Keeper of Shadows (Scarlet Rain Series, Book 2): Scarlet Rain, #2

Prologue

The year 2013

Feoran closed his eyes as the thrill of battle ran through his body, a surging rush of control that lit his blood on fire.

Snapping them open once more at a loud scream of anger, he met with the face of a human man, a gun pointed levelly with his gut. Feoran smiled to himself softly, barely flinching as the first volley of bullets ripped through his side. He simply raised his bow, narrowing his eyes, and lined the arrow up for its target. The human faltered, camouflage fatigues coated in the blood of his fallen brothers, staring into the blood-red eyes of his attacker. Feoran let the moment sit, surrounded by the screams and wails of agony and fear, keeping the arrow lined up with the human’s forehead.

He relished unnerving the prey. Some swore they liked the chase, but not Feoran. The chase simply tired you out, demolishing your own supplies. But that moment where you came eye-to-eye with the prey, staring into their very soul...that tasted like ambrosia. The few final seconds where their resolve crumbled into terror, where they realised that there would be no escape, that their last moment lay within your hands.

With the exception of Arianwen Harris. Or Aodhan Drummond. They never faltered when they saw death.

Feoran hissed to himself in fury, chasing the thought away from his mind. Without a second thought to the torment of the human in his sights, he let the arrow fly. It sprang from the bow, zipping through the air with the softness of wind, cementing itself firmly into the man’s head.

The human didn’t move as a trickle of red pooled forth from the wound, sliding down his eye. There was no blink as it splashed into his eyelashes, dripping down to meet the rest of the sticky fluid covering his jacket. Swinging his bow back onto his shoulder, Feoran watched with cold indifference as the human keeled over, sliding first to his knees before he reached the muddy ground below.

The two demons had played on his mind for some time now. Ever since he had met them in the home of his personal assassin, Duifean, their bravado had unnerved him. He hadn’t shown it, of course. But it was there. A nasty little worm of fear, eating its way through the back of his mind, reminding him of all the things that could go wrong with this plan. Reminding him of the possibility of the humans beating back the vampire onslaught, of killing off his brethren and hunting down those who remained. Reminding him of how he could fail.

Feoran brought himself back to the present, looking down in revulsion as the human clawed at his leg. So even with an arrow through his forehead, he’s still going for me. These humans are tenacious, I’ll give them that. The man looked up in terror one last time, his hand raised in a pleading gesture. Feoran pulled the bow back, snapping the loaded arrow into the eye of his enemy. The man stuttered, a gurgling emanating from his body as blood bubbled from his mouth.

There would be no mercy. No weakness. Feoran kicked the man aside and stepped over him, pushing his adversary into the growing pile of bodies, breathing in the potent scent of blood with appreciation. His eyes fell on the land before him, the edges of London. This is where the new cities will start. I will decimate their humble achievements, and replace them with a world never seen before. A wall, sixty-feet high, will rise up around each city, trapping the feeble humans within their limited existences.

With a renewed sense of resolve, he pushed his fears to the back of his mind, and surveyed the scene before him. Of his brothers and sisters, a wall of vampyric might, overwhelming the humans that tried to succeed. Cries of terror and screams of agony. Of blood and power.

Feoran allowed a wicked grin to curl his lips, flashing white fangs at the world. His black eyes reflected the void that now replaced hope for the humans.

A new world.

His world.

Chapter One

2038, 25 years after the war

Grey clouds, grey buildings, grey people.

Life was grey.

Or red.

Psyche shivered as she allowed that thought to settle in her brain, before chasing it away hurriedly. She did not want to think about the colour red.

Because red meant death. Red meant...blood. For them.

Rain drizzled down around them, an early spring shower. Not that it bothered Psyche whether it was early or not. There was no spring, no seasons anymore. Only an endless cycle of days. When the sun came out, when it rained, when it snowed...none of it mattered. There were no days off. No holidays. Nothing. They had eradicated it all.

The only noise was the occasional murmur from the Clan members watching over the queues of people in front of the food booths, and a subdued cough or two. No birds were singing merrily, but they apparently existed in the countryside. Psyche wouldn’t know, she had never been outside the city wall. As had no-one else she knew.

The line shuffled forwards. An older woman behind Psyche tutted under her breath as Psyche didn’t move forwards quickly enough to keep up with the rest of the line. As the woman took a step onward, she caught Psyche’s heel, sending her headlong into the concrete below. Psyche cried out as she tripped, flying towards the hard pavement.

