The Hunter's Den: Dead of Midnight Book 1 Read online

  “I don’t know how you can say that,” she was annoyed with Daniel, with the whole night. “I mean, all this training, all this time? What’s it all for?”

  “Well, you’re a lot better off now than you were 6 months ago, that’s just for starters.”

  He wasn’t wrong, exactly. Maybe from a health standpoint, she was better. She wasn’t about to jump off of a bridge. Training had given her new purpose, but it was all in the guise that it would actually be put to use. It’s not like she wanted to go to the gym for fun. In any case, she didn’t feel like arguing.

  It wasn’t even the time Jules had already invested. She was still incomplete without Sam, no matter how much better she was today than the time after he died. On top of that, she didn’t know if the hunt would give her closure, and that just added to the mixture of confusion that swirled within her chest. Still, she believed revenge, real revenge, to be the only way she could find out.

  “Look, I’ll call it a night,” she conceded, “but we’re going back out there tomorrow, and the next night, until I draw blood.”

  4

  Endless Night

  Morgan walked through his city with no final destination. He always needed the walk after those awful Coven gatherings. It was the only way to lose the stink of the rest of the undead. That and a fresh pack of cloves. They didn’t provide that sought-after head rush and they failed to sooth his nerves, but he didn’t mind the smell one bit.

  The packs of mortals around him, too, provided a much more alluring scent. When Morgan was trapped inside that Coven conclave room, the smell of death and decay permeated his being until it was all he could smell and all he could feel. No one else could smell it, apparently, and if they could, it didn’t seem to bother them. He was never the first to leave, because he didn’t like the attention. However, he was always the first to get as far away as possible once the conclave was adjourned.

  They were a sleazy, despicable lot, and Morgan was forced to adhere to their “code.” Each Coven had its own, but they all had similar roots- he had been following someone’s rules as long as he could remember. He had to. He was one of them, and he would always be. Didn’t mean he had to like it.

  He needed to clear his head, and the mortals were great for that. They didn’t bother him. No one could tell he was a wolf among sheep, unless they got too close. Even then they would need to stare deep into his grey eyes to find the abnormality. They would find them cold, lifeless. Terrifying. Anyone who tried that, however, would already be too close to escape.

  From a distance, and on the street, Morgan was one of them- just one of the mortals. A little paler than the rest, perhaps. His razor-sharp cheekbones and his impossibly smooth skin wouldn’t stand out, though, not in Los Angeles. Not in a city full of the most beautiful people in the world. Across the bar or along the street, they would take him for a model or an actor on the brink of making it.

  He certainly would be successful, if he was so inclined. But Morgan had no desire for such things. Plus, he always had to be careful about drawing too much attention to himself. It didn’t make much sense ending up plastered on some billboard above Sunset. Besides, despite his traditional beauty, he didn’t care much for looking at himself in the mirror. For the most part, he was instead content to watch the mortals and their heartbeats as they passed each other by, the smell and the pulse of each one becoming stronger.

  It was too early to sate his nightly urge. Why had the craving struck him? The Coven meeting, perhaps, was the culprit. Or maybe he was spending too long amongst the mortals. He didn’t mind them, even if the rest of the vamps viewed them more as cattle than anything else. He still needed what was inside of them, whether they gave it willingly or from his usual source. However, he would dictate the timing on his own terms.

  Morgan decided to fight the urge for as long as he could. It had become as much of a nightly ritual as the act itself. To do so, he needed to remove himself from the Sunset Strip that was packed with humans. The only answer for the moment was to find solitude. Well, it wasn’t the only answer, but he wasn’t ready to give in yet. He was still in control and intended to remain that way. He wouldn’t let the demon take over. Sometimes he had to offer concessions to it, such as keeping a distance from the source. It was a small price to pay for the alternative.

