Blood Moon (Vampire Vigilante 1)

For example, when the alpha invites you to his back room for a post-fist-and-sword-fight round of tequila shots, you say yes. You say yes, because you still need information about dead bodies that had their faces chewed off. The back room smelled of our mingled sweat and blood, and tequila, of course. Kind of hot, not gonna lie. Guys like Damien, this was their language. It was how they communicated: cocktails, blood, karate chops.

“Shit’s smooth, isn’t it?” Damien lowered his eyes at me, waiting for my approval.

“Yeah,” I said, ignoring the way the salt, lime, and alcohol were burning at the split in my lip. “Good stuff.”

He turned to Gil, who sat in a corner, fuming with his arms folded. “Shot?”

Gil shook his head, somehow both a grumpy teenager and a disapproving parent all at once. “For the last time, no. We’re just here with questions, Damien, and now that the blood trial’s over – ”

“I got it, I got it. I told you what I knew, and I told you what my people knew. They said so themselves. There’s no talk of this being a wolf problem. You should know better, Gil. We don’t eat people. We don’t eat faces.”

Gil shot me a glare that said “I fucking told you.” I shrugged apologetically, staring at the bottom of my shot glass, wishing he’d stop burning a hole in my forehead.

Damien had let us speak to a few of his wolves on the way back into the Dead Dog. The atmosphere had changed just a hair. There was a grudging respect from the others, not necessarily any sort of friendliness, just a bar full of people who were very politely honoring the code of the blood trial. The fight had taken a lot of the fizz out of my system as well. I didn’t feel like being as much of a jerk anymore. Is that what you call growth? You’d think I’d learn a few things after too many decades of unlife.

“My bad,” I said, speaking to Damien, but looking to Gil hopefully. “We wanted to investigate every angle, and it’s silly thinking back now, but we were stumped, you know? And clearly, we still are. What creature goes around eating faces, and only faces? It doesn’t make sense.”

Damien shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me. These are dark times, man. If you ask me, I’d chalk this up to some magic. The evil kind.”

“What make you say that exactly?” Gil said, narrowing his eyes.

Damien chuckled. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just buzzed. Maybe the adrenaline’s still in my system. Is it supposed to hang around that long?” He slapped me on the back, nearly knocking my teeth out. “You got me all riled up, bloodsucker. Put up a good fight back there.”

I rubbed at the sore spot on my shoulder where his hand had struck me. “We really needed your input, so I had to make good. Um. Sorry I was such a huge dick about it.”

Damien laughed again. “It was entertaining, if nothing else. Garm’s Fang hasn’t been fed in a long time, either, so that was nice.”

The sword hadn’t been returned to its home, which was apparently the underside of the back room’s coffee table. It was propped up in a corner, pulsing menacingly with green light, flecks of my blood still running along its edge. I ran my fingers along the tear in my shirt, relieved to find that the wound was already closing up. Speedy physical regeneration was probably one of the best vampiric perks. It was the least the curse could do for inflicting us with an unquenchable thirst for blood. Speaking of which –

“You know, about feeding,” I said, scratching the side of my jaw. “I’m wondering if you know of any types in town who, you know, would be willing to donate.”

Damien held a finger up as he chugged his beer. My fingers dug into the leather of the couch as I watched the lump in his throat bob, sliding under sweaty skin. I tore my gaze away, licking my lips. Gil coughed pointedly. Damien slammed his empty beer bottle on the table, belching in satisfaction.

“I’m shocked you’re asking. Don’t your types just take blood when you need it? You know, ambush someone in a dark alley, drop out of a tree?”

I stared at him in puzzlement. How did he guess? Dropping out of trees was my move. “I’m trying this thing where I don’t take blood by force anymore, unless it’s appropriate. You know, some guy tries to stake me through the heart, so I subdue him and drink his blood a little, that kind of thing.”

“He does thralls now,” Gil said. “Willing donors. Vamps are evolving, Damien. Sterling’s a colossal pain in my ass, but he tries. It’s why I give him a chance. It’s why I give vampires a chance, infuriating as they can be.”

I ventured a smile, but Gil just rolled his eyes away from me.

“Truth is, I don’t really subscribe to this whole rivalry,” Damien said, slinging his arm across the back of the couch. “I mainly keep up appearances because it’s what my people expect of me. Kind of sad, I know. But you won’t find any willing donors here, Sterling, not in my bar at least. Not in my pack. Humans around Silveropolis? Maybe. But I don’t know how you’d even broach the subject.”

Gil grunted. “Same way he always does. Act a fool and start a fistfight.”

I clenched my fingers, studiously ignoring Gil’s snipes. “I’ll have to work something out, then, and soon. I can’t keep up my strength without feeding.”

Damien shrugged. “At least you’ve got your sword. Damn thing knocked a tooth out, and that was just the sheath.”

“The katana’s super strong, a gift from a god. Divine steel. I guess the scabbard must be divine wood. Sorry about the tooth. Your sword, though, that’s something, too. Are magical artifacts even that common around here?”

He glanced over at Garm’s Fang, beaming with all the pride of a parent. “I had that forged to order, but not here. You’d be hard pressed to find a local enchanter. Which isn’t to say that magic doesn’t live in Silveropolis. We’ve got our own legends, couple of myths.” He snapped the top off another beer, chuckling. “Who knows what you’ll find in these parts, eh?”

I reached for a lime wedge when I caught myself staring at his throat again, anything to distract myself from the thirst. “I’ve heard about something called the Filigreed Masque. Ever heard of it?”

Damien tapped the side of his beer bottle with his fingernail, clinking as he examined his thoughts. “You know, I think I have. Really old thing, right? This used to be a mining town, and someone got their hands on some silver wire and made this magical mask.”

“This is the first I’m hearing of this,” Gil said.