L.A. Banks - Vampire Huntress Legend 5 - The Forbidden

theUnited States of America . No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner

whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles

or reviews. For information, addressSt. Martin 's Press,175 Fifth Avenue,New York ,N.Y.10010 .

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Banks, L. A.

The forbidden : a vampire huntress legend / L. A. Banks.—1st ed.

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p. cm.

ISBN 0-312-33622-5

EAN 978-0-312-33622-6

1. Richards, Damali (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. African American women—Fiction. 3. Women

martial artists—Fiction. 4. Vampires—Fiction. 5. Occult fiction, gsafd I. Title.

PS3602.A64F67 2005

813'.6—dc22 2004065825

First Edition: July 2005

This book in the series is dedicated to the concept of redemption—that if we simply believe, we still

have a fighting chance. Much has happened in the world since this series began. There are signs

everywhere that we might all need to take heed and pursue a more spiritual path. The earth even stopped

in time for microseconds after a disastrous tsunami. This tells me that there is a power out there greater

than my tiny human brain could ever hope to conceive of, and therefore, anything is possible. But one

thing I know for sure is redemption was a promise.

May you choose wisely and pause to think about things greater than we can fathom.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my agent, Manie Barron, who continues to bring brilliance to projects; my editor, Monique

Patterson, whose tireless dedication can be felt on every page; to the team at St. Martin's Press, who are

like family; to Eric Battle, for his wondrously creative renderings of the characters (his art is da bomb!);

to Vince Natale and Michael Storrings, who continue to blow me away with their cover art and designs;

to Chris Bonelli, a saint who keeps the Web site fresh; and, of course, the Rowdee Black Giants, who

always inspire—go, brothers—and to Zulma Gonzalez, an angel whom I am blessed to know.

CHAPTER ONE

ALL WAS still on level seven. A clawed hand held embryonic life within it. Golden green glowing eyes

misted over black as they looked up to the vast expanse of nothingness that mimicked a vaulted ceiling.

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Trembling with anticipation, a shaky finger extended a hooked talon that prodded at the bloody mass of

dormant life… life that could be molded into its own image. A hissing coo filled with gentle adoration

warmed the small cluster of cells, making them glow red and begin to pulse.

"Oh, soon, my son," a passionate voice whispered. "Very, very soon."

Sydney,Australia…

Dread tightened Damali's chest as she watched Carlos's eyes. Visceral emptiness filled her, making her

clutch her lower belly. His once-serene gaze now darted to her face, then to the faces of her teammates

and to his surrounding environment like a man displaced and confused. The sensation was so

overwhelming that it threatened to choke her heart to a standstill. Her man, once confident, suave, and

smooth as black silk, had come up out of the unknown looking crazed and wild in the eye.

Suddenly she felt a strange sensation that fluttered in her womb. She pressed her hand against her

abdomen.What was that ? But she had to shake off the weird feeling. Too many issues competed for

her attention right now and the most immediate was Carlos.

The Light had brought him back, had actually reconstituted his form from the burnt vampire ash left by

dawn, and now it seemed as though he didn't know where he was, how he'd gotten there, or whom he

was with. Beyond all that they'd had to contend with, this was perhaps the most frightening experience of

all: Carlos Rivera's mental state was in question—tears, screaming, ranting, fighting against the hold of

friendly hands. Damali turned away for a moment and swallowed hard.

A head on a silver platter would be her bride price. Yeah. She and the chairman had unfinished business.

She reached out her hand to touch Carlos's face, and he jerked away from her, unsure if she were a

mirage, a vampiric illusion, something evil and vile that would start his torture all over again. His fear

rippled through her and rattled her bones. It sent a chill through her like a knife. It drew her mouth into a

tight line as she fought not to scream. She saw what they had done. A head.The head of the bastard

who'd done this , was the only acceptable answer to levy the debt paid in full.

Down in Hell they had a phrase: Fair exchange is no robbery. Then so be it. A head for a head, a mind

for a mind… and an eye for an eye and a tooth for a fucking tooth—the chairman's fangs mounted on her

wall mantel. This was war.