  The problem with the city was it could be difficult to escape the swaths of people. The best place to find solitude could actually be in the driver seat of a car, in the middle of a gridlocked freeway. In that space, everyone was alone. Unfortunately, Morgan detested driving. Fortunately, he had acquired several other methods for achieving solitude while escaping the boredom of his own apartment. The evening’s moon was too alluring for him to stay inside and wallow.

  He could take to the hills and move closer to the stars. The twisted roads in between the Valley and the city provided nothing but mansions, darkness, and coyotes. The view sounded great. The hike, especially on an empty stomach, did not.

  Instead, he picked one of his less-traveled haunts. The music hall resided only a block or two away from the crowds of the strip. It had no functioning sign, let alone a marquee. The place had two main draws: cheap drinks, of which Morgan could not take advantage of, and fresh, frequently unusual music, the kind that couldn’t pack a house but could fill a spirit instead. The second was why he was a frequent audience member. Sometimes, singers and musicians would come through that stage and break into something much bigger. Mostly, though, they would be quickly forgotten by everyone except the few souls lucky enough to hear them. Morgan himself found music to be one of the greatest connections he still had to real emotion. It could make him forget his hunger like almost nothing else could. He could play himself, but the sound of another’s creation could be even more effective.

  He left the crowded street and walked down the steep decline to the Tap Hotel. There was never a line to get in, and that evening was no different. Without parking on the street, the only cars that drove past the narrow passage were only looking for a shortcut up the hill.

  It was sparsely populated by only a couple of regulars and, most likely, friends of the musicians. The band had already begun- a three piece that definitely needed a fourth. Still, they experimented with disjointed melodies and strange combinations that made him forget his place in the world for the moment. Familiar songs only brought back familiar memories, and good memories were all but nonexistent. That was the problem with his memories in general. If his mind ventured far enough back to find joyful times, he had to cross a sea of sorrow. If he found those elusive and happy memories, they quickly washed into pain. It was much easier to forget then it was to remember.

  The whole room was dark, save for an old spotlight or two on the miniscule stage. The light reflected only enough to give shape to the old walls and the bar itself. For the moment, he tried to let himself be consumed by the music. It was a pleasant feeling, but it couldn’t last.

  “I know the bassist,” the girl near him said with a voice so loud Morgan was knocked from his thoughts. He had seen her at the other end of the bar, but failed to notice her inching closer until it was too late.

  “Is that so?” he said and moved a few inches in the opposite direction.

  “Yeah, that’s the only reason I’m here. Never heard of this place,” she slurred, obviously having imposed her own three drink minimum. Morgan did his best to ignore her. She was annoying, but harmless. “Have I met you before? I feel like I’ve seen you. I can’t remember. That’s so weird! I hate when that happens,” the girl continued, despite his silence. Her voice began to carry in the room, despite the music. She was starting to draw attention.

  “I doubt it,” he whispered, focused intently on the band, or really on anything that wasn’t the girl.

  “You’re an actor, right? Or a model. Yeah, that’s it. I think I’ve seen you in a magazine. GQ? I could never forget a face like yours. Ha ha!” she cackled, her laugh somehow finding an octave even higher than her voice. />
  Morgan could feel the tone of the room begin to shift towards his new friend and him, so he finally faced her. He lowered his head and gazed at her. For the briefest of moments, she was taken aback by his change in attitude, and by his forwardness. Despite the slight sway given to her by the cheap drinks, she locked eyes with him, unable to look away. Her surprise faded into a liquid passion that seemed to flow directly from his cold eyes into every inch of her body. A heat began to rise within her, and she was desperate to hear him speak.

  “Miss…what’s your name?” Morgan whispered.

  “Samantha…” the word trickled out of her lips, despite the fact she couldn’t wait to get it out. She wanted to give him more. She wanted to give him everything, but her body wouldn't let her.

  “Miss Samantha, I want you to listen to me. It’s been real nice knowing you. I mean, chatting with you. But I’d like very much if you walked out that door, back to your apartment, and never came back here. Why don’t you wait for me there?”

