The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(4)

“I’m glad you’re okay, Hollywood,” V muttered. “I’d miss our stimulating conversations. Plus, I invested in the Tootsie Roll company years ago, and I enjoy beating the S&P 500.”

“Actually, you would miss the shit out of me.”

The brother was right, of course. But like the rodent-related excremental bleurgh back there, V saw no reason to airtime any kind of awww-ain’t-that-sweet emotion.

Instead, he crossed the street, and played paranormal gumshoe as the woman went—yup, he called it—right up to the shelter’s double doors. As she hit the call button, and then spoke into the intercom, the guy next to her was looking around as if he were assessing opportunities to bolt. She knew better than to let go of that tattered sleeve, however.

“Anyway, can you come over here? I’ve got a cell phone and a laptop.” Rhage sneezed again. “And my sinuses just have to share this wealth with one of my nearest and dearest.”

“Aren’t I lucky.”

Up ahead, the shelter door opened, a man in a SUNY Caldwell sweatshirt opening things up and beckoning the pair inside.

“Okay, yeah, my target is going to be tied up for a while.” Vishous glanced down the street. “So I got time.”

“This shouldn’t take long.”

“I don’t have a tracer on her yet, but she’ll be easy to find. She covers a given territory.”

“I can help after you come here.”

“Roger that. ETA two secs.”

As V hung up the phone, he looked behind himself. Caldwell was damp and dreary tonight, the twinkling spires of the financial district’s skyscrapers doing nothing to relieve the oppressive doom and gloom of the freak weather front.

Then again, maybe that was just his frustration talking.

He wished like hell the Brotherhood had a better strategy for finding where that prison camp had gone. After the species as a whole had lost track of the place, and the now-defunct glymera had used the underground labyrinth as a dumping ground for vampires it disapproved of, there had been a recent rediscovery—which had occurred just after the location had been abandoned. The near-miss had done little but confirm its existence, and now Wrath, the great Blind King, was determined to find the lawless holding tank and render some much-needed justice to the falsely accused.

The only clue came from the drug trade that was apparently used to sustain the camp’s infrastructure and population. Drug-product packaging that had been found in the underground site was now starting to turn up on Caldwell’s streets again. The second Trez had found the iron cross trademark back in circulation, they’d alerted the Brotherhood.

Was it possible someone else was using the branding? Sure. Likely? Nah.

And as if they had anything else to go on.

Whatever. One way or another, the prison camp was going to be located—and Wrath was going to establish a proper penal system for the vampire race, one that would be far fairer than the aristocracy’s secret racket. But when you were as impatient as V was? Everything took too long.

On that note, he moved two steps back into the shadows, double-checked that there were no eyes on him, and up-up-and-away’d himself, ghosting off to Rhage’s coordinates.

Just another night in Caldwell, vampires moving through a city choked with humans, with the latter being none the wiser.

Which was one thing that could never change.





Rio stepped back out into the thunderstorms twenty minutes after she delivered Spaz through the doors of the Our Lady of Lourdes Shelter for the Homeless. Hopefully the guy would stay longer than the night, but she really didn’t expect him to.

She was going to take care of one of his problems personally, however.

Mickie was going to back off the guy. And she’d confront the fucker now, except she was really frickin’ late.

Even though the drug world didn’t necessarily run to schedule, she went into a hustle, jogging back for where she’d been standing under that fire escape—

Her phone went off, the subtle ringing rising above the rustle and creak of her leather jacket. Stabbing her hand into an inner pocket, she pulled the cell out. When she saw that it was a blocked number, she pulled up short and answered in a whisper.

“Hello?”

The male voice was immediately recognizable. “Rio, you’re in danger—”

“Are you out of your mind calling me on this number?” She looked around. “You want to get me killed—”

“Listen, I’m not anywhere near you, and I can’t go into it right now, but your cover is blown. I’m—”

“I can’t talk about this right now. And don’t call me on—”

“—sending something to you outside of normal channels—”

“I gotta go,” she hissed.

“Rio! You have to pull out. You’ve been compromised—”

“No, I haven’t—”

A lightning strike burst through the night, attracted by the rod on the top of the One State Street Plaza building, which was just a couple blocks to the east of her. The flash was blinding, and the crack and sizzle of impact had her cringing back and lifting her arm over her face like a vampire. As her direct report continued to talk into her ear, she cut the call, shoved the cell in her pocket—

Up ahead, the supplier stepped out from under the fire escape.