Vampires of the Caribbean

by Debra Dunbar

  “Cain?”

  Her voice was soft, but he jerked as if she’d shouted, grabbed her hand as if she’d given him permission. “Yes?”

  “Have you…eaten tonight?”

  An eerie stillness fell over him, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “No.” He took a deep, unnecessary breath. “Please don’t be afraid of me, Brea. I have changed. I’m stronger now.”

  Her heart pounded, her mouth too dry to speak. This was it, then. The moment she’d avoided. The moment she had to make the choice again. Decide if she could trust him again.

  “Is that a gatestone?”

  She never got to make her choice. The new voice still echoed in the night air as Cain surged forward, eyes wild as he drew back his hand then threw the gatestone behind her. Everything happened so fast that there was no time to think. Cain shoved violently against her shoulder, shoved her back with enough force to send her catapulting backward, off the ground and into the air. There was a shout, and then she was falling.

  And she kept falling.

  She landed on cold, hard stone. It should have broken bones, shattered her shoulder, but somehow, despite the sensation of a long fall, she appeared to have dropped onto the stone from only inches above. A slight hiss of breath escaped her as she bounced slightly then lay there staring up.

  More stone. She blinked at the ceiling, the smooth grey rock. Not in the jungle anymore. No dirt beneath her, no trees around her, no breeze. She was inside, inside somewhere cold and hard, and—

  “Hello.”

  A squeak escaped her lips before she snapped her mouth shut. She shot to a sitting position, ignoring her body’s aching protest, and snatched her seal skin to hold it in front of her. The room was surprisingly well lit, every corner holding a tall candelabrum with five cream-colored candles burning with soft gold flame. The room was largely empty but for a large solid oak table and a single chair.

  There was a man sitting in that chair. Long white-blond hair as straight as a blade fell around his face, framing eyes the color of a winter sky and sharp, pale features. He watched her with an expectant calm, as if he were allowing her a moment to get her bearings before beginning the interrogation hovering on his tongue.

  “Who— Who are you?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “An interesting question from someone who’s just fallen into my…workroom.”

  She darted a glance at the table and the wall beside it. Both were covered with parchments, maps and lists and other such things. The man cleared his throat as she looked, trying to make out what they said. A flush warmed her cheeks and she stopped spying to meet his eyes.

  “Where am I?”

  Slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood. The black velvet of his tunic was eerily silent, and if she hadn’t been looking right at him, she never would have heard him move. He fixed her with a look that was slightly less friendly than it had been before.

  “Tell me who you are and how you got here.” His voice was calm, but there was something in his tone that said he would not be so pleasant if he had to ask again.

  Brea bristled at the implied threat, but then froze as her brain reminded her of how she’d gotten there—and what she’d left behind. She shot to her feet, remembered she was naked, and almost fell over trying to cover herself with the seal skin again.

  “Cain is in trouble,” she gasped. “Please, you have to help me.”

  A slow, deliberate blink.

  She clenched her teeth. “My name is Brea. A minute ago I was on Paradise with my—with a friend. Someone attacked, and Cain—”

  “Did you say Paradise?”

  Brea jerked back at the sudden intensity in the man’s eyes. Red flecks glittered amidst the blue, and she stifled a gasp.

  “You’re a vampire.”

  He ignored the accusation and took a step toward her. Panic seized her heart and she scrabbled back another few paces, trying to maneuver herself closer to the candelabrum in the nearest corner. Her palm itched with the need for her dagger, and she cursed herself for letting Cain rush her. She should have planned better, should have brought clothes, her weapons, taken the time to dress—

  “You know where Paradise is?”

  She stepped behind the candelabrum, ready to use it as a weapon if she had to. “Yes.”

  Finally, he seemed to register what she was doing. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Invite my wife to join us, won’t you?”

  Brea frowned and followed his gaze. There was a gargoyle hanging from the ceiling, its body the size of a large house cat. It tilted its squat little head at the vampire, then opened its wings. She twitched back as it dropped from the ceiling, arced around the room, and vanished between two table legs.

