Fidencia quietly let herself into the hotel suite. She hoped Léonide was already asleep or occupied with one of his new toys. The last thing she wanted right now was to rehash what had happened with Moria.
The lounge area of the suite was littered with male bodies. Looking closer, she realized they weren’t dead humans, but newbie vampires. A quick count revealed seven naked men. Léonide’s bedroom door wasn’t quite closed. She tip-toed over and peaked in to verify that he was there. She smiled to herself. He was in the middle of the bed with a man on either side of him, one of them Steve.
She went to her own room where she shed her clothes, still debating whether or not to tell Léonide of her conversation with Moria. It would only upset him, and there was nothing that he could do about it anyway.
Maybe Moria was right. Maybe Fidencia just needed to get over what happened so long ago. She missed her only girlfriend, but did she have it in her to forgive Moria?
* * * * *
“I am afraid that you are going to be more than a bit sore, back there,” Woody grimaced, thinking of the pain Bronson may be feeling.
“Oh yeah, he was pretty big and he…” Bronson trailed off, not finishing the sentence. They both knew what he meant, that Burrows had brutally slammed into him, intending to cause pain and damage.
“Are you okay?” Sarge asked, concerned.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Bronson said after taking another spoonful of soup. “I might be out of commission back there for a while.”
“Hey, there is always the front side.” Sarge leered before stealing a quick kiss.
Bronson dropped his spoon, splattering the vampire’s arm with the red soup. “Are you insatiable?” he asked.
“When it comes to you…yes!” Sarge said, stealing another quick kiss.
“If I may,” Woody interjected, “I need to change the subject, at least for a moment. Léonide Durand is here in the states. San Francisco, to be exact.”
“Who?” Bronson resumed eating the soup.
“Léonide Durand is who we suspect of making all the rogue vampires,” Woody answered.
“I still don’t get that part.” Bronson slurped more soup. “I mean…”—slurp—“what’s the purpose?”
“The current theory is that he is tired of being a vampire, or at the very least wants to be open about it and tired of hiding it. The assumption is he feels that if he populates enough vampires around the world, humans will know about us and then start to accept us,” Woody explained.
“Somehow that doesn’t make sense to me.” Bronson mopped the remaining drops of soup from the bottom of the bowl with the dark bread.
“I would tend to agree with you,” Woody agreed. “I know Léonide. He likes being a vampire. He likes inflicting pain on humans, so it doesn’t add up.”
“Didn’t you say that Hatshepsut thinks that he might be working for someone?” Sarge asked as he took the tray from Bronson. “You want some more, babe?”
Bronson smiled and nodded in agreement.
“He often has his friend, Fidencia Santos with him, but there must be someone else involved,” Woody said. “I cannot see Fidencia plotting anything like this. She is more of a follower than a leader. Problem is, of course, we have no idea who or why.”
Woody could hear Sarge whistling in the kitchen as he got more soup for Bronson.
“There are usually only three reasons for crime.” Bronson held up his hand and began counting off on his fingers. “One, money, two, love, or three, power.”
“You are correct, my smart friend.” Woody gave him a smile. “And why I did not look at it like that, I do not know. Money is no issue for Léonide, and he loves no one but himself, so that would only leave the last—power. I should have thought of that before.”
Bronson kissed Sarge as he put the tray in Bronson’s lap, his soup bowl refilled.
“Living here in D.C., you soon realize how power influences many decisions,” Bronson said. “I have seen some people lose their minds over it.”
“All we need to do is figure out who and why,” Sarge said with a shrug.
“You make it sound so simple.” Woody scowled.
“Isn’t it?” Sarge asked nonchalantly. “If you can figure out the why, then it should be fairly easy to work out the who.”
“Exactly,” Bronson piped up.
“That is the main problem.” Woody stood up and paced. “The why doesn’t make any sense to me, especially where Léonide Durand is involved.”
“It could be, that’s your answer,” Bronson said before he slurped more soup.
“What do you mean?” Sarge picked up a napkin and wiped Bronson’s chin lovingly.
“If it doesn’t make sense, then perhaps that is the why.” Bronson smiled at Sarge.
“Brilliant!” Woody stopped his pacing. “That’s it!” He grew more animated. “Creating all the vampires is a ruse.”
“Ah, but a ruse for what?” Bronson asked.
Woody’s face fell. His shoulders slumped. “I have no idea.”
