Excerpt of Scions: Resurrection by Patrice Michelle

Unedited excerpt from the book SCIONS: RESURRECTION by Patrice Michelle

Chapter One

A death for a life.

Jachin leaned against the rain-slicked building in New York City’s theater district and stared at the name written in red ink on the five-thousand-dollar bill in his hand. Such a wasteful use of the obsolete paper money indicated either his client’s sheer wealth or his complete disregard for preserving items of the past. Jachin didn’t care which. His client paid, he did his job.

He crushed the bill in a tight fist, mentally sending heat to his palm. Damp, cool summer air blew in the alley between the theater and the warehouse, bringing with it faint scents of car exhaust and day-old trash from a nearby alley. Jachin uncurled his fingers and ashes floated from his hand, dispersing in the wind. No trace, exactly the way he preferred to operate.

How many kills had he made over the past decade? He stopped keeping track after fifty. Dealing in death had become his means to live, yet doing so had darkened his soul.

A sound in the dark recesses of the alley drew his attention and his shoulders tensed. He slowed his breathing to one breath every thirty seconds. His heart rate followed suit while he harnessed his energy to enhance his sight. Anger lashed through him, and his sharp gaze narrowed on the culprit. He’d ignored the hunger pains for four days longer than he should have. No one would screw with this deal.

Small vivid green eyes stared back at him in the alley’s darkness before the cat hissed then fled.

The low rumble of voices exiting the front of the building told him the show was over. His gaze dropped to the old- fashioned watch on his wrist. It was more accurate since it didn’t depend on a consistent pulse rate to power it. When it came to his job, timing was everything. Thomas Ramos’ security would be escorting the senator out of the building in forty-five seconds.

Jachin slid his hand under his lightweight, black leather trench coat, his muscles tensing again as he pulled his pulser weapon from its holder at his lower back. As the weapon powered up, he reveled in the high frequency zing and the realization the weapon was a detached extension of himself. He could easily kill Ramos and his security detail with his bare hands, but this was business, not an act of vengeance.

Bright light flicked on above the theatre’s backdoor, bathing the dark alley in a circular glow.

The door began to open and Jachin’s fingers flexed as he gripped his gun. A female voice had him stepping behind a stack of crates.

Damn. A woman.

He ground his teeth at the unexpected complication and ran his thumb up the weapon’s dial, moving the power from kill to stun.

Four people spilled out of the Wesley Theater’s back exit. A tall security guard and a short, thick-necked guard preceded a blonde woman and Ramos. Expensive perfume, spicy cologne, hyped-up testosterone and the scent of sex surrounded them as the woman giggled at the senator.

She gave Ramos a quick kiss on the cheek, while short curls bounced around her laughing expression. “Honestly, Tommy, how was I supposed to keep my mind on the play with your hands doing their own kind of entertainment?”

Jachin stepped out of the shadows and pegged the woman with his first burst.

She crumpled to the ground amid yells from the men. Jachin mentally slammed the theater door shut before the men could retreat inside. Instincts on high, he dove out of the way of a pulse burst that missed his chest by a couple inches.

“Sonofabitch!” The tall man fired constant bursts while using his body as a shield to back the senator toward the Dumpster at the end of the alley. Squawks from a comm. unit echoed in the narrow space. The short, bald guard spoke into a communicator attached to his wrist. “He moves like an animal, so fast I can’t get a make on him. Gotta be Slayer. We need backup now!”

No one would come. Jachin had already taken out the security detail sitting in the car outside the front of the theatre.

He advanced with rapid speed, using the alley’s brick walls as springboards. The security guards yelled, and pulser fire exploded around him, leaving singe holes in the brick wall one step behind him. With each leap, he edged forward, corralling the three men.

When one of them nicked his jacket, the close call made Jachin’s heart beat faster, heightened his senses. Predatory excitement grew within him. His mouth watered and his gums tingled as he forced the men to the back of the alley. The inevitability of the kill was almost upon him.

Jachin leapt over the Dumpster to land in front of the tall security guard.

Before his quarry got one shot off, Jachin grabbed the man’s scrawny neck and squeezed, his primal instincts taking over. The dead man’s body dropped to the ground with a heavy thump.