Damali could feel her eyes narrow to slits as her man tried to stand, and then tried to get away from her

and her team. Oh, hell no. They'd raped his mind and stolen his dignity. And for that unforgivable offense,

she'd blow the Vampire Council's doors off the damned hinges. In her mind's eye, she could see the

pentagram-shaped table surrounded by dark thrones, and the chairman's smug expression. But Hell had

no fury like a woman scorned. Her thoughts frayed and descended to the pit.

Fuck you, Mr. Chairman. This time, it's just me and you.

Carlos could feel his eyeballs roll backward beneath his lids as consciousness ebbed and flowed like a

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reluctant tide. One moment he had been sitting on the ground, naked, awed, and so profoundly moved

that he couldn't speak, and in the next moment, he was being hurried away by many hands and clamoring

voices all trying to get him into a vehicle and onto hallowed ground. Were it not for Damali's hand firmly

holding his and her voice cutting through the melee, he would have tried to escape them all.

For the first time in his entire existence he truly feared he was losing his mind. Something was very

wrong. He'd gone into the Light—more accurately, had been propelled into it, summoned by it, sucked

toward a bright, indescribable iridescent wonder that had a pulse, a center, and held the heartbeat of the

universe. Beings of unfathomable strength had hurled him forward, their silvery light sabers cutting at

filaments of dark tendrils, holding him, burning him to ash. The heat was so intense that his bones had

liquefied, his skin had blackened and crumbled away, his eyes had melted and had run down his cheeks

like gory, oozing tears… but silver metallic wings with the texture of satin had shielded him from the

furnace blast beneath him. What were they and who'd sent them?

Healing warmth had entered him, coating his burning insides with instant peace, quenching the sun's fury

against his skin. One being had parted to become many with raised golden shields that seemed as though

each held a living, moving orb of sunlight until he was encircled by them, each ball of molten, living,

golden light fusing to become a ring around him. The ring had covered him, entered him… All he could

remember now was that they came and then in a fluttering cloud they'd dispersed, shooting away so

quickly they'd left only a blinding blur of white light in their wake.

But perhaps the powers-that-be had messed up somehow. Maybe they didn't catch his soul in time, and

how did a man turned vampire return to the sun?

He couldn't hear. Everything was coming at him in muffled tones. People spoke in indecipherable guttural

fragments. Everyone seemed to move in slow motion. It was like moving through mud. His mind was a

slurry of confusion. He was nearly blind, each friendly face blurred beyond recognition until it was

breath-close to his face. His skin felt thick and dull, the sensation of hands soothing his shoulders, rubbing

his back, bundling him into a coat, but all of it took seconds to register. Breathing was an effort that

consumed his concentration. The most troubling aspect was the heaviness he felt in his limbs, as though

his muscles were too weak to lift his own body.

What had the Light done to him?

Carlos leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. The sensory overload was too

much—rather, the lack of sensation and the ability to perceive his surroundings was horrifying.

"I think he's going into shock," Damali said, drawing him against her body closer as the Jeep careened

through the streets. "We have to get him inside, out of the sun."

"I'm gonna fry," Carlos croaked, becoming more disoriented as the vehicle barreled through desolate

streets in a town he didn't know.

"We'll be at the church in just a few minutes, kiddo."

Carlos slowly removed his hands from his face, training his attention toward what he remembered to be

Rider's voice. "To a church?" Instinct made Carlos begin struggling against Damali's hold. He could hear

his voice rising with panic. "No! I'll burn!"

Many strong arms held him. In a distant part of his mind he heard Father Patrick call out to him.

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"You've stayed with us on hallowed ground before, Carlos. We have to keep you safe. Remember the

woods, the cabin? The dark side cannot know you've come back. You won't burn."

"No!"

More hands held him down as he grabbed at the door handle… but these were human hands, hands that

shouldn't have had enough power to hold him, even in his weakened state. He needed to feed and find

shelter!

"Stop fighting us, baby," Damali urged. "It'll make it worse.Please , Carlos, trust me."

"We're taking you someplace safe," an old man's voice said. It was a familiar voice.

In unsteady increments memory came back to him. Father Patrick… that's right. The monks. They had a

prayer barrier that only he could cross. Yeah. He remembered. The safe house. Damali trusted them.

