Vampire Thriller (Book 2): The Living Night

by Jack Conner

  * * *

  “This is bullshit,” someone said. “I’m hungry.”

  Raulf punched him in the face. “Stow your whining and get back to work.”

  Sullenly, the man obeyed, a trickle of blood staining his chin. Around them the remaining Libertarians were beginning to set up their new headquarters. It was slow, tentative work, as they had to perform the project solely from beneath the surface of the new mountain. If even a portion of the surface snow collapsed, the sun would pour in and many lives would be lost. They went in slow, carefully measured movements, though not without some grumbling.

  Captain D’Aguila stewed silently. Why hadn’t the damned dogs returned yet? Something must have gone wrong.

  Finally, to the great relief of the Captain, three werewolves returned—the surviving two that had led the assault and the one that had guided them to the new camp. At their arrival, relief flooded the Captain, and he drew them aside for a debriefing.

  The two surviving raiders looked haggard due to their little battle, and D’Aguila was quick to devise several devious punishments for them. First, they’d come to him wounded, defeated, which bespoke of their obvious incompetence in hand-to-hand fighting, but, far worse, he’d given a strict order forbidding them to personally engage any of the Castle soldiers. They were to shoot the missile, observe its effects, and come straight back to him. However, when they told him of their foe, the formidable Lord Kharker, he forgave them their wounds, if nothing else.

  “Why did you disobey me and attack the survivors of the patrol unit?” he demanded. “We have all the inside information we need.”

  The leader of the raiding party, long recovered from the most telling signs of his encounter with Kharker, lowered his eyes to the snow. “Sir, we didn’t attack them for the sake of battle. We would never have gone against your wishes that way. But we were hungry. Sir, we haven’t really fed in over a week!”

  Slowly, Raulf nodded. “You’re right.” He could see the visible relief of the two werewolves. “It’s been long since we’ve tasted the blood and flesh that we need, and I’m pleased with your execution of my plan.” He sighed, thinking of the spectacle it must have been.

  Seeing his wistful look, the leader of the raiding party grinned. “Ah, my Captain, I wish you could’ve been there! It was beautiful. Ten of their mightiest attack helicopters destroyed, as well as all the troops they sent to rout us. It’ll be many years before that place doesn’t glow in the dark.”

  D’Aguila laughed. He had much to be happy about. However, he also had great problems, the major one being something the werewolf had just brought up. If he would disobey D’Aguila because of hunger, so might others.

  “You did that part well,” the Captain allowed. “Still, you disobeyed me and cost me two men—both of which might have been captured by the enemy.”

  “But, sir! Even if they were captured, there’s no way their captors could use what they have to say to their advantage.”

  “Still, you committed a high crime. Have no fear, though. Your treason will only make the rest of us stronger.”

  “Sir, I’m afraid ... I don’t know what you mean ...”

  “I don’t know how far two scrawny shades like yourselves can be stretched among a hundred and fifty, but it’s better than nothing.”

  With that, the Captain’s biggest problem was solved. A half hour later, his stomach full, he set about the completion of his new headquarters. And, every now and then, to the companionable laughter of those about him, he’d release a loud belch.

  * * *

  Several miles away, deep in the icy ravine, Jean-Pierre began to stir. At first, he could only move his legs, and he realized that his upper torso was embedded in the cold hard mud of the river floor. Slowly, gingerly, he extracted himself from the grip of the tenacious ground and let himself drift upward. He floated up about ten feet until he hit the sheet of ice that covered the shallow river. He tried to strike at the thick, almost translucent wall, but his limbs were weak and the attempt unsuccessful.

  I need time. Healing would take even longer, though, in the glaring light of the sun that waited just beyond the ice above.

  The albino shoved himself off and let the currents carry him slowly along the river, ever closer to the Castle just a few long miles away.

