When Vincent accompanied his people through the gates of Sanctuary Hope, he was already a dead man. The three-hundred meters tall, limestone entrance felt like walking into an ancient tomb, flanked by monstrous escarpments he’d ordered his people through. He’d forced them to comply with the governor’s evacuation process, knowing full well their hearts were heavy with grief and vampires lurked within the city. That the hunters wouldn’t be able to eradicate them. Worse yet, one member of their group would have to enter into the sponsorship program.
Little had they known it would be their leader.
With his mind set on autopilot, all Vincent cared about was saving his people. To give them the life they deserved—the life he had neglected to give his wife and children. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose now. If he never got to see the others again, if they wished him dead and spat on his grave once they found out, Vincent would endure his captivity knowing they were safe.
“Maddox Caine…?” he repeated, as if digesting the words. They didn’t sound at all right to him.
The leader of Sanctuary Hope was his sponsor? He had only ever heard Maddox speak on the radio, never witnessed his face, not even before the Collapse. Yet he certainly hadn’t expected the governor to participate in the slavery program—the one in which he promulgated.
What had Vincent expected? Rainbows and fucking unicorns?
He was alone in the hospital room again. Asher had gone to finalize the signed contract, and he didn’t return for another hour. He carried a plastic garment bag and a new pair of fancy shoes. Two of his assistants, one male and one female, both dressed in bottle-green auxiliary scrubs, had washed Vincent. Groomed him. Plucked his eyebrows, his nostrils, and even manicured his fingernails. When the black suit had been presented, Vincent felt like a swine fattened up for the slaughter.
Perhaps he would taste better that way.
More hours passed until Asher surfaced again and escorted Vincent from the infirmary. The sun had been replaced by the moon, and the inky-black sky, leaden with endless stars, blinked down at him. Asher steered Vincent into a luscious garden brimming with endless rows of orchids, hibiscus, and roses. All of them white. To his left, there was the Procurement Center where they processed the arrivals—where Vincent had been given an application form for the program. Abraham and Joseph had snubbed theirs without even a glance.
He did not, however, recognize the building overshadowing the rear of the garden. A towering skyscraper, shimmering under the moonlight, captured his vision. There wasn’t a soul in sight. No guards, curfew officers, and certainly no trace of Maddox Caine, the faceless savior Vincent had only ever heard about but never witnessed. He had been with his hunters when the governor brought aid and, after being hoisted into a convoy, he hadn’t seen anyone except the same guard who watched over the quarantine units.
Vincent had expected the city to be consumed by propaganda. Billboards, posters, photographs of the governor’s face. But instead, Hope was a paradise separated from the rest of the world. The dry lands were practically another dimension from the tall, uniformed housing that lined the pristine sidewalks. The buildings all contained enormous enclosed front and back yards, both of which were filled with flowers, outdoor toys, and patches of fresh agriculture. Similarly, the commercial rooftops, he had been informed, also had accessible gardens used for growth.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d tasted a fruit or vegetable. They had been non-existent to him for the best part of six years. To his utter disgust, he could see why survivors opted to live in the Sanctuary Cities. The walls protected them from the actuality outside, blinded them to reality, and afforded the luxury of not fighting for their lives every damn day.
But a life of decadence and safety had an expensive price to pay. Most of the residents had at least one family member enlisted in the sponsorship program.
Inside the building, a young girl with long, flowing red hair guarded the lone reception desk. She did not look up to greet the visitors, apparently too engrossed in filing her nails. Asher had them climb several stairs and press into an elevator made of solid gold. Vincent pushed inside after him, and the nauseating opera music made him want to vomit. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had heard the sound of music. He wanted to claw his eyes out.
Not long passed until the doors pinged on the top floor, and Asher ushered him out again.
“This is where I leave you,” he said and pivoted on his heel without a second look. “Good luck, Hudson.”
“You think I need it?”
Asher offered no return.
Vincent watched the elevator doors slide over, and he found himself alone. The hallway was darker than the rest of the building had been. Also considerably colder. A chill swept over Vincent as his reflection stretched across the mosaic tiles. Standing in the hallway wasn’t going to do him any good. He had obviously been taken to his sponsor—hand delivered to him like some dog—and must confront his fate sooner or later. The quicker he accepted his new life, the better.