This was her squad. All right.

Carlos stopped struggling and closed his eyes. He could feel Damali's cool hand stroke his brow, wiping

away the sweat. He ran his tongue over his incisors to retract his fangs, lest he frighten his benefactors,

and then froze. He touched his mouth, running his fingers over his upper canines. Tears sprang to his eyes

so quickly he didn't even have time to blink them back. He glanced at Damali, then away, lowering his

hands from his face, staring at his palms in disbelief. He'd been neutered. He wanted to vomit.

He curled his hands into fists. He shut his eyes tightly and hung his head. He could feel Damali's hand

stroke his back and he jerked away from her touch. "Don't."

"It's Jose, man. Don't you remember?" A young, soothing voice cut into his consciousness. "You burned

and came back. You said you saw angels,hombre . You sat there looking at the sun. You spoke to us,

looked at us, sat quietly with D and said you were free."

Carlos shook his head with his eyes closed, pressing his fingers to his temples. "No. I don't remember.

Shut up, you're confusing me!"

"Ease off, Jose," the voice he knew as Rider's said in almost a whisper. "Father Pat, Marlene, either of

you guys got something for dude—something to help him bite the snake that bit him?"

He felt hysteria rising in him. Carlos chuckled, but he kept his eyes closed. The sound was hollow even

to his own ears. Rider. That's right.Hombre was human and had brass balls… had been chained to the

ground as bait while the harpies pulled out his guts. Crazy white dude yelling at Hell's worst nightmare,

talking trash with no weapon in his hand, trying to divert the predators away to give him a chance to beat

the rising sun. Very cool of Rider… he wouldn't forget the debt. "You drink Jack Daniel's, right? Add a

little color in it for me and I'll buy you a drink, man. After what we just went through on the docks—you

buy; I'll fly. Cool?"

Silence in the vehicle surrounded him. No one but him was laughing. He could feel the vehicle slowing

down.

"Get him inside, Father Pat," an older woman said from somewhere within the Jeep. "He's delirious."

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A pair of strong arms threaded around his back and nearly lifted him off his feet. What seemed like a

battalion of clerics wearing long black robes and white collars accosted him with phalanges of holy water,

striking at him in the sign of the cross, making him cringe, as he turned his face away to protect it from the

assault, to no avail. Relentless, they swung heavy brass pots filled with smoking frankincense at him as the

burly brother hoisted him over his shoulder and advanced up the cathedral steps.

He could feel several hands dressing him… someone was anointing his head with oil. Then he was being

moved again, up what seemed like an endless spiral of stairs. Footsteps, many, many footfalls, rushing

like a military SWAT unit, followed him. The sound of choppers in the air, bright sunlight filled his eyes

and touched his face, but like the incense and holy water, it didn't burn.Why ? he dimly wondered.

Confusion tore at his brain. Blurred white birds of metal with a crest on the side… blue, a crown of

thorns, a sword, a bleeding heart—just like Father Pat's medallion—opened at the side, filling its belly

with humans that eagerly climbed in and dragged him with them.

This was a vampire's true Hell. The chairman had indeed had the last laugh. The choppers were flying

toward the sun! Carlos braced himself against the pain once again. How long would the chairman

continue to torture him?

Pilots wearing dark aviator sunglasses never turned around as he begged them to release him from

theSeaofPerpetual Agony . He suddenly feared Damali's touch; what beast would she turn into? An

Amanthra? He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to watch her gorgeous brown eyes change into slanted,

glowing orbs while her beautiful body transformed into a serpentine menace. Or maybe the chairman

would be particularly cruel and she would become a were-demon. It would be a painful taunt to remind

him of his brush with that entity in the Amazon; Hell always beat your ass down with past mistakes in the

place where there was no such thing as forgiveness.

Carlos's thoughts scrambled, trying to figure out an escape, a way to negotiate a shorter sentence. Hell

was eternal, so peace and the lack of acute pain had to be measured in milliseconds. For every minute

that passed where no direct pain was being inflicted, he had a chance to rest, maybe regenerate, just

enough to be able to withstand the next assault that was destined to come. If he wasn't in pain, he could

think. If he could think, he could bargain. But what aces did he hold? What could he barter with at this

juncture?