She threw her arms out to stop herself falling, but they grazed into the gravelly street, sending scraping fire zipping along her arms. She turned to shout at the woman, then froze in horror.

One of them was watching her, no more than a foot away. A Scout. He smirked, his cold, red eyes boring into her skull. His highly-polished boot tapped impatiently next to her arm, as if he were waiting for her to say something. She lowered her gaze to his, staring down at the damp street instead.

I’m...sorry. I...t-tripped.

Yes. Yes, you did. Make sure it doesn’t happen again, or you’ll find yourself at the Factory. He crouched down, curling his finger under her chin to force her to look at him. Psyche lifted her head, but kept her gaze lowered. All she could see from her viewpoint was his sharp chin, and thin, cruel lips, bent into that arrogant smirk. He softened his tone as he spoke again, but it held a note of sadism. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?

Psyche shook her head silently. Her eyes caught that he had a scar running across his chin, nearly faded, but still just visible at this distance. Vampires didn’t get scars, so he had obviously been a human at some point. Not that it made any difference once they were turned. He released her chin with a chuckle and rose up. His footsteps rang out in the quiet morning air as he left her.

She swallowed nervously, allowing herself to catch her breath before shakily releasing it again. Psyche rose up, wincing as the stabbing pain in her arms reminded her of scraping them. The woman gave her an almost apologetic glance, but didn’t say anything as Psyche stepped back into her place in the queue. Pulling her sleeves down again to cover the bleeding skin underneath, she threw a glance to the front of the queue. It was almost her turn.

She had a moment of panic as she thought she had forgotten her tokens, and scrambled madly in her pocket. Her heart squeezed itself painfully against her ribs as she felt for it, the thought of having lost them making tears prick behind her eyeballs. She breathed a sigh of relief as her finger grasped the cool plastic pieces, and she shuffled forwards as the queue moved closer. Losing the tokens would be heart-breaking.

A chill wind picked up, tugging playfully at the thin cotton jacket and trousers that Psyche wore. She dressed the same as everyone else, the uniform that they all had to wear. It consisted of a white pair of trousers and jacket, with their number sewn into the sleeve. If anything ever happened to their clothing, it was up to them to make sure it was fixed. There were penalties for getting new clothing before the annual release of the next ones.

There were only two exceptions to the rule of the uniforms, and you didn’t want to be in either of them. The first was for those who were part of the Clan’s ‘Bordello’. The dwellers of the Bordello wore vibrant red or purple clothing, generally cut to reveal a little more than the imagination would allow, for both men and women. Those who were chosen to become part of the Bordello were given a better life than most, with extra food tokens, their own houses, luxurious furnishings...but it came at a terrible price. Those who were part of the Bordello had to sell their bodies for this luxury. And everyone knew that the members of the Clan didn’t exactly have...normal appetites. Psyche had lost one of her best friends, Melinda, to the Bordello. She couldn’t blame her. She had nearly considered it herself a few times.

And besides, the other place was even worse. The second set of uniforms belonged to those who went to the Factory. Their clothing was the same as Psyche’s, except they were grey instead of white. They were very rarely seen, apart from when the Clan wanted to frighten everyone to keep them subdued. They were always drawn and ill-looking. They were the ones who had become too old to work, or worse, had rebelled. No-one knew what went on in the Factory, but they knew one thing for certain. Once you went to the Factory, you never came back.

Snapping out of her reverie, Psyche strode forward as she came to the front of the queue. She marched over to the small food booth, the woman within staring at her with tired eyes, heavy bags under them from lack of sleep. She looked as though she might only be in her thirties, but a life of toil and worry had aged her. Her thin brown hair was scraped back into a tight ponytail, her lips pursed in an unforgiving line.

The food booths were where the food parcels were handed out. Tokens were earned through work, and used to purchase the basics; food, water, and utilities. There was a long line of booths along the city wall, small huts that connected to a huge warehouse beyond.

Morning.

Morning. The woman’s response was as emotionless as Psyche’s.

Psyche pulled the tokens from her pocket, rifling through them anxiously. She had tried to save some of them for the last few weeks, to get more than she needed this time. There were a few luxuries to be had, but only if you had enough tokens.

