“It’s been that way for two centuries; isn’t it a little late to be concerned with such matters?”
Markus took a step forward. “Not when they’re this close to extermination. Not when their backs are against the wall.”
Isaac held his hands in front of his waist and pushed his chest out as if informing Markus he shouldn’t be stupid enough to take another step closer. “Pray tell, what information do you have that leads you to assume the hybrids are almost extinct?”
“Nothing concrete, but after their foolish daylight raids a year ago skirmishes between our forces and hybrid numbers have been scarce. I’ve been alive long enough to trust my own intuition, and I believe the time is now for us to unite and drive the hybrid scum into the abyss of extinction.”
Isaac pondered the words in a moment of silence. “Vampire and werewolf: blood brothers once again, hey?”
Markus couldn’t tell if the lycanthrope’s words were full of sarcasm or genuine interest. “If we unite now, vampires and werewolves together, then maybe we could be united for eternity.”
Isaac hung his head, as if a hundred thoughts weighed heavily on his mind. There wasn’t much room to pace in the chamber but the commanding lycanthrope managed it anyway. “Tell me, Markus: can you even remember why this war between our species started in the first place?”
A knot of apprehension curled Markus’s intestines. “There are some days when I wonder why we’re still fighting.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Markus forced a grin to stretch his face. “I was a mere foot soldier when this conflict began. No, I can’t remember the exact reason.”
Isaac stopped moving. “I can. The memory of vampiric betrayal eats at my soul every day. At times I’m still haunted by the image of my brother being beheaded in an open field by a horde of vampires who invaded—without provocation—our settlement, and drove us into the woods. I can still remember the selfish desire of vampires who wanted nothing more than to keep the blood of mortal man to themselves, and leave nothing for their lycanthropic cousins.”
Although he’d refused to admit it, the memory remained fresh in Markus’s mind too. “Come on, Isaac; that’s ancient history. Six centuries have passed since then.”
“I’m still alive. I remember; it’s not ancient history to me. It’s treachery and greed.”
Markus sighed. Shit; I need to try a different tact. “This new era of the war has brought us closer, don’t you think? Ever since hybrids entered the conflict, we as a species have been pushed closer together because of a similar threat. Hybrids want to exterminate werewolves just as much as they want to exterminate vampires.”
“What’s to stop your coven turning around and stabbing us in the back if we manage to remove the hybrids from this war? I mean; you’ve done it before.”
“We won’t do that,” Markus said and stepped forward, showing the palms of his hands in a gesture of good will. “You have my word.”
Isaac didn’t answer. His jaw hardened and the werewolf’s eyes seemed to darken. Unpleasant sensations wriggled through Markus’s guts and for a moment he feared the lycanthrope would transform and kick start a bloodbath. Instead, Isaac straightened his back and smiled.
“Would you be so kind as to give me a minute to discuss this with my general?”
Frustration carved a slice through his emotions but Markus forced the smile to brighten his features. “Of course; we’ll step outside.”
Before Isaac could say another word Markus turned on his heels. Anton and Santo, who had remained near the chamber doorway, stepped aside as custom to allow Markus passage, and followed him from the chamber.
The two werewolves were still outside the door, standing as sentries by the opening. Markus didn’t want to be close to them, and moved a few meters away. Fresh air wrapped him in a cooling embrace, and for the first time Markus realized how stuffy the inner chamber had been. He put a hand to his forehead and it came away wet. He moved to a deteriorating wall and stared at the night sky.
What could they possibly be deliberating about? The offer was straight forward: join forces and eliminate the hybrids. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work that one out. Markus wasn’t foolish enough to think Isaac would accept the deal with a smile and a handshake, but he also hadn’t expected the werewolf Elder to be so stubborn. Lycanthropes had lost thousands of their number to hybrid claws and fangs over the last two centuries, Markus had hoped the Alpha-Male would be glad of an excuse to be rid of the infuriating creatures.