Several steps later, he approached a long, ebony door in the middle of a shapeless hallway. No door handle or bell, merely the rich woodwork, intricately carved, and a chrome plaque nailed to the wall. The elegant scripture read: Without hope, we eat with the wolves.
Vincent swallowed and raised an arm to knock, but the hinges cracked open, and a faint slither of light bled through the gap. Creeping over the threshold, he surveyed his surroundings for any potential threats. His heart clenched. What he saw was worse.
The penthouse consisted of intricate floor-to-ceiling windows, a breath-taking skyline view, countless marble statues, and an elegant dining table laden for two. Both chairs at either side and two elegant dinner plates—one displaying Michelin-star food, and the other empty.
Surely his sponsor did not expect them to dine together?
He heard no movements from inside so he pressed on. A heady mixture of expensive wine and freshly cut flowers invaded his senses. He spied the white roses on the center of the table, along with the ice and champagne, extravagant candelabra, and glittering silverware. There was no doubt in his mind his sponsor wished to dine with him. He just had no idea why.
He approached the table with slow, watchful strides. He brushed his fingers over the objects, testifying that he had not, in fact, stumbled into a dream.
Then somebody spoke and shattered the silence.
“I believe you to be early, Vincent. I admire that.”
Vincent’s world came to a cutting halt, and he froze on the spot. His head rotated to where the voice had emanated, and there, by the window, half shrouded in shadows, stood the creature. Ever so slightly, its deathly pale lips tilted to the side, and its sharp canines glinted. Refined features, immaculately pressed, navy pinstripe suit, and diaphanous blond hair, spelled out one creature and one creature only.
Vampire.
His sponsor was a…a fucking vampire?
A vampire was the governor of Sanctuary Hope?
Memories stabbed at Vincent’s skull and robbed him of his vision. That, and the thick stench of the bloodsucker creeping into his nostrils and throat. It was like blood sprayed over copper that had been left out in the rain. The comparison stemmed from Vincent’s first kill, when at sixteen he had beheaded a bloodsucker and watched its insides piss over a burst drainpipe in his home state of Colorado Springs.
There was no denying the governor’s true identity. The fetor of vampire decay had been mild in the air, yes, and to most the odor would have only been mildly present, but not to a Dusk Hunter. The vampire’s scent was so overpowering that he fought the urge to gag.
“What the fuck do you want?” Vincent spat, clenching his hands into tight fists. His pulse thrashed in his ears, and his muscles contracted, but he would not give the vampire the satisfaction of seeing him panic.
“You despise me. I can see it now in your eyes. You are thinking about how to kill me, aren’t you? How best to slice my head off afore I reach that delectable neck of yours?” Maddox braved a step out of the shadows, and Vincent’s muscles jerked as he prepared to attack. “You will sit down. I do not wish to sully my belongings.”
Vincent remained stagnant. He had only two options now. Attack the bloodsucker and doom the rest of his group or bide his time until he contacted Cadmus.
Good things come to those who wait.
“Wise decision,” Maddox regarded as Vincent sat at the end of the table. He claimed the seat opposite him and reached for a decanter brimming with dark-red blood. “You are not a beast, and I will not be treating you as such. Do no harm, no harm will come to you or your group. Do you understand me?”
Vincent nodded. Once.
“Then let’s go over the basics, shall we?” Maddox poured a generous amount of blood into his wineglass and lifted. “You will address me as your Sir at all times. You will obey my every order. You will not question, resist, or sully any of that which I demand of you.”
Vincent’s neck stiffened at the words, but he knew better than to voice what he really wanted to say.
He had to think of his group.
“Yes… Sir.”
“Now repeat the contract rules for me. I want to see that you know your place and I needn’t remind you of it. Should I have to… Well, we will not come to that, now will we?” He took a sip from his glass, silver eyes pressed on Vincent. “Go.”
Vincent gritted his teeth. “My sponsor and I are bound for eternity.”
“Next.”
“My sponsor will decide who and what I am.”
“Next.”
“My former life no longer exists.”
“And again.”
“I am at my sponsor’s mercy; they may do with me as they see fit.”
“The last one?”
Vincent gulped, the words catching in his throat. “I must always obey my sponsor.”
Trouble was, he hadn’t known his sponsor would be a vampire.
