Jiao has it coming. He’s not getting out of this one alive.
Eirik startled as he learned Ivan’s ruthless intention, and he picked up on Alisa’s abduction too.
“The Source? Is it in your possession?” Eirik asked silently.
Ivan responded in the same way. “Oh, it is. I drank from it.”
“I can see the matter serves both our interests,” Eirik said.
Both of our interests? What interest could you have in my family? Ivan kept this thought to himself.
The Skull Splitter steepled his fingers and closed his eyes for a moment, pondering the words that would follow his silence.
Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.
“Jiao Long will be punished. You have my word.”
Eirik Bjorn
It rained. It was an electrical rainstorm, so loud that the very walls of this room trembled upon its rumbling thunder. The God’s must have been watching.
He stalked into the room as if he were Thor himself, ready to pass judgment and unleash his fury over those who had dared wrong him. His gaze drifted from one face to another of the hundreds gathered in the assembly. They glared at him with terror and astonishment, ignoring the reason for his sudden appearance amidst them.
Eirik reached the end of the hall. He climbed the three sacred steps and headed to the red armchair. It annoyed him to discover a marked difference on his throne. Yggdrasil—his sigil—was gone, replaced with a winged dragon sewn in golden thread.
The House of the Dragon. Jiao Long’s sigil.
His blood boiled at the sight of it. Smoothing his hand over the velvet-lined armchair, Eirik claimed his throne once more. And before the mesmerized eyes of the Coven, he sat.
He scanned the minds of the blood drinkers gathered in the room, easily identifying those who remained loyal to his ruling from the ones foolish enough to have betrayed him.
Eirik covered his lips and nose with the back of his hand. Lowering his chin, his feral eyes fixed on the traitors he would signal out of the crowd. But first, he spoke into their minds.
“I am here because you have wronged me. You have betrayed me, and by doing so, you have betrayed our Brethren. I am one who will show mercy before penance, but I find no contrivance in your hearts. I see only ambitious fools, blinded by the voice of he who first spoke against me: Jiao Long. And for this, you shall pay in blood. There is no escape.
“I am Eirik Bjorn, The Skull Splitter, The Undefeated Scandinavian Warlord. And you have wronged me for the first and last time in your pitiful existence. Be assured, there will be no mercy for you.”
Jiao Long’s allies stood out from the crowd instantly by their restlessness and fear. A couple of blood drinkers stirred within the mob, trying to escape. Realizing this, Eirik pointed them out with a single glance. The vampires surrounding them seized the traitors and brought them before their king.
The Skull Splitter stood with a sinister smile on his face. He stepped down and approached the miserable vamps. He studied them as if sketching their figures with his piercing ice-blue eyes.
“Forgive me, please!” one of them uttered.
Eirik turned towards him, amazed by his choice of words. “I do forgive you,” he said, placing his hands over the vampire’s shoulders and then gliding them to his temples. “This is why you will go quickly.” He then pressed his hands until the skull crushed and split in two halves, oozing blood and a crystalline liquid.
The vampire’s face turned into a disheveled mass of meat. His body twisted like a dying insect. Eirik then held the back of his neck and pulled until it snapped.
The blood drinker stopped moving. Eirik pulled harder, tearing his head apart, and held it by the hair for the entire coven to see. He then settled it on the floor, next to the blood-drenched body.
The other traitor shuddered at the sight of his cruelty. Had he not bore in mind Eirik’s merciless heart when he pledged his loyalty to Jiao Long? This was not the time to flee from his convictions. His fate lay before him. But Eirik would not become executioner to this foul blood drinker.
In a magnanimous gesture, with open arms, he addressed the assembly. “Feast yourselves brothers!” At once, a multicolored cloud of garments engulfed the sinner, this traitor to their kin. They pierced and tore away his skin. They drank his treacherous blood until his body shriveled and became a white carcass of flesh and bones.
One of the vampires took the body through a stone-paved tunnel and locked him in a cell—oh, he was not dead, no. He had only been deprived from all vital liquid, but his consciousness was not lost. He would bear witness to the upcoming year, locked within this cell, and perhaps then, Eirik would destroy him.
