The Stone Warriors: Dragan

by D. B. Reynolds

  If the subject had been anything else, he’d have been charmed by her excited curiosity. But he’d suffered under the goddess’s gift for too long. “They’re real enough when they manifest,” he said in a monotone that didn’t invite further discussion.

  She remained silent for a few miles. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I ask too many questions.”

  Dragan regretted his reaction. She’d been the only light in his life after millennia of darkness. She’d risked her life to help him escape Sotiris, and continued to do so. What right did he have to demand she shutter the spark of inquisitiveness that made her who she was? “No,” he said. “I apologize. Curiosity is a true blessing. Without it, humans—and the rest of us—would still be crawling in the slime.”

  She scoffed lightly. “You’re just as human as I am, Dragan. You’re just the new and improved version.”

  “And vampires?”

  “They were born human. And so were you. It’s not your fault the goddess picked you to bless.”

  He regarded her for a long moment, until she glanced over at him, seeming discomfited by the attention. “You are one of a kind, sweet Mae.”

  She laughed nervously, and he could see the flush on her cheeks in the light from the dashboard.

  “So where are we headed?” he asked, thinking by now they both wanted to change the conversation.

  She straightened in her seat and drew in a long breath. “I figure. . . . “She glanced at one of the readouts behind the steering wheel. “Another fifty miles or so. There’s a bigger town there. Not quite a city, but big enough to have more than one motel. I’m using cash for everything, by the way, so don’t worry about them tracking us. Did I tell you that already? It’s another lesson from my grandfather. He lived through the Great Depression. . . . Which means nothing to you. Anyway, he said I should keep a stash of gold, but . . . that’s not terribly practical. So I always have cash. I figure it’s a good second choice.” She glanced over. “Does that make sense?”

  He smiled slightly. “It does.” They traveled another few miles before he said, “What happened tonight, though . . . it reinforces the fact that I need to drive more.”

  “What? Why? I’m a good driver.”

  Her response was so indignant, that he smiled again. Something he seemed to do often with Maeve. “I assume you’re an excellent driver. I don’t have a comparison. But that’s not the point. What if you’d been wounded? Who would have driven you to safety?”

  She made a face, wrinkling her nose and pinching her lips, as if she’d tasted something unpleasant. “You make a good point,” she grumbled finally. “All right. You can drive part of the way tomorrow. If the road is wide open. And not in any cities or towns. Okay?” She turned a glare on him, but after he’d nodded his agreement, and her attention returned to the road, she was smiling.

  Which was all Dragan cared about as they traveled on through the night.

  DRAGAN WAITED IN the vehicle again, as Maeve checked them into a single-story motel. It had two wings of rooms set directly on the parking lot, with one to either side of a brightly lit office. Three cars were already parked in front of different rooms, widely spaced down the lot. Their assigned room was at the very end, with an empty field to one side and two empty rooms to the other. It was smaller than the previous night’s accommodation, but it seemed clean enough, and it matched their simple requirement of two beds and a bathroom.

  “Shower,” Maeve said, dropping her small suitcase on the low dresser and falling back onto the farther bed. “I take that back. Food first, then shower.”

  She sat up as he set the big suitcase on the floor, and then his sword next to her bag on the small table. No more leaving the blade out of reach, he thought. They’d been lucky with the vampires at the gas station, but he’d fought too many battles to believe luck would be enough in the future.

  “I didn’t see anything open, except the coffee shop. No junk food,” she added.

  He turned to look at her, surprised at the mournful note in her voice. “Junk food? Isn’t junk a bad thing?”

  “Yeah,” she admitted. “But sometimes junk food hits the spot.” She glanced up. “Sorry. ‘Junk food’ is what we call those burgers, like we had on the first day. It’s not the most nutritious meal, and supposedly it’s not good for you, but it tastes great.”

  He nodded. “I liked them,” he commented. “If you’re tired, I can walk to the coffee shop for you. You’ll have to tell me what to order, though.”

