The Strigoi Chronicles Box Set

by Nya

  Elliot’s man Samuel seemed prepared to seal the deal with a bullet to my addled brain.

  Even if I was an author, I couldn’t make this shit up.

  Samuel said something to Stefan in Romanian, along the lines of good dog I assume, because my lover, my new mate, released me and backed away. I couldn’t see but I assumed he shifted. That left Samuel and his very big gun to straddle my ravaged torso, enjoying the view of a Vampyr leaking like a sieve.

  Lieutenant number one pointed to the rumpled sheets and barked, “Tear off a strip and put pressure on that,” pointing to my privates and grinning, “then get him dressed and down to Elliot’s. Half hour, no more. Capisce?”

  Silently Fane did as he was told, though what came off him in waves was reluctant compliance, not abject obedience. I wondered if I should be worried about where my wolf’s loyalties lay.

  He tended to the wound as instructed while Samuel watched. When the man finally exited the cell, we both breathed a sigh of relief, Fane with a devilish grin of triumph.

  Leaning close, he whispered in my ear, “They think I’m still pack.” That made two of us. “I’ve proved my dominance over you so they’ll have me keep you close.”

  Oh.

  “Whatever goes down, Dreu, it’s you and me. Do you understand?”

  Before I could nod or reply he possessed my mouth with a mastery that left me breathless. Who knew I was a closet sub? This bond was going to be a match made in … well, somewhere.

  “It’s stopped.”

  I assumed he meant the bleeding because my phantom heartbeat was pounding out a symphony in my chest. He helped me up and slid the robe over my head, tousling my hair like I was a little kid and grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  My wolf said, “You have a plan.” It wasn’t a question.

  I nodded yes but now wasn’t the time to go into details. The pack was going to hit a vamp stronghold in the western mountains, towards the border with Serbia, then make their escape to the coast and wait until the air cleared and the radiation dissipated into the atmosphere.

  The last and only Vampyr Cistercian monastic scholar would, of course, be collateral damage, along with the rest of my kind. But I knew a thing they didn’t.

  Stefan gripped my damaged wrist and bent it behind my back, hard enough to make me grunt in pain.

  He murmured, “Sorry,” but it didn’t sound like he was.

  My Stefan had surprising depths I would spend an eternity plumbing. In the meantime, I let him propel me down another steep flight to meet with Elliot Vetrović and his band of merry weres.

  What I had planned was not without danger, to myself and others. But it was the hand I’d been dealt.

  If ethnic cleansing was what the weres wanted, then ethnic cleansing they’d get.

  Chapter Seven

  Parts of Romania were nicer than I expected. I’d never felt a need to visit despite it being my kind’s homeland, if there really was such a thing aside from myth and legend and a great deal of overheated imagination.

  After centuries of roughing it, spiritually and otherwise, I liked my creature comforts and made no bones about it. That’s why being jammed in the back of a van with the unwashed masses, forced to sit on unforgiving ribbed steel for the twelve hour and change road trip, had me surly and snappish. Not having Stefan with me wasn’t helping—he was delegated to the heavy lifting group handling the goods in another van.

  After a few rounds of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, the beasts inched away sufficiently to give me enough personal space to make the drive bearable. In truth, watching my fangs lengthen and then retract seemed to be the highlight of the trip for the wolves. I lived to entertain.

  At some point, Elliot waved the caravan of rust bucket vehicles onto a dirt track and we headed into a verdant landscape of dense forests at the foothills of the Southern Carpathians.

  I smiled to myself. Our present course confirmed what I suspected. If the pack had actually identified the location of the last functioning nest of Vampyr, they’d have taken the Transfăgărășan highway, crossing over the ridges and dropping onto what was wrongly termed the Transylvanian Plateau. It wasn’t a plateau at all but rather a series of narrow valleys and gorges in what had to be pretty rough country judging from the topo maps I’d studied in my cartographer phase. But that was neither here nor there.

