Monsters and Mortals - Blood War Trilogy Book II

by Dylan J. Morgan

  “Come, Paolo,” Anton exclaimed, and led his comrade towards the fight.

  * * *

  That damned woman was going to get him killed.

  He could well imagine what that sound had been, and when running for your life stopping to deliberate on such matters was a foolhardy thing to do. If she didn’t realize by now that they had to keep moving, then she’d be dead before too long.

  The rush of cascading water told him he’d reached the fountain. Ahead, in the darkness, came the shouts of vampires, the words spoken in Norwegian but the tone of voice leaving no doubt about the bloodsuckers’ sense of panic.

  Faint moonlight revealed the black and white granite mosaic constructed on the ground around the fountain. He glanced right; saw the towering spire of the monolith prodding at the underbelly of dark clouds. To his left the streetlights out on Kirkeveien glowed with a subtle brilliance; a haven of civilization that seemed to call him.

  Fabio had no idea where Deanna had gone, but it seemed she hadn’t followed him. Maybe the vampires had already found her.

  He ran, lungs burning with panic and the effort of trying to stay alive.

  The streetlights seemed so far away, a glinting promise of salvation that would turn into a cruel joke.

  He longed for the streets of Rome: a shield of familiarity.

  Fabio sprinted through a collection of eight bronze statues that resembled children at play. A granite column rose from the ground, the representation of a fetus carved at its apex. Fabio thought of his mother: living in Mestre, unaware he’d fled for his life, ignorant of the fact he’d left the country. Grief curled painfully around his heart, sorrow lacerating his soul. He yearned to hear her voice again, to have it soothe him. A childhood memory crept into his mind of a time when he’d fallen off his bike and scraped a knee, the recollection showing his mother pulling him close and providing comfort. Fabio longed to have her console him again.

  An image of his estranged wife’s countenance floated into his mind, and a tear touched his cheek, chilled by the night air.

  At first he thought the panting breath was his own then realized it came from the darkness, to his left, approaching the bridge. The sound didn’t resemble fleet-footed vampires, but the powerful, monstrous form of a werewolf. His muscles burned through overuse but Fabio pushed himself forward, sprinting hard onto the bridge.

  The one hundred meter overpass stretched ahead of him and seemed to lengthen as he crossed it. Rows of bronze figurines lined the bridge’s concrete balustrades, the frozen effigies watching his plight in unhelpful silence.

  A yelp of disbelief rushed from his lungs and Fabio lurched to a stop.

  Enormous shapes shifted the darkness ahead of him; three figures blocking the end of the bridge. The creatures stood seven or eight feet tall, leaning forward in the stance of predators stalking their prey. Pale moonlight illuminated the thick pelt that covered each animal, retinas glowing red in black eyeballs to enhance their demonic appearance. Fabio’s imagination had always shown him werewolves that resembled the carnivorous canines of which mortal man was so familiar, but the reality shook his body with a jolt of pure fear. The bi-pedal monsters gathered in his path and blocked his route of escape.

  Each breath exited in a panicked gasp. Fabio turned in the direction he’d come, and two more werewolves loped onto the bridge’s concrete span.

  In a bizarre thought, the irony of which was not lost on him, Fabio wished the vampires would hurry up and arrive at the scene if only to distract the werewolves and provide him an opportunity to get away.

  Trapped on the bridge, Fabio’s intestines twisted with fear at his impending death. He stood in the center of the span, water beneath the overpass about twenty-four feet away on either side.

  The lycanthropes attacked, growls of insatiable hunger bellowing from their throats.

  He ran towards the bridge’s concrete railing and hoped he could scramble over it and drop into the water before the beasts tore him to pieces.

  The terror of the situation overwhelmed him, and Fabio screamed.

  * * *

  Deanna thrust up her arm in a reflex movement, ducked her head, and powerful jaws locked onto her forearm. Bones shattered with a sickening crunch—blood flooded the sleeve of her jacket as the animal’s saliva filled the wound. The deep night impaired her vision yet what little moonlight graced the park cast a gentle radiance over the creature’s thick, shaggy pelt, giving it a defined outline. The werewolf’s eyes burned with ravenous hunger.

