Hell's Warrior

By Jaye Roycraft

"Ms. Roycraft has a very definite gift for grabbing the reader 'by the throat,' and holding on through the entire book." --Irene Marshall, Escape to Romance

Sex has never been so deadly for one of the undead . . .

It's been twenty years since the vampire-mortal war known to the undead as "Hell" ended, but peace has been hard for Chicago's doyen, vampire Che Kincade. Beauty and power ensure that blood, sex, and money come easily, but compromises and concessions are hard for a half-breed undead warrior whose roots run centuries deep in violence. Still, he's managed at last to make peace bearable.

A secret affair with his mortal counterpart, Chicago Mayor Deborah Dayton, ensures that their weekly meetings at city hall to discuss the vampire problems in the city are accompanied by wonderfully delicious clandestine sex. But Cade's house-of-cards peace tumbles when, just hours after their usual tryst, news comes that a high-profile murder has taken place in the city. Soon Cade's very private and ordered world unravels when he's wanted for murder.

He goes on the run with no help but Red, a blood whore whose bed he's in when the call comes that the Chicago PD has a warrant for his arrest. The frame puts a whole new light on the murder, and Cade tries to make sense of it as he dodges the police, mob assassins, and the vampire hunters known as the Brothers of the Sun. But when the people Cade cares about keep dying, he has no choice but to return to that which he knows best--killing.

Jaye Roycraft, a former big-city police officer in Wisconsin, has incorporated her police procedural knowledge into her stories of the undead, creating urban fantasies that twist together modern realism with history. Jaye, author of ten novels, has presented numerous workshops for writers both online and at conferences, has been a contest judge, and has been a featured panelist at Dragon*Con. Jaye recently moved from the frozen tundra and now lives in sunny Arizona.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: May 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9781933417929

Book preview

Other books by Jaye Roycraft

Dance With Me, My Lovely

Rain Series

Rainscape

Crimson Rain

Image Series

Double Image

Afterimage

Shadow Image

Immortal Image

Hell Series

Half Past Hell

Hell’s Warrior

Hell’s Warrior

Hell Series

Book 2

by

Jaye Roycraft

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-933417-92-9

Print ISBN: 978-1-933417-55-4

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2010 by Jeanette Roycraft writing as Jaye Roycraft

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

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Cover design: Josephine Piraneo

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Model © HotDamnDesigns.com

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Indian bead work and feather © Lucie Grenier

:Awhu:01:

Dedication

To Mary D., Jill, and Olga

—thank you for your passion and joy, and I love you all.

Chapter One

Chicago, Illinois

Tomorrow

CHE KINCADE’S COLD blood boiled at the thought of his weekly sparring match with his counterpart at City Hall. He curved a lip. Not that they were true equals, by any means.

Cade had seen more than three centuries unroll on this land, while the mayor, at less than half a century, complained of getting old. And that, of course, was the foremost inequity—the oh-so-brief flame of mortality still burned in the mayor’s chest. But in spite of possessing a mortal’s many shortcomings, Chicago’s mayor was feisty, fearless, and commanded the respect of millions of Chicagoans, including Cade, and that was no small feat.

He dressed carefully for the meeting, forgoing his usual flair for color by donning a double-breasted suit of black linen. With his long jet hair and caramel skin he would never be mistaken for a stockbroker, but at least no one could accuse him of lacking in the trappings of savoir-faire. He knotted a narrow red tie, trailed his fingertips down the length of silk, and closed his eyes against the swell of anticipation that quickened his blood. There would be no hunt tonight, but this would serve. Indeed, this will serve.

He straightened the tie and fastened it with an onyx tie tack. He was coming to enjoy these meetings far too much. But what was he to do? For the undead to co-exist peacefully with their mortal neighbors, Chicago’s doyen and mayor had to play nice.

Cade glided down two flights of stairs to the front entrance of his Orchard Street townhouse. His tyro, Thorvald Sweet, was nowhere in sight.

Thor!

Cade hated laziness and arrogance. Thor had intelligence, a quick mind, and a desire to learn, but the main reason Cade had chosen him for the privileged position of being mentored by him was because the young vampire was neither lazy nor arrogant. He was a rare find, for vampires were by nature both. It was easy to procrastinate when you had forever to get things done, and it was just natural to be arrogant when you sat at the top of the food chain. But the two traits added together did not equal strength.

