The Enemy's Kiss

by Zandria Munson

  Silence ensued as those present waited. When Stefan held his tongue, Lord Victor stood slowly. “I would ask you all to govern your households with watchful eyes for there may be those among us whom we can no longer trust,” he said pointedly. “We will end these proceedings here and resume our discussion on this matter once the Rune of Cythe has been safely transported to another location.”

  The elders nodded in compliance and, with respectful goodbyes, began to move out. Nicholas watched Stefan slip silently from the room. Pale gray eyes locked with his and for a fleeting second he sensed a troubled soul.

  Simion moved to stand beside him. “It is not clear what motivates his objections, but I feel he is not to be trusted,” he said.

  “I agree,” Nicholas said as he turned to face their father.

  Lord Victor paused a foot away from them. “You are perhaps correct, but without proof I want no accusations made. A man should not be condemned for appearances alone. What I would have you do is retrieve the Rune of Cythe as soon as possible,” he said.

  Andrew approached. “My lord, again I beg you to reconsider…”

  “That is enough, Andrew,” Lord Victor said impatiently. “I have made my decision and it is final. Where I will most appreciate your insight is with Stefan’s activities. I want his every move watched.”

  Andrew inclined his head. “As you wish, my lord.”

  Lord Victor nodded his appreciation. “Thank you. Now, will you please leave us? There are a few matters I would prefer to discuss in private with my sons.”

  Andrew complied, and once he was gone, Lady Amelia eased the door shut.

  “Victor,” she said quietly. “I was of the opinion that you alone knew the location of the second rune.”

  Lord Victor sighed. “I fear that over the years I have visited the location many times. It would take only a clever assumption for one to guess where the Rune of Cythe is hidden. We cannot afford to wait for this to occur.”

  He glanced out the window. Nicholas followed his gaze. Through the cracks in the heavy velvet drapes the bleak dawn spilled in. Even after more than a year of being human again he’d still not grown accustomed to the beauty of the morning. It was to him as awe-inspiring as that first flake of winter snow to a young child.

  “Unfortunately,” Lord Victor began. “My health will not permit me to make the journey myself.”

  Simion fixed him with a worried look. “Are you ill, father?”

  “I fear the weight of my true age has begun to descend upon me,” he told them.

  Lady Amelia moved toward him with his coat. “Nonsense,” she objected as she helped him into it. “Your father has been a little out of sorts lately, but he will recover.”

  Nicholas studied his father. “Have your symptoms been reminiscent of those we experienced during our transformations?”

  Lord Drakon’s eyes narrowed on him for a second before he shook his head. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”

  Nicholas looked to his mother then back again. The last thing he wanted to do was give her cause for concern. She was very nurturing and would no doubt take whatever burdens they held upon her own shoulders.

  “Of late I have been experiencing similar aches. They are fleeting, but unmistakable.”

  Simion studied him. “How long has this been occurring?” he asked.

  “Nearly a month.” The look on his brother’s face told him that he wasn’t alone in his suffering.

  “I have had the same experiences,” Simion told him. “They come during the darkness, often staying for only a few minutes at a time.”

  Their father’s heavy brows furrowed in a frown. “And during this time have you noticed any signs of a transformation?”

  Nicholas and Simion shook their heads in unison, but it was Nicholas who spoke. “The pains are isolated. They are never accompanied by any of the other signs.”

  Their mother turned a look of concern on to them. “Victor, what could this mean?”

  He looked pensive. “I do not understand it, but we will not trouble ourselves by drawing conclusions before more is known about the circumstances. I will consult a trusted Ananovian sorceress about this matter, but for now, my sons, I need you to retrieve the Rune of Cythe.”

  Simion nodded curtly. “Just name its location and it shall be done,” he promised.

  “It is hidden within the Bellu Cemetery in your grandfather’s tomb. It rests near his heart, so the crypt must be opened.”

  Nicholas nodded slowly, understanding completely now why the burial site had remained more than sacred to his father. The remains had actually been excavated from the tomb at Fagara Castle in 1530, twenty years after his grandfather’s death. Lord Philip Drakon, his grandfather, had remained human after the curse had been laid as he’d not been present at the castle. Nevertheless, he’d blamed himself for the ungodly fate that had befallen his family. He’d been the one to suggest Victor’s betrothal to Lady Vivian as he’d been thinking more of the continued success of his lineage rather than the emotions of those involved. And thus, in misery he’d withdrawn to an isolated estate in the hills. It was there that he’d spent the remainder of his days, branding himself a failure and thankful only that his beloved wife hadn’t lived to witness it all.

  “I will retrieve the rune,” Nicholas offered.

  He checked his watch. The drive to the cemetery was no short one, but he had a few essential things to do before he left. First, he needed to learn everything he could about Daniela. Her phone remained within his possession and he had a few acquaintances in New York who would be able to acquire the information for him. He needed to know if Daniela was as oblivious as she’d made herself out to be, for when the sun set he would have one opportunity, one alone, to retrieve the rune.

  Lady Amelia interrupted the silence. “Victor, perhaps it is time we be rid of the statues.”