  Our destination was a dacha buried deep in the forest fronting the Bucegi Mountain group. After I’d explained that a full frontal assault in that kind of terrain was in no one’s best interests, the Alpha decided on a more subtle, albeit still a jackhammer approach involving me walking up to the front gates of a complex guarded better than most government edifices. Carrying a backpack with a small tactical nuke and saying howdy-do to my long-lost relatives.

  As a plan it had some merit … advantage: fortified compound.

  My nerve endings tingled unbearably the longer I was separated from my wolf, the bond so new and raw that it was all I could do to concentrate on my part of this charade. Sensing him, knowing he was close, was a poor substitute for what I’d missed out on by being a half-breed. Full bloods were often readers, communicating with offspring and close associates telepathically. Full bloods, not me. In normal circumstances that kind of making do would have been acceptable. But the situation unfolding that evening was going to be far from normal.

  We pulled off the path, ducking under the cover of brush to camouflage the vehicles, though no one in his right mind would trespass this section given the numerous booby traps sprinkled throughout the approach. The omegas seemed pleased at the ease with which we’d accessed the outer rim of the stronghold; only Elliot and Jacob, our driver, looked vaguely perplexed.

  The wolf-soldiers exploded out the back of the van and proceeded to empty the pilfered arms supply, moving in practiced concert, and with impressive, quiet discipline. This wasn’t their first prom dance.

  If I had anything to say about it, it would be their last.

  Glimpsing Fane, I nodded, hoping he could find an excuse to come close enough that I might offer a word of encouragement but the group dispersed into the forest, dragging him out of sight. There was no need to be unduly worried as I would know his general location … at least I hoped it worked that way.

  I was in uncharted territory with uncertain abilities and a strategy that only Jack Bauer could carry off. But this wasn’t 24 and I wasn’t a counter intelligence agent; I was a reclusive monk with a permanent hard-on for diversions of the more pleasurable variety. Content to live out my life in pursuit of the next orgasmic fix, especially now that I’d discovered the love of my life to give it all meaning and import.

  The wolves sported earpieces which gave me a measure of relief—at least they weren’t telepathic either. Technology was lovely when it worked, a cluster fuck if it didn’t, making my job a hair easier because there was one skill set I did have, but kept carefully guarded.

  Elliot prodded my shoulder blades with the business end of a Kalashnikov and sent me skipping off like Little Red Riding Hood, clad only in frayed wool and goosebumps. The wolves dispersed silently to the left and right, some shifting, others acting as mules, packing in enough weapons to take down an average Third World country.

  I’d been instructed to saunter, giving the wolves time to surround the compound. I wished them luck. The topo map and blueprint showed some, but not all, of the pertinent features.

  The fencing, when I finally found it, was deceptively decorative, all wrought iron attractive with impressive manicured landscaping on the other side of wild and uninhibited woods. The gate had the requisite cameras and lock system.

  I flashed fang and waved. Nothing happened for a heartbeat or two, compliments of my demon half, then the two wings separated, bumping soundlessly on rubber wheels over the gravel drive.

  “What’s the play, priest?”

  “I can’t lie, they’ll read me.”

  “Then how the fu—”

  “I tell them my l
ittle story about being captured and spill that there’s an advance force clustered in this gully … here.” I pointed at the map.

  “But…”

  I waited while he worked it out.

  Samuel nodded agreement, muttering, “Gotcha,” and turned to Jacob with a make-it-so look on his face.

  Elliot still looked confused. Or constipated. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

  Samuel explained, “They send out the troops, we pick them off and the reverend here plants his package and waits for us to come get him outside the gate.”

  As planning sessions went it was an epic fail. For me. The device indeed had a detonator but there was no handy-dandy ticker clock to count off the minutes after my said rescue. What there was … was a remote.

  I know that for a fact because I peeked. My bad.

  The boys in fur were going to create a diversion that looked, smelled and sounded like Armageddon, then they’d skedaddle, leaving me and the rest of my cousins to fry while they beat feet to a safe distance from ground zero.

