A Battle in Blood: The Vampire Inquisitor series Book 2

By Joseph R.G. DeMarco

A Battle in Blood finds Dru Nekkarn, Prime Inquisitor for the Protectorate, in the midst of a worsening crisis which began in A Warning in Blood. Hundreds of children continue to be turned by a mysterious and fanatical group of anarchist vampires. The turning of children causes not only heartbreak and chaos but also violent retribution against vampires in Protectorate lands. Slayers are awakening humans to the existence of vampires and causing havoc. Someone in the vampire government is planning a coup which will bring civil war. And dangerously fanatic vampires are trying to engineer the destruction of the peaceful order created by the Oldest Old vampires. The oldest generation of the undead devised a system to keep both human and vampire worlds at peace and apart. But the forces of chaos and anarchy want to return things to a more barbaric world in which humans are farmed like animals to be fed upon at will by undead overlords. This is an appealing prospect for many vampires who chafe under the yoke of peace and order. In this crumbling vampire landscape, Dru is tasked with destroying the vampires causing the chaos and then helping to restore the government. Though he meets with fierce resistance and must battle the forces of chaos on his own, he makes headway. But advances in this war come with a price: some of his companions are lost in the fray, some will never be the same. Dru is also confronted with a mysterious newly-created young vampire who is somehow connected to forces that are beyond ancient and who may either help Dru or might very well be the one to bring about the end of the new vampire order. If Dru battles his way out of the current crisis will that stop the fanatic advance? Will he be able to reconstitute the government and let them start again? There are challenges even after A Battle in Blood has been fought.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph R.G. DeMarco
• Release date: Mar 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781945242151

Joseph R.G. DeMarco

Joseph R.G. DeMarco, a longtime gay activist and Philadelphian, is known for his Marco Fontana mystery series. The series includes, so far, Murder on Camac, A Body on Pine, Crimes on Latimer, Death on Delancey, and the forthcoming tentatively titled Murder on Riomar. His vampire series includes A Warning in Blood and the forthcoming A Battle in Blood. For more information, please visit josephdemarco.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jonah’s battered, naked body writhed on the table in front of me. His grunts, groans, and occasional cries for help echoed around the dank room.

I looked at the pitiful young vampire, his body racked with pain, and almost smiled because his condition was all my doing. But I could not take pleasure in it.

Even in the dimly lit chamber, dark patches of his blood spattering the walls were visible. Jonah’s breathing was ragged, his neck slashed. But he was still alive—undead, I suppose is the more accurate term for a vampire.

I’d made certain not to kill him. He was a traitor but I had plans for him.

The plick-plick-plick of water dripping incessantly somewhere in the recesses of the interrogation chamber was annoying. It could be maddening unless something else occupied your attention. Pain was a good distraction. I saw to it that Jonah had sufficient distraction from the ceaseless sound.

From the moment he was discovered and brought to me, Jonah had been defiant and uncooperative. He spewed hate at me for no reason. I’d been better than good to him.

The discovery that he was a spy and an ally of Cynnea had wounded me. I’d had great plans for Jonah. It also made me furious with myself for not seeing through him. But I’d let down my guard for so many reasons.

Pretending to be a loyal subject of the Protectorate—with all his credentials in perfect order—he’d wormed his way onto my staff. All the while knowing he would betray us and turn against everything we had built and from which he had benefitted.

When he was caught, he’d shown no fear. He’d laughed and taunted me. Why, he’d asked me, had I’d trusted him so easily? Why indeed? His words stung. The Great Inquisitor cannot see into the hearts of his own staff. I was furious but my anger was turned on myself. Such was the peace and security of the Protectorate, of the entire vampire world, that I’d allowed my procedures for vetting staff to become a formality.

Even as my guards dragged him to the interrogation cell, his bravado never flagged. This only served to sharpen my anger and my desire to punish him. But was I really punishing myself?

The interrogation cell resembled a large and cavernous cave. We were, after all, many stories beneath the surface. But the lighting and the arrangement of the interrogation table, my workbench, and wooden implements gave the room a claustrophobic feel. The setting terrifies most vampires. Not Jonah. At least not on the surface.

Once stripped and locked onto the wooden—and therefore painful—surface of the table, he’d continued to stare at me, defiance running through his veins. I knew for certain, that stunning pain was also tripping its way through his every cell. But he was strong—at least for now—and glared at me in defiance.

