by E. G. Foley
To his relief, the vampire younglings came skulking back, ducking their heads. They all knew he was an indulgent parent. But there came a point!
Janos set his fists on his waist and looked around sternly at them. “Children, you know this is not allowed.”
They started pointing at each other.
“He started it!”
“She made me!”
“No, I didn’t—”
“Enough!” he barked.
“But Mummy said we could!”
“Husband!” His gorgeous blond wife, Deceptrix, glided over to him with a look of indignation. “What are you doing? Your children have to eat!”
“Not like this. Ladies, we discussed this.” Janos gave his three beautiful brides a furious glare, then looked again at the terrified travelers. “My good people, I’m terribly sorry about this, er, misunderstanding. Let’s get you sorted and send you on your way, shall we?”
“Janos! This must be one of your jokes.” Hexella, his red-haired, milky-skinned wife, glided into his path, daring to defy him as Janos took a step toward the wagon. “The children caught these fools all by themselves! You ought to be proud, not punish them. They have to learn to hunt!”
“Not humans, Hex,” Janos said patiently. “You know the rules. I am letting these people go. Now step aside—”
“Not so fast!” said Morgravaine, his fiercest wife, the cruel, raven-haired beauty. Always the ringleader, that one. She looked him over in disgust and shook her head. “You call yourself a vampire.”
“Mind your tongue, woman,” he warned, bristling.
She hissed. “Don’t be a fool! We have to kill them now. They’ve seen us! If we let them go, they’ll blab it everywhere, and we’ll have a pitchfork mob here by morning, staking us all through the heart in our sleep. Is that what you want?”
Doesn’t sound so bad.
He waved off her protest. “My darlings, do you really think I would ever let that happen to you? Don’t worry, I’ll oubliette them before I send them on their way, same as always. Children.” He turned to the worried horde of juvenile vampires. “Go to your rooms. You will have no breakfast until you’ve thought good and hard about what you’ve done here. You’ve been very naughty.”
Some of the littler ones started crying over their punishment, much to his dismay.
“But Papa—!”
“We do not eat people in this household! Do you understand? There is food aplenty in the forest without us ever resorting to this.”
“Ignore him, sisters. We’ll feed the children ourselves!” Morgravaine suddenly shouted, whooshing toward the peasants.
The other two vampiresses instantly followed suit; they hunted best in packs.
“Don’t you dare!” Janos bellowed, sweeping in front of the three sinister beauties, and planting himself between the huntresses and the blubbering peasants.
He did not like to yell at his ladies, but sometimes they really left him no choice. He jerked his head to the side and violently shrugged his shoulders, donning his full vampire form to ward them off.
He roared a warning at them, baring his fangs. “No one touches these people!” he snarled.
“Get out of our way!” Morgravaine barked, taking her hideous vampire form back at him.
“You owe us!” cried Deceptrix.
“We made you what you are!” Hexella reminded him.
“And am I to thank you for that?” Janos thundered. Then he roared in their faces, bristling, fangs bared, lifting his clawed hands out at his sides, just a wee reminder of who was in charge here.
One of the peasant woman fainted.
But, fierce as they were, especially when they worked together in bloodthirsty elegance, the vampire brides knew they were no match for Janos. That was why they had chosen him, after all. A lesser man they’d have quickly torn apart.
That didn’t mean they always liked him, though.
Still hissing, the angry vampire brides lowered their heads and backed down resentfully, retracting their fangs.
Janos delayed doing so, eyeing them with mistrust. He would risk no sneak attack from his females on these poor people, especially Morgy, that she-devil.
“Well!” Hexella finally huffed, returning to her gorgeous, red-haired human form. “I never!”
Deceptrix turned herself back into her usual blond goddess self and feigned a sniffy little sob. “You don’t love us anymore!”
Morgravaine chose her weapons with greater care. “We should’ve chosen Derek Stone.”
Janos hid his wince at his old team leader’s name. “You tried. He rejected you, remember?”
Ah, Derek, the model of manly virtue.
Morgravaine harrumphed.
Then came the pouting.
Muttering about how mean Janos was, giving him countless dirty looks, the huntresses whooshed away, turning themselves into bats and flying off to their respective towers to sulk.
Perfect, Janos thought with a low snort. Now they’d all be in a bad mood for a week. Typical.
Calming himself back into his fully human form, he felt his razor-sharp fangs recede and his claws retract, and only then did he turn around and take a polite step toward the travelers.
They screamed and jumped back from him.
Their hysteria annoyed him. Had he not just saved their blasted lives?
Eager to be rid of them, Janos held up his hand and began to speak soothingly to them, drawing on the mesmerizing power of his vampire charm until he’d calmed them down a bit. “There, there, everything is going to be fine, my good folk. Just look into my eyes, and in a moment, you’ll feel better…”
Once he had their full attention, he recited the oubliette spell over the baffled travelers, effectively erasing the past half-hour from their minds.
At last, he helped them turn their carriage around, still mortified by his little ones’ horrid behavior.
“Wh-what are we doing here?” the peasants asked, blinking under the confusion effect of the spell.
