He sighed, remembering. “It was an age of distrust and superstition. Suspected werewolves were being burned alive throughout Europe, while innocent corpses, and some not so innocent, were being staked and beheaded by fearful priests and peasants. We were forced to work together to survive, but they took advantage of the situation.”
The venomous rancor returned to his voice, stoked by an undying fury that had survived the centuries. “It was forbidden, our union. Viktor feared a blending of the species. Feared it enough to kill his only daughter. Burned alive… for loving me.”
To Michael’s surprise, Lucian rolled up his own sleeve. He leaned back against the crumbling wall of the old subway station. “This is his war. Viktor’s,” Lucian said with simmering ire. “He’s spent the last six hundred years exterminating our species.”
He jabbed the needle into his arm, injecting Michael’s blood into his own veins. “And your blood, Michael, is going to bring an end to it all.”
My blood? Michael thought, baffled. He still didn’t understand that part. What’s so special about me?
Chapter Twenty-eight
A knock at the door of the infirmary interrupted Lucian’s tense conversation with Michael. He turned away from the captive American as Pierce and Taylor entered the refitted subway station. The two lycans had discarded their ersatz police uniforms in favor of their usual brown leather attire. “We have company,” Pierce announced.
Of course, Lucian thought. He did not need to ask who their guests were. Only Kraven and his minions knew of this hidden lair.
Nodding, he calmly extracted the needle from his arm. He placed a finger against the crook of his elbow, applying pressure to the site of the puncture. Michael’s singular blood cells now flowed through his veins; he was one step closer to his long-sought apotheosis. All he needed now was the blood of an elder vampire to complete the process and bring him the victory he had craved for centuries.
This close to success, Kraven and his thugs were an unwelcome annoyance. Lucian could only assume that Kraven had bungled things at the manor if he was now seeking sanctuary in the lycans’ subterranean lair. The fool, Lucian thought in contempt. Soon he would no longer require Kraven’s deceitful cooperation.
He headed for the exit, anxious to complete the night’s historic business. “Wait!” Michael called out as Lucian walked away deliberately. In truth, the lycan leader nearly had forgotten about the captured American. “What about Selene?” the young man asked anxiously.
That vampire bitch? Lucian recalled. The one who shot me full of silver a few nights back?
She would perish with the rest of her despicable breed.
Lucian’s private quarters, located deep within the underworld, were distressingly unlike the luxurious settings Kraven was accustomed to. Dark and dismal in the extreme, the bleak compartment reflected the joyless and obsessive nature of its absent owner. Stark metal shelves, loaded with rolled-up maps and stores of UV ammunition, jutted from disintegrating brick walls, while an ugly steel desk occupied one corner of the claustrophobic chamber. A detailed map of Ordoghaz, its defenses and interior layout, was spread out atop the metal desktop, with the exact location of the Elders’ crypt circled in red. A yellowing skull, with unmistakably vampiric fangs, rested atop a nearby shelf, and Kraven couldn’t help wondering whose skull it was.
Grease-stained windows looked out onto the bunker’s cavernous central chamber, the size of a jet hangar. Far too many lycans, at least for Kraven’s taste, scurried about outside, coming and going on elevated catwalks and subway tracks like so many foul-smelling, subhuman worker ants. The noisome atmosphere of the lair stank of petroleum, animal droppings, and lycan piss.
Kraven held a silk handkerchief over his mouth and nose, but it did little to keep out the stench. How have I sunk to this? he thought bitterly. I should be presiding over a palace, not hiding beneath the earth in a den of filthy animals!
Lycan soldiers surrounded Kraven and his meager security force. The snarling beast-men held the vampires at gunpoint while they waited upon Lucian’s pleasure. Kraven prayed there were no itchy fingers among the barbaric henchmen.
After several tense minutes, Lucian entered the chamber. He regarded Kraven and the others with ill-concealed annoyance.
“I thought we had a deal!” Kraven accused him. How dare this presumptuous canine treat him like an unwanted intruder!
“Patience, Kraven,” Lucian replied. His seeming civility barely masked a mocking, dismissive tone. The lycan commander gestured at Kraven’s men while addressing his own. “I would speak with Lord Kraven alone. Please escort the rest of our guests to the lounge.”
