Chapter Two

The bridge smelled of blood. Fresh blood.

Hot and oh so sweet.

Daisy’s nostrils flared. If she closed her eyes, she could almost taste the sweetness on her tongue. She swayed in her seat as her mouth filled with a flood of saliva and her gums ached. Somewhere deep inside her, the darkness uncoiled sleepily, easing closer to the surface, wanting, needing… Placing her palms flat on the console, she pushed herself to her feet—

“Daisy!” Rico’s voice broke through the fog of need.

Her eyes snapped open, and she plonked herself back down in her seat. “Sorry,” she muttered. “But I’m hungry.” She hated the whine in her voice and wished she could take the words back as six sets of eyes all turned her way.

Rico strode across the bridge, coming to a halt in front of her, his gaze narrowing on her face. “You okay?”

No. I’m not okay, I’m hungry, and I can’t look at my friends without wanting to eat them. And I’m hungry. And they all pity me. And I’m hungry…

But she swallowed the words and choked down the darkness, though she knew from experience that it wouldn’t sleep now until it was fed. Then she fixed a bright smile on her face. “I’m fine.”

He quirked a brow. “Good girl. Your control is getting better, but don’t leave it too long. We wouldn’t want you ripping out the captain’s throat. She needs it for ordering people about.”

“Ha-ha,” Tannis muttered. “But I second that—no throat ripping.”

Daisy tried not to feel offended, but it was hard. After all, she hadn’t actually done the throat-ripping thing since the first time.

The crew had made out some sort of roster and Tannis, the captain, was next on the feeding list. They were all immortal, and she couldn’t kill them—even if she did rip out their throats—but she could weaken them if she fed too often.

She had to get her mind off food. Turning back to the console, she started searching through the incomprehensible mass of data.

“Do we have anything yet?” Tannis asked, as she had at least five times in the last hour.

“No,” Daisy snapped.

“No need to get snippy.”

“Well, sorry,” she snarled, “but I’m not Janey.” She curled her lip to show the tip of one sharp white fang. Janey had been their gorgeous and brilliant tech expert. She’d also been Daisy’s best friend until she’d been murdered six months ago. Janey would have found the information they needed within minutes.

Daisy was a pilot—the copilot of The Blood Hunter—not a tech expert, but right now she was the best they had.

“We’ve been looking for six months,” Tannis said. “Jon has to be there somewhere.”

Jon and his wife, Alex, were crew members who had remained behind during The Blood Hunter’s recent trip through a black hole and into another universe. The plan had been to rendezvous with them on their return. Unfortunately, the ship’s return had been…delayed. They’d taken an alternate route home through a wormhole, and by the time they got back, while only a few weeks had passed for them, over here more than twenty years had gone by. They’d gone to the arranged rendezvous only to discover Alex and Jon had been taken prisoner by the Church of Everlasting Life ten years ago. Alex was being forced into her old role as high priestess, while Jon was held as a hostage—a bargaining chip for her good behavior.

Now they had to find Jon and spring the pair of them.

Except they couldn’t find him.

“Maybe he’s already dead.” Rico spoke the words everyone else was thinking.

“No. Alex would know if he was dead. They’re using him to keep her in line. We just have to follow the trail.”

Daisy muttered under her breath as she flicked through the continuous stream of information, searching for something…anything that might give them a clue, her hunger a constant distraction.

Rico had changed her six months ago in order to save her life, and she’d been hungry ever since. A deep, craving hunger that gnawed at her belly and kept her on edge. A hunger that had awakened the darkness deep inside her, so now she was never free of its presence, never free of the knowledge of what she had become—a bloodsucking monster. Feeding gave her a brief respite, but always the hunger came back like a live thing. Rico told her it would get better with time. But how long? He was over fifteen hundred years old—he didn’t view time the same as the rest of them.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder and she jumped.

“Relax,” Rico murmured.

Yeah, like that was going to happen.

He leaned down close to her. “You know, you need to get laid.”

Even less likely. “Perhaps the crew could do a roster for that as well.”

He grinned. “Never going to happen, sweetheart. But once we have this out of the way, we’ll head back to Trakis Two and sort something out.”

Rico had told her that the best way to get a grip on the hunger and keep the darkness at bay was sex. Unfortunately, everyone on the ship was part of a couple. She was happy for them, really, she was, but it did make her feel alone.

