Emily Shadowhunter 3 - a Vampire, Shapeshifter, Werewolf novel.: Book 3: BITTEN

by Craig Zerf

  Out of all of those the Knights considered the Vampires to be their worst and most feared enemy.

  The undead. The Nosferatu. For not only were they the most dangerous, they also had the ability to turn their victims. And for one of the members of the Sedes Sacrorum to be turned into one of their own most dreaded enemies held for them the ultimate horror.

  But now His Holiness had decreed that the Nosferatu no longer existed and, as such, the network of priests could no longer provide information. Muller and Otto were on their own.

  Muller pulled the Fiat Abarth over to the side of the road, parking in the typical Italian fashion by simply stopping in a vague proximity to the sidewalk, the car sticking out into the road at a wild angle. The small Fiat wasn’t Muller’s first choice of car, he had wanted something larger. Preferably armored. Instead the only thing left that had any appreciable power was the tiny Abarth. Capable of doing over doing over 140MPH and getting from 0-60 in under six seconds, the car was a real pocket rocket. But after they had loaded their equipment and then wedged themselves in it was more cramped than an iron maiden.

  They were in the village of Boruta at the foothills of the mountains outside of Rome. An isolated enclave of less than two hundred people. Before their info had dried up, Muller had received a report of a young man being found in the vineyards, his neck had been savagely torn open and he had been totally drained of blood.

  Most locals put the death down to an attack by a brown bear. Unusual but not unheard of. The local priest, however, knew better. Muller had come to the village for two reasons, firstly to exact vengeance and, secondly, to question the fiend in an attempt to track down more of the undead.

  Muller pointed out a large three story house. ‘Apparently that’s where the demon lives. It’s day time so it’s most likely that he’ll be asleep. However, he will have servants. Also, we cannot simply go in with guns blazing. First we need to verify the story. Come on, let’s tool up.’

  The two men donned their weapons, sidearms, HK7 submachine guns, a UV bomb each and their machetes. Then they shrugged their overcoats on to conceal them.

  They walked casually up to the residence, knocked on the front door and waited.

  ‘I notice that we don’t carry crucifixes or holy water,’ said Otto. ‘Don’t they work?’

  ‘They work for me,’ answered Muller. ‘Sort of. More of a deterrent than an offensive weapon. But then they rely on iron-clad faith. Would they work for a man guilty of blasphemy and sedition?’ He shrugged. ‘Probably not. Anyway, I find that a silver bladed machete does the job better.’

  The doorknob started to move and the two men readied themselves, their tension a palpable thing. Slowly the door opened to reveal a bent old lady, her hair white but her eyes still bright and clear. She peered around the door suspiciously.

  ‘Good morning, nonna,’ greeted Muller. ‘We are representatives of the Holy Church. I wonder if we could come inside for a chat?’

  Before he even finished the old lady was shutting the door. ‘No. Vaffancullo!’

  Otto stuck his foot in the doorway, jamming it open. ‘I’m afraid that we are going to have to insist,’ he said. ‘The church is concerned for your immortal soul, grandmother.’

  ‘I’m not your grandmother, you oaf. Now take your foot out of the door before I hurt you.’

  Otto laughed.

  The door exploded outwards as nine balls of double-aught shotgun lead ripped through it, hitting Otto in the middle of his chest and throwing him back into the street.

  Muller moved instantly, kicking the remains of the door aside, punching the old woman in the nose and tearing the still smoking shotgun from her hands. She fell backwards and sprawled on the floor. Muller dropped the empty shotgun, drew his pistol and covered the old lady.

  Behind him Otto clambered slowly to his feet, shaking his head.

  ‘So the vest held up?’ Asked Muller.

  ‘Yep,’ confirmed Otto. ‘But I feel like I’ve been kicked in the chest by a horse.’

  ‘Serve you right for being so slow.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Otto. ‘Not used to being shot at point blank range by insane old ladies.’

  ‘I’m not insane,’ screeched the old lady. ‘How dare you?’

  Muller put his foot on her chest. ‘Quite, nonna,’ he commanded. ‘Now tell me, why the armed reception?’

  ‘You’ve come for the Master,’ she answered. ‘Damn religious fanatics. Why can’t you just leave us alone?’

