by Jan McDonald
“So it’s not genetic? It’s viral after all?” Beckett’s voice was getting louder.
Helena shook her head, oblivious to the suggestion of the possibility of having been wrong. “Actually, it’s both. A mutagen is a physical or chemical agent that has a direct effect on the DNA. The vampire mutagen is passed through human body fluids, just like HIV. In the saliva of the bite mainly and if it gets into the digestive tract, in other words if the vampire blood is swallowed, it’s a done deal.”
Beckett paled. “Great. You’re going to tell me I have AIDS next.”
“No, but it is Randall’s research into AIDS that led him here. His anti HVV is nothing more than a vehicle for turning off the antigens produced from the bacteria in the appendix.”
“What about the Born, why doesn’t it affect them?”
Because the Born, as you call them, are almost a separate species. Their DNA was mutated so long ago that it replicates perfectly in their offspring. Two vampires producing a child will always produce a pure blood vampire. Their own immune systems effectively eradicate any human DNA. Your silver nitrate bullets won’t kill them either, but they may slow them down. I’m afraid it’s the old way or no way with them.”
“Better load up then,” muttered Beckett.
“I haven’t quite finished,” she said quietly. “There’s one thing I need to be sure.”
Beckett was pacing up and down, his hands on his hips, his frustration oozing from every pour. “And that is?”
“A sample of Randall’s blood.”
“Get what you need. You’re coming with us,” Lane said quietly. She turned to Beckett, “I need to talk to you outside.”
He followed her into the corridor where she stood arms folded leaning against the wall, her right knee bent so the sole of her black leather booted foot was against the wall and her face was stony.
“Okay, Handsome, let’s do this now before we get too deep into the shit and it affects the outcome.”
“What?”
“Exactly. What. What the hell is wrong with you? It’s time for the poor Beckett scenario to finish. You are like me now, a vampire, a being who will live to God knows how old. Living off human blood in the most ethical way we can. From people who voluntarily save us from starvation on a daily basis. You could be dead, or worse, Undead. But you’re not, you’re alive and you should be happy, not going about as if no-one else suffers. Get with the programme Beckett, or …”
In a movement so fast, that even she was caught unawares, Beckett lunged forwards against her, pressing his hands into the wall just above her shoulders. His mouth was on hers and he was kissing her so deeply that her ultra slow breathing speeded up to almost normal.
Shock was her first response but she resisted its follow up to push him away. Seconds later she was returning his kisses, her arms in mid air, wanting to hold him but not daring to.
Eventually he pushed himself off the wall. His face betrayed his shock at his own action and the heat of her response. “Um, I’m sorry Legs. I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that you looked so damn sexy leaning against the wall like that, and …”
Lane smoothed her hair and looked away. She had wanted him to do that for such a long time and hadn’t realised it until that moment. Now he obviously regretted it. She daren’t look at him.
“… And you’re right,” he said, effectively changing the subject. “I’ve been an asshole. I don’t deserve a friend like you. Any of you.”
The word ‘friend’ hung in the air between them like a wall that both were afraid to scale.
“Yes, well, that’s what friends are for. You okay?”
“Yep. You?”
She nodded, “Yep. Let’s go, Handsome. I’m afraid for Darius.”
The mention of the boy pulled at Beckett. This had to be about Darius first, Santorini and the others later. Though the two were about to be inextricably linked. There was going to be a lot of blood spilled. Old and new, Born and Created.
Helena had already left for her lab to pack only the most necessary of her equipment and Jude, although subdued, was on his feet and ready to leave. Sabine seemed over anxious but insisted that she was fine and ready to go. Jo was distant and contemplative, communing with his Holy People. Good, thought Lane, We’re going to need all the help we can get.
In little less than an hour, Lane and Beckett had packed their guns and the ammo loaded with small explosive charges that would send liquid silver nitrate throughout the body of its victim. Lane had pushed her ancient Toledo steel blade that opened into a sword into her boot and fastened a dual shoulder holster under her leather jacket. In her inside pocket was the large scalpel that would sever the heads of those she killed and then remove the heart. No-one that stood against them and died would be allowed to rise again.
Sabine went paler by the minute watching their preparations. It didn’t go unnoticed.
“I don’t know why you want in on this,” said Jude. “Why don’t you stay here? I’ll come back, I promise.”
“And why do you want in on this? It’s not your fight.”
“Well, I think it is. I’m not so different from them. And I owe them.”
“You don’t owe them your life.”
“I think you’re wrong. At least I have a life. I have no idea what is going to happen to me or how I’m going to live with it, but I do know I am what I am for a reason. That much was made very plain to me.”
“When?”
“When I was with The Holy People and the Ancient Ones. Nothing was said, I just know.”
“I’m coming with you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He nodded and reached inside his jacket, “Then you’d better have this. Aim at the head, you may miss the heart.” He passed a small pistol to her, his personal small arm whilst he had been in the SAS.
“I never miss,” she said. “My family are Rom; we live in and from the countryside. I have never missed a rabbit for the pot nor have I been such a bad shot that the animal suffered. I won’t miss the heart.”
