The Savage Vampire (The Perpetual Creatures Saga Book 5)

by Gabriel Beyers

  With a deep sigh of regret, Sebastian closed his mind. He blinked several times before his eyes regained focus. When the psychic fog lifted, he found Cot smiling down upon him with giddy rapture.

  “Are you still here, servant?” Sebastian asked, dissolving the smug look from Cot’s face. “I told you to leave the human. I’ll call you when—”

  It was no back hand this time, but a right cross that came smashing into his face with the speed and force of a meteor. Sebastian wasn’t sure if he hit the wall or the ceiling, but he had the strangest sense of falling either way.

  Sebastian had to admit that one hurt. He tried to stand up but couldn’t quite find the floor. He was vaguely aware of his legs rotating back and forth, as though he were riding a bicycle, and also of his inability to stop this absurd display.

  After a bit, the crushed bones in his skull found their proper place. Gravity returned, and Sebastian discovered that he was once again wedged in the corner, upside down.

  The apocalyptic chimes ringing between his ears ran down to a mild hum. His vision went from black to purple to gray. The haze eventually cleared, but he saw double the rest of that night.

  “You know, Cot,” Sebastian said as he finally made his feet, “if you’re not careful, I may start to believe that you don’t like me.”

  “Mock me again, you dribbling little troll, and it’ll be your last. Othella would be disappointed if I bashed your brains out too early, but I think she’d get over it.”

  “Oh, I have no doubts.”

  Cot smiled. The act made his face handsome, despite his devil’s eyes. He made to leave, but Sebastian stopped him at the door. Fun time was over. Time to goad this pawn into play.

  “Take the human with you.” No turning back now. This little gamble was going to be both amusing and painful. But he needed Cot to leave the corpse in his cell. He needed to speak to the Necromancer again.

  “Excuse me.” Cot turned to face him once more. His neck had drawn tight, and a dangerous twitch fluttered above his left eye. “Did I not just warn you about that?”

  “You told me not to call you servant. Which I didn’t. I’ve learned my lesson on that account.” Sebastian hoped this worked; otherwise, he’d have a long night of healing… if he survived. “I was simply requesting that you take the human with you. I won’t be needing him.”

  “What game are you playing at now, Dwarf?” A note of weariness infiltrated Cot’s voice. That was good. Sebastian could work with weariness. Anger was a close second, but far more painful.

  “No game. I’ve just been thinking of those fledglings locked up next door.”

  “What about them?” Cot asked through clenched teeth.

  “Well, I’ve been considering this whole Divine Vampire thing. Sound’s marvelous. I want in.”

  Cot actually laughed, a terrible sound like a bird screeching, and Sebastian withheld a wince. “You want in? Do you honestly think that we’d have the Necromancer transfer you into Divine flesh? Not. Gonna. Happen.”

  “You know, I’ve been pondering the subject night and day. Not much else to do in here. I’m not so sure I even need the Necromancer. I think I can become Divine the old fashion way. Just stop feeding, let the stone cloak cover me, and let nature take its course.”

  Cot stood gawking, his brows knit together, the corners of his mouth down-turned. He had the look of a man who had heard a joke but didn’t understand the punchline.

  “But you can’t break free of the cloak,” Cot answered, but with little confidence. Sebastian once again stifled a smile. He’d hooked him. “You said so yourself. We heard you in the cemetery. A vampire that’s fed on blood cannot become Divine.” He hardened his eyes, but it wasn’t very convincing.

  “I did say that,” Sebastian said. “You’ve got me there. But even I, as brilliant as I am, can be wrong from time to time. Oh, don’t misunderstand. I highly doubt a vampire such as yourself, Mathias, or even the great Othella could break free of the stone. But I’m not like you three, am I? I’m willing to bet, my life, mind you, that the power living behind these two beautiful eyes of mine are enough to bring me through.”