  ‘And simply let the…master…kill innocents and feed on them?’

  ‘There are no true innocents,’ shouted the old lady. ‘We have all sinned.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ agreed Muller. ‘Now where is the Vampire?’

  ‘Go to hell.’

  ‘Last chance, lady,’ warned Muller.

  The old lady spat at the Knight. Muller’s pistol boomed twice as he shot the old retainer in the chest.

  Otto did a double take. ‘Hey, you just shot an old lady.’

  Muller raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I am aware of that.’

  ‘But…’ the big man hesitated. ‘She’s an old lady.’

  ‘And she is in league with the devil,’ said Muller. ‘The penalty for that is death. Now let’s find this Vampire and end him.’

  The Knight holstered his pistol and took out his MP7, gesturing for Otto to do the same. Then he led the way through the house, kicking open doors and clearing rooms as they went. After they had cleared the ground floor they proceeded up the stairs. The moment they got to the top of the staircase a door in the corridor flew open and a man ran at them, moving at a blistering speed, so fast as to be little more than a blur.

  But Muller was already firing. The MP7 fires at a rate exceeding fifteen rounds per second so he expended his entire thirty round magazine in the blink of an eye. Every silver plated slug struck the Vampire in the chest, halting its attack and throwing it back down the corridor like a rag doll.

  Muller reloaded and ran forward. As he did so the Vampire was already healing. Starting to stand. But Muller aimed at its knees and again ripped off an entire clip, shredding the blood suckers lower limbs and driving it once more to the floor. Then he holstered his submachine gun, drew his pistol and shot the creature twice in the center of his forehead.

  ‘Hey,’ exclaimed Otto. ‘I thought that you wanted to question him.’

  ‘I do,’ said Muller. ‘That’s why I only shot him twice in the face.’

  As they spoke the Vamp shook his head and started to sit up. Muller casually shot him again, took out his machete and planted his booted foot on the Vampire’s chest. Then he ran one of the silver spurs that were attached to his heels down the Vamps chest. The razor sharp spurs left a smoking trail. The Vamp screamed aloud and tried vainly to escape.

  ‘Oh,’ said Otto. ‘Now I know what the spurs are for.’

  ‘Stop screaming,’ commanded Muller. ‘Now, let’s talk. It is going to be a simple conversation, you tell me where I can find another Vampire and then I kill you. Quick and clean. If not, then I douse you in holy water, keep you alive for hours, maybe days. And then kill you. It’s your choice.’

  ‘Holy water doesn’t affect us,’ yelled the Vampire. ‘You moron.’

  ‘It does if it’s wielded by an ordained minister who is strong in his faith,’ countered Muller.

  ‘Rubbish. It’s a myth,’ insisted the Vampire. ‘Do your worst warrior-priest.’

  With his boot still on the Vampire’s chest, Muller reached into his jacket and pulled out a crystal flask. He unstopped the lid and then intoned a quick prayer in Latin.

  ‘Libera nos, quæsumus, Domine, ab omnibus malis, da propitius pacem in diebus nostris, ut, ope misericordiæ tuæ adiuti, et a peccato simus semper liberi, et ab omni perturbatione securi: expectantes beatam spem et adventum Salvatoris nostri Iesu Christi.’

  ‘Mumbo-Jumbo,’ laughed the Vampire.

  Muller poured a quantity of the Holy Water out onto the rec
umbent Vampires face.

  Instantly his flesh started to blister and melt and the smell of burning meat filled the air.

  The Vampire went mad with pain and Muller gestured to Otto to help hold him down. The big man slammed his boot onto the Vamps chest and leaned his full weight onto him, pinning him to the floor.

  ‘The Power of Christ compels me,’ shouted Muller as he poured out more of the Holy Water.

  The Vamp screamed for mercy but Muller didn’t stop until the monsters facial bones started to show through his ravaged flesh.

  ‘Mercy, priest. I’ll talk. Please, no more Holy Water.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘There is another, in the village of San Tobias. He lives in the mansion on the hill overlooking the village. He has a mate.’

  Muller tipped a dash more Holy Water out. ‘I need more. My reports show that there is a new movement of Vampires. More turnings, more hunting than in living memory.’