  It released its grip on her limb. She didn’t have a chance to move. Its solid arm lashed up her torso, claws ripping through clothing and tearing gouges in her flesh. Deanna’s skin and muscle opened in a line from her upper abdomen, between her breasts and along her right shoulder. The blow lifted her, flung her backwards, and she landed heavily onto the concrete steps leading towards the monolith.

  Warm blood spread across her torso, trickling down her sides and around her back. Agony burned in her left arm, wrist hanging limp, bones scraping together when it moved. A burning pain spread across her shoulders from where she’d landed on the sharp edges of the steps.

  Unconsciousness bubbled through her emotions, but only nausea washed through her. Deanna focused her eyes on the immense creature as it crouched and stared at her prone form. Using her right hand she pushed herself backwards up the staircase, pressing her heels into the concrete to aid movement. Her body screamed in pain and she feared she’d vomit.

  Deanna’s right shoulder scraped along the plinths of the statues dividing the individual steps to the totem.

  The werewolf issued a low, rumbling growl and inched forward.

  As if released from Heaven by the hand of God, two dark-clad figures landed on the plateau between her and the werewolf. It straightened and issued a roar of defiance. Through her fading vision Deanna watched the two new arrivals draw lengthy sabers from beneath long, black trench coats and circle the wolfish beast.

  Vampires; the thought occurred to her as she painfully dragged herself up the steps. Their attention remained focused on the lycanthrope, but because of her connection with Fabio they would probably still want to end her life.

  The vampires taunted the werewolf, one edging to its right, the other to its left. The beast backed away, keeping both bloodsuckers in its path of vision. A vampire stepped forward and the werewolf lunged instinctively at it, slashing with a muscular arm. The vampire leaped backwards and began to laugh. By now the werewolf had turned enough so that its back faced the steps, its focus now totally on the tormenting vampires.

  Deanna tried to push herself further up the steps but energy seemed to be draining with the blood from her wounds.

  Both vampires came for the werewolf simultaneously. The beast reached out and grabbed the outstretched sword of the vampire to its right. It lashed at the bloodsucker to its left, sharp talons flashing close to the vampire’s torso, stunning the creature as a button popped from its shirt. Even in the denseness wallowing around the plateau Deanna could see the material hanging loose from the vampire’s garment. It’d been a very near escape. The other vampire withdrew its sword violently, and the werewolf howled in pain as the blade sliced its palm open.

  It charged the vampire and slammed into its chest, knocking the creature to the floor. The vampire called out and its comrade hissed and slashed open the werewolf’s back. Bellowing in agony and fury, the huge beast turned and swung a heavy arm at the vampire’s head. It ducked, avoiding the blow. Scrambling to its feet, the second vampire sprang in front of the lycanthrope and swept its saber in a lethal arc.

  Deanna flinched at the sound of ripping flesh, watched the spray of blood from the creature’s torn neck splattering the concrete slabs.

  The werewolf reached to its neck, its cry of pain reduced to a gargled whisper of air bubbling from its shattered throat. Collapsing to its knees, the werewolf struggled to breathe. A twinge of pity for the animal wormed into Deanna’s emotions. The lycanthrope
hunched forward, shoulders heaving as it searched for air.

  The vampire who had caused the injury stepped away from the suffering creature. Its comrade stepped forward, swung a boot, and kicked the beast’s head from its vertebrae. Deanna closed her eyes as the head spun away into the darkness, felt the first surge of bile rise up her gullet at the dull thud of the werewolf’s lifeless body slumping to the plateau.

  She expected the vampires to walk up the steps to where she lay dying and open her with their swords.

  The roar of enraged werewolves drifted through the night, probably from down by the fountain or further out at the bridge. The panicked shouts of vampires accompanied the howling beasts. Conversing quickly, the two vampires left the headless corpse, vaulted over the plateau’s balustrades, and disappeared into darkness.

  Deanna tried to take a deep breath but an intense, agonizing heat flared in her chest. She touched the wound, fingers slipping into exposed muscle, the flesh rent and open. Blood flowed over her abdomen to warm her skin.