His recalcitrance pushed me to the edge and I’d happily lost control. In a blind rage I tore at his throat, raked his smooth, beautiful skin, and drank his blood. I could have stopped myself but I didn’t. The existence of the Protectorate was at stake. I was the last high government official left. Saving the Protectorate was my responsibility. With the information he held, Jonah could help me fight Cynnea and her unbound ambition. But so far he’d refused to betray his mistress.

He left me no choice but to resort to my skills as an Inquisitor. I would fill him with unbearable pain until he relented. It was the only sure way to have him tell me what I needed. I wanted answers but more than that, I wanted Cynnea’s head on a platter. He could deliver that, if he chose. I was going to see to it that he made the right choice.

Cynnea was ignorant and power-mad. Her coup allowed the forces of anarchy and chaos to gain a foothold. Those forces were older than anything on the planet and she had no idea what she’d done. Worse than that, when she eventually did understand, she would also discover she had no way to control them since she’d disbanded the Protectorate’s leadership—the only group who could have devised a workable plan. But none of that mattered to her. Her only goal was power and control. But, her mysterious allies—savage vampires who longed for the past—would never bend the knee to anyone. They’d used her like the tool she was.

Jonah, perhaps dissatisfied with his undead life, had made the mistake of allying himself with Cynnea. He’d become her closest confidant, privy to her secrets, plans, and contacts. I was certain he also knew the powerful invisible forces backing her moves, maybe he even worked for them. I wondered if he’d been placed in her ranks to control her when the time came.

Whatever his motives, his fate was in my hands now. Without the intelligence he could provide, centuries of work on the vampire world order would be undone. I refused to allow that.

I need your help, Jonah. You can still help, I said as blood bubbled from his throat. You made the mistake of joining Cynnea. But mistakes can be forgiven.

You are… right… About…one thing. He struggled to get the words out. His voice was sandpaper rough. You will need help.

Cooperate and you won’t be harmed further. You can even leave. You have my promise. If you cooperate. I’m sure he knew it was a promise I could never keep.

I’m not like your usual victims. Gullible, weak, and afraid. Jonah sounded calm but what I saw when I peered into his mind betrayed the brave front he was showing.

There are no victims here. Only one who enjoys playing above his station. I looked him over. His condition was grim and pitiful. But his body would repair itself. I’ll take my leave. Use this time to heal. I will return to ask again. I’ll ask only once more without pain. Refuse again and I will ask in my own special way. You will answer.

Jonah scoffed.

On an impulse, I leaned over him, his chest heaving, and, animal-like, I poised my tongue over the blood pooled on his chest. Even in his weakened state, Jonah was terrified. He knew what I was about to do. I wanted to give him something to think about. Licking up some of his blood, I made a show of enjoying it. I inhaled its aroma and noted its flavors, the rich notes of life and sunlight—flavors from his victims, the zest which he enjoyed from their lives. The carefree laughter in that fluid was intoxicating. I washed it around in my mouth absorbing its full-bodied sweetness.

The alarm on Jonah’s face was pleasing. He was right to be worried. He knew what I was about to do. Head thrown back, I swirled his blood in my mouth and began the process vampires call tasting.

When we take the blood of another vampire we can choose to taste it and learn intimacies about his life, his allies, his kills, his dreams, his hopes. Even the undead have hopes.

But the blood does not release all its secrets, just the broad outlines. Details must be shared by the person himself.

Jonah watched in terror, knowing what I’d done, fearing what I’d learned. There was much in his blood but not enough.

That’s much better. I patted him on his shoulder.

You tas-tasted my blood, Jonah was astonished.

And fine blood it is, too. I frowned. But it didn’t contain everything I need.

Jonah managed a worried smirk.

Until I return, take a good look at what lies on that table and hangs on the wall. I indicated the many wooden implements and silver blades. Think what I can do with them. I paused and smiled coldly. Because I will do whatever is necessary.

As I left the room, I turned up the high intensity—and very annoying—overhead strobe lights and shut the door behind me.

***

Two hours never passed more slowly. I happily anticipated exercising skills I hadn’t used in a long while. My fingers twitched with muscle memory. Centuries old memory. Sometimes I could even hear a scream echoing down those long years.