When the choppers touched down in a deserted section of airport runway, and the illusion of humans

helped him toward a crest-bearing private jet at the end of the landing strip, he had to wonder just what

the chairman had in store for him now. And could he bear it?

Carlos opened his eyes, his breathing labored as he tried to form words. He searched the impostor

Damali's face as she led him by the hand with Big Mike on his flank helping him walk. "Where?" was all

he could manage to get out.

"Ethiopia," she said quietly, tears shining in her eyes. "Baby, we have to get out ofSydney and go to a

Christian stronghold there. It's said that is where the Ark of the Covenant is held. The clerics all agreed

this is the safest route. By nightfall, the Vampire Council might send a cleanup crew to look for your

ashes that don't exist, so we have to leavenow . Then, we'll take a transcontinental flight toAlgeria … the

mosques there are old, but we have to avoid the site of the pending Armageddon, theMiddle East .

Understand?"

None of what she was saying made any sense.

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The big brother—an international courier?—was pulling him down the tarmac with the impostor of

Father Pat jogging beside them to keep pace. Knowing that resistance was not an option within the

inquisition chambers, which only seemed to steal his strength faster, Carlos stopped struggling against

them. He had to be strategic.

"As soon as we get clearance, we have to get you behind the walls of theVatican ," the cleric said. "Until

they're sure of what you are… all the Covenant can do is keep you on the move, from fortress to

fortress."

Carlos cocked his head. He didn't believe that the chairman knew how the Covenant operated, not at

this level of detail.

Carlos peered at the man who'd spoken, then looked at the one who was supposed to be Rider.

"Dude, the Vatican is like the Pentagon for the guys with the collar—just like Asula can't just waltz you

into Mecca until you're checked out, dig?" the supposed Rider said as they walked up the jet's narrow

steps. "So, they're gonna have to take you to their hideaways in the hills… sorta like being an alien and

getting shuttled to Area 51 till ya spec out. Now why we all have to go along for the ride with your boy,

Berkfield, is beyond me. I, for one, know I didn't get bitten, although Damali's case is a little—"

"Everybody get on the plane," a tall brother with locks said, his gaze lethal. His tone made the group

stop walking as he slowly pointed to each person. "Damali has already been compromised. Jose and

Damali had a twister of harpies on their asses, and came into the church bloodied and beat up. Jose,

Dan, J.L., and Rider were also riding in the VIP vamp limos, alone, with what was then a council-level

master vamp—Rivera. Me and Mike were on the yacht, like the others eventually were, and in unseen,

dark corridors away from the group at times long enough to get nicked. Mar, Father Pat, Father Lopez,

Monk Lin, and Imam Asula were all on standby, in speedboats, out in the open, in the dead of night. My

point is, any one of us could have gotten nicked. You think the powers-that-be are going to let us roll up

on the pope with who knows how many vamps and a potential daywalker in our midst?" He shook his

head, then turned his back to the teams and strode up the jet's steps. "Our side ain't taking no chances,

and I don't blame them."

"Shabazz is right," the woman named Marlene said in a weary tone. "Life as we knew it has just ceased

to exist."

The names began to link with the faces as the memory of what had happened came back to him in fits

and spurts. The past came back in snatches of quilted memory. Without resistance he slowly walked up

the steps and entered the jet, noting the somber expressions around him as everyone took their seats.

Again, he searched Damali's face for confirmation that the truth had been told, and found it.

She clasped his hand and led him to a seat, one hand touching the smallIsis dagger at her hip. "I've got

your back," she said, her eyes holding his. "They've got mine. It's gonna be all right."

He nodded, slowly beginning to believe that this was all real. But as he fastened his seat belt with a click

and slowly turned to stare out the window at the sun, Marlene's words rang in his ears. Her truth

permeated every fiber of his being, and with that sudden knowledge, an acute sadness that he dared

never share with another living soul entered his being; life as they'd known it was null and void.

CHAPTER TWO

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Los Angeles… same night

HUNGER TORE at Yonnie's insides as he held on to the edge of the bar in the plush VIP basement

section of Club Vengeance. What the hell was going on? Earlier in the evening, the contents of bottles on

the shelves had turned to sludge, as though the blood within had suddenly aged.