  “What was that?”

  The vampire gave her a small, if somewhat strained smile. “A guardian gargoyle. Very useful for traveling. If you’ll wait but a moment, my wife will be here shortly, and then you can tell me what you know of Paradise.”

  The thought of his wife joining them wasn’t as comforting as he apparently thought it would be, and Brea had to fight not to hug herself, to try and fend off the rising dread unfurling in her stomach. “You’re a vampire. Shouldn’t you know about Paradise?”

  Her voice came out louder than she’d intended, but the vampire didn’t flinch. He tilted his head, studying her.

  “Paradise is rather like the threat of divine retribution for sin,” he said slowly. “Its existence is often discussed, but the details are…hazy.” He straightened, his gaze on her intensifying. “I would be most grateful if you could tell me how to find it.”

  No vampire ever went to Paradise willingly—and for good reason. But if he wanted to risk his afterlife traveling to vampire hell, Brea wasn’t going to stop him. Not when she needed to get back there herself. “My friend is there, and he’s in trouble. Promise you’ll help me save him, and I’ll tell you how to get there.” She paused and glanced at the table legs where the gargoyle had disappeared, wondering why he needed her help with such a beast at his command. The vampire followed her gaze.

  “The gargoyle requires a mental image to travel,” he explained in answer to her unasked question. “Either from its own memory or that of the person wishing to travel. Sadly, no one I know of has ever been to Paradise and returned.”

  “You are not going to Paradise.”

  The vampire and Brea both turned as a section of one wall opened and a woman entered. She was stunning, soft black hair falling to her shoulders in waves, dark eyes shining as they took in the room, bright red cloak framing a body gowned in a simple but elegant black dress. She narrowed brown eyes at the vampire and crossed her arms.

  “Irina, my love, this is Brea. She’s just arrived by way of…” He looked expectantly at Brea.

  “Gatestone,” she supplied, trying to keep from screaming at him that they didn’t have time for niceties. With every second that passed, she was more and more certain that Cain was in danger. She gritted her teeth. If he was dead—really dead—when she found him, she was going to make him pay for getting rid of her like that.

  “By way of a gatestone, from the island of Paradise.”

  “Kirill, you are not going to a vampire prison,” Irina repeated.

  Brea’s jaw dropped. Kirill. A vampire. Holy tides, she was looking at the Prince of Dacia. She looked at the door again and noticed that it was unmarked, just a section of wall. Oh, gods, she’d transported into a secret room. The secret room of the vampire prince. Her blood cooled, sharp stabs of apprehension trickling down her spine in a skin-tingling wave. This was very, very bad.

  “It seems she’s left a friend behind,” Kirill continued. “She says she requires help to save his life.”

  Irina perked up, dropping her arms. “Well then, what are you waiting for? We have to help them.”

  “An excellent idea,” Kirill said dryly. He approached his wife and laid a gentle kiss on her lips.

  Even from across the room, Brea could feel the love between them
, feel it in that one small gesture of affection. An image of Cain’s face filled her mind, her lips tingling with the memory of his kiss. She closed her eyes. If that was the last kiss…

  When she finally trusted herself to open her eyes without crying, she found both the vampire and his wife staring at her.

  “We’ll get him back,” Irina said kindly. She patted her husband’s shoulder. “Whatever his faults, my husband is really quite determined.”

  “She flatters me so,” Kirill murmured. He straightened, laying a final kiss on his wife’s head before looking at the gargoyle now perched on the table. “Precautions must be taken. Time is of the essence, so simplicity must win over conservation.”

  Irina narrowed her eyes. “And what do you mean by that?” She crossed her arms. “What contract are you calling in?”

  Kirill smiled. “The dragons signed the papers last week.” He turned his attention to Brea. “I will need more details, of course. Lay of the land, expected numbers, the circumstances under which you left, etc.”

  Brea’s jaw dropped. “Dragons?”

