The Beckett Vampire Trilogy: Midnight Wine, Lycan and Sanctuary

by Jan McDonald

He put his hand on Maria’s shoulder. “We need to leave,” he said.

  He had needed no audio visual confirmation, no sensory bombardment of returning religion. He knew this time, at the level of his soul, he knew the truth. And he believed. Beckett was a priest, after all.

  Unashamed tears of sadness, regret and love fell down his face as he traced the cross on her forehead. “Goodbye, Kat. I’m so sorry I let you down, but I couldn’t bring myself to see what was in front of me. Requiescat in Pace, Rest in Peace, I reckon you deserve it.”

  Sister Maria rose with him and followed him into the corridor.

  “Father ...”

  “Beckett,” he interrupted, “Just, Beckett.”

  “Father Beckett,” she persisted,” Isn’t there something else you have to do for her?”

  Beckett knew what he had to do, but first he needed to find Lane.

  “It can wait. You should leave now.”

  Maria protested but he took a firm grip on her arm. “When I say, you should leave, you really should leave.”

  She allowed him to propel her to the corridor and towards the front door. He turned on his heel and strode with rapidly increasing strength, towards the chapel.

  Nik was on his back under Rabb, struggling to match the strength of the Proconsul when Beckett entered. As they tumbled across the chapel floor he picked up the dagger that had been Kat’s undoing. Without hesitation he strode across to them, kicked Rabb under the chin, knocking him away, and with one clean slash, opened up Nik’s throat. The second cut severed his head from his convulsing body. He threw it into the tomb and turned, blood spattered, to Rabb.

  “Which side are you on Rabb? I’m still not sure.”

  “My friends call me Mihai,” he said gently. “Your side, Beckett. For many years I have known of the unrest and the cruelty within our race. There is no place for it in this world. I had to allow them to think I was with them so that I could monitor their actions and schemes more easily. When you don’t know who to trust, you trust no-one.”

  “But you killed the Patriarch. I heard you admit to that.”

  “He is not dead, Beckett. I would never do that. Santorini was happy to believe that I had done so, but the Patriarch has decided to step down. I have been elected by the Council to take his place. The Code really does need revision, but not in the way that Santorini and the others wanted. We need to tighten up on everything for the sake of our race and the safety of the humans who we share this earth with. It won’t be easy, but then I’ve got plenty of time to do it in. There are vacancies on the Council that need filling. Perhaps you would care to join us? She doesn’t know it yet, but Lane is to be the next Proconsul and I think you would make an excellent Tribune.”

  “I don’t really know what that is.”

  “Call it a bad vampire catcher and dispatcher, that’s pretty much it. From what I’ve seen, you’re already doing the job. You may as well hold the title.”

  Lane moved into the chapel so fast they were just able to track her. She scanned the place for Nik and her eyes came to rest on Gregori’s tomb. She jumped up into it in one easy leap to see for herself the bloody remains of the boy. She looked at Beckett. He nodded briefly. It was over.

  “Kat?” she asked.

  Beckett lowered his head, took a deep breath in and couldn’t reply.

  She came to his side in an instant and her arm was around him. “Oh, God, Beckett, I’m so very sorry. I would have done anything to prevent this.”

  He nodded his understanding.

  “I have to leave this place,” said Mihai. “I can’t be found here.”

  “No-one is going to be found here,” Beckett’s voice was choked with emotion and exhaustion. “You go, I’ll see to it. Take her with you,” he nodded at Lane. “Take the boy too, he looks in bad shape. His name’s Darius – look after him, will you?”

  Mihai nodded and leaped into the tomb and put a hand on Lane’s shoulder; his vast age and experience controlling her and willing her to follow him.

  “Come with me, Proconsul, we need to talk.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Beckett found his way to the monastery’s small kitchen. Once inside he pulled the ancient stove away from the wall and yanked the tubing from its connections, opening the valve to its maximum.

  He left the room immediately and returned to Kat. He picked her body up effortlessly and strode towards the front door. In the hallway he stopped and laid her down. “Be right back, honey.”

  The corridors were bare but in the chapel he had seen what he needed. The drapes in there were ancient and heavy and the tapestries, although threadbare, were huge. He yanked them down and threw one of them into the tomb, then climbed onto it with one of the vigil candles in his hand. The dusty material ignited immediately and the flames soon took hold of Nik’s clothing and the silk lining of the tomb. Despite the amount of silver, the fire spread quickly, feeding on ancient timbers.

  Beckett plucked one that was newly alight from the edge of the growing fire and marched back down the corridor.

  “This might help.”

  He spun around. Lane was standing there holding a large container.

  “Petrol,” she said, “from the jeep.”

  He took the container from her, understanding unspoken.

  Together they walked the corridors, dribbling petrol onto the floor as they went. They stopped short of the kitchen where the hiss of the escaping gas could just be heard.

  “How fast can you run?” she asked.

  “We’re about to find out.”

  “Hold on to me,” she said.

  He understood and put his arm around her. She was at the front door, with him still holding on to her, in a fraction of a second.

  Lane reached into her pocket and took out her slim gold lighter and flicked it into life. She threw it down onto the nearest puddle of petrol.