  The night appeared to darken. Deanna leaned back against the steps and surrendered to the tide of unconsciousness.

  * * *

  Shadows collided on the park’s bridge: the gigantic silhouettes of lycanthropes engulfing the fragile outline of the human. Anton ran faster. He is not theirs to kill!

  Paolo and he reached the bridge at the same moment the four vampires from the southern perimeter merged on the scene. Three males and the blond female who’d trailed the mortals earlier rushed onto the crossing with sabers readied for battle.

  Anton took in the sight in an instant.

  Five werewolves crowded the center of the bridge, at least two of them crouched forward tearing into the prostrate figure of a mortal man. Anton raised his sword over his shoulder and screamed anger at the demonic man-hounds.

  One of those tearing the body to pieces looked up, stepped forward, and Anton’s saber sliced through its neck. The creature’s head, jaws agape and fangs displayed, spiraled into the night sky, the splash as it entered water below the bridge lost beneath the crescendo of battle. A werewolf peeled away from the crowd and slammed into one of the approaching Norwegians, both female vampire and lycanthrope cavorting into the concrete balustrade locked in a hellish embrace before they tumbled over the edge into the lake.

  Anton avoided the torso of his kill as it slammed onto the concrete, felt the blow to his chest as another werewolf swiped a talon-tipped hand across his chest. He staggered back into the side of the bridge.

  Paolo swiped his sword at a lycanthrope that seemed oblivious to the carnage surrounding it, still ripping chunks of flesh from the Italian medical examiner. The saber cut through soft tissue at its shoulder and it sprawled backwards, a bawl of pain screaming from its lungs.

  Having lost one of their comrades over the railing, the three remaining Norwegian vampires converged on the final lycanthrope. It sprang from its position and pounced onto the middle vampire, locking brutish jaws around the bloodsucker’s face. Crushed facial bones echoed around the park, the vampire’s scream locked in a wrecked mouth. Blood gushed over its tunic, sword slipping from dead hands. The werewolf powered into the body, pushing it to the concrete floor. The vampire’s two comrades, stunned for a moment by the ferociousness of their colleague’s violent death, shook off their astonishment and hacked the werewolf’s body to pieces.

  Everything happened simultaneously.

  Anton recovered from the blow to his chest and dodged the werewolf’s second lunge. Concrete splintered from the railing as the lycanthrope thudded into the bridge. Anton brought his saber down, the blade slicing through the hound’s forearm. Flesh and blood spattered the bridge and the werewolf backed away in pained anger.

  In his periphery vision, Anton watched Paolo pounce on the werewolf he’d injured in the first wave of their attack, but the beast secured its feet under the young vampire’s body, rolled onto its back and tossed Anton’s comrade through the air. Paolo landed heavily on his back. The lycanthrope scrambled quickly to its feet and lunged at the vampire.

  His own adversary came for him again, solid jaws snapping at his face. Anton ducked, and thrust the crafted hilt of his sword into the creature’s lower jaw. Its teeth snapped together, but Anton knew he hadn’t broken bone. The creature took a step back, shaking the stunned blur from its mind.

  Anton backed away, obtained the attention of the two vampires carving a werewolf to shreds, and shouted: “Help him!”

  Twenty feet away Paolo fought desperately to avoid the werewolf tearing away his throat.

  The two Norwegian vampires sprinted along the bridge, swords raised.

  A solid hand thudded into Anton’s head. Stars billowed in front of his eyes and he slumped to the ground. Merda! The thing almost took my fucking head off!

  The cries of approaching rescue filled his hearing—probably the two vampires who’d been tracking the mortals with him at the start of their quest. He’d forgotten all about them: two more to add to their numbers.

  He jabbed forward with his sword, the blade sinking deep into the lycanthrope’s chest as it grabbed for his throat. The werewolf reeled away, a whine of pain slipping from its lips. Anton lost grip on his sword and for a moment the werewolf stood in the middle of the bridge with Anton’s weapon protruding from its ribs.

