Night Kings: The Complete Anthology

by Gregory Blackman

  “My, my, such a fight in you,” said the vampire with a lick of her lips, “I’m going to enjoy this…”

  Then it all turned to black.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Night Kings: The Red River

  Gregory Blackman

  The Darkest Touch

  The supernatural realm was but a story to Elsa Dukane until her eyes burst white with fire. Now the supernatural was her life and the life of all those around her. Her friends, one a werewolf and the other a witch, had grown up with her most of their lives; hidden in plain sight with roots deep in the community.

  What was she? Somehow that question paled to the other one that weighed heavily on her soul. What would she become?

  She’d seen the light inside the high priestess of the sisterhood; the darkness of the vampire queen and her progeny. Soon Elsa would find out where she belonged on that spectrum. It was for that reason Elsa went to see the Sisters of Salem and the reason she currently walked to Blackrose Manor.

  She knocked on the man in black’s front door until both the door and her knuckles were painted with blood.

  “Goddamn it.” Elsa shook her hands silly when she realized the trauma she’d inflicted on herself. “Can anyone friggin’ hear me?”

  When no one came to the door she entered the home of her own accord. Every light in the manor had been turned off. It was dark, quiet, and there wasn’t a soul anywhere in sight. Elsa had only her instincts to guide her; instincts that drove her upwards his many flights of stairs and down a long hallway that seemed to stretch on forever.

  When the hallway finally came to an end there was a single wooden door. The door was the color of blood and it beckoned for her touch. She opened the door and walked over the threshold to the other side. In this room she found Remus Castalon atop a golden throne, head sunken low, not a pale follower in sight.

  She crept closer and closer to the throne, but still the king rested in silence. He made no move to greet her, no move to stop her. Remus let her come to him for a change. In days past he would’ve taken every opportunity to shape Elsa Dukane in his image; do what the vampire queen attempted of Lukas.

  Remus wasn’t his maker. He would do so in a more discreet manor. The end result would remain the same.

  Kindred were being murdered by the dozens in his city. The ones still left called upon Remus to solve their problems. How could he solve the problems of others when he couldn’t solve his own? He was one man, one voice, and no matter how hard this man tried he could never be the deposed lady in red. She wasn’t a leader. She was a tyrant.

  She would show her enemies no quarter. She would drain their bodies and throw them into a heap for others to bear witness. She wouldn’t stop the spread of the darkness that threatened to engulf Salem. She would make sure those responsible could never return.

  “You’ve come a long way,” the man in black said.

  The unknown girl had come all this way and not once did Elsa think of what she would say to him. Remus frightened her more than any man, woman, or monster in this world. But none of that mattered anymore. She needed to learn the truth behind the evil that festered in her city. Elsa needed to see the face of a true monster—and he was the truest of them all.

  “I have my reasons,” Elsa said.

  Remus leaned forward, his interests now piqued, and said, “Then illuminate those reasons for me.”

  “Not until you answer some things for me.” Elsa crossed her arms to

  Remus nodded his head in acceptance and leaned back once more in wait for the questions to come.

  In truth, Elsa hadn’t thought up any questions to ask. It wasn’t until this moment she decided that she needed to test him. She would see if the truth could find its way past his forked tongue.

  “What do vampires believe in?” she asked. “What gods do you serve?”

  “There is no definitive answer to that,” Remus said coolly. “Many believe we always belonged to the archdemons of the nine circles, but that wouldn’t be entirely correct. The first human vampire, Cain, taught us of the world he was raised and the ceaseless fires that rages. He spoke of the torment, the pain, and the sheer enjoyed derived from it all. You know this place as Hell, but it is much more than that. That world was merely a shadow of the one we truly belonged to.”

  “The nine archdemons didn’t mold us in their image,” Remus continued. “They found a race known as nosferatu in the vastness of space. A predator race of menial intelligence these nosferatu were no match for the forces set upon them and they were eaten up by the same Hell Gate that now threatens this world.”

  Remus stopped when he caught sight of the malcontent Elsa, less interested in the answer than she originally let on.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” he said with a poetic wave of his arms. “I tend to ramble on in my old age—.”

  “Enough,” bellowed a voice inside Elsa, yet the words were said out loud, regardless of who’d spoken them. “Where did the vampire queen get her power?”

  “It came from within.” Remus crossed his arms, unimpressed, but intent to see where this was headed. “Unlike the werewolves that are only as strong as they are meant to be, some more and some less, kindred are blessed with the ability to grow in strength from the blood of their enemies. Her power comes from every soul she has taken, every human, vampire, werewolf, and reaper. I even witnessed the occasional feasting of succubae and fiends. Nasty stuff, if you ask me, but she swore it was for the greater good; her good—.”

  “How many souls have you taken?” asked Elsa, quick to cut him off again once her curiosity in each matter had been satiated.

  “That number, only they know,” Remus replied. “You see, Elsa Dukane, every blessing comes with a price to pay in the end. The strength gained from the loss of others slowly drives a vampire closer to the darkness. Every sip of another’s blood leads us to an inevitable madness, and with every death, one step closer to the edge. Would you believe that there are those madder than I? I hope for both our sakes you never do.”