Anton leaned towards him and broke his train of thought. “A truce? Forgive my impertinence, Milord, but such matters have not been discussed in counsel.”
Markus was well aware of that fact. He’d not brought the subject up for fear of it being rejected outright. Now that the offer had been put on the werewolves’ table he hoped there’d be no turning back. Counsel would have to support him. Besides, the truce wouldn’t remain in effect for long; only until such time as those hybrids were no longer a threat to his coven. Then the lycanthropes would discover just how treacherous he could be.
Markus lowered his gaze and looked at Anton’s pale face. “I am counsel, Anton. This is my coven; my decisions do not need to be approved by anybody.”
“I am aware of that, Milord, but what does Her Highness think of this dramatic development.”
If Anton wasn’t one of his most trusted, loyal servants, Markus might well have taken his head off for uttering such a brazen question. Markus’s words were harsh. “She is my wife. What do you suppose she thinks of this development?”
Anton let his gaze drop and turned away. The Eliminator would remain loyal, of that Markus had no doubts. The fact Markus had said nothing to his wife was information Anton didn’t need to know, but he felt certain Ilanna would support his decision.
Movement in the shadows attracted his attention, and Markus turned to face the chamber’s doorway. Isaac and his sidekick ambled from the tomb and the Alpha-Male walked forward until he stood two feet from the trio of vampires.
“Okay, Markus, I’m willing to offer a compromise.”
A weight of misgiving dropped in Markus’s stomach. He didn’t like the tone in the werewolf’s voice. Lycanthropic dirty tricks, no doubt.
“I will declare an indefinite truce to all the lycanthropes under my command so that our two species can work together in order to eradicate the hybrid bloodline. How does that sound?”
Markus managed to quell his unease despite the close proximity of his most feared enemy. “Just those under your command? What of the others?”
Isaac smiled and his grin resembled a jackal more than a wolf. “Well, as you vampires have been so quick to point out for the last six hundred years; we’re animals. I can’t control my entire breed.”
Markus sensed the disappointment etched onto Anton’s features but ignored it. He was doing this for the long-term survival of the coven. “Good; shall we shake on it?”
“I said a compromise, Markus. You know; give and take.”
“Very well.” Markus released his dissatisfaction in a drawn-out sigh. “What is it you want from me?”
“Accountability.”
Confusion furrowed Markus’s brow.
“I want you to take the blame for this eternal war,” Isaac said.
“If you say you remember how this conflict started then you won’t need me to hold my hands up and declare the coven guilty.”
Isaac shook his head. “Not the coven; just you.”
Anton had obviously detected the threatening tone in Isaac’s voice and stepped forward. Thrusting his arm across the Eliminator’s chest, Markus stopped his forward progress. “I have told you before; I was a mere foot soldier when this war began. The decision to banish your species was not mine.”
“Oh, I know it wasn’t yours, Markus. It was Gabriel’s, your glorious grandfather, that’s common knowledge, but as none of your ancestors had the guts to publically admit to being the cause of so mu
ch carnage and death, it’s now up to you. I mean, Gabriel’s blood flows through your veins, so theoretically you’re as much to blame as he.”
Fangs pushed against his lower lip and Markus had to breathe deep to stem the mounting tide of anger towards the werewolf. He wanted to lunge forward and rip Isaac’s carotid artery in half, but while that might have been a victory of sorts it would surely be fleeting; the werewolves standing in the shadows behind their leader would tear them to pieces.
Isaac must have noticed the rage burning in Markus’s eyes. “Don’t try anything foolish. There are eight more werewolves atop the ruins keeping look out. You wouldn’t make it to the gate.”
In an instant the weight of the crumbling building seemed to fall in upon Markus. An urge to escape from the decayed sepulcher swelled exponentially as a threatening feeling of isolation slammed into him like a derailed freight train running at full speed. Just take the deal; take it and get the hell out of here!