  The flames were immediate in taking on a life of their own and engulfing the corridor. Beckett stooped and picked up Kat’s lifeless body.

  “You have to leave her here, Beckett. The fire will do what has to be done.”

  He looked at her, pain lighting his eyes but, he knew she was right. He put Kat down carefully. Then they both leaped for the outside.

  Mihai was at the gate with the jeep.

  “Get in, Beckett; it’s going to be tight.”

  Darius still lay unconscious across the back seat, so he and Lane jumped into the front together. The engine roared and they were heading back up the valley as the explosion ripped into the night.

  Mihai stopped the jeep. The flames licked into the darkness and from the middle of the fire, the monastery bell sounded for the last time.

  None of them spoke; they just sat watching the flames sweeping into the night.

  A figure stood at the edge of the flames, arms raised in a blessing – Sister Maria.

  Beckett turned to Mihai, but there was no sign of him and Darius was no longer on the back seat. He leaned back onto the headrest. “I hate it when that happens,” he said.

  “Get used to it,” she replied.

  “Meaning?”

  “I mean, I can sense you, Beckett. You were right, my dearest friend. My angel. I sense in you the turning. I can only assume it isn’t so violent with you because of the Anti-HVV. You know there is no more?”

  He nodded.

  “What the hell have you done to deserve all this, Handsome?”

  “I should have been there for her.”

  “Don’t do this Beckett. I am so very sorry about Kat but there really was nothing you could have done. We are what we are. I don’t understand why you have turned, I really don’t. The only thing I can think of is that in swallowing Kat’s blood it has reacted with the Anti-HVV to bring this about.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “We go on, Beckett. Wherever that might be. But we go on together – you’re going to need me.

  “I think I’ve always needed you, Lane.”

&n
bsp; “Yes, well, from what Mihai has told me, we’re going to be pretty busy from here on in.” She was silent for several minutes, then she whispered, “Did you pray for her?”

  He nodded. “Yes,” he said, “Suddenly, I knew. I understood the meaning of it all. I found my way back. I won’t go back to the Church, though. They don’t quite have a handle on it, you know? There are other ways to serve God. And I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather do it with.”

  Lane was silent and thoughtful as she laid her hand on his arm, her heart leaping at what after all may be possible.

  “I do have a more immediate problem though,” he said. “I’m hungry.”

  THE END

  Book Two

  Lycan

  Even a man who is pure in heart

  And says his prayers by night

  Can become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms

  And the moon is full and bright.

  Anonymous. (The Wolf Man)

  PROLOGUE.

  It was getting dark and the typical drizzle threatened to intensify. Jude Mason lay shivering at the edge of a pine forest, naked and unaware that he was being watched. Blood had congealed on his face and chest. He put his hand to his face and felt the growth of coarse hair that had appeared on his cheekbones. There was an alien feeling in his mouth, almost as if his teeth didn’t fit. He ran his tongue across his slavering jaws and winced as the sharp points and elongated canines drew blood. He tasted the coppery tang of raw flesh and spat onto the forest floor.

  The girl stood behind a tree. She knew only too well what was happening to him. She’d seen it before. Her brother Abram had suffered the same way up until the day he had died. The day he had been killed when the family were no longer able to protect him or those around him. The man was in obvious pain as he thrashed around in the bracken and the howl into the night chilled her soul.

  The man tilted his head back and sniffed the air; his nostrils twitched as he detected her scent and he leaped to his feet. She stepped out from behind the tree, arm outstretched, reaching out to him.

  His instincts were confused, her scent had fired something in him that his rational mind sought to obliterate and he felt the saliva pooling in his mouth yet his eyes were locked into hers. She was beautiful, a silky curtain of ebony hair and eyes to match, olive skinned with high cheekbones that gave her a haunting look, ethereal and yet earthy. Her entire appearance reflected her Romany origins.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I understand. I know your pain. Please let me help you.”

  He stood motionless, suddenly aware of his nakedness. She moved forwards unafraid. “Here,” she said, holding out her shawl to him. “It’s the best I can do for now. Come with me, I’ll find you some clothes. I’m Sabine Wood, my family are staying close by.”

  He looked at her, puzzled by her reaction to his appearance, wanting to respond but all too aware of the blood on him. He turned away from her and ran through the forest. She watched him; even the loping gait was familiar. It was Abram all over again. She crossed herself and said a silent prayer for the good looking man with the dreadlocks who was on the same thorny path that had taken her beloved younger brother from her.

  She could hear him crashing through the forest and the alarm of the wildlife as it scurried away from the beast that raged through the undergrowth. In the distance she heard the howl as clouds scudded away revealing the silver orb that had precipitated the transition from man to beast. She took comfort from the fact that there was only one more night left for the moon to remain full, one more night for him to suffer before he would be able to rest. She would search for him, seek him out and try and help him. For crazy as it was, in that brief moment when he had stared into her eyes and her soul, she knew that her fate was inextricably linked to his. For good or ill.