  “What did your maker want with Lukas?”

  The questions kept coming, as if someone inside Elsa were discovering vampires for the first time, no different than her. Was it a weakness she sought? Or was it a common ground?

  “That I don’t yet know.” Remus had grown tired of her questions and risked stepping outside her bounds. “I wasn’t able to ask her that as I ripped her heart from her chest.”

  “You never sleep?”

  “Sleep wouldn’t be the appropriate term,” Remus answered. “Many vampires find the drain brought on by the sunlight bothersome. They’ll assign the younger kindred to guard their dens while they wait for the sun’s light to pass.”

  “I asked if you never sleep.”

  “Sometimes I do,” he said wistfully, “when reality becomes more burden than I can bear. Those slumbers last for many years at a time. The last time I slept it was through The Great War. A pity I couldn’t have been there.”

  “Tell me of the shadow I saw at the farm.”

  “My, my,” said the man in black with inquisitive eyes, “such interest in the affairs of my kind. If I wasn’t so sure you were in love with a filthy werewolf I could believe you’d grown fond of us.”

  His words would’ve startled Elsa, but at this moment he didn’t speak to the confused young woman. He spoke to another. Someone older, but unaccustomed to the world they now found themselves. She said nothing in response to the man in black. She waited until he grew tired of the silence and answered her question.

  “The shroud,” said Remus with a lick of his wiry lips. “It is uncommon among our kind. Now that Xenia Parentucelli lies dead I remain the only vampire of royal blood with the ability to touch the shadows.”

  The man in black’s voice trailed off as the light from a nearby lantern flickered in the corner of his eye. He raised his hand to greet the light’s flame, or rather the shadow embossed on the wall, and with the tug of his index finger Remus saw the sh
adows dance towards Elsa Dukane.

  “Stop it.”

  Despite Elsa’s objections the shadow danced closer and closer. She balled up her fists in anger and shouted out again for him to stop. He refused, and when the shroud tickled Elsa’s shoulder, she was overcome by the spirit that resided inside. Her eyes burst white for a brief moment, but that moment was all she needed to see the shroud wilt from shoulder back to wall.

  As suddenly as it began, the fire in Elsa’s eyes dispersed and she stumbled ever so slightly on the ground. She blinked profusely and looked around as if she’d forgotten where she was.

  “What was I saying?”

  Remus parted his lips to answer her as best he could, but a misplace shadow at the end of the hall caught his attention, and he stopped before he could begin.

  “You were just leaving,” Remus lied.

  He’d never been more intrigued by the unknown girl. Yet, he felt ill at ease in a one-sided conversation. Until Remus knew more about the passenger inside Elsa the man in black wouldn’t be so quick to arrange another meeting between the two.

  “That’s right,” said a surprisingly overconfident Elsa Dukane. “I’ve seen what needed to be seen. I’ll leave now.”

  Unprepared to let the newly appointed king see her at her weakest, Elsa turned on a dime and walked straight out the throne room. She didn’t hesitate and she didn’t look back. She didn’t even notice the man that stood next to the door.

  He was covered in a black veil of shadows. Not easy to spot if you don’t know what to look for, but Remus figured if any were capable it would be the mysterious woman on her way out the room.

  “Yes?” the man in black asked as the door came to a close. “What’s so important that you risk your life?”

  Akil Fayed stepped into what little light there was and bowed stiffly for the newly crowned king. The bronzed vampire from the old kingdom was a trusted ally to more than one in the royal court. He had many friends, old friends, and Remus was lucky to count himself among them. At least, that’s how it was before the Wendish fields burned.

  In their second life there are so few worthy of one’s trust. Akil Fayed was one of those vampires, and yet, he’d committed the most heinous of sins. He made attempt on the life of the king. Even worse, he failed. When Remus took the crown he took on the privileges that it brought and the responsibilities.

  He didn’t want to see harm come to an old friend, but a non-action would be seen as a weakness amongst the kindred populace. It would threaten to destabilize him further in a world that saw less and less need for an undead monarchy.

  “Akil Fayed,” Remus said. He rose from his throne and cast a wide shroud of darkness around him as if it were a cape he’d fastened to his neck. “You know what must be done?”

  “I do,” he replied.

  “Then let us delay your punishment.” With a wiry grin on Remus’ face he slumped back into this chair and kicked his feet up on the armrest. “I’ve a hunch you’ll prove useful in the coming nights. When all is said and done we shall speak on the duration of your slumber.”

  “As you command,” said Akil as a slow sigh of relief crept across his face. “In the meantime, your majesty, there are matters of more importance that should be brought to your attention.”

  Remus waited for these matters to be addressed, but the younger vampire in front of him seemed confident he had finished what needed to be said.

  “Well?” Remus asked.

  “I cannot say.” Akil looked deep into the king’s black eyes, but not once did his lips waver when he spoke.

  “I’m not one for games, Mr. Fayed,” a less than amused man in black said. “If you won’t speak when spoken to then whom am I supposed to deal with?”

