Redemption

by Mel Odom

  He moved.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Galway Bay, Ireland, 1758

  Angelus dodged back, narrowly avoiding the young swordswoman’s metal-sheathed wooden blade as she advanced across Handsome Jack’s stern deck. He smiled with bloodlust as he backed against the railing, his footing uncertain on the pitching deck.

  The swordswoman pulled her weapon back quickly, circling to the right around the steering wheel. “Come, foul demonspawn, or have you no stomach for honest swordplay?” She taunted as confidently as she moved. And the metal-sheathed wooden weapon told Angel she knew the true nature of those she faced.

  “In your impudence you knock on death’s door, girl,” Angelus threatened as he slid the cutlass free of the waist sash. Lightning flashed across the dark sky again, igniting pale fire from the wickedly curved blade.

  She stepped rapidly forward, engaging him. Steel whipped before Angelus’s eyes. If he hadn’t been faster and stronger as a vampire, she might have taken him easily. The clangor of steel rasping on steel filled the air around him, muting the whip-crack of the sailcloth above and the smack of the waves against the pitching ship. Darla and Darius fought on the deck below with the rest of the vampire crew.

  Grappled to Lugh’s Fancy, Handsome Jack jerked and jumped like a fish hitting the end of a line. Had Fancy not been bigger and heavier from the cargo she carried, the sudden stops as Handsome Jack hit the ends of her tethers might not have been as pronounced. The fallen sails continued to billow as the prevailing winds clawed at them.

  “You’re human, girl,” Angelus taunted. “Your flesh is weak. Despite your skill, you will tire. I will have you soon enough.”

  Exploding into action, the woman lunged forward.

  Angelus let her have his left shoulder. As a vampire the wound wouldn’t even be noticeable by tomorrow. He readied his own blade, intending to cut her cheek and rob her of a portion of the irritating confidence she showed by marring her beauty.

  But when her blade entered his flesh, it burned like a hot poker, telling him the steel had either been blessed or had been dipped in holy water.

  Angelus screamed in rage as the pain threw his own sword stroke off. He stumbled, instinctively drawing back from the blade. The wound in his arm smoked as if he’d been exposed to direct sunlight.

  The woman pressed her attack, her blade dancing before her.

  Even with all his speed and skill, Angelus barely preserved his own existence time and time again, stopping the blade just short. He beat back her attack with sheer strength and the iron-willed dark fury that filled him.

  One of Darius’s vampires came up quietly behind her, hand ax upraised. Angel grinned, knowing he was about to get the chance to exact his revenge for the pain.

  Then the woman disengaged and spun without warning, dropping into a crouch, one leg bent under her and the other straight out. The hand ax split the air over her head. She took a two-handed grip on her sword and slashed the vampire across the midsection.

  The vampire cursed as he backpedaled and tried to hold himself together. Before he could get away, the woman rose and drove her metal-encased wooden blade through his heart. He turned to dust and blew away.

  Angelus struck from behind, trying to slash the woman across the backs of her knees and cripple her. Somehow, though, she sensed his attack and leaped high into the air. She pulled her knees in to her chest and flipped backward, coming down on her feet easily.

  Angelus squared off with her again. He hungered to break her, to shatter her poise and confidence, to fill her with fear that would lace her blood with adrenaline, and then to drink deeply of her. He’d had — and enjoyed — numerous victims since Darla had sired him, but this was going to be a victory to be savored.

  Even as Angelus prepared to strike, wood crunched and Handsome Jack rocked violently to the right. The deck slanted too steeply to stand on the rain-slicked wood, and Angelus fell toward the ocean. For a moment he thought the ship was going to roll over the rocky shoals it had gotten caught on.

  He slid across the deck, flailing desperately. Before he reached the other side of the deck, already aiming for the railing and hoping it wouldn’t tear loose, Handsome Jack righted, slapping back down into the bay. A wave washed over the side, sluicing the deck.

  The woman had fallen from her feet as well, but she’d caught the stern railing with one hand. When the ship righted, she rolled to her feet, the blade before her.