Entering the chamber again, I was assaulted by the flashing strobes. Obnoxious under any circumstances, for a subject bound to a table and unable to avoid them—it was excruciating. But it softens them up. I turned the strobe-lights off and returned to the dim intimate lighting which would not distract from the pain I would inflict.

Jonah, all healed? I asked, making it sound as if I cared. And, perhaps I did. Just a bit. He’d returned to his youthfully handsome self. Skin intact though pale. Face young and apprehensive. Now we can begin in earnest.

Jonah said nothing.

Will you tell me what I need to know? Aside from yourself, who leads Cynnea’s Fifth Column here?

There is nothing to tell.

All right. I slipped a pair of canvass gloves over my hands then picked up a wooden splint. We’ll begin with this. I held the splint near his face. Feeling its sharp, dangerous power, he flinched.

Naked and helpless, fear oozing from his pores, he writhed. He had no idea how exhilarating this was for me. I hadn’t fully exercised my role as Prime Inquisitor in—I couldn’t remember how long. Things had been peaceful and orderly.

Jonah knew what I was capable of, though. He’d heard the tales. His imagination would feed his fear until it grew into something more monstrous than reality.

Do what you h-have to... His voice quavered.

Your newly healed skin will be even more sensitive, I think. I brandished the splint, the simplest of my implements. Immeasurably painful.

Jonah took a breath, steeling himself.

I don’t have to do this, my friend.

Nothing you can do matters. His arrogance resurfaced. Your world will end, Inquisitor—with or without my help. Torture me. But know this: They are coming for you. All of you. And you will either bend the knee or die.

I’ll admit his words caused a certain tingle of anticipation, maybe even dread—because I had some inkling what was out there. But I was old and wise enough to survive whatever catastrophe was to come. What would the world look like once he and his anarchists took everything down, I didn’t know. Without doubt all of the civilized parts of both human and vampire worlds would be utterly destroyed. Anarchists want nothing less. Only the most depraved of us would be left to roam the earth. Vampires feeding on humans, human slaughtering vampires. Chaos, anarchy, lawlessness would be the rule. Would it be worth surviving in such a world, living worse than animals, worse even than our vampire ancestors? With nothing to uplift and enlighten?

That won’t happen, Jonah. I won’t let it. My voice was low, calm, and threatening. If I have to take your head and the heads of all your fellow travelers, to keep that from happening, I will.

You are arrogant. Your undoing lies in those you cannot see. Jonah forced a smile but I felt the fear rise behind those words.

I skimmed the splint over his muscled leg from ankle to crotch. He recoiled in pain. But his restraints prevented him from avoiding my handiwork. Sliding the splint over his hip and up to his armpit, I dragged it across his heaving chest to the other side of his body. It left an invisible fiery track in its wake.

The pain had to have been great but, though he struggled and hissed, he did not break.

I can stop. Any time you like.

Jonah twisted his head from side to side but said nothing.

Cynnea confides in you, I said.

She is a willing dupe.

But she confides in you.

Jonah refused to respond.

You must know that I am privy to some of your secrets.

You filthy...you tasted my blood.

And I was richly rewarded.

Bastard.

I saw so many things. But only you can supply me with details.

Jonah attempted to spit in my face but missed the mark.

Who does Cynnea control under my roof?

Jonah laughed.

When will she attack the Inquisition?

Cynnea is not the one you should worry about.

Then who? Someone is using Cynnea. What are their plans?

Jonah closed his eyes and ignored me.

What shall I use next, I wonder, I said. This perfect circle. I picked up a platter sized wooden disk. Bocote wood, one of the more painful varieties, in my experience. Even my gloves wouldn’t offer much protection. Which is why the disk has metal handles. Open your eyes, boy, and look. I brought the disk close to his chest, knowing he would feel the searing pain even before I set it on his bare flesh.

His eyes shot open and I was gratified to see fear. Like a pleasant wave—pleasant for me. For him, it was the beginning of terror.

Please...don’t...

I don’t want to, Jonah. I paused, drew back the wooden disk and he relaxed. Did you know we are of the same caste, you and I?

The same...? He scoffed.

Both aristocrats. Both turned by a member of the most ancient of our kind. Both directly descended from the legendary vampires who roamed the world millennia ago.

