Shadow Born: A Joseph Hunter Novel: Book 1 (Joseph Hunter Series)

that had lapsed, though, it seemed that his humor had, too.
Xander frowned. “This is my purpose. What Gabriel called me to do. Try to rehab them, to break the curse, to give them a second chance. If that doesn’t work, we try to teach them to control their corruption. To fight against their base desires.”
I scoffed at the image of a vampire controlling its urge to destroy, then ran my fingers through my hair—something not made is impossible to unmake, or something like that. “What’s your success rate here?”
He chewed on his lip for a second, then turned and resumed his walk. “There isn’t one.”
I followed him down a dimly lit hall. Steel doors with stenciled numbers lined the walls. Some atrocity to the natural order waited behind each one.
I said, “So, you keep all these monsters locked in here for what? To potentially escape and corrupt more innocent victims? You know as well as I do that this… this idea will never work.”
“We’ll see.”
I shook my head, confused. “Doesn’t even make sense.”
“Maybe not,” Xander said. “But Albert is doing good things with this company. Progressive things.” Albert was the owner of Mather’s Investigative Services, a descendent of Cotton—you know, that Salem Witch dude. “Most people in the industry pitch their tent in your camp, having written off the monsters as monsters.”
“But not you?” I asked. “You buy into this second-chance shit? What about the vampire that preyed on little girls? You think he deserves a second chance? What about the one you have detained, with information about my wife? You think she—or her companions, the people who murdered my wife—you think they deserve another fucking chance? What about sorcerers and necromancers? Acolytes using their given power to harm innocent people? They get a pass, too?”
“No,” Xander said, his voice low. “They made their decisions. Old rules apply to them.”
Old rules meant instant death, and it applied to those magic wielders who used their natural or imbued powers to harm innocent people. They didn’t come around often, as the Nephil severely screened those they granted their power to, but some did pop up every couple of years.
Xander unzipped his jacket and reached into the interior lining. He removed a plastic pack of blood and a hardened wood stake, passing them to me. “Offer her the blood, hide the stake.”
“Where will you be?” I said, wedging the weapon into my waistband and covering it with my shirt.
“Right here. Door will stay open, just in case she tries something funny.”
“You don’t think I can handle her myself?” I asked, grinning. “You’ve been spying on me. Have you not watched me demo anything? I can still hit pretty hard.”
Xander knocked twice on the steel door. “Coming in!” he called, removing a skeleton key from his back pocket, along with a photograph. He faced me and held out the image.
I grabbed it.
My wife and I stood on the sandy, bloody desert overseas. We weren’t married yet, but we had created a near-nightly habit of sneaking away from base to learn more about one another. In the picture, we both wore our military fatigues with sidearms on our hips. She held an assault rifle, I gripped a twelve-gauge. We glared at the camera, as if we might shoot whoever dared to look at our picture.
The memory swept me away from the prison block and took me to another time and world.
The steel door popped, wrenching back to the present. Xander pulled it open.
I looked up from the image and into the low light of the cell. I steeled my resolve, thinking of Callie and her burned body the murderer had left behind for me.
Then I walked inside.
The vampire sat in the center of her bed, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at me. She had fiery red hair and a freckled face and green eyes. She wore a thin, white nightgown that hugged the curves and swells of her body.
Trying my best not to admire her fashion sense, I tossed the bag of blood to her, then shuffled to the corner of the small cell and leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. There, from a few feet away, I watched her feed from the bag.
Let’s pause to learn a couple things about vampires. First, and most significantly, they don’t glitter. Second, they aren’t like what you’ve always believed them to be. The legends had it wrong, as they had most things wrong—the victors write history, write their own story, create their own strengths and weaknesses. In actuality, vampires were more or less humans cursed by the Nephil. If they drank human blood, they remained human, with no adverse vampiric weaknesses. But if they’re denied human blood, they gain vampiric powers, along with a demonic appearance. The curse was meant to keep them in service to their Nephil. Most serial killers are vampires, and most serial killers are never caught, so they kill and use the blood of their victims to continue to appear as human, living within our society to carry out the orders their masters gave them.
This vampire appeared to be the picture of health, which made me think she didn’t need the blood I offered her. To vampires, blood was like doughnuts, though. You offer them some, and they’ll eat, hungry or not. It helped them stay young and beautiful.
She held the transparent bag to her lips and said, “Thank you.” Like a rabbit nibbling away at a carrot, she extended her fangs and bit into the plastic. She carefully sucked the blood, staring at me with wide, green eyes the entire time—teasing me. An errant drop slid off her lip and down her chin. She paused in her feeding to lift the doughnut crumbs from her face then to lick it off her finger with a little too much acting.
Still, my stomach somersaulted and heat pulsed within me. Vampires had the nasty ability to enthrall their victims through lust and sex, which was a pretty neat trick,