by Ana Calin
“When I was first assigned the village on the hilltop, the village didn’t yet have a church, so they improvised one inside of these caves. I hid here all this time. When the serpents came searching, I kept slipping down the labyrinth of tunnels, always evading their grasp.”
We push aside the hanging overgrowth that covers the entrance, and step inside.
Once the overgrowth falls over the cave entrance again, shadow takes over. The moonlight barely filters through Mother Nature’s curtain, just enough for me to make out the old icons on the walls. They seem forgotten ghosts, hanging askew on the rocky walls, the old altar hidden in an alcove on the far wall.
“This is where you used to hold mass,” I whisper, heading fascinated towards the altar. It’s too dark here, I can barely make out the embroidered cloths hanging from the altar table, dusty chalices and crucifixes piled on top of each other.
I pick one up, the others rattling as they slip from the pile.
“This is real gold,” I breathe as I brush the dust off of it with my hand. “How come no one ever found this treasure?”
“Not many people make it up here, Isolde,” the Father answers from the other end of the cave. “The people who attended my masses long ago were only those from the village on top of this mountain. There are only few of them left, way too old to care about gold. They wouldn’t have much to do with it. At their age and in their state, if they can’t eat it or use it to soothe their aches and pains, it’s useless.” His voice reaches me, but I can’t see him when I turn around. But then a bluish light begins illuminating the Father’s frame.
I stare at the man’s shape becoming clearer in the light, certain I’m witnessing some kind of miracle, but as I follow the source I realize the light comes from Tristan’s eyes.
“What in the world,” I whisper.
His eyes glow like blue jewels.
“I can use my eyes as flashlights,” he says evenly, his eyes fixed on the Father. “Some vampires come with superpowers, and this is one of mine.”
“I thought you were a master assassin,” Father Ruben says from the far end of the cave. “And that was your superpower.”
Tristan grins, but it’s not a friendly or pleasant smile. It’s the grin of someone whose suspicions have been confirmed. But then, to my surprise, his features loosen up instead of growing cutting and dangerous.
“That’s a matter of practice. I’ve been training as an assassin for many, many years. Killing is a skill, not a superpower.” He relaxes, the light in his eyes dimming a little as he walks to the Father. “Lord Dracula says there was some talent involved, but still.”
Tristan waits for me to join him and take his hand, then we follow Father Ruben into a narrower cave that opens behind one of the icons. A secret entrance. Hand in hand with Tristan, I gawk at the cave tunnel stretching into the darkness ahead of us.
“Incredible.” My whisper echoes against the cave. I can see a few meters in front of us thanks to the light in Tristan’s eyes, Father Ruben’s robe shifting as he moves, his slight hump pushing out through the tattered garment.
Tristan acts relaxed, but his muscles are tense, I can see it through his shirt. He expects danger.
“So you’ve been hiding in these caves all along,” he whispers to Father Ruben, his words bouncing off the walls. There’s a slow, whooshing sound in the distance.
“It was the only place I could hide. No one knows these caves, everyone is afraid of them, while I know all the tunnels like the back of my hand. Plus, like I said, no one comes up here.”
“Still, I don’t understand how come the serpents never found you. They’re supernaturals, they can do stuff that normal people can’t.”
I sense the tension between the Father and Tristan. Tristan is mistrusting, and the Father feels it. When the Father glances over his shoulder, I can see the hostility in his eyes.
“I told you, no one knows these caves and these woods like I do.”
With the swiftest move I’ve ever seen, Tristan grabs the old man’s arm, swirls him around, and pins him against the rocky cave wall. Bits of rock spring from it, the chilly, humid air filling with the scent of broken rock.
Slashing sounds fill my ears like whips through the air, and strips of metal flash in my eyes. I blink a few times, shaking my head. When my brain starts working again, I see Father Ruben nailed to the wall, Tristan’s blades piercing his garment in strategic places to keep him there.
Tristan’s hand sinks in the old man’s beard, lifting his chin. His face is close to the Father’s, his electric killer eyes only inches away.