  The golf cart finally arrived to pick me up, which was a good thing because I was sporting bare feet and that gravel looked uninviting for the five hundred meters or so I’d be trudging to get to the main house.

  The driver left me in front of a massive entryway, the double door made of a lovely dark walnut polished to a high sheen. Tip-toeing quickly across the stones to the porch, I took a deep, unnecessary breath, checked on my wolf’s whereabouts and knocked.

  The man framed in the pale glow from the lanterns nodded and peered around me, curious. He put a finger to his lips and beckoned me to follow him inside. The doors snicked shut with a finality that might have been unnerving had I not been used to it.

  Cocking an eyebrow, he slowly scanned my person as I pivoted around and carefully removed the backpack, setting it gingerly on the flagstone floor. Moving as if to embrace me, the tall man hesitated, obviously put off by my filthy attire and generally unkempt appearance.

  Grinning, I said, “Hi, Luc. Surprised to see me?”

  My demon sire chuckled and bid me follow him into the library where we could speak without having über-sensitive wolf ears overhear our conversation. He pointed to the settee and said, “Have a seat.”

  “I think it might be better if I stand, don’t you think, Dad,” brushing at my robe with distaste. Luc’s impeccable attire this evening—a camel cashmere sweater over severely tailored navy blue wool pants—brought home my sad state of affairs.

  My demon father handed me a brandy which I chugged gratefully and held out for an immediate refill.

  “What happened to all things in moderation, boy?”

  Grimacing, I replied, “That was then, this is now.”

  He settled in his favorite leather recliner and came right to the point. “You have the weapon with you?” I nodded yes. “Good. We’ve been tracking you since you were taken.”

  I was tempted to interrupt, demanding to know why he or his minions hadn’t stormed the damn castle and removed me from harm’s way, but the realization that if they’d done exactly that, the odds were good I’d never have connected with Fane. That was an outcome I would never accept, not now, not ever.

  Skin prickling, my nerves endings vibrated with need. The shielding in the library also acted to block all external sensory input. I no longer felt my wolf and it was slowly eating away at my gut.

  “Uh, listen, Luc…”

  “I like Dad better, son.”

  “Yeah, well … Dad, I’m kind of on the clock so maybe let’s table the details and work on how this is going down.” I quickly filled him in on my half-baked plan. Fortunately for me, good old pops was a warrior of some renown for whom I’d presented means and opportunity.

  And a bit of payback for the mayhem and inconvenience I had caused the last time we’d been in his dacha. Nothing says I’m sorry like weapons grade uranium, even if the vintage was late sixties Soviet manufacture. Inelegant, it still had the benefit of being relatively lightweight, simple in design and highly effective with a three-to-five-kiloton yield.

  By the look on Luc’s face, I done good. Apology accepted.

  To clarify, I gave him a stern frown and reminded him in no uncertain terms that the nuke was for his personal enjoyment on any plane other than this one.

  Call me selfish but I had no wish to sully my environment any more than it already was. Along with a crush, I’d grown a conscience. It would take time to learn how to deal with both but the plan was to have my wolf be my tutor in all things from this point going forward.

  Luc picked up a phone and spoke to one of his people to set events in motion. My job was done. Curious, my old man inquired, “Is there any reason for me to keep them?”

  Them being the unruly pack pacing around the perimeter of the grounds.

  I replied, “Do whatever you want … but Dad? They’re big and furry and ugly as sin…” All except for the huge black one. He was beautiful and he was mine.

  Luc blinked and said, “Be careful there, boy, glass houses and all.”

  And that’s when all hell broke loose … except it wasn’t our hell and we were on the receiving end. Luc scooped me up like so much loose change and made a mad dash to the foyer where the backpack should have been but wasn’t. Cursing roundly, he called for reinforcements but the minions would need to dial their way through an elaborate portal system designed to keep the dimensions off a trigger-happy DMZ line. Good fences made for good neighbors, but they didn’t make for rapid response time.