“Okay, then think about what is happening with these new vamps,” Bronson prompted Woody.
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, what is the end result with all those new vamps running around?” Bronson asked around a mouthful of the bread.
It was like a light bulb had gone off in Woody’s head. “The end result is that The Committee and the rest of the vampire government are running all over the place chasing their hind quarters. They would be spread very thin as they are trying to get control of the situation. The whole international vampire community is in fear for their livelihoods as well as their lives.”
“Okay, and where does that lead us?” Bronson looked at Woody.
“Ariston,” Woody said. He pulled out his cell phone.
“Ariston?” Sarge looked up, confused.
.
“Ariston has always thought he should be the only one in charge of the vampires,” Woody explained. He held up his hand to silence the other two.
“Hatshepsut, I think we have this figured out,” Woody said into the cell phone.
* * * * *
Bronson had dozed off while Woody was on the phone. With his belly full, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. When he did open his eyes, he saw Sarge’s face close to his own as he was being lowered down onto the bed.
“Hi sexy,” Sarge whispered.
“Hey.” Bronson smiled at the handsome face.
“How ya feel?”
“Sleepy.” Bronson stretched and yawned.
“Okay if I stay over?” Sarge asked tentatively.
“You better,” Bronson said as he snuggled down under the bed covers.
The big Marine stripped and then crawled into the bed.
“Damn.” Bronson jumped, pulling away from Sarge. “You’re fucking freezing.”
“Oh, sorry.” Sarge began to pull away.
Bronson reached over the big man to click on the electric blanket, then rolled over to turn on the one on his side of the bed.
“That should take of it.” He grinned at Sarge.
It didn’t take long for the bed—and Sarge’s body—to heat up. Bronson cuddled up, his head resting on the furry, muscled chest, where he quickly went to sleep.
* * * * *
Léonide yawned then stretched as he awoke, the sun but a glimmer on the horizon as it set. He grinned widely as he admired the two handsome fledglings sleeping on either side of him.
He crawled out of bed and went into the marble bathroom. He turned on the shower, with the hot water hot enough to steam up the room quickly.
“This is going to be a great day,” he sang to himself as he washed the styling gel out of his hair.
He continued to hum and sing to himself, washing the remnants of blood and cum from his body. He ran a schedule over in his mind as he dried off. A quick lesson in killing was in order, as he had taught all his newbies the technique of not killing the night before. If all went well, he and Fidencia would be on their way to Los Angeles well before dawn, to start the process all over again. That should keep Ariston appeased.
Donning a robe, he made his way to the living room area of the plush hotel suite, where he stepped over a few of the naked male vampires who were still sleeping, some on the sofas, the rest on the floor. He knew from experience that new vampires slept longer. Usually, the sun set fully before they arose. The older a vampire was, the less sleep they required and the less the sun affected them. He bet Hatshepsut could even walk in the sun, she was so fucking old. He giggled to himself.
Before he could pick up the phone to order coffee from room service, there was a knock on the door. As Léonide made his way towards the door, he heard the shower running in Fidencia’s room.
“Ah, what a wonderful girl,” Léonide said happily to himself. He looked through the peephole and saw the uniform of a room-service attendant. He flung the door open, welcoming the attendant who wheeled a room-service cart with several pots of what he assumed was coffee, and numerous cups.
He caught a brief whiff of the vampire, but he was too late. A chemically soaked rag was forced into his mouth and that was it.
* * * * *
Léonide lay on the floor, unconscious. Without so much as a single decibel of sound, the room filled with hotel uniformed vampires, each carrying a black duffle bag.
The rags were prepared quickly, using two parts chloroform and one part ether. Mixed together, they rendered a vampire completely unconscious. The vampires also pulled out steel fiber, reinforced aluminum tape. This was to be placed over the vampire's mouths, something they could not bite through without great pain.
One vampire went into Fidencia’s room. A shriek was heard, followed by a fleeting scream, and then silence. The remaining vampires went around the room, quickly shackling the fledgling vampires in steel cable and stuffing their mouths rages soaked with the same chemical compound, before securing their mouths with the tape.
In less than five minutes, all the vampires in the hotel suite were unconscious and securely bound. Two large, canvas laundry carts were wheeled in and each vampire was dumped unceremoniously into them, and then covered with what resembled dirty linens.
Thirty minutes later the carts full with eleven vampires, Léonide and Fidencia included, were loaded into a private plane, bound for, Washington, D.C.