“I call upon those who would serve their better judgment to heed my advice.” He paused. “Jiao Long’s brief rebellion has reached its end. Bring him to me tonight, and perhaps then I will spare the rest of you.”
He then slowly walked past the headless vampire’s corpse and left the room.
Phillip
No security guard at the backdoor, no crowd in line waiting to be cleared—The Devil’s Coven was absolutely desolated; its doors, closed.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Phillip said, scanning the premises with his vampire eyes for any signs of their enemies. Not a damned soul in sight. “I don’t think Eirik Bjorn should be trusted.”
“He would have destroyed us already if it satisfied his whims, Phillip,” Ivan whispered, opening the backdoor. “We have no other choice.”
“Be at ease… This will be over before you know it,” Alisa said, pressing Phillip’s arm. She then followed Ivan into the Devil’s mouth.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of…” Phillip mused, giving a quick look behind him. Across the street, Antoine stood by the car, talking on the cell phone—presumably, with Cassandra.
“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Waving his hand, Phillip urged him to hang up and join them. Antoine raised his hand in reply and ended the conversation. He then jogged to meet Phillip by the door.
“Sorry about that,” Antoine said, his breath vaporizing in the cold air. He slipped his hands inside his jacket’s pockets and followed Phillip into The Devil’s Coven.
“There should be a hidden passageway somewhere…” Ivan mused, smoothing his hand over the walls as he moved around the main room.
“We should make as little noise as possible…” Phillip whispered. “This place is crawling with Coven vampires.”
“Hey, guys! Look what I found!” Antoine’s voice echoed in the hall.
Phillip rolled back his eyes. “Really?” he said, both hands on his hips. “Whose idea was it to bring along the vampire rookie?”
Alisa gave him a smile of complicity. She needn’t say a thing, it had been Ivan’s idea all along—he thought of this outing as Antoine’s perfect crash course of vampire survival.
Together they followed Antoine’s voice and arrived at the end of a corridor. Antoine drew back a heavy velvet curtain, revealing a narrow stonewalled tunnel with a stairway that extended several feet underground.
“This must be it,” Ivan said.
“The gates of Hell,” Phillip mused, looming into the steep tunnel.
Ivan took the first step down the narrow stairway, Phillip and the rest followed. As they descended, the temperature shifted, quickly becoming cooler and moist. A few feet ahead, flickering torchlight bathed the walls, while behind them, pitch darkness swallowed the tunnel.
They reached a vast circular room at the end of the stairs. Intricately ornamented pillars prolonged into high-arches that stretched into a rib-vaulted ceiling. Two other tunnels as the one that had led them to this ancient hall were carved into the stone, running deep.
Beyond what seemed like a ceremonial antechamber lay another room. Inside, Phillip discovered a dais that led to an empty chair carved in mahogany, lined with red velvet and embroidered in gold. The chair stood beneath a red velvet baldachin.
This was no ord
inary chair. Phillip had heard the stories, but he never imagined one day he’d be standing before the Red Throne.
“I don’t like this at all,” Phillip said. “There’s no one here…”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Ivan sniggered, pointing at a headless corpse on the ground, its head, carefully placed on the dais’ first step.
Revolting.
Dozens of red velvet banners hung from the ceiling; embroidered in them was the same sigil he’d found on the throne. “The Dragon…” Phillip mused.
“Don’t get too used to it.” The voice echoed in the room. “The Dragon will soon fall, and Yggdrasil will take its place—as it should be.”
The voice drew closer, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Ivan Lockhart, you’re here…” he said. “And I see you’ve brought your fledglings with you.”
“A little company couldn’t hurt,” Ivan said, sweeping the room with a quick glance.
“You do trust me—don’t you?” the voice said. The millenary vampire stood behind the Red Throne, clasping the back with one hand, the other, resting on his waist.
“Could you blame me if I didn’t?” Ivan said with charming audacity.
Eirik Bjorn smirked when his piercing blue eyes landed on Phillip’s weapon. “You’ve come armed.” The Skull Splitter vanished into thin air and reappeared inches away from Phillip. “Why would you need such devices?” pacing around him like a tiger hunting its meal for the day.
