The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon more than three hours ago, yet the night air still hung heavy and damp with the dayâs heat. Cord ignored it just as he ignored everything except the rhythm of the work. As part of the prisonâs night crew, heâd been at it since sunset and had at least another six hours left to go.
Swinging the pickax up and over, his shoulders ached with the effort despite fifteen years of practice. On the downward slide, his vampire strength drove the steel blade deep into the asphalt, sending a jolt straight up the handle that jarred every joint in his arms and back.
Raising it up; slamming it down. Again and again, each swing of the ax marking another minute of Cordâs life lost forever, wasted in this hell. The clank of his chains played in counterpoint to the sound of steel biting into stone.
âBreak!â
The overseer barked the order a second time although there was no need. To a man, the entire crew had all stopped working as soon as the guard had checked his watch and opened his mouth.
Cord hobbled over to join the break line. Each man was allowed two ladles of water. He drank the first one, poured half the second one over his head, and then gulped down the rest. The water helped cool him down and restore his energy, but only a little. What he really needed was blood, preferably straight from a pulsing vein.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember the spicy taste of fresh blood, rich and coppery and full of life as it poured straight from his loverâs neck. It had been fifteen long years since heâd last had that particular pleasure, way back before his business partner Dwayne had gone missing, and Cord had gone to prison for his murder. Now he lived on outdated blood and old memories.
Cord slammed the door shut on that line of thought. To look back at the past made no more sense than looking beyond the next half hour. As a vampire with no future, nothing mattered other than losing himself in the monotony of the work assigned him. Life imprisonment had a whole different meaning when a manâs existence could be measured in centuries.
âBreakâs over!â
Cord shuffled back to his place in line, automatically adjusting his gait to the length of chain that connected his ankles, always a few links short of a comfortable step. He retrieved his pickax and went back to work. Up and over and down, the clang of steel against stone. But before he could reestablish his rhythm, the closest guard stepped into Cordâs line of vision and waved to catch his attention.
Cord stopped midmotion and lowered his tool to the ground. âYes, boss?â
âKilpatrick, youâre wanted!â the guard yelled, jerking his head in the direction of where the jumbo prison transport was parked. âReport to the crew boss.â
Cord nodded, doing his best to hide his shock. In all the years heâd been loaned out for road work, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times one of the convicts had been allowed off the line except during breaks. Two of those times it had been because the convict in question had dropped dead while working. Twice prisoners had to be subdued by the guards when they lost control and tried to escape.
But it was the fifth occasion that still sent a shiver of cold fear straight up Cordâs spine. The convict involved had been serving time for murder, found guilty even though the body had never been found. Under Coalition law, murder carried a mandatory death penalty. In cases where the corpse wasnât found, the execution was placed on hold only until such time as the body was eventually recovered.
Throughout the years, that night had played out over and over in Cordâs mind like a 3-D horror movie. It started with the convict being called away from the line. Heâd innocently approached the transport where the crew boss was waiting. At the last minute one of the Coalitionâs top executioners stepped into sight. As soon as the convict spotted the chancellor standing there, heâd frozen in place for a heartbeat before he broke and ran.
The chancellor caught up with him in seconds. At least the guy had made the execution quick and merciful. The worst part was how everyone had just gone on with their assigned duties as if death had meant nothing to any of them.
Maybe it didnât, but for Cord it was the stuff of nightmares, especially since heâd been tried and convicted on even less evidence. He wasnât sure exactly what he was feeling as he walked toward the transport, but he was very much afraid that it was relief. One way or another, his time in hell was about to end. Cord approached the crew boss, doing his best to look respectful and only mildly concerned about what was going on.
