A Life In Blood (Chronicles of The Order Book 1) Read online

  My cheeks flushed even more. I could practically feel them burning up. Lev’s attempts to help...well, didn’t.

  “What’s the point? I can’t see anything ever coming from it. Hell, she’s a thousand years old! Talk about an age gap!” I sighed heavily, and leaned against the chest of drawers that were close by. “Yeah, everything you said about her is spot-on. But it’s just a- a schoolboy crush. That’s all it is, and all it’s ever likely to be.”

  I don’t think she believed me. I certainly didn’t.

  “Look, it does happen - and I have seen vampires in relationships with mortals, and somehow it bloody worked.” She stood in front of me, both hands on my shoulders. “Like any relationship, it would take time, effort and all the usual crap that goes with it, but it can be done if the people involved care enough.”

  I smiled. She wasn’t such a bad character after all.

  “Have you had many relationships, Lev?”

  She snorted at me derisively.

  “Fuck, no. I still haven’t found that right person yet, so for now I’m happy just sticking with the sex. But I’m sure I’ll find the right one at some point.”

  She smiled, patted my shoulders and moved to the door.

  “Right, got to dash, D. I’ll see you around sometime, no doubt. Take it easy, yeah?” And at that, she sauntered out into the hallway and off around the corner.

  D. Urgh. I wish she had never thought of using that. These days it’s all she ever calls me. I wish she’d stuck with ‘sweetheart’.

  Two days later, my training began in earnest. And when I say training, I actually mean ‘torture’. I am not a soldier, and I never was. I had been kept just fit enough to not be a liability...but Omega Company were a professional outfit, and they acted like it.

  Our training lasted almost a year. The first four months we learned everything soldiers learn in Basic Training - firearms training, fitness, survival, map reading, battlefield casualty drills. Then, after that, a grueling programme of close combat techniques, featuring an assortment of martial arts and learning to use bladed weapons. After that came the worst part, for me at least - mental conditioning.

  It’s a widely-understood fact that most vampires have a degree of telepathy, which can be a problem for the untrained mind. A vampire could easily break into our psyche, find what information they need, and possibly ruin a few synapses on the way out just for kicks, and so we had to prepare for that. This entailed undergoing a month-long process of learning to build up our mental defences, how to keep information hidden from the most thorough mental probes, before then enduring a mock torture exercise with a vampire actively pushing into our minds, trying to break our defences.

  I told you before about how the slightest mental touch gave me headache, and how anything remotely significant gave me a migraine and/or nosebleeds. Well, that exercise nearly killed me, twice. After some additional mental training I passed it, but it still hurt like a bastard afterwards. However, my condition had an unexpected benefit - if any vampire pushed too hard, my brain would rupture under the strain, and no-one would learn anything. All Corrigan, our vampire trainer managed to get from me was three disjointed words and a large amount of screaming, so essentially my brain was like a vault with a bomb on the inside - try too hard to get in, and it’ll be worthless.

  It felt like a long road - and it was certainly a painful one - but most of my colleagues and I were able to ‘pass out’ and become full-fledged soldiers in Omega Company. I felt like an entirely new man. I was stronger, fitter, more confident and more capable than ever before. I’d made friends with a few of the guys in my unit too, which made me feel less isolated. Overall, I had never felt better.

  There was only one other thing between us and being full members of The Order, though; what was comically referred to as ‘the Marking.’

  Back in the ancient beginnings of The Order, their mortal servants were branded, to show that they were under the protection of the vampires they served. As times changed, so did they; instead of being branded, their servants and soldiers were now given a tattoo, although the ritual name had stuck for no apparent reason other than tradition.

  I found out that different types of people got a different ‘mark’ - those of us who served in Omega Company got The Order’s sigil, to show our service to the organisation as a whole. It’s quite a decent design actually, a shield bearing a stylised fanged mouth, and underneath it was their motto: “Akash nithahn vanehm tor praet sol’shivas,” which roughly translates as “we claim the night to protect the dawn.” No idea what it’s supposed to mean, even now, but it sounds pretty awesome. Then there are different ‘marks’ for Sentinels, safe-house owners, members of the authorities who help keep things quiet when fights have broken out...and then there are the vampire Sigils.

  Each vampire has his or her own Sigil, like a simplified family crest, kind of thing. If they take an interest in a particular mortal, they can have that mortal tattooed with their Sigil, using ink mixed with a small amount of their blood. This had the effect of marking the mortal not only with a symbol of loyalty, but also the scent of their patron, a warning to other vampires who might decide the mortal was suitable either to eat or to turn.

  It was a good system, in theory. In practice, I don’t think it always worked out as well as it could. But it had served the vampires for millenia, and they hate change.

  My ‘Marking’ occurred without incident, although I couldn’t help thinking it must have been a much more momentous event back in the old days, probably with a full ritual, lots of special words spoken, possibly a feast...I figured I’d have to ask one of the older vampires about it some time.