  Cot watched Sebastian, his mouth slightly open, trying to decide if he was being played or not. Sebastian remained silent, allowing the poison of doubt to seep in and work its magic. Cot seemed to realize he’d been standing there, awkwardly quiet for far too long. His slack mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

  “There will be no fasting for you, Dwarf.”

  “I’ll not feed. What are you going to do? Stay here and wait for me to crack to the thirst? You’re much too tall to enjoy this tiny cell.”

  Cot’s eyes became spiteful little slits. “Why would I stay when I can just lock the mortal in here with you?”

  Sebastian feigned a look of shock. He wasn’t sure Cot would buy it, but his smile of pleasure said he had.

  “Wait. Okay. I’ll feed. Just don’t lock me in here with the human. Last time you left the corpse in here with me and it was unbearable. I can’t take the stink of rotting flesh.” That part actually was the truth. “I’ll be good.”

  Cot’s smile broadened in triumphant glee. He kicked the mortal man further into the cell, knocking him on his belly, face down at Sebastian’s feet.

  “Enjoy your meal.” Cot turned away in a haughty sashay. “Someone will retrieve your leavings in a month or so.”

  “No! Please!” Sebastian ran for the door. He tripped on the human, stumbled, but kept his feet. Don’t overplay it, he told himself.

  Cot slammed the steel door just as Sebastian reached it. A moment later, the hiss of pressurization, the thud of steel rods hammering in place, and the sickly whir of electronics resetting, filled the room. Sebastian screamed and slammed his hands against the door. He wasn’t sure Cot could hear him, but he wanted to play the part to the end.

  Sebastian turned and slid into a sitting position. “That would’ve never worked with Othella.”

  The human answered with a hitched gasp of terror. And why not? What worse terror was there than being locked in the pitch darkness with a bloodthirsty monster.

  “Othella may still overrule Cot’s foolish decision.” Sebastian spoke to the human, though probably not in the correct language. It didn’t matter. “I’m sorry, ol’ chap. I’m sure you’d make delightful company, but I really am famished, and I have need of your corpse.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Shufah had woken Victor, she was sure he would attack her, like a bear whose hibernation has been disturbed.

  Thankfully, he had not.

  Instead, he rolled over, glanced at her from the side of his unnerving mismatched eyes, and sighed. He seemed disappointed that he hadn’t died in his sleep.

  Shufah could relate.

  Victor held out his hand, motioning for her to help him up. She hesitated, then grasped the massive paw with too many fingers, repressing the shiver of revulsion ricocheting off her bones. It hadn’t been all that long ago that these same hands had tried to snuff the life out of her.

  Strange days, Shufah thought.

  She pulled Victor to his feet with relative ease, though because of her short stature and his freakishly long appendages, she imagined it looked a bit like a dove helping up a heron.

  This thought brought a tickle of laughter rolling up her chest, but she squashed it before it could escape. Victor’s mind was a shattered wasteland of emotions. A misperceived slight could spin him into a rage, and she didn’t have time to deal with that right now.

  Victor dusted himself off. It was a totally involuntary motion, something they had all done when humans, and the impulse had never faded away. His clothes, which were little more than charred and decaying rags, sloughed away like great peels of dead skin.

  Shufah looked away from his exposed loins, but not because of prudence or embarrassment. She had seen far more men disrobed—mostly victims—in her long life than she cared to count. Her eyes fled to the adjacent corner because Victor had,
at some point, added (as with his hands and feet) some extra equipment that he had removed from a couple of poor dead male vampires. And if they weren’t dead, Shufah had a feeling they wished they were.

  In the corner were the reflective blackout blankets the team of Lamorak had given them. She shook her head in amused disbelief. Among everything else she had to coordinate, it looked like she was going to be adding seamstress to the list.

  At least it’d give her something to do during the daylight hours. There was no way she was going to close her eyes while sharing a tight cave with Victor. She may be suicidal, but she didn’t fancy having her lips, fingers, or any other various parts added to the Monster’s trophies.

  She pointed to the corner. “See those blankets over there?” Victor nodded. “Good. Grab them. I’ll make you a robe out of them.”

