Finding Blood (City Underdark #1)

The Lure

Whoever had said that vampires were pretty by nature had never seen Barmond. He might have some decent attributes to him – his long, elegant hands, his blue eyes, and his slim figure, for example - but that didn't save him.

First off, he looked old, older than what a vampire should. When the vast majority of his kind had been plucked at the graceful ages of sixteen to twenty-five, he had been reaped by his sire at thirty-eight. It showed from the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes to the greying of his otherwise red hair. He wouldn't grow any older now that he was undead, but he wouldn't get any younger either.

Second, he was a runt. It didn't show at first glance, but those sorts of things were easily guessed. He wasn't as fast and strong as the other vampires and lacked their grace. It was their inhumanity that made vampires so alluring; Barmond just looked like a human that could run really fast.

And third, Barmond had a massive brooding problem. That one he didn't actually mind because he had a lot to brood about.

Especially after this bust. He'd be caught dead before showing compassion for the enemy, but he felt a little bad for the harpy imps that had been unable to get away. There had been pregnant females and young among them. Even if they were pests that infringed on Ranphoros' territory, Barmond felt as if they should have been given a better end than being slaughtered under nets.

It was no different than going through a nest of rats, he told himself. If given a single chance, they would have pounced on him and gorged his eyes out with their little clawed hands. Barmond might be a vampire but that hurt and was a pain in the ass to heal.

Speaking of wounds inflicted by the imps, he sent a glance to the improvised infirmary in a corner of the abandoned barn the imps had infested. Some of their fighters had been standing on the roof, trying to throw nets over the holes there to keep as many as possible inside. One of those had been Hugo and, from what Barmond could tell, he had been targeted by a group of at least ten because he had been the leader of the operation (and it had shown.) The result? Well, Barmond was a vampire, he could smell blood, and he had smelled quite a lot of it when he had passed the man on his way down.

Not that he was intact himself, he had collected quite a few scratches but, thanks to the blood he had collected the night before, they had healed quickly. The only downside was that he was getting hungry now and he still needed to collect all of the nets.

His frown deepened as he wondered why he was stuck here when Ranphoros wasn't even his real master. It was true that the elders of his clan had told him to listen to everything he said (and report to them everything he did) but sending him out to fight was stepping beyond that. Leave it to an incubus lord to be unaware of the most basic decency. He liked walking around naked too. Easier to feed he said. But he never fed! He always looked at other people having sex and slurped their energy from the air around them. Creepy.

And his second in command was no better. Barmond would have thought that werewolves, being as they were related to vampires (albeit through very old connections), would have some dignity. He had been very wrong. Oh, he was handsome all right, too handsome for his own good, and with a smile that might or might not make Barmond's toes curl in his shoes, but at the same time... he was gross. So loud and boisterous when he drank, and wider than life, with arms that seemed able to hold an entire room when he spread them. He brought joy to his friends, fear to his enemies and it wasn't fair.

His only consolation was that he could get away with calling Hugo a wet dog. He had no idea how he was allowed to get away with insulting someone that was technically his superior but he supposed that it was because he wasn't part of Ranphoros' nest.