Holstering his gun, Jachin flexed his leg muscles and vaulted in the air. He landed in front of the two men, blocking their path to the door.

The security agent’s weapon discharged and surprising, excruciating pain ripped through Jachin’s upper arm. The burning sensation spread down his bicep as if his arm was being burned from the inside out.

Jachin bit back the unholy roar of pain and fisted the senator’s lapel in a tight grip at the same time he hammered his other hand against the security guard’s barrel- like chest.

When the guard’s lifeless body fell to the ground, the senator’s jowls quivered as he stared up at Jachin. Stunned shock briefly replaced the fright in his eyes. His gaze flicked to his attacker’s elongated canines. “You’re a vampire? But…but we thought you were extinct.”

“Isn’t that a helluva rub?” Jachin leaned close to him. “My race was made by humans, condemned by humans, yet humans have no problem hiring one of us to do their dirty work.”

Ramos’s heart rate stuttered and a look of pain crossed his face. Sweat trickled down his temples as he crushed Jachin’s coat with meaty hands and gasped for breath. “You can’t.”

“Watch me.” Jachin pulled the man close and sank his teeth deep into his thick jugular. Rage made Jachin’s chest constrict. As Thomas let out a low scream, flashes of Jachin’s Sanguinas clan members suffering from the humans’ torturous testing, dying before their time, flew though his mind. Decades of vengeful instincts, demanded he rip the human’s throat out.

Taking deep breaths through his nose, Jachin fought the urge to inflict pain.

This was business.

Instead, he merely swallowed the warm blood. Thomas’ low scream dwindled to a hoarse whimper a few seconds before the corrupt senator’s heart jerked to a halt.

Jachin had only taken two swallows when the familiar nausea slammed into him, twisting his insides. Disgusted, he retracted his fangs, swiped his tongue over the bite wound and dropped the dead man on the damp asphalt.

Not a single ounce of remorse entered his thoughts as he pulled his gun from the holster, adjusted its setting back to kill mode and put two pulse bursts into the senator’s chest. After he reholstered his weapon, he picked up the unconscious woman and set her inside the theater door.

Wiping the remnants of blood from his mouth, Jachin turned away from the carnage and never looked back. A short time later, Jachin stood in an upscale gardened courtyard on the Upper East Side, banging on Roach’s door.

“Hold yer horses, for God’s-sake,” Roach said from behind the thick, intricately carved wood.

When the older man opened the door, Jachin barely held on to his consciousness. He stumbled through the threshold and fell on the tiled kitchen floor.

“Six pints,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Damn it, don’t you die in my house!” Roach stamped his foot on the floor.

He scowled and bent over Jachin, running his hand through his spiky gray hair. Jachin would forever associate the man’s spicy cologne with irritating yet necessary salvation.

Roach’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Payment first. Ten thousand.”

Jachin gritted his teeth. Ten thousand was half his take. “Extortionist! Dim the lights,” he growled and tossed the bastard his payment.

“Bloodsucker.” Roach’s bony fingers gripped the slim card Jachin threw his way. Once Roach ran the card through a hand-held scanner he’d pulled from his robe’s pocket, he nodded his approval and slid his finger across the touchpad on the wall to lower the lights. Before he left the room, he tossed Jachin his card back and grumbled, “Don’t you bleed on my new floor.”

In order to remain conscious, Jachin slid his card into his coat pocket and focused on the newly remodeled kitchen with its contemporary black cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The hard white tile beneath him felt surprisingly warm. Heated tile. Roach spared no expense on his new kitchen. How ironic, considering Jachin sought out the man for his ability to concoct a palatable meal—a meal from a lab, not a kitchen. He didn’t know how Roach was able to make human blood viable for him. All he knew was the man was a retired chemist.

Jachin lay very still. Every sound echoed in his throbbing head. Even the soft glow of indoor lights made him want to puke…if he had anything in his belly to toss. He’d already retched up the senator’s foul blood on the way to Roach’s.

The grating shuffle of shoes announced Roach’s return. Several pints of blood smacked on the floor next to Jachin. He winced at the deafening noise reverberating in his head and grabbed the pouches.