  “Yes. Fire is quite effective against the undead, and if we are to take the risk of making ourselves the target of an entire island of—”

  “We are not bothering the dragons with this,” Irina said firmly. “Honestly, husband, you are missing such an obvious solution.”

  The shock at the vampire’s easy mention of the giant reptilian kingdom faded, and Brea’s earlier panic made a bone-numbing comeback. She dug her fingers into her seal skin, barely resisting the urge to scream at the royal couple that it didn’t matter who they brought as backup. All that mattered was that they left now.

  Kirill frowned. “And what obvious solution am I missing?”

  His wife smiled. “Ivy.”

  Chapter 4

  Cain stared at the glowing portal the gatestone had opened, every muscle tense and unmoving as he watched Brea fall through. His opponent was before him, the warden’s glowing eyes a warning that he’d seen what Cain was up to, that he knew he’d nearly escaped. The danger was there and it was immediate. But all Cain could think about was Brea.

  Had the gatestone worked? He’d panicked, thrown the stone, and scrabbled to think of someplace safe, only to come up blank. The gatestone had taken her somewhere, had come up with its own idea of a “safe place,” but who knew where that might be? The light winked out as quickly as it had appeared.

  I will never see her again.

  The distraction cost him. He could have beheaded the warden, yes—that much he could do on muscle memory alone. But this wasn’t just any vampire. It was the warden of Paradise, and killing him would mean the death of not just vampires, but innocents. And if Cain allowed himself to be responsible for the deaths of all those innocents, then he would never be worthy of Brea. Would never be worthy of himself. And so he hesitated.

  And that was all the warden needed.

  “Glotat’!”

  The foreign word barely registered, and then the ground opened up beneath Cain with a hiss of falling dirt and the faint grinding of stones clicking together like teeth. He shouted, swinging out with his free hand and his blade, trying to find purchase on the earth as he fell. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to halt his slide into the ever-widening pit. A puddle of water caught him, soaked his clothes, and he fought to regain his footing. He looked up just in time to see tree roots shoot over the top of the ten-foot pit, knitting themselves into a grate that only the thinnest slivers of moonlight managed to seep through. It was more than enough light for a vampire’s eyes, but nothing he could see offered any comfort.

  Twin red dots peered through a gap in the roots. The warden’s eyes.

  “I’ve never used the spell before.” He tilted his head. “No one has ever come so close to escaping.”

  The water rose, lapping at Cain’s legs. He blinked as a wave of nausea washed over him before receding, the familiar warning of free-flowing water. Wood groaned, and he pushed the nausea back, staring in growing horror as the roots overhead pulled tighter. Either his mind was playing cruel tricks on him, or the roots were lower than they’d been before. Bile washed up his throat. The roots were lower than the edge of the pit. The pit that was still filling with water. He would be trapped underwater, never dying, but floating there, starving. Hoping for one of his enemies to find him and have enough mercy to kill him outright.

  “Let me out.” He tried to keep his voice calm, normal. “Let me out and I’ll kill you.”

  The warden’s eyebrows rose, hope lighting his eyes for just a moment before his shoulders fell. “I cannot. You’ve offered me a bargain, required my consent for my own death. The cursed magic of my bonds prevent me from doing what you’ve asked.” He laughed, but it was a sad, hopeless sound. “You’ve just sealed your own fate. And mine.”

  Cain gripped his blade. It was as long as his forearm. If the roots were not too high above the water line, perhaps he could cut through them from the water.

  “It won’t work.”

  The warden’s voice was empty of emotion now as he stared down at Cain, waiting for the water to swallow him. He sat down, let his legs dangle over the edge into the pit like a child sitting at a fishing hole. “The trap is alive. You can hack away at it all you like, it will only continue to grow.” He raised the fingers of one hand to brush his scarred face. “This is hell, Cain. Hell. I thought you would kill me, free me from this place. The voices said you would free me.” He shook his head, slowly. “But you won’t. You won’t do anything.”

