BLOODLINE ZERO: THE DETECTIVE WHO HUNTS VAMPIRES

Death Has a Pulse

The first thing Adrian Cross felt was cold.

Not the cold of rain-soaked concrete or the biting air of an underground parking garage.

This cold came from inside his body.

It crept through his chest, spread into his arms, and settled beneath his skin like ice.

He tried to breathe.

Nothing happened.

His mouth opened, but his lungs refused to cooperate. Panic surged through him as he struggled against the darkness swallowing his vision.

Then he heard a voice.

"He's still alive."

Another voice answered.

"That's impossible. The bullet entered the chest. We should have lost him before the transport arrived."

"Check again."

Something pressed against Adrian's neck.

He couldn't move. He couldn't open his eyes. Yet every word reached him with frightening clarity.

A heartbeat thudded somewhere nearby.

Then another.

Then several more.

They overlapped until the sounds became an unbearable rhythm inside his skull.

"His pulse is disappearing."

"Prepare the stabilizer."

"Doctor, we don't have enough time."

A hand gripped Adrian's shoulder.

"Come on, Cross. Don't you dare die before we find out what you are."

Adrian wanted to ask who was speaking.

He wanted to know where Daniel had gone, why the police hadn't taken him to a hospital, and why strangers were discussing his death as if it were an inconvenience.

Instead, darkness swallowed him again.

The last thing he heard was a quiet voice speaking beside his ear.

"It has started already."

When Adrian regained consciousness, he was moving.

His body lay on a narrow stretcher inside a vehicle. Metal restraints secured his wrists and ankles. A transparent mask covered his mouth, carrying air that tasted faintly of chemicals.

Red emergency lights flashed overhead.

He tried to lift his head.

Pain exploded through his chest.

"Don't move," a man ordered.

Adrian turned his eyes toward the voice.

Two people in dark medical uniforms stood beside him. Their faces were hidden behind masks, but he could see the tension in their movements.

"Where am I?" he rasped.

Neither answered.

"Where the hell are you taking me?"

One of them checked a monitor.

"Consciousness returning."

"That isn't an answer."

The vehicle swerved. Adrian's shoulder struck the stretcher, and pain shot through his ribs.

He clenched his teeth.

"Listen to me. I'm a police detective. If you've taken me somewhere without authorization—"

"Your heart rate is climbing," the second man interrupted.

Adrian stared at him.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Keep him calm."

"I'm asking you a question!"

The man adjusted the mask over Adrian's face.

Adrian jerked his head away, but his strength abandoned him halfway through the movement.

The vehicle slowed.

Beyond the narrow rear window, he caught a glimpse of concrete walls and a security gate descending behind them.

They weren't taking him to a public hospital.

He was certain of that now.

"Who authorized this?" he demanded.

The first man leaned over the monitor.

"His blood pressure is falling again."

"Administer another dose."

"He's already received two."

"Then make it three."

Adrian tried to fight the restraints.

His wrists barely moved.

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him, dragging him beneath the surface of consciousness.

Before the darkness returned, he heard the first man speak into a communication device.

"Subject delivered. Prepare the operating chamber."

A pause followed.

Then a reply came through the speaker.

"Confirmed. The facility has been waiting for a viable subject."

Adrian woke beneath white lights.

For several seconds, he couldn't remember where he was.

Then the gunshot returned to him.

Daniel's face.

The muzzle flash.

The impact against his chest.

Adrian attempted to sit up.

Pain tore through his body, and he collapsed against the table with a strangled gasp.

"Easy."

A man in a white coat stood beside him.

He looked to be in his late forties, with tired eyes, unshaven cheeks, and the nervous expression of someone who hadn't slept properly in days.

"Don't move too quickly," the doctor said. "Your body has undergone significant trauma."

Adrian stared at him.

"Hospital?"

The doctor hesitated.

"Not exactly."

"Then where am I?"

"My name is Elias Ward. I'm a medical researcher."

"That's not what I asked."

Ward glanced toward a dark observation window.

"We're in a secure medical facility."

"Which one?"

"I can't tell you that."

Adrian pulled against the restraints around his wrists.

The metal creaked.