Holding three bags together, he ripped the plastic corners with his teeth and sucked down the pints in two large swallows before he reached for the next set.

A chair scraped the floor. “Who bought it tonight?”

Annoyed that his hand shook, Jachin ignored Roach’s question and lifted three more full bags to his lips.

“Serves you right for attempting to take tainted human blood.” Roach snorted while lowering himself into the chair.

Once Jachin downed his sixth pint, his cramping stomach abated somewhat. He elevated himself on his elbow and focused on Roach. “I should’ve drained you dry. Keep upping your prices and see if I don’t one day.”

Roach laughed out loud and ran his gnarled fingers across the old scar on his neck. “Just like all humans, my blood is poison to you. Can’t you come up with any new threats? I feel slighted that you don’t make the effort to be original with me.”

A lingering pain slashed through him, stealing Jachin’s breath. Doubling over with pain, he growled while flipping off Roach.

“Eh, that’s what you need…a good lay.” The crotchety man thrummed his fingers on the table.

While the sterilized blood spread through his system, Jachin took a deep, inhaling breath. He shuddered at the sheer power and nutrients it provided, the awakening of his senses. The rush was almost arousing.

Almost.

“I don’t need sex. I need sleep.” He glanced past the hole in his jacket and touched the burn on his arm. At least the partially healed wound had begun to close. It would fully heal. There was only one scar he cared about.

Roach slid his gaze to the empty plastic bags littering his floor. “You wouldn’t need so much if you didn’t continue to believe in the ramblings of an old vampire on his deathbed.”

Jachin stood to his six-foot-four inch height and narrowed his gaze on Roach. “The prophesy is true.” It has to be. It’s the only thing that keeps me going, he mentally finished. He turned to leave, and dizziness made him grab the back of the kitchen chair.

Roach let out a heavy sigh. Pulling two more pints of blood out of his plush terry robe’s pocket, he handed them to Jachin. “On the house.”

“Your generosity overwhelms me,” Jachin said, taking the plastic pouches.

Roach snorted at his sarcasm. “I have to keep my income source in fit condition.”

Jachin turned to leave and called over his shoulder, “Friggin’ opportunist.”

“Don’t let the door slam you in the ass on your way out, Bloodsucker.”

Once he’d tucked the two pints of blood into his coat’s inside pocket, Jachin took the subway to the Lower East Side. Jamie’s Pub was within a couple miles of his home. As he walked inside the pub and sat down at the bar, the scent of burnt almonds, peanuts, smoke, sweat and free- flowing alcohol slammed into him. The place was packed with men staring at the curvaceous blonde newscaster currently displayed on the large projector screen along the far wall.

“We interrupt tonight’s sports event to bring you breaking news,” she said, eliciting groans from the men who were obviously there to watch the tournament game while they downed a few beers. “Senator Ramos and his entire security team were murdered tonight in what appears to be a brutal assignation. The only survivor of the crime was a female theatergoer, but she was knocked unconscious before she could see the assassins. We’ll keep you informed once autopsies have been conducted.”

As the newscaster cut to another journalist on the scene, Jachin scanned the room. He caught a whiff of Landon’s scent before he saw the man with short, light brown hair get up from a table at the back of the room and begin to weave his way around the tables.

“Your drink, sir.” Kip set the imported whiskey down in front of Jachin. Jachin picked up the double shot and inhaled the alcohol’s strong aroma.

“Know anything about that deal tonight?” Landon narrowed his green eyes on him before he turned a deliberate gaze to the thin man sitting on the stool next to Jachin. Jerking his head toward the main room, he addressed the man. “There’s a better view of the game out there.”

Landon’s stance, his entire dominating presence, demanded respect.

“Fine,” the man slurred. He cast bleary, bloodshot eyes Jachin’s way before he swiped up his drink and slid off the stool to stumble to a nearby table.

Landon ran his hand across the cleft in his chin and accessed Jachin with shrewd frankness before he sat on the stool next to him and signaled for the bartender.

Jachin threw back his entire drink in one swallow. While the alcohol did its magic, burning all the way down to his belly, he deliberately eyed the smashed bullet plug dangling from the silver chain around Landon’s neck. The small piece of metal stood out against his black t-shirt. He knew what that bullet meant to Landon and where the man’s loyalties lay.