Kraven found it hard to believe that anything as civilized as a visitors’ lounge could be found in this foul, abysmal kennel. Nevertheless, he nodded at Soren, consenting to the arrangement. It was important, after all, to retain some semblance of authority, even as events rapidly spun out of control.
Six hundred years of planning, he reflected sourly, and everything goes to hell in the last forty-eight hours!
Reluctantly, Soren let himself and the other bodyguards be led away from Lucian’s quarters. He glanced unhappily over his shoulder at Lord Kraven, until the master and his lycan counterpart disappeared from view. He didn’t like leaving Kraven alone, not one bit.
A pack of lycan scum escorted them at gunpoint through a maze of winding, unmarked catacombs. Two of the subhuman savages were familiar to Soren. He identified the pair, from previous dealings with Lucian, as Pierce and Taylor. He regretted that Raze was not among them.
Vampire and lycanthrope marched in sullen silence, trading only hostile glares and sneers. Their uneasy trek ended at the rear of what appeared to be another abandoned bunker, where the long-haired lycan, Pierce, demanded that the vampires surrender their weapons.
Outnumbered and under the gun, Soren instructed his men to turn over their firearms. He glowered sullenly at both Taylor and Pierce as he handed over his own HK P7. An impertinent lycan frisked him for hidden weapons, but the vampire’s baleful gaze and intimidating attitude ensured that the search was both short and perfunctory.
Satisfied, the lycan escorts stepped aside to let Soren and his men enter the indicated chamber.
The undead janissary arched a suspicious eyebrow at what he found within. The so-called lounge was surprisingly hospitable-looking. A plush red carpet covered the floor of the long, narrow chamber, while the original benches apparently had been ripped out and replaced with richly upholstered couches and easy chairs. Heavy damask curtains covered the windows, and frosted amber ceiling lamps cast a warm golden glow over the premises. There was even a decent maple coffee table, stacked with dog-eared reading material. Nature and hunting magazines, primarily, a trifle out of date.
If you squinted, you almost could pretend you were back in the mansion.
Almost.
I don’t like this, Soren thought warily. Why would gutter-dwelling lycans need a place like this? How often could they expect honored guests?
He glanced back at the entrance. Pierce grinned evilly at Soren as he slammed the door shut. Soren heard the sound of heavy locks falling into place.
Hellfire! Growling, he ran to the nearest window and tore down the curtain. Beneath the heavy drapes, thick plexiglass windows were reinforced with gleaming titanium bars at least three centimeters across. He pounded angrily on the unyielding plastic, his worst fears confirmed.
This was no lounge. It was a trap.
“Son of a bitch!”
Back at Lucian’s quarters, Kraven waited for the lycan leader to treat him with the respect he deserved. I am your ally in this affair, he thought testily, not some pawn to be disposed of.
Visibly impatient, Lucian took a calming breath before addressing Kraven in soothing tones: “The Council has been destroyed. Soon you will have it all. Both great covens and a historic peace treaty with the lycans.” He flashed a conspiratorial smirk. “Who I trust will not be forgotten when the spoils
of victory are tabulated.”
Lucian’s silky assurances were not enough to allay Kraven’s concerns. “How do you expect me to assume control?” he demanded irritably. Their original plan—to take command of the covens in the confusion following the Elders’ assassination—lay in ruins. “Now that Viktor’s been awakened, there is no defeating him. He grows stronger even as we speak!”
That did not appear to worry Lucian. “And that is precisely why I needed Michael Corvin.”
He gave Kraven a cryptic smile.
* * *
The armory.
A half dozen lycans went about their duties, loading ammo, cleaning weapons, and generally preparing for an all-out assault on the vampires’ mansion. Bright-eyed men and women, wearing shabby brown clothing and military fatigues, beamed in anticipation, eager to carry their ancient war to the enemies’ very doorstep.
The sharp report of gunfire immediately electrified the soldiers inside the old bunker. They snatched up their weapons instinctively. Had the cowardly bloods launched a preemptive strike?