All third-gen vampires and below had rolled. But to where? Even most second-gens were lying low. No

human wannabes would come near the club tonight. If he and his squad wanted to feed, they'd have to

go out hunting, old school. Where was Carlos? Concentration was impossible. The master's beacon was

nonexistent. Something was very wrong. If Carlos had been exterminated, he should have immediately

felt the jolt. But there was simply an eerie void, an absence of power and presence.

He looked up slowly, watching the club's top-shelf reserves begin to rattle, flames consuming the labels,

peeling them away, as black bottles began exploding. His second-gen bartenders instantly collapsed into

a pile of ash.

His longtime friend, Stack, stood up with effort. His squad got to their feet, their eyes taking in the horror

as the building began to deconstruct, deteriorating into an old, dilapidated structure. They were so tired

they could barely stand. The atmosphere felt thick, heavy, as though daylight were creeping in.

"Oh, shit," Yonnie murmured.

"Resources are drying up, man," Stack said, breathing hard. "Rivera musta fucked up, big-time. Maybe

another master smoked him and the territory is realigning?"

"No," Yonnie said quickly. "A new master would be building assets, not destroying them." He held his

hands out before him, feeling the vibrations, trying to search for a power pulse within the empire. He

lowered his arms slowly and glanced at his five-man squad. "Feel it," he whispered. "I don't senseany

master."

"Git the fuck outta here," Stack said, panic making his voice tight. "Rivera's rank just got knocked down

a notch, maybe, but—"

"Feel it!" Yonnie shouted. "Lock in on the females. Where are they?"

Stack slowly opened his arms, palms facing out toward the crumbling walls, and he turned in a shaky

circle. He blinked twice and balled his palms into fists. "Ash." Swallowing hard, he tried again. "The

seriously old, fine ones are…" Stack's voice trailed off as he watched his hands darken and his arms fall

away before his eyes.

Yonnie stepped back from his two-hundred-year-old friend in horror. Stack's expression of terror

became frozen in a face that crumbled away as the others in the squad hit the ground beside him, leaving

only their recently tailored suits.

For a moment, Yonnie couldn't move. He brought his hands to his face, wondering why he hadn't

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disintegrated along with the others. Feeding now was imperative. Yet he couldn't muster the energy for

flight or transport. Breathing was more than an effort; it was nearly impossible. His hands went to his

face, feeling its skeletal remains. Then he spotted a pair of golden yellow orbs low in a shadowy corner.

Yonnie immediately bulked up. His strength was severely compromised and he knew he was in trouble.

The predator in the corner suddenly lunged. Huge were-demon jaws narrowly missed his face as he leapt

back, but the claws of the beast opened five deep gashes in his chest. He gasped at the pain. In his

weakened state, he was no match for a were-demon.

Sections of wall gave way as the were-demon slammed against support beams, pillars, missing Yonnie

as he dodged with what was left of his vampire strength and leapt up to a ceiling beam and held on.

However, exhaustion was rapidly slowing him down, and the were-demon seemed to sense that. It

waited for a moment with a leering smile on its wolflike face—the form it had chosen to take. Its

elongated fangs glistening in the full moonlight that now shone through a missing portion of the left wall, it

stood on hind legs, flexing in a spectacular display of strength and power, clearly challenging Yonnie.

"Now, what's your strategy—since the Vamp Empire is mere ash?" a snarling, low voice asked.

Yonnie stared at the creature from his perch on the high fragile beam.What the hell had happened out

there ? He needed to keep this dumb motherfucker talking. The portals to level five were wide open.

"Who said we ain't running shit?" Yonnie said through a snarl. "Just because you caught us on a slow

night don't mean we won't have your ass seen."

The were-demon laughed and dropped to all fours and began circling beneath Yonnie. "Where's your

master, bitch?"

The question taunted Yonnie. He gripped the beam tightly, his fingernails digging into the wood.

He glanced around, knowing that were-demons, especially those of the wolf persuasion, usually traveled

in packs. But he couldn't detect any others. He could only assume this one was walking point for those

soon to follow.