  Angelus pushed up as the woman rushed at him, barely blocking her blade from his throat. Mired on the rocky shoals, Handsome Jack bucked and reared like a wild horse under an unwanted rider.

  The young woman didn’t appear affected by the tumult. No matter where Angelus turned, no matter what defense he chose, her blade constantly battered at him. Retreating angrily, following the ship’s railing, Angelus made his way to the front of the stern. He parried a lunge she made that would have skewered his liver if she’d connected. She continued to move, striking as fast as the lightning that ripped across the dark sky.

  Cunningly, Angelus reached up for the billowing folds of the fallen sails. He yanked one down, tearing it free of the restraining lines as he dodged a thrust aimed at his neck. The heavy canvas fell, draping the young woman before she could move. He slashed at the canvas, aiming where he thought her head might be.

  The keen blade ripped through the sailcloth where she struggled to free herself. But even as the cutlass passed easily through the folds, Angelus knew he’d missed her. His foot twisted on the rain-slick deck, pulling him out of position with the force he’d used.

  By the time he turned back around, swearing foully, the young woman’s blade slit the canvas, carving a large opening. The heavy sailcloth dropped around her, collapsing to pool at her ankles. Her red-gold hair was rain-matted, strands hanging down into her face, masking the gray-green eyes that smoldered with hate.

  “Moira!”

  The desperate call cut through the waves crashing against Handsome Jack, the cries of wounded and dying amidships, and the ferocious roars of some of Darius’s crew who’d gone feral. The young woman’s head turned, and she sprinted for the stern railing. She didn’t break stride, leaping onto the railing, then down.

  Amazed at the decisive way she’d moved, Angelus walked to the railing and peered down.

  The vampires had wreaked havoc on Handsome Jack’s crew and passengers. Corpses lay strewn over the amidships, given grotesque semilife by the waves that crashed over the sides and ran across the deck. The rushing water moved the dead limbs, sometimes strong enough to move a body a few feet as well. The jagged spar of the broken mast thrust up defiantly.

  Moira, the swordswoman, landed on the deck in a crouch, one hand out to help keep her balance. A vampire turned toward her, and lightning flashed, showing the dark blood that stained his face. Moira’s sword stabbed upward as she got to her feet. The blade slashed through the vampire’s neck, decapitating him, and he died in a swirl of dust.

  Already in motion, Moira rushed through the dusty remnants, aiming for the small group gathered at the forecastle railing. Pools of flaming oil, obviously from lanterns used as weapons against the vampires, guttered and slid greasily across the water sliding across the deck.

  Darla stood near the hold, her nails deep in a man’s flesh as she drank the life from him. Her party dress was tattered and bloodstained, no longer the beautiful confection she’d taken from a victim who’d bought it in Paris.

  Darius headed up the other vampires, keeping the attacks up on the remaining victims. Four warriors among the humans kept the blood-maddened vampires at bay.

  Angelus couldn’t tell how many of Darius’s crew had been slain in the battle because vampires didn’t leave corpses behind other than those of people they’d killed. But Angelus knew that the vampire numbers had been whittled down considerably.

  The warriors defended two older men in monk’s habits as well as five elegantly clad men and women. Soaked as they were from the rain, the we
althy passengers no longer looked regal, only fearful as they pressed against the wall behind them.

  Moira was among the vampires before Darius knew she was there. Her blade flicked out, slicing a vampire’s head off. The head and body turned to dust before the head fell to the deck.

  Using her action as a catalyst as the vampires suddenly realized there was a new danger among them, the four warriors pressed their attack. One swung a lantern at the nearest vampire, shattering the glass and spreading oil across him.

  The wick clung to the vampire, the flame fluttering weakly for a moment in the wind and rain before rushing across the vampire. Whale oil burned brightly but had low heat. Still, the blue and yellow flames wreathed the vampire more quickly than he could put them out. He staggered away, howling in pain and fear as the fire ignited vampire flesh and burned him to ash.