“You asking in an official capacity?”

Landon cut his gaze from the beer Kip just set down in front of him back to Jachin. Picking up his cold longneck, he took a deep swig. “Do I need to?”

Jachin noted the rise in Landon’s heartbeat, the increase in his musky, primal scent. He was tensing, preparing to fight if need be. Jachin knew he could probably take Landon. Hell, in the past he could’ve overpowered him with one hand tied behind his back, but he was done with his share of violence for the night.

“Just out for a stroll and a drink before calling it a night.” Jachin tapped the wood surface to let Kip know he wanted another round.

“You look half dead.”

Jachin glanced at the wall-length mirror behind the bar. Whereas Landon’s face appeared tanned underneath his scruffy several days’ growth of beard, Jachin’s clean shaven, angular face looked haggard and pale, his high cheekbones sharper and more defined than usual. “Shit happens,” he said after the bartender replaced his drink and walked away to help a customer at the other end of the bar.

“Nice and clean. Smells like a pulser burn to me.”

Landon’s comment jerked Jachin’s gaze back to him, but the man’s line of sight was focused on Jachin’s arm.

Glancing down at his coat sleeve, Jachin’s gut tightened. He’d forgotten about being hit earlier. “It rained tonight. Your senses are off, my friend.” Jachin lifted his drink and gulped it back then met Landon’s gaze with a steady, challenging one.

Friends they weren’t, but wary adversaries caught up in similar circumstances. Those circumstances had made for an interesting, if uneasy truce between them over the past few years.

“He had a wife and a family.” Landon looked at the projector as he took another swallow of his beer.

Jachin considered the blonde he saw hanging on the senator, remembered the smell of sex that surrounded the two. He snorted. “Life’s a bitch. I’ll venture a guess that his family is better off.”

“You’re a cold-hearted sonofabitch,” Landon snarled in a low tone, swinging his gaze back to Jachin. His hold on the beer bottle was so rigid, his knuckles turned white. “You call this surviving? You’ve lost your humanity.”

Fury swept through Jachin at Landon’s comment, knotting his stomach. “Humanity is who made me what I am. You’ve been rubbing shoulders with them so long you’ve lost sight of the fact they’d hunt you down if they knew what you really are. Maybe you should spend more time with your own kind.”

Landon’s eyes narrowed for a long second before his gaze swept the room. “They’re not all your enemies, Jachin. Some have the capacity to understand and willingness to embrace all kinds.”

Jachin took in the people in the room as he addressed Landon’s optimistic view of humans. “They are weak, pathetic, short-lived shells of what they could be.”

Landon grabbed Jachin’s forearm and dug his fingers into the muscle. “The man I listened to, the one I came to trust six years ago was a philosopher, an idealist with a will to live. How can you believe in this prophesy you mentioned and spout that bullshit at the same time?”

The man’s words hit home and Jachin’s chest constricted. He should never have told Landon what Ezra said before he died, but Jachin figured he might need an ally in the Lupreda world to fulfill the dying vampire’s prophesy.

He jerked his arm out of the man’s grasp. Landon was right. He couldn’t go on living like this.

Stepping down from the stool, Jachin stared at the projector screen where pictures of Ramos flashed on the news. “We all get what we deserve.”

Landon clenched his jaw before he spoke. “One day the Slayer will screw up. The NYPD will call me to hunt you down.”

Jachin gave him a curt nod. “Fair enough.”

A heavy weight spread across Jachin’s shoulders as he left the pub. He knew his tenuous truce with Landon had shifted. He didn’t miss the irony—that a werewolf, descended from a Petri dish, had more humanity in him than he did…a vampire born of man.

Jachin’s boots echoed in the dark, narrow street as he made his way toward the building that housed his loft apartment. Car exhaust, rodent droppings, human food remnants; from sour cheese to various nutty smells mixed with the polluted rain hanging in the air, bombarded his senses.

As a backdrop to the smells, human and animal heartbeats pounded in various stages, from excitement to slumber. Every sound and scent penetrated his consciousness. Shaking his head to try and block them all, he vowed to never go so long without food again.

