Chapter 1

My entire life began, and ended, with her.

Black Sync is a great club. A vampire club, actually, its London's only vampire club. I say 'only' I don't mean it in that sense. There are quite a few in England's greatest city, but Black sync is the only one I would be seen dead in. Quite literally.

Unlike the other clubs, they don't advertise, and only the select are let in, vampires on their own, or with a few servants or prey. The new vampires, and the wannabes all hang out at other clubs. Goth posers the lot of them, all in black with painted pale skin. They hang about, being terribly morbid and listening to Marilyn Manson. Don't get me wrong, I rather like the guy, but you can't just say you like to drink blood, but never live up to it. Half these kids would throw up at the mere scent of the stuff.

So like I said, Black sync is a pretty classy club. Dark to be true, but it suits us all. There's a well stocked bar, a dance floor, the new DJ is really quite good, and privacy of a sort, in little booths, sectioned off by velvet drapes.

It was there that I first saw her.

A night, no different from any other. As I recall it was a Friday, I had the weekend ahead of me and work behind. Yes, I'm a vampire with a day job, our kind could have never survived all these years if we couldn't stand in the daylight. I don't like the sun, and harsh sun is bad for my skin. I don't tan well.

Fresh from The Ice Box, I was dying for a drink and after Barren had given me one, adding it to my eternal tab I found myself an easy chair in the corner and nursed my warmed glass. Fresh stuff, only ever the best. They were playing 'Forsaken', a good vampiric song, the heavy metal bass beats thrumming in on the tail end of HIM's 'Salt in Our Wounds'. I smiled to myself, and had a look about, to see who was there that evening.

I recognised some, but I will not bore you all with what little I know of my acquaintances. Aska was there, smiling over two humans, one of each, both playing to his every whim. Mais and Annis, each with servants I had seen before, vampire hopefuls. Others on the dance floor and hidden away in booths, as much human blood in the room as vampiric to be sure.

We vampires can tell a lot by the scent of the living, by the scent of the blood pumping through their veins. No lycan or demon would ever set foot in this place, they too can smell the differences in another's blood, and I know for myself that this place reeks of vampire.

And so it is that I scent a familiar vampire at my elbow, and I turn to see Ranyah standing in the shadows behind me. A hazel haired beauty boy if there ever was one, all gothed up in black lipstick and eyeliner for the night, black trousers and little else.

"Rani."

"Good evening Jaone. No prey tonight?"

"Not me, friend. But you seem to be alone, for once in the last century." My words are spoken too soon for out of the doorway behind him comes his most recent, and most long remaining partner. A human, the boy has deep red hair, and has obviously been given Ranyah's black and sexy treatment. He looks fit to eat.

"You know Reid?"

The boy gives me a smile, slightly nervous as I grin to show a hint of fang, and takes Ranyah's arm.

"Not well enough I fear. You boys on your way out?"

My long time friend gives me a smile like I should know better and reaches out to stroke his companion's hair, a mix of lust and love in his dark eyes.

"It's goth night at Ozun. You wanna come?"

I look at them both, their closeness. This Reid seems absolutely smitten with Ranyah and my friend seems to be in no hurry to drink from him. I can see that they really don't want my company, and anyway, I am all sparkles and glitter from The Ice Box. I declined the invitation and Ranyah dares to ruffle my hair on his way out with his new toy on his arm. A kiss goodnight is blown my way and I smile, returning to my drink.

Like all my kind, I am pale as Death and colder to the touch than a gravestone made of marble. Unlike my departed friend however, my eyes are a deep purple. They were once blue, long ago now, and have changed over time. My hair is raven black, and while I have worn many different styles over the ages I like it long these days, with shorter strands about my eyes. I know I am fairly thin, vampires do not have the metabolisms to gain much weight and it helps my general style this evening.