  The four warriors fought desperately, like a team that had been together for years. They spread their line but kept the protection over their charges. But the vampire numbers were still too much. A vampire raked sharp nails across one man’s throat even as his blade severed the neck of his opponent. The warrior dropped to his knees, clutching at his ruined throat as crimson life deserted him, staring at the whirlwind of dust the vampire had become. Lightning flashed, revealing the dying man’s glassy-eyed stare.

  Angelus vaulted over the stern railing and landed on the deck below.

  Darla turned to him, still feeding. Her eyes peered at him from her bloody visage. “Angelus,” she called, smiling, blood dripping from her fangs, “have you found a new pretty to play with?”

  Angelus grinned cockily. “I claim the woman as my own.”

  Darla laughed at him, discarding the corpse of the sailor whose life she’d drained. “Perhaps I should be jealous.”

  “You’d be jealous of a dead woman.” He crossed the deck in long strides, closing on the final fight taking place. He ripped the shirtsleeve from his wounded arm. The jagged cut held red infection and swelling that made the flesh gape open. “She cut me, Darla. I didn’t know I could be wounded like this anymore.”

  “When we return to town, we’ll have to have that tended.”

  “I’ll drink her blood!” Angelus roared. “That will be all the healing I need.”

  “These people are different, Angelus,” Darla said in a more serious tone. “You’ve not seen anyone like them. They’re fanatics, driven to follow their cause.”

  “So are the British, the Scots, and even the Irish,” Angelus said.

  “They are only men.”

  “And these are not?” Angelus watched as another vampire was struck down. Darius roared with rage, narrowly avoiding a pitch-and-tar torch one of the warriors wielded.

  “They bleed and they die,” Darla said, “but they are more than mere human. Their cause binds them and lifts them above that. You can kill them, but you must be careful.”

  Darla’s words, delivered with more seriousness and cautiousness than he could remember, only made Angelus angrier. Since he’d been reborn, ripped from the grave by the evil that made him eternal with the night, he knew he was better than anyone and anything.

  One of the warriors started praying in a loud voice. Exertion and fatigue, maybe even fear, made his words ragged. The sailcloth snapping overhead and the waves crashing booming thunder against Handsome Jack’s hull made the prayer even harder to hear. But the effect was noticeable.

  The three surviving warriors and the swords-woman rallied, beating Darius and his vampire crew back. Glancing to his right, Angelus saw the longboat that was obviously their goal. Before their casualties had run so high, there had been too many to hope to make their escape in the boat.

  Led by Moira, the warriors broke through the vampires’ line.

  Angelus reached the longboat first, evil firing his still heart. There was nothing more satisfying than stealing a person’s last hope. He sheathed his cutlass just as Handsome Jack slewed again, grating against the rocky shoals. The bottom tore out of the ship and Angelus felt it settle more heavily into the water. Peering over the side, he saw the dark ocean roiling around the hull, less than a foot below the deck. The ship was going down quickly.

  The longboat held a small anchor in its bow that was used to moor it in shallow water. It had been casually forged, an arm-thick shaft of iron maybe a yard long. Angelus seized the anchor in both hands, lifted it, then drove it as hard as he could toward the longboat’s bottom.

  Lightning flickered through the sky, sketching long-fingered demon’s claws, then thunder pealed, drowning out the sound of the longboat’s bottom shattering. The anchor smashed through the wood, tearing out a huge hole a foot wide. The anchor thumped against the ship’s deck, driving free long splinters there as well.

  “No!” The swordswoman’s cry echoed with hopeless dismay. She drew up only a few feet away, the other warriors, the monks, and the wealthy hot on her heels.

  Relishing the terror he heard in her voice, Angelus drew his sword triumphantly, falling into a defensive position. “Yes!”

  “You have killed us.” Moira’s gray-green eyes flashed angrily.

  “Not yet,” Angelus taunted. “But it won’t be long now.”

  Without another word the swordswoman attacked, her blade streaking for Angelus’s head. He parried her attack, feeling the ferocity and determination in her blade as it met his. He’d thought seeing the longboat destroyed would have taken the fight from her. The people they were protecting dropped to their knees and began wailing in fear. It was music to Angelus’s ears.

