Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gabriel looked up, meeting Harry’s worried look as the messenger closed the door behind him and moved toward him. “I got the intel you asked for,” Harry said, handing him a thumb drive as if it were contraband. And maybe it was, in a way. It was background information on a mark, and not just any mark, but the mark that was after Angela Clemens. More specifically, it was information on all of his victims.
“Thank you Harry. I owe you one.”
Harry shook his head, smiling. “You don’t owe me anything, boss. I’m just doing my job.” He turned and left the room quietly, again closing the door behind him.
Gabriel watched him leave, then turned his attention to the small piece of technology in his fingers. He flipped it over slowly in his hand, watching the overhead light play on the metal. He’d broken at least fifty rules to acquire it. Cain may be aware of what he was doing, but in running this search, Gabe had officially taken on a job that wasn’t his, he’d allowed a member of his clan to trespass into another clan’s district, and he’d involved yet another member of his clan in gathering the intel. If the sovereigns found out what he was up to, he would be out of a job. And probably worse.
But what was on here was vital. It was all the information any of the clans had managed to gather on the Apex now roaming free in Monsters territory. Gabriel turned to his computer and inserted the drive, opening the file.
Quietly, the Vega clan leader read. As he did, his fingers tightened on the mouse until it threatened to crack. He glanced at it in irritation and let up on his grip. But returning his attention to the file did not improve his mood. Tension rode through him, turning his blood to a soup of adrenaline and testosterone.
“Shit.” His hopes sank, and his stomach morphed to lead.
Every single one of the Apex’s vics had been a scumbag. From his very first kill here in San Francisco, his victims all had histories and rap sheets: Child pornography, cruelty to animals, aggravated rape, assault and battery, armed robbery. He kept reading. Spousal abuse, dog fighting rings, stalking, burglary. It went on and on. Not a single one of them had been a decent human being before death.
Gabriel ran his hands over his face and swore over and over again into the muffling sanctity of his palms. This was the worst intel he’d come across so far with the Apex. The absolute worst. Because the Apex was after Angel, and this right here was Angel’s greatest weakness. She wanted to make the world a better, safer place. Getting rid of the bad guys made that happen. The Apex was fulfilling her greatest wish and she didn’t even know it.
But a horrible, terrible feeling had him pulling up another, separate file from the more dated folders on his computer. This file was password protected and encrypted. He went through the veritable tollbooths of electronic security and opened the file.
This was everything the Vega clan possessed on Angela Clemens and the attack on her fifteen years ago. Gabe had never really looked at it because she’d successfully managed to kill the vampire who attacked her. But he’d been a dutiful second-in-command at the time, and he’d followed protocol to the letter, making certain the fact finders in the clan had the incident thoroughly researched and logged. Once that was finished, he’d tucked the file away safe and sound without giving it another thought. He was simply grateful that Angel would never again have to pay it any attention.
In here, he would find information on the vampire and on each of his victims.
Gabriel readied himself, taking a deep breath before he read the information on the vampire. One Dmitri Voronin, age unknown, origins unknown. However, it was decided he was not one of the Offspring. Whether he was a member of The Fallen or Cain’s Children was unknown.
There were three kinds of vampires in the Storyteller’s universe, or rather three that anyone was yet aware of. They were broken into categories based on their origins. Vampires who were the literal offspring of Akyri and warlocks were called Offspring. Roman D’Angelo was one such vampire.
Vampires who were said to be descended from those created by the ancient Azrael, one of the five fabled "Nephilim," were called The Fallen. The Nephilim were a handful of mythical beings said to have appeared on Earth two thousand years ago, all possessing different powers. Azrael had been the only vampire among them.
And Cain’s Children were those who fell into the line of humans turned blood-sucker by vampires who followed the notorious and legendary Cain. As in Cain, of the mythical ancient vampire brothers, Cain and Abel.
The only line Gabriel was really certain of was the Offspring line. The other two, he likened to myth and not much more. No further evidence of the existence of Azrael or the original Cain and Abel had been discovered or proven, and it didn’t matter anyway. Just as it didn’t matter which pack a werewolf came from, a vampire was a vampire. Regardless of their origins or allegiances, they all possessed the same strengths and weaknesses.
So this information was useless to Gabriel. But his body stiffened when he opened the document containing the information on the first of Dmitri’s victims. His gaze darkened as he read. With a clenched jaw, he opened the second victim’s document. Then the third.
