“Yeah? We don’t come cheap.”
“Then what does it take to buy your time? What do you want?” Belenos fixed him with his one topaz eye.
I want to go home. I want to kiss the soil of Rome and walk the streets a free man. As an outlaw, as the murderer of his noble sire, it was the one thing his size and strength couldn’t win. The Undead never forgot a crime.
The spike of painful longing came unbidden, as if summoned by the sorcerer-king’s gaze. Darak turned his head away, focusing instead on the table. Besides the rolled-up map, there were candles, an incense burner, and a small quartz ball no bigger than a plum sitting on an ornate gold stand. Magic.
The king was watching his face. “I see there’s something you want. If it’s within my power, it’s yours. A small price to pay for a job well done.”
Amnesty? As a king, Belenos could arrange it. Maybe. Possibly. It wasn’t out of the question.
Yes it was. Belenos was scum. Instead, Darak named a ridiculous figure, just to see what would happen. “Half up front.”
Belenos shrugged, as if that were coffee money. “Agreed, but once you’re paid I get a hostage to hold until the job is done to my satisfaction.”
“Standard terms.”
“It won’t be straight combat. I’ve got other allies—or perhaps I should say interested parties—who are prepared to cover the usual assault activities. I would need you for more targeted work.”
“What are our orders?” Darak asked, tension roughening his already gravelly voice. For a fee like that, the stakes had to be high. What the hell is going on?
Belenos sat back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “That’s something I can’t tell you until the time comes. And when that will be depends on the weather.”
That’s interesting. “How many men will I need?”
“More is better. Many of the best fighters are out of Fairview at the moment, but I understand there is a pack of hellhounds doing guard duty. I’ve run into them before. Nasty brutes.”
Darak grunted. He remembered the hound in the Empire. Young, serious. Carried himself like he’d seen more than a few battles. “When do I need to have the men readied?”
“When the airport is opened again.”
“What’s the signal?”
“I’ll find you.” Belenos’s eye flicked to the quartz ball on the table. So he’s using it for remote surveillance. “You’ll have your instructions then. In the meantime, bring your hostage to the pier midnight tomorrow and collect the first half of your payment. And don’t think you can take my gold and run. I’ll be watching your every move. Go about your usual business. Muster your men, but do it quietly.”
“I’ve done this before,” Darak said dryly, a little offended.
Beneath that was a well of anger. He was looking at the necromancer who had hacked off the head of a human woman, and the atrocity was clearly the farthest thing from Belenos’s mind. Men like him had sent the gladiators into the arena for an afternoon’s sport. Men who thought lives came cheaper by the case lot.
Darak masked his disgust behind the blank obedience of a hired thug. “Is the mark coming in by plane?”
Belenos fixed him with a wary stare, perhaps realizing that he’d been far too obvious. Maybe torture had damaged his wits as well as his body.
Darak guessed he wanted someone killed. Someone high level. Who better than a band of known rogues to bear the blame? Using them gave Belenos deniability.
The king’s fingers twitched, the one sign that he realized Darak had cornered him. “Yes. I provided an incentive so that individual would arrive ASAP.”
Ah. “The fire.”
They crossed glances. Darak kept his face brutish and stupid, exactly what Belenos would believe of a former slave. He wants us to kill the queen.
Darak’s body went cold with the knowledge. Jupiter’s balls, he’s going to have revenge for what she did to him. Belenos would claim it was politics, but this was purely personal spite. Looking at the ruin of the king’s body, it wasn’t hard to understand.
“Dismissed.” Belenos stood and snapped his fingers. A dozen of the other figures stood and gathered around him. It was a warning to Darak not to overstep the role of hireling.
It sure as hell wasn’t a dance number.
With a nod, Darak backed away, calculating the odds of shooting Belenos without getting shot himself. The math was ugly.
He’d found out far more information than he’d hoped for. More than he’d bargained for. Now he just had to get the hell out of there and figure out what he was going to do about it. Belenos had to go, but he was a big fish with lots of protection.