Phillip stood motionless, unresponsive to The Skull Splitter’s taunting games.
“Ah, yes… He’s young. And your other fledgling is but a Child in Darkness.” Eirik paused. “But she’s not.” His gaze landed on Alisa. They held each other’s stare for a minute or so. Whatever words were silently exchanged between them remained a mystery.
“Fear not…” The Skull Splitter stopped to glance at the headless corpse lying on the floor. “Those who betray me always meet their end.”
There was something alluring and truly soothing about Eirik Bjorn. His entire demeanor was inviting—from the slight tan of his skin to the resonance of his velvety voice. Everything about him appealed to Phillip. The more compelling they are, the more dangerous, he reminded himself.
A man’s growling and hissing accompanied loud footsteps drawing closer.
“Let me go! Release me this instant!”
Ivan, Alisa, and Phillip pulled back into the room’s shadows, concealing their presence. Phillip tugged at Antoine’s jacket, driving him back to where his presence would go unnoticed to unwanted eyes.
The Coven horde dragged a male vampire into the Throne Room. Red-haired, awakened into Darkness in his mid-forties, fresh blood dripping on the corner of his lips. “Get away from me!” the vampire roared. “The Dragon will hear about your treachery! You’ll pay dearly for this!”
Eirik Bjorn stood next to the Red Throne, his arm casually leaned against the back. His analytic blue eyes narrowed as he studied the blood drinker brought before him, slightly raising his chin.
“Where is The Dragon?” Eirik demanded. “I want him, not this.”
“He was with Jiao Long when we found him,” a young vampire replied. “Kneel you fool, you’re in the presence of The King of our brethren.” Grabbing the prisoner by the nape of his neck, he pushed him down, forcing him onto his knees.
The tumult of another crowd headed towards the room. Wicked laughter echoed in the main vault as they drew closer. The roaring horde of blood drinkers dragged a large black felt bag fastened with a heavy chain and lock, like the one’s magicians use during their escapism feats—toss that bag into the ocean and wait five minutes to find out if the illusionist comes out of it alive.
They left the bag next to the red-haired vampire, tossing and turning. Deep growls and roars of fury were heard from within the bag.
Eirik curled the corner of his lips in a malicious smile. This entire horror show amused him greatly by the looks of it. The Coven vampires gathered in the room in silence, waiting for The Skull Splitter’s judgement.
Tilting his head to one side, Eirik Bjorn’s gaze landed on the red-haired vampire. He moved a few steps closer until he stood before the blood drinker, never descending a single step.
“I don’t need you,” Eirik whispered with widening pupils, his eyes gleaming a fierce icy shade of blue.
The vampire growled and winced, falling to the floor in a sudden convulsion. His skin glowed in bright red. His body gave one last violent shake before it stopped. And as the blood drinker lay there, motionless, blood oozed from his nose, his eyes, and mouth in slow rivulets that spread on the marble floor.
What the hell was that? Phillip had never witnessed anything like it.
“His blood boiled at my command.” The words pierced Phillip’s thoughts. Eirik had sent them to clear the doubts off his mind, but never once turned to face him.
The Skull Splitter stepped down the dais and now stood before the black felt bag. A loud chime resonated in the Throne Room when the padlock opened by itself and hit the cold floor.
A figure emerged slowly from the bag—tousled dark hair, pursed lips, and angular eyes full of hatred. “Jiao Long,” Phillip mused, stepping out of the shadows, willing to finish that bastard with one quick swing of his sword when someone pulled him back.
With his firm hand pressing tight his chest, Ivan stood beside him, his vigilant eyes scanning the awestruck faces of the Coven assembly.
“Phillip…” Ivan said in the lowest of voices. “Don’t.”
In spite of his dire situation, Jiao Long grinned at the sight of Phillip, the despicable sneering bastard dared to mock him.