With a mounting sense of doom, he opened every last form for each of Voronin’s targets, except the last, which was Michael Clemens. Clemens had been Angel’s boyfriend, and the reason for his death was obvious, so no further research was necessary.
But by the time Gabe had finished reading, he was sitting straight-backed and fuming in his chair, and fire burned through his veins. His guts were twisted, his teeth were clenched. And he knew – he just knew – his instincts were right.
The patterns of Dmitri Voronin’s murders and the current Apex murders were nearly identical. There was a tight generalized area, the victims were all criminals , and the killings were violent but swift. There was no drawn-out torture, no evidence of psychopathic serial-killer agendas. The victims were simply drained entirely.
Except Michael, Gabe thought.
With that thought, his sense of horror deepened. His hand shook very slightly as he moved the mouse over the file containing the background information for Michael Clemens. He’d been investigated thoroughly, just like everyone else on this screen. But Gabriel had never had cause or desire to look. It had seemed too personal an invasion.
Now he clicked the file open. Line by line, inch by inch, he read who and what Michael Clemens was. His chest grew tight. His lungs didn’t want to expand all the way.
Never in his life had he felt more torn.
Michael Clemens was Angel’s one true love. His death at the hands of a vampire had set her on a vampire-hating path that she’d never fully managed to venture away from. She’d made progress, but there was still distrust there. There remained a prejudice, however deep and hidden, just as there always did when someone was wronged by another.
But Angel had thought Michael was a good man. She could not have been more wrong.
Michael Dillon Clemens had once been a very dangerous man. According to his file, he’d spearheaded countless smuggling operations, and had more than a few powerful political figures in his pockets. He’d owned four mansions in three separate states in the US, one in the UK, one in Rome, and penthouses in Tokyo and Hong Kong. He was linked to the mafia of several different countries, and most horrifying of all, Clemens headed one of the largest underground human trafficking rings in the world.
Somehow, despite a poor upbringing, he’d managed this dark empire by the age of thirty. To Gabriel, that smelled of dark magic. But there was no mention of Clemens having been a mage, much less a warlock, in the file. Of course, there wouldn’t be. He hadn’t been investigated in that light because he’d been Dmitri’s victim.
Clemens apparently also had a taste for beautiful things, material and otherwise. His reputation with women was one of a violent lover with a short attention span. He left women in his wake by the dozens. This apparently changed when at the age of thirty-four, he met Angela Ortega.
A few months later, on the night he planned to propose to Angela, he was killed by Dmitri in a staged motorcycle accident that ended so bloody, a closed casket funeral was necessary.
Gabriel closed all of the files, stared at the screen for a few blank, silent moments, and then put his face in his hands. “Fuck!” he bellowed.
Then he lowered his hands, shoved himself up from his desk and let some of his rage slip out by pacing back and forth in his office. He knew the Vega wardens outside in the safe house had probably heard him swear. But they wouldn’t dare bother him. They’d better not.
He had no choice now; he had to take action. Angel was in danger, but not for her life. If his hunch was correct, the Apex out there was Dmitri Voronin. He’d somehow survived the poisoning Angel had given him. And was Gabriel really surprised? No. After all, neither of them had actually seen the vampire pass away. He’d fallen from that bridge in New York and vanished. It was entirely possible he’d had a Plan B in place for just such an event: A werewolf waiting in the shadows to save him and turn him at the same time.
If that was true and it was him, then they were up against a hell of a lot more than they’d thought. Dmitri Voronin was ancient. Gabriel knew because Voronin had been his mark fifteen years ago. He was said to have arisen around the same time as, if not before, both Cain and Azrael. Whether those two were real or not, Dmitri certainly was. And Gabe honestly didn’t know whether any of them were a match for the man.
But if he wasn’t stopped, Dmitri would have Angel turned by the end of the week. It was clearly all he wanted. It was clearly the only moral line he was willing to cross.
All this time, he hadn’t actually been the bad guy. And if Angel found that out – if she learned about his victims, especially Michael – she would cave. It would be the last straw that broke her will to defy Voronin.
Gabriel closed his eyes and hung his head as he pulled his phone from his pocket and found the phone number for the leader of the Monsters clan. After a few seconds to calm himself enough that the fire left his eyes and his nails reverted to their normal length, he tapped on the number and put the phone to his ear.