Then… Jonah paused. You must feel what I feel and know what the world could be again.

I said nothing.

Join me. Chaos will bring happiness. There will be prey we can hunt forever. Together. Anything we want will be ours. Nothing will stop us.

Tempting, his honeyed words, but dangerous and ultimately hollow.

Nothing except ourselves. I held the wooden disk out of pain’s reach. Eventually we would turn on one another. It is inevitable.

No. They say...they...

Who is ‘they’? What do ‘they’ say? Would he tell me?

They are strong. They will prevail.

Are they aristocrats?

Jonah was silent. Entering his thoughts, I saw confusion.

Not of our caste, then? I felt a frisson of fear cut through me. If these thugs were not of the oldest old, who were they"

They are glorious. Older than you could imagine.

Tell me their names. I lowered the disk and Jonah squirmed against his shackles.

You will know them when they come for you.

Names, I shouted. He turned his face away. You give me no choice.

Slowly I lowered the wooden disk onto his solar plexus. The pain would be horrific. He screamed—a wrenching sound, as if he were being turned inside out. Tears of blood slipped from the corners of his eyes. If real tears came, he would have reached his limit. But that did not happen. I would have to try harder.

I lifted the disk and his body shuddered then collapsed back.

I can place the disk down again, if you prefer.

P-please...n-no...

Just one name, then. Cynnea’s leader in my ranks. Who is he?

I...cannot.

I lowered the disk again and when it touched his flesh, he passed out. Useless to me.

Guard, I called. The door opened swiftly. A tall, rough-faced trooper stood to attention.

Bring the blood. All of it. This one is not as strong as I’d hoped.

Turning swiftly, he left. Within moments he was back, with the supplies I required.

Taking a bag and with the help of IV equipment, I pushed blood into Jonah’s veins.

Drawing in a sudden, deep breath, his eyes opened and he was back. I waited until the blood had its full effect. The rosy color returned to his cheeks. His muscled youthful body appeared supple and powerful. Even the burn mark left by the disk was gone, though certainly not the memory of the pain.

Refreshed? I asked. Then we can begin again.

Jonah struggled against the restraints which creaked and whined, stressed as they were by his vampire strength.

Slipping the gloves on again, I turned toward Jonah, a half dozen sharp wooden darts in my hand.

We’ll start with these.

Jonah’s eyes widened.

I see you’re familiar with my toys. I waved the darts in the air. Simple but effective. Yes?

He twisted his head this way and that, eyes wild with dread.

Let’s begin...unless you have something to tell me...

Jonah pressed his lips together. His blind loyalty to his cause was admirable. But not the anarchy, chaos, and wanton destruction he wanted to bring back to the world.

I tossed the darts onto the steel table, letting them clatter, for effect. They were walnut wood, extremely painful, with particularly agonizing high notes. Choosing a spot was difficult. I wanted him in pain but able to cooperate. Truthfully, as much as I enjoyed torturing miscreants, I didn’t really want Jonah in pain. There was something about him… But I wanted to spare the world the torment he desired. If that meant a painful interrogation…it was his choice.

His thighs—muscular, sensitive—would be perfect for the first dart.

Placing the point of the barb on his thigh, I felt him quiver with the tendrils of pain the wood sent into him. Slowly I plunged the dart through his skin, deep into his muscle. The feeling must have been like a molten shaft releasing sharp, white-hot spikes into his muscles and tendons.

He opened his mouth to scream but couldn’t. Sucking in a long breath, the floodgates broke and his pitiable cries echoed around the chamber. Loud enough to crack the walls.

The sound thrilled and saddened me at the same time. I wanted it to stop as much as I wanted it to continue. I was intrigued by the fact that as much as I enjoyed administering pain as part of this job, that feeling had little place in my everyday life.

As Prime Inquisitor, inflicting pain imparted a dark joy. I savored every aspect—the fear, the dread, the pain, and finally the release of secrets. Like glittering diamonds painfully extracted. It was a moment of triumph and utter domination.

At the same time destroying Jonah’s beauty—even if it would heal completley—angered me. More so because this betrayal happened under my nose. His disloyalty festered and spread like the plague. And for what? The lust for power and control. The hunger for chaos and anarchy. The competition for blood and violence.