Thor! Time to go!

A moment later Thor strolled into the foyer. To his credit, he was properly attired, from his clothing to his expression. He wore a navy blue suit so dark it was nearly black and a peacock-blue tie so vivid it almost vibrated. Likewise, his blue eyes glittered with expectation, and the sin of tardiness was forgotten.

Sorry, Cade.

He nodded, accepting the apology and pleased that Thor hadn’t called him boss. He didn’t allow any of his tyros to refer to him as boss or even doyen. You couldn’t become a master with power of your own if you forever thought of yourself as subordinate. It was a fine line he expected his tyros to walk. Those who were either too submissive or too arrogant got booted back to the puddle of mediocrity. There were always new hopefuls in the pool of the undead masses who salivated at the thought of walking at his side.

Thor drove him downtown and deposited him in front of the Randolph Street entrance to City Hall. Cade opened the door and spoke before he got out.

I’ll be awhile. You may as well go over to the club. I’ll call you when I need you.

Thor nodded, and Cade exited, slammed the door, and watched the car ease back into traffic. Cade turned his gaze, as he always did, to the granite relief panels that flanked the entrance of the building shared by the city and county. The artist had obviously been a mortal who, in 1911, had never envisioned a future with bloodsuckers, for the panels depicted city playgrounds, schools, the park system, and the water system—facets of municipal government that were fairly useless to vampires. Useless, he thought, except maybe for the parks. Parks were increasingly becoming more important in providing feeding holes for the hunt in neighborhoods otherwise gated, fenced and locked. Which reminded him... a little tête-à-tête with the mayor regarding the parks was in order. Too many cops were using the parks at night to park, eat, write reports or catch a few winks. Their presence was scaring off potential prey.

City Hall was closed to the public for the day, but still open to privileged visitors like him for whom daytime hours were an impossibility. The two cops providing security inside the entrance knew who and what he was and nodded their acknowledgment without contempt or mockery. The last cop who’d smirked at Cade had quickly found himself bereft of his cushy security job and reassigned to a traffic corner. Even though these cops knew him, Cade was still required to pass through a metal detector and sign a log stating his destination and business. That done, they gave him a visitor’s pass, but Cade, not wanting to poke a hole in his fine linen, tucked it inside his pocket instead of pinning it on. The cops said nothing.

He ran up one of the wide marble staircases that ascended the eleven-story building, not to view the historic bronze tablets that graced the landings, but to disdain the elevators. Elevators were for the weak. He reached the mayor’s suite of offices on the fifth floor and took a deep breath. Mortal flesh and a single heartbeat. The mayor was here—and alone. He strode through the empty anterooms to the mayoral chamber. Madam Mayor.

Mr. Kincade. You’re ten minutes late.

My apologies, Madam. Traffic was a beast.

She gave a displeased hrrmph, but a smile she tried to repress made her lips twitch and gave her away. She always stifled her smiles. She still looked good. Even in the blue jacket and skirt that would make any other woman look like a police matron, she radiated femininity and grace as well as power. Likewise, her smooth blond pageboy exuded no boyishness, but spirited womanhood.

Sit down, she said, her tone making the two words more of an order than an invitation. We have a lot to discuss.

He sat on the leather cushion of an armed oak chair.

The parks, she began.

Yes, the parks. How good of The Honorable Deborah Dayton to read his mind.

She leaned back and tucked a few strands of hair behind one ear, a move he knew meant the gloves were coming off. The verbal sparring was foreplay to him, and his body’s reaction was a south-of-the-border hardening.

Citizen complaints regarding the parks are increasing daily. Some, like Oz Park, are becoming a veritable bacchanal after midnight.

The subject was a sore spot she loved to rub. He rubbed back. Unless you want dead bodies popping up in the river, Madam, you need to allow the hunts to continue, and you need to allow feeding in the parks. You know as well as I do that in neighborhoods like Lincoln Park there’re precious few other places to feed. No one dies, the prey are willing participants in the hunt, and everyone is happy.

Except those citizens who don’t enjoy the public display of a vampire sucking the blood out of some college student. And believe me, there are a lot of people who feel that way.

Self-righteous meatheads. He cocked one brow. If they don’t want their sanctimonious sensibilities offended, they should stay inside at night and close their blinds.