  Luc had to do a duck and roll, loosening his grip on me. I dropped like a ton of bricks and shouted that I needed to get outside, past the house’s shielding and far enough away so as not to impact the friendlies any more than necessary.

  The demon wasn’t happy about it but he also knew when to cut and run. Over the cacophony he shouted, “I’m going after the package. Do what you need to, son.” He turned and crawled toward the library where a hidden stash of demon firepower would tip the odds in his favor. Before entering the room he turned and said, “Next time, don’t wait so long to come visit, you hear,” and then he was gone.

  I waited a tic while the battle moved off to my left. Idly I pondered where ‘the package’ might have gone. While the old man commanded loyalty above all things, it also sometimes made him color-blind to the possibilities that accompanied upward mobility and ambition.

  I wondered how long it would take for him to realize he might have a traitor in his midst. Being part and parcel of a monastic community hadn’t shielded me from life’s little entertainments: Papal largesse more often fell to those forging successful alliances with temporal authority rather than through any claims to moral superiority or pious devotion.

  As usual, my mind went into overdrive at the wrong time. Dad’s issues were his and his alone. My task was to beat feet in the direction of an escape vehicle.

  After I found Stefan.

  Flush with my newfound feelings for the young wolf, I had yet another reason, a rock solid one, for dragging his sorry ass along with me.

  I didn’t know how to drive.

  That little factoid more or less put paid to the raison d’etre for me being a recluse: caves, scrolls, gratuitous sensual diversions did not a modern man make.

  Mindless of the glass shards littering the floor I made best speed to the door and down the driveway. There was little cover to shield me so I ignored the brutal stone and ran like hell was after me.

  I almost made it. The gates hung open, one bit of grillwork tilted off its hinges, the ground in front of it still smoking. With all the noise I never heard the second round coming in. It flattened the fence, the gates … and me.

  I drifted in and out of consciousness for who knew how long, but when I finally came to, most of the fracas seemed concentrated on either side of the dacha. Rolling to sit up, I found my thigh pinned to the earth with a rod from the wrought iron fence. It didn’t hurt if I didn’t move, but not moving wasn’t an option.

&n
bsp; I scanned for Fane but he was nowhere. I had no idea what my sensory range might be but it bode ill for him still being alive. Pop’s minions wouldn’t discriminate between good and bad dogs. The odds were even my wolf was a casualty of war.

  Chest constricting with murderous intent, I wriggled the metal loose enough from the dirt, but not enough to pull free of my thigh, and lunged to my feet. With Fane gone, there was no reason to hold back, no reason not to unleash the one thing that made me different from all others.

  Closing my eyes, I summoned all the demon and Vampyr power at my disposal and belted out an EMP wave so powerful it would drop airlines from the sky, rendering anything electronic dead in the water. That included brain waves, causing disorientation, fainting and strokes, even death. I’d leveled an entire quadrant of demon minions in a fit of temper. And that hadn’t been nearly as powerful as the pulse I’d just unleashed.

  Stefan was gone and I no longer cared.

  Looking back toward the dacha I gave passing thought to rejoining Luc but his brand of mayhem did not appeal. Instead I limped into the forest, content to make my way as far as I could until the rod loosened sufficiently for me to bleed out and finally die.

  I was more than nine hundred years old, with nothing to show for a life of indulgence. And in the thin light of a silvered moon I sank to the forest floor and yanked the rod from flesh too weak to resist, content to succumb and face my maker and pay the penance for my sins.

  As darkness cast soft shadows, I imagined my wolf coming to lead me on the final journey, to lick away my tears and shame and regrets. To give me the strength I’d need to face the long journey to redemption, to heal my wounds, to lick my balls…

  “Fuck!”

  I stared down the length of pale flesh to lock eyes on a wolfish grin, the tongue lolling to the side. Fane huffed, then resumed his tender ministrations on the damaged thigh, running teasing laps around and across my privates.