After Dark Read online

  “Yes, sir,” Damon replied.

  Sergeant James frowned. “You want to explain to me how the hell that happened, operative?”

  Damon dug his fingers into the armrests of his chair. At the moment, there were very few things he wanted less to tell the Sergeant about than his failure to follow code and his misconceptions. He really hoped it was a rhetorical question.

  No such luck.

  The Sergeant banged his fist on his desk and glared at Damon. “Answer me, operative.”

  Damon inhaled a deep breath. “I received misleading information, sir. I was under the impression that the vampire at large, Caius Argyros Dermokaites, was responsible for the spread of the virus, and as a result I sought his death. I was mistaken.”

  The Sergeant shook his head as if Damon blew it on a regular basis when it came to protocol. In truth, never once had Damon been admonished for a protocol infraction. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was play by the E.U. rules.

  “From whom did you receive this faulty information, operative?”

  Damon fought to keep his face impassive. “An outside informant, sir.”

  “And who is this outside informant, operative?”

  “A family member of a former E.U. operative who is highly knowledgeable about the current vampire situation in Rochester, sir.”

  The Sergeant let out a long sigh. “Dear God, Brock. This doesn’t have anything to do with Operative Solow’s sister, the one you always daydreamed over, does it?”

  Damon didn’t respond. There was no point. The Sergeant had busted him more than once for reading Tiffany’s letters over and over when he should have had his mind on his training.

  Damon heard steps behind him.

  Oh, no.

  Tiffany stood behind his chair, posture perfectly straight and confident as she smiled at the Sergeant through the screen. “That would be me you’re talking about, sir, and yes, Operative Solow was my older brother.”

  The Sergeant appraised Tiffany. “Your brother was a good hunter, Miss Solow, and from what I hear you seem to be following in his footsteps, becoming quite the freelance huntress yourself. Perhaps if the Execution Underground ever allows women to join I’ll contact you.”

  Tiffany grinned from ear to ear. “Thank you, sir. I’d like that very much.”

  “Brock!” the Sergeant barked. “What is the fine young woman doing with your sorry ass?”

  Damon opened his mouth, but Tiffany spoke first. “With all due respect, sir, the misconception was my mistake. I overheard Caius speaking on the phone about something spreading throughout the vampires in Washington State and how it was following suit here. I assumed it to be the virus.”

  The Sergeant paused and looked over his paperwork. “From what we’ve heard from our division in Seattle, there appears to be some sort of vampire governmental organization forming, a whole separate can of worms from this viral issue. The shit is about to hit the fan with these bloodsuckers. We need to get this under control as soon as possible.” He folded his hands and leaned toward the camera. “This is what’s going to happen, Operative Brock. With her consent, and since her place in Caius Argyros Dermokaites’s inner circle means that she will be expected to maintain contact with his subordinates, Miss Solow will wear a tracking device that will lead us to the local vampire nest. Our best plan of action is to learn from the inside who is responsible for the spread of this virus, destroy as many of these monsters as we can and scatter their organization. I’m rushing in a team of hunters who will be under your command in this mission. Is that understood?”

  Damon nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  The Sergeant looked at Tiffany. “Miss Solow, do you agree to act as an extension of the Execution Underground on this occasion and uphold all the same oaths as a true member of the organization agrees to, including putting your life on the line to save those of innocent civilians?”

  “I do,” she replied.

  The Sergeant gave a single nod. “That is all, then. Operative Brock, your team will be there in three hours.” He pointed a finger at Damon. “Don’t fuck this up, Brock. And hurry up and build your permanent division. I want to get in the request to create your division before the shit hits the fan with all these supernaturals crawling around your city. If anything goes wrong with this vampire raid, H.Q. will blow off the request until these damn bloodsuckers are taken care of, and I don’t want to risk innocent lives because you didn’t do your job. So choose your permanent team and then prep for the raid.” Without another word, the Sergeant logged off.

  Damon released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and slumped into his chair. Really? Pick his team now? A video had gone viral—bringing way too much attention to his city—somewhere out there a rogue vampire was hell-bent on spreading an infectious bloodsucker disease, he was expected to use Tiffany as a means of locating said psycho vamp, and yet the Sergeant wanted him to waste valuable time scanning résumés?

  He let out a groan. Whether it made sense to him or not, an order was an order.

  Tiffany placed her hands on his shoulders. “Are they all like that?”

  Damon shook his head. “No, that’s just the Sergeant. He’s an ex-Navy SEAL commander turned E.U. hunter after his granddaughter got killed by werewolves.”

  “Oh, wow.” Tiffany released him and stepped toward the door. She paused. “And what’s this about you daydreaming of me?”

  Leaning his elbows onto his knees, Damon rested his face in his hands. “I can’t believe he mentioned that.”

  Tiffany laughed as she leaned against the door frame. “Well, since you have very little time before a group of vampire hunters starts knocking on your door...” She stood as straight as possible and pointed an accusing finger at Damon. Twisting her face into a scowl, she mimicked the Sergeant. “I suggest you get your worthless behind to work, operative!” she yelled.

