by Jan McDonald
Mihai looked at Lane, “Drakos.”
“He must be here to take control of Gregori’s territory,” she replied.
Mihai nodded. “He was Gregori’s son.”
Beckett threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Someone care to fill me in?”
Mihai nodded at him. “Drakos is Gregori’s eldest son, and I mean eldest. He has inherited his father’s territory by birthright but has to be seen to claim it by the other Houses. All rather formal. The House of Tepes and Vasilakis are present and probably the Popescu’s and the Andros clan. All represented by their highest nobles, ha nobles! More like aristocratic thugs. All of them ruthless, all of them Born and all of them savage killers.”
“And all of them are going to pay,” Beckett said hoarsely.
Mihai’s face was grim. “And some of them are dead already.”
Maria cleared her throat, “The other one with the mask, although he no longer wears it, is still there. He’s been there ever since the night of the fire.”
Beckett spun around, “You’ve given him shelter? Why? Why would you do that?”
“Because he was in need of care and because … because I have a daughter, Beckett. Adopted at birth but living just outside Parthavos, she is nineteen now and he knows where she is. He told me he would take a long time to drain her of all her blood...”
Lane put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t,” she said, “It’s okay, we know what he is.”
Beckett was grinding his teeth.
“Is that where you were running to?” Lane asked.
Maria nodded.
“Then you’d better get going. How many other nuns are inside? “
Mihai shook his head. “No. The girl is safer if we deal with Santorini. And we are going to need all the help we can get. How many of the sisters are still in the monastery, Maria?”
“Only two now. He … killed Sister Teresa. Sister Agatha is still there, and Sister Anna. But Agatha is old and Anna is too young.”
“Old or young they may be able to help,” answered Mihai. “Let’s go.”
There was a low growl in Jude’s throat.
“Hold that thought,” Beckett said.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO: THE TURNING
Angel lay like a waxwork on the tiled floor, her heart slowed to an imperceptible beat as it fluttered in her breast before it would finally concede defeat. Vasile Tepes had been waiting for the moment. He bit savagely into his own wrist and let the blood, almost black and viscous, fall into Angel’s open mouth.
Drop by drop it splashed crimson against her teeth and lips before trickling down her throat. Now they would wait.
The wound on Vasile’s wrist was already closing, but he checked his sleeve for stray blood. Satisfied that his appearance had not been compromised, he straightened his jacket sleeve and returned to the couch.
Drakos stood up. “So, Santorini, we shall soon see if what you promise is true.”
“Of course it’s true. Why would I have brought you all here if it weren’t?” He looked down at Angel. “You won’t have to wait much longer.”
“And your price?”
“My price is Gregori’s territory.”
“I see. You presume to be Gregori’s heir. But Gregori had a son. Did you not know that?”
Santorini stared at him. “No. I didn’t. Who is he? Gregori never spoke of him but he did tell me that I would one day succeed him.”
Drakos laughed. “Did he? Yes. Well, you should have learned that Gregori never, ever kept his promises. He never forgave his son for leaving the dreary life here for the life of the city. But to take his territory, the heir must first seek sanction from The Ancient One. Something else you appear not to know.”
Santorini was well on the back foot, and he was beginning to feel threatened. “He told me that he was the oldest living of our kind.”
Drakos was enjoying himself then. “Then he lied to you. Lilitu still lives, if living is what you would call it. She sleeps for centuries in a cave, looked after by a pathetic girl. But, nevertheless, the heir must seek her sanction.”
“Then I’ll go there.”
Drakos laughed again and Markos and Vasile were grinning broadly.
“Sorry, I already did.”
His words hit Santorini like the contents of a nail bomb.
Drakos stepped forwards. “Gregori was my father, and I have waited too long to take his territory. But not here. I will rule my territory from Athens; I couldn’t bear not to see the Parthenon each day. I remember it being built. Yes, I am that old, and I am Gregori’s heir. Now, I think we are all tired of waiting. Show us.”
