H.T. Night's 8-Book Vampire Box Set (20 page)

Copyright © 2010 by H.T. Night

All rights reserved.

(Author’s note: All characters depicted in
this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.)

Dedication

I dedicate this novel to J.R. Rain and
Joshua.

Acknowledgment

Special thanks to Margaret Cervenka, April M.
Reign, Liz Jones and Sandy Johnston for all their help.

Chapter One

It had been two weeks since the night I
became a Mani. This wasn’t the life I chose. And this sure wasn’t
the way I figured the world was run. One day, I was a mixed martial
arts fighter trying to make a name for myself, and then suddenly, I
was the chosen savior of the Mani people, or vampires, or whatever
the hell they are–we are. How the hell was I supposed to live as a
vampire? Or as an eagle? It wasn’t like I could transition and
become an eagle whenever I felt like it. Some redneck would
probably shoot me out of the sky.

I was now a Mani. Not by choice. Mani were
vampires. Not your everyday Dracula vampires either. We didn’t turn
into bats or fog. We could turn or transition into specific birds
whenever we felt like it. The men transitioned into black ravens,
and the women into red hawks. Me? Hell, I transformed into a giant
white eagle. Yeah, you heard it right: an eagle.

I was the lucky one. I was The Chosen.

Somehow, somewhere, I was the one who was
chosen to bring harmony to the Mani. Me? Of all people? I was
chosen to save some crazy vampire race from becoming extinct? Are
you fucking kidding me? Who wants that kind of pressure? I sure as
hell didn’t.

One month ago, I didn’t even believe that
vampires or werewolves existed. Now, I had been given the keys to
the kingdom? But who the hell was I now? My name, Josiah Reign,
seemed to be all that remained of my old life.

This Chosen One gig was supposed to be
Atticai’s job. Freaking Atticai! What the hell had happened to him?
Had I really killed him? Where had he disappeared to? Did he go to
some kind of Mani heaven… or hell? I had no answers. I avoided the
only ones who could give me the answers I needed. I wasn’t ready
for the whole truth and I knew it.

I was turned into a Mani unwillingly, and I
hadn’t quite wrapped my brain around that fact. My life, as I once
knew it, was over. It was absurd to think that I could be okay with
that thought. Sure, I needed time, time to adjust to my new
reality, so I barricaded myself in my house. I had enough to eat
and drink; I wanted nothing to do with anyone or anything.

Seriously? What did they expect me to do?
Just assume the role of some chosen prophesied vampire and go along
with their delusional ideas without even saying a word? The Triat
never gave me a vision, the Triat never gave me a heads’ up. Where
were my premonitions? Where were my dreams?

Dreams? That was a good one. I didn’t know
if I even truly slept any more. It was like I closed my eyes and
rested, not slept. Time skipped as if I was dreaming. I felt my
muscles rebuilding, but somehow, the sleep part escaped me. Did I
sleep or did I just regenerate? Did I dream or did I plot? Like
that Star Trek episode where everyone on the ship was going crazy
when they experienced REM-stage sleep deprivation, even my sleep
life was surreal now, as if the very synapses of my brain were
being totally remapped. I suppose, in a way, they were.

Also, shouldn’t those blood cravings be
kicking in right about now? I thought vampires roamed the earth
trying to find a good vein. Hell, any vein. So far, everything I
eat seems to go down fine. I really had no idea what was myth or
truth when it came to living as a creature of the night. The only
vampire facts I knew, I had read in books and seen in movies. And I
knew that watching Vampire Sucks a dozen times on cable wasn’t the
best source for accurate vampire information.

I was waiting for this uncontrollable desire
for human blood to take over all my senses. The only thing I had
been craving these days was a mean peanut butter and grape jelly
sandwich. So unless there was some secret human blood ingredient in
Jiffy peanut butter, I hadn’t been hit with any intense
cravings…yet.