Ward's expression changed.

"Please don't do that."

"Unlock them."

"I can't."

"Then find someone who can."

Ward looked at the monitor beside the table.

Adrian followed his gaze.

A series of numbers tracked his heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen levels. Several readings appeared to fluctuate outside the displayed normal ranges.

One line showed his pulse dropping dangerously low.

Another rose sharply.

"What's wrong with me?" Adrian asked.

Ward didn't answer immediately.

Adrian's eyes narrowed.

"Doctor."

"The bullet caused severe internal damage. Under ordinary circumstances, you would have required emergency surgery within minutes."

"Did I have surgery?"

"Yes."

"Then why am I still here?"

"Because your recovery doesn't make sense."

Ward picked up a transparent container from a nearby tray.

Inside it sat a small vial of dark red blood.

Adrian looked at the container.

"Mine?"

"Yes."

"What's wrong with it?"

Ward held the vial beneath the examination light.

For a moment, he seemed unable to find the words.

"Your blood behaves differently from anything we've documented."

"Different how?"

"It changes under certain conditions. Its composition doesn't remain stable. Some of the cells appear to be repairing damaged tissue far faster than they should."

Adrian stared at him.

"You're telling me my blood is healing me?"

"I'm telling you that we don't understand what's happening."

"Then take me to a proper hospital."

Ward's expression tightened.

"You don't understand your situation."

"Then explain it."

"I can't."

Adrian gave a humorless laugh.

"That's the third time someone has refused to answer a simple question since I woke up. Either you're all terrible at your jobs, or someone has told you to keep me ignorant."

Ward looked away.

That was answer enough.

A door opened beyond the observation window.

Two figures entered the adjoining room. One wore a dark suit. The other carried a tablet displaying Adrian's medical records.

Ward noticed them and immediately lowered his voice.

"They're watching everything you do," he whispered.

"Who are they?"

"People who fund this facility."

"Names."

"I don't know all their names."

"You're a researcher working in a secret laboratory, treating an officer who was shot by his own partner, and you expect me to believe you don't know who's in charge?"

Ward's face tightened.

"I didn't say I expected you to believe me."

For the first time, Adrian saw something other than fear in the doctor's expression.

Guilt.

"Why was I brought here?" Adrian asked.

Ward looked at the vial again.

"Because of what happened after you were shot."

"What happened?"

"Your heart stopped."

Adrian went still.

Ward continued.

"The transport team recorded no detectable pulse. They began preparing for resuscitation, but before they could proceed, your heart started beating again."

"How long was I unconscious?"

"Long enough that we initially believed you were dead."

Adrian swallowed.

He remembered the cold. The voices. The feeling that his body had become an object he could no longer control.

"And you brought me here instead of calling an ambulance."

Ward said nothing.

"Why?"

The doctor finally met his eyes.

"Because someone wanted to know whether you would survive."

Adrian felt anger rise through his chest.

"Someone arranged my shooting?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying."

"I wish I were."

Adrian pulled at the restraints again.

This time, the metal groaned beneath his fingers.

Both men stared at his wrists.

Adrian stopped moving.

He hadn't used that much strength.

He wasn't even certain where it had come from.

Ward slowly stepped away from the table.

"Please remain calm."

"What did you do to me?"

"Nothing. We haven't administered anything that would explain that."

"Then explain it!"

Ward looked toward the observation window.

The figure in the dark suit was watching them.

Adrian followed the doctor's gaze.

The figure raised one hand and tapped twice against the glass.

Ward flinched.

Adrian saw it.

And suddenly, he understood that the doctor wasn't merely afraid of the facility's owners.

He was afraid of what they might do if Adrian discovered the truth.

A sharp sound pierced the room.

Adrian turned toward it.

A technician had dropped a metal instrument on the other side of the glass.

It struck the floor.

Adrian heard it clearly.

Too clearly.

He could distinguish the initial impact from the smaller vibrations that followed. He could hear the technician's breathing, the soft scrape of shoes against the floor, and the rapid beating of the man's heart.

Adrian frowned.

The technician was standing several meters away.

There was no reason he should hear any of that.

Then came another sound.

A heartbeat.