  Chapter 16

  When Danielle woke up the next dusk, she found herself in her own bed, the covers carefully tucked in about her. Sophia had done this, she realized, though the ghensiv was nowhere in sight. Maybe the albino’s daughter was more friend than comrade, after all. Then again, maybe the Ice Queen hadn’t liked Danielle taking up half the floor.

  Danielle struggled to sit up, but her head reeled with the effort. She let herself fall back to the pillow, where she began plotting her next course of action. First, she had to get up. That was important. Then she had to find Harry and tell him that Ruegger was here. She still couldn’t believe that Harry had slept with Cloire, but she wouldn’t hold that against him. Danielle smiled to imagine herself with Ruegger, once he’d been freed. The sight of him had quickened the hunger in her loins.

  The second after she had this thought her eyes locked onto the dart-shredded publicity photo of Junger and Jagoda. Without warning, bile shot up her throat; it was all she could do to stumble to the restroom in time.

  Done, she wiped off her face and smashed a fist against the floor.

  “Bastards,” she said. “Maybe you didn’t do it to my body, but you sure enough did it to my mind.”

  After she’d showered, shaved her legs, brushed her teeth and smoked the first cigarette of the evening, she dressed and ventured downstairs to the little café, where she had a big cup of coffee.

  God, she was glad Ruegger was here, but she was so angry at Kharker for his betrayal and at the Balaklava for their very existence that she couldn’t think straight. The worst part, though, was there wasn’t much she could do about it. How could she free Ruegger?

  * * *

  In the kitchen of Cloire’s small room, Harry, always full of surprises, was whipping up some omelets for the two of them, while the she-wolf watched with sleepy eyes. She’d been fond of the mortal since the night she had first captured him, and even in those early days had fostered thoughts of corrupting him.

  Corrupting and killing were two of her favorite pastimes, and she saw Harry as a perfect opportunity to warp the agents of good. She’d allowed herself to spend time with him, which she greatly enjoyed, all the while plotting to violate him in some way. But as the days passed, she realized that this had just been a pretense, an excuse to get close to the man. Now she was beginning to realize that she’d let the pretense slip away. She had grown too close to this mortal for her own good.

  Smiling and wearing only his boxers, he brought her an omelet on a hot plate and plopped down beside her on the bed.

  “Good,” she said after the first bite.

  “My wife taught me how to cook.” She could see that, even after all these years, the thought of her still pained him. To lighten the mood, he patted his belly and said, “Much to my detriment, as you can see.”

  She chuckled. “You look just fine to me, lover.”

  Carefully, so as not to spill the food onto the bedcovers, they started to kiss—when someone knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” she said, her free hand reaching for one of the pistols she kept on the nightstand.

  “Loirot.”

  “Go away. I’m busy.”

  “This is important,” came the reply, and this time it wasn’t Loirot’s voice. It was Kilian’s.

  She handed her plate to Harry in order to free up both hands. “You might want to wait in the bathroom until this is over,” she whispered.

  “No,” he said. “My place is with you. Besides, I’m a pretty good shot myself.”

  He retrieved his own large gun from the opposite nightstand, the one loaded with silver bullets.

  “Come in, already,” Cloire said to the door.
<
br />   Loirot, Kilian, and Byron entered, looking on in mild surprise as their leader, her breasts exposed, and her mortal lover steadied their weapons.

  “Cloire ...” began Byron, his surprise absolute.

  “State your business,” she said. “Then leave. I’ve got a breakfast to eat.”

  Kilian stepped forward. “We’ve come to devise a plan, Cloire. We can’t stay here forever, and we’ve all heard the rumors that the Libertarians have arrived. Not only that, but that they’ve done Roche Sarnova some damage.”

  Cloire shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything. I’ve been here enjoying myself. Until now.”

  “Well, if you’d been up and about like the rest of us, you would’ve heard the rumors.”

  She nodded impatiently. “Get on with it,” she commanded.

  “Cloire, we want to know what your intentions are.”