One thing that was definitely not a myth was
that sunlight was to vampires as deep fryers were to donuts. And I
was the donut from sunrise to sunset. Unless I transitioned to the
eagle, I couldn’t cope with any kind of daylight. It gave me the
same dehydrated, overheated feeling that I always got after a
fight. I felt nauseous until I got out of the sun. The times that I
got caught outdoors in the sun, even for a few seconds, always
brought to mind that scene in the Wizard of Oz where the witch gets
doused with water and cries out: “I’m melting! I’m melting! Oh,
what a world!” That scene pretty much summed up my fear of daytime
hours, that someday, I would lock myself out of the house or
something, and just…fry.

Every day for the last two weeks, Yari and
Lena had both tried to contact me. I ignored their calls and their
unannounced knocks at the door. What the hell did they expect? I
turned into a freaking vampire, trying to save both of their lives.
Which I did. But now, I needed some space to come to terms with my
new reality.

My old reality consisted of training to be a
mixed martial arts fighter and hanging out with Tommy, my best
friend in the world. Apparently, Tommy isn’t even his real name.
It’s Kyro. And he had been living as a werewolf the whole time I’d
known him. And managed to keep it a secret, until recently. He
covered up his own transformation life with the excuse that he was
in the military reserves and had to leave for his duty every month.
A sly, cool subterfuge.

Tommy’s state of being as a werewolf wasn’t
the thing that most concerned me. What was uppermost on my mind was
if he was even alive or not. He had been pronounced dead and sent
to the hospital morgue. And then his body vanished! Did he come
back to life and take off? I had no idea where he went, or even if
he was still alive. I really needed Tommy right now. Werewolf or
not, he was still my best friend and I considered him my only
family. Maybe he could shed some light on all of this madness that
was my new existence as a Mani.

Unfortunately, it was summertime. Not only
was it hot as summer-shaved balls in southern California, it didn’t
get dark till about 8:30 at night. I finally became restless and
sick of being cooped up in my house. I didn’t want to talk to any
Mani yet, but I just wanted to leave the house. Get out and stretch
my legs. Maybe even my big white wings.

I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling in
my bedroom, which was also my blackout room, with the windows
completely covered up, so that no glint of daylight would ever
again penetrate the glass. I looked at the clock. It was 9:00 p.m.
That meant that it was officially dark, and safe for me to go
outside. I had serious cabin fever and really needed a change of
venue. I had been wearing nothing but basketball shorts for days,
and I figured I was in desperate need of a shower and a change of
clothes. I stood up and stared at myself in the mirror. I had lost
weight. My body was more slender and paler than I ever remembered
being. My six-pack looked more like ribs etched into my skin, the
muscles so defined that they looked like hard bones under my skin.
My blond hair seemed a bit darker than before. Okay, I was dirty.
Yeah, I definitely needed a shower. I peeled off my shorts and
walked naked down the hallway to my bathroom. I turned on the
shower. There was nothing like a scalding hot shower to lighten my
mood. I always liked hot showers and tonight was no different.

I took a ten-minute shower, wondering if it
was the greatest one I had ever taken. The water felt amazing. The
shower penetrated my muscles. I couldn’t believe how refreshed I
felt when I got out. Or perhaps it was just that it was night. And
now I was a creature of the night. No, a child of the night.

I dried myself off and went to the bedroom.
I decided to wear a pair of 501 jeans out of my closet and put on a
plain black t-shirt. I decided to put on some hiking boots and
splashed on some Drakkar Noir, an old-school cologne that seemed to
appease my need for sensuality and sensibility. The familiar smell
was sweet like the woods with a touch of pine and made me feel more
comfortable in my own skin. I smelled like me again. Funny how a
scent could do something that powerful. And then, there was the
scent of blood. But I did not yet need to drink it to survive. Good
thing, because I really liked human food.

Wyatt and Hector, my new henchman and
friends, brought back my truck and left me a text message telling
me they’d dropped it off, leaving the keys under the fender. I
liked my white truck. It was one of the constants in my life, and I
needed reminders of who I once was. That was going to be very
important to me in the years ahead as a Mani.

I stepped outside and took a deep breath.
Wow, the air felt so good. It was the first time I had been outside
in days. Sure enough, my white Ford truck was in the driveway. It
was a beauty. I walked over to my truck, found the keys, and got
in. I put the key in the ignition. This was the first time I was
going to drive as a Mani. Why did I even have to drive? I could
transition into an eagle and go wherever the hell I wanted to. But
tonight, I needed to drive. I wanted to feel normal. Have a little
bit of fun and just forget for a couple of hours.