  Victor seemed genuinely touched by the offer, his scarred face twisting in something akin to gratitude, and Shufah felt her heart break a little for him. Not much kindness in this world for Monsters. He stepped over and scooped the blankets up to his chest.

  “I shall repay the gift.”

  “Hold those blankets about two feet lower and we’ll call it even.”

  Victor dropped the pile to waist level. “If that is your wish.”

  Two comically absurd truths rang home to Shufah. One was that Victor had no concept of sarcasm. She didn’t entirely blame him. It wasn’t exactly her strong point, though Taos and Thad had been rubbing off on her. The second was now that Victor had fulfilled his end of their bargain, she was obligated—probably on pain of death—to complete his robe before the next nightfall.

  “Follow me,” she said with a smile she couldn’t hold back. “Sun’s on the way and we can’t stay here.”

  Shufah led Victor out of the cabin and up the steeply sloping hillside. They moved with the moon to their backs, their shadows spilling before them in long strips.

  She detoured around the growing puddles of snow spattered about, not wanting to leave a trail to the cave they were hiding in. Victor apparently did not hold stealth in such high regard. The snow crunched beneath his substantial weight with a sound eerily like tiny bones being ground to dust. She couldn’t say he walked through the snow on purpose, but he hit more puddles than he missed.

  Shufah showed him the cave hiding beneath the granite outcrop. He motioned for her to go first. It was hard to tell if this was an act of chivalry or mistrust. She didn’t relish having Victor crowd behind her in a tight space that probably only had one exit, but made a little bow and went in first.

  She turned on her cell phone’s flashlight to aid her already powerful vision and was pleased to find the cavern larger than she had hoped.

  The initial throat was narrow, going down at a slight angle before jogging to the left. That would be good for keeping the sun off of them. After the turn, the corridor opened into a cauldron-shaped cave about ten feet high and fourteen feet wide. A few more narrow passages branched off, but there was no genuine need to explore these. This was a one-day stay.

  Victor moved in behind her, subtly quiet for a creature so large. The only sound alerting his presence had come from the material of the blankets rubbing together.

  Shufah turned with a start, her back pressing against the cold, stone wall. Victor dropped the blankets at her feet, then continued on to the rear of the cave where it was thankfully too dark to see his nakedness.

  “I’ll be right back, Victor. I need to step outside and make a few phone calls. When I’m done, I’ll start on your robe.”

  Victor gave a noncommittal grunt, then flopped down on his side, oblivious (or impervious) to the biting cold.

  Shufah pinched the bridge of her nose to relieve the pressure building behind her eyes. The anticipation of battle weighed heavily on her. Not extracting the Watchtower. She knew that the High Council, in their quest to keep the Divine secret to themselves, had wiped out a good number of the Hunters along with the Stewards. Any that had been at the cemetery that night, anyhow. Suhail and the Monster had thinned out the rest.

  No, the battle that worried her most was the one that must come after. The battle with Jerusa. She could feel it approaching like a squall.

  Shufah pulled out her cell phone. The battery was low. Few places to charge in the wilderness of Western Russia. Hopefully, her task would be short.

  Celeste answered before the first ring ended, as though she’d had the phone clutched firmly in her hand, which she probably did. She, Taos, and Thad were all safe and secure. Their conversation was quick, just long enough to describe their location—the basement of a small church fifteen miles northwest.

  The call to the Furies went even faster. They had chosen to bury themselves in the thawing ground but would wait the next night near a burned-out barn thirty miles to the south.

  Lastly, Shufah called the number Rian’s computer sorcerers had placed in her phone. She considered the fallacy of not calling him first, but she needed to hear the voices of her coven. To know that they were safe and hidden, if such a thing still existed in this world.

  This time, the phone continued to ring. Three times. Four times. A sinking sensation washed over her. Five times. Six times. Her jaw clenched tight enough to make her teeth groan. Seven times. Eight tim—

  “Hello, mysterious blood drinker,” Rian said in a jolly, welcoming tone. “I knew you’d call. Just didn’t expect it so soon.”