“It won’t kill them, just slow them down and bring them to their knees. Long enough for them to be dealt with.”
Images of the blades the other’s carried drove the blood from her face again. “I understand.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: DARIUS
Darius had been luckier than Lane anticipated. By the time she was reading his note, his flight had landed in Thessaloniki. Thirty minutes later he was heading away from the airport in a hired Jeep. Fast.
In the hour and a half it had taken them to prepare for the journey and what lay at its end, Darius was driving into Parthavos, a mere two kilometres from the monastery of Agios Georgios. It had been easy to get out of Mihai where the nuns were located, and the young survivor.
As the narrow road wound around the hillside speckled with olive and lemon groves the scent of the trees wafted on the night breeze. Two minutes later he rounded the corner of the road to come face to face with the charred remains of the old monastery. It’s burned out bell tower pointed heavenward like an accusing finger. Its roof was gone along with its bell and its blackened walls stood like monoliths against the darkening sky.
Darius stopped the Jeep and jumped out. He stood watching, replaying, rewinding, this time it would be him that dealt the final blow to Andrei. It hurt, deep inside as he remembered their youth and how close they had been, playing in the garden of his parents London home. Parents who had fled to Britain a year before Andrei was born, leaving Budapest for the relative safety of the West. Andrei was fifteen years older than Darius and he couldn’t remember when his brother had changed, but he remembered the night that Andrei had come home late, and in a rage had slaughtered their father where he stood and ripped open their mother’s throat seconds later. Darius had been ten and he had run. He had run fast and far and had spent the rest of his life seeking the courage and satisfaction of revenge. Now it was close. Mihai had said it was the younger vampire that had survived. It coul
d only be Andrei.
He took a deep breath and jumped back behind the wheel of the open Jeep, crashed the gears and took off with the screech of tyres on old concrete.
The moon was low over the monastery of Agios Petros, illuminating the road and any vehicle that approached. He stopped, threw the gears into reverse and backed away. No point in announcing his arrival.
A hundred yards back the road passed through a small copse, he slowed to a crawl and pulled the Jeep off the road into a small stand of trees. Shelter enough for the Jeep. Shelter for him on arrival was another matter. He had to do this right, had to find Andrei unawares. It would be his only advantage. He would take a chance that he was too busy to detect his scent or hear his approach from a distance.
In Larissa he had purchased a hunting knife; a gun would have been possible but would have taken time and in any case he didn’t have the silver nitrate ammo. The knife would do its job if given the chance. There would be no running this time.
He thought of Beckett and Lane, more like parents and the only family he had known for many years. He was sorry to have run out on them, but if he had waited they would have taken over the show again, and again he might be frustrated as he watched another’s hand end Andrei’s life. He was deep in thought and memories and didn’t become aware of the other headlights until they were upon him. He jumped into the shelter of the trees and watched as the other vehicle, another hired Jeep pulled up beside his.
He stood behind a tree and watched as a young girl got out of the vehicle slowly. Angel ? What the hell?
He processed the information and his options quickly. If he stayed put she may go away. But what if she went on the monastery? She’d be alone with the vampires who had no scruples about taking a life.
He made a decision and ran into the road.
Angel let out a small scream of surprise. She was pale and shaking. He grabbed her by the shoulders.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? How did you get here? How? Tell me!” He was shouting and suddenly realised he had been shaking her. He dropped his hands and lowered his voice.
“Tell me.”
“I followed you,” she said, half sobbing. “I was on the same flight as you, I was careful that you didn’t see me. I knew you’d react like this. I wasn’t about to let you go into this on your own, Darius. I’m sorry.”
“So am I. Now I have to think about your safety.”
“What about yours? You don’t seem to care what happens to you. But I do. And so does Beckett, and Lane. I’m here and I’m going with you.”
“Oh, no. No you are not. No question. You are going to get back in your car and drive back to Parthavos. Wait for me there.”
The glint of defiance was bright in her eyes and he knew that nothing he could say would change it.
“Fuck!” he yelled. He let his head fall and couldn’t look at her. After a few moments he said, “You do exactly as I tell you and on no account are you going in with me. You can wait outside and if I don’t come back out within the hour, you get back to Parthavos and wait there. I have no doubt that Beckett and Lane won’t be too far behind. Understood?”
She nodded tearfully, her dark eyeliner making black rivulets down her cheek.
“It’s on foot from here, just around the corner. And quietly. Don’t speak, don’t say a word. Their hearing is so acute they can hear a mouse fart in Athens. I’m banking on them being busy or distracted. Enough to let me get in there.”
He saw the stubborn look he’d come to associate with her. “I mean it. You do as I say or I’ll knock you out cold here and now and bundle you back in your Jeep. Your choice.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll do as you say. Just promise me you’ll come back and wait for Beckett if it looks too dangerous.”
He didn’t reply.
“Darius! Promise me.”
