The foul smell of the male didn't deter V, and he cared not about the grime on the deer's fresh muscle. He reached forward, small hand splayed, inching toward the bone joint.

Just as he ripped it free, a black dagger streaked down-next to the soldier's ear and its penetration into the packed cave floor snapped open the male's eyes.

V's father loomed like a chain-mail fist about to fall, legs planted, dark eyes leveled. He was the biggest of all in the camp, rumored to be largest male born into the species, and his presence inspired fear for two reasons: his size and his unpredictability. His mood was ever-changing, his whims violent and capricious, but V knew the truth behind the variable temper: There was nothing that was not calibrated for effect. His father's malicious cunning ran as deep as his muscle was thick.

"Awake," the Bloodletter snapped. "You laze whilst you are feloned by a weakling."

V cringed away from his father, but started to eat, sinking his teeth into the meat and chewing as fast as he could. He would be beaten for this, likely by the both of them, so he had to consume as much as possible before the blows landed upon him.

The fat one made excuses until the Bloodletter kicked him in the sole of the foot with a spiked boot. The male went gray in the face but knew better than to cry out.

"The whys of this happenstance bore me." The Bloodletter stared at the soldier. "What shall you do about it, is my inquiry."

Without taking a breath the soldier curled up a fist, leaned over, and slammed it into V's side. V lost the mouthful he had as the impact drove the breath from his lungs and the meat from his mouth. As he gasped, he picked the piece up from the dirt and pushed it back between his lips. It tasted salty from the cave's floor.

As the beating commenced, V ate through the blows until he felt his calf bone bend until it nearly snapped. He let out a scream and lost the deer leg. Someone else picked it up and ran away with it.

All along, the Bloodletter laughed without smiling, the barking sound coming from lips that were straight and thin as knives. And then he ended it. With no effort at all he grabbed the fat soldier by the back of the neck and threw him against the rock wall.

The Bloodletter's spiked boots planted in front of V's face. "Get me my dagger."

V blinked dry eyes and tried to move.

There was a creak of leather, and then the Bloodletter's face was before V. "Get me my dagger, boy. Or I will have you take the whores' place tonight in the pit."

The soldiers who had gathered behind his father cackled, and someone threw a stone that hit V where his leg had been injured.

"My dagger, boy."

Vishous speared his little fingers into the dirt and dragged himself over to the weapon. Though a mere two feet from him, the blade seemed miles away. When he finally closed his palm upon it, he needed both hands to free it from the dirt, he was so weak. His stomach was rolling from pain, and as he pulled at the blade, he threw up the meat he had stolen.

After the retching passed, he held up the dagger to his father, who had risen back to his full height.

"Stand," the Bloodletter said. "Or think you I should bow to the worthless?"

V struggled into a sitting position and couldn't fathom how he was going to get his full body up, as he could barely lift his shoulders. He switched the dagger to his left hand, planted his right one on the dirt, and pushed. The pain was so great his eyesight went black… and then a miraculous thing occurred. Some kind of radiant light overtook him from the inside out, as if sunshine had swept into his veins and cleaned the pain until he was free of it. His eyesight returned… and he saw that his hand was glowing.

Now was not the time to wonder. He peeled himself from the ground, rising up while trying to put no weight on his leg. With a hand that shook, he presented the dagger to his father.

The Bloodletter stared back for a heartbeat, as if he'd never expected V to get to his feet. Then he took the weapon and turned away.

"Someone knock him back down. His boldness offends me."

V landed in a heap when the order was followed, and at once, the radiance left him and agony returned. He waited for other blows to land, but when he heard a crowd's roar, he knew that the losers' punishments would be the amusement for the day, not him.

As he lay in the swamp of his misery, as he tried to breathe through the pounding of his battered body, he pictured a female in a white robe coming unto him and wrapping him up in her arms. With soft words she cradled him and stroked his hair, easing him.

He welcomed the vision. She was his imaginary mother. The one who loved him and wanted him to be safe and warm and fed. Verily, the image of her was what kept him alive, giving him the only peace he knew.

The fat soldier leaned down, his fetid, humid breath invading Vishous's nose. "You steal from me again and you shall not heal from what I bring unto you."

The soldier spat in V's face then picked him up and slung him like worthless debris away from the dirty pallet.

Before V passed out, his last sight was of the other pretrans, who was finishing the deer leg with relish.

Chapter Six

With a curse, V disengaged from his memories, his eyes flying around the alley he was standing in, like old newspapers caught in the wind. Man, he was a wreck. The seal on his Tupperware had cracked open and his leftovers had leaked out all over the place.

Messy. Very messy.

Good thing he hadn't known then what a crock of shit the whole my-mommy-who-loves-me thing was. That would have hurt him more than any of the abuse coming his way.

He took the Primale's medallion out of his back pocket and stared at it. He was still looking at it minutes later when the thing dropped to the ground and bounced like a coin. He frowned… until he realized that his "normal" hand was glowing and had burned through the strap.

Goddamn, his mother was an egomaniac. She'd brought the species into being, but that wasn't enough for her. Hell, no. She wanted herself in the mix.

Fuck it. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of hundreds of grandchildren. She'd sucked as a parent, so why should he give her another generation to screw over.

And besides, there was another reason why he shouldn't be the Primale. He was, after all, his father's son, so cruelty was in his DNA. How could he trust himself not to take it out on the Chosen? Those females were not to blame, and didn't deserve what would come between their legs if he were their mate. He wasn't going to do this.

V lit a hand-rolled, picked up the medallion, and left the alley, hanging a right on Trade. He badly needed a fight before the dawn came.

And he banked on finding some lessers in downtown's concrete maze.

It was a safe bet. The war between the Lessening Society and the vampires had one and only one rule of engagement: No fighting around humans. The last thing either side needed was human casualties or witnesses, so hidden battles were the name of the game, and urban Caldwell presented a fine theater for small-scale combat. Thanks to the 1970s retail exodus to the burbs, there were plenty of dark alleys and vacated buildings. Also, what few humans were on the streets were primarily worried about servicing their various vices. Which meant they were otherwise occupied, giving the police plenty to do.

As he went along, he stayed out of the pools of light cast by street lamps and splashed by cars. Thanks to the bitter night there were few pedestrians around, so he was alone as he passed McGrider's Bar and Screamer's and a new strip club that had just opened. Farther up, he walked by the Tex-Mex buffet and the Chinese restaurant that were sandwiched between competing tattoo parlors. Blocks later he went by the apartment building on Redd Avenue where Beth had lived before she met Wrath.