  Most Marks are placed somewhere that isn’t immediately visible, in case they get seen by people who would want to take advantage of a marked individual - hunters, for example. For that reason mine was placed just next to my right shoulder-blade, so that it wouldn’t restrict my movement during the healing process.

  It still stung like a bitch though.

  I had only been back in my room for maybe an hour when a few of my squad-mates dropped by, demanding I join them for drinks to celebrate both our completion of training and my birthday, which had passed a couple of weeks previously. I must have agreed, because I actually can’t remember much from that night.

  However, it was not to be long before the joy of this occasion was replaced by the concern of facing my first combat mission - right in the heart of my home town.

  CHAPTER 4

  Baptism of fire

  Two days was all it took. Two days, and my good mood had soured, replaced by tension and apprehension.

  We were called off of our well-earned rest period by an urgent call for us to attend Ops room One, where I had previously tinkered with the map during my initial visit. When we got there, it was as busy as usual - except this wasn’t the calm, ordered activity I had seen before, this was rushed, louder, almost frantic. You could almost taste the tension in the air as well, which made me realise that whatever was happening was a cause for serious concern, one which demanded immediate response.

  My immediate superiors were present, as were Valden and some of the usual Ops room staff. I had not expected to see Corvi there, however, and I especially wasn’t used to seeing her so...intent. This was actually the first time I saw her ‘on the job,’ so to speak, and it was clear straight away why she was in charge here - while everyone else around the place was rushing around in a state of semi-panic, she was calm and collected.

  After everyone was gathered, her melodic voice cut through the noise and gained the attention of everyone present.

  “Okay people, listen up. We have received word that one of our Sentinels is on the move through our area, and needing an extraction. H
e was under-cover with the local Army hunter teams, his cover was compromised and they are chasing him down as we speak. He has some urgent information apparently, so we need to get to him and get him out fast.” She stopped sharing her attention with the whole room then and focussed on my commanding officer. “Captain Roberts. I understand your unit is still fairly green, but we need them for this mission as well. Think they’ll hold up okay?”

  Roberts was a stereotypical British Army officer - thin as a rake, barrel-chested, a Forties mustache and a clipped, well-enunciated voice which spoke of excellent education and lineage.

  He also swore at least twice per sentence, smoked like a chimney and could drink any five other soldiers under the table without even trying, even at forty-three. He was a tough bastard, and well liked by everyone.

  “Well ma’am, if they aren’t fucking ready by now, they never bloody will be!” he declared loudly. He said everything loudly.

  “Glad to hear it. Get your men and women geared up and moving, we’ll give you the necessary intel en route.”

  Further instructions from Corvi were drowned out as Roberts bellowed at us to get moving, and anything else wouldn’t have been relevant anyway.

  Within minutes we were in combat gear, we’d armed up and we were boarding our ride, the classic and ever-reliable Lynx helicopter. We were split into three teams of six, and each team was getting dropped at a slightly different location to maximise our chances of getting our target back safely.

  We were being fed regular updates from the Ops team, and as we were on the way specifics came through. Our agent had fled into the centre of Oxford to try and lose his pursuers among the civilians, which had apparently worked - the Army hunters were slowing down, being more careful so as not to harm the civilian population. That gave us an advantage. If he could hole up somewhere safe, get word to us where he was, we had a chance.

  But of course, nothing ever goes that smoothly.

  Unlike the Army hunters, we valued pragmatism over subtlety. We came in just slow enough for the civilians to get out of our way, jumping down the last couple of feet from the helicopter and assuming our defensive positions. Looking down the sights of my rifle, I knew instantly where we were - the open area just next to the bus station, a space called Gloucester Green. I was covering the southern approach, encompassing the cinema and George Street just beyond it. I kept my finger resting on the edge of the trigger guard - I sure as hell was not going to accidentally shoot a civilian on my first combat op. For tight, urban situations, we were using the Heckler and Koch G36C, a short, blocky, futuristic-looking assault rifle with a folding stock for extra adaptability. H&K weapons were more expensive than other manufacturers, but they were some of the most reliable, and that’s what we wanted.

  With all of us down the Lynx pulled clear, with orders to remain “on station” as long as possible for support. Our other two teams were further north, dropping at the University Parks, and slightly south at the Carfax tower crossroad, essentially the very centre of the city.

  So far, no further news on our target.

  “Okay boys and girls,” our sergeant started cheerfully, “we still have no new contact from Ops as to where our man is, so we are to sweep this area of the city progressing south. We are authorised shoot first if we make contact with the enemy, but for God’s sake children, watch out for civvies! Carlson on point, Black you’re on rearguard. Move out!”

  We began moving out, all of us tense and wary. The shoppers were pulling out their phones and taking pictures, thinking we were either filming a movie or just a bunch of crazy cos-players. We hadn’t gone far when our radios buzzed.

  “Shepherd team, this is Ops, we have comms from the target. He is hiding out at Underworld. Repeat, target is at Underworld. Ops out.”