While Ranyah and his pretty boy and a few others favoured modern gothic or industrial looks, most others still stuck to the old ways, wearing robes of velvet or period costume. Few of us experimented. I was one of them, and that night I sat in my chair wearing platform boots, flared trousers and a waistcoat, all black. My trench coat, black again and lined with glimmering silver hung over the back of my chair. The hair that hung in my face was streaked with silver glitter and trails of the stuff wound around my arms, under my shirt and up my throat, a tempting idea. My mauve eyes were lined through with black glitter, which simply served to complete the look and make my skin seem even paler in comparison.

Among humans and vampires alike I got plenty of odd looks for my dress sense. Glam had been confined to the early seventies before punk came along and it was rarely mixed with goth successfully. Of course, it didn't stop the usual offers for a dance, or the humans longing glances. I knew what they wanted, but biting in public wasn't my style or my pleasure.

I was about half way down my glass was when it happened. The door opened yet again, and looking back, I felt the whole club, music included stopped and stilled at that moment and she stood there in the open doorway to the long drawn out notes of 'Romanticide'. I like to think that everyone halted to look at her then, and possibly it is not my imagination, possibly they all did pause in their actions, drinking, dancing or whatever, and looked at her standing there. For from her came an aura of power. But what struck every vampire in Black Sync firstly about the girl in the doorway was her scent.

She was tall, for a girl, and looked so very out of place. Pale skin, almost but not quite vampire pale, and russet brown hair that hung to her waist. The ends were stained blood red and one look about her, the upper edges of her eyebrows, un-plucked and natural, showed that this was no dyed in colour. She wore blue jeans, faded and well worn, a key chain on one hip, grey long sleeves with a black tour t-shirt over the top, and a pair of red flamed goth boots. There was something in her eyes, eyes that seemed to swirl inky blue with emerald green, a haunted almost frightened look, magnified by the slanted set of her shoulders and the way she stood just inside the door. She half turned to close it, giving us her profile against the black night, studded with London's factory fabricated stars. Then she turned back to us all and the whole place seemed to draw a long shuddering breath.

She was watched, fairly openly, as she walked to the bar, her boots making a resounding sound against the black lino floor, enough to show us that she was real and not some strange dream, and leant her elbows on the bar. It only struck me then that in human terms at least she was underage, no more than seventeen.

I said that it was her scent that struck us all, and now I will tell you why. For that night we all smelt something new, fresh, and strange. She was not human, no, nor vampire. Nor was she a lycan with a death wish or a demon with guts, oh no, nothing that simple.

That night a scent reached my nostrils, and it was vampiric, lycanthrope and demon all mixed into one and tainted with blood and death. And through all of our minds flashed a horrid, inexorable thought that we did not want to hear.

Hybrid.

Now, I have known Barren for a long time, and he is not the sort to snub an unusual customer or turn them out before they have done something to prove them worth of his contempt. He went to the girl, not too close, and inquired what she wanted.

"Vodka with a shot of rhesus negative please." Her voice was, normal, no shuddering overtones, no haunting melody, no hints of a growling edge.

"Sure thing," Barren poured alcohol and blood into a glass at the same time, insuring a good mix of flavours and handed it to her, "That'll be two quid please."

The girl dropped a pair of pound into his hand and took her drink, flashing him a smile. Innocent. As she put the edge of the glass to her lips, a voice spoke out.

"You can't do that."

All eyes shifted now to fall on the one of our number who had spoken. Ward, and old-fashioned vampire with old-fashioned morals.

She downed the whole drink and set the empty glass on the smooth wood of the bar. With an absolute slowness she turned to face Ward, walking towards him. There was something in her now, her shoulders no longer sloping. She no longer looked like a moth in front of the flames about to flit away. One long fingered hand rested on her hip, the other hung at her side. All in all, it was a very male pose.

"And why not?" Her voice had a hard edge now, overtones of steel and stone.

"You're a- You're a-"

"Go on," the words were bitten off and harsh, "Tell me what I am."

For the first time in his life, I saw Ward fail for eloquent words to reply to that. He failed to reply at all. The strange girl snorted through her nose at him before Mais spoke up.