  She smiled wickedly. “Well, they’re not honorable, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Cloire. We need answers, and we need them soon. Byron and I have set aside our differences, and Loirot is with us. We’ve decided to leave this place, and were hoping that you would join us ...” He waved his hand in the direction of Harry. “Without him.”

  Silently, she cursed herself. This had been bound to happen sooner or later, but she’d hoped that by the time this encounter cropped up, she would have something planned to say. She had a plan for everything, except this. How the hell was she supposed to get herself out of this situation? She certainly didn’t want to lose her crew. Then again, they were often more trouble than they were worth. Add to that the fact that they no longer had a boss, that Vistrot was gone forever, and they were pretty much screwed, as far as she was concerned.

  Sneering, she said, “If you left here, where would you go? Not back to New York.”

  “No,” Byron said. “Amelia hasn’t sent word to us, although we’ve tried to establish a link with her several times. We can’t be assured of a good reception there, and until we can, we’ve got to find something else. We were thinking of Lereba. In the wake of the recent disaster there, we figure many crime lords could benefit from our services.”

  “You’re kidding. Why the hell would we want to relocate to Morocco, for gods’ sakes? Have you lost your minds? I can see why you want me back.”

  “Then where would you have us go?” Loirot said.

  She laughed. “Well, if he still lives, I’m sure Hauswell would welcome our loyalty. We might have to break the ice first, prove ourselves, but with him scrambling to put his kingdom back together, he couldn’t really refuse.”

  Loirot’s smile nearly took in his ears, and he turned to his two companions to judge their reactions. They seemed to reach an agreement and turned back to the she-wolf with pleased, though wary, looks.

  “So you’ll join us?” Kilian said.

  She paused. She could feel Harry beside her, sense his trepidation, and tried to force herself into her former state of detachment. To her half-hearted fury, it would not come. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet Kilian’s.

  “If I go, so does Harry.”

  After a few moments of reflection, Kilian nodded reluctantly. “If that’s the way you want it, we won’t object.” He turned to Harry, and his next words didn’t surprise Cloire. “Mortal,” he said, “will you Turn?”

  Harry looked all about him, apparently at a loss, but then his eyes glowed hotly. With more grit than Cloire had expected, he said, “No.”

  Kilian turned his gaze back to Cloire. “So you’ll come,” he said, but it was more a question than a statement.

  Cloire frowned. “I … don’t know.” Her bluntness surprised even herself.

  Almost as if he’d expected as much, Kilian nodded casually. “We’ll give you a day to make up your mind. Tomorrow night, say midnight, we’ll come back here and see where you stand.”

  “Sounds like a showdown.”

  “No, Cloire. If we must part ways, we will do so amiably. Despite everything that’s happened recently, we wish you no harm. As long as you return the favor, we’re even.”

  She agreed to the terms. Without another word, the three remaining members of Jean-Pierre’s death-squad left the room. She replaced her weapons on the nightstand and turned to Harry, who had similarly disarmed himself and was playing with the remains of an omelet on his plate; it had cooled considerably.

  “Well?” she asked, and noted the grimace he was trying to hide.

  “It’s your call,” he said. “But if you go, I won’t. I’ve come to feel ... strongly, about you, but I’m not going to live my life with a bunch of killers.”

  “Harry,” she said, softly. “I’m a killer.”

  Looking extremely uncomfortable, he said nothing, but his wince was all the answer she needed.

  “If we stayed together,” she said, “would you want me to stop killing?”

  “Yes. Or, at least, do like Ruegger and Danielle do. Just eat the bad guys. That I could live with.”

  Unexpectedly, that brought a smile to her lips. Harry wouldn’t sacrifice his own moral principals and would try to force them upon her, but he was honest about it, and unapologetic. She respected that, but she didn’t know if she could alter her dark side and was afraid that, in the end, she would disappoint Harry by killing an innocent and he would either leave her or kill her. On the other hand, she didn’t really want to start over with the death-squad. She wanted a new chapter in her life to begin, and she wanted Harry by her side while she went on the journey.