Fighting to maintain an air of dominance, Markus straightened his back and uttered one curt word. “Deal.”
“Great,” Isaac smiled. “We’d better get a legally binding document drawn up before our first, historic counsel.”
Isaac paused, obviously waiting for Markus’s reaction. He gave the werewolf nothing, not even a nod of his head.
Isaac held out his hand. “Now we can shake on it.”
In the gloom-filled ruins, Markus noticed just how pale his flesh was when pressed against the werewolf’s weathered, bronzed hand. The handshake was firm and disconcerting. Markus couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched the Alpha-Male. It must be four hundred years at least.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Isaac muttered.
Impudent fool! Markus scowled. The werewolf would pay for this humiliation; Markus would make sure of it even if it took another six hundred years to accomplish. Without a parting word, Markus turned swiftly, coattails flapping in his wake, and strode from the burial chamber. He glared at the werewolf guarding the internal opening to the entrance passage, and hurried into the corridor’s concealing darkness.
Anger simmered in his soul like a heat haze, but he had achieved his wish, albeit at a small cost. The brute force and ferocity of werewolves could help eradicate the hybrids, and in turn lock the closet door to his own personal skeletons; then Markus could turn his attention to establishing himself as the sole governor of the supernatural world.
This decision, this sacrifice, he had made for the sake of the coven; he only hoped Ilanna would see it that way.
At the iron gates, the vampires didn’t wait for the werewolf to return their weapons, but snatched the swords from where they leaned against the stone. A hiss of defiance from Anton sent the lycanthrope backing into the safety of darkness wrapped around the mausoleum.
On the walk to his limousine the Eliminator’s said nothing and Markus was grateful for that fact. His anger burned so fiercely it couldn’t be restrained. One ill-advised comment from either warrior would provoke Markus’s wrath, and both of the vampires seemed to sense it.
He didn’t wait for formalities and opened the limousine’s door himself. Markus settled into the comfortable leather seating with the unpleasant sensation of doom toying with his insides.
As the car pulled away from the ancient sarcophagus, Markus couldn’t help but feel he’d merely gained a reprieve instead of a victory.
TEN
Bavarian Forest
Bavaria, Germany
Headlights cut a wedge through the murky night to illuminate the disused path’s undulating terrain. Solid spruce trees hugged the trail giving the jeep’s driver little room for error. The vehicle’s engine whined in protest as the driver accelerated up a steep gradient, and the suspension groaned as he swung the car over the rise and barreled down a pitted curve.
Max pressed his palms against the jeep’s interior in an effort to remain in his seat. “Damn it, Karl; will you slow down!”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Karl shouted. “We don’t know how long we’ve got.”
Max glanced at their subject and realized the driver had a point. The change had almost swamped her. She strained against her bindings, the majority of her naked female form lost under new muscle growth. A leather hood covered her head, and the petrified whimper she’d been exhaling only a short moment ago had now become a guttural whine.
Max smiled. He could no longer remember his first transformation: an event that occurred in these very woods some five hundred and sixty years ago, but knew it’d been a frightful experience. In a lifespan as long as centuries quite a few memories disappeared over time. Besides, the woman would come to enjoy the change, would get used to the pain of reforming bone tissue and stretching muscles. She might even become like Max and prefer a good old blood-pumping metamorphosis instead of sex.
A panicked moan from the other end of the jeep attracted his attention.
The prey to be used for tonight’s excursion didn’t appear too pleased with the situation.
Both hybrids didn’t look any older than eighteen but Max reasoned there was a chance they were much older than that. He didn’t really care either way; if things went according to plan they’d both be dead within the hour. They sat on the opposite bench seat in the rear of the jeep, arms shackled behind their backs, legs secured to the vehicle’s floor. Leather straps across their chests pinned them to the inner wall of the car. Neither one was blindfolded; Max pleased to notice they stared wide-eyed at the woman struggling to hold the beast within.