  The water was rising so slowly, as if that was part of the punishment, part of the torture. It was up to Cain’s knees now, but the initial gush seemed to be over, the rest of the pit content to fill at a much more leisurely pace. Cain stared at the pit that would be his grave, tried to think of a way out. But he couldn’t concentrate past the nagging wonder of where he’d sent Brea.

  He could still see her face, the conflict of whether to let her fear of him overwhelm everything else. The hunger inside him throbbed, angry at having been denied too long. He’d meant to feed after his last kill, had been on his way to do just that when he’d found her, when he’d forgotten everything else. She’d seen the hunger in him, seen what the scent of Marun’s blood had done. That had been his chance to prove he was a changed man, prove he had control now.

  But the warden had interrupted, and there had been only one way to assure her safety. The gatestone. Now she was gone.

  Suddenly the warden jerked his head to the side and stared at something beyond the pit. Shock stole across his features, twisting his face with dismay.

  “Y-you! You!”

  Cain retreated to the far side of the pit, straining to see whom the warden was looking at. The pit was too deep, the angle too sharp for him to see anything beyond the muddy edge. Frustration pulled his nerves tight, and he looked around again, searching anew for some means to climb the pit, to see what was going on.

  A Dacian accent floated past the netting of tree roots. “I know you.”

  It was a man’s voice, soft with something between awe and satisfaction. The warden scrambled to his feet and backed away until he too was beyond Cain’s line of sight. Cain secured his grip on his blade, tensing as if the new arrival would somehow leap down into the pit with him.

  “Stop.”

  The new voice was sharp, cold. There was a strangled gasp from the warden and then a silence that suggested he’d done as the voice commanded. Cain considered calling out to the voice, giving in to his desperate need to know what was going on, but he held his tongue. Patience. Wait for more information.

  “You are the one,” the stranger continued. “The one responsible for my family’s afterlife. You are the vampire whose blood was in the tithe.”

  A face appeared at the edge of the pit as the speaker took another step toward the warden. For just a second, he glanced down. Cain stared in disbelief.

  It was Kirill, prince of Dacia. His eyes glittered with scarlet
flecks, white-blond hair fastened securely behind him so that nothing hid his pale features. He tilted his head.

  “What is your name?” he inquired.

  Cain opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. He had a reputation for killing vampires, had been banished to this place because of it. There was a strong possibility that telling the vampire prince his name would not be in his best interest.

  “I appreciate your caution,” Kirill said, a faint hint of approval in his tone. “Would it help your decision if I were to mention that my wife is currently looking after a naked selkie who is rather hysterical about the fate of a vampire she’s just left behind on a prison isle?”

  “Brea,” Cain breathed. His heart leapt into his throat, and he moved forward with the force of it, closer to Kirill. “You mean Brea. She’s all right, then?”

  “Indeed.” Something flickered in Kirill’s eyes, something less friendly than before. “I would very much like to know how you managed to send her to me—to a room that only three other people knew about, no less.” He smiled, revealing a hint of fang. “That is, after you tell me your name.”

  “Cain.”

  The smile widened. “The vampire assassin. How very…interesting. You and I have a great deal to talk about.” He looked back at the warden. “Release him.”

  The warden spoke without coming closer, staying out of Cain’s line of sight. “Plevat’.”

  The wooden grate receded into the earth with a series of hissing snaps, and Cain found himself launched into the air by a sudden lurch in the earth. He twisted in midair and managed to land on his feet before stumbling a few paces to regain his balance. His eyes landed on new faces behind the prince, and he nearly fell over again.

  A man and a woman stood behind Kirill. The woman was glowing. A soft golden glow, like the first rays of the sun, the light emphasized by the glittering gold of her gown. The light bled into the silver moonlight, making her blue eyes dance. She smiled at Cain, a trace of amusement in her face as he stared at her hair. Never in his life had he seen hair so long. It poured from her head, down her back, down her legs, and pooled beside her in loop after loop of shining gold.