her heart twisted, though she shouldn’t have been surprised. “You have to stop taking that stuff. It’s addictive.”

  “Sometimes I can’t get through the night without it. I … it helps me.”

  “That’s over. I want you to stay with me.”

  He shook his head. “I would drag you down. I deserve to be here.”

  “Vali! Why on earth would you say such a thing?”

  “Cause it’s true,” he whispered.

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away. “You’re my family. I want you to stay with me. Besides, I hate living alone.”

  He gazed at his feet. “You can’t afford to have me leechin’ off you.”

  “Let me worry about what I can afford. I’m doing okay.” Hate her job at the club or not, she was fortunate to have it and, as long as she worked there, they would get by.

  Besides, if worse came to worse, for Vali she would do the one thing she’d always refused—she would let her aunt and uncle help her financially. Though she hated the thought of not being independent, the thought of Vali whoring on the streets to survive made her ill.

  “You sure?” Hope lit his dead eyes.

  “Yes.”

  He looked at her with gratitude so deep it made her chest hurt. She should have checked on him. The cold, hard truth was she hadn’t thought about him at all.

  Shame needled her. “Where are you staying? Let’s get your things and go home.”

  He grabbed her arm. “You can’t tell Ashton and Slade.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise me. I can’t stand for them to know. It’s killin’ me that you do.”

  She blinked back a fresh bout of tears at the desperation and shame in his voice. “I promise.”

  “Don’t cry, Saranna. Nothin’s happened to me that I didn’t deserve.”

  Chapter Four

  JULIAN WALKED aimlessly, blood-hunger knotting his insides with a vengeance.

  His first hunting foray after fleeing the Chandler Building the previous evening had ended when he’d caught and fed on a rat. Though educational, the experience had been less than pleasant. His shame and disgust at drinking blood from a rodent had been bad enough, but, within minutes of draining the carcass, he’d become violently ill.

  Animal blood might not be on the menu, but he knew what was. Staggering pain twisted his guts. He folded his arms across his mid-section and bit his lip until he tasted blood.

  He growled, hating the slavish need for blood and the only way of appeasing it. Not that it mattered, he had to deal with it. Tonight. His self-control had already skated to the edge of restraint and partially slid over the brink.

  He’d tried to manage the hunger with a burger from a fast food place. It had stayed down all of ten minutes. He’d rightly suspected he would only be able to eat solids when the blood-need was under control. Which sucked, but at least he would be able to enjoy regular food when the gut-twisting craving was eliminated.

  Focused on pain, walking head down, he plowed into an unyielding bulk. He snapped his head up. Four large Vampire Control and Security Center officers blocked the sidewalk. Julian’s throat constricted, choking off his breath.

  “Watch where the hell you’re goin’, asshole.” A man the size of a tank brushed off his olive-colored coat with quick flicks of his hand. He had the look of someone who’d discovered he’d stepped in fresh dog shit.

  Julian’s stomach plummeted and he took several steps back. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Tank Man eyed him with open disgust.

  Most of the swelling and bruises had faded from his face, but enough remained that he stood out.

  “I asked you a question, boy.”

  “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong.”

  The officer’s gaze dropped from Julian’s face to his right hand.

  Oh, shit.

  Positive the officer had seen the tips of his fangs, Julian took another step back.

  Armed with guns, drugs, and shock devices, the officers were prepared for vampire aggression.

  Tank Man’s hand eased toward the pistol at his waist. “Well, well. Look what we have here.”

  Julian took the only option he had. He spun and fled.

  Curses pelted the air behind him and pounding boots attested to pursuit. But his strength and speed far surpassed theirs.

  A pop sounded a second before pain hit his back. He yelped and ran with everything he had. He sprinted across streets, unmindful of oncoming traffic, honking horns, and curses from agitated drivers.

  Panting for breath, he slipped into an alley and took cover in the shadows. Were they still looking for him? Hot, sweaty, and shaky, he stumbled forward.