Not only did the lack of nutrients wreck havoc with his ability to adjust his senses, it also slowed his reflexes. At least the money from this latest hit should sustain him for a good three weeks.

Unfortunately, the specialized blood Roach provided only lasted forty-eight hours once the bags were exposed to air and light, which meant he had to see Roach in a couple of days to retrieve more food.

He despised depending on anyone.

At this point, with the money he had left, he could go two more weeks before he’d have to kill again. He had a list of clients waiting on him to be hungry enough to work.

When Jachin reached the end of the road, he ignored the bright yellow Caution, Dangerous Chemicals plastic tape crisscrossed in front of the six foot tall industrial grade metal fencing and building.

Jachin sensed nothing but quiet peacefulness as he entered his loft apartment and shrugged out of his trench coat. Once he pulled the pints out of his coat’s deep pockets, he tossed the coat on a side chair in his entryway and poured the contents of a bag of blood into a martini glass he retrieved from the kitchen.

With a wave of his hand, he used his mental powers to turn on the projector and sound system. While soft jazz music filtered through the surround sound in the two thousand square foot loft apartment, Jachin picked up his drink and sat down in his butter soft black leather chair.

Sipping his drink, he savored the taste as it slid down his throat. It had been so long since he’d tasted untainted human blood, he couldn’t describe the flavor if he had to. As he took another sip, he knew this blood was missing something. The spice of life was glaringly absent.

It was the essence that made blood distinctive to a specific person, that made human blood irresistible to his kind. The human’s smell, the person’s flavor, their very soul resided in their blood, giving it an added zing. All the blood he’d bought from Roach tasted the same—bland. Nothing to sink his fangs into.

But with it, he survived.

His gaze scanned past the shuttered windows that lined the entire exterior wall and landed on the side wall with built- in bookshelves. They were packed with books, leather-bound originals in many cases. The library had cost him a small fortune to collect over the years.

Raising his glass in salute to the wall of books, Jachin said, “I’m not the uncivilized, uncultured man you think I am, Landon,” as he stood and approached his collection. Surveying the section related to psychic phenomenon, telepathy, and harnessing one’s mental powers, he smirked. His studies had their uses. He’d been able to expand his powers over the past decade.

Now a thick layer of dust claimed the books’ surfaces. He used to clean them like clockwork once a week. In the past, the dusty sight would irritate him, but today he felt nothing.

Angry with himself for losing the simple joy of reading, he downed the rest of his dinner and turned out the lights. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He lifted his hand to mentally turn off the music and the same blonde newscaster from earlier came on the screen. Turning up the projector’s sound, he waited to see if there were any new updates on the Ramos story.

“Good evening. Here’s the latest report on Senator Ramos’ murder. It is now believed that the assassination was done by one person. The female witness does remember seeing a man standing in the shadows as they exited the theatre, but she never saw his face. Stay tuned for the midnight news where we’ll interview the witness. And be sure to tune in for tomorrow night’s special guest. We’ll be sitting down with debut novelist Ariel Swanson and her controversial book about vampires that’s causing quite a stir.”

A human writing about vampires? The thought intrigued him. Landon’s comment that he’d lost his humanity echoed in Jachin’s head. He cast his gaze to his library once more. It’d been at least three years since he’d bothered to open a book.

Jachin walked over to his desk and switched on his laptop. Why not see what a human has to say about vampires? Once he typed in “Ariel Swanson” on the Internet, he was surprised to find hundreds of reviews of the woman’s book already posted on the Web store’s review site.

Jachin chuckled as he purchased the e-book version of Ms. Swanson’s novel. The Vampires’ Return might make for some entertaining reading tomorrow.

After he’d downloaded the e-book and opened the file to make sure he’d gotten the right version, he was about to shut down the laptop when his gaze landed on the quote at the bottom of the book cover page.

They thought vampires were extinct. In truth, the vampires were only waiting to fulfill the prophesy.

Jachin’s entire body tensed. This human female wrote about vampires…and a prophesy?

Pulling out his chair, he sat, then scrolled down to chapter one of The Vampires’ Return.

He didn’t believe in coincidences.