  “We need a favor,” Shufah said, blasting out a sigh. “If the offer was genuine, that is.”

  “Of course, it’s genuine. I’d never crawfish with… well, someone like you.” There came the touch of U.S. Southwest accent again. She thought to ask him where he was from, but figured that’d be a more complicated question than she could handle right now.

  “We need transport tomorrow night. Long distance. Three pickup locations. A night, maybe two of reconnaissance. Three separate extractions. One final rendezvous point. Can you handle that?”

  Rian barked a thick, hardy laugh. “With our eyes closed, hogtied, and underwater. What about opposition? Shall we come packin’?” The accent grew stronger the more excited he was.

  “No more than usual. This is our fight. I’m not sure you can help in that regard.”

  “Don’t be so sure, but don’t worry, we won’t bring anything too crazy.”

  It was easy to like Rian. She felt that, had they had the chance to meet, he and Foster would have been fast friends.

  Despite the nagging fear that someone might listen in, either over the cellular network or through telepathy, Shufah gave Rian the intimate details of the mission. His playful banter quickly dissipated, and he became all business.

  With the travel arrangements settled, Shufah hung up the phone and walked back to the cave where she would spend the daylight hours making a covering for the overexposed Monster.

  The next evening, just after sunset, as if perched on the edge of the horizon awaiting the golden orb to drop, there came the unmistakable thrumming of helicopter rotors.

  Shufah and Victor returned to the valley where it would be easier to board and stood next to the tilted cabin. Victor tugged on his new robe and seemed uninterested in the approaching helicopter.

  She had fashioned the robe black side out, reflective side in, and gave it a large hood to conceal the Monster’s disturbing features. He looked the embodiment of old man Death himself (minus the scythe) and she supposed many slain Hunters would agree.

  “Be good now, Victor,” she said. “The mortals are coming to help us. THEY ARE NOT TO BE FED UPON.” She said each word firmly. “Understand?”

  He sighed like a child who was told there would be no dessert.

  “I need you to say it, Victor.”

  He crossed his extra-long arms over his formidable chest. “No killing the humans. I understand.” It was strange to see something so hideous pout.

  “I’ll make it up to you. You can have all the Hunters we encounter.” That seemed to lighten his mood.

>   The thunder of the helicopter echoed from hillside to hillside, washing down into the valley like an ocean of thunder. The soaring marvel moved at an awe-inspiring speed, then coasted to a stop above them with the grace of a hummingbird.

  As the helicopter descended, Victor dropped his head to keep from having his hood blown back. Shufah’s hair whipped about her face like black fire.

  The helicopter that landed before them was not the Russian HIP that had deposited them. This was an American Blackhawk, retrofitted once again to keep the sun from reaching its passengers, along with an array of severe-looking weaponry attached.

  Once again, Shufah wondered just who these humans really were. How did they get such equipment on such brief notice?

  The side door of the Blackhawk slid open. Rian stepped out, bowed as though he were their humble servant, and motioned for them to enter. Shufah started for the helicopter, but Victor hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” A moment of panic filled her. The Monster may be a vicious, murdering madman, but you didn’t survive as he had without razor-sharp instincts. Did he sense a trap? A double cross?

  “I don’t much care for flying,” he said flatly.

  Shufah wasn’t sure if she should laugh or clap her forehead in disbelief. She touched Victor’s arm (through the robe). “I don’t either. But we don’t have time to walk. Come on. It’ll be all right. And remember—”

  “I know. No feeding on them.”

  The cabin of the Blackhawk had been stripped of everything except seats to maximize occupancy. Rian was the only human in the hold with them, but Shufah sensed three others in the cockpit.

  A material similar to the blackout blankets, but far sturdier, had been attached so that no sunlight could reach them. It wouldn’t matter on this trip. All three helicopters should reach their destinations well before sunrise, but the returning trips might have to be during the day.

  Either way, she appreciated Lamorak’s attention to details.