Jonah forced my hand. Dared me to play his game. He failed to understand that I was older and better at this than he could imagine.

Leaving the dart in his leg. I picked up a second barb and held it out to him.

Another helping? I smiled coldly and plunged the dart into his other leg. His hoarse screams filled the room again.

Three darts was all it took for him to pass out again. He was far weaker than he looked. Perhaps that was why he succumbed to the temptation of anarchy and chaos. Disappointing.

Again I fed blood into his system, refreshing him for the next round. His eyes fluttered open again. His body tensed with the memory of pain.

It doesn’t have to be this way, Jonah. I’d rather not hurt you.

Says the prime torturer. You enjoy pain. The new blood apparently made him bold as well as rosy-cheeked. But his confidence—that arose from something more than the transfusion. His belief in the forces backing Cynnea gave him courage. Most likely they’d given him orders.

I need the information. Do you understand? Lives depend on it. If you refuse to help, I’ll move to the next level.

I turned to the implement table and decided, I would use two of my most effective tools for ferreting out traitors.

If I possessed information, I would have made it impossible to find.

Disappointing. I knew he was bluffing but I let him think he could keep his mind from yielding its secrets. I was willing to go to extraordinary lengths to pry that information loose.

You cannot hurt me more than you have.

Really? Have you noticed these? I swept my arm across my most lethal instruments hanging on the wall. Jonah’s breath caught in his throat.

Have you changed your mind?

Rot in hell, Jonah spat the words at me.

Neither of us will be so lucky. I let my hand play across the beautiful yet ugly implements. Do you recognize the wood these are made from?

Jonah said nothing, instead he struggled against his bindings. I leaned in close to his face. Peered into his bloodshot eyes giving him one more chance. He screamed his rage at me.

Eyes bulging, spittle foaming on his lips, he roared his anger.

His rage was prodigious and his urge to kill me even greater, enabling him to yank one arm free. With a powerful thrust, he held me by the throat and tried freeing his other arm. He squeezed. If I needed air to live I would have been dead.

For some moments, we struggled. The new blood restored his strength astonishingly but—in the end—not enough.

Knowing I could prevail, I fought and entered his mind at the same time. The struggle gave me an advantage. As he fought against me, his mental defenses weakened.

Wading through his mind proved futile. The blood tasting had revealed everything I was seeing now. No details were revealed. Remarkably, his mental shields had weakened but held despite his struggle. Torturing it out of him was the only way.

I needed to end his recalcitrance.

Concentrating my thoughts and strength, I managed to wrestle his arm back against the table, with my other hand I grabbed for the wooden circle and laid it on his chest.

Instantly, the fight went out of him. He collapsed, subdued and silent. I reestablished the bindings, rechecked the others, and pulled back from him. As I did, a voice lashed out from within his dark, swirling thoughts. Jonah’s voice but harsh, raspy, dry. There is no retreat. No escape. Chaos will swallow you all.

Jonah raised his head and stared at me. You should pay heed, Inquisitor. Arrogant, but the smell of fear on him was potent.

Indeed, I said as I laid a gloved hand on a wooden blade made from the Flame Birch tree, one of the most painful woods in my collection. Holding the blade aloft, I pointed out my other last resort tools, made from the most painful wood available. The Makore wood bayonette, the Katalox wood grater. And the best of them, crafted of Padauk wood and silver—the Truth Bringer, someone called it. No one ever failed to respond to that. Why did I not use it first? Where’s the torturer’s fun in that? Use it and any session would be over in moments…and, of course, the client would be dead.

I brandished it now. Jonah began screaming even before I touched him.

***

It was finished.

Using the Truth Bringer—or simply threatening to use it—caused Jonah’s collapse. He’d screamed himself hoarse by then but had enough of a raspy, raw voice left to tell me what I needed. Every name, every plan, every secret.

I rushed up the uneven stone steps to an elevator bank, then back to the surface and Inquisition headquarters. I had what I needed to confront Cynnea’s fifth column. She was the way to get to the powerful forces that controlled and supported her. She had to be stopped and taken out of the equation one way or another.

Chapter 2

Iwas seething when I reached the main level. Jonah had revealed everything. I knew their plans and their leader—Captain Lamboc of the Indar troops. The Indar were Protectorate forces, supposedly loyal to the commonwealth. But I knew they were loyal to whoever held the reins of power. Which is why I created the Frustino Guard, my own personal troops, which I managed down to the smallest detail. The Indar were another story.