And what was she supposed to do on Trakis Two? She’d never found it easy to hook up. She was genetically modified, part plant, and the whole green thing had put a lot of men off. Though that was no longer an issue—in the months since Rico had changed her, the color had leached from her skin and hair as the chlorophyll died from lack of sunlight. Now, six months later, she was pale and boring; white skin, almost white hair. Even so, an average guy would very likely find the whole bloodsucking-monster thing a bit of a turnoff.

But there were more pleasure providers on Trakis Two than in the rest of the universe. Maybe she could pay someone. What a happy thought. This was what her life—or rather, her death—had come to. She was one sad excuse for a vampire.

Busy wallowing in self-pity, she almost missed the break she was looking for. She slammed her hand down on the console, then trawled back through the information and found the snippet that had caught her attention.

“I think I’ve found Jon.”

His six months was nearly up. Only days to go. After that, Fergal Cain planned never to enter a prison again. He hated prisons, hated the stench of fear and despair that permeated the walls. The murmur of a thousand voices incarcerated behind bars. He’d been spending way too long in them lately, but if all went well, soon that would be over. A new life beckoned. Somewhere far away.

“So you’re leaving us?” The governor’s words broke into his thoughts.

“Yes, sir.” His transfer had come through at last. Helped by a little strategic hacking into the prison system’s database on his part. If his intel was correct, he’d found Stefan, and his transfer would take him exactly where he needed to be. He’d find his friend while keeping his cover intact.

And about time. This prison was worse than most. It had been rebuilt from the old Church headquarters, which had been destroyed over two decades ago by the Rebel Coalition. The parts of the prison aboveground weren’t too bad, but the section underground, where the most dangerous prisoners were housed, was a noisome, dark precursor of the Hell the Church claimed the majority of the prisoners were heading for. Of course, they were given a last chance to repent…

The executions also took place underground. That was why they were here. At least the man had deserved to die. He’d been a rapist and a murderer. Fergal didn’t think he could have stood by while they executed someone for their beliefs, or lack of them, but thankfully most of the “heretics” were long gone. Today, the prisoner hadn’t taken up the Church’s offer of repentance. Not that it would have saved him.

Was the bastard now in Hell?

Fergal didn’t think so. He’d long ago gotten over his childhood indoctrination, or at least pushed it so far down it never bothered him. While he might believe that there was possibly more to life and death than he understood, no way was he buying into the usual crap people tried to pass off as religion. And certainly not the Church of Everlasting Life’s even-crappier-than-normal version.

Up ahead the priest—there was always a priest present at executions—disappeared up the tunnel leading to ground level. “You go on,” Fergal said to the governor. “I’ll do a last check and lock up.”

The man nodded. No one liked to spend longer than necessary down here. The place gave off an air of evil. “You’ll be glad to get away from this place.”

Fergal gave a noncommittal smile. “The prison on Trakis Five is said to be a better, if busier, place.”

“Yes, the Collective may have been tough, but they weren’t unduly cruel.”

It was amazing how most people looked back on the reign of the Collective with something close to fondness and forgot the bits they hadn’t liked. Five hundred years ago, when the human race had arrived at the Trakis system, they had also stumbled upon Meridian. Named after Callum Meridian, the ship’s captain who had discovered it, the substance bestowed immortality—among other things—and the Collective had been born. Rich, immortal, telepathic, they soon ruled the universe with a ruthless hand.

Temperance Hatcher and his cronies made them look like total sweeties.

The Collective had fallen apart with the disappearance of their leader, Callum Meridian, and the destruction of the Meridian supplies on Trakis Seven. No one knew what had become of him—he’d supposedly been kidnapped and then disappeared without a trace. General opinion was Hatcher had arranged his assassination.

At the same time, the Rebel Coalition, the only other force that might have taken on the Church, had lost its own leader, Devlin Starke, and fallen into disarray. Starke was another who seemed to have vanished. Hatcher had obviously been busy. The bastard.

“It can’t be worse,” the governor said. He was a good man. They all did what they had to, to survive in these times. Or at least pretended to.

Fergal waited until the man had disappeared after the priest before heading down the tunnel, which took him deeper underground and finally opened out into the lower level control center. The room was empty, but the monitors were on, and nothing was moving. He exited down the tunnel opposite and checked the first row of cells. Most of the prisoners down here were awaiting appeal or execution for serious crimes. But there were also a few political prisoners. The farthest cell housed one of these. According to the records, he’d been here for twenty years. Why hadn’t he been killed with the rest of the Collective? Burned in Hatcher’s fires?