  The Vampire clawed at his own face, ripping at the ragged strips of flesh as he tried desperately to rid himself of the effects of the Blessed Water. ‘Please, priest. I know nothing.’

  Another drop of Holy Water etched into his face.

  ‘They come from England,’ screamed the blood sucker. ‘There is a new war-leader. He is powerful. Some say as powerful as the Capo. It is said that he has come to lead us to supremacy over the humans.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I swear I do not know,’ blubbered the Vampire. ‘Maybe up towards France. Turin, Milan. I’m guessing. I have heard rumors, that is all. Please, I live alone and have done so for over seventy years, I have little knowledge of the council and their doings. Have mercy. I can tell you nothing else.’

  Muller stared for a few seconds then nodded. ‘I believe you.’ He pocketed his crystal flask, drew his machete and clove the Vampires head in twain. Then he looked up to see a look of utter respect on Otto’s face.

  ‘I had no idea that Holy Water could do that,’ he said. ‘You said that you had faith but I didn’t appreciate how deep that faith ran inside you.’

  Muller raised an eyebrow, took out the bottle, opened the top and poured some of the liquid onto the stone floor. As it struck it immediately started to smoke and sizzle, eating into the bare stone.

  ‘It’s not Holy Water,’ admitted Muller. ‘It’s a suspension of colloidal silver in sulfuric acid. The acid burns them and the silver stops them healing. Once they are convinced that they are being smote down by the power of our Lord it literally scares the crap out of them.’

  Otto shook his head. ‘So,’ he said. ‘No faith. It’s just a trick.’

  ‘No,’ disagreed Muller. ‘I have great faith. It’s yet another weapon of the Lord. Just because it wasn’t actually Holy Water doesn’t mean that it’s not a legitimate part of our blessed armory. Now, let’s go. We head for the village of San Tobias. Maybe those bloodsuckers will know a little more.’

  The two soldiers of the Lord left without closing the door, got into their too-small car and drove out of the village, heading north.

  Chapter 9

  William shook his head. ‘Absolutely out of the question. In fact, young Wolf, to even bring up the subject could be subject to punishment.’

  There was a growl of agreement amongst the other Wolves as they sat around the large trestle table in their general quarters.

  ‘But Emily is in great mental pain,’ said Troy. ‘We failed to protect her and now we fail to help her.’

  Jack Wishbone, the Alpha of Bad Moon MC stood up and faced Troy. ‘Sit down, puppy,’ he shouted. ‘How dare you question the Omega? How dare you question anyone? You live at the bottom of the totem pole. The most junior member of the Pack. If I were you I would say no more. Now sit.’

  ‘I am not you,’ stated Troy.

  A frisson of excitement rippled through the two packs as the Wolves anticipated a physical disagreement.

  Jack Wishbone looked to William for support but the Omega simply shook his head. ‘Pack rules say that anyone who wishes to challenge the Alpha for leadership is entitled to do so.’ He turned to Troy. ‘Do you wish to challenge, young Wolf?’

  Troy nodded. ‘But I am not challenging for leadership,’ he said. ‘Instead I merely challenge for the right to speak.’

  ‘Unusual,’ said William. ‘But I shall allow it.’

  The Wolves stood and filed out of the building, forming a circle in the open area next to it.

  Both Jack and Troy stripped their clothes off and stood in the middle.

  William stood with the rest of the pack. ‘You all know the rules. This is a fight for ascendency. It is up to the participants to decide whether it be to first blood or to the death.’

  ‘To the death,’ growled Jack.

  Troy said nothing.

  ‘Commence,’ shouted William.

  Jack changed instantly, morphing into Wolf mode and attacking in one fluid movement built from many years of practice. His jaws opened wide, exposing his massive razor sharp teeth and his claws flashed in the setting sun as he extended himself forward.

  And at the last microsecond Troy leapt to one side, changing as he did so. But not for him was the full Wolf. Instead the young Werewolf morphed into his man-Wolf mode. An eight foot tall hybrid of man and Wolf.

  The Pack gasped, for, although Troy had used his man-Wolf mode when the Pack attacked the Bloodwraiths many had not seen him and most of those who had simply assumed that they had seen the Omega. For it was accepted knowledge that only the Omega could assume the hybrid shape.

