Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1)

BLOOD LEVERAGE

J. S.
H
azzard

Blood Leverage

Book One of the Bloodstone Chronicles

Copyright © 2014 by J. S. Hazzard        

www.jshazzard.com

Originally published in the United States by Immortal Media Press in 2014.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author, except brief quotations for review purposes.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real
vampires, characters, places or events is purely coincidental.

Cover, Website and Interior Layout designed by:

Annette Tremblay

Midnight Whimsy Designs

www.midnightwhimsydesigns.com

ISBN Number:
978-0-9904136-0-8

For my father, who said,
"You know, I think you should write a book."

For my husband, who said,
"Okay honey, quit your job and write a book."

For my mother, who said,
"So help me God, I will kill you if you don't finish this book."

And for Godiva,
who cuddled at my side and loved me while I wrote this book.
I will always love and miss you, baby girl.

PART
ONE

From the d
esk of

Lawrence Nickleby, CEO, Immortal Media

February 20, 2359

Dear Eleanor,

I am pleased to inform you that your recently published work has surpassed all expectations, achieving record sales with both target audiences in its first month. We’re going back to press, with all other projects put on hold.

Regarding the concerns in your last letter, I have made it known that you are not our typical author and no one else will attempt to contact you. Violation of this order will result in immediate termination, not of the offender’s job but of his life — immortal or otherwise.  This is the strongest guarantee I am able to offer and I hope it puts you at ease.

With that unpleasantness out of the way, the following page includes a sampling of reviews for your book, “Mass Conversions: Evolution to the Brink of Extinction”. I hope you enjoy reading them.

Congratulations and I look forward to continuing our collaboration. Cheers!

Sincerely,

Lawrence Nickleby

Critical Reviews for
Mass Conversions

“When the dust settles after the publication of her first historical text, Eleanor Strong will find herself in one of two roles—an utter laughingstock or the foremost historian of modern vampire history in the world today.”

Dr. Michael Connors, PhD., Department Chair, History, Oxford University

“An absolute revelation from beginning to end. I could NOT put it down and have purchased copies for all my friends. Regardless of species, this should be required reading in all educational facilities.”

Kelly Thompson, North American Evening Post

“The provocative claims made in this debut work by amateur historian, Ms. Eleanor Strong, have captured the interest of the entire world. And while vampires rejoice at finally having been ‘vindicated’, humanity is bristling with indignation.” 

Daniel Richards, Morningside Magazine

“Brava, Ms. Strong, for finally putting a name and face to the blame game we’ve been playing for centuries. What I want to know—what happens now?”

Tyler Barnes, Editor in Chief, New World Order

“Best new work to hit the shelves in a century! In addition to offering new evidence on a turning point in our history, Ms. Strong walks a fine line of honesty and diplomacy on a touchy subject without missing a step.”

Mia Han, Special Correspondent, Good Evening America

“Two fangs out! Way out!”

Erik Walters, #1 Rated Talk Show Host of “Drawing First Blood”

CHAPTER ONE

M
ay
9,
2377

DESPITE what everyone assumes about my relationship with Nicky, we were all business as we stripped to our underwear. Having done this many times, there was no embarrassment or hesitation in our actions.

“I assume your father is occupied elsewhere?” I folded my sweater and draped it over Nicky’s sofa.

Nicky’s voice was muffled as he pulled his own sweater over his head. “He knows you’re here, Rory. The old man is tactful enough to leave us alone until we’re done.”

My belt joined my sweater and I stepped out of my trousers as Nicky unbuttoned his shirt. “Still, we’d better hurry. I’d like to get home on time for a change. It’s only the ninth of May, and I already have four demerits this month.”

He grinned and tossed the shirt aside, looking pointedly at the clock on the wall. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re going to have five real soon. Just tell everyone you stayed late after class to help some poor, knowledge-starved student or something. Teachers do that crap, right?”

I shivered as the cool air hit my bare skin. “Next time we’re doing this at my place and
you
can get yelled at by
your
tunnel gatekeeper.”

Nicky’s smile was pure smugness. “That would never happen. The tunnel gatekeeper here adores me.”

Just because the statement was true didn’t make it any less annoying.

Then Nicky’s trousers came off and my irritation evaporated. Despite the unromantic task ahead, I could still discreetly enjoy the glory of a nearly naked Nicky. There isn’t enough money in the world to make me say it aloud, but Nicky Carriero’s ass is spectacular.

Once undressed, we readied the room with movements born of repetition. Nicky removed some cider from the fridge while I cleared the table. Then I retrieved the plastic sheeting he kept handy for such occasions and covered our chairs while he filled our glasses. Finally, Nicky sat beside me, looking grim.