The cell’s occupant had no name, but he was obviously Collective. In the dim light, his eyes glowed, inhuman and violet. He glanced up as Fergal peered through the glass pane in the cell’s door, but no expression crossed his face—presumably drugged up to the eyeballs. He looked more boy than man; he must have been young when he took the Meridian treatment.

The other political prisoner was in the cell farthest from this one. At least he was categorized as political, though he actually looked more violent and more dangerous than the worst of the rapists and murderers. He paced the confines of his tiny cell, leashed power in his every move, his tall figure radiating pent-up fury. He glanced across as Fergal peered in and actually growled. Even safe on the outside, a frisson of fear trickled down his spine.

He stepped back. He’d done what was required of him. Everyone was where they were supposed to be. Now he needed to get away from this stench and out into the fresh air.

Back in the control room, he checked the monitors one last time and headed toward ground level. He locked the door to the tunnels behind him with a sigh of relief and turned—

Something smashed into him from behind. A normal man would have gone down under the force of the blow. As it was, Fergal rocked on his feet. He snapped up straight and whirled around. A woman stood a foot away. Medium height, dressed all in black—tight pants, knee-high boots, a shirt, and a silver laser pistol at her hip. Had she shot him? That would explain the force of the blow. But her weapon was still holstered. A fall of waist-length silver-blond hair was pulled into a ponytail high on her head. She had the whitest skin he had ever seen, and dark green eyes. She was both seriously beautiful and seriously scary.

Her brows were drawn together. Obviously, she was wondering why he wasn’t lying flat on his back on the floor after she’d hit him. Hard. Harder than she should have been able to hit.

Her mouth was wide and red and her upper lip curled in a snarl, revealing one sharp white tooth. Too big and too sharp. Where had he seen something like that before? It had been a while ago, over twenty years, but where…?

She moved fast, and he only had a second to brace himself. Crashing into his chest with the force of a blaster, she slammed him against the metal door behind him. Still clinging, her legs wrapped around his waist as her arms gripped his shoulders. Under different circumstances—very different circumstances—it might have been incredibly sexy.

He took a deep breath, gathered his strength, pried her fingers from around his neck, and hurled her from him. She smashed into the opposite wall, and he heaved a sigh. Then she was up again.

What the hell was she?

With a growl she leaped for him again, white ponytail flying out behind her. This time as she jumped him, she snarled, showing the biggest set of canines he had ever seen—on a human, at least. Shock held him immobile as she kept coming. Her head burrowed itself in the curve of his neck, and those sharp teeth sank into his throat. He felt the pump of his blood as the vein was severed, then his body’s immediate repair response sending a flood of nanites to the damaged site.

He tried to tug her free, but she was locked on tight. She went still. Releasing her hold on his throat, she pushed away from his body and fell to her knees on the floor. She spat, and his blood was red against the white tiles.

“Ah, fuck, shit.” She raised her head and spat again. “That is so disgusting.”

He stared at her. What the fuck was going on? He edged around so he could reach the alarm switch on the door panel. If he used the alarm on his comm unit, they would want to know what was wrong, and he wasn’t sure he could explain.

She straightened, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth and staring at him. A frown formed on her face, and she cocked her head to examine him. He inched another step sideways. Almost there.

Her eyes widened. “Holy Hell. Fergal?”

Shock held him motionless.

“Fergal? Is that you?”

He was sure he had never met her before. As he stared into those green eyes, some long-ago memory flickered in his mind, but he couldn’t grasp on to it.

She obviously knew him. Or was it some sort of ploy? But she’d called him Fergal. He wasn’t known by that name here.

He shook his head, trying to make sense of what was happening. Reaching up, he touched his neck. The wound was already healing. Her gaze followed the movement, narrowing on his throat.

Someone entered the corridor behind her, and Fergal tensed. The man was tall, dressed identically to the girl but with a laser pistol hanging loosely from one hand. He took in the two of them and shook his head. “Which part of ‘take him down quietly’ wasn’t I clear on?” he said to the girl.

At the sound of the drawled words, Fergal remembered where he had heard that voice and seen teeth like that before.

“It’s Fergal Cain,” she replied.

The man cast him a sharp look. “Ah.” Then he shrugged. “Sorry.”

Fergal slapped his hand onto the alarm just as the laser pistol was raised to aim straight at his chest. As the shrill ring filled his head, the pistol flashed, thumping him in the middle. He crumpled to the floor, and everything went black.