The woman tapped her fingers on the counter in front of her impatiently, and gave a harsh cough. Come on, come on! I haven’t got all day, y’know. What is it you want?

Oh, er...sorry. Psyche gave a quick glance up at the board above the booth window, scanning the menu quickly. I’ll have a basic parcel, and...and a red parcel too.

The woman raised her eyebrows, and hesitated before she retrieved the parcels. A murmur of whispers fluttered through the crowd behind, and Psyche felt her cheeks burn with the sudden focus on her purchase. A red one? You know that’ll cost a full fifty tokens, don’t you, love?

Psyche nodded eagerly, and placed her tokens down on the counter, showing the woman she had them. The woman took a quick glance over them, and nodded, as if satisfied. She turned around and disappeared into the back of the small hut, searching around in the darkness. Returning a minute later, she handed two paper-wrapped parcels over to Psyche, giving the one with a red tag a longing glance before returning her gaze back to the queue. Thank you, love. Next, please!

Psyche paced away quickly, not daring to look behind her. Although none of the others would attack her in front of the Clan members watching them, they might take note of her parcels, and attempt to follow her and take them by force. She slipped into an alleyway, taking a quick route home. Psyche allowed herself a cursory glance down at the parcels, her stomach doing an excited flip at the sight of the red tag. What could there be within? She could still remember the last and only time she had ever seen one of these parcels before, and even been able to taste some of its delights.

Her mother had got it as a surprise. It was little Psyche’s eighth birthday, and her parents had saved up to get it for her. Psyche had invited Melinda, of course, and her parents and brother, and they had held a small party for her. She could still picture it now...

...Come on darling, we’re going to open it! Are you ready?

Yes! Coming, Mummy! Little Psyche nearly squealed with excitement. She came running in, her long black hair tumbling down her back, her cheeks rosy with fervour. She clapped her hands together in delight, looking around the room at her small party.

Her parent’s cramped living room had been transformed, at least in Psyche’s child-like mind, into a fairytale party room. They had managed to get some coloured paper from somewhere, and had hung it along the windows to hide the peeling paint, and hung it from the ceiling to draw attention away from the long, five-foot crack that was snaking its way across. The patchy sofas had been covered up with the blankets from the beds, and Melinda’s parents had brought their cheap plastic table over, as Psyche and her parents didn’t have one. The parcel was sat upon the top, looking for all the world as though it were going to contain a genie within an exotic bottle.

Melinda ran over with her brother, who was smiling shyly at Psyche. Her green eyes lit up with excitement as she threw her arms around Psyche, squeezing her tightly. Happy Birthday, Psyche! Ben and I made you this.

Psyche took the proffered piece of paper, and her face broke into a brilliant smile. Oh, thank you! I love it!

It was a small drawing, signed by both Melinda and Ben. It was of themselves stood with Psyche, and they were all holding hands. The sun was shining in the corner, and the city walls were drawn in behind them.

I did the wall. And most of the sun too, Ben added proudly, before looking shyly down at his shoes again.

Psyche giggled, that sweet innocent sound that all children have, and poked him on the arm playfully. He looked up with a wide grin on his face, and poked her back.

Come on, sweetheart, do you want to see what Mummy and Daddy got for you? The sound of her mother’s voice made Psyche remember about the parcel, sitting in the middle of the room. She looked up and saw her mother’s smiling face looking at her, her own long black locks falling over her shoulders, her soft blue eyes tired but happy. Psyche’s father had his arm around her shoulders, his handsome face broken into a wide, lop-sided grin. His brunette hair flopped over his forehead, giving him an air of being younger than he actually was.

Psyche stopped in front of the parcel, holding her breath. She hardly dared to even touch it, never mind open it. Its brown paper spoke of surprise, its small red tag like the golden ticket of adventure.

Go on, Melinda’s mother urged in her soft voice. It was part of the reason that Psyche and Melinda had always been so close, their families had always been like one big family. They both had two mothers, two fathers, and Ben was brother to both of them.

Psyche nodded eagerly, and took a deep breath. Her small fingers grasped the edges of the rough paper, and she relished the feel of it, thick and luxurious in its novelty. A sudden urge of childish excitement overcoming her, she ripped it back, the tear echoing in the small room. The paper fell away, swishing to the sides of the table and landing on the floor.

The paper revealed a plain white box, which Psyche popped open, its lid coming away easily. Her eyes widened like saucers at the sights within, and she thought to herself that she had never seen anything so good.