"I thought so," the stinking thing said with a sneer. "I told them your forces were vulnerable, now I know

for sure. It's just like all your other vamp hidey-holes. Vulnerable throughout the empire." The beast

laughed, vicious and triumphant, as he threw his head back and released a long, bloodcurdling wolf wail.

Knowing that he had only seconds to act before the place filled with were-demons Yonnie concentrated

every last ounce of his strength. He felt his fingertips ignite. Every shard of broken, jagged glass behind

the bar magnetized, drew together, and became an airborne blade that he sent flying into his tormentor's

throat. Yonnie watched with no small measure of satisfaction as the wolf's call was abruptly cut off on a

gurgle of blood and the stunned expression still remained on the were-demon's hideous, distended face

when his head fell to the floor. Black demon blood spattered the walls.

Acting quickly before the beast began to smolder and combust, Yonnie leapt down to the floor. He

needed to feed, and the shame of eating from the belly of a beast was beyond him. But this was about

survival. In one deft move he slit the beast's abdomen, knowing that it wouldn't have attacked without

feeding first.

Reaching in, he extracted a human arm and a section of torso, siphoning what undigested human blood

he could from it, then cast it away in disgust, careful not to allow any remnants of the demon's foul blood

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to intermingle. Then he got up and ran, hearing the sound of wolf calls in the distance.

A team of hunters would be on his ass with the quickness to seek retribution for their fallen comrade. He

needed someplace to lie low. If old lairs were compromised and graveyards were impenetrable due to

prayer barriers, where could he go? Who was left? Why did all but him burn? If a master went down, the

whole line and all its assets didn't torch.At least that was myth .

Tears stung his eyes as he kept moving. His master was dead; he had to be. Then what was the point of

survival? He'd been an underling for years working for other ruthless masters. Rivera had been the only

one to treat him with respect and dignity.

Yonnie stopped abruptly when he found himself in front of Carlos'sBeverly Hills lair. The night became

his cloak as he pulled it around himself and remained invisible. He closed his eyes, opened his arms, and

slowly dropped to his knees. His emotions crashed down on him and he wept. Carlos was missing.

Stack and the squad were gone. Their assets had disintegrated. He had been reduced to a carrion

feeder.

"Where you at, man?" Yonnie asked the night. "If you go down, we all go down!" His voice hitched on a

bitter sob. In a short time, he'd come to love Carlos like a true blood brother. No matter what had

happened, who had won, he knew he'd follow Carlos into the very sun.

"Whoever did you, I will smoke," he promised the night. "Whoever stole from you, I will rob. We go to

war, man. For you."

Silence answered Yonnie, the stars above teasing him with their glittering faces. It wasn't fair. Rivera had

had it all. Yonnie stared at the abandoned lair, despair filling him as he yelled his master's name. "Carlos

!"

Carlos watched Marlene go to Damali's side as soon as the captain had turned the seat belt sign off. The

older woman moved with a slow grace, her steps measured, her expression grave. Damali turned her

head away, and Marlene stooped beside her, taking Damali's hand gently within her own.

"Why don't you come to the ladies' room and let me help sponge you off?" Marlene's voice was low,

gentle, but also contained a plea, when Damali shook her head no.

"I have fresh clothes for you." Marlene's eyes met Carlos's for a moment and then she turned back to

Damali. "You don't want that all over the seats."

Neither woman needed to say it. They both knew speaking of the miscarriage was off-limits right now.

Carlos watched Damali nod and close her eyes. For the first time since the surreal had begun to unfold,

he saw it—her condition, her team's condition. The awareness and memory of her pregnancy slammed

into his brain. She'd survived the unthinkable. Tears of heartbreak stung his eyes and nose, but he refused

to let them fall. The chairman would pay. Carlos tightened his fists and stared out the window for a

moment. Thiswas not over. The sight of Damali's blood-caked, tattered dress stole his breath and

shredded his soul.

He turned in his seat and moved a lock off her damp brow. "I'll be all right. Go with Marlene," Carlos

said quietly, ashamed that he'd been bugging so hard that the obvious had never occurred to him. Each

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L.A. Banks - Vampire Huntress Legend 5 - The Forbidden

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