  “OK…I’m at the tower on Sunset and Vine.”

  “Beautiful. Now go on. I'll see you there.”

  “OK,” she exhaled, exasperated. The emotion on her face changed. She became visibly upset at the idea of pulling herself away. On the other hand, as bad as she wanted to stay with him, she wanted to please him even more. The way to do that was to do exactly as he said. So as much as it pained her, she removed herself from the barstool and left. She didn't even look back over her shoulder. She couldn't- she was consumed with a new purpose, and as simple as it seemed, she wanted nothing more than to accomplish her task.

  Morgan didn’t watch her go. It was a skill he’d perfected over many years, and he knew it would work. It was especially effective on a human like that, to the point of being foolproof. She would give herself willingly, regardless of his power. He did not need to do much more than give her the suggestion. There were certain others that could resist his effect- vamps specifically were immune. Humans that could guard against it were few and far between. In fact, he had yet to meet one in Los Angeles.

  The girl and her voice gone, Morgan tried once again to lose himself in the music. The rest of the room had long since forgotten about him. He figured it was the darkness of the space. In the shadows, everyone looked so much the same, even if his height and lithe frame made him stand out slightly. On the other hand, how could he be certain that they had ever stared at him at all? The hunger welled within him once again, and he realized it had never left. It was a curse that altered his perception. In some ways, it made him more aware of his surroundings. Sometimes, when it was bad enough, it just made things confused, and the humans began to look only like threats or food.

  Just a little bit longer, he thought. He wasn’t ready to give in, despite the way the room had shifted around him. If it wasn’t that girl taking the moment away from him, it was his own possessed body. It was one thing to be lost in the moment. It was another thing entirely to lose control. Morgan desired only the former, and was entirely sick of the latter. Unfortunately, it was a cycle that repeated itself every evening.

  The song ended, and the guitarist and presumably the frontman of the band stepped up to the microphone. “Thanks for coming out tonight. We’re gonna do one more song. If you like it, well, we don’t have any CDs or anything, but you can see us next week at the Viper…”

  There was no more music, and no more reason for Morgan to stay. He could deny his hunger no longer, but the Tap Hotel was not where he would make his hunting grounds. Familiarity provided comfort and safety for the moment. However, if he stuck around the same place for too long, people might start to get suspicious. There was no need to make friends or enemies- it was better for everyone if they all remained strangers.

  5

  Leftover

  Morgan took more steps to deny the voice of the demon than anyone else in his condition. The others gave him some grief for it, but no one knew the true extent of his personal struggle. He didn’t care. Besides, he was older than most of them, whether they realized it or not. He had been down the road of giving in and completely losing control. It wasn’t freeing, it was painful.

  Instead, Morgan opted for someone else to do his dirty work for him. Humans had evolved in the same way. Why would they kill a cow themselves, when they could just go to a steakhouse? Of course, he didn’t have that exact luxury. But he had the next best thing: access to a supply and a selection almost as good as the grocery store.

  He should have walked east when he left the Coven. He’d be halfway to the hospital by now if he did, at the only expense of missing the show. Oh well. Instead, Morgan now walked back up the hill to Sunset to find a cab. It seemed like only a few years ago they were plentiful, even annoying, and could be located even on side streets. Now, it was only main intersections. Everyone somehow was still able to come and go as they pleased- into black cars that came to them instead of the other way around. It was a trick that Morgan had not taken the time to learn, or cared to.

  He stood on the street corner, his hand out. He didn’t get funny looks exactly, but he did end up with more attention than he liked. The advantage was he no longer needed to compete with anyone else for a cab’s attention.

  After a couple of minutes, a beat up yellow Ford pulled up. The light box on the top of the car showed two blondes, covered up only by the name of the club they were promoting. Seemed like a nice enough place, and they clearly spared no expense on their advertising budget. He filed the name of it away for another time. He opened the door and sat in the back.

  “Where?” the man in the front said, his voice muffled behind the plastic divider.