“From now on, Vincent, your life is hinged to my own. My demands of you, my rules, are my reputation. They all rely on how you and I work together. After all, that is what Project Caine is about. It benefits the both of us.”
“Benefits? Reputation?” Vincent snarled, this time unable to restrain himself. “Your entire reputation is built on lies. Sir.”
Maddox’s gaze darkened, and his eyes narrowed into thin slivers of ice. “You see lies, Dusk Hunter, whereas I see reality. Claim of me what you will. At the end of the day, your only purpose in life is to please me.”
“Then what would please you, Sir?”
The question hung in the air, seemingly catching Maddox off-guard. For a moment, his features were unchecked and his forehead wrinkled in surprise. Then just like that, he wiped his face clean of emotion.
“Why, to satiate my sinister hunger, of course.” He devoured the last droplet of blood.
Vincent chose his next words wisely. “What if I disobeyed you? What then, Sir?”
Maddox stretched up from the table and, in one invisibly swift movement, he grabbed the bucket of ice. Vincent watched him pour the wine into a tall crystal glass, the contents, thankfully, white.
“I will never raise a hand to you, for I have no such desire. Should you disobey me, however, I will ensure your group is left with nothing. Every decision you make from here on will dictate your quality of life. Please me, you and your group will live like Gods. Similarly, displease me at any given moment, I will treat you all like the slave you claim to be. Their fate lies in your hands, just like yours lies within mine.”
He prowled toward Vincent, extended the glass, and the air between them thickened.
Vincent eyed the object with utter disdain. He could see his own reflection staring back at him, on the brink of destruction, and yet the vampire’s reflection remained to be seen.
While their reflections were known to shimmer against glass objects, the wineglass displayed nothing, which meant one thing.
Maddox Caine was a First Born vampire. An ancient. The worst of his kind.
He shot his hand out and smacked the object from Maddox. The glass shattered against the wall and puddled on the ornate floor.
Revenge sprang Vincent forward, barreling him into Maddox with every fiber of his being.
Their bodies collided and tumbled onto the floor.
Vincent grabbed on to Maddox’s windpipe and clenched his fingers.
The vampire afforded him a dry smile, though no signs of discomfort arose. If anything, he appeared to be enjoying it; his fangs sliced over his bottom lip, and his cheeks spread into a manic smile.
Vincent pressed down harder, his thighs straddling the beast, but no matter how fervently he strangled him, the vampire did not appear to weaken. He tackled a different weakness instead and seized one of his arms. He twisted the limb behind his back and held him in a practiced hold.
“I know what you are!” Vincent’s saliva spat through the air, landing on Maddox’s neck. “I’ve been hunting you scum my entire fucking life. You think I didn’t know the moment you stepped in here? I could smell you like a pile of shit dumped out in the sun. You repulse me.”
The body underneath him remained motionless. Then, after a sigh: “Are you quite finished, Vincent? I hadn’t done speaking yet.”
Vincent glared at the back of his skull with long-lashed hatred. “Don’t you understand? I could kill you. Right here, right now, I could snap your neck like a twig and rip your head off before you could even blink, and there ain’t a damn thing you could do about it, you piece of shit.”
He tightened his hold again, and something popped. He had snapped the vampire’s wrist, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to hear him scream, beg, wail for him to stop. Then, as quickly as the longing surfaced, their roles were reversed.
Maddox pinned Vincent to the wall and twisted his arm behind his back. His hot breath rushed down Vincent’s neck, and pain stabbed at his skull.
“Now that you have made your motives quite clear, how about I confess my own?”
Vincent’s eyes rolled to the side, his teeth grinding against the pain.
With a smile, Maddox rotated his broken wrist, and the bone snapped back into place. He didn’t even fucking blink.
“You are going to sit over there and enjoy the nice meal I had prepared for you, then you will listen to every word I have to say. Remember your decisions merely reflect how you, and your group, will be treated within my city. Now sit the fuck back down, or I will drag you over there and you will regret it.”
Vincent’s eyes latched on to Maddox like a feral beast, just waiting for the moment to pounce again. But the word group kept him at bay. He wanted revenge but he’d have to think of a better way to get it.
“Now, where was I?” Maddox dusted an elegant hand down his suit. “Oh, yes. Sit. Back. Down!”