The door burst open, and Pierce and Taylor stuck their heads through the entrance. High-caliber semiautomatic weapons were clutched tightly in their hands.
“Entrance shaft alpha!” Pierce shouted. “Move it!”
Lucian’s quarters.
Kraven and Lucian shared a surprised look as the unmistakable roar of gunfire echoed through the meandering tunnels. For an instant, Kraven feared that Soren and his men had been summarily executed by Lucian’s forces, but no, the gunshots seemed to be coming from a different direction—not that he could tell easily in this bewildering maze of rat holes!
Within seconds, an even more dismaying explanation hit him with the force of certainty. Death Dealers! he realized, his face going pale. Kahn and Selene and the rest of their leather-clad assassins. Maybe even Viktor himself.
His undead heart pounded within his chest.
They’ve come for me!
The rusted metal grate was just where Selene remembered it, but now the grate itself had been torn up and carelessly tossed to one side, leaving only a gaping black pit in the floor of the drainage tunnel. She recalled running for her life through this very tunnel, pursued by an enraged werewolf.
Had that truly been only two nights ago? She felt as though her entire world had turned upside-down since then. Before I knew what my purpose was, where my loyalties lay, she lamented privately. Now I’m not so sure.
She and Kahn stepped over the lifeless bodies of a pair of lycan guards. Each corpse bore a single bloody bullet wound in its forehead. The dead lycans had defended the entrance to the werewolves’ underground lair, but not for long. Selene had to assume, however, that the short-lived gun battle had been heard in the unexplored catacombs below.
So much for the element of surprise, she thought.
Kahn raised his hand, signaling the Death Dealers behind him. The assault team, consisting of six additional operatives, swept forward, staking out defensive positions in the newly secured stretch of tunnel. Oiled black leather helped the taciturn Death Dealers blend in with the inky shadows around them. AK-74 assault rifles, loaded with silver ammo and equipped with infrared night scopes, were prepped for action.
Selene chose to stick with her trusty Berettas. She kept her guns raised and ready as Kahn cautiously approached the open pit. Peering over his shoulder, she saw that the top of the shaft had been surrounded with chain-link fencing and concertina wire. Apparently, the lycans didn’t want visitors.
Tough, she thought coldly. One way or another, she was going to find Michael.
Kahn unhitched a silver-plated grenade from his belt and pulled the pin. He tossed it toward the pit, and Selene held her breath as the explosive device bounced noisily across the cement like a huge ball bearing. It clinked one more time before disappearing over the edge of the pit.
Selene thought she heard something moving below…
Chapter Twenty-nine
Seen from the bottom, the yawning pit was revealed to be an old elevator shaft lined with steel ladders. Taylor and the other lycans scrambled up the ladders toward the unknown source of the echoing gunshots. In theory two of their fellow lycans were posted at the top of the shaft, but Taylor wasn’t holding out much hope for their chances. If they had been the ones doing the shooting, they already would have called for reinforcements.
Damn bloods! It was just like them to stage a sneak attack right before Lucian’s master plan came to fruition. We’ve got them running scared, he decided, putting a positive spin on the situation. They know their days are numbered.
Then the grenade tumbled past him.
His beady eyes widened in alarm as the silver fragmentation device clanged against the concrete walls before splashing down into the deep puddles of murky water at the bottom of the shaft. “Oh, shit!” Pierce swore, only a few rungs beneath him.
Like every other lycan climbing the ladders, Taylor threw himself flat against the metal rungs, trying to present as narrow a target as possible.
A flash from below was followed instantly by an earth-shaking blast that sent a fountain of sludge rocketing up the shaft, along with a spray of white-hot silver shrapnel. The toxic fragments sliced through lycan flesh and clothing, shredding Taylor and the others to ribbons. His leather gear was instantly turned into bloody confetti. He screamed in agony as he lost hold of the ladder and fell backward down the shaft.
Taylor crashed to earth a split second after Pierce, but they were both dead before they hit the ground.
Lucian’s quarters.