I put on some tunes. Dammit! A hip-hop
station! I hated hip-hop! Give me the Beatles or Depeche Mode any
day. I scanned the radio and found a song I liked. It was classic
Pink Floyd. That was exactly what I needed right now—to feel
comfortably numb. I leaned back and closed my eyes to listen to the
lush rich sounds of “Breathe,” off the Dark Side of the Moon album,
then opened my eyes again when I felt somewhat grounded, centered.
I had no idea where I was going tonight, only that I just needed a
change of venue, a fresh beginning for my new life that would wash
away the agony of realizing what I was and somehow, find ways to
embrace it as an asset. I got on the 215 freeway and headed toward
Orange County. There was a lot more going on in that direction. I
was in desperate need of a beer, or a shot, or both.

The 215 became the 91, and I headed to the
55 freeway.

I had carried a fake ID since I was
seventeen and used it often when Tommy and I would go to local
bars. Tommy had mentioned this dive bar called Slammers off the
freeway, and it was about time I checked it out. I took the exit
and headed to the hole-in-the-wall.

The parking lot wasn’t big. In fact, it was
packed to the rim. I parked my truck in the only space that was
open. The parking lot was full of pickup trucks and rundown cars.
This was not going to be the type of bar that served high society.
I sure as hell didn’t care. I was the furthest thing from that
crowd.

I cautiously got out of my truck. I wasn’t
here to pick up chicks, but I stopped and looked in my
driver’s-side mirror anyway. I brushed my hair back. I looked good.
I knew I had some serious game. Maybe I’d even flirt a little
bit.

I started toward the bar. The parking lot
was torn up as if a construction crew had gone through and ripped
it apart. This was the kind of place where a fight would break out
and the police wouldn’t show up until 20 minutes later. My kind of
place.

I walked up to the guy at the door. He was
an African American fellow and seemed bored to death. I pulled out
my wallet and showed him my ID.

He looked over my driver’s license before he
asked, “Hey, you’re some kind of fighter aren’t you?”

I was shocked. Not too many people
recognized me. He must have been a fan of the sport.

“I used to be. I’m retired.”

“You’re kind of young to be retired.” He
began sizing me up.

“It’s a tough sport,” I murmured.

“As I remember, you’re a tough
son-of-a-bitch.” He handed me back my I.D. “Just keep it classy in
there.” I smiled at the irony of that statement. I entered the bar
and the room felt like it was 120 degrees. There were a number of
people sitting and drinking at tables, playing darts, and shooting
pool. Yeah, my kind of place.

There was a lot of facial hair in this
place. Beards, side burns, and goatees were an obvious prerequisite
to get into this joint. I hadn’t shaved in a couple weeks, so I
assumed I was going to fit in. Boy, was I wrong.

I scoped out the joint to find a place to
sit. This was a definite sausage fest. There were a few girls in
the joint, but none seemed like they were here to do anything other
than get shitfaced with their female friends. Something caught my
eye in the back of the bar. Or should I say someone; he was the
largest man I had ever seen. He looked like a Sasquatch. He had a
braided brown goatee and a bald head shaved down to his scalp; just
his presence alone demanded attention and, believe me, he had
it.

I wasn’t in the mood to kick the biggest guy
in the bar’s ass—not tonight. Thank God. But damn, he was a beast.
I spotted an open stool in front of the bar area. I didn’t want to
make much eye contact, because I really just wanted to chill out
and drink. I did feel like every eye in the bar was on me. Even
Sasquatch in the back was aware that I was in the bar. They must
not get too many new folks in this place, I thought.

I walked up to the bar and sat on the
lopsided stool in front of the counter. No wonder nobody was
sitting here. The bartender’s back was to me. “Hey buddy,” I said,
“I’ll have a Vodka Coke.”

The bartender turned around and he, too, had
a goatee for days. He looked at me, slowly shook his head, and then
turned back around.