  Her smile was bright when she said, “I think we’ll walk together. Small towns can be dangerous, and you need someone to protect you.” She looked around the room. “There’s probably a flyer or a menu . . .” She spoke slowly, dragging out the last word, as she stood and walked over to a plastic rack of folded papers. “Ah ha. Here we go. I’ll call in the order now. By the time we get there, it should be ready.”

  An hour later, Dragan finished the last of his coffee shop burger and had to admit it was better than the “junk food” version. Maeve had seemed surprised at the quality of the food, so perhaps she agreed. She’d finished eating already—having ordered less food for herself, since she was half his size—and was already in the shower.

  He crumpled up the bits of paper from his dinner and shoved them into the plastic bag, along with hers from earlier, then rolled the bag tightly closed and placed it in the too-small trash can. He’d laid back on the bed, arms braced behind his head in thought, when he heard the water turn off in the bathroom. Wet footsteps on the tile told him Maeve had climbed from the tub, and suddenly his thoughts filled with images of how she’d look, all fresh and clean from the shower—the rosy hue of her warmed skin, the softness of it against the towel. He shook his head, deliberating putting those thoughts aside, and reminding himself how young she was, how clean and fresh her soul. And how he’d promised himself he’d wait until she was ready, if ever, for the likes of him.

  Pushing himself farther up on the bed, he leaned against the narrow headboard, and closed his eyes once more. He’d shower once Maeve was finished. He found he quite enjoyed showers, and especially the seemingly endless supply of hot water. Perhaps, if he stayed in there long enough, if he washed thoroughly enough, he could avoid the dreams that had always plagued him after a battle. Not that he’d ever thought his efforts were unjustified, or that he’d killed for no reason. No, it was the way he killed, the monster he turned into in order to triumph. The same monster he’d become today. But the vampires he’d slain were no better. There’d been no doubt of their plans for Maeve, and the vampires of his time could be cruel, toying with their victims and killing them slowly, painfully. He doubted the ones in this world were any different. Their attack on Maeve had been both brutal and unwarranted.

  The bathroom door opened with a rush of steamy air to reveal Maeve wearing the same sweat pants and jacket she’d worn the night before. Her face was flushed, and she looked overheated, which made him wonder about the jacket, but then . . . she was sharing a bedroom with a monster, wasn’t she? A monster whose true nature she finally understood.

  He waited until she’d pulled back the blankets and settled on her bed, until she’d shoved all the pillows behind her back and opened her computer.

  “You’re not going to sleep?”

  “Yeah. I’m just checking email, news reports, the usual stuff. To make sure there’s nothing we need to know about. Like, if Sotiris’s New York penthouse conveniently exploded and got rid of him for us.”

  He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed between them. “He’d likely survive it.”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “He has the ability to . . . travel by unusual means when he needs to. It requires an uncommon amount of energy, so most sorcerers use the power sparingly, but I saw him escape that way more than once, when Nicodemus was about to overru
n his position in battle. So, if he was aware the residence was about to explode, even a few seconds’ notice, he could simply remove himself from the building.”

  She blinked in silence, then asked, “How do we kill someone who can do that?”

  “We don’t. If you’re right, and we find Nicodemus in this Florida place we’re going, he will do the killing. He’s always been the only sorcerer who could defeat Sotiris, and even then, their rivalry lasted decades before Sotiris finally resorted to trickery to win.”

  “Well, that’s great,” she muttered. “Maybe I should double check my research, then. Make sure we’ll find your Nicodemus where I think we will.” She looked up when he stood. “You going to shower?”

  “Yes. I’ll be quiet if you’re asleep when I return.”

  “I probably won’t be. But okay.”

