This wasn’t the first time he’d heard a turned vet diss full vampires. He’d heard them refer to “mere” humans in the same way. The FBI had wanted to create super-soldiers in order to fight its human enemies and an inhuman race. But now that he was hearing turned vampires identifying themselves as a distinct group, accountable to no one … He had good reason to be scared shitless.
Mahone’s attention was suddenly riveted on the track. Creeley had just punched Polanski in the shoulder. Polanski didn’t look happy. Mahone turned the volume up.
“What the fuck was that for?” Polanski asked.
This time Creeley shoved him, both hands on Polanski’s chest. “Wanna spar?”
Polanski backed up a step.
“Come on. I want to see what you’ve got.” Creeley swung a fist at Polanski’s face. The other man blocked the punch and threw a roundhouse, connecting with Creeley’s jaw.
And the fight was on.
Mahone was transfixed, as if he was watching a horror movie. The kind where you knew someone was going to die in a really bad way and the monsters were going to get away with it. Fists cracked against bone, skin split, blood spattered.
Polanski seemed to be giving as good as he got.
God damn Creeley. What was the turned vamp trying to do? He was taking a risk, calling out Polanski’s vampire instincts like this. If Creeley kept this up, Polanski would go feral. Granted, as the older vamp, Creeley should have the strength and training to take Polanski out if the other vamp lost control—and whatever damage Creeley did to the man, Polanski’s body would regenerate. No harm, no foul. But still, sparring with another turned vampire until they’d both been cleared went against the guidelines.
Mahone had no power to stop the fight. He was here to observe, nothing else. Hands off. His role was to report to Hallifax alone.
It wasn’t lost on him that most of the world, including most of the FBI, was being kept in the dark about vampires. What, then, was he being kept in the dark about?
Hell, if vampires existed and lived hidden among humans, who was to say that other paranormal creatures didn’t exist, too? Werewolves. Mummies. Ghosts. Assuming they did exist, did the FBI have some other grunt observing them, too? Or were they still managing to conceal their existence? Because they’d certainly be smart to.
Could be that the worst thing to happen to the vampire race was being discovered by the FBI. Mahone just hoped that discovery didn’t end up being the worst possible thing to happen to the human race as well.
In the gym below, Polanski lost it. Howling, screaming gutturally, he ripped into Creeley, who kept that fucking grin on his face and danced away. The main doors to the gymnasium opened and Ross Newton, another agent, rushed in.
“Get him under control!” Newton yelled.
Creeley just shook his head, still smiling. “Can’t. He’s gone too far. Only thing to do now is let him feed … and fuck.”
Newton stopped in his tracks. “Fine. I’ll get him something to eat.”
“Bring me a feeder, too. I’m hungry,” Creeley said.
Newton stormed his way out of the gym, flicking his gaze over the blood-spattered floor in revulsion.
“That’s right, human,” Creeley said to the closed door. “Better do what I say when I say it.” He ducked as Polanski swung at him and laughed. “Hold on there, man. Soon we’ll be drowning in blood and pussy.”
So Creeley had forced Polanski into a frenzy that only blood and sex would satisfy, and wanted his share of the feast. Selfish asshole. Mahone’s cell phone rang. The number on the screen didn’t surprise him. He’d been half waiting for this call ever since Carly had told him that a vampire had read Ty Duncan’s mind.
The caller was Rhonda Locke. The woman who, along with her husband, headed up the FBI’s Strange Phenom Unit. They’d discovered the existence of vampires, and today remained in close contact with the Vampire Queen. Locke was the equivalent of an ambassador, keeping peace between humans and vamps, which was why she’d never been told about the Turning Program.
Until now, he suspected.
“This is Mahone.”
“I need to ask you a question.” Locke’s voice, clipped and angry, sounded in his ear. “You get one chance to answer me, so think before you do.”
“Go ahead.” He kept the phone to his ear as he kept his gaze on the gym and on Polanski, writhing on the floor, screaming for blood.
“Is the FBI turning humans into vampires?”
“Yes,” he answered, with no hesitation. She knew. That meant the Vampire Queen knew. There was no point in lying.
A quickly indrawn breath.
“You’re part of the program.” She said it as a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” For now, Mahone thought. He wasn’t sure if the program would survive the Vampire Queen’s inevitable fury.
“Why wasn’t I told?”
The door to the gym opened again. A man—strong, young, Hispanic—was shoved into the room. The bile Mahone had tasted earlier now surged into his mouth. “Why are you asking?”
“You know exactly why. The Bureau has been dealing with born vampire traitors. Now those vampires—Rogues, I believe you call them—are out of control and the FBI’s trying to cover its ass.”
“Correct.”
Mahone leaned in close to the one-way mirror. Had this feeder been provided to the FBI by Salvation’s Crossing? After all, they believed Salvation’s Crossing was supplying vampires with migrant workers to feed on, workers willing to do anything to provide a better life for their families. Why wouldn’t the Rogues have used some of those same immigrants to fulfill its obligations to the FBI?
In the end, it didn’t really matter who’d brought the man here. The way he stared, open-mouthed and unmoving, at the frenzied and blood-soaked Polanski told Mahone all he needed to know. Didn’t matter what race this man was or what lies he’d been told. What he saw wasn’t something he’d signed up for.
Polanski caught sight of his victim. Mahone fought the urge to close his eyes. If he interfered, his superiors would be notified, and he’d never be let back inside Building T. He couldn’t risk that.
“This can’t continue, Mahone,” Locke said.
As soon as she said the words, Mahone’s misgivings about the Turning Program solidified. Belladonna would have to see its mission through. But once the Rogues were out of the equation …
“You may be right, Rhonda,” Mahone said, his voice flat. “And we do need to deal directly with the vampire leaders eventually. Hallifax believes the Rogues can be contained and somehow, eventually, the Turning Program can resume. My team’s supposed to make that happen.”
He watched as Polanski charged, racing faster than humanly possible, his prosthetic feet a blur. The man he ran toward let out a high-pitched scream. It was the cry of someone who feared death, but Mahone knew from past experience the man wouldn’t be allowed to die. Newton would allow Polanski to feed and then intervene, pulling out the feeder before he was drained of too much blood. Standard protocol.
Mahone still didn’t want to see it go down.
Turning away, Mahone reached over and turned down the volume. So Locke couldn’t hear the screams, he told himself.
“The Bureau thinks it’s choosing the lesser of two evils,” he said to her. “Give me more time. Let my team hunt the Rogues and figure out exactly what kind of threat they’ve become. If I get proof that the FBI is in over its head, it would help.”
“Have the turnings been authorized by the president?” Before he could answer, Locke sighed. “Of course they have,” she said.
Something thudded behind him and Mahone automatically turned around. A spray of blood had hit the one-way mirror, obliterating his view. But he knew what would follow. The feeder—the man used to satisfy Polanski’s blood lust—would be dragged out to be treated. Then a woman, a prostitute, one who bought into the whole vampire fantasy or the notion of serving her country no matter what, would enter. And Polanski would fuck her until he was spent.