  They awaited Lord Victor’s response. Nicholas understood well the hold the statues held over his father. Despite the stony countenance Lord Victor presented to their clan members, he still held himself responsible for the actions of his younger brother—Gabriel—so many decades ago. He was also plagued by guilt for being forced to exact such an extreme punishment.

  Lord Victor’s head fell. “I believe that good can be reborn in all of us and I have lingering hope that such is true for Gabriel. Truthfully, since our family’s curse was broken I have been consulting Ananovian warlocks about potentially awakening my brother and his followers. However, no spells have been cast as a resolution has yet to be reached.”

  Lord Victor exhaled quietly and his attention strayed to the window again. “We will secure the second rune and leave destroying the statues as our final resort.”

  * * *

  Daniela eased her ear from the base of the tall crystal vase that she’d been using to eavesdrop on the conversation in the adjacent room. The majority of what had been discussed had made absolutely no sense to her; with all the talk about curses and witches, she felt safe to assume that the Drakon family was anything but ordinary. Nevertheless, she’d learned exactly what she needed to know: the location of the second rune stone.

  She placed the vase on a nearby table and stuffed the dried bouquet of flowers back into it. She’d heard Nicholas volunteer to bring the rune back, which meant she would have to hurry. She knew where to find the Bellu Cemetery, but she had no idea whose grave she would be looking for.

  Silently, she crossed the room and eased the door open. She could only hope that Nicholas didn’t realize that she was gone, at least not until she was far away from the estate.

  She looked out into the hall and paused. A man stood just outside the door of the next room, apparently listening to the discussion within as she’d been. With his back to her, his face was indiscernible. But with his tall and broad frame, he could’ve very well been Nich
olas’s brother. Nevertheless, his identity and motive didn’t concern her. Right now the sun was rising and she needed to get out of there. Cautiously, she slid out from behind the door and eased her way back up the hallway. She had a rune to find.

  Chapter 6

  The heavy gray clouds dipped low in the sky and she could hear the soft moan of thunder in the distance. A gust of wind caught the ends of Daniela’s hair, whipping it about her face as she stood at the entrance of the Bellu Cemetery. The place was a morbid gathering of ancient tombstones and brittle rose bushes in a lonely parish that had seen too few visitors.

  It had taken her nearly forty-five minutes to reach the burial site that was just outside the city of Bucharest. She’d taken Nicholas’s motorcycle and made one single stop along the way and that had been to purchase a phone card and ask for directions at a service station. There she’d contacted Mai and asked her to cancel her cell phone account and completely wipe any information on her. She’d been careful not to mention the difficulty she’d encountered for two reasons: she didn’t want Mai to worry and she’d had no time to explain everything. When the rune was in her possession and delivered, she would be on the first plane out of there. She needed to get this job done as delivering the second rune was possibly the only thing that would exonerate her from any involvement in the ambush at the monastery.

  Daniela gripped the heavy iron gate and pushed. The rusting hinges resisted, filling the silence with its objecting wail as it was forced open. She advanced and scanned the area. There were hundreds of graves surrounding a stone pathway that branched off into several directions. She exhaled. She certainly had her work cut out for her.

  Wasting no time, she began moving up the path. She tried to ignore her pensive audience of black crows that were scattered among the trees. They gawked in silence, their dark eyes unflinching. It was all Daniela could do to focus on the graves. Thus far she knew that she was looking for a tomb, and judging by the wealth of the Drakon family, she was certain it would be adorned with something elaborate.

  A pair of mausoleums became visible near a huge oak tree and she moved toward them. They were littered with damp leaves, their entrances partially concealed by overgrown bushes. She walked to the first and peered through the metal gate. A single stone coffin lay within. She looked at the name that had been engraved above the portal.

  Joldea Seneslav 1904–1962, she read. This definitely wasn’t the one. She moved on to the next and concluded the same. Thunder rumbled again and Daniela continued walking through the graves. She moved quickly, hoping to be done with her task and out of there before the rain started. She advanced another few feet then stopped. At the far corner of the cemetery she could make out large stone wings peeking through the trees. A more careful look revealed the stained walls of an aged mausoleum. She shot a glance about and deduced that it was by far one of the more intricate tombs present. She headed toward it.

  The heavy metal door was an interesting design of a gothic cross and it was secured by an old iron lock. What she had assumed was an angel turned out to be a statue of a hideous gargoyle perched just above the entrance. Its wings were spread to full length while massive claws gripped a brass rod that was fastened to the wall. And just below the figure the name Lord Philip Drakon was etched into the stone. The sudden burst of exhilaration that filled her stomach was short-lived for she read the dates beneath it—1434–1510.

  Her eyes narrowed in confusion as she made an attempt to recall the exact words of the conversation she’d overheard. She was almost certain that the one who lay within the tomb had been referred to as Nicholas’s grandfather. But that wasn’t possible, not with so many centuries between them.

  She circled the tomb, inspecting the names of the other smaller mausoleums present, none of which bore the Drakon title. It seemed she had found the correct one, but had perhaps heard incorrectly, she deduced.