“Why, you stopped to ask for directions, don’t you remember?” Janos said sweetly. “And to answer your question, the north road is that way.” He pointed politely to the road outside the castle. “You’ll want to follow that for another mile up the mountain, then bear right at the twisted old oak. You can’t miss it. But, er, I would pass quickly through these forests if I were you. There are wolves in these parts. Don’t worry, they won’t harm you as long as you keep moving.”
The wolves around here answered to him.
“Right! Well, then, off you go. Good night and safe travels.” He bade them adieu with a friendly wave.
When they had finally lumbered off, Janos blew out a weary exhalation.
This night was not off to what anyone could call a promising start, but as he would shortly discover, it was about get a great deal worse.
He should’ve known that something was wrong when his ancient butler, Creakwood, came shuffling out, looking like he’d just dragged himself up from his grave.
“Beg pardon, Your Highness. You have a visitor.”
Janos looked at him in surprise. “A visitor? Here?” He had not heard anyone arrive. He glanced around, confused. “Where?”
Creakwood gestured up discreetly at the ramparts atop the castle walls.
Janos followed the direction that the butler’s bony finger pointed, then he saw it—a wonder to behold.
He must’ve missed the sound of its arrival amid all the screeching and screaming. But up near the roof of his keep, he could just make out the silhouette of a dragon chariot against the night sky.
And he went very still, for he knew exactly who it belonged to. Not many people drove one of those flashy things, even in the magical world.
Wyvern.
So. He’s finally come.
Janos felt his stomach tighten in a knot. But he looked at his butler with an unflappable smile. “I will receive His Lordship in the drawing room.”
“Yes, master.”
> As Creakwood hobbled off, Janos squared his shoulders to go and greet the Nephilim warlock. The most dangerous foe he’d ever faced.
In truth, he had been expecting this visit for a long time now. Three months, to be exact.
For years, Janos had managed to avoid having to choose outright between the Order and the Dark Druids. He’d carved out a comfortable niche for himself in the shadows between good and evil, using both sides as he pleased to achieve his own interests.
But when he’d heard that the Black Brotherhood had captured Derek (and were no doubt torturing him), Janos had emerged from the gray zone to help the Order rescue the hard-nosed warrior who had once been like an elder brother to him.
He had fought on the Order’s side that night in the desert, but even then, he’d known there would be a price to pay.
Well, it seemed the time had come to give the devil his due.
So be it. Janos lifted his chin, insolent as ever, and unimpressed by this Nephilim.
He wasn’t sure how to kill such a creature, but he trusted he could figure it out.
As he began marching back across the courtyard, he checked the darkling blade at his hip.
Careful, he warned himself as he strode toward the castle entrance. Use your wits before you attack.
But look on the bright side. If Wyvern kills you tonight, that is not entirely a bad thing. To be sure, there were worse fates than death.
He should know. He was living one.
* * *
After landing his dragon chariot on the ramparts atop the castle’s curtain wall, Wyvern had spent several fascinating minutes watching the vampire prince with his wives and children.
The jump had gone smoothly, of course. The Black Fortress waited a few miles away on a remote plateau the navigator had pinpointed amid this craggy terrain.
Once they’d rematerialized at their destination, Wyvern had taken his personal vehicle the rest of the distance. He knew the dragon chariot was a bit ostentatious, but it was nimble and fast; the Ruffed Orange Darter in the harness was a breed known for responsiveness and precision in flying.
Wyvern couldn’t help it—he loved driving the thing. The speed, the elevation, the wind in his hair, the powerful rhythm of his dragon’s wings.
When he pictured Jake riding on his Gryphon through the sky, it pleased Wyvern to imagine that he might have something in common with his future son. The Darter was trained for saddle as well as harness, so perhaps the two of them could go out flying sometime.
In any case, leaving the Black Fortress, Wyvern soon spotted Janos’s spiky Gothic castle below. During his approach, he saw that the curtain wall surrounding the keep was as wide as a road.
He had easily touched down there. The Darter galloped a few paces atop the wall, gradually slowing.
“Whoa!” Wyvern tugged the reins until the orange-brownish beast had halted, and then set the brake.
Jumping out of the sleek vehicle, Wyvern instantly heard the commotion coming from the courtyard below.
Curiosity drew him.
With the sharp, pointy spires of the vampire castle reaching up into the dark sky around him, and his winged dragon flexing its long neck, shaking itself with a jangle of the harness, then settling itself down to wait, Wyvern walked over to the battlements to see what was going on.
What he witnessed had intrigued him—for personal reasons. For several long moments, he stared down at the strange little scene of vampire family life playing out below.
Wyvern had never much thought about it before, but it struck him now with newfound interest that Janos had a family. His wives were beautiful, his children too many to count, lively and strong, if a little bloodthirsty.
Wyvern smiled down upon them with a stirring of some fond, alien feeling inside as he watched the rowdy vampire hatchlings terrorize the hapless peasants.
How proud of his brood the vampire prince must be.
Truly, what Wyvern witnessed during those few short minutes had encouraged him in the wondrous new assignment he had received from Shemrazul. For if a creature of darkness like Janos could have a home and a family, then why not him?
