PRINT: Blood Knight: Academy of Silence (SIGNED Paperback)

PROLOGUE

The small, windowless office was unremarkable.

The woman behind the desk wasn’t.

Lady Illustris Tenebris Iram—Wrath of the Glorious Darkness—lounged in a highbacked chair, its dark leather softened with long use. She wore a black qipao that showed off her long legs, crossed with slender hands resting in her lap. The Chinese dress featured a golden dragon—because apparently that was everyone’s idea of what a qipao looked like these days. Either that or decorated with flowers, and she’d take the dragon any day.

The embroidered serpent snaked up, down, and around her full, voluptuous figure. Her skin was soft and pale, her face delicate and composed. It wasn’t her usual face, however. This one she reserved for only her most distinguished guests.

And what a guest, she thought with a wry grin. How long has it been since I had dealings with the Academy of Silence?

The Academy was the vampires’ answer to an important question: how best to keep various malefactors—mages or unhexed demihumans—under control? That answer took the form of the deviant hunters: elite vampires specially trained to kill the hardest of targets. The Academy was part school, fortress, and command center all wrapped in one, and though she knew where it was located—and couldn’t deny the allure of its many secrets—she also knew that some things were best left alone.

The wooden door to her office creaked open, and a tall, handsome man stepped in. Everything about him was dark, from his short, curly hair to his complexion and the long trench coat emphasizing his broad frame. He closed the door and approached the desk, every motion measured and precise. He reminded Iram of a coiled spring, full of pent-up energy, ready to explode into action at the slightest provocation.

The man removed his sunglasses and pocketed them, revealing dark eyes, piercing and patient.

They were the eyes of a predator.

They had to be, for this man hunted only the most dangerous of prey.

The lines of his face were sharp, yet youthful, but those eyes hinted at a cold, ancient truth. An aura of magic followed him into the room, partially obscured by a well-crafted Concealment spell, but not good enough to shroud all his power. Not from her.

She sensed the iron in that aura. Strong and pungent, even in its occluded state.

It left the taste of blood in the air.

“Lady Iram.” His voice was deep and resonant.

“Dorian,” she replied, her tone light, almost musical. This wasn’t her usual voice, either. She gestured to the only other chair in the office, and Deviant Hunter Dorian Alant sank into it.

“It’s been a while since I saw that face. I thought we agreed to leave it in the past.”

“I was feeling nostalgic this morning.”

“Then there’s no hidden message you’re trying to convey?”

“None.”

“I somehow doubt that. Nothing is ever so simple with you.”

“You know me so well, then?”

“I know your type.”

“My ‘type,’ is it now?” Lady Iram cocked an eyebrow. “How long has it been, Dorian?”

“At least ten years. Perhaps longer.”

“And in all that time, you never so much as sent me a letter.”

“My work keeps me busy.”

“No phone calls either.”

“Very busy.”

“Not even an email. You know that’s a thing nowadays, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“Got to stay current, Dorian. Can’t let the latest human trends slip by you.”

“I understand you have a little deviancy problem, and that you requested me personally.”

“May have one. And is that all you have to say? Just straight to business as if we only saw each other yesterday?”

“Is there anything else but the Academy’s business?”

“Of course, there is. For one, how’s Bel, and have you spoken to her recently?”

Dorian’s lip twitched. “Our Great Mother graced the Academy with her presence last year. And yes, I was granted the honor of speaking to her, if briefly.”

“She have anything interesting to say?”

“She expressed her pride in the Academy, and in a few of my own accomplishments.”

“Pride, is it?” Iram chuckled. “I thought sloth was more her style.”

“You haven’t changed at all. Must you always speak of Mother so casually?”

“Kid, let me explain something to you.” Lady Iram sat forward. “I was old long before you were born, and Bel is far older than me. You think either of us care for your stuffy formalities?”

“Respect is due to the mother of all vampires.”

“She’s not my mother.”

“That much is self-evident, but would it trouble you to show her a little deference? At least while I’m here. If you were anyone else, I would have ripped your throat out by now.”

Iram rolled her one eye. “You mean you would have tried.”

“Would it help if I said ‘please’?”

“All right, all right.” She flashed a sudden smile, cold but polite. “I’ll behave myself. But only because you’re my favorite hunter.”

“Thank you.” Dorian relaxed, if only by the tiniest of fractions. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss why I’m here.”

“The reason you’re here is simple: local vampires keep turning up dead, and I don’t know why.”

“When and how many?”

“Five so far. It started about three months ago with a vampire named Heinrich. He used to work at Chester Creek University as a math professor.”

“Pureblood?”

“No, risen.”

Dorian snorted. “Hardly a concern of ours.”

