Prologue

Anthony Trevick clenched both hands on the steering wheel, his dark eyes scrunched in concentration. Outside, it was dark and moonless. Decrepit offices and apartment buildings loomed on either side of the car, making him feel almost claustrophobic. A wind stirred an abandoned piece of newspaper, and a figure bundled in rags hustled across the street before melting into the shadows of an alleyway.

            Trevick jumped in his seat and watched the place where the figure had disappeared. His headlights were off, so he had only the light of a muted streetlight to go off for any sort of identification. His brain sorted through the details, and then dismissed the unknown vagrant as unimportant. The hair was too long, the features too sharp. And, of course, they had been traveling alone.

            Trevick’s companion drummed his fingers on the gun at his side. Trevick gave him a sharp glare as he inched his way down the street.

            The man looked up and raised a pugnacious eyebrow. “What?”

            Trevick clenched his jaw. How many times had they had this conversation, now? “Do you have to do that, Stiles?”

            Stiles rolled his eyes. “I don’t see why it’s such a problem with you.”

            Trevick rubbed his face to keep his hand occupied. Otherwise, he might’ve used it to strangle the man. “I’ve told you why. I’m over here trying to concentrate, but your pounding keeps distracting me. It’s driving me nuts!”

            “It’s not pounding!” Stiles said indignantly. “I’m just tapping my fingers! Is that a crime?”

            “Is it necessary?”

            “As a matter of fact, yeah, it is. It keeps me ready for action.”

            Trevick strangled the steering wheel in a death grip. Why? Why was he the one always stuck with the greenies?

            “B’sides, how hard can it be to see bright orange in all of this?” Stiles gestured vaguely to the drab surroundings.

            “They’re smart. They probably ditched the clothes as soon as they could.”

            Stiles snorted. “They can’t be that smart. They tried to escape, didn’t they?”

            Trevick agreed with the sentiment, but he was in the mood for obstinacy. “They didn’t try to escape. They did escape. Now all we have to do is bring them back.” He glanced at the other man. “Well, all I have to do, anyway. I’m not sure if you’re up for it.”

            Instead of rising to the bait, Stiles fell silent. The nearly non-existent sound of the car was the only noise. Trevick was about to start praising karma or whatever is was that had brought on this change, but Stiles spoke again and ruined the moment.

            “What happens if we don’t bring them back?”

            Trevick’s stomach lurched at the thought, and he tasted bile on the back of his throat. “You don’t want to know.”

            “That bad?”

            Trevick swallowed uncomfortably. “That bad.”

            Stiles cursed.

            Trevick shrugged, as much to shake off his dread as to irritate his partner. “All I’ve gotta say is that you were the one that chose this lifestyle.”

            Stiles glowered. “Whatever. Just drive.”

            Trevick compressed his lips, and noticed that Stiles wasn’t wearing a seat belt. Instead, he was sitting on the edge of his seat while his leg bounced up and down. Trevick let a conniving grin stretch across his face. When else would such a golden opportunity present itself.

            “Hey Stiles, you might want to hold on to something.”

            Stiles looked at him with an impatient, raised eyebrow. “Wha"?”

            Trevick floored the gas pedal and then flooded the vicinity in head lights, both to keep him from crashing and to let Stiles appreciate how fast they were going. Of course, there wasn’t much Stiles could ‘appreciate’ at the moment. He had flown backwards in his seat, and his seat had jerked our from under him. He was currently trying to untangle himself, cursing up a storm that would make a sailor blanch. Trevick was almost enjoying himself…

            Until he realized that two people had suddenly materialized right in front of him.

            Trevick slammed on the brakes, and Stiles was pitched forward. His head smacked the dashboard, and he went still.

            Trevick didn’t move. He was transfixed by what he saw in the headlights. A young man of about twenty-three and a woman in her late forties squinted against the blinding light, but then their faces drained of their color. Their eyes opened wide in terror. They wore no tell-tale orange, but their expressions were all the guilt Trevick needed to see.

            The three were frozen in place as they watched each other. Trevick sat in the car, trying to decide if he should just run them over, or take the time to pull out his gun. The two fugitives wavered uncertainly on their feet, their eyes calculating their every move.

            Stiles moaned in pain, feebly clutching at his bleeding forehead. Trevick’s gaze flickered toward his partner for the barest of moments.

            In that instant, the runaways bolted down a side street, running for all they were worth.

            “Hey!” Trevick fought his way out of the seatbelt and leapt out of the car. The moment his feet touched the ground, he was off in hot pursuit, wrestling his gun out of its holster.

            Stiles had come to his senses enough to tumble out of the passenger’s side, flopping like a dead fish onto the pavement. Spitting obscenities like venom, he rose shakily to his feet and took aim with his .9 mm, semi-automatic handgun.