“Tristan, what the hell are you doing?” I yelp.
“Show your real face,” Tristan demands from the priest.
“W-what do you mean?” Father Ruben pleads desperately. “Are you insane, this is my real face.”
“Like hell it is.”
“You’re paranoid!”
“I’m an expert.”
“Tristan!” I call.
A blade shoots out from Tristan’s sleeve, and he flashes it under the man’s beard.
“Show your face now, Old Priest, or I start cutting. No matter what shape you take, it’ll still hurt.”
The man’s beard stretches to the sides as if he’s grinning. Those innocent eyes start to darken until they transform into the deeply dark eyes of the priest from the house, then his face morphs into an army of ants again, shifting until the unbearably ugly face of the Old Priest appears.
The blood drains from my cheeks.
“I’ll be damned,” is all I can mutter before I drop on my butt by the opposite wall, staring at the Old Priest pinned to the wall. Tristan’s dagger glints under his beardless chin.
“How did you know?” he croaks at Tristan.
“When it came to the superpowers, you mentioned my being an assassin—Father Ruben couldn’t have known that about me. Then there’s the story with the serpents. Serpents can crawl in just about any hole. They surely searched these tunnels and the woods thoroughly, more than once, they left no stone unturned. If Father Ruben had been here, they would have found him.”
His blade pushes deeper under the Old Priest’s chin. The man stiffens, and his scraping voice turns desperate. “You can’t kill me. I demand a trial in front of Lord Dracula, the King of Vampires. As a vampire, I’m entitled to that before anyone spills my blood.”
“Lord Dracula doesn’t give a damn about how you die, as it long as someone rids the world of your pestilence. And I’m going to make it happen right now.”
“You’ll never get out of here without my help. These tunnels are a deadly maze.”
“Think again, Old Priest. I studied the maps you drew of the tunnels while you were still learning about them. And I have photographic memory. I know exactly where we are and how to find the exit.”
“Wait,” I intervene. “What about Father Ruben? If you kill him, we’ll never know where he really is.” I point to the Old Priest. “This demon still has him in his power.”
Leaving the Old Priest pinned to the wall with his blades, Tristan turns to me. He grabs my shoulders, and looks deeply into my face.
“Isolde, I know this is a lot to take at once. But the Father Ruben you knew never really existed. The Abbot’s curse gave the Old Priest the ability to take anyone’s physical appearance, so he chose the shoes of a mountain priest that he probably killed. Later he came to the coast town with the very purpose of infiltrating your life.” He glares back at the Old Priest. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get his ultimate purpose out of him.”
“No, please, no torture.” My voice breaks. “I won’t have it inflicted on anyone if I can help it.”
Tristan looks at me reassuringly, compassion in his eyes. “No. No torture. He either tells me, or I slit his throat.”
Tristan flashes over to the Old Priest, his silver dagger at the man’s throat in less than a second.
“Wait, wait,” the old vampire shrieks, showing his rotten teeth, his body
shaking. His eyes turn desperately to me.
“The secret to human immortality is real Isolde,” he calls, his scraping voice bouncing off the cave walls, traveling deep in the distance. “Just imagine how many of your beloved elderlies you could save with it. Help me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“You’ll give it away as it is,” another voice reaches us. My skin pebbles.
“Mark,” I whisper.
Mark emerges from the darkness in his serpent form, morphing into a man as he approaches. His slippery face with the slimy scales and slit-like eyes transform into the face I know better than I like. He’s stark naked, as he always is when he shifts, but then Soraya emerges behind him and helps him into the floral robe he likes to use when he performs his tortures.
My heart hammers in my chest. I stare terrified into Mark’s smoldering eyes that hunger for vengeance.
“So, dear wife,” he hisses as Darius the alligator shifter emerges from the shadow behind him, the other serpents following. “You’ve been screwing the vampire.”
Soraya stares with a vindictive grin at Tristan, who froze with the dagger at the Old Priest’s throat. They must have kept the slithering sound of their movement under special control, making sure Tristan wouldn’t catch their presence.