There was a large plump chicken, wrapped in greaseproof paper. It was flanked by a variety of crisp vegetables in fresh greens and vivid yellows. Jars of things Psyche had never even heard of lined the edges of the box. On top was a big slab of something in shining foil. Curious, Psyche picked it up to have a better look, peeling back the gleaming coverage. The object inside was brown and hard, but had a sweet smell.

Psyche’s mother knelt down, and took the slab gently out of Psyche’s hands. She broke a piece off, and offered it to her daughter, who was frowning at it. Go on, she urged. It’s good. It’s called chocolate.

Choc-lit, Psyche echoed in her high-pitched tones, taking the piece of slab from her mother’s hand in suspicion. She sniffed it first, before bringing it to her mouth and licking one tiny corner.

She couldn’t really taste anything, so took a deep breath, and bit half of it off.

Wow...

The taste was...like...well, Psyche couldn’t think what it was like. Sweetness danced around her mouth, and the strange brown slab...melted? It was like silk pouring into her throat...

Yes, Psyche could still remember the taste of that exotic concoction. She also remembered her mother telling her how she used to buy it all the time as a little girl, before the Rising.

That thought sobered Psyche up, and she shook herself mentally, speeding up her pace to get home. She didn’t want anybody to steal the parcel from her, especially without the Clan members around.

At least they had prevented that from happening in the centre, even if they were blood-thirsty vampires.

Chapter Two

Psyche heaved a sigh of relief as she clicked her front door shut behind her, finally relaxing since she had gained her parcel. She looked down at it again, stroking the red tag with her thumb.

It had taken an awful lot to earn this parcel. For a long time, the last one had remained nothing more than a sweet but distant memory. Then one day she had woken up with this longing to do something...more, with her life. There were not a lot of choices for her to do with her life, but one thing she could do was earn a reward for working harder.

She had toiled like there was no tomorrow, at whatever job she had been assigned. One week she had been sewing clothes for the city’s quota, the next week she had been cleaning some of the Clan members’ homes. One of the homes had actually been the home of Pietor Dobrynin, the Clan’s Head in her district. She had been told by her parents that the area they had lived in had once been known as Camden, and had been part of a large city called London. Psyche had simply known her district as Cuan Delta, which apparently meant ‘Fourth Haven’. Psyche may not have ever lived anywhere else her whole life, but she was pretty sure this wasn’t a haven.

His house was magnificent. A Victorian Gothic manor, it was resplendent in its position at the very heart of the district. All she had done that day was scrub the floors, but even that had made her wish she could stare at them forever. Their gleaming tiles had been so colourful and vivid, painting out stories of people who had walked those same floors long before her.

Every human was allowed to work an additional two hours a day over what they were required to do. Seeing as it was compulsory to work at least ten hours a day, most people chose not to do the extra work. But Psyche had, earning herself the further tokens. And now she had her reward.

Clicking her light switch on, Psyche kicked her shoes off, landing them somewhere near the door. She placed the parcels down on the scratched wooden kitchen table, and crossed the room to turn her small television on. Psyche gave the parcels another glance, thinking of her extra work.

Her mother and father had told her of a time when none of this had existed. When life was very different, and people didn’t even believe in vampires. Vampires had been plotting for years to take over humanity, their plans laid out over six centuries. When the year 2013 arrived, nearly twenty-five years ago, they had chosen that as the year they would take over.

World leaders, scientists, business people...all of them had been turned or bribed into siding with the vampires. Humanity just wasn’t prepared for an enemy that couldn’t be stopped by bullets or bombs. An unstoppable predator with the capability to kill you, or make you join their numbers. Then the humans had simply run out. Of everything. Run out of bullets, out of energy, out of time. The vampires had swept in and made a new age for themselves.

All humans were now slaves, and all were under the control of the vampire population—or the Clan, as they were collectively known. The Clan was spread across the world, splitting cities into how they thought they should be laid out. Then each city was split into districts. As far as Psyche knew, no-one had ever left one district to go to another. People were born and died in the district they lived in.

Shaking the thought from her head, Psyche awoke from her reverie as the television burst into life, colours and sounds flooding the room. She grunted in disgust. Even the TV networks were owned and controlled by the vampires, so all content was what they wanted you to see. Leaving it on, Psyche walked away from the buzzing screen back over to her new present.