“Ivan—let me go!” Phillip struggled to escape his maker’s strong grip, useless as it was. “Did you give the order, Jiao?” he growled. “Answer me! Did you order Marianne’s imprisonment—because if you did, I promise you, the last thing your damned eyes will ever see will be my face smeared in your filthy blood!”
Jiao Long laughed, and his laughter echoed in the vaulted room. “Dear naive Phillip… You still doubt it!” he said in all cynicism. “Your heart still holds a shred of hope that I might be innocent from your fledgling’s punishment!”
“Why did you do it?” Phillip hissed.
“It’s called greed, young one,” Eirik said. “The foolish assumption of being worthy enough to claim dominion over my Coven.” He paced around Jiao Long. “You wanted it all. You thought you could rule The Devil’s Coven and bring the Lockhart’s bloodline to their end… Jiao Long, you coveted more than you should. And now, you will pay for your sin.”
“You’re making a huge mistake, Bjorn,” Jiao said. “You think the Lockhartes are your allies—well they’re not!
“For half a century, you’ve slighted our brethren, renegades of Nature in your eyes, creatures unworthy of bearing the name of vampire!” Jiao Long slipped his hand under his shirt, pulling the chain around his neck. “This ends tonight, Bjorn,” holding the crystal flask that pended from the necklace. He opened the flask and poured its red contents in his mouth.
“Dear naive Jiao Long…” Phillip whispered.
The Dragon frowned, confusion building up in his expression.
“I’m afraid that won’t cut it, Kid.” Ivan smirked, freeing Phillip from his hold.
“What the hell are you saying?” Jiao Long took a step back.
“You see, the Source is in my power… In fact, I drank it,” Ivan said, raising his brow. “What you’ve just drunk was a decoy—a simple witching potion that unfortunately won’t spare you from this awkward situation.”
Jiao Long’s widening eyes filled with horror. He looked at the flask and tossed it away. “You may think this ends with me, but you are wrong,” he said with a defiant stare. “The time for an uprising draws near. The Millenary’s Era will come to its end!” turning to Eirik. “Kill me, if you will—but others will come, I assure you. This is only the beginning!”
“Interesting last words,” Eirik said with a
contemptuous snigger. All amusement faded from his face, and an ominous grimace loomed in his expression.
“Jiao Long of the House of the Dragon, these are your crimes:
“By arrogance and greed, you have broken several of the Dark Veil’s rules: You have wronged me with your defiance and treachery, you have wronged Ivan Lockhart by orchestrating Alisa Lockhart’s abduction, and you have wronged Phillip Blackwell by threatening to take the life of his offspring.
“But the gravest of your crimes has been committing High Treason, and the penance for this treason to your King and Brethren is death.” Eirik plunged his fist into The Dragon’s chest. Turning his arm clockwise, he pulled out his hand, grasping Jiao Long’s beating heart.
“This heart is rightfully yours to crush or feed,” he said, turning to Phillip. “Do whatever you wish with it.” And losing all interest in the pulsing organ, Eirik Bjorn left the heart in Phillip’s hands, blood dripping between his fingers, pooling on the white marble floor.
“This is how it ends for you, dearest…” Alisa stepped out of the shadows, her indolent gaze cast over him.
“Alisa? How did you—?” The blood drained from Jiao Long’s face.
“It didn’t have to end like this, Jiao…” Phillip whispered.
“I should have killed you in that car crash, Phillip Blackwell—and your mortal lover too!” Jiao spat.
Phillip flinched. Jiao Long had caused the accident… What else had he done to harm him and his family? Why would he do these things? Why go to such terrible lengths?
It didn’t matter anymore.
“Then you deserve nothing less.” Phillip crushed The Dragon’s heart in his fist. He unsheathed the Khopesh sword, and with one quick strike he severed Jiao Long’s head.
“Merciful child,” Eirik told him in silence. “You gave him a quick and painless death, a death he did not deserve.”
Phillip threw the sword away. His heart filled with grief and disappointment. The adrenaline pumped hard in his arteries, a stale taste built up on the back of his tongue. His knees buckled and hit the floor. And there he stayed for a little while, with a vacant stare, his faith in his brethren shattering to pieces.
Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren Page 29