Rage smolders just beneath Mark’s skin, and I can feel it directed at me much more than Tristan. Unable or unwilling to control himself, he launches at me with his hands outstretched, ready to tear me apart.
But as I watch his incoming attack with widening eyes, Tristan throws himself in front of me, intercepting him. Mark slams into my vampire knight’s hard body, staggering back and losing his balance. Darius the alligator catches him just in time.
Daggers shoot from under both of Tristan’s sleeves. I can see his back and his triceps flexing as he leans forward, ready to protect me. He stands in front of me like a shield.
“You’re gonna have to go through me if you want her.”
But I know what Mark is capable of. I grab Tristan’s shoulder, trying to move him out of the way.
“No,” I shriek, “he’ll kill you in the cruelest way!”
Mark grins viciously. “Listen to her, Tristan. I will kill you in the cruelest way.”
But I can’t move Tristan an inch, he’s like a grounded statue shielding me.
“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Mark,” he says through his teeth. “Let’s end this once and for all—let Isolde go, and I’ll face you in one on one combat, to the death.”
Mark’s slimy lips stretch in a lecherous grin.
“I have a proposition of my own—you face Darius in one on one combat, no weapons; in the end, you’re a master of blades, while Darius has only his inner animal to rely on.” He motions over his left shoulder to Darius, who glares at my lover out of his scarred face. “You will do this for my pleasure. Then, if you survive, you will be facing me.”
“This isn’t fair,” I blurt, sidestepping Tristan, determined to march over and slap the bastard no matter the risk, but Tristan pulls me back into his granite chest. I look daggers at Mark. “Even if he wins the first fight, he’ll be exhausted. Of course you’ll have a huge advantage.”
But Mark juts out his chin. “And that wouldn’t be my only advantage, sweet wife. I would be keeping you as well.”
“What? No.” Tristan growls.
“Oh, yes. Only if you win against me will Isolde be free. This way you will be motivated to keep going even if a moment comes, when you’ll prefer death to taking another blow.”
“Son of a bitch,” I blurt, jerking towards him, but again Tristan pulls me back. “You fucking sadist, you want to make sure you get to watch as much pain porn as possible.”
Mark’s slitted eyes throw poison at me.
“You know what, Isolde, I always suspected the woman whose pussy juice I sniffed on my desk was you. But I fooled myself for weeks, trying to persuade myself every night it was Soraya. She wouldn’t have lied to me, not for Tristan. But she had, because the damn vampire had messed with her head.”
He moves to get me, and Tristan spins me around, shielding me swiftly behind him. Mark glares at my beautiful vampire.
“I know everything,” Mark says, poison in his voice. Keeping his eyes on Tristan, he holds out his hand to Soraya. She places an item in his palm and, when I squint at it to see it better, a chill runs through me. It’s the love potion.
“Even if it weren’t for this magic brew, I can still imagine Isolde’s pussy overflowing for you. Tall, handsome ice prince. Of course, I could never compete with you—except in a fight.”
“You have no one but yourself to blame for what happened between Isolde and me,” Tristan strikes back. “Indeed, even if it hadn’t been for the love potion. You abused her, terrified her, brought her to the brink of suicide. Luckily, I got to her before she could jump into the sea. She desperately needed a soul to connect to, someone to cling to in order to stay alive. And yes, that someone should have been you—her husband. A husband should be a rock of safety in the middle of a raging sea, but you were the rage. So what did you fucking expect? That she would love you despite the way you treated her? That she’d desire to feel you inside of her after you strangled her in your serpent form? What the fuck did you think would happen?” Tristan grows angrier with every word, his body tight and ready to fight.
I notice the hurt in Soraya’s face as he talks, the way her red lips quiver. What affects her isn’t the portrayal of Mark’s cruelty against me, no doubt, but the passion with which Tristan speaks about me—which gives me pleasure.
Mark winds an arm around her shoulders, holding her close, comforting her. What the hell binds him to this woman?