Thoughts of that sweet, silky chocolate bar went through her mind, making her mouth water. She knew it was unlikely there would be another chocolate bar in there, but there might be something. At the very least, she knew one thing from that surprise box all those years ago. It would be full of wonderful foods she never usually got the chance to eat. It might have seemed like such a simple thing to others, but for her it represented a tiny glimpse of freedom, a miniscule snatched moment of what it was like without the Clan telling you what to do.

Closing her eyes as she reached out for the parcel, Psyche grasped the edges of the rough paper, just the same as she had all those years ago. She stroked her fingers along it for a second, smiling gently as she allowed herself to imagine what it might hold within. Ripping the paper away to reveal the box below, Psyche braced herself as she pulled back the lid.

Well, there certainly wasn’t any chocolate.

In fact, there wasn’t much of anything. Psyche stared in disappointment into the box, tears pricking her eyes. The bountiful feast she remembered unveiling all those years ago was but a distant memory. There was hardly anything in the box. The chicken had been replaced by a small packet of sausages, still hard to come by, but hardly the same as a chicken. The jars had reduced in number, and most were of things she would never be able to eat on their own. Instead of tins of fruit or meat, there were tins of gherkins or sauces. Things that required another element to them—obviously the Clan’s idea of a joke, seeing as humans very rarely had meat, instead eating a diet mainly consisting of bread. There were a few other pieces of meat, cheap cuts, and two apples. And that was it.

Psyche sank to her ripped linoleum, her face drawn and white. A small spider skuttled away hurriedly as she went to sit near its dusty-threaded home in the corner of the room.

Psyche put her face in her hands, and sobbed. Her shoulders shook with the effort, her sobs getting louder, until she cried out in anger and balled her hands into fists. She slammed them against the floor.

All that work. All that pointless, pointless work.

Nothing would ever change. Psyche had tried to do something that would make her life a little more bearable, but the Clan had won. How fucking dare they! Why have they taken that one pleasure away from us? And I’ve lost all those tokens...

A sharp knock at the door made her jump, and her tear-stained face peered up towards it. She pushed herself off the floor, craning her neck towards the front door, wondering if she had imagined it. The knock came again, this time more insistent.

Psyche scrambled to her feet, running over to the door. She gave a quick peep through her spyhole in the top of the door, before sighing with relief and pulling the handle inwards. As she unbolted the door, she revealed the sight of her best friend, Melinda.

Thank fuck for that! Let me in quick, I’m not supposed to be anywhere near here! Melinda hissed, pushing past Psyche into her small apartment. As she breezed past, Psyche caught a whiff of heavily scented perfume, filling the small room. She only knew what perfume even was because of Melinda wearing it.

Melinda spun around to face her as she clicked the front door shut again, wrinkling her nose up at the dingy surroundings. The once-blue sofa was a dirty grey, covered with blankets in varying states of wearing out. The walls were blank white, but stained from previous occupants. The nylon green carpet stretched across the whole apartment, holes showing the wooden boards underneath, except for the kitchen area covered in the grey and white linoleum. The TV was a murmur of white noise in the corner, sat upon a small, cheap wooden table.

Hi, Melinda.

Melinda was dressed in her usual red uniform. A tight dress with cut-outs at the sides of her torso, and a low-cut neck that showed the bite-marks around her throat, a diamond collar around the thinnest part. She had high stiletto heels on, so high that Psyche briefly wondered how she was able to walk in them without teetering over. Red silk ribbons wound up her arms and legs, showing that she was bound in the same nature to her vampyric master. She wore a red silk hood over her perfectly coifed hair, and her eyes were heavily made up with red and black kohl. The only thing that didn’t fit with her outfit was a small tattoo on her left wrist. A raven, her master’s mark.

Hi, Psyche. I thought I should come and see you, as I didn’t get to... Melinda’s clipped English accent trailed off as she saw Psyche’s bloodshot eyes. A hand flew to her mouth. Psyche! Are you...are you okay? Are you in some kind of trouble?

What? No, no, I’m not in any trouble. Psyche pushed past her into her small kitchen area, clicking the kettle on to make a drink. She blinked her eyes a few times, trying to will away the salty teardrops. As she reached up to one of the cupboards to grab two chipped mugs, Melinda spun around and narrowed her eyes, tutting.

Melinda leaned her elbows on