He was reclined on a sofa, his prey almost sitting in his lap, coquettish and petting him as he sat there. There were bite marks along her neck and fresh one on her shoulder. Mais is an old world vampire, it was he who gave Ranyah to our ranks, and young Rani is no more than a child, though he outdates this centaury and the one preceding it.

"Abomination." Was the word that passed his lips.

In two heavy steps she stood in front of him, a look of utmost distaste or her face.

"Really?"

"Don't you think you should leave?"

At that moment her head snapped round. Barren was removing her glass from the bar to wash in up, he'd hardly made a sound as his fingers touched the tumbler.

"Leave it, please, I'll have another."

Barren nodded, his brown eyes echoing the surprise we all felt that she'd heard him.

"I have every right to be here. As much as you do."

We knew her words to be true, there was no sign, written or un-written, that said 'Vampires Only' because there had never been need of one. And she was a vampire, at least in part, we could all tell that.

She returned to the bar, downed her second drink and paid Barren. Her smile it seemed was free for him. As she walked onto the dance floor, my eyes never left her. She didn't dance, just stood stock still under the changing lights until she opened her mouth, and I swear, if I hadn't smelt the demon in her, I would have pledged my soul that it was an angel's voice that fell from her lips. A wayward one, but an angel nonetheless. That girl found the melody in the song and joined in harmony with it, her voice perfect in that talent. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

The song ended abruptly, changing into the next, far heavier tune and she stopped singing. Suddenly I found green-blue eyes turned on me, and never before in my entire un-life have I felt that my soul was being examined that closely. Then she was gone, in a swirling shroud of mystery, away into London's night life.

That night there was a new word on every vampire's lips, a new scent in the air around us. A threat perhaps, or maybe a gift.

Hybrid.

The social underground of London thrives, as does its upper world counterpart. There are fewer of us. One immortal for every few hundred humans. It is true to say that London is the heart of all immortal affairs. The great councils are held in the city, and it is also the main meeting point of the races. We don't mix, as a rule, there has been much animosity in the past, something we are trying to put behind us these days.

When I say 'immortal' I don't mean it as truth, but it is the phrase used. We cannot die from disease and most human methods are fairly ineffective. Demons chose the rate at which they age, and because of their allegiance they can incarnate at will. My kind, and the lycans only age one year for every few hundred human ones, and drinking blood keeps us young. Drink no blood and you will die a very slow aging death, growing old in the process.

Enough of distractions. There are two places where our kinds mingle freely. One is the place of discussions and council, old law courts bought for our purposes long ago. The other is The Font, a wholly black club which caters for immortals, and their human servants only. It was here that I went when I woke the following evening.

The Font is a very odd sort of place, a fantastic mix of styles and cultures. I hate repeating myself, and so my outfit was different for tonight. Black trousers and boots and a velvet blood red shirt that flowed loose over my shoulders as well as a silver band around my neck, my hair flowing loose.

Out on the dance floor, I was accosted by my only real friends that were not of my own race and we three found ourselves a little table in the corner, each with a glass of blood in hand.

Kotac was the lycan, the werewolf, but he currently wore his human form, the socially acceptable one in public. Half wolf forms tend to dominate those around them, and a full wolf form is impossible to hold a conversation with. He appeared to be twenty in human years, with short cut blond hair and blue eyes. Kotac always wore a tan, and his golden hued skin was shown off by the mesh top he had on.

I had known him a while, and we had met in this very club, both dancing to the same song. Always smiling, like now, and his voice bubbled with ever-present laughter when he spoke. White teeth showed a mere hint of fang.