Santorini’s hope then lay in his serum. He still had the formula and only one dose with him. They would still need him, and although his terms may have changed, he was still going to ask a high price.
A low moan came from Angel and she was writhing on the floor. The moan gave way to a scream of agony as the turning began.
Outside the perimeter wall at the rear of the building, Lane checked her weapons and leaped into the air, landing softly on top of the wall. Mihai followed and taking his cue from them, Jude stood back and ran at the wall, leaping high in the air and clearing it, landing in the courtyard ahead of the others, in mid transformation. Beckett shrugged, what the hell. He focussed his inner vision on the top of the wall, and leaped up. He landed beside Lane. “Well, what do you know?” he grinned.
They let themselves drop trying to create as little disturbance as possible. Then they heard Angel’s screams.
Sister Maria had told them the inner layout and their first priority was Darius. Lane knew the sounds of Angel’s agony, they were too late, she had been fed and was turning and they would need Darius with them. She reached out and locked onto to him, he was alive. She breathed out softly, and nodded to Beckett. He understood. He raised his eyebrow at her and she knew his unspoken question. Angel. Lane shook her head.
Beckett was in the open kitchen window ahead of Lane, but of Mihai and Jude there was no sign having decided to go for the front. Mihai had told them that once inside they were to wait for his signal. Beckett slipped out into the corridor hoping to find Darius while Vasile and the others were focussed on Santorini at the other end, and he came face to face with Luca Tepes. His reflexes surprised even him as his long thin blade penetrated Luca’s heart before he could utter a sound. He dragged him back into the kitchen and with several deft swipes of her scalpel; Lane cut out his heart and took off his head.
She crossed herself, and covered in his blood she followed Beckett back into the corridor. Sounds of Angel’s agony echoed against the stone walls. Lane clamped her back teeth together. They would pay.
The key was still in the lock of Darius’s door. Beckett felt an energy surge as he twisted it slowly. He felt the door give and leaned against it gently. It opened into darkness which Beckett’s eyes quickly penetrated. Darius was lying in a heap on the floor, dried blood caked around his mouth and on his cheek. He appeared to be unconscious but as Beckett leaned over him, he stirred and opened his eyes.
“Beckett. Good to see you.”
Beckett shook his head slowly, words of anger and reprimand flashing through his mind that would wait for later. Now was the time for relief, however temporary. Darius was beaten to shit but okay. Déja vu.
“Darius, you need to know something. They have Angel.”
As if to verify his words, another scream followed by a gut wrenching wail permeated the room. Darius leapt to his feet and fell back against Beckett as the room became a carousel. Bright lights were flashing behind his eyes, his eardrums were buzzing and his legs gave way.
“Easy there,” said Beckett as he caught him and quickly clamped his hand over the boy’s mouth as he sensed the anger building in the pit of his stomach.
Darius turned away from him. “It’s my fault. I should have waited. I should have never let her follow me. Oh God.”
“We all make mistakes. The important thing is putting th
em right.”
“How? You tell me how I can put that right. I know those screams, they live in my nightmares. She’s turning. Why the hell are we standing here?”
“Because we’re waiting. Lane and Sabine are getting the other two nuns out of the way before the shit hits the fan. She had trouble with Sabine and when I last overlooked her she was laying Sabine out cold to protect her. No sense in jeopardising any …”
“Any more lives. You were about to say ‘any more lives’.”
He crumpled forwards and Beckett put his arm around him. “It’s okay. We’ll make it okay. Right now I need you to pull yourself together and stand with us again. Are you up to it?”
Darius nodded vigorously. “Fucking right I am.”
“Eloquently put, Son.”
The sound of a small explosion reached them, “Come on, that’s Mihai. Showtime,” he said as he tossed a hand gun to Darius, “I seem to remember you are a good shot.”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE: ALL HELL
Mihai had decided to split up and attack from front and rear. If nothing else it would half the force of their defence, and their timing had been right with the attention of those inside on Angel. He felt a sharp pang when he thought of her and hoped to hell Helena could help her. Images of the elfin faced young doctor brought an unaccustomed smile to his face and he suddenly felt more positive about the coming battle, for battle it would be.