            Trevick barely had time to take in the gash on Stiles’ forehead and think This isn’t good. before a shot rang out in the night. The bullet whizzed past Trevick’s ear, screaming like a miniature banshee. Trevick instinctively veered out of the way. He whipped his head over his shoulder, the blood pressure rising in his face.

            “You idiot! What do you think you’re "”

            An anguished scream cut him off.

            “NO!”

            Trevick whirled to see the young man collapse to his hands and knees. Shaking, he cradled his companion’s head in his arms, brushing away strands of gray-streaked hair from her face. Tears soaked the young man’s cheeks as her blood stained the road. Trevick didn’t have to come any closer to know she was beyond help. Stiles whooped in victory.

            Trevick felt a twinge of remorse as he watched the tragic pair. He had genuinely liked this kid, and Trevick knew that the woman made up the boy’s whole world.

            “You brought this on yourself, Alex.” Trevick was surprised to find that his voice had gotten slightly husky with emotion. He lowered his gun to his side and started to approach.

            Alex looked up, his eyes full of a bitter, implacable hatred that Trevick had never seen before. He halted in his tracks and took an involuntary step backwards.

            “This is not my fault.” The words hissed through Alex’s clenched teeth like darts. “It’s his.”

            Trevick didn’t have to ask who he meant.

            Alex’s face glowed red in undeniable fury. “He doesn’t care about human life. As long as he keeps his empire and power, nothing else matters.” He hugged the woman’s body to his chest, kissing her hair softly. “Not even us.” After muttering one final prayer over his mother, Alex stood up, giving Trevick a hard, bitter look. “Tell your god to enjoy his kingdom while it lasts. If I have it my way, it will be gone before the year is up.” With that, he turned and bolted down a side street.

            Trevick was startled for a moment, but instinctively sent a bullet after Alex’s retreating form. It was only a split second before it hit its mark.

            Alex cried out in pained, staggering a few paces. His hand flew up to his shoulder, and he veered off into an alleyway. Trevick growled and chased after him, shouting at Stiles to stay with the car. Fondness or not, Trevick was not sacrificing his life to let Alex get away.

            For someone that had just been shot, Alex knew how to move. He already had a head-start on Trevick, and was throwing whatever he could into Trevick’s path to slow him down.

            Trevick ground his teeth and shot blindly into the alley. The bullet ricocheted off the side walls and came dangerously close to hitting Trevick square in the face. He vaulted over an overturned garbage can and reached out to grab Alex by the shoulder. He missed him by a hair’s breadth.

            Alex whirled around so fast that Trevick almost didn’t have time to blink. He dished out a powerful uppercut, and then threw him against the alley wall with as much force as he could muster before taking off again. Trevick crashed into the wall with nothing to slow him down, and felt his wrist snap. He screamed obscenities at the bricks.

            “Alex, you’re going to pay for that!” He flipped around, but the fugitive was gone. He cursed violently and tore off down the last leg of the alley. He got there just in time to see Alex running towards a dark car with blotted out license plates. One of the doors was open and waiting for him.

            “You’re not going anywhere!” Despite his mangled wrist, Trevick took another shot. Alex screamed as his leg crumpled beneath him. He desperately tried to crawl the last few feet to the vehicle.

            Trevick smirked. He was easy prey, now. “So much for toppling kingdoms, eh, Alex?” Alex looked back at him, his eyes wide and desperate. Without remorse, Trevick took aim and fired. Alex grunted and heaved himself out of the way. The bullet scraped a furrow in the pavement.

            In response, the mystery car roared to life. With a squeal of tires, it skidded across the road, barreling straight for Trevick. He had one heart-stopping moment of his life flashing before his eyes, and he fired at his doom until all his bullets were spent. The missiles shrieked against the car’s frames, but did nothing to stop the vehicle. So, Trevick did what any sensible person would do. He jumped.

            Trevick rolled for several yards, his arms and elbows grating against the street. His gun skittered out of his hand and disappeared into the night. By the time he reoriented himself the car, and Alex with it, were gone.

            As he watched the pinpoints of taillights recede farther into the distance, a sense of dread settled over Trevick’s cold, selfish heart. He had had him! Alex was wounded and unarmed, not even able to walk, but he had still managed to get away! How was Trevick going to tell him?

            An involuntary shudder crawled like Death down Trevick’s spine. All hope of surviving this night had fled in Alex’s getaway car. All his years of faithful service, his loyalty and devotion, were shot down in a single instant, much like the woman that lay dead on the street. Trevick could almost literally feel his life force draining out of him as cold, unadulterated terror set in. When he reported in with news of his pathetic, unacceptable failure, he would receive a fate worse than death. He had been promised that on no uncertain terms before he had left the compound.

            Sirens wailed in the distance, responding to his gunshots. Trevick melted into the shadows out of habit, but then a thought struck him. What difference did it make if the police or the Bluebloods got to him first? At least the police could offer a faster end.

