1

The eight-by-eight windowless cell had been his home for twenty years.

Luther West didn’t look back as he walked—ahead of Dobbs, the Kevlar-clad vampire guard—toward the end of the long corridor lined with similar cells. Cells that held other vampires; criminals just like him. Bright light illuminated the corridors in the massive concrete maze located somewhere in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada.

Luther glanced up at the fluorescent tubes above his head. To a visitor they would look ordinary, but Luther knew better. From a control room, the flick of a switch activated the UV tubes located inside the casings. Any vampire caught in the corridor once the UV lights were switched on would slowly, but surely, incinerate.

A painful death. And an effective deterrent for anyone trying to escape.

Apart from that nifty gadget, a vampire prison wasn’t much different from a human prison. The idea was the same: punish the perpetrators and keep them away from decent people so they couldn’t harm anybody else.

Well, it had worked.

The UV ray guns the guards carried to keep the prisoners in line fulfilled their purpose. Though painful when applied, they ordinarily left no permanent marks on a vampire. The consumption of human blood and an uninterrupted sleep cycle assured that a vampire’s skin healed without scarring. However, some of the guards had been crueler than others. And those prisoners who had a hard time submitting to authority and accepting their fate found out the hard way that even a vampire’s body could scar.

Luther had been one of them.

To teach him who was boss they’d lowered his already meager rations of human blood to a near-starvation level and interrupted his sleep cycle every thirty minutes so his vampire body couldn’t heal. One week of such treatment, and scar tissue grew over the burns caused by the UV rays, making the disfigurement permanent.

Luther’s back and chest bore witness to his early years of defiance. He’d learned his lesson. He subsequently became a model prisoner and kept his true feelings to himself, biding his time. But he’d made enemies early on, and some people held a grudge longer than others.

“Release day?” The voice came from an open cell. He recognized it as that of Summerland, another guard, one who never missed an occasion to show Luther who was in charge.

Luther turned his head instinctively, though he knew the question wasn’t meant for him. Behind him, Dobbs stopped, and Luther did the same, anticipating the order to wait.

“West’s time is up.” Dobbs jerked his thumb at him then looked back at the guard inside the cell. “What you doin’? Thought that V-CON was released last week.”

V-CONs—it was what the guards called the prisoners: Vampire Convicts.

Luther glanced past Dobbs at Summerland who motioned his blond head toward the interior walls. “Yeah, he was. But he didn’t take all his junk with him.”

Summerland continued to rip posters from the walls. Movie posters, pictures of beautiful women, actresses most likely. Movie stars. Or maybe singers. One of the women looked vaguely familiar. He’d probably seen her on the screen. A blonde with a rack like Raquel Welsh and eyes like a wild cat. Green like emeralds. The vampire who’d previously occupied this cell clearly had good taste in women. Not so good taste in movies though, if the posters were anything to go by.

Access to movies and television shows was one of the privileges for good behavior. The ex-prisoner must have exhibited model behavior, since he’d even been allowed pictures from the outside. Or he’d bribed a guard.

After all, the prisoners were vampires, and many of them had already lived a long life and accumulated fortunes with which to buy certain services. Luther knew of prostitutes being smuggled into the prison by the guards in exchange for large sums of money. Being a guard at one of the few vampire penitentiaries was a coveted position. It was rumored that many guards had retired as rich men.

Though Luther could have paid for hookers, he never asked for such favors. A woman was the reason why he’d spent twenty years in this hellhole. Women were trouble with a capital T. He would make damn sure to stay away from them. Another lesson he’d learned: never trust a woman’s feelings. No matter how much she tells you she loves you. Not even if she carries your child.

With a grunt, Luther pushed back the rising memories and the anger that welled up with them.

“Done chatting?”

“Watch that mouth of yours, West,” Dobbs admonished. “You’ll get out of here soon enough. When I’m ready. Even if some people don’t like that fact. Right, Summerland?”

Summerland narrowed his eyes and shot a venomous look at Luther. “Oh, he’ll be back one day.”