Angel’s screams had lodged in Jude’s chest and he was angry. Facial hair was growing and his fingernails were protruding from bent hairy fingers. Mihai noted it.
“That’s right, get angry, get very angry.”
More pitiful screams came from the chapel and the low growl in Jude’s throat grew louder and louder until his mouth was foaming, and then came the snarl. Bared savage teeth, beneath curled back lips, dripped saliva.
“Let’s go” he snarled.
As they approached the open doorway two dark shadows emerged from the side of the house. Sentries. In one fluid movement Mihai leaped forwards and upwards followed swiftly by Jude. They were on the strolling guards in a millisecond. And in a movement so rapid that even the other vampires didn’t track it, he had thrust his father’s dagger straight into the heart of his victim. Jude was crouching in front of Mihai, his face a mass of hair and blood, and his victim lay to the side minus his throat. Vasile had chosen the wrong ones to guard the entrance.
Inside, Angel was in the throes of the turning and the flash skirmish outside hadn’t reached their attention. Mihai put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small ornate pistol. He leaped into the hallway and shot one of Vasile’s entourage straight though the heart, the explosion causing the desired effect of temporary confusion.
Vasile was back in control in an instant; barking orders at the remainder of those of the House of Tepes. Drakos Vasilakis and Markos had taken instant control of the Greeks but Beckett and Darius were already upon the ones nearest the corridor. Lane swung her sword high and brought it crashing down onto one of their heads, pulled it free and swung again. The also rans were on the outside of the hoard, acting as shields for their Elders and another fell easily to Lane’s sword.
Beckett was levelling his gun at Vasile when Mircea appeared from almost nowhere and took him to the ground. Darius leaped onto the wrestling pair and tried make contact with Mircea with the barrel of his gun. Mircea was screeching and hissing, teeth searching for their target as Darius’s gun found its home and he squeezed the trigger hard.
Silver nitrate flooded Mircea and was instantly bringing him down. Vasile saw it and leaped high over the heads of the now seething mass of vampires. Darius couldn’t track him and he appeared to suddenly materialise in front of him, sharp white canine teeth, black holes for eyes, and hands with the strength of ten men. Darius struck out with his knife trying to keep him at bay but quickly realised that Vasile was playing him. Drawing it out, savouring it. Angel screamed in agony again and in that instant Darius drew blood from Vasile’s chest but missed his heart, and was going in for the second thrust when Vasile picked him up bodily and threw him hard against the wall before turning on Lane.
Markos Vasilakis, a stiletto in hand, focussed on Jude. He hesitated momentarily, assessing the options, on uncertain ground. Jude stood as upright as he could, sweat and blood glistening on his muscular chest as he too stopped and connected eye to eye. He turned his wolf hands palms upwards and made beckoning motions.
“Come on,” was all he said.
Markos leaped at him and his long narrow blade plunged into Jude’s shoulder. The rage inside was all it needed to complete his transformation into the snarling slavering savage beast that was his full potential. His hands had grown to almost twice their size, and his face seemed leaner, hungrier, covered in coarse animal hair that spread down onto his chest. His nostrils were flared and his eyes were burning caverns of amber light. He was past speech as the wolf inside had pushed Jude into the background and was in full attack. As Markos hurled himself at Jude, the wolf leaped to meet him and they collided mid air. The noise of the savagery of the wolf caused several of the younger vampires to stop. Two at least made for the exit. Jude realised what he had to do, he released control of the wolf and allowed it free reign, from then on he would have no power over it, conceding dominance to the now Alpha part of him. He knew that from then on wolf would be the dominant one. He had sacrificed what was left of his control on the beast within and would have to live with the consequences. Whatever they were.