Our demon was Arken. Arken was an odd sort, choosing the form of prey species over predator, but he was mighty and feared all the same. He was coated in chestnut brown fur all over, his hands ended in black talons and his un-shod feet were similar, but not of a shape that would fit shoes of any sort. Though his face was human, he had a deer's nose, and an almost hare lip, but that was the effect of the chiselled look. Round amber eyes regarded us all from under two pairs of horns, one set were black and curling like a bison's, the other set were a deer's antlers. He had deer's ears poking out from under his hair, hair which was long and swept back, a continuation of his fur. His garb matched his attitude, un-loving of technology and modern society. A plain leather tabard, clinched together at the sides, bare arms and feet. There was a dagger at his waist, long thin and dangerous looking. Not that he needed a weapon, I had no doubts that in Arken's ability to kill a human at a hundred paces, and that was without blinking.

"Have you heard?" Kotac sounded excited and thrilled, and fearful.

"No." I replied honestly. Arken was regarding me with serious eyes, and I could feel his chide at my game.

"What?!" The young Lycan practically jumped out to throttle me, and a lesser friend would have hurt him then, blood shed would have followed. Many of our kind are still very distrustful of others. To my pride, I didn't even flinch.

"I haven't heard Kotac. I saw."

"You were there?" I could feel his surprise, and his envy, as he slipped into his perfected slump and pouted.

We were, of course, discussing the appearance of the hybrid girl in Black Sync. It was the only conversation in the room. Rumours, stories and worries passed from mouth to mouth and from mind to mind and I felt several of my kin's tenuous contacts on my consciousness. Not least Ranyah's. He had missed all the news and he had told me he was on his way to see me. The two words on everyone's lips though, were Who and How. It was the only thing no one had an answer for, and there were few theories as to the matter either.

Even modern kin could see how damaging this was to all the clans, a merging of the species and while some humans would preach on about racial equality and freedom, their cake-icing values held no sway over the immortals. This merging should be impossible, truly and totally so. An immortal bitten or turned by a different race died instantly, the demons said it was the 'Law of Lucifer' not that I could believe that.

I told Kotac and Arken what I had seen.

"She just waltzed in, got a drink, talked down to Ward and Mais, and had another drink," I wondered whether I should tell about her singing, that Dark Angel's voice coming from her lips. I decided against, but I knew that they both would have heard other stories already, and my silence spoke for something, "She just left."

A slow easy smile spread over Kotac's face.

"I wonder what her name is."

"A lot of us wonder a little more than that."

Kotac yelped at the sudden voice from behind him and I smiled, looking up to meet Ranyah's dark eyes. In The Font it is harder to smell newcomers since the place is always packed and demon, lycan, vampiric and human scents all mix and linger there. I felt him coming, if only because of our mind link. The goth slips into a seat and I am surprised to see Reid slip half into, half onto the big chair along with his friend. He is less goth today, both are, lacking lipstick and eye shadow and most of their leather and studs. Instead I am surprised to see a white ribbon tied loose around Ranyah's throat.

Kotac makes a noise of surprise and his eyes shoot from Ranyah to Reid, predatory. Arken on the other hand just nods to the slightly nervous looking human and offers him a rare smile. But Ranyah's greetings are stalled by his low growl in his throat, directed at Kotac. The lycan's eyes had not left the human's slender frame and my fellow vampire wraps a possessive arm around his friend. A very clear mental warning flashes across the table.

Mine.

Fortunately, Kotac isn't fool enough, or brave enough to take on Ranyah and sits back in his chair. He inclines his head, part greeting, part submission. My friend's all slip back into normality and the moment of tension so palpable it could be sliced with a knife, leaves us.

"So, Jaone, what's the news?"

"There's a hybrid in town."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Arken gives Kotac a look that makes him shut up, and for the first time now I hear our human companion speak. His voice surprises me, it is lower that I thought, very boyish.

"Surely that's not possible?"

"A good observation young one," Arken nods to him and places his furred hands flat on the table, "It seems that someone, or several someone's have found a method that works." His amber eyes take a quick flick over Reid and I see one almost invisible eyebrow rise in surprise. He has noticed what I saw last night, Reid has no bite marks, Ranyah has kept him pure still.

"But why?"