  “Sunset and Vermont, please,” Morgan said into the speaker box as he lowered his window. The car had a peculiar aroma, and for a moment, it made him forget about his hunger. He rolled his window down in an attempt to flush it out.

  “You are going to the hospital?” the driver asked with an edge to his voice.

  “Sunset and Vermont, please,” Morgan responded in his same calm tone.

  “Alright, fine, no need to talk to the driver, that’s all I am, just the driver.”

  Morgan had spent enough of his time in pointless conversation and did not feel the need to respond. Besides, the feeling in his gut was beginning to take over. He tried to focus on the blurred neon signs that flew by and the buildings attached to them. Instead, his eyes kept pulling back to the people on the street. Drunk, lively, bored, sad, homeless. Sunset was full of them, and he began to think that maybe he had waited too long. The cab driver was lucky that the scent of his cab was so… off putting, or Morgan might have ended his shift early.

  Fortunately, the distance to the hospital was short, and the taxi arrived sooner than he thought. He brightened the driver’s outlook on life with a tip, and the car sped off.

  Ambulance sirens made Sacred Heart louder than normal. What night was it? Saturday? Morgan supposed it made sense, but the action of the evening wasn’t helping his condition. An ambulance screamed across the driveway and stopped maybe a few inches short of the sliding glass door. The back doors of the van flew open and the staff pulled a stretcher out. The man on it was pale, but his clothes and the bed and the floor were bright red and it became all that Morgan could smell. He gritted his teeth until he felt as though they might crack. This wasn’t the time to lose it. He was close, so close.

  Morgan stood stationary for a moment. He looked away from the action, towards the building, away, up at the hills. But there was no escaping the smell. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  The emergency room was packed to the brim. At least he didn’t have to take a number like everyone inside. Still, it meant the front door was out of the question. Instead, he went around back where he would draw less attention. Jeremy’s eyes went wide when he saw Morgan coming.

  “Evening, Jeremy,” Morgan said as he pulled out a banded roll of cash. “Busy night you’re having, isn’t it?” he began to flip through the bills.

  Je
remy stared at the money and caught himself licking his lip. “Look, uh, I’m sorry. Tonight’s not a good night, OK? I’m real sorry.”

  “What do you mean, ‘tonight’s not a good night?’” Morgan raised his voice, but it was still much more reasonable than the one that rose within him. “We have a deal, Jeremy.”

  “I know! I know. It’s out of my hands, OK? We’re out.”

  “What do you mean, you’re out?”

  “That’s it, OK? Out, we’ve got a blood shortage. They’re trying to get me to give, for God’s sake.”

  Jeremy’s scrubs would indicate that he was a medical professional, perhaps one that was actually concerned with the wellbeing of the rest of the human race. Morgan knew this to be untrue, and had proven it time and time again through his weekly exchange of cash for bags of blood.

  “Don’t give me excuses, Jeremy, I need you to hold up your end of the deal,” Morgan said as he closed the gap between them. “Now.”

  “That’s just it though, there’s nothing left for me to give you, I’m not holding out.”

  “You’re going to make me lose my temper, Jeremy.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, we’re gonna have a big drive, it’s gonna be all over T.V. We’re gonna have so much.”

  “When?”

  “Next week.”

  The two stared at each other for a moment, one in fear, one in anger. They both thought the same thing: Morgan held Jeremy’s entire fate in his hands. He could end the man’s life in less than a second, or prolong it, make it hurt, depending on how he was feeling. Right now he seethed with anger, but Morgan hadn’t quite lost his sense of reason. He couldn’t kill the miserable whelp. If he did, he might as well be cutting off his own supply line.

  “I don’t appreciate your tone with me. If I don’t get my supply, you don’t get yours, either,” Morgan said, emotionless, and turned his back to leave.

  “No, you wouldn’t do that, would you? Please,” Jeremy got on his knees and put his hands up, “it wasn’t my fault…I need it. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat…”