  “Well, my liege,” said a noticeably nervous Akil, “that would be the only one left that matters.”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Night Kings: The Red River

  Gregory Blackman

  Wendish No More

  Ramsey pride ran deep within the werewolf community by the time the full moon approached. By next nightfall the pack would be his. They would be cleansed in the blood of their enemies, reborn anew, pack master and all.

  Most of the wolves lived in isolated trailer parks and farms far from the city streets. It wasn’t that Bernhard Wendish didn’t provide for his pack. It was that they believed themselves apart from the people that dwelled within the concrete jungle. They were meant to run free in the fields, the forests, and mountains to the west.

  This led to a divide amongst the werewolves and the city they called home. They came to detest the humans that lived in their lavish mansions and high-rise apartments. The werewolves thought the humans weak, helpless, and without their grandiose machines they would undoubtedly fall prey to the beasts that lay on the horizon.

  Many in the warrior caste believed those beasts to be them. They were a higher order of man, Homo superior, the ones meant to inherit. With sentiment like that it proved easier than Kaleb thought to strike a match under his fellow warriors. He went from trailer park to trailer park, farm to farm, all in search of those that would stand beside him.

  But what of the ones that wouldn’t stand beside him? Those were the ones his sister, Leanne Ramsey, worried about in these most decisive of times.

  “You can’t do this!” she cried, standing in front of a trailer with arms raised in defense. “I won’t let you! The others won’t let you!”

  “What others?” Kaleb scoffed in response. In one of his hands was a half empty bottle of vodka, rag stuffed in the top, and in the other hand, a lighter. “Aubrey Wendish doesn’t scare me and her runt doesn’t either. I’ll run down anyone that doesn’t accept the new law of the land. Don’t let that be you, dear sister.”

  Behind him stood a dozen of the warriors recruited into his ranks. Together there was no accumulation of werewolves in this town that could stand against him. The choice to strike against his people wasn’t one taken lightly, but he couldn’t afford a war on both fronts. This was a threat that needed to be taken care of before his ascension became complete. Anything less would mean his failure as a leader. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and there was no wolf more desperate than him.

  “Your laws?” Leanne barricaded the front door with her hands and refused them entry into the werewolf-filled trailer. “You mean, he who is strongest is fit to rule? Goddamn it, Kaleb, those aren’t new laws! They’re the ones our people left behind centuries ago!”

  “Don’t do this,” Leanne pleaded. “There are wolves in this home; wolves that never spoke against you. They simply want to live their life as they choose. Do not take that away from them.”

  “Stand back,” he growled. “This isn’t your fight.”

  “And it isn’t yours, brother,” cried a Leanne, at her wits end and unable to reach her brother inside. “You must listen to reason—!”

  The lighter moved from one side of Kaleb to the other and he set fire to the gasoline soaked rag in his hand. The flames missed her by only a few inches as the Molotov cocktail soared past her head. It smashed into the trailer’s front window and within moments the insides erupted into flames.

  Leanne was forced to the steps when the fires proved too heated to defend. She looked up to her brother, but it wasn’t his eyes that flickered in the fires. He appeared as if possessed by a demonic spirit, unable to control himself, and unwilling to break from his dark bonds.

  Unlike Lukas and his lady in red, Kaleb was possessed by his innermost demons. The future he always dreamed of was right there before his eyes. All he need is to seize what was there before him.

  He stood motionless against the flames that burned through the trailer home as the sounds of cries, both human and werewolf, could be heard from inside. They cried to Leanne for help, for salvation, and at the end they cried out for vengeance.

  There was no reason for this fight. No reason for them to see their brethren go up in flames. Yet, it happened all the same.
Leanne would survive this night. Her brother would make sure of it. But it wasn’t living. Not while she remain suppressed in action and in voice.

  Leanne would have to find the mother of the pack, and all those Aubrey kept safe and sound. She couldn’t do it out in the open. Not while her brother prowled the grounds. She would have to become the predator she loathed so much; all for the chance to help displace her brother from the throne.

  How things could progress this far in such a short span was a testament to the brutality they were born from. Kaleb would take what he wanted tonight. He would mourn for the loss of his soul another day. When that day came Leanne would be there for her brother. She might be the only one.

  “This is nothing more than survival of the fittest,” he said gruffly with a hand extended to his sister, “the beast that lurks inside every sentient being on this planet. It pushes us forward. Makes sure we’re capable and strong. My hand serves only to speed that process along.”

  Leanne refused Kaleb’s hand and saw it rescinded with a look of frustration, and then one of pain. She shared his frustration. She shared his pain. The one thing she didn’t share was her brother’s bloodlust.

  Kaleb turned from his sister and walked towards his bloodthirsty pack mates. Upon each of their faces were twisted grins and eyes that flickered red from the flames. It was the beginning of a new age for the werewolves of Salem. Those that refused change would find themselves left buried in the old age.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Night Kings: The Red River

  Gregory Blackman

  Titular Kingdom

  Some kindred believed the throne room or the lavish dining hall were the crowning achievement of Blackrose Manor. To the lady in red it had always been the courtyard that stood above all the wings of her estate.