Dianne Duvall: Night Reigns

“Sure,” Eddie answered, willing to do anything to put off telling Dennis that he had had Roland in his grasp and had failed to capture him. He had hoped being able to confirm that Roland was still in the area would make up for the fact that he had run like a little pussy. But after Henry’s reaction ...

A somewhat battered kitchen table rested in the center of The Hole, the only furnishing it boasted. On the opposite side of it, looking almost like slovenly soldiers just returned from a weekend bender, a dozen and a half men stood. All were human and younger than Eddie by a few years. None had yet been transformed by the vampires who had captured them. Dennis liked to transform the recruits himself whenever possible. And these recruits were pretty lame.

Eddie curled his lip as he studied them.

There were a few of the typical, totally wasted college students: the type who liked to pants other students and routinely sought ways to humiliate those weaker than themselves for fun. They didn’t seem to be all that sure what was going on. Or to care, for that matter.

There were also about a handful of tough-as-nails gang-bangers or gangstas or whatever, sporting tattoos, saggy-baggy pants, and FU attitudes. A few goths had been rounded up. Decked out in black clothes with pale makeup, dyed black hair, and nose rings, they looked positively orgasmic over being in the same room with two real-life vampires.

A couple of late night joggers had been wrangled, too. That pretty much summed it up.

Losers, Eddie thought smugly. I could take these guys in a heartbeat.

One of the pros of becoming a vampire was not having to worry about getting your ass kicked anymore. He’d been bullied a lot as a kid. And as a teenager. And once had been beaten badly enough to land in the hospital his sophomore year at Duke. (His mamma had just shaken her head and told him he shouldn’t have been running his mouth the way he had.)

But now, he was the bully. Now, he kicked ass.

And even if these guys wanted to kick his ass once Dennis turned them, they wouldn’t be able to, because any soldiers caught fighting amongst themselves were locked in The Hole just before sunrise.

“This, gentlemen, is another of my soldiers,” Dennis said, settling a hand on Eddie’s shoulder in friendly camaraderie.

Dennis considered himself a king and the other vampires his soldiers in a war that would free them all from the tyranny of the Immortal Guardians and allow them to take their rightful place as the most powerful creatures in existence.

In other words, he wanted to take over the world. Eddie thought that was so cool.

The goths turned their adoring gazes on Eddie, who puffed out his chest and gave them just enough of a superior smile to show the tips of his fangs, which still hadn’t receded from the fight.

“Rising to take our rightful place as leaders in this world and grasping the power and all of the wealth that will accompany that will require bloodshed.”

The drunken frat boys looked confused. The goths ... didn’t really seem to be paying attention. They were just so hyped about meeting vampires. The gangstas looked unimpressed. And the joggers were shaking in their ass-toning sneakers.

“If you join my army, you will need to familiarize yourself with the weapons we use and our methods of fighting. Eddie, let’s provide them with a display, shall we?”

When Dennis drew a dagger from a sheath on his belt and laid it on the table, Eddie drew his bowie knife and placed it next to the dagger, then removed his other bowie, a switch blade, and brass knuckles.

That was it for him.

Dennis lined up three more daggers and two swords—the kind you saw martial arts guys use in movies—on the table alongside the others.

Eddie had always thought Dennis a bit of a dweeb when it came to his blades. Their leader had such a boner for weapons, carrying six or more at a time, sharpening them every night, even when he didn’t use them.

But after fighting the immortal earlier ... Eddie had to admit that Dennis might be on to something. The Immortal Guardian had been covered with weapons. Two short swords, probably a dozen or more daggers (Eddie still couldn’t figure out how exactly the prick had thrown those when he had held a longer blade in each hand), and at least a dozen of those slick throwing star thingies.

The metal offering on the table between Dennis and the potential recruits actually seemed sort of pathetic in comparison.

Dennis motioned to the table with a smile. “Step forward. Choose a weapon. Lift it. Get a feel for it.”

When one of the goths picked up the brass knuckles and put them on backwards, Dennis sighed heavily and gave Eddie a help this idiot out before I kill him look.

Snorting, Eddie swaggered around the table and, yanking the heavy brass from the goth’s fingers, probably spraining a few in the process, demonstrated the proper way to don them, then the way to use them, swinging at the air in front of the goth’s face.

Stepping into the doorway, Dennis snapped his fingers at two passing vampires. “Weapons.”

Enough machetes and bowie knives were handed over to provide a blade for every recruit present, including the brass-knuckled moron.

Smirking, Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head as he watched the puny humans swing the blades.

“Now,” Dennis said, regaining their attention. “I am very selective when it comes to finding men worthy of joining my army.”

Really? Since when?

“Not everyone has what it takes.”

The goths all stood taller and straightened their shoulders. The others showed no change.

“Therefore, you must first pass a test if you wish to become one of us.”

“We don’t want to become one of you,” one of the joggers had the balls to say, voice trembling.

Dennis’s eyes flashed a brilliant blue as his fangs descended. “Would you rather I simply drain you dry?”

The jogger swiftly shook his head.

When no further complaints were offered, Dennis continued. “The rules, gentlemen, are very simple. In your hands, you each hold a weapon. You must use those weapons to complete a task I have devised for you.”

“What’s the task?” one of the gangstas demanded.

Dennis reached for the door handle and gestured to Eddie. “In your midst stands a vampire. Your assignment is to kill him or die trying.”

Everyone looked at the designated victim.

Shock zipped through Eddie. Gaping, he dropped his arms to his sides. “What?”

Dennis met his eyes and growled with fury, “Never run from a fight.” To the humans he said, “Whoever still stands after the vampire has been destroyed will become a soldier in my army.” Stepping into the den, he closed the door and slammed the bolt home.

The humans shared glances, then looked at Eddie, their hands tightening on the grips of the unfamiliar weapons they held.

The gangstas nodded to each other, then surged forward.

Oh shit.

In the den, silence reigned. Both televisions had been muted, and the vampires, still as statues, stared at Dennis and the door behind him.

Dennis smiled as screams and thuds erupted inside The Hole, countering the growls of one panicked vampire. “Never run from a fight,” he repeated for the solemn audience.

Someone swallowed audibly.

“Help us!” one of the humans cried, voice hoarse with terror.

Closing his eyes, Dennis tilted his head back and listened to the beautiful music produced within.

“This is bullshit!” Eddie shrieked. “This is bullshit!”

Thud. Thud. Thunk.

The door shook against Dennis’s back. The scent of blood wafted from beneath it.

Dennis inhaled and sighed in ecstasy.

“Help us!”

“Get him!”