Her violet-blue eyes flashed with a brilliance that outshone the chandelier bulbs high above her head. The night doesn’t belong to just you, you know. The council is proposing an ordinance to reinstate the eleven o’clock closing time on all the parks.

So veto it.

My veto can be rejected by a majority vote. You know that. You need to control your people, Mr. Kincade. That’s the bottom line.

Control was the last thing he felt like exerting right now. And how’s your control tonight, Deborah?

She stood as if she were a lawyer in a courtroom registering an objection. Don’t be impertient!

He rose and impertinently invaded the private space behind her wide oak desk, reaching his hand toward her face. She neither slapped down his insolent hand nor turned away from his touch. She’d never told him her age, but he guessed she was in her mid-forties. Even so, her skin was as firm and smooth as that of a woman half her age.

How would you have me be, Deborah? Docile like a dog that lies at your feet and pants in delight at your every word? He ran the pads of his fingers down her cheek, and the skin beneath them was as hot as the stare with which she branded him.

You know better than that, she said, and he moved his fingers to her lips as she spoke, just to feel them move under his touch. His reply was a groan as he leaned forward to kiss her. Hard words; soft lips. He deepened the kiss, but she pushed at him and strutted to the hallway from which he’d entered her office.

He followed, knowing where she was going. They entered the elevator, and she used her ID card as a key to ascend to the roof, which was closed to the public but open to certain city employees. He didn’t mind taking the elevator this time. The last thing he wanted was for her to expend all her energy hiking up six flights of stairs in heels, and she’d never consent to being carried. At the top floor they ascended a short staircase, and she once more used her card to unlock the door to the roof.

The night air hit him, and he drew deeply of the fragrance of the rooftop park. It was a green smell, warm and lush—not as sweet as the crimson smell of blood, but just as alive.

Are we alone? she asked.

He knew she was aware that his senses were acute enough to detect the presence of any mortal or vampire flesh close at hand. In fact, as he was indulging in the pureness of the greenery, he was testing for the presence of others on the roof.

We’re alone.

This was no simple roof garden with a few containers of vegetation, but an elaborate park containing thousands of flowers, grasses, vines, shrubs, and even two trees. It was one of the marvels of Chicago ingenuity that made Cade ever proud of his city. He wandered over to the western roof edge, drew another deep breath, and for a few moments, forgot both the park and Her Honor. The South Branch of the Chicago River, just three blocks away, drew his gaze, as it always did whenever Deborah brought him up here. By night the river was alive with reflected light, a shimmering glaze of white, green, and bronze. All around him Chicago’s wonders sparkled with light, from the Willis Tower in the southwest to Big Blue, the bulbous glass Thompson Center across the street. Cade loved them all, even those buildings the critics had dubbed architectural nightmares.

He felt Deborah press herself against his back, and he knew it wasn’t so much affection as a demand for attention. Her Honor didn’t like being ignored, not even for the beauty of the city that was as much hers as his. Her arms embraced him, and her busy fingers popped the buttons on both his suit coat and shirt until she could burrow her way to pay dirt. He closed his eyes and shivered as the warmth of her hands woke every nerve ending in his body. She stroked the bare skin of his abdomen, up and down, until, bored with his abs, she unbuckled his belt, undid his trousers, and dug deeper. As her greedy little fingers traveled south, he stifled a groan. Her tiny hands were too small to encase his hardened cock, but they moved incessantly and possessively, as if he were hers, utterly.

He’d always gotten the impression she particularly liked the feeling that she could so easily bring Chicago’s most powerful vampire to a quick erection. In point of fact, almost any incidental contact with a mortal of either sex made him hard, but he allowed Deborah her little fantasy. It was a small enough price to pay for her goodwill, and besides, in the end she would be his, utterly.

He tolerated her ministrations a moment longer, then disengaged her little octopus tentacles, buttoned his trousers, and led her to the seclusion of the park’s hawthorn tree. The moonlight that struck her before the tree threw her into darkness brought out unflattering planes on her face, a foreshadowing, perhaps, of the harsh lines that age would someday render more visible. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to him.

You know, if you smiled once in awhile, you’d be more beautiful than you are, he said.

I hate smilers.

Smilers?

