restraints until his consciousness wavered and everything dimmed.
PAIN, NAUSEA, and the stench of urine filtered through Julian’s consciousness. His hand and arm sang, throbbing and burning as if he’d stuck them in a hornets’ nest.
His stomach rolled.
Lying on cold metal with thick bars at his back, the motion of a vehicle lulled and coaxed him back toward the peace of sleep. But instead of giving in to the desire, he forced his eyes open to slits.
Enough moonlight filtered through tiny windows for him to see that he shared the back of a van with three other miserable looking males. The cages were close enough for them to reach through the bars and touch each other, but no one moved.
He pushed up his sleeve and gaped at the inside of his forearm. Holy fuck . He was now known to the government as vampire WA49S3728W97. The identification brand ran from two inches below the inside of his elbow to his mangled wrist. The charred letters and numbers were about an inch tall.
Registered as a Seattle vampire, if caught in a different registration zone, he would be shipped back to the Seattle Open Zone.
If caught in a different state, he would be returned or killed at their discretion. And wasn’t that a no-brainer for budget-strapped states? The cost of a single dose of lethal drugs versus the cost of shipping a vampire made it easy.
Population control at its finest.
His hand and arm throbbed. Violated was the word that came to mind. Violated and betrayed by the government he’d always counted on for protection as a United States citizen.
Now, to the government, he was no more than a dangerous animal that could be killed any time they deemed appropriate.
Violated. Betrayed. Alone.
Ignoring the pain, he clenched and flexed his hand. As far as appearance went, they’d destroyed his bow hand. He wouldn’t be able to play violin without the brands being on prominent display.
Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be permitted to play with the symphony if they would have him. Which they wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even be permitted to play in a club. He swallowed past a sudden blockage in his throat.
The van rolled to a stop and, a moment later, the rear doors were flung wide. An officer opened Julian’s cage and stepped back. “Get your mangy ass out. You’re free to go.”
Julian launched from the cage. An overwhelming desire to kill the officer sent him sprinting across the street before he acted on the urge.
Behind him, the doors slammed shut and the van roared away.
Free ? He wasn’t free. He’d been shackled in government bonds and life as he’d known it had been taken from him. His reality registered, cold and unflinching.
Several vampires walked in a group on the opposite side of the street. They barely spared him a glance. Two of the males were marked with a V1 brand. Both had small children trailing them.
Julian couldn’t find it within himself to be disgusted with them. How could he wish ill on them when the government made it so tempting to give in and submit to the identification process?
Vampires who voluntarily received the brands were cared for at a clinic where they were sedated and then given a supply of painkillers and ointments to make it as easy on them as possible.
That in itself wouldn’t be enough, but the government bastards were smart. They couldn’t very well round up the vampires they’d already shoved into the Open Zones and torture them the way they did the ones caught in the restricted areas. Not unless they wanted to take a chance on the vampires getting to the point where they felt they had nothing else to lose. That was a prescription for revolt and the government bastards didn’t want that.
Instead, they offered what amounted to a bribe to vampires who were often desperate and willing to do anything to feed their children.
The promise of a small check and a food card to use for a year after receiving the brands was often enough when hungry children were part of
PAIN, NAUSEA, and the stench of urine filtered through Julian’s consciousness. His hand and arm sang, throbbing and burning as if he’d stuck them in a hornets’ nest.
His stomach rolled.
Lying on cold metal with thick bars at his back, the motion of a vehicle lulled and coaxed him back toward the peace of sleep. But instead of giving in to the desire, he forced his eyes open to slits.
Enough moonlight filtered through tiny windows for him to see that he shared the back of a van with three other miserable looking males. The cages were close enough for them to reach through the bars and touch each other, but no one moved.
He pushed up his sleeve and gaped at the inside of his forearm. Holy fuck . He was now known to the government as vampire WA49S3728W97. The identification brand ran from two inches below the inside of his elbow to his mangled wrist. The charred letters and numbers were about an inch tall.
Registered as a Seattle vampire, if caught in a different registration zone, he would be shipped back to the Seattle Open Zone.
If caught in a different state, he would be returned or killed at their discretion. And wasn’t that a no-brainer for budget-strapped states? The cost of a single dose of lethal drugs versus the cost of shipping a vampire made it easy.
Population control at its finest.
His hand and arm throbbed. Violated was the word that came to mind. Violated and betrayed by the government he’d always counted on for protection as a United States citizen.
Now, to the government, he was no more than a dangerous animal that could be killed any time they deemed appropriate.
Violated. Betrayed. Alone.
Ignoring the pain, he clenched and flexed his hand. As far as appearance went, they’d destroyed his bow hand. He wouldn’t be able to play violin without the brands being on prominent display.
Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be permitted to play with the symphony if they would have him. Which they wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even be permitted to play in a club. He swallowed past a sudden blockage in his throat.
The van rolled to a stop and, a moment later, the rear doors were flung wide. An officer opened Julian’s cage and stepped back. “Get your mangy ass out. You’re free to go.”
Julian launched from the cage. An overwhelming desire to kill the officer sent him sprinting across the street before he acted on the urge.
Behind him, the doors slammed shut and the van roared away.
Free ? He wasn’t free. He’d been shackled in government bonds and life as he’d known it had been taken from him. His reality registered, cold and unflinching.
Several vampires walked in a group on the opposite side of the street. They barely spared him a glance. Two of the males were marked with a V1 brand. Both had small children trailing them.
Julian couldn’t find it within himself to be disgusted with them. How could he wish ill on them when the government made it so tempting to give in and submit to the identification process?
Vampires who voluntarily received the brands were cared for at a clinic where they were sedated and then given a supply of painkillers and ointments to make it as easy on them as possible.
That in itself wouldn’t be enough, but the government bastards were smart. They couldn’t very well round up the vampires they’d already shoved into the Open Zones and torture them the way they did the ones caught in the restricted areas. Not unless they wanted to take a chance on the vampires getting to the point where they felt they had nothing else to lose. That was a prescription for revolt and the government bastards didn’t want that.
Instead, they offered what amounted to a bribe to vampires who were often desperate and willing to do anything to feed their children.
The promise of a small check and a food card to use for a year after receiving the brands was often enough when hungry children were part of
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