Slow. Steady. Close.

Adrian looked toward Ward.

The doctor's pulse was faster now.

Another heartbeat came from behind the wall.

Then another from the corridor.

The sounds multiplied until Adrian could no longer separate them.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Make it stop."

Ward stepped closer.

"What?"

"The noise!"

Adrian pressed his hands against his ears.

It made no difference.

He could hear everything.

A ventilation fan turning overhead. Water running through pipes behind the walls. Someone typing on a keyboard two rooms away.

And beneath it all, a faint rhythmic pulse that seemed to come from inside his own chest.

Except it wasn't his heartbeat.

His heart had slowed to a crawl.

The other rhythm was faster, stronger, and somehow unfamiliar.

Adrian opened his eyes.

The room looked different.

The lights were painfully bright. Every surface seemed sharper. He could see tiny scratches on the metal restraints and a faint smear of blood on Ward's sleeve.

The smell struck him next.

Disinfectant.

Plastic.

Sweat.

And blood.

Adrian turned toward the vial on the tray.

His mouth went dry.

He knew what blood smelled like. He had seen enough crime scenes to recognize it without thinking.

But this was different.

The scent seemed to reach into him, pulling at something deep beneath his conscious thoughts.

Hunger rose in his stomach.

Not the ordinary hunger of a man who hadn't eaten.

Something harsher.

Something that made the vial seem more important than anything else in the room.

Adrian recoiled.

"What the hell is happening to me?"

Ward reached for a syringe.

"You're experiencing a neurological response. I need you to remain still."

"Put that down."

"Adrian, listen to me."

"Put it down!"

The doctor froze.

Adrian looked at his own hands.

Dark veins had begun appearing beneath his skin, spreading outward from his wrists. They pulsed faintly before fading again.

His breath came in short, ragged bursts.

He had spent his career studying evidence, following facts, and refusing to accept explanations without proof.

Now his own body was becoming evidence of something he couldn't understand.

And he was terrified.

Alarms sounded beyond the observation window.

Ward turned sharply.

The figure in the dark suit was speaking into a communication device. Another researcher hurried into the room and pointed toward a monitor.

Adrian couldn't read the display from where he lay.

But he heard the words clearly.

"His sensory response is accelerating."

"Sedate him."

"We tried. The last dose barely affected him."

"Then increase it."

Ward stepped toward the window.

"He's a human being, not a laboratory specimen!"

The room fell silent.

The figure in the suit slowly turned toward him.

"Doctor Ward, I suggest you remember why you're here."

Ward's face tightened.

"And I suggest you remember that you don't know what you're dealing with."

The figure said nothing.

Then he raised his tablet.

Adrian saw his own photograph displayed on the screen.

Beneath it were several lines of classified information.

The figure leaned toward the glass and spoke into the room's intercom.

"How long until the awakening stabilizes?"

Ward stared at him.

"We don't know whether it will stabilize."

"That wasn't my question."

Adrian strained against the restraints.

"Who are you?" he shouted.

Nobody answered.

The figure studied Adrian for several seconds.

Then he spoke to someone outside the room.

"Begin the next observation protocol. No one enters without authorization."

The doors locked with a heavy metallic sound.

Ward looked back at Adrian.

For the first time, the doctor appeared genuinely helpless.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Adrian pulled at the restraints.

"Unlock me."

"I can't."

"Then tell me what they did to me!"

Ward's lips parted, but no words came.

A voice suddenly emerged from a speaker above the observation window.

Calm.

Cold.

Almost pleased.

"The Zero has awakened."

Every monitor in the room changed at once.

Adrian's heart rate plunged.

His vision blurred.

Then the screens flashed red.

One displayed his name.

Another displayed a series of biological readings.

The largest monitor showed a classification in bold letters.

BLOODLINE ZERO

AWAKENING CONFIRMED.

A second line appeared beneath it.

SUBJECT STATUS: UNSTABLE.

Adrian stared at the screen as the alarms continued to sound.

He had survived a bullet that should have killed him.

He had awakened in a facility that shouldn't exist.

And the people watching him had been waiting for this moment.

Whatever they had done to him, it was only beginning.