  Damon leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “Fine. But I’ll never get any work done with you in here taunting me.”

  Tiffany crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “All right. I can take a hint, but get to work.”

  She left the room, and Damon watched as her deliciously round behind and hips swayed down the hall. He got up and closed the door so he wouldn’t go chasing after her, slam her against the nearest wall and take her hard. Clenching his hands on the desk, he thought about what lay ahead of him. Another raid with him as leader? Was he prepared to do that again, so soon after Mark’s death?

  So many things could backfire. Though they did have one advantage this time, which they hadn’t had previously: an informant inside the nest.

  He didn’t like the idea of Tiffany going into a nest of vampires alone, but what other choice did they have? There was no other way for them to track the nest, and the vamps weren’t stupid enough to allow her to bring an outsider with her. It was the only way.

  As much as he could, he pushed his worries aside. There were too many things he needed to do.

  He typed in his security codes, and within seconds Chris’s face greeted him from the monitor.

  “Hey, Damon. How’s it go—”

  Damon met Chris’s eyes. “Do you have the résumés the Sergeant asked me to go over?”

  Chris spoke while he typed nonstop on his keyboard, the clicking sound of the keys forming a strange robotic rhythm. He paused and emphatically jabbed the enter key. “Done.”

  Damon’s side monitor flashed as dozens of images loaded. The faces of the finest hunters the Execution Underground offered filled the screen. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s even more than I expected.” With everything else on his plate, narrowing down this list was going to demand hours of work he couldn’t afford to spare.

  Chris cleared his throat. “And lucky for you, you have a contact at H.Q. who, despite your of
ten grouchy demeanor, has taken the liberty of assembling a program for you, so you can refine the search and avoid having to read every single profile. What would normally be two or three hours’ work has been narrowed down to less than an hour.” He pointed at himself. “And that amazing contact to whom you owe your undying gratitude is me.”

  Damon glared at Chris. “Remind me the next time I see you in person to give you a nice big kiss on the lips.”

  “Considering the mood you’re in, I’ll take that as a thank-you.” He reached forward to press the off button on his web camera. “Get to work.”

  In seconds the monitor transitioned to black.

  Utilizing his touch screen, Damon slid the images onto his main monitor and started his search. It appeared his best option was to organize the candidates by hunting specialty first, before narrowing his search in each category. He glanced over the list of supernatural groups in Rochester and their current status. He needed a lot of manpower.

  With the E.U. efforts intensely focused on N.Y.C. for years, Rochester had slipped under the radar. But now, with the N.Y.C. division finally gaining control of all their unruly boroughs, focus was shifting. Damon’s division would not only secure the city, it would do it quickly. He would make certain of it.

  First things first. Unrest in the Were community due to a possible change in packmaster.

  He typed “werewolf” into the search box and roughly twenty profiles surfaced. He started mentally listing the attributes he wanted on his team. Young, able-bodied men, either fresh out of the academy but with lots of field training or only several years seasoned.

  Though older hunters held the advantage of being wiser and more precise, he wanted to assemble a team that wouldn’t disband anytime soon. Men near his age who possessed a drive, a fire, that too often faded over the years.

  He typed in an age range and came up with three profiles, complete with photos. The emerald eyes of the hunter in the middle photo blazed with intensity.

  He pulled up the man’s stats, skimming for the important information.

  Name: Jace McCannon

  Hometown: Honeoye Falls, New York

  Specialty: Werewolf

  Experience: Three years field training

  Current location: Atlantic City, New Jersey

  * * *

  Interesting. Honeoye Falls sat right outside the city limits. McCannon was practically a Rochester native. Damon’s index finger hovered over the mouse. The hunter’s burning eyes made him wonder if the man would be resistant to following orders.

  After an extended moment of debate, he clicked the button to add the hunter to his roster. If he was unruly, Damon would whip him into shape. After all, he’d dealt with countless unruly trainees while he led raids during his field training. McCannon would listen, or Damon would send him straight back to H.Q.

  Next up: demonic possession. There were two types of demon hunters: those who could kill demons and those who could exorcise the demon from a human’s body, saving the innocent civilian. Looking at the numbers of possession reports on his sheet, he wanted somebody who could do both. He typed “Demon Hunter/Exorcist” into the system and prayed he would get a hit.

  Yes! One hit.

  Name: David Aronowitz

  Ethnic Origin: Jewish

  Hometown: Rochester, New York

  Current location: Brooklyn, New York

  *Requesting transfer near hometown for family issues

  * * *

  Perfect. Damon clicked the “add to roster” button without a second thought. No way would he pass up having a guy like that on his team.

  Next in line: newly discovered occult activity and the possible formation of a Dark Wiccan coven.

  Witches were extremely intelligent and cunning, and their relationships between covens could be immensely complex. Handling the occult wasn’t black-and-white. It required someone with a level head. Figuring out the complex dichotomies of the witching world demanded patience. He tapped his fingers on the desk. He needed someone smart.

  He narrowed the search to people with B.A. degrees or higher. The highest on the list was Shane Grey, Ph.D.

  Bingo.

  Three down, two more to go.