“Trust me, it gets better. I don’t know who killed Heinrich, but it had the appearance of typical risen infighting. Two other risen vampires moved in to claim Heinrich’s territory shortly afterward: Plainsborough and Rost, CCU’s head librarian and head football coach respectively. They clashed several times—destroying each other’s property and thralls—until their petulant spat culminated in a duel at the stadium.”

“Who won?”

“Neither. They both snuffed it.”

“An unusual outcome for a duel.”

“That’s what I thought at the time, but there’s more. It turns out a third vampire was present that night. I don’t have any information on this one, but the amount of structural damage suggests a very powerful pureblood. Too powerful to ordinarily be concerned with a pissant town like this.”

“Then that’s who killed the others?”

“No. He’s dead, too! As in, his guts were splattered all over the stadium!”

“I see.” Dorian lowered his eyes. “That’s four dead so far. Who’s the fifth?”

“Olcott, a necromancer some dumbass elevated into a risen.”

The hunter looked up sharply. “Someone turned a mage into a vampire?”

“Correct.”

“That couldn’t have ended well.”

“It didn’t. There’s a cemetery on the campus grounds. The original name is unimportant; nowadays it’s called Old Chester Cemetery. It’s part of the old church the place got built around. Someone used Olcott’s body to paint it red.”

“And that someone is …”

“Wouldn’t I like to know?” Lady Iram leaned back in her chair, and the leather sighed.

“Five vampires dead,” Dorian said. “Three of them risen nobodies, but two that weren’t: one a pureblood and the other a risen mage. Quite the impressive pile of corpses.”

“You see why I called you here.”

“I do.” He let out a slow sigh. “Could the mage clans be behind this?”

“Dorian, the mage clans are always up to something. You might as well ask me if the sky is still blue.”

“Point taken.”

“Sure, they could be behind the killings, but every mage knows to stay clear of vampiric business.”

“Lest a d-hunter be called in to perform a little housekeeping,” Dorian added, his cruel grin revealing his fangs.

“Precisely. And the same goes for the demihumans in this city. They all know not to mess with you vampires, because there will be consequences. Personally, I’d say we’re dealing with a group and not an individual. Perhaps mages. Perhaps unhexed demihumans. Maybe a mix of the two. We could have a team of uppity idiots on our hands. People trying to make the world a ‘better place’ or some dreck like that. But there may be another motivator at work here, one that’s drawing powerful individuals to this area.”

“Do you have any idea what that might be?”

“Not really.”

“Then it seems my task is twofold. Objective One: Find and eliminate whoever’s killing vampires in this city. Objective Two: Uncover what in this area makes the killings worthwhile.”

“That about sums it up.” She pushed a manila folder across the desk. “Here’s all the information I’ve compiled on the victims. Also, I recommend you take a close look at the university grounds. All the recent excitement seems to involve that place one way or another. Hell if I know why, though.”

“Then I’ll have a look around, starting with the stadium and the cemetery.”

“Are you settled in yet?”

“No. I still need a base of operations while I’m in this area.”

“I can arrange one for you, if you like.”

“This place?” Dorian made a circular gesture, indicating the business Lady Iram ran.

“No, no. Too public. I have a better location in mind. One with all the amenities of home. It’s scheduled to be renovated soon, anyway, so you’ll have the whole place to yourself. It’s in downtown Chester Creek, tucked into a corner that doesn’t see a lot of foot traffic, and it even has some existing Wards for protection, though you may wish to reinforce those yourself.”

“Acceptable.” Dorian pushed his chair back and rose.

“Don’t you want to stay a little longer?” Lady Iram’s tone bordered on a pout.

“The sooner I get started, the better.”

“Always duty first when it comes to you. It’s a shame, really.” Lady Iram retrieved a chilled wine bottle and two empty glasses from underneath her desk. Moisture clung to the bottle and traced down its sides. She set them down on the desktop. “I suppose I’ll have to drink this myself.”

Dorian turned the bottle. His eyebrows rose when he read the label.

“Virgin werewolf blood. If any of your customers saw you with this, they’d rip your throat out.”

“They’d try.” Lady Iram opened the bottle of bloodwine and poured two full glasses. “Fortunately, I have nothing to fear. Ignorance is bliss, as the humans are so fond of saying.”

Dorian raised his glass and breathed in the aroma.

“Exquisite,” he sighed, fangs lengthening.

Lady Iram found her gaze drawn to the four obsidian rings glinting on his left hand.

“Another one?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“You had three rings last we met.”

“I’ve served the Academy long enough to receive my fourth. Our Great Mother granted it to me herself.”

“My, how time flies. Has it really been that long?”

“You growing senile in your old age?” Dorian asked, quirking a smile.

“Hardly.” Lady Iram raised her glass. “To the success of your mission.”

“To success.”

They drained their glasses.