The sun had set when he’d spied his quarry at last. Not one, but four black-robed clerics stood on the enemy’s ice-covered fortress, their chanting voices drifting over the harsh screams of