Yes, Wyvern thought, this might really work.
Then the vampire’s ancient butler had come limping out to escort him inside, and Wyvern left the scene of dark-world domestic bliss behind.
As he followed the butler into the castle, however, there was one thing he did not understand.
Why on earth would Janos value a bunch of peasants’ miserable lives over the care and feeding of his hatchlings?
The old Guardian instincts must still be strong in the undead prince.
Wyvern made a wary mental note of that, then followed the butler down the tower’s spiral stairs.
CHAPTER 8
The Best of Men
Following Derek out of the ballroom, Jake’s heart thumped as he wondered whether he was in trouble or what.
Passing the corn sheaves and scarecrows posted by the ballroom doors, they left the constant roar of conversation behind, stepping out into the white marble lobby.
Here, it was quiet. Hardly anyone around. The only sound was Derek’s heavy footfalls echoing ahead under the high, domed ceiling.
Jake’s lighter steps reverberated more quietly as he followed the master Guardian across the milk-white floor of polished marble.
Directly across from the ballroom, the huge double doors of Merlin Hall’s main entrance led out into the pleasant night.
But Derek did not go outside. Instead, he veered to the left, walking around to the side of the massive marble staircase to put some distance between them and the crowd.
Jake joined him there, waiting on tenterhooks to hear what he had to say.
The best-case scenario was that the Order had found the Black Fortress and were already organizing a team to go and rescue Red. The worst case, of course, was that Jake was about to be scolded for sticking his nose into the matter.
True, he had been ordered to let the adults handle it this time. But, so far, they weren’t doing a very good job, now, were they?
In the shadow of the staircase, Derek turned to face him, his callused hands resting on his hips.
Dry-mouthed, Jake passed a worried glance over the Guardian’s rough-hewn face, trying to guess what he was going to say.
But the big man was difficult to read.
The soldiers of the Order were trained to keep their emotions in check, and that usually meant hiding them.
The strong, silent type, Derek had returned from his ordeal at the hands of the Dark Druids even quieter than before. Jake had heard that Wyvern had tortured him. That chap had better hope that he never crosses paths with me.
Derek’s dark, soulful eyes had seemed haunted ever since. He even looked different, for his captors had shaved off his previously long, dark mane of hair as part of his humiliation.
His hair had grown back since then, of course. He wore it short and neat now instead of long and wild; Miss Helena liked it better this way.
Jake was so glad that the big warrior had Isabelle’s governess to care for him, after all he’d been through.
The genteel courtship between the two had been moving along slowly for the past year. And yes, Guardians weren’t supposed to form romantic attachments, but, in this case, the Elders were prepared to turn a blind eye.
He was Derek Stone, after all.
As the big man turned to him, Jake braced himself for the news, whatever it was. He held his breath. “Well?”
“I have to show you something,” Derek murmured. “But you can’t tell the others yet. Especially the Bradfords.”
Gulp. That didn’t sound very good.
“A-all right,” Jake said, his heart drumming. Oh please don’t tell me Red’s dead.
While Jake’s mind conjured a hundred nightmare scenarios, Derek glanced around furtively, then reached into the breast pocket of his neat brown frock coat and pulled out a small velvet box. “Have a look at this.”
“What is it?” Jake’s first thought was that perhaps the box contained a message, a ransom note, or maybe some small Atlantean device like the ones he’d destroyed in Greece.
But when Derek flipped the box open, there, on a little velvet pillow, sat a diamond ring.
What the—?
Jake stared at it in confusion, then lifted his baffled gaze to his mentor’s rugged face.
Derek gave an anxious gulp. “I’m gonna ask Miss Helena to marry me.”
“What?” Jake’s eyes widened with astonishment. It was all he could do not to burst out laughing with relief.
“What do you think?” Derek said, quickly snapping the box shut again and slipping it back into his pocket before anyone else could see.
Jake barely knew what to say.
He wanted to be happy for Derek. He was happy for him. And he was thrilled that he wasn’t in trouble.
But his hopes of hearing good news about Red crashed and burned. Jake hid his flinch.
“That’s…that’s excellent, Derek,” he managed. “I-I’m…really happy for you.”
“Do you think she’ll say yes?”
As Jake’s initial reaction of breath-stealing disappointment faded, he realized how much Derek needed this, and heaven knew the man deserved it.
He’d done so much for others, especially Jake. Why, if it weren’t for this big lug, Jake might still be out thieving for a living on the streets of London.
A genuine smile crept across his face. “Of course she will, you bloomin’ mumper. Miss Helena adores you. I always told you so.”
“That’s true. You always did.” Derek smiled.
“But does this mean you’re going to have to resign from your post as a Guardian?”
“I got special permission from the Elders. I told them if they’re going to make me choose between my post and the woman I love, I’m choosing her. Recent experiences have, um, put things in perspective. Life is short—” His words broke off awkwardly, and he dropped his gaze.
“I’m sure they didn’t want to lose you,” Jake said. But then he furrowed his brow. “Wait, are you still going to be my head of security?”
“Of course.”