  I swore internally. Underworld was a bar, not far from our position, which functioned as a safehouse for The Order’s servants. It was where I had enjoyed one drink too many on my ill-fated first hunt, and I knew it was almost a death-trap. An underground bar at the end of a closed alley? Not an ideal place to be, since there was only one exit - cut that off, and we were stuck.

  Hopefully the hunters didn’t know that.

  We took a left down a side road that led to a small shopping centre. As we passed through, people were a little more cautious and concerned about our presence, which was good. Kept them out of our way. I began to worry when we got to the alley without incident. Our sergeant went ahead to get the Sentinel, leaving the rest of us on watch outside the alley. Waiting. It was a tense few minutes, but eventually I heard rapid bootsteps behind us as they ran out of the bar.

  Then I saw it. The random flashes of British army uniform, the unmistakable mottled greens and browns of my country’s temperate climate camouflage.

  “Contact right!” I yelled, just before taking my first few shots fired in anger. Until the civilians were on the floor I was firing in single shots, so I was being careful with my timing, but thankfully there were five other people with me doing the same. In a handful of seconds every shopper was on the ground, so the firefight got serious. We thumbed our shot selectors to three-round burst and opened fire again, and we were rewarded with two of the aggressors going down. But they were firing back, keeping us from advancing out of the alley. There was no cover outside of the alley walls, just an open road then closed buildings opposite us, so we were stuck. Kelly Dumfries went down, taking a burst through her right shoulder and clavicle, and then James Carlson took a round to the throat. I couldn’t focus on that at the time, even though these were my friends I had to focus on the job. Sergeant Colwin dragged them into the cover of the alley, getting to work on trying to keep Carlson alive while he radioed for back-up. It didn’t matter though, as the hunters were holding us in place for their own reinforcements to move in, and if that happened we were going to die. We were running out of time and I was high on adrenaline, my mind working faster than I thought possible. Our options were limited, so I decided to do something stupid and insane to buy the squad some time.

  I finished emptying one magazine, reloaded and switched my rifle to full auto.

  “Cover me!” I yelled - then ran straight out at the enemy.

  I didn’t run straight exactly, more a constantly weaving approach - but as I did I was firing long bursts at the enemy soldiers, forcing them to divert their attention. I hit one in the gun arm, another I put a burst into his gut. I closed the distance, emptied my mag and let go of the rifle, swiftly drawing a pair of small knives from thigh pouches that held several others.

  During my training I had excelled in two things - Ancient vampiric and thrown blades. I seemed to have developed a skill with the small throwing knives that allowed me to effectively use them in close combat as well as at range, and so my friends had bought me a pair of thigh pouches, with eight knives in each, for my birthday. Now I could pay them back.

  The first soldier near me tried to raise his rifle to shoot at me, but I ducked under his aim quickly and drove my first blade up under his body armour and into his diaphragm. I pressed in close, swinging round and slamming my second blade home in his right kidney, before pulling both free and moving on. As my first victim dropped, the others nearby were starting to turn towards me, so I let one blade fly at the man on my left, neatly lodging it in his jugular.

  That’s for Carlson, you fuck, I thought, pressing on and throwing my second blade at a soldier directly in front of me. As soon as I was sure it had done its job - putting out my target’s eye - I turned to my left slightly and ran for the next soldier, fresh blades already in my hands. Thanks to our training I could read his movements, estimate the swing he was about to take at my head, so just as I reached him I dropped and slid the last couple of feet on my knees, slamming both blades into his in
ner thighs and wrenching them out hard. I twisted round, pushing myself to one knee and throwing the knives at the two remaining soldiers in this squad. As soon as they had left my hands I pulled my pistol and stood fully, aiming down the road as I moved to retrieve my blades. The one from my left hand had hit my target square in the forehead - a straight kill. I pulled the blade free, cleaned it and sheathed it again. My other blade had missed its mark - instead of a kill, it had immobilised the man’s shoulder. I wasted no time - as soon as I saw him move I put two rounds into his chest at close range.

  “Black, move it!” Sergeant Colwin yelled over the radio. “We’re clear, now fall back!”

  I retrieved my other blades, holstered my pistol and ran for the extraction zone, reloading my rifle as I went. Just as a precaution, you could never tell when you would get spotted.

  I made it back to the helicopter in one piece and without any further contact. I can only assume their teams were too spread out to have been able to support each other effectively. In any case, we made it out alive with our target unharmed.

  Well...most of us did. Carlson died just as the evac had turned up. I didn’t take that well, since he had been one of my closest friends through training. The only thing that eased the pain was knowing I had avenged him, but even that was a poor salve.

  “Black, do you mind explaining what the fuck you were doing?” Colwin snapped, the radio carrying his displeasure a little too clearly. He had boarded a different helicopter with the casualties.

  “Buying the team some time, sergeant,” I said respectfully, trying to stop my hands from shaking as I started to come down from the adrenaline rush.

  “There are other ways of doing that than putting your life at further risk. You survived this time; next time you may not be so lucky.”