People who are forever simpering or smirking. I see it all around me. A smile is a mask, nothing more. There’s always something behind it.

What a cynical little creature you are.

She shook her head to release his hold. I didn’t become mayor by being friendly, being nice, or by kissing babies. I’m where I am because I’m tough and can hold my own with any man.

That was only partly true. She was where she was because Cade had delivered the vampire vote at election time and because her hapless predecessor had made one too many bad decisions.

Even without his hold, she aimed her chin at him. Besides, she continued, don’t tell me your opinion of smilers is any different. Surely your cynicism exceeds even mine.

He smiled at that. She might disdain smiles, but she inspired them in him, and for that he worshiped her.

He kissed her unsmiling mouth, using his tongue as though it were a whip to bring a spirited animal to submission. Her restless hands settled on the back of his head and quieted, allowing his own to work on the buttons of her jacket. She dropped her hands so he could slip off the jacket, and her white silk camisole followed. He dragged her bra straps down until her taut little breasts caught dapples of moonlight.

Don’t break the skin, she ordered.

He never did. Not that he didn’t want to, but her pro-vampire political platform was worth a little restraint. He bent his head and raked the points of his fangs over the swell, such as it was, of one breast, hard, but not hard enough to draw blood.

The last thing I need...

He took the hardened nipple between his teeth and tugged on it.

She sucked in a breath. ... is to have my doctor find vampire bites during my annual medical.

Reform had only gone so far. They could be allies, but heaven forbid it become known that the mayor was more than just a political bedmate with the undead. He drew the nipple past his fangs and suckled her. Not that it mattered all that much. It wasn’t as though he wanted to marry her or that he even loved her. As long as they were both discreet, their weekly meetings worked for him.

He moved his head to her other breast and used his tongue to rub her nipple against the tip of one fang until she pushed him away, hoisted up her bra, and put her clothes back on. More sparring. He loved it, for it was all part of the game. Once more she led, taking him back to the private sitting room behind her office. He followed, locking the door behind him. She already had her suit coat off and was unzipping her skirt. He stared, and she stared back. Don’t take me for granted, Cade, ever.

He smiled as he shed his jacket and trousers. Her skirt dropped to the floor to reveal stockings held up by an old-fashioned garter belt. She wore nothing underneath the garter. No, no one knew better than he not to take any mortal for granted, but especially her. She was rare—steel encased in porcelain skin, a bombshell in every meaning of the word. I will never take you for granted, I promise you that. But don’t pretend you’re making love to anything but the beast I am.

That wasn’t exactly true. He was never as rough with her as he wanted to be, but there were always compromises in politics and love. Not they that had ever talked about love. He pushed her back against the wide leather sofa that still reeked of the cigar smoke of a dozen former mayors and gave her what she wanted. She made love like a warrior, giving as good as she got. Wasn’t conquering a strong opponent so much the sweeter? There was little pleasure in besting the weak. It was without reservation that he drove into her as hard as he could. She would berate him for anything less.

She responded in kind, raking his back with her manicured nails as hard as she could, digging into his flesh and drawing tracks of blood. He knew she was aware that the marks would quickly heal, and it seemed to Cade that it was her way of indulging in violence without consequence.

When it was over, she remained beneath him and resumed their shop talk without missing a beat. Her only concession to what had just transpired was a sigh as she spoke. I’ll veto any proposed ordinance to close the parks at night, but I can’t promise my veto won’t be overturned.

What other complaints does the city have?

You won’t like it.

He smiled. It was a habit of hers to leave the really bad news until hard sex took his edge off. Tell me.

Neighbors living near the vampire clubs are complaining. Noise, cruising, littering...

It’s not the vampires doing that—it’s the mortals.

I know. But it’s the clubs people blame. Vamphasia is at the top of the list, but Noctule is on it as well.

Noctule. His own club. No, The Honorable Deborah Dayton didn’t pull punches. I’ll handle it. What other clubs?

Fusion and Future Shock.

Those named in addition to his were three of the city’s newer vampire clubs, a misnomer in itself, for the clubs catered to mortals, not vampires. The humans who congregated there were advertising themselves as prey, hoping to catch the eye of a vampire on the hunt. I’ll take care of it.

There’s more. There’ve also been complaints about your blood whores.