  The warriors’ prayer echoed over Handsome Jack as the ship wallowed and sank even more. Waves cascaded across the deck, rolling from side to side as the ship rocked heavily. Few oil lanterns remained lit in the rigging, as if the light itself retreated from the darkness waiting to consume the last of Handsome Jack’s travelers.

  “You can never win,” Moira said, driving her sword at him.

  Angelus blocked her blows, rarely having an opportunity to launch an attack of his own. He told himself it didn’t matter, that time was on his side because Handsome Jack was going down, listing even worse. The rocky shoals grating the ship’s hull sent vibrations along the deck.

  Another warrior fell beneath the blade of one of Darius’s crew, leaving the monks and the wealthy passengers open to more direct attack. The vampires seized them with impunity.

  Then a harsh crack filled the air. Handsome Jack staggered. The uneven motion threw Angelus off-balance. The swordswoman’s blade drew a thin line of fire along his right jaw. He cursed and tried to recover, gone from skill to primitive instinct as the deck jumped beneath him.

  The woman swung again, and Angelus stepped inside the blow. Her arm crashed against his side, and her sword hilt hammered against his back. But the blade didn’t touch him.

  Angelus stood chest to chest with her, her body pressed almost intimately against his. His senses reeled as he scented the hot blood that coursed through her. Shadows warred with lantern light and lightning flashes to illuminate the high planes of her face. Her pulse beat in the dark hollow of her throat.

  She tried to yank away, but Angelus trapped her arm, grabbing her above her elbow. There wasn’t enough room for her to get the sword into play. Fire smoldered in her gray-green eyes as she stared into his.

  “Never,” she whispered, “will you take me.”

  Angelus felt the desire flare inside him. There was nothing human about it. If it was unleashed, he knew it would come dangerously close to consuming them both. He gazed at her neck where the hollow held her beating pulse, then bared his fangs.

  Before he could touch her, her free hand came up with a cross. She pressed it against his mouth, searing his lips with a pain he had never known. Angelus pulled his head back, howling. Instinctively he grabbed her wrist and pulled the cross from his flesh. Her arm broke in his frenzied grip with a loud pop. Still, she struggled to get free.

  Half-mad with the incredible agony, Angelus tightened his grip on
her other arm and pulled it from the shoulder socket. She cried out, but he didn’t care. The hunger took a backseat to the rage he felt. He slapped her, knocking her from him.

  The young woman stumbled back, splashing through the inches-deep water that rolled across Handsome Jack’s deck. She tried to catch herself, but the broken arm and the dislocated one wouldn’t hold her. She fell heavily.

  Angelus reached a hand to his burned mouth, cursing. Bumpy blisters stood out under his fingertips, some of them already broken and running. He lurched after the woman, tightening his grip on his sword.

  Handsome Jack reeled drunkenly again. Unable to keep his feet, Angelus collapsed to his knees. The waves raced across him, kissed silver by the moon and washing up over his waist now, drenching him. He stared at the swordswoman as she kicked herself backward to get away from him, her injured arms flopping uselessly at her sides.

  Angelus tried to get up in the sudden deluge but couldn’t quite make it. He wanted to kill the woman more than anything he’d wanted to do in his life or unlife.

  The incoming waves fought with one another, creating a swirling pool in the center of the ship. Water sloshed up from the open cargo hold now, letting Angelus know the ship was filling fast.

  Handsome Jack jerked again. The stern took a harsh dip into the ocean, water rushing over the railing.

  Darla helped Angelus to his feet. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Wait,” Angelus ordered through his mutilated lips, surging away from Darla angrily.

  “There’s no time.”

  Angelus wanted to protest, but he knew it was true. The ship was going down more quickly. He retreated, swearing at the woman.

  Darius’s crew was halved in number. The night’s foray and strike against the moneyed nobility arriving in Galway hadn’t gone as easily as Darius had predicted. Darius yelled his crew into motion. Three vampires grabbed hand axes and cut free the ropes tying them to the floundering ship. Fancy heeled over hard to its side, pulled dangerously close to the storm-tossed sea.