“Yes, all right. Now let’s go. Stay behind me and no sound.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: THE RETURN
Beckett refrained from speaking his thoughts about their trip, it had increasingly become like a charabanc outing. He made sure he sat next to Jude on the aircraft, much to Sabine’s disapproval. He was concerned that despite the man’s convictions, he was in no shape for what awaited them. And he didn’t want to be in such close proximity to Lane.
Jude listened to him quietly then took hold of Beckett’s arm.
“Forget the wolf thing. I’m ex-SAS Beckett. I can handle myself. And yes, I know what they are capable of but I’m up to it. Are you?”
“Of course.”
“Then let’s go kick some blood sucking arse. No offence.”
Beckett was smiling before he realised it. “None taken. I’ve been thinking. What are you going to do after this?”
Jude shrugged, his piercing eyes not shy of penetrating Beckett’s defences. “I’m going back to Afghanistan. There’s a whole army of werewolves in those caves, Beckett. I can’t leave it. Someone has to take a stand on that. Zero tolerance.”
“Need company?”
Jude’s surprise was evident. “Well, I didn’t expect that. Can I ask why?”
Beckett was quiet for a moment, becoming serious, “Well, let’s just say it’s only fair. You’re here for us, so I’ll come with you.”
They were in the air rapidly, courtesy of the Vampire High Council’s network that extended to the airports and ports and their trip had been put in place by the Patriarch. Mihai had extensive influence. The seat belt sign was off and Lane stood up and leaned over him. A small charge of electricity passed through him, her scent was in his nostrils and rapidly filling him, her energy was everywhere. What had happened, what had changed? Somewhere along the line their relationship had shifted. It was uncomfortable and he sensed regret in her. Damn it.
Landing at the small airstrip of Kozani they were met by Dimitri Petrides, a human who served the Council well. He cleared them through customs rapidly with no inspection, and given the arsenal they carried with them, Beckett sighed with relief.
Lane spent some time with him before returning to the others.
“Mihai is waiting for us and Dimitri will take us to him. He felt that the least waves we make at the airfield the better. He’s at the hotel in Parthavos with a car.”
They were quiet on the short journey and Beckett knew, like him, Lane was reliving the last time they were there, the time they came to rescue Kat. His thoughts turned to Kat, his patient who had been a Latent vampire and turned by Andrei Marinescu, Darius’s older brother. He had thought himself in love with her, and in a way he had been. But they had never been lovers, even before the turning. After it was all over and Kat had died in the monastery he thought his heart would break. It was Lane that saw him through that and it was Lane that had made him realise the truth. His love for Kat was born out of his loss of Grace, his sister who had died at the hands of Santorini when it had all begun. Several lifetimes ago it seemed. He had transferred the love from one to the other and he had felt as responsible for Kat’s death as he had for Grace. Beckett had carried the guilt for too long and now he had transferred that guilt onto God. In the words of the poet, he was fucked up.
He looked over at Lane who had her eyes closed, but he knew that behind the eyelids the scenes were similar to those in his own memories. Memories that now played out as if they were happening right then.
“They’re not in the chapel.” Lane stopped and sniffed the air. “There’s been a death.”
Beckett paled.
Lane shook her head, “It’s not her. The others are together, we have to be quick; they’ll already know we’re here. Move.”
Before they could obey her, Santorini appeared in front of them, his canines were down and ready, he hissed and launched himself at Lane who had no time to fire the gun.
Santorini took her down and raised his hand to strike. His fingertips glowed in the half light. On each fingertip he wore a gold sheath with a lancet in the end and he prepared to put an end to Lane. Darius came fr
om nowhere and threw himself onto Santo’s back, clasping him around the neck. The masked vampire roared with rage and flung the boy off like a feather, kicking him with savage intensity in the side of the head. Darius lost consciousness as Beckett was propelling himself into Santorini from the front. The gold lancet tips caught his throat, but didn’t bite deep. Beckett felt the warm blood trickle down behind his collar. He turned on Santorini again as Lane caught him from behind.
Before she could act further, Nik and Gregori were on the scene. She turned and fired blindly as Beckett lost his grip on the wooden stake. It clattered to the floor and Santorini took the opportunity to grab Beckett by the throat and hurl him against the wall. His eyes were ruby holes in the silk mask as he gave vent to his true nature and his fury.
Two of Lane’s random bullets had found a home and Nik was sliding to the floor with a stunned expression. Gregori roared in wild rage and leaped at Lane. “That’s my son and you’ll pay for that.”
He grabbed at her and twisted her around, pinning her to him, as he grabbed the blade from her and held it to her own throat.
There was a shrill keening noise that came from Kat as she arrived to see Nik lying on the floor in a widening pool of blood. Mistaking his assailant, she snatched the stake from the floor and rammed it home into Gregori’s back.
He arched his back and momentarily relaxed his grip on Lane but it was long enough for her to pull free. He spun around to face Kat and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to him in an easy gesture. Beckett ploughed towards Gregori who was still dragging Kat by the hair and with the stake protruding from his back as if it was a toothpick.
