Several months later
Jonny sucked in deep breaths as he observed the results of the mini-massacre on the rooftop of a tall hotel overlooking the San Diego bay. Moonlight glinted off waves caused by a cargo ship ambling past, some forty stories below, and wisps of fog strayed from the ocean into the bright yet quiet city.
"Forty three," reported the red-eyed vamp beside him.
"All vamps?"
"All new vamps."
That's what I thought. Jonny did the calculations before dropping from the ventilation box on which he stood onto the roof. His hands were coated in the blood of vamps he'd killed this night, and the metallic flavor was in his mouth. He licked away the droplets from his fangs and spit them out.
Unlike humans, vamps tasted horrible. It was probably an evolutionary survival thing, so no vamp would resort to eating another.
"We're not moving fast enough. They're vamping twice as fast as we are," he said finally, aware his second in command was waiting. "We need better and more intel, Charles."
"I'm working on it." Charles followed his gaze. "There's always the last resort for information."
"I'm not going to them," Jonny returned. "They can't know about this after the mess with the Others."
"We don't have to tell them how bad it is. We just have to ask them for information tracking a few rogue vamps."
Jonny clenched his jaw tight enough for the muscles of his cheek to pulse. In the years since he'd become the Black God, he'd struggled to control the legions of vamps accustomed to a different master, an older one, one they feared. They hadn't respected the terrified teen boy that took the former god's place. However, the vamp army was largely united under the common threat of the Others, the primary supernatural threat to the vamps.
On the eve of his final triumph, the rogue element of his vamp army - led by Valon, a member of the old guard who hated the new Black God - broke off and formed their own independent group.
The newer generation of vamps stuck with Jonny, rendering the division along generational lines as well as philosophical ones. He was struggling to recruit and train the younger vamps when much of the support infrastructure he needed had not yet been rebuilt. In the meantime, the vamp veterans were running circles around them.
His rebellion had turned into a civil war.
"No," he said at last. "That'll invite too many questions. You're the best Tracker there is. We're catching up."
"I'm the only Tracker there is."
It wasn't funny at such a time, but Jonny fought a smile anyway. Charles' dry wit was often inappropriately timed and almost always appreciated.