I took his hand. “Stop looking so dramatic. Remember, I offered to do this. How much has my mystery patron demanded in exchange for my mom’s latest request?”

“He wants an extra half pint for the next four draws, and no payment for any of them. You’ll need to drink more fluids and eat lots of iron until we’re done.”

Other than Nicky’s father, Luigi, no one knows we engage in blood patronage. Out here in the rural squares, it’s about the biggest taboo there is. Still, in the last great cities, blood patronage is a capital crime. In the cities, humans ‘donate’ at a central blood bank every other week. The blood is mixed before distribution and the amounts dispensed are strictly calculated. Private blood arrangements are punishable by death—both mortal and immortal.

Luigi, or Gigi as I affectionately call him, first approached me regarding patronage after my thirteenth birthday. My mother had made a difficult request and Luigi privately informed me my blood could serve as an alternate payment. Someone took a liking to me and the arrangement has continued ever since.

As far as I’m concerned, our blood donations harm no one. If we weren’t so accommodating, who knows who our patrons would snack on? That said, blood draws still hurt and I winced as I tied the rubber strip around my thigh.

Nicky might be a flirtatious jackass, but he’s considerate when it counts and always draws my blood before I draw his. Or in other words, I get the benefit of his steady hands and he’s always jabbed by a woozy chick who’s short a pint of blood—soon to be a pint and a half. I doubted the additional half pint would improve my technique.

Ready to get the blood draw over with, I closed my eyes as Nicky knelt between my legs. It’s easier to relax when I can’t see the nearly naked man whose head is six inches from where I can’t let any man go.

Virginity is a cross endured by high-end blood benefactors, though I don’t entirely understand it. Apparently we just taste better, but unfortunately for vampiric gourmands, virgins are a finite resource. For obvious reasons, human breeding has been strongly ‘encouraged’ since the mass conversions.

People like Nicky and I are prime merchandise for these connoisseurs and we’re paid accordingly, so it’s worth it. Besides, I’m hardly surrounded by men panting for my virginity (or to whom I’d wish to give it), so it’s a restriction I can work with. For now.

A tug on my thigh caught my attention as Nicky bandaged my little wound, and I raised my cider and made our favorite toast for such occasions. “To sexual frustration!”

I drained the glass and passed it to a laughing Nicky for a refill—the more fluids and sugar after a draw, the better. It took three glasses before I felt steady enough to have a go at him and it still wasn’t pretty. No one would see the mess I’d made of his thigh, but covering the chairs proved invaluable.

While Nicky recovered, I carefully lowered the full blood bags into the chill-box he’d brought and began cleaning up.

“So, is your mom still pressuring you to go to the conference with her and my father?” 

I wiped down the table and shook my head. “Not as often. Besides, I only have to outlast her a little while longer. Only seven more days…”  

He patted my shoulder. “You’ve made it this far. Besides, think of all the fun we’ll have while they’re gone.”

I looked over from rinsing the tubing we’d used. “Oh yeah, you know me. Non-stop debauchery. Party all the time.”

Nicky snorted. “Very convincing.” He handed me his empty glass.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m not the partying sort. Besides, I have a lot of work to do. In addition to covering both my own classes and my mother’s, the compulsory education vote is only a few months away.”

He stared at me in disbelief. “You want to spend your summer teaching and lobbying for a vote to
increase
your workload? That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Refusing to be annoyed, I splashed a few soap bubbles in his direction. “Oh please. You’ll be alone too and I haven’t received any invitations from you yet.”

“Hey, I’m working on a few ideas,” Nicky said defensively. “I can promise
none
of them involve books and lectures.”

I laughed companionably and tossed him the clean tubing. By the time we’d washed up and put ourselves back together, there was no possible way I’d be home on time.

As if by some form of mind reading, Gigi appeared right as I ran out the door. “Rory, you’d better hurry. You’ll get another demerit if you’re not home by sunset.”

“So I’ve been told.” Stopping only to brush a kiss on his cheek, I ignored the residual wooziness from my blood draw and hurried to the tunnels, the only s
afe way to travel after sunset.

*     *     *     *     *

Though I hate using the tunnels, I can freely admit I’d probably be dead without them. Like an underground labyrinth, the tunnels provide a safe path from one square to another if you’re running late. Unfortunately, as my pile of demerits can attest, arriving home after sunset is still frowned upon.

I quickened my pace as I glanced at my watch, but I already knew I’d lost another battle in my ongoing war with
punctuality. My footsteps echoed back from the concrete, competing with my own rapid breathing.

With no chance of being on time, I didn’t bother running. I’d receive the same demerit and lecture from our tunnel gatekeeper, Robert Rouchecrag, whether two minutes late or ten. Despite the eighteen years that have passed since the publication of
Mass Conversions
, several people still blame my mother for the impact of her work and Robert stands as a beacon of intolerance among them. When the bulb illuminating the staircase up to Robert’s home came into view, I braced for my fifth demerit lecture of the month.