She underscored the final two words with an exhalation so cold he was surprised not to see their breath plume in the ensuing drop of temperature. As if they were my personal whores, lined up at my door to trade blood for sex with the undead.

As I said before—preferable to dead bodies, wouldn’t you agree?

Nobody wants to see your sluts, with their bite-scarred breasts hanging out, lolling on some street corner like it was a piece of property they were proud to own.

He wanted to laugh. She was naked and lying beneath him, but she obviously saw no connection between herself and the aforementioned sluts. Her Honor was starting to annoy him. I’ll take care of them, too. She could take that any way she wanted.

At his words she pushed him off her, stretched her limbs like a satisfied cat, and pivoted off the sofa. He could set his watch by her moves. Once sex was over, she never remained in the bottom position more than three minutes, regardless of whether the tone of their shoptalk was in harmony or discord. She disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, and he took the opportunity to dress. There’d be no more sex tonight.

When she came out, her hair was combed and her underwear was all in place, looking like so much armor on his steel queen. Look, Cade. The License and Liquor Control Commission is determined to make some changes.

So appoint a new department head.

She pulled on her skirt and zipped it. No. We’ve had this discussion before. Midnight Storm ripped this city apart. This alliance between you and me is just starting to stabilize things. But I will not hire and fire department heads at will, and I won’t fire experienced people just because their agenda doesn’t match yours. Mayors before me had revolving door policies. She shook her head. It doesn’t work. It weakens city government, and I won’t do it.

As she loved to point out, he’d heard all this before. Life in the old days had been simpler. If someone, mortal or vampire, got in his way, he killed them. Sometimes he yearned for the days of a century ago, or even fifty years ago.

He knotted his red tie and gave it a yank. I said I’d handle the club problems, and I will. Good Night, Madam Mayor.

THE PHONE RANG just as Thor was in the middle of tallying the nine o’clock cash drop.

Thor here. Not for the first time he was glad his name was too short to carry with it his irritation.

Cade. Meeting’s over. Come get me.

Right. He kept it short and hung up, saving his frustration for the office walls. Bitches’ riches.

There were days Thor felt that tyro was just a fancy name for lackey. Managing the club wasn’t bad, but he could do without the chauffeuring, the errand boy drill, and running every time Cade called his name. A tyro was supposed to be a young master in training, but Cade more often than not made him feel like a dog obeying commands. He put the money he’d been counting into the wall safe, left the office and locked it. Then he told Salt he was going down to City Hall to pick up Cade.

Once in the car, his thoughts returned to Cade and his attitude. It wasn’t that Thor didn’t appreciate everything Cade had taught him over the years, and he knew how lucky he was to be chosen as tyro to one of the country’s top doyens. There were hundreds of thousands of vampires in Chicago, and not one of them had a more humble beginning than he’d had. It was just that if Cade would only let him, he could do so much more. He could prove himself.

He maneuvered the big luxury sedan through evening traffic as though the vehicle were a shark weaving around schools of little fish. Cars and taxis honked at him, but everyone got out of his way.

Prove myself. No, he was no longer a twenty-four-year-old farm boy with the gruesome name of Peleg Sweet. He no longer had to make a living with his fists and his looks in the Red Light District. He now wore suits purchased on the Magnificent Mile, and immortality guaranteed no more knocked out teeth and broken noses, but dammit, after a century as one of the undead he was still trying to prove himself.

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES later Cade and Thor were back at Noctule. Cade looked up at the white gabled roof and the huge lanterns that adorned the front of the building. The words Police Station peered down from the pediment, immortalized in stone, engraved decades ago by some mortal too shortsighted to imagine any other use for the building. Cade loved it nonetheless. Though the inmates had changed, the building watched over its occupants with strength, stately grace, and style. Noctule, Vamphasia, Fusion, Future Shock. Deborah’s imperious voice rang through his mind. Noctule didn’t deserve being on her shit list.

Thor parked in the alley adjacent to the club, and Cade preceded him up the stairs to the private side entrance. How’s business been tonight?

Busy.

Cade nodded, not surprised. Though it was a week night, the college students had arrived in town for the start of the fall semester, and the weather was unusually warm for early September—the reasons, no doubt, for the recent complaints against the club. Come upstairs in ten minutes. We have to talk.

Sure. Thor never wasted words.

Cade