Markos was no match for the ravening wolf and soon lay in a heap. Jude jumped over him and flew forwards towards Drakos who had been getting the better of Beckett. Hearts were racing and adrenaline pumping through veins, enhancing, strengthening, crazing. Jude’s jaws clamped over Drakos’s arm, and teeth sank into almost bloodless flesh. He spat the severed muscle onto the ground and was on him again, a biting, ripping, growling mass of hair, teeth and claws. A pistol shot rang out and he felt the bullet bite into his shoulder below the stab wound. In a frenzied howl of pain and rage, the wolf was out of control.
Blood slicked the floor and spatters were appearing on the white painted walls. The scent of the blood crazing the vampires fuelled by rage was heavy and cloying in the air.
Mihai had dispatched two of the lesser Vasilakis clan and was striking at a third when he caught sight of Angel, on her knees now and crawling slowly towards them, red lights in her eyes and she was hissing. In that instant of hesitation he was overpowered and heading for the floor. The other vampire was on him in a heartbeat, fangs bared and aiming at his throat. The glint of steel behind his assailant scarcely had time to register before Darius’s blade bit home and severed the head and neck. Covered in blood he turned in time to see Angel fixing him in a red glare.
“Dariusss,” she hissed. “Dariusss. Help me, Dariusss.”
He dropped his knife in horror and staggered backwards towards the front door. He was undone.
Inch by inch she crawled towards him, hissing, and pleading in a high pitched whine, then something snapped inside and he yanked Beckett’s gun from his pocket. “I’m so sorry, Angel. So very sorry.”
He aimed the barrel directly between her eyes and began to squeeze.
“No! Darius don’t!” Helena was there then, her voice loud and commanding as she ran forwards and hit Angel between the shoulder blades with a loaded syringe. Jo was at her side then and they were pulling Angel free of the chaos and out into the night.
Darius was stunned and was about to follow when he caught a glimpse of Santorini in a darkened corner, watching the battle and waiting. Waiting for the obstacle to him becoming Gregori’s heir to die.
“You filthy fucking coward!” he yelled as he dived after him.
Santorini turned on him in an instant, blood suffusing his eyes, rage and hatred oozing from every pore. “You!” He spat onto the floor and launched himself forwards at Darius, canines down ready, and long sharp lancets on every finger. He slashed at Darius’s face, leaving
long red trails on his cheek, then came back at him aiming for his throat.
“I don’t think so, you bastard,” yelled Beckett as he threw himself between the two. The razor sharp lancets were a hair’s breadth away from his heart as Beckett pumped four successive rounds into him, filled with the silver nitrate and small explosive charge. As Santorini fell onto his knees, his face was filled with disbelief. In slow motion he fell forwards and lay in a spreading pool of crimson.
“Is he dead? Really dead this time?” panted Darius.
Beckett stood over him and put his hand over Darius’s and together they plunged the boy’s blade straight through the middle of his heart with such a force that it shattered the tiles beneath.
“He is now.”
The room was like a scene from Dante’s inferno with bodies scattered around them. With Markos dead the House of Vasilakis had decided on the better part of valour and buggered off into the night leaving Drakos and Jude in a rolling turmoil of blood and teeth. Darius took his knife and pounced onto Drakos’s back, bringing the blade over his head and wrenching it backwards.
Gregori’s heir was dead.
Beckett was leaping towards Vasile who was poised above Lane with her own sword pointing down towards her chest.
“Nooo!” he screamed as he landed in front of Vasile in time to see the sword go through bone and sinew and flesh.
Everything appeared to stop as if the world had ceased to turn and time was stilled. The scene was surreal and blurred and sounds became muffled and far away. He lunged at Vasile who was already half way out of the door. All eyes were on Lane and everything was in slow motion, Darius had fallen to his knees and Mihai stood with a stunned expression, motionless except for the blood dripping from his dagger. Jude was crouched on all fours, panting and growling low, burning amber eyes slowly darkening, returning to their indigo hue.
The howl of rage and torment that rent the air came from Beckett as he lifted Lane into his arms where she lay like a bloodied rag doll.