            Pulse racing on pure adrenaline, Trevick prowled in the alleyway, waiting for the perfect moment.

            Four Detroit squad cars screamed around a corner. Lights throbbed through the darkened street and sirens rebounded between the nearly abandoned buildings.

            Trevick hesitated for half a second, and the darted into the middle of the road. Brakes screeched and the police cars fishtailed wildly. Trevick’s body tensed. There was a brief eruption of excruciating pain, and then instant darkness.

*          *          *

            Stiles stumbled down the plush hallway, his vision hazy around the edges. Blood from his forehead dripped onto the carpet, and was smeared by the woman’s body that he dragged behind him. He stopped at a broad set of mahogany double doors, his chest heaving with effort.

            The world lurched drunkenly around him, and he felt as if his brain were fighting through a dense fog. He crammed his palms into his eyes, trying to alleviate the pounding behind them. This wasn’t the first time he had suffered from a hangover, but cracking open his head along with it was ten times worse… scratch that. He could have gotten plastered a hundred times over and still not feel as bad as he did right at that second. It was like someone had taken a massive  power drill to his skull and made it look like a mix between a whiffle ball and Swiss cheese. He cursed to make himself feel better. It didn’t help.

            With a growl, he rapped on the ornately carved wooden doors, wincing as each impact jarred his aching head.

            “Come in!” A gruff voice barked.

            Stiles shoved the heavy doors forward, and then slung his burden inside the lavish room. She rolled a foot or two before coming to rest on an antique Persian rug, which had been commandeered from a local collector. The uncertain firelight on her deathly pale face almost made it look like she was sleeping. Stiles shut his eyes against the image. He didn’t need his imagination to play tricks on him right now.

            A tall man paced before the massive hearth, which was crowned by a mounted black swan. His dark hair was shot through with gray, and his pale, piercing blue eyes burned with an intense hatred. He spared only the briefest glance for the woman on the floor, but there was a flash of betrayal on his face. His jaw clenched.

            “I’m assuming Trevick is behind you bringing Alex’s body?” It wasn’t a question.

            A shiver ran through Stiles’ body and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end. The man’s voice was darker than any other he had heard before. Death and torture were its undertones. Stiles averted his eyes from the unblinking gaze.

            “Trevick is dead, lord.” Stiles swallowed. “He was hit by a squad car.”

            Silence.

            Stiles shifted from one foot to the other, nervously clearing his throat. He knew he should wait for his master to respond.

            Don’t move. Don’t say anything.

            He looked up, unable to stomach the silence any longer. The man’s face was completely impassive, but there was a cold fury raging behind his eyes. A younger man appeared out of the shadows and stood at the man’s shoulder, his eyes boring into Stiles’ soul. His black hair was shave close to his head, and arms the size of telephone poles bulged out of a muscle-tee. His gold eyes were wild and cruel, and a black swan tattoo unfurled its wings at the base of his right ear.

            The mark of a true Blueblood. Stiles thought as his knees wobbles slightly. He had never personally met the new comer, but he had heard stories that had even made his skin crawl.

            “Stiles,” The older man’s voice was a deep growl. “Where is the boy?”

            Stiles blinked and came back to earth. His head pounded even worse than before.

            “I’m not sure. We were in an accident, and Trevick ordered me to stay with the car while he chased after Alex. After I loaded her up,” He gestured to the body on the floor, “I went to see where Trevick had disappeared to. That’s when I saw the cop cars and his body. Alex was gone.”

            “So, you thought you would come groveling back here, and bring me a useless body?” The older man kicked the woman on the floor, his voice seething. “You didn’t think to pick up the traitor’s trail?”

            Stiles’ eyes grew wide. Even in his stupor, he knew that the situation had suddenly turned very dangerous. “No, I "”

            The man bellowed in rage and sent a figurine careening towards Stiles. Stiles ducked, and the statuette shattered on the wall.

            Stiles’ master let out a string of punishing profanities. “Do you have any idea what he could do to us? He knows everything! We’ll be destroyed!” HE hurtled a heavy, leather-bound book in Stiles’ direction. This time, Stiles wasn’t quite so lucky in dodging it. It grazed his temple, and he staggered back a few steps.

            His lord whirled on him, his eyes deranged. “What are you still doing here? GET OUT!” He threw another missile, and Stiles bolted out the door. A livid roar followed him out. “I don’t care what you do! Don’t come back until you find him! I want my son, dead or alive!”

Author's Note

I hate rush writing. =_____=

I apologize if this isn't up to my standard. As a necessity, NaNoWriMo writers need to let go of their versions of perfection.

Any comment or feedback is greatly appreciated! I'll definitely take them into consideration, except not until the end of this insane month. :P

Thanks for reading!

Reviews

[minder]

its still a good chapter even if it isnt your average standard
(i hate rush writing too!)
i dont if it is your purpose to not do so, but i always like it if i know the personality of the main character.