  She returned to the brass door that sealed the entrance and studied the lock. She wouldn’t waste her time attempting to pick it for the thing was as old as it was massive. No set of hairpins would be able to unlock it. She looked about for another alternative and her attention fell upon a thick slab of discolored brick that had once supported the base of a headstone. She quickly retrieved it and brought it down hard on the lock. The subsequent boom of the door being struck echoed throughout the cemetery, breaking the eerie silence, and her dismal audience took to the sky in a chaos of fluttering wings and startled screeches.

  Daniela wasn’t deterred. She struck the lock a second time, then again and again. The fourth time proved successful and the lock broke away. Panting, she threw the stone aside and pushed the door to the mausoleum open. Light spilled in from the outside, revealing a dark gray marble floor and a matching coffin. She entered, descending three short steps. A deathly chill enveloped her, penetrating her clothing and searing her skin. Her attention was drawn to the walls. They were etched with writing that was both foreign and indiscernible, even unlike the language of modern Romania.

  She approached the coffin. It was draped in a length of threadbare cloth that had clearly once been beautiful. Golden threads crossed it, adding to the faded depiction of a crest. With careful reverence Daniela removed the covering and set it aside. Her heart raced, for in all her unsavory adventures she’d yet to see death. This was no time for fear, she told herself and gripped the solid lid of the coffin and pushed. It didn’t even budge. She hadn’t really expected it to, either. After so many centuries of solitude the thing must’ve been sealed shut.

  She tapped on the lid, confirming that it was indeed marble. There was only one way into that coffin. As much as she didn’t want any part in desecrating the dead, she knew it had to be done. Her own life depended upon it. Quickly, she raced outside and returned with the large slab of stone she’d used earlier. Without giving her conscience time to intervene, she lifted it high and threw it down as hard as her muscles would permit. The heavy block struck the marble and clamored to the floor. A huge crack at the center of the lid was her only success. She was careful not to aim too high for she didn’t want to risk smashing the rune. She picked up the stone again and repeated the act only this time the marble gave and a splintering hole appeared.

  Grimacing at the stale odor that poured out, she began moving the slabs of marble that had broken off. She then pulled the stone out, revealing the flash of silver chainmail. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was staring at the shattered midsection of Nicholas’s ancestor. Closing her eyes tightly, she reached into the hole and up toward the chest.

  Her fingers immediately encountered a tangled web of something unpleasant and she yanked her hand out. A chill of repulsion slithered up her spine and she quickly wiped her hand on the material of her shirt as if she could eradicate the feeling. Fondling remains was hardly an appealing job, but there was no other way.

  Inhaling, she forced any thoughts of repugnance to the back of her mind and slipped her hand into the coffin a second time. Again her fingers laced through the tangling of substance, but she forced them higher. The man with whom Nicholas had been speaking had said that the rune lay near the heart of the deceased. She found the opening of the garment and slipped her fingers in. Immediately, she encountered hollowed ribs and the ancient coolness of death. Her fingers moved higher still, searching for the spot where his heart had once throbbed. The smoothness of stone grazed her fingers and she knew that she’d found the object she sought. Bound by a length of string, it had been draped about the neck of Nicholas’s grandfather. She wound it about her hand and gave it a firm tug. The string snapped and she pulled it out.

  The Rune of Cythe lay within her palm, entangled amidst a length of gray-streaked hair. She quickly stripped it clean and wiped her hand as before. Daniela took only a moment to look the item over before tying the string about her own neck. The rune fell between her breasts. With one regretful glance at the mess she’d made
, she headed toward the exit.

  Outside the riotous clouds had gained weight and wind speed, engaging the drying leaves in a dance to seduce the rain to fall. Daniela shut the door of the mausoleum and paused again to gaze at the heavens. She’d have the remainder of the day to prepare for her meeting with Cradle. After the riot Nicholas had caused the night before she was sure a new drop-off location would be in order. But she would play along as if she knew nothing of the incident. And once the rune was safely out of her hands she’d return to start a new life for herself—an honest life.

  A gush of wind passed through the trees, tormenting the branches overhead. It swirled along the stone pathway, kicking the dust with a vengeance. An object that appeared to be a heavy black cloak was caught within it. It tossed and turned, its sway smooth and unnatural.

  With curiosity, Daniela watched it. Her instincts told her that she should leave, but she stood there, intrigued almost. An odd prickly sensation overtook her and her heart began to thump in her chest. Something wasn’t right.

  The material paused on the pathway, its rhythm undiminished as it swelled in both height and width. Then, to Daniela’s disbelief, the figures of two women slowly emerged from beneath it. Clothed in black robes, they stood together with the wind tossing their curtains of beautiful long dark hair. They were identical in both face and form, and when they spoke their voices echoed in unison.

  “Give us the rune.” Their tongue was thickly Romanian.

  Daniela forced herself out of the stupor she’d been ushered into. She didn’t know what she was seeing, but that she would solve later. For now, the impending threat of the two who stood before her was quite apparent.

  “The rune or you die!” they spoke again.