Mason awoke at four in the afternoon. He’d been in the training facility for a week and was still having trouble adjusting to the time change. Stretching, he felt the spot where the latest training session had left a jagged gash in his arm. It was sore, but healing quickly, as always. His first days had been a nightmare. Every time he slept his mind replayed images from his imprisonment. He frequently found himself waking, sweat-ridden, steam rising from his body, or roaring into the darkness. He was mentally and physically exhausted by the third day, trying to keep his beast under control, while being surrounded by so many Vampires and vampyr, was more than taxing. Luckily, the meditation tactics they taught him were working. Neeman didn’t think it was doing much good, but he had no idea how bad things could be.
The training facility was like nothing he’d ever seen. It had every piece of equipment ever made. Dogs, live rounds, a city within the building used for simulations, and above all, the trackers themselves. The most highly trained beings on Earth. Studying each male in turn as they attacked had already enabled Mason to find their strengths and weaknesses. It was hard pretending not to be as good or strong as he was, but if he showed them all he’d learned in a week’s time, they’d be suspicious. As a group, they were still able to overtake him, but solo he allowed himself to win half the battles.
Neeman was hardest of all. As the leader of the squad, he was amazingly fast, and strong, which not all vampyr were. His reflexes surpassed the others, as if he’d been born a pureblooded Vampire, instead of turned. In the whole of the week, Mason hadn’t managed to hit Neeman even once. And there were times when Mason had tried, hard. The three other trackers who’d picked him up with Neeman were all expertly skilled, pure-blooded Vampires, but none of them as good as Neeman.
Neeman insisted the trackers master their emotions. They were the coldest, most unfeeling Vampires he’d ever met. Not that he’d ever found Vampires to be overly emotional. But everything the trackers did was calculated and logical.
Mason sat up and put his feet flat on the floor. The room was the nicest he’d been in, in a very long time. It was plain, but clean, with a large, all-white bed. The floor was a honey-colored wood. A table in the corner and a bookcase completed the space. The closet contained four different fighting outfits, as well as shoes. The bathroom had been stocked with soft towels and all the toiletries he needed. So many simple things that he’d taken for granted before the awakening and outbreak had occurred, simple things that no humans from his encampment would have again, unless they became slaves.
Mason remembered where he was when the awakening had taken place. He’d been driving a semitruck across country. He’d stopped at a little greasy spoon and halfway through his meal the Vice President of the United States came on the television, explaining how a group of people still needed equal rights, and how as Americans they were both the history and the future of the country. After everyone revealed themselves as Vampires, all hell had broken loose.
After the awakening and the wars, the hunts, and the rising death toll among humans trying to wipe out Vampires, came the V2000 outbreak.
The fae had gone back to their own world, afraid of what the virus might do to them. Mason had no clue what happened to other supernaturals; he’d been hiding from his own kind for centuries.
The Vampires gained control a year after the chaos started, forcing order upon the vamps. Mason had kept to himself. He went weeks on end without food, barely surviving.
While raiding a town on his own, he’d saved a group of humans from a rogue vamp, and they’d begged him to join them. Hunger and loneliness had overcome his senses, and he’d agreed.
And now here he was, being trained by Vampires to guard a Vampire. It was ironic. Mason would rather die then be in the service of a Vampire again. As soon as he was out of this facility, and in the house of Vampire who’d bought him, he was going to run. If they didn’t remove the collar, he would have to take his chances that he’d be able to remove it himself, or that he’d be able to withstand the electrical pulses.
There was a knock on the door, and Mason looked at his clock. The Vampires shouldn’t be up for at least another hour.
“Enter.”
The door opened and a human slave named Kelvin held a tray of food, as well as a spiral-bound book.
“Hey, Mason. I was told to bring you this book for some light reading before training tonight.” Kelvin set the tray on the table.
“What is it?”
“Laws of the society. To become familiar with how things work.”
“Isn’t it the same as before? Don’t steal, don’t kill, no drugs?”
Kelvin leaned against the wall. “Yeah, but it’s more than that, too. There are so many other things in the Vampire society that are considered off limits, as well. No Vampire may enter another Vampire’s domain without permission. Vampyr may have a minion or slave, but may not hold office. Stuff like that.”
Mason looked at the tray of food and the book. His stomach growled. “Interesting.”
Kelvin eyed Mason for a moment.
“Did you need something?”
“I overheard Neeman talking. He thinks you might be the best in the world by the time he’s done with you. Your master will be lucky to have purchased you. And you’ll give them their money’s worth. All ten million dollars of it.”
“You heard about that?” He shook his head.
“Everyone’s heard by now. You’ll be a star; you’ll also be a target. Slaves are off-limits to everyone but their masters. But if anything happens to your master, then you’d be fair game again. That’ll make your master a target, as well.”
Mason wouldn’t mind Lord Garon being a target. He’d sensed the malice emanating off Garon all the way across his cell. For as much of a monster as Mason was, that Vampire was taq malsvir, pure evil. Mason had a brief flashback of a Vampire, old and vile, his white hair whipping in the wind as he bit down on Mason’s small neck. Mason had screamed in terror and called for his mother, but she hadn’t helped him, she’d never been able to help him again. He shook his head and the memory faded. Mason would need more than ever to learn to control his feelings. Especially about—
“Do you know the redheaded Vampire lord?” Mason blurted out.
Kelvin fidgeted and looked out the door. “Lord Danika?”
“You know her then?”
“As well as any slave can know a lover of their master. Lord Danika is a great woman.”
“So Danika and Neeman—”
Kelvin stiffened. “Lord Danika is a great coven lord.” Kelvin moved out the door. “I’ll let you read.” He closed the door behind himself.
Mason rubbed his face with his hand. He hadn’t shaved all week, and the thick stubble prickled his fingers. Standing, he walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. His hair reached below his ears now, and hung in waves. He looked older than the last time he had seen his reflection. Not by much, not noticeable to humans, but noticeable to him. He was almost middle-aged now, but to humans he’d still appear no more than late twenties. He wondered how old Danika was. Her blood didn’t smell very old, just over a hundred, he would assume. And her body had been curvy and blossoming, like a piece of spring fruit in its prime.
Laying his hands on the counter, Mason tried to still the beast that roared inside him at the thought of her. He couldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t allow himself to become infatuated with a Vampire. He was never even going to see her again, so why think of her? Visions of her lush red lips plagued his thoughts. His heartbeat increased and his blood swirled in his veins. Throwing on the faucet, he plunged his head under the frigid water, causing his inner beast to make a hasty retreat. Back under control, he picked up the razor off the sink and grabbed the shaving cream where it waited. He would not have feelings for her. He wouldn’t.
* * * *
Mason sat down at the table, ten minutes later. The pep talk he’d given himself about Danika hadn’t sunk in all the way yet, but he had to keep it together.
A bowl of rice and vegetables, some roasted chicken with the skin removed, a fruit salad, and a glass of lemonade waited for him. He was going to miss the food when he escaped, that was for sure. As he ate, he thumbed through the book and turned to a chapter labeled, The Laws of the Humans. It was the shortest of them all.
He read the whole chapter in under five minutes. The basic conclusion was that humans had no rights, except for those given to them by their individual masters, and any offenses against a human slave were paid to its master. All humans were now no better than the African slaves brought over on boats hundreds of years ago. Now color was not the issue, species was.