Darak had Nia and Iskander, but the rest of Clan Thanatos wasn’t even in town. If he took on Belenos tonight, he’d end up like Daisy, bleeding his last in a back alley.
“Good night, rogue,” Belenos said absently. “I’m glad you came along. It’s been a busy night.” He turned to one of his men, the human Darak had seen walk through the wall. “So how is your sister, Talia? Did she mention me?”
Talia. Wasn’t that the dead Michelle’s vampire cousin? The one he’d promised to protect? What does she have to do with any of this?
“Good night, sire.” Darak made it to the door.
The guards parted, letting him through.
Darak stormed down the hall, back the way he had come. He had no idea how to get out of there, but would rot in hell before he asked for directions from Belenos’s drones.
He pulled out his cell phone and hit a speed dial. “Nia. How fast do you think the rest of the clan can get here?”
Chapter 22
Thursday, December 30, 11:30 p.m.
101.5 FM
“Good evening, this is CSUP coming to you from the U of Fairview campus. I’m your hostess, Errata Jones. There’s a community alert going out tonight about a confirmed sighting of a Hunter believed to be the assailant who shot a popular Comp Sci teacher here at Fairview U, Professor Perry Baker. The details will be on the upcoming news, but for now let me shed a ray of light on exactly how dangerous these people are.
“I mentioned that I’d found some of their manuals. Well, one of them makes pretty interesting reading. It’s a Hunter child-rearing manual, or basically how to raise a good little psychopath. Even their nursery rhymes are all about killing. Imagine your little ones singing this while they play in the backyard: Vampires with the slice of steel
Fairies cannot iron heal
Silver kills the man-faced beast
And demon hound has soul released
The day mercuric metal drives
Into his veins; Then death arrives.
“Sweet, isn’t it? They know from the time they can toddle just what kills each and every one of us.”
Thursday, December 30, midnight
Empire Hotel
The bar was the only part of the Empire open to the public. The hotel side, currently closed for restoration, was a tribute to Old Town’s bygone glory. High ceilings held the remnants of gold-leafed plasterwork and Italianate frescoes. Beneath the drop sheets covering the lobby floor was a marble mosaic. Joe had found the original chandeliers in the attic. What he hadn’t found was an electrician willing to bring the place up to code at a price Joe could afford. Part of the problem was that he wanted to convert the old gas fixtures to electric so he could keep the look of the original decor.
“Why keep everything the same? Wouldn’t it be cheaper to update?” Talia asked.
Joe gave her a guarded look as he led her up the winding grand staircase. “I have a sentimental attachment to the place.”
His tone said no more information was coming, so she didn’t press.
Derelict didn’t begin to describe the condition of the upstairs. A few bare bulbs hung from the high ceiling, giving just enough light to wind their way through a litter of construction debris. Wallpaper hung in shreds. It looked like a pipe had burst at some point, because water stains marred the plaster ceiling. Talia caught a fain
t smell of mildew.
“I know, it looks like wolverines slept here,” Joe commented, stepping over a pile of paint cans. “I’ve cleaned out a couple of the rooms for personal use.”
He took a key ring out of his pocket and unlocked the double doors to a suite. He hit the light switch, which turned on a couple of tabletop lamps. “There’s no room service, but the sheets are clean.”
Talia stepped inside, her breath catching as she took in the room. “It’s beautiful.”
Joe’s face lit up with the first real smile she’d seen from him. Not charm, but genuine pride. “I’m glad you like it. I’m going slowly so I get everything right.”
There was a small sitting room separated from the bedroom by an ornate plasterwork archway. There wasn’t much furniture in the sitting room, just a couch and chair, so she could see the deep green wallpaper and paler green wainscoting below. The floor was covered by an area rug that left a border of oak marquetry visible around the edge of the room. A small fireplace was set into one wall.