  The bastards had drugged him. He clawed at his back until he hit and dislodged the dart that had unloaded a dose of tranq in him.

  His steps faltered. The alley spun in dizzying circles. He staggered and collided with a brick wall, sending pain zinging through his shoulder. Reeling, balance lost, he collapsed on the asphalt. He hit hard, shredding skin from his arms and cracking his knees on the unforgiving surface.

  He lay still, his mind swimming with a kaleidoscope of nonsensical images. When his thoughts gelled back together, he struggled to get his numb legs under him.

  Wasn’t happening.

  Within minutes, the officers clustered around him like crows at roadkill. His guts roiled. Trapped, he hissed.

  One of the men drove a boot into Julian’s side. Groaning, he tried to curl into a ball.

  “Want me to hit him?” The officer’s hand settled on a control device clipped on his belt. Except for two short silver prongs at the end, it resembled a little black gift box, the kind fancy pen sets came in. The weapon would put a vampire down, disabled for twenty or thirty minutes.

  “No.” Tank Man prodded Julian with a boot. “I nailed him with a dose for a bigger vampire. He’ll be easy to manage in a few minutes.”

  Julian’s heart rate went into overdrive. What was going to happen to him?

  A black van pulled into the alley and rolled to a stop. One of the officers opened the back doors. Tank Man grabbed Julian’s wrists and a second man gripped his ankles.

  Hissing, Julian tried to struggle, but his limbs were no longer taking orders. They carried him to the van, stuffed him in a too-small cage, and fastened a lock on the door.

  He twitched with the instinctive drive to fight the cage, not that it would do any good. All vampire containment systems were made with the same material used in M1 Abrams tanks. No vampire was strong enough to get through that.

  A second cage held another male. Julian met the stranger’s eyes, but the other vampire found something more interesting on the floor of his cage and ignored him.

  The back doors slammed shut and a moment later, the van pulled out of the alley, en route to the Vampire Control and Security Center.

  ROUGH HANDS yanked Julian from the cage and the drugged sleep he’d fallen into. When the officer let go, Julian fell to the floor and struck his forehead on the concrete. Stars blazed across his field of vision and pain shot through his head.

  Dazed, he got onto his knees. His head ached and cold sweat slicked his skin.

  Several black vans formed a neat row. Each bore plain white letters spelling out “Department of Vampire Control and Security.” Four other vehicles which looked like modified police transport vans were parked in another row. Men in olive-colored uniforms milled about, though none appeared busy.

  Julian rubbed his brow. He needed a clear head, but the drugs still fuzzed his thinking and the blow to the head hadn’t helped.

&nbs
p; The only obvious route of escape was an industrial-sized garage door at the far end. With his body slow and unresponsive from whatever shit they’d drugged him with, he didn’t stand a chance of reaching it.

  “Get up, you miserable fucker.” Tank Man touched the control device attached to his belt.

  Julian lurched to his feet and swayed on unsteady legs while Tank Man pulled the other male from the cage.

  “Get moving.” Tank Man unclipped the control device and shoved Julian forward, herding him through a door into a long hallway.

  A shrill scream ripped down the hallway and the scent of burned flesh and fresh blood assailed Julian. His insides cramped and fear slammed him with sledgehammer force. He’d been delivered to a carnival straight from hell, a funhouse of horror, and he was going to get a ride through the tunnel of torture.

  “This way.” Tank Man motioned to a doorway.

  Julian and the other vampire shuffled into a cinderblock room. Six rows of tall, narrow cages crowded the space.

  The scent of fear—his and the caged occupants in the room—clogged his nostrils. Unable to breathe over the claustrophobic tightening in his chest, he bared his teeth in an involuntary defensive response.

  Tank Man shoved him into a vacant cage and snapped the lock. Julian gripped the bars. The officer prodded the other male forward and caged him at the end of the row.