An explosive tremor rocked the cramped compartment. The heavy steel desk teetered like a wobbly stool, while the windows rattled and lightbulbs flickered and popped. The skull on the bookshelf, which had once belonged to a particularly formidable Death Dealer, toppled from its perch, crashing into bony fragments upon the hard concrete floor.
Sweat ran down Kraven’s aristocratic features. “Viktor,” he murmured fearfully, while Lucian sneered at the cowardly vampire quisling. The gunfire and explosion were alarming, true, but Lucian held onto his nerve without difficulty. He had been in far tighter pinches than this over the last six hundred years.
I hope Viktor is here, he thought. His fingers stroked the precious pendant upon his chest. We have old scores to settle, he and I. The dreaded Elder was powerful, but soon Lucian would be more than his match. All I need is Amelia’s blood.
Another explosion shook the underworld. Lucian heard the strident wail of twisting metal coming from outside his private chamber, and he rushed to the window, pressing his face against the streaky glass.
The compartment looked out onto the enormous central cavity of the bunker itself. Catwalks, ladders, and tiers of forgotten subway tracks covered the towering walls of the massive excavation like rusty metallic ivy. Lucian’s gray eyes narrowed in concern as, near the top of the gargantuan bunker, a huge steel pipe burst asunder, releasing a torrent of pressurized water high above the lower levels of his people’s sanctuary. An artificial deluge poured down upon the underworld like a sudden storm.
Lucian bit his lip. This complicates matters, he fretted, praying that the flooding would not interfere with Raze’s delivery of the final injection. I need an Elder’s blood within me to achieve the next level of immortal evolution.
“Is there another way out?” Kraven asked him anxiously, like a rat already preparing to desert a sinking ship. The ousted regent wrung his hands as his shifty gaze darted about the room, hoping perhaps for a secret passageway out of the bunker altogether.
Lucian turned away from the window. He regarded his supposed ally with disgust. “I guess it never occurred to you that you might actually have to bleed a bit to pull off this little coup.”
He tugged a UV pistol from his belt and racked a brightly glowing round into the chamber. The vampire winced at the sight of the luminous ammunition, and Lucian shot him a threatening look. “Don’t even think about leaving.”
The lycan co
mmander whirled toward the door. The sooner he rendezvoused with Raze and received the final injection, the sooner he would be able to exact gory vengeance on Viktor and his bloodsucking parasites.
BLAM-BLAM-BLAM! A bone-shattering impact slammed repeatedly into his back. He collapsed face first onto the dusty concrete floor, feeling a burning sensation along his spine. Silver, he realized instantly, recognizing the excruciating heat at once. I’ve been shot!
With effort, he lifted his head from the floor and looked back over his shoulder. Kraven stared down at him, clutching a smoking pistol of unfamiliar design. The preening vampire smirked as he contemplated his perfidious handiwork.
You’ll pay for this treachery, Lucian vowed, once I expel these cursed bullets from my flesh. He closed his eyes, and his lofty brow furrowed in concentration as he sought to rid his body of the deadly silver, just as he had done only a few nights before. Time was of the essence; he needed to squeeze out the bullets before the toxic metal poisoned him irrevocably.
To his distress, however, the fiery venom already seemed to be racing through his veins and arteries. Shocked and confused, he raised his hand before his eyes. The shallow veins running along the back of his hand grew swollen and discolored as he watched. The dark gray tracery extended from his wrist to his fingertips, pulsating beneath his skin.
What foul invention is this? he thought, eyes wide with horror. An agonized groan escaped his lips.
“Silver nitrate,” Kraven explained breezily. He stepped forward and pried Lucian’s own pistol from the lycan’s palsied grip. “I wager you weren’t expecting that.”
The armory.
More lycans poured into the crowded bunker, snatching guns and ammunition from the mounted weapon racks. Other lycans, disdaining human modes of combat, ripped apart their garments, hastening the Change. Claws extended from splayed human fingers. Knife-sized fangs stretched open protruding muzzles. Bushy black fur clothed naked skin, which took on an inhuman bluish-gray hue beneath the thick, matted hair. Twitching snouts sniffed the air. Foam dripped from hungry jaws.
[Underworld 01] - Underworld Page 27