  MAEVE WORKED ON her computer for what seemed like a long time. By the end, she was yawning so much that she was losing her place as she re-ran every search, and re-checked every finding and assumption in her hunt for Nicodemus Katsaros. She kept listening for the shower to cut off, convinced Dragan had fallen asleep in there, but then she’d hear the rattle of the shower curtain, or the sound of soap dropping into the tub. Maybe he’d pulled a muscle or something, and was letting the hot water pound the stiffness away. Stiffness. Right. She blushed at her own thought, then blushed harder that she’d even made the connection. She growled softly. “I’m just tired,” she muttered. Two days of non-stop driving, topped by vampires first attacking her and then showing up as the local cops. Any sane person would be exhausted.

  The shower went silent with a clunk of old pipes, and she gave the closed door a guilty look, as if Dragan could somehow hear her thoughts now that the water wasn’t running. Right, because that’s how physics worked. Making a face at her stupid thoughts, she quickly shut down her laptop and slid it onto the cheap bedside table, then turned off her side of the shared light fixture. Sliding beneath the covers, she put her head on the pillow, which smelled slightly of bleach, and closed her eyes just as the door knob twisted to open.

  She kept her eyes tightly shut, not wanting to know if Dragan was naked. Not that it mattered much, since when he wore the sweatpants she’d bought him, they were slung so low on his hips, that he was as good as naked anyway. Well, maybe not exactly as good. But pretty damn close.

  She stayed that way, as he moved quietly around about the room. Soft sounds betrayed his movements as he draped his jeans over a chair back, the tiny click of the hoodie string tips when he dropped it on the dresser, the cushiony noise of the bedspread being pushed to the floor, and the scratchy slide of the sheets as he pulled them back and lay down. She expected him to toss and turn restlessly the way he had the previous night, but he must have been tired, too. Because in a very short time, his breathing evened out into sleep.

  And then, so did hers.

  She woke when someone screamed, a terrified cry for help as if the devil himself was holding the knife. Sitting up in bed, she stared wildly around the dark room, taking in the tightly closed door, the street lights edging the blackout shade on the lone window. Her gaze fell to Dragan’s still form, his breathing smooth and unbroken, while her own chest was tight, her heart pounding.

  Had Dragan been the one who screamed? Had she? She stroked her throat, which didn’t feel sore or strained. But Dragan didn’t look like a man who’d had a screaming nightmare, either. Her eyes lifted to the window again. Someone outside? Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she sipped from the bottle of water she’d left there and stared at that pale outline of light behind the shade. She could go over there and check. She wouldn’t even have to look out the window. This was a small motel, only one floor. She could look through the door’s security peephole. But whatever noise there’d been, whoever had made it, seemed to be long gone. Better she wait until morning. Besides, she didn’t want to wake Dragan. As exhausting as the day had been for her, it had to have been much worse for him.

  Decided, she twisted the cap onto the water bottle and placed it on the table, but instead of sliding back into her own bed, she grabbed her pillow and blanket, and crept the few feet to Dragan’s bed instead. It was a big queen size, just like hers. He slept completely uncovered, fully dressed and barely moving. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she lay on the very edge of his bed, and then froze, waiting for him to notice. But he didn’t.

  She gradually relaxed into sleep, certain he could handle whatever nightmare might crash through window or door.

  DRAGAN WAITED until Maeve returned to sleep, before turning his head to gaze down at her lying next to him. She’d had a nightmare, her scream intruding into his own to draw him awake while her terrified cry was still filling the small room. He’d opened his eyes briefly, but his senses—fine-tuned by both magic and experience—would have detected any threat long before she did, and they quickly told him what he already knew—the only intruder had been the one in her dreams. He didn’t fault her for that. Any normal person would have nightmares after being attacked as she’d been, especially given her unfamiliarity with vampires. That he’d taken it in such easy stride only spoke to his own twisted life, and the truth that she’d be safer getting as far as possible from him and his troubles.

  And yet, there she was lying in his bed, having sought that comfort in response to her fear. She felt . . . safe with him. His chest filled with an emotion he couldn’t name. But he knew this . . . she had somehow become his to protect. And he’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her.