In a way he envied the lady sitting next to him—the first kill is always the most satisfying.
Max struggled to remove the needle as the jeep bucked through another pothole. The syringe containing methocarbamol had been emptied into her blood stream a few miles back and there was none left to slow the change. If she transformed here, in the back of the jeep, things could get nasty.
“Are we nearly there yet?” Max yelled to the driver.
Karl fought with the steering wheel. “Nearly; just a couple more minutes.”
Max stared at the woman’s deforming body and hoped two minutes would be long enough.
* * *
Beneath the hood, breath surged from flared nostrils in blasts of air and snot, saliva coating the ball-gag secured in her mouth. Acid and bile churned her stomach and she feared that if she were sick she’d choke to death. Shackles pinched her hands behind her back, the iron digging into her skin.
Deanna panicked; an intense fear flooded her system.
She was conscious of her nudity, aware that her skin felt tight, stretching across her frame. An ache settled deep in her bones, her entire skeleton feeling as if it would explode due to pressure building in the marrow. The drum of her pulse throbbed in her ears, chest vibrating with the frantic rhythm of her heart. Each inhalation of agitated breath brought with it a plethora of foul smells.
Her own stench was the strongest; fear coated with body odor and the stale tang of urine. She could smell the other occupants in the car, each one carrying a different scent. The two who talked to each other had a similar underlying aroma, one she associated with the gigantic wolf that carried her away from that monument in Oslo less than twenty-four hours ago. She had no doubts they were werewolves, but didn’t know what they wanted with her. Although she recognized the language, she couldn’t understand a word.
German! What the hell am I doing in Germany?
Spasms shuddered through her legs but she couldn’t kick out, chains rattling from her frantic movements. A cry of agony squeezed around the ball gag although it didn’t contain her usual feminine tone. She sounded gruff and feral.
There were two other people in the car but they remained silent. Intense fear coated the scent wafting from their bodies, the aroma tainted with something vulgar she wasn’t accustomed to.
All of them were male. She was heavily outnumbered.
Deanna had never had such a broad range of smells before, and these new se
nsations unnerved her.
The vehicle screeched to a halt, debris drumming off the underside of the car. The driver said something then opened his door. Chains rattled, she hoped they were hers, and then realized the other occupants—the quiet ones—were being released.
She didn’t have time to curse her luck.
A powerful surge of pain flashed through her essence, heart kicking in violent contractions. Heat flared in her muscles causing them to contort fiercely. An odd sound filled the jeep, something akin to wood being fractured then broken in two.
It took Deanna only a moment to realize the noise was her bones breaking.
“Erhalten sie!” one of the men shouted.
She wanted to lean forward, to try and dampen the hurt encasing her body, but bindings held her in the seat. The hood tightened around Deanna’s head; or had her skull just enlarged? She tasted blood, gums splitting as teeth enlarged within the bone.
She cried out in agony and this time the sound resembled a growl.
The aroma of werewolf flooded her senses and she realized one of the men stood beside her.
“Schei!” he said, then in English coated by a heavy German accent: “Stay calm; I need to get you out of the car before you turn.”
Turn? What the hell did he mean by that?
A burning relief slithered up her legs as the shackles were removed, limbs kicking involuntarily as another tremor ripped through her. The strap around her chest came away, and Deanna tried to stand but the links around her wrists held tight, pain jerking in her shoulders.
She growled again.
The shackles were gone and the man lifted her. Her head thudded into the roof of the jeep but the pain barely registered. A whole cacophony of agony wrapped her; distending bones cracking and lengthening, stretching her skin. Muscles bulged with a copious rush of blood, every nerve-ending screaming with torture.
She thrashed against his grip but the man—the werewolf—was stronger. Fresh air wrapped her naked body, instantly cooling the thick layer of sweat coating her skin.
Monsters and Mortals - Blood War Trilogy Book II Page 11