  Julian’s limbs let go and he sat with a plop on the cold metal floor. Still loopy from the drugs, he leaned against the bars and tried to smother the panic gnawing his insides.

  Minutes dragged by as technicians selected vampires and hauled the struggling creatures away. The ones who’d regained enough coordination to fight hard were knocked senseless with control devices.

  Julian slowed his breathing to calm himself. It didn’t work. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, drawing blood which he licked off.

  Each time technicians entered the room, his heart flailed against his ribs. When two men approached his cage, his stomach performed acrobatics worthy of the Ringling Brothers.

  Oh, Jesus. His turn. He scrambled to his feet and backed against the bars. Fangs bared, he growled, daring the men to touch him. He tracked their movements, never taking his eyes from them. His fingers curled, ready to slash with his nails.

  Pain exploded at the back of his head, shooting stars dazzling his eyes. His knees buckled and he dropped to the floor.

  What the hell? Dazed, he touched the back of his head. Sticky wetness coated his fingertips.

  A man with carrot-colored hair and pinched Pomeranian features opened the cage, grasped Julian’s ankles, and dragged him out. The technician locked heavy shackles on Julian’s wrists and pain shot up his arms.

  The insides of the cuffs were set with rows of vicious spikes. The officer hauled upward on the chain connecting the cuffs and the spikes sank into Julian’s flesh. Blood ran down his arms. With a choked gasp, he struggled to his feet.

  Through blurred vision, he read “John Gibson” on a third technician’s identification badge. Gibson had pulled the rear-assault sneak attack, the bastard. He towered five or six inches over Julian’s six-one. A good three hundred and fifty pounds backed up Gibson’s height.

  Julian growled.

  Gibson backhanded Julian in the mouth. He hissed and licked blood from his lip. Gibson jerked on the chain, yanking him forward and digging the spikes into his injured wrists. Pain shot up his arms and down into his hands. The room tilted and he stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet.

  “I like when you dumb fuckers try to fight,” Gibson said. “I like bringin’ you bastards down to size.” He jerked the chain again and Julian almost pissed himself. The metal spikes were buried deep in his flesh. Blood ran from under the shackles, dripping onto the concrete floor.

  “Wanna try something?”

  Julian didn’t reply, but he couldn’t stop the shakes that had seized him.

  “I asked you a question.” Gibson pulled on the chain until Julian groaned and shook his head. Cold sweat coated his skin and nausea churned his stomach. “Move your ass then.”

  Heart hammering, Julian staggered out into the hallway and Gibson’s carrot-topped cohort took up a position on his other side, pinning him between them. Not that Gibson needed any help. At least not as long as Julian was shackled and every movement sent pain shooting up his arms and into his hands.

  The door at the end of the hall burst open and crashed against the wall.

  Gibson yanked the chain. “Hold up.”

  Julian moaned and stopped without giving Gibson an excuse to provide an encore. His legs shook and he hung his head for a moment, fighting the need to be sick.

  All activity in the hallway ceased as two officers dragged an aggressive male between them. A blue-uniformed Wolf Guard trailed behind them.

  Although the vampire’s feet were shackled and his hands cuffed behind his back, he wasn’t making it easy for them to propel him forward. He growled and snapped with his teeth before pulling back and making them drag him.

  Shame coursed through Julian. No doubt the captive was shackled in the same kind of restraints biting into Julian’s wrists, but the stranger hadn’t given in like a whipped dog.

  “Drugs are wearing off. Fucker needs to be shot up again,” the officer on the male’s left said.

  “Got one of those Resistance bastards?” Gibson called.

  “Yep. He’s headed straight to the execution cell.”

  “Need help with him?” Gibson seemed eager to dump Julian on Carrot Head and help with the other vampire.

  “Nah. We’ve got the murdering bastard under control.” He struck the prisoner’s temple with the blunt end of a control device to make his point, then motioned toward the other officer. “Besides, Brio’s here if he gets out of hand.”