Talia walked under the arch into the sleeping area. The half-tester bed looked original, as did the mahogany dressing table and chest of drawers. The forest green color scheme carried on through here and into the beautifully appointed three-piece bath. Joe had managed to find the right balance between Victorian ornament and a simpler modern aesthetic.
Or had someone given him decorating advice? She turned to ask, but found she was alone. Whatever Joe’s mysteries were, they would remain a secret for tonight.
Friday, December 31, 1:15 a.m.
Empire Hotel
A strange bed, however lovely, didn’t make for happy dreams. At least not on top of magic, and hidden tunnels, and the nightmare prospect of freezing into a coma and being chewed by rats.
Sure, Joe’s drinks and a hot bath had warmed Talia back to her normal self, but they’d also made her sleepy. She’d laid down for a midnight nap, safe in the luxurious emerald oasis hidden in the derelict hotel. Safe, or as safe as Fairview got.
Except from her memories.
Belenos, King of the East, had stood beside the stone table where she was stretched out, her arms folded across her chest like the effigy on a sarcophagus. Later, she’d find out she’d been like that for days, losing her humanity little by little as Belenos fed on her, then fed her, and finally stole her life. Those memories he’d ripped from her mind. Turning a victim was a trade secret held only by vampire royalty. It wouldn’t do to let the minions make their own toys.
The last thing she’d remembered was falling on the muddy soccer pitch behind the high school. There had been five Hunters—Talia, her father and brother, Uncle Yuri, and Tom. She’d just told Tom she wouldn’t marry him, so when she’d taken the bullet to the back, he’d barely cast a glance over his shoulder as he ran with the others. They’d left her there, fleeing before the mob of vampires that had risen out of the grass like a flock of nightmare crows. From where she’d lain in the grass, crippled and helpless, Talia had watched the Undead levitate into the clear, moonlit sky.
If they’d wanted all the Hunters dead, they could have had their wish, but this was vengeance. This was Belenos’s piece of theater: a death for a death, but with a twist.
Her father had killed Belenos’s second-in-command. Turning the great Hunter Mikhail Rostov’s daughter into the very thing he hunted was the vampire king’s idea of an artistic punishment. In short, the Hunter struck, the vampire struck back, and Talia paid the price.
When her eyes had opened on her Unlife, they hadn’t focused all at once. Belenos had been dressed in a white suit, his long red hair like a cape of flame. She’d had a sudden, crazy idea he was an angel before her vision had cleared and his Nordic features had emerged from the haze. She’d guessed what had happened in a microsecond. She was dead, not stupid.
He’d bent over her, grasping her chin to keep her face turned to his. “Congratulations, my duck. You survived.”
His touch had jolted her fully awake. She’d tried to sit up, but he pressed a hand to her chest, keeping her pinned to the cold stone. “Not so fast.”
Talia’s body had raged at the confinement. She felt enormously strong. Belenos’s blood was potent, and she was bursting with its power. She was terrified. Horrified. Revolted, and yet when she gazed on her maker’s face, she vibrated with a reverent lust.
She was his slave, and they both knew it.
She folded her hands over his, stroking the long, strong fingers. At that moment, he was her universe, and she ached to obey in the same moment she longed to rip into his veins and drink what she needed: more of the powerful, amazing blood that had Turned her into a dark goddess.
“There is something you must do for me,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Drink.”
She clutched his hand, ready to raise his wrist to her mouth, but he pulled away and gave her a paternal smile. “No, it’s time for you to take your first steps. To learn to hunt for yourself.” He said the word with all the irony it deserved. Imagine teaching a Hunter to hunt for blood, ha-ha.
She rose to follow him, her limbs as unruly as a newborn colt’s. Then she smelled the most delicious scent, sweet, fresh, and human. Hunger hit her like the blast of heat from a kiln.
“There you are, my child,” said Belenos, taking her by the hand and leading her a little way. They seemed to be in an underground crypt. More of her sire’s overblown sense of drama.