“A fatal attraction it is indeed between you and my wife, Tristan. Because it will be the death of you.” He snorts, his face contorting in something close to disgust, but not quite. “And you know what, you sure have a nerve, throwing my vile nature in my face. You wanted to use the love potion on me, making me fall in love with my own daughter, how sick is that.”
Did the ground just split under me?
“Soraya,” I breathe. “Your daughter?”
“You know damn well I had no idea,” Tristan hisses between his teeth.
“You knew?” I yelp.
“I found out today,” he says, his hand on my hip, keeping me behind him. His body tenses, like he’s preparing for a fight. I squeeze his hand—he can’t possibly try to fight our way out, he’s alone, while Mark came with his entire army of serpents, including the alligator. I heard he’s vicious and deadly, the entire town was afraid of him back on the coast.
“Don’t do it, Tristan, please.”
Mark grins. “Oh, don’t worry, dear wife. Help is already underway for your lover.”
“Help?” Tristan demands.
Soraya steps in, maleficence in her glare. “The Old Priest ran straight to me after you arrived at his house. He offered a deal I just couldn’t refuse.” She pushes her chin out at Tristan, her face alight with jealousy.
“So I sent message to Lord Dracula—he is to come here, if he cares enough about you to save your life. Apparently the invincible Dracula has a weakness for his family and friends.” She snorts. “I’m positive he won’t miss the chance to save your ass.”
Baffled, both Tristan and I turn to the Old Priest as one of the serpents frees him from Tristan’s blades that kept him pinned to the cave wall. He joins the serpents with a cunning expression on his face.
“I offered the serpents the secret to human immortality,” he says, glancing at Mark, who clearly only meets him now. This is new to him as well. “But I want Dracula’s head in exchange. I told your daughter—”
“I don’t need to do you any favors, old fuck.” Mark gives him a once over, clearly disgusted with the old man’s appearance. “I can torture the truth out of you.”
But the Old Priest grins, rubbing his hands as if he was only waiting for this reaction. “Oh, yes, that’s what your daughter
said at first, too. But you see, I have something else to offer besides the secret to human immortality. Something of personal interest to you.”
He looks at Tristan and me when he says the next words, clearly happy to shock us. “I know how to make you, Lord Serpaint, invincible, just like Lord Dracula. But for that, you need Lord Dracula’s blood—and my powers of incantation.”
Mark cocks an eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to get Dracula’s blood if he is fucking invincible? Do you believe me an idiot?” he snarls.
I wince, and so does the Old Priest, but he keeps enough spirit to reply.
“He will offer his blood in exchange for Tristan DeKnight’s life, won’t he? Then you can fight Tristan—and Lord Dracula.”
Mark’s eyes glint, all his features elongating in pleasant surprise. A grin stretches on his face as he grasps the whole scope of this.
“Oh, hell,” he whispers. A thrill goes through him and, therefore, also through his serpents. I can feel them vibrating behind Mark and behind Tristan and me, a shudder running through my body.
Mark walks to Tristan, who glares at him with shiny eyes like illuminated ice.
“Small change of plan, then. Drop your blades, Prince of Spades. All you need is your bare claws to fight the alligator.” He reveals his slimy, dripping teeth. The bastard is already salivating at the spectacle of pain he’s going to witness, while my heart feels like someone is driving a hot iron through it.
“You bastard,” I blurt out, my eyes burning with hatred. For the first time in my life, I feel pure, unabashed hatred. “If you want Lord Dracula’s blood, you better give him what he wants in return. And he’ll want Tristan alive.”
“That doesn’t matter, my sweet wife. Because after I become invincible, I will take Lord Dracula down. There can be only one invincible supernatural in the world, and that will be me.” He’s greedy for it, I can see it in his slimy face. He hungers for power. I realize what this would mean to the world at large—pain and suffering, evil leaving the Hidden World and seeping into the surface world. Mark Serpaint enjoys few things more than seeing the weak suffer. It’s a fetish. In a few years, he’ll have run over humanity like a rake of hell.