  The two arriving vampires rushed onto the crossing, and a flash of moonlight glinted off a steel blade as one of them decapitated the werewolf in one smooth arc. Arterial blood erupted from the severed neck and the werewolf toppled backwards, its lifeless body smashing onto the concrete bridge.

  Cold blood trickled from a head wound and a buzzing filled Anton’s hearing. It had been a year since he’d engaged in close combat; this had been frenetic. One of the Norwegians stepped in front of him and offered his hand.

  “May I help you to your feet, Sire?”

  Anton took his arm. “Thank you.”

  Grogginess simmered in Anton’s head as he found his footing. The two vampires recently arrived stood by his side, and the soaked figure of the warrior who’d tumbled off the bridge leaned against the stone railing. Anton’s nocturnal vision identified lacerations on the vampire’s clothing, blood mixing with water to run down its body. Bright red blood coated its blade, testament to the victory she’d obtained in the waters beneath the bridge. All five lycanthropes had been overcome, but Anton’s personal loss was huge. Paolo had failed to hold off his attacker long enough, and his torn body lay among the sliced remains of the werewolf that’d killed him. The two Norwegians who had tried to save him stood above their kill, but did not savor their victory.

  If Raphael failed to recover from his wounds then Anton would have dire news to relay to Markus upon his return to Rome.

  That thought forced him to focus on the reason why he’d made the trip to Norway in the first place. Anton stepped forward slowly, but already knew the outcome before he reached the mortal.

  The remains of Fabio Morani were strewn across the bridge. The lycanthrope’s assault had been savage; Fabio’s belly had been ripped open and intestines pulled clear beneath his desecrated chest. The man’s throat had been torn away and strident blood pooled around the ravaged carcass.

  Sorrow didn’t surface in Anton’s emotions but he did feel disheartened that the coven had not carried out final justice upon the mortal. To an extent, Gabriella’s glorious memory had been avenged and a degree of relief calmed him for that reason. The heathen who had defiled her was dead.

  Anton sighed, and spoke to the vampires gathered around him. “Markus need not find out the true cause of the mortal’s demise. Only let it be known that the coven has completed its objective.”

  The Norwegian vampires nodded.

  Anton knelt to the side of Fabio’s corpse, placed the sharp edge of his blade against the man’s lacerated throat, and removed the head. He gathered it by the hair. Markus needed it as proof of the job completed. Anton shrugged off the empty rucksack he’d carried on his back and
retrieved a clear plastic bag from inside. He deposited the head into the bag, zipped it closed to lock the smell within, and stuffed it into the backpack. Pulling a cell phone from a pocket on an arm strap, he dialed Markus’s pilot. Anton needed to shelter in the security of the Elder’s private jet until such time as they could leave the country. The pilot would meet him outside the park’s gates in less than ten minutes.

  Anton glanced at the five remaining vampires. “I trust I can rely on you to clear this mess before the park opens for its tourists.”

  One of them nodded. “Yes, Sire.”

  “Good; thank you all for your comradeship and bravery. You’ll all be rewarded highly by Markus.”

  Slipping his arms through the rucksack, Anton walked through the approaching dawn to where Raphael sat under the trees. The vampire didn’t move; Anton closed the man’s eyelids and said a silent prayer.

  He stood, and with a heavy heart made his way to the park’s main gate.

  * * *

  Footsteps drifted into her waking consciousness.

  Darkness shrouded her, eyes still closed, mind fighting to retrieve memories in order to lessen her confusion. Fresh, clean air reminded her she was outside, the cold surface beneath her back giving rise to the image of an erect monolith adorned with naked carvings. With a rising awareness came the throb of pain, an ache in rhythm with her beating heart. The agony burned fiercest in her left arm, an aggravating soreness creeping across her chest. Deanna’s mind found memories of giant wolfen beasts and nimble, darkly clad vampires. It found a terror that forced her eyes open and a panicked gasp to crack the still air.

  Deanna had no idea how long she’d been unconscious but daylight painted the Norwegian horizon with a blaze of amber light. The cold morning cocooned her, seeping into her pores, initiating shivers to tremble her body. Deanna moved and fresh pain flared in her arm up to her shoulder. Each inhaled breath lifted her chest and fed an ache that burned through her torso.