Tom was chained to a heavy iron ring in the wall, a metal dog collar around his neck. He was naked, his shaggy blond head matted with blood. Obviously cold, he huddled close to the floor.
A pitiful thing, said a new, dreadful voice in her mind. You never loved him. You thought he was weak, your father’s puppet. You knew he couldn’t protect your happiness—and you were right. He ran away when he should have saved you. Go ahead, make a meal of him. At least it’ll be fast. Faster than the slow death of spreading your legs for a man who is half the warrior you are.
That voice terrified Talia, even though it had a point. It was vile, and it was part of her. It was the voice of a real hunter, not humans with visions of species purity and moral stick-up-the-assedness. Belenos had given her more than just fangs. He’d turned her into a killer. Part of her wanted to dance, paint herself with that rich life-blood, and shriek with the sheer ferocity of what she had become.
Tom must have seen it in her face. His eyes went round, the whites showing as terror and revulsion twisted his face. “Oh, God, Talia, you’re one of them!”
You could have turned back to help me. Instead, you ran.
But what arrowed into her heart was his disgust. She had become the Vile Thing. Worse, he smelled good, like a chilled orange when her body raged with fever. Quenching. Succulent. The object of a desperate craving.
This isn’t me.
But it was. Her body raged with the urgency. A new, unfamiliar aching in her jaw told her there was venom waiting to render her meal cooperative, to give him a lustful bliss more potent than any wedding night.
“I brought him just for you,” said Belenos.
She looked up at her sire, and realized she loathed him: every pore, every cell, every hair of his fox-red mane. Her feelings had turned on a dime after that look on Tom’s face. Shaking, her voice came out barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want to play your games.”
“Ah, but my games are all you have left,” he said, his voice sinuous with anticipation. “You’re just a pitiful dead thing.”
With one hand, he hauled Tom to his feet, with the other tilted the man’s head to the side. Chains swayed and scraped against the stone, a sound like the gates of Hell dragging open to swallow Talia whole.
Belenos bit down, sinking enormous fangs into Tom’s neck. Tom screamed, a pitiful wail of despair. Talia’s insides jerked, responding to the cry of prey. Her teeth suddenly felt enormous in her mouth.
Blood sprayed all over the king’s white suit as he tore out Tom’s throat. He looked up, his
face a mask of gore. “Are you going to join me? I’ve got your brother for dessert.”
She couldn’t remember what happened next. The reel of memory stopped short, as if it had been sheared away with a pair of scissors.
Perhaps forgetting protected her from insanity.
Talia twisted as she lay on top of the bedclothes, caught in the web of remembered imagery. She cried out, half of her already trying to wake up. A sharp sound brought her fully conscious, followed by a cold swirl of air. Her mind groped, trying to understand what she’d heard, but the unfamiliar surroundings disoriented her.
She bolted upright, aware something was in the darkened room, but not able to see it. Steeling herself, she reached out her hand toward the shadowy form of the bedside lamp. She touched the cool brass, letting her fingers slide up the base until she found the switch. Hesitating a moment, she swallowed, afraid of what she might see. That cold breeze curled through the room again, reminding her that something had opened a window.
She clicked on the light. It cast a feeble puddle of light across the bedclothes. Talia blinked, a ripple of fear slithering up her arms.
A huge shape hulked at the end of the bed. It seemed made of rags of shadow, scraps of it feathering away as the shape moved, as if stirred by the breath of Hell. Utterly black, it seemed more an abyss than a solid body, except for the two sparks of demon fire that were its eyes. Hellhound. Once she named it, she could make out the upright ears and long, pointed snout. The hounds weren’t made to be seen by human eyes, but she was a vampire.
“Lore?” she whispered.
The savage snarl told her otherwise. Talia’s hand darted under the pillow, grasping the gun she’d taken from Max. It felt hard and real in her palm, far from the magic talisman she needed to dispel this nightmare.
The hound crouched, baring teeth as long as Talia’s hand. Ropy saliva trailed from its jaws, glistening in the lamplight.
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