Unfortunately, avoiding Robert wasn’t an option. Since vampires require an invitation to enter a human dwelling, our gatekeepers function like a doorman at a fancy apartment building. Anyone who wants to enter one of our squares has to get past a gatekeeper first. I climbed the stairs leading up from the tunnel and pounded on the door, shouting my name to be audible through the slab of steel.

Though I’ve seen Robert unchain his entrance in five seconds flat, he waited three minutes before flashing the light to indicate he was safely barricaded behind his door. Straining, I opened the door and entered Robert’s living room, proving I needed no invitation and was therefore human.

As mandated, I positioned my hands high on the wall where they’d be visible. This action had nothing to do with Robert’s animosity toward me. It’s just a security protocol humanity developed through trial and error—and by error, I mean the horrific deaths of first generation gatekeepers.

As with everything in life, understanding vampires required a learning curve. We realized the necessity of an invitation right away, but vampiric influence was less obvious. If a vampire makes eye contact and demands an invitation, obeying will be the last thing you ever do.

Most of the world’s vampires now reside in the few remaining great cities, but out here the rules are a way of life that will never change.

Behind my back, I imagined Robert’s smirk as he re-chained his door. As much as Robert enjoys making me wait in the tunnels, it’s more entertaining to hold me hostage in his living room where, if I moved too soon, he’d be within his rights to defend himself.

Needless to say, I remained immobile as he clomped over.

“If it isn’t the goddess, deigning to appear before mere mortals once again.”

I clamped my irritation down and pressed harder against the concrete.

Before my father moved on he named me Aurora, after the Roman goddess of dawn, but only my mother calls me Aurora. Everyone else calls me Rory.

He moved closer, one of his favorite intimidation techniques. “My goodness, your fifth demerit of the month already? Then again, I expect no better from someone with your upbringing.”

This was nothing new, but after all these encounters I’d learned to shift Robert’s rage toward me instead of my mother and let him wear himself out.

“I think it’s safe for me to leave now,
sir
. Unless you’d like to admire the view a while longer?” I wiggled my ass for emphasis and braced for the tantrum, congratulating myself as his bald head turned fuchsia.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You’re no better than your traitor of a mother.” I blocked his voice and let the tirade roll over me, refocusing only when he entered unfamiliar territory.

“… and wait till Eleanor leaves! We’ll see how long you last without her covering your ass!”

Okay, that last bit was new.

I briefly wondered what I’d missed before I caught a glimpse of Robert and blinked. His face was darker than I’d ever seen it, an overripe raspberry with a trace of spittle trailing down to his beard. A more optimistic girl might have mistaken his rage for a stroke, but I’m convinced Robert will outlive me out of sheer spite.

Ten more minutes and
two
demerits later, I was allowed to leave. As I trudged through the hallway to our apartment on the opposite side of the square, I was grateful no one was around to witness my walk of shame. Still, that wouldn’t stop the gossip. Robert would have plenty of opportunity to badmouth me tomorrow.

Frowning, I unlocked my front door and slipped inside.

“Hey baby, how was your class?” Smiling up from the living room sofa, my mother was half-buried beneath her books. With no other space available I perched on the arm of the sofa.

“My students were great, but… two more demerits.” I held them up as evidence.

“Two?” She tilted her head, no doubt basking in the pride of having raised such an overachiever.

I glanced away, embarrassed. “I may have implied he kept me waiting to stare at my ass.” 

“That’s my girl.” Her laughter ended in a groan as she arched her back. “I’ve been sitting too long.” Shoving the books from her lap, she extended a hand and I hauled her upright. As she stood, her ‘research system’ collapsed inward to fill the gap she’d left behind.

She began sifting through the wreckage, tossing her selections into her over-sized work bag. As she excavated, I glimpsed a familiar crimson envelope.

“What’s up with Mr. Nickleby?” I reached for the envelope, but she whisked it away.

Lawrence Nickleby is mom’s publisher at the vampire-owned conglomerate, Immortal Media, and every so often I’ll catch sight of his letters. Or rather, I’ll catch sight of his envelopes—deep velvety red with gleaming gold engraving stamped into the linen-like paper and a wax seal stamped along the outer flap. Mom is touchy about her vampiric correspondence, and in almost twenty years I’ve glimpsed only
one
letter outside its crimson casing.

With the envelope out of reach, she smiled and ignored my question. “Now that you’re back, I’m going next door.”
The apartment next door is mine on paper, but we use it for an office and to store the overflow of my mom’s addiction.