  She drew her woollen shawl about her shoulders in an effort to dispel the chill that had settled on her, owing nothing to the rain. She wondered if she would ever feel warm again. She knew her father would have nothing to do with it, the memories of Abram were still raw with him and he wouldn’t be willing to reopen the old wounds that had aged him an eternity and robbed him of the smile that had always been a part of him, now long gone. Whatever she could do for the man, she would do alone.

  The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Across the wild landscape of the Brecon Beacons where they merged with the Black Mountains, she heard the howl of torment and crossed herself again, praying this time for her own salvation.

  Jude Mason loped towards the farmhouse, tortured by pain and confusion. He was breathless when he reached the door but he ploughed straight into the nearest outbuilding, crashing through equipment and timber as he collected what he needed. Less than an hour later all windows and doors in the farmhouse were nailed and boarded shut from the inside. He was going nowhere, able to harm no-one except perhaps himself and he didn’t have a problem with that. He loaded his shotgun and placed the barrel under his chin. Unable to reach the trigger he looked around for anything that would reach and apply the necessary pressure. Not yet, but he would do it if it happened again. If once again he became wolf.

  He was exhausted, filthy and thirsty. Running the kitchen tap he put his head under it and drank, allowing the water to run over his face and hair. Withdrawing his head he shook it, pervading the atmosphere with the overpowering odour of wet dog.

  Unable to resist his overwhelming weariness, he lay curled up on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. Facing the door, with his shotgun within reach he fell into a fitful sleep peppered with dreams of rage and slaughter. And in his waking moments he prayed that his dreams were not in fact memories.

  CHAPTER ONE: OLD CLIENT, OLD CHAIR

  Acceptance had never been Beckett's strong point. Even in the priesthood he had questioned. His questions had never been answered, not by the Church. They didn't do questions, just authority. His answers had come from inside, from the still small place at the core of his being that held the key to everything. Ex Catholic priest with Catholic issues, guilt came as standard. Being a vampire wasn't going to come easy.

  It had begun ten years previously, when he had cradled his sister in his arms as she died; the victim of the most ruthless and savage of his new kind. He hadn't known what to do, helpless in the trauma of it all, but knowing that to call the police or an ambulance would be futile, neither could help Grace then.

  He had tried to pray to his God but the words wouldn't come, the light wouldn't come, the peace wouldn't come. His God was on a break. It was then that Lane had entered his life, melting in from the night, in control, taking over, containing his sanity. She was his saviour that night, preventing his mind from plummeting into the oblivion of the abyss, holding him in the reality of it. It hadn't been the dying that he couldn't handle, it was the rising.

  Together they had kept vigil over Grace in death, standard Catholic practice, he was somewhere near his comfort zone. But when she rose, the slow motion movie that had played out in front of him left nothing of his old life, his old faith; all had gone in the slice of the scalpel that had severed Grace's head from her body. Madness had set up camp in him in that moment and it had been Lane that had given him back his sanity. It was that night that drove him.

  And now he was one of them.

  Beckett tapped on Lane’s door and walked in, aware that she was alone. She flicked her long chestnut hair back from her face. “Morning, Handsome. Here. I have something for you.” She held out a small velvet box. “If you want a different colour, it’s no problem. I kept them clear for now.”

  Beckett took the box with a puzzled expression. He opened it carefully. Lane smiled.

  “It won’t bite,” she laughed.

  Beckett was staring down at a pair of contact lenses. “My eyesight is fine. More than fine. But you know that.”

  “They dramatically reduce the ultra violet rays and glare from the daylight. It doesn’t have to be sunny to harm our retinas. Daylight is enough. The centre that cove
rs your pupil is darkened to filter the light, like sunglasses. You will be glad of them Beckett. Trust me.”

  “You know I do.”

  “I have something else for you.”

  “Don’t tell me, ear plugs to drain out all the extra noises.”

  She smiled affectionately at him. “Idiot. No. Something I’ve been thinking about for some time.” She handed him a document from her desk. “I had it drawn up while you were asleep. Which incidentally, will be getting less and less.”

  Beckett took the document and began reading it. After several seconds he looked up at her with a stunned expression. It was a legal document naming him as a full partner in her psychiatric practice.

  “But … you can’t do this.”

  “That’s funny, because I already did. As I said, I have been thinking about it for a while. You are an excellent therapist Beckett and you’ll be an asset to the practice, especially now. Now you understand more fully.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes and sign it. It will make me very happy.”

  “I don’t have money to put into the practice.”

  “I know that. I don’t need money, Handsome. I need a partner. I want you for my partner. So, how about it?”

  He grinned at her and ran his hand through his unruly hair. “Well, yes. Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

  “I know that too. Here,” she handed him her pen. He hesitated momentarily then grinned at her and signed the paper.

  “So, the room opposite will be your consulting room. Much better than the rented broom cupboard you use at the moment. I’ve taken the liberty of having some business cards printed for you. They should be here later.” She got up from the chair and moved in her elegant way to the Chippendale sideboard and poured two glasses of single malt. “Let’s drink to it, partner.”

  He took the glass from her hand. “Partnership,” he said.

  He swallowed the fiery spirit appreciating at once the hints of peat and heather from the surroundings of its origin. His taste buds were alive and dancing. Another feature of the dark gift.