  * * *

  An increase in hauntings.

  For the most part ghosts, while terrifying to humans, were nonconfrontational. But an angry Poltergeist wreaked havoc and terror. Damon wagered that the many abandoned asylums of Rochester contained a shit-ton of pissed-off Polters.

  He typed in “ghosts and poltergeists.”

  A lone profile popped onto the screen. The haunted gray eyes of the hunter stared at him from the monitor. Damon could tell that some seriously traumatizing shit had passed in front of that man’s eyes. A small red flag flashed near the profile picture.

  He clicked on the flag and the screen flashed “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.” Damon raised a brow. Damaged goods weren’t generally listed. Why the hell were there so few ghost hunters? He widened the search.

  Damn. The majority of them were already assigned to the Florida Keys and Saint Augustine.

  He hit the return button to the single profile.

  Name: Ashley (Ash) Devereaux

  Current location: New Orleans, Louisiana

  *Transfer required (Post P.T.S.D.)

  * * *

  New Orleans? Now there was a city with one hell of a ghost population. He hit the add button, and hoped the guy wouldn’t freak out on him. If he was still listed after a P.T.S.D. diagnosis, then the E.U. saw something in him that went beyond his stats.

  Last one.

  Several new species of non-werewolf shifters reported.

  After entering “non-were shifters” into the search engine, he pulled up roughly ten profiles. His gaze shot to the profile of one hunter immediately. Two different colored eyes, not a common trait in anyone. Intrigued, he opened the stats.

  Name: Trent Garrison

  Experience: One year field training, two years full-time off-site operative

  Current Location: Jersey City, New Jersey

  *Transfer requested (Post-facial injury)

  He eyed the man’s features. The E.U. had yet to update his profile shot. He respected someone who fought post-injury, and since non-werewolf shifters had been rising in population over the past two years, this man had been a pioneer in the field.

  A muffled knocking sounded from the other side of the door.

  “Damon?” Tiffany called.

  He punched in the door code, and the latch clicked open.

  Tiffany stepped inside. “You’d better get a move on. We have to prepare.”

  In his mind, the walls he erected during every hunt snapped into place. A level head would be the key to the success of this raid. He would not have a repeat of Mark’s death. Come hell or high water, every member of the team the E.U. provided him with would come home safe. But his main concern, far and away more important than anything else, was ensuring Tiffany’s safety.

  He nodded. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Her eyes darted to the main monitor. “Are these the hunters you’re picking for your team?”

  He didn’t respond. Was that really what was sitting in front of him? His future team that he’d handpicked? A surreal feeling washed over him. He should have felt honored to lead an entire division, but the tight knotted feeling in his gut refused to subside. After what had happened with Mark, did he deserve to lead?

  A low whistle escaped Tiffany’s lips. “Daaanng. Are all the guys in the Execution Underground hot or what? Is that a requirement? Every single one of these dudes is frickin’ gorgeous.”

  Damon grumbled in response. What was so fantastic about the men pictured on the screen? He didn’t see it.

  Tiffany grinned as i
f she were picking out her favorite Mr. February calendar pin-up. “They’re all easy on the eyes, though I’m kind of partial to that one. He has awesome hair.” She pointed at the golden-blonde from Louisiana with the haunting eyes, and then to the werewolf hunter. “But he’s definitely my favorite.”

  He scratched his head and looked away. He tried to ignore her comments.

  “Jace McCannon,” Tiffany read from the hunter’s statistics. She bit her lower lip. “He is one fine piece of—”

  Damon hit Power-off on the monitor. The men’s faces were gone in a second. Damn. It bothered him when she even looked at other men.

  Tiffany hmphed, but a small grin crossed her face. “Jealous, much?”

  Damn right he was jealous. He was jealous of any man she found attractive, and he would shove his fist straight down the throat of any man who made a move on her. He wasn’t about to confess that, though.

  “We’d better prepare for the raid,” he said.

  He stood to leave. Before the other hunters arrived, she needed to arrange the meet-up with the vampires, and he needed to prep his weapons. Preparing their plan of entry would have to wait until she led them to the location via the tracking device.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re sexier than all of them. You’ve got the whole tortured-soul thing going on. It’s in your eyes. Women love that.” Without another word, she brushed past him and walked out of the control room.

  He raised a single brow. Tortured soul?

  CHAPTER 14

  After mulling over the plan with Tiffany, Damon stood in his room, arranging his array of weapons. Tiffany was downstairs, preparing to make her call. Everything was planned to the full extent it could be.

  The incoming hunters would provide the tracking device for Tiffany to wear. His contact in the police department had ensured that word of Caius’s and Carl’s deaths and the abandoned and—much to Tiffany’s chagrin—now-impounded Bugatti was never released to the press, and somehow the mess at the restaurant had been entirely hushed up. Without evidence of Caius’s and Carl’s deaths, the other vamps would be confused as to their sudden absence. Everyone knew of Caius’s obsession with her, and luckily, it gave her a higher standing in the hierarchy. She was going to request a private meeting at the nest to discuss his disappearance. She’d prepped to play the role of the grieving, overly attached human.