  They were incorrect.

  Troy lashed out at Jack, smashing him to the ground with one immense fist. The sound of the Alpha’s ribs breaking was clearly audible. Troy didn’t push his advantage, instead he waited, head cocked to one side, eyes alert.

  Jack attacked again. This time Troy stood fast, grabbed the attacking Wolf with both hands, lifted him above his head and slammed him to the ground. Jack’s front leg shattered, as did his shoulder. He recovered and limped away, waiting for Troy to push his advantage. Waiting for the young Wolfman to finish him. But again, Troy simply stood and waited.

  The Alpha of Bad Moon limped in a full circle, looking for an avenue of attack. Finally he sunk low and charged, going for Troy’s legs.

  The Wolfman moved so fast that the rest of the pack could barely see him. He jumped over the charging Alpha, grabbed his back legs, picked him up with ease and hammered him to the ground once more.

  The Alpha lay panting in pain, his tongue lolling out, eyes glazed.

  The pack stood silent as they waited for Troy Wolfman to exact the ultimate price. Jack had chosen a fight to the death and now he would reap the rewards of his arrogance.

  Troy threw back his head and howled. The sound cut through the forest, driving birds into the air and sending foxes and badgers scurrying to their dens in fear.

  But he did not perform the coup de gras. Instead he morphed back to human shape, walked over to Jack and knelt beside him.

  ‘You are still my Alpha,’ he declared. ‘I did not want to fight for ascendency. Nor did I want to fight to the death. I simply wanted to be able to voice my opinion. This is too important to not look at all and any aspects. Emily is too important. The war is too important. The pack is too important. Personal animosities must be put aside.’

  Jack morphed back into his human form. His broken bones were already healing as his Werewolf physiology accelerated his healing abilities to something like one thousand times the speed of a normal human. Internal organs re-grew, bones knitted and torn muscles reattached.

  He stood up and bowed to the young Wolf. ‘With the Omega’s permission I say that the youngster can speak.’ Then he held out his hand.

  Troy grasped it firmly, shook. Neither of them smiled.

  ‘The young one may speak,’ agreed William.

  ‘As I said before,’ started Troy. ‘We failed to protect Emily Shadowhunter, we allowed the Vampires to curse her with their disease, and now we
fail to help her. There is also Tag’s predicament to consider. Every day he is savaged by the Vampire that we allowed Emily to become. However, if we could give her the Corona Potestatum then she could become a Daywalker. She would be freed from the tyranny of the undead and, most importantly, she would be on our side. Arguably the most powerful creature in the world helping us to hunt down the Nosferatu.’

  As the young Wolf looked at the pack he saw respect. But not agreement.

  ‘She helped us,’ he continued. ‘She fought beside us. She even traveled to the banks of the river Styx beside one of our Alphas. We owe it to her.’

  William shook his head. ‘Life is suffering,’ he said. ‘Her suffering does not make us beholden to her. That is not the Pack way.’

  ‘But it is the human way,’ argued Troy. ‘And are we not human as well?’

  Again the Omega shook his head. ‘No, young Wolf. We are Pack. Before anything, above anything. Pack.’

  The rest of the seated Wolves growled together. ‘Pack!’

  ‘So we will not help Emily.’ Said Troy.

  ‘We will stand by her,’ answered William. ‘We shall, fight beside her. But the Pack cannot allow her to control the Potestatum. It is too much power to be held in one set of hands.’

  ‘Even if the hands are those of a Shadowhunter?’ Asked Troy.

  The Omega nodded.

  ‘Then what is the Potestatum for?’ Asked Troy. ‘Is it merely something to be hidden forever? To be guarded at all costs but for no apparent reason? Why not simply destroy it?’

  ‘Not sure that it can be destroyed,’ answered William. ‘And as to the whys and wherefores, because I, the Omega, said so. Now, you have had your chance to speak, young Wolf. The discussion is over. Instead of this nonsense use your time thinking on our next move against the Vampires.’ William stood up. ‘And I bid you all to do the same. It is almost night, we will meet again tomorrow morning and I want all and any ideas. All will be equal in the discussion. Pack!’