  The Sonoran Desert, Mexico

  SOTIRIS CLOSED THE document he’d been reading and switched off the light, turning instead to the pitch-black desert rolling by on the other side of the big SUV’s tinted windows. He wasn’t driving his Maybach tonight. He wasn’t driving at all. His driver was a vampire. After all, who better to hunt for vampires than one of their own kind? Sotiris could have hunted just as well on his own . . . with some minor effort. But he’d needed a driver for the SUV, since he hated the things, and all but the weakest vampires could sense their own kind, which would make the hunt much more efficient.

  This particular vampire—his name was Ramiro—was physically stronger than magically, but he was well-connected among the many vampires of the drug cartel. And having been born in this general area, he spoke fluent Mexican Spanish. Having him along would save time in locating the isolated villages, and dealing with both humans and vampires. And if it came down to a physical confrontation with anyone they encountered, he was more than powerful enough to deal with it, thus preventing the waste of Sotiris’s energy on something so menial.

  Ramiro had approached Sotiris not long after the rather ignominious fall from grace of the Southern Vampire Lord Jabril, which was thanks mostly to the vampire lord Raphael’s interference. Since Raphael’s idea of a suitable replacement for the territory was considerably more . . . progressive, those of Jabril’s vampires who’d enjoyed his ruthless regime had been forced to adapt or die. Or, as in Ramiro’s case, find a more amenable posting. Hence, his work with Sotiris, who firmly believed in the survival of the fittest, and to hell with the rest. Ramiro was more than a driver, however. His talents were far more suited to clean and quiet assassination, especially when it came to eliminating anyone who posed an obstacle to his employer’s business interests. Even a sorcerer as powerful as Sotiris could benefit from traditional human investments, especially when one had a knack for picking up insider knowledge on several large corporate entities. That the knack came from his use of magic was only logical. He was a sorcerer, after all.

  “How much longer, Ramiro?” he asked, hating this endless drive, but admitting its necessity. It wasn’t as if he could drag a parade of powerful master vampires up to his Manhattan penthouse to be fed to his amplification device. Even the dullest doorman would have noticed that. The lake house, too, was out of bounds for now. He couldn’t trust the place�
��s security until he could be absolutely sure that neither the girl nor Dragan had given away the location. Unfortunately, he’d still have to empty it out and find another equally discreet location for his various collections. He hadn’t decided yet if he’d sell the place. Sorcerers of his power were able to think extremely long term. Even if the house had to sit empty for a hundred years, it might be worthwhile. It wouldn’t put an undue strain on his resources, and it was perfectly located—easily accessible from Manhattan, and yet remote enough that no one would think to look there. It had served him for a very long time before this most recent incident.

  “A few more miles, my lord,” Ramiro responded, turning his head slightly to be heard over the seat. There was a privacy screen that Sotiris could raise, if desired. But that wasn’t the case tonight. “There’s a small town just ahead,” the vampire continued. “Cartel-controlled like most of them, but this one’s ruled by a vampire master who’s more than typically powerful.”

  “Excellent.” Sotiris thought for a moment. He’d gone back and forth on the question of when to drain the donor vampires of their power, finally deciding that night would be better since every vamp’s power would be at its peak, strengthened as it was by an active vampire symbiote. He’d decided to use magical coercion to control them, when simple persuasion wouldn’t work. He could use sorcery to immobilize the creatures physically, if necessary. It would expend more of his power, but the pay-off would be worth it. And if he waited until nearly dawn to hook up his device to the donors, the sun’s rising would take care of the cleanup for him. He figured on taking two a night, until the device was fully topped off. The final number would depend on their relative strength, but his working assumption was no more than twenty vampires, which would have his device fully charged within ten days. Plenty of time for him to demonstrate its power to potential clients . . . in the most deadly way possible. He planned to charge a substantial fee for its use. He had to make it worth the price.