  At last, she took his hand in hers. “Lover, I’ve got a lot to think about. Besides, you’ve got something to do. I’d forgotten, but last night Danielle came in here and demanded to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, hon, but I’ll let you look into it yourself.”

  “And you?”

  For a moment, she felt tears burn behind her eyes, trying to get out. Decisions, decisions. Then the crisis passed and she shoved him toward the door.

  “Go,” she said. “When you return, maybe I’ll have some answers for you.”

  * * *

  “How shall we attack the stronghold?” Colonel Zan asked for the second time, meaning a newly discovered bastion of Subaire’s forces in London.

  “Swiftly,” Roche Sarnova replied.

  “But the strategy?”

  Sarnova smiled, knowing that the officers in the War Room would not like what he had to say. “Let the General on scene decide the strategy. Too long have we been issuing orders and attack plans from afar. Let the leaders of the front lines decide the best course of action.”

  Zan stared at him, disbelieving.

  “There are spies among us,” Roche said. “We all know this. Every time we issue an order to a commander on the front lines, Subaire’s able to counter it. Why? Because one of us, or more than one, is telling her. From here on out, I’ll lead the war in a different direction. I will lead by not leading. If I tell the good general how to best assault Subaire’s stronghold, word will find its way to Subaire and the general’s assault will be repelled. We’ve seen this over and over. So, Colonel Zan, I advise you to tell the general that it is up to him how best to proceed. Of all of us, he’s in the best position to decide strategy anyway.”

  “He lacks perspective,” countered Zan.

  Roche shrugged. “If we give him an order, he’ll be lacking a head. So go, Colonel, tell him to proceed as he sees fit.”

  The room stirred, and Sarnova relished the horror of his people’s reactions. How many of them were spies? None, perhaps. Or many. All he knew was that, for the sake of his shuddering empire, he must put a stop to all the intrigue.

  Sarnova stood, and the din of the room calmed.

  Off to the side, Colonel De Soto growled, and Sarnova spun on him. “You have something to say, Colonel?”

  Quick to respond to the challenge, De Soto nodded. “You’re making a grave mistake, my lord. This is not a sound strategy.”

 
“Col. De Soto, if you disagree, then fine, but I will not change my mind. Put the word out, all of you. Tell the men on the front lines that they’re better off on their own. Tell them to do as they think best. We’ll give it a few days, see if the new tactic pays off. If it doesn’t, we’ll revert to more direct commands. If I hear that any of you are going against these new instructions, I’ll have you put to death on the instant. Is that understood?”

  Roche Sarnova swept from the room and returned to his quarters for a drink of coffee before his next task—to oversee the first series of chess matches to determine his heir—and was not surprised to find Ambassador Mauchlery waiting for him. However, the Ambassador seemed surprised to find Roche smiling.

  “It went well, I take it?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Roche told him about the meeting, and by the time he was finished, the Ambassador was smiling, too.

  “I wish I could’ve seen the looks on their faces,” he said.

  “It was gratifying.”

  “So we may have a chance to win the war, after all.”

  “We will see.”

  “What of the Libertarians?”

  “I’ve thought of something to end that threat, as well.”

  “Yes?”

  Sarnova just smiled.

  Seeing that his friend would not reveal his plan, Mauchlery said, “Where are you off to now? The chess game?”

  “Yes. Actually, I’ve changed the schedule around somewhat.”

  “How so?”

  “Originally, the eight survivors of the Pit were to face each off in four games the first night. The four victors were then to compete in two games the following night. On the third night, the last two were to compete to determine my heir.”

  “But you’ve changed it.”

  “I’ve decided the first two rounds will be finished tonight, with only a short recess between them.”

  After a moment, Francois nodded in understanding. “You wish to see how Kiernevar fares, is that it?”