I’d never noticed Lamboc before but, then, I never looked closely at Indar troopers—almost all coming from the lowest vampire castes. Lamboc stood out now, for all the wrong reasons.

Marching down the corridor, I imagined bringing Cynnea to justice next. Staking her, beheading her, and burning her body in public. She liked the old ways and methods. I’d see she got them. But first I’d deal with Lamboc.

The crisis had stoked my rage to the point that I stupidly ignored the atmosphere at Inquisition Headquarters and how sour it’d become. I felt anger in both the Frustino and Indar troopers as I moved past them in the halls. They milled through the corridors, their thoughts raging, unsettled, and fearful. Lower castes or not, they were aware of the crisis and wondered what would become of them and who they should follow.

I could expect the Indar troopers to be angry, since they were more loyal to the Protectorate than to me. They saw it teetering on the edge of survival. They had no idea what their fate would be. But the Frustino were my own troopers, my personal military force. From a much higher caste than the Indar, I treated them well. I realized that the crisis had put them on edge and with no resolution, they were worried as well. Cynnea’s coup had pushed things to the edge.

The rancor permeating the atmosphere was corrosive and some of the hostility was directed at me. Antipathy so strong and pointed there was no way for me to miss it.

As I rushed headlong through this hostile force, my own anger rose to critical mass. I barreled through the guards and troopers loitering in the halls. Subterfuge and duplicity in the minds of the troopers stood out like thorns. Some even shielded their minds which was impressive for the lower vampire orders.

The passage ahead was blocked by a squad of Indar troopers. Belligerence rolled off them in bitter waves. Huddled around they listened to their captain, who spoke to them in hushed tones.

When I reached them, they refused to budge, pretending to ignore my presence. The rank odor of their fear mingled with their resentment and bound them together. Their captain, however, showed neither fear nor apprehension. Arrogance was his dominating characteristic.

Captain Lamboc, I tamped down my anger and kept my voice low and steady.

The tall, rough-hewn man, wearing an immaculate uniform, broke from the pack. Long powerful arms hung relaxed at his sides, he looked at me, his face showing scars of fiery battles. Bodies don’t heal so completely in the lower castes. He exuded confidence, his eyes gleamed with murderous intent. Around his neck, suspended on a gold chain, was a glowing gemstone. Violet, shot through with gold flecks, the stone pulsed with an inner light. I recognized it at once. Perrifire. A rare stone, some say not even a natural gem but the creation of the rare Dhamphyr mages. A stone of power, it concentrated an individual’s courage and the courage of those around him, buoying them. It summoned supernatural strength from unseen dark and powerful forces focused through the gem’s owner. This was nothing an Indar could afford, if he could even find one. Cynnea’s hand was all too evident.

The captain fingered the gem. He looked into my eyes, defying protocol. Cynnea had chosen well when she made him leader of her Fifth Column.

You intend to challenge me? I pushed him back with my mind and felt the stirrings of power from the gemstone.

Almost as tall as I, he glared at me and wrapped his hand loosely around the Perrifire stone. His mind was filled with envy and self-loathing. His scent revealed everything about him—a Shinseipyr, sired by a Gelisyr vampire thus making him the lowest form of vampire. Shinseipyr were better than savage, mindless revenants but, like them, unable to turn humans into vampires. This caste, like all vampires, needed to satiate their hunger, but they were also filled with the need to serve, which need was often exploited by those like Cynnea. It was said that becoming an Indar trooper was the best any Shinseipyr could aspire to. But I didn’t think this vampire-wisdom was correct. I saw great dissatisfaction in this caste which showed more intelligence than they were given credit for. Maybe their lot would change some day but not through chaos and anarchy.

Your authority is weak, the captain’s voice was smooth, confident. I noticed he gripped the gemstone tighter as he spoke. Cynnea will bring you to your knees.

Is that who gave you the bauble? Your new mistress has bought your loyalty with tricks and trinkets?

He scowled. Cynnea offers no tricks. She brings power, position, dignity. She will make us equals. She will end your privilege and your lavish lifestyle. We will no longer serve you.

Should have been easy to predict but we’d all been