  Julian lit up with instant hatred for the Wolf Guard, Brio. The blue-clad vampire had sold out his people for special treatment, privileges, and a steady paycheck, compliments of the government.

  He growled.

  Gibson’s response was almost simultaneous. He yanked the chain hard.

  Agony shot through Julian’s wrists and he cried out. Humiliation lashed through him. But at least his wrists were going numb. An alarming amount of blood ran from under the tight bands and dripped from his shaking hands, spattering the floor.

  He met the captive’s eyes.

  The warrior growled and lunged, but the second officer yanked him back.

  “Civilian casualties?” Tank Man asked.

  “No, but we lost three officers. Killed them with his bare hands.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah. Good men, too. I’d like to give this bastard the drugs myself.”

  How had the dirty bastards snagged a Resistance member? They were notorious for working in small, semi-independent groups. Elusive and difficult to catch, Resistance fighters were a breed apart. If the vampire community stood a chance of ever breaking free of the degradations and cruelties imposed on them, it would probably come from the work of the Resistance.

  The captive made eye contact with Julian again. “Es lebe die Freiheit!” he barked and resumed fighting his captors.

  “Shut the fuck up and get moving.” The officer who’d struck the prisoner raised his arm, threatening another blow to the head.

  Julian had no idea what the vampire had said, but it had sure as fuck pissed off his handlers.

  “What are you looking at?” Gibson shoved Julian so hard he stumbled. It made him sick that days ago he would have been rooting Tank Man and Carrot Head on in their work.

  Gibson’s cohort, Carrot Head—or Ronald Lucas according to his ID—pushed Julian into a small room. The stink of fear, burned flesh, and antiseptic accompanied an array of strange objects scattered along a wall-length counter, giving the room an instant torture chamber vibe.

  Please God, let me be able to stand whatever they do without humiliating myself.

  Lucas removed the shackles, exposing the dam
age beneath the cuffs. “Don’t get any ideas.” He pulled a control device from his pocket. “Try any shit, I’ll knock you on your ass. Only way out of here’s in a cage … or in a truck to Halzworth.”

  Julian understood the threat. Crews were dispatched each morning to patrol the streets and collect the carcasses of vampires who’d died or been killed the night before. The bodies were taken to the Halzworth plant and rendered into fertilizer.

  Julian stared at his mangled wrists. Countless small holes bled freely. The wounds burned and hurt, though Julian had a sickening feeling this pain was nothing compared to what was coming.

  Gibson crossed his arms over a barrel chest. “Strip.”

  “What?” Julian stammered.

  “Strip, you moron.” Gibson uncrossed his arms and took a threatening step forward.

  “No.” Julian wasn’t getting naked in front of these freaks.

  “For crap sake.” Lucas rolled his eyes. “Take your damn clothes off so we can finish and get you out of here. No one’s going to rape your ass.” He motioned with the control device. “Get ‘em off.”

  Heart banging his ribs, Julian removed his clothes and dropped them on the floor.

  “Holy crap,” Gibson said. “Somebody beat the shit out of him.”

  “Fuckers are always fighting,” Lucas said.

  “Lookie there.” Gibson pointed at Julian’s genitals. “He’s cut.”

  Lucas grunted.

  “Half-breed passed off as a human, weren’t ya?” Gibson said.

  Julian didn’t say anything.

  “Answer the question.”

  He nodded.

  “I love seeing you cheating bastards brought down to where ya belong,” Gibson said. “You’ll never pass yourself off again. Not after we finish with ya.”

  “Come on,” Lucas said. “We’ve got more than this one to process. Let’s get on with it.”

  Grinding his teeth, Julian submitted to being weighed and measured.

  “Park your ass against the wall.” Gibson indicated where he wanted Julian to stand.

  He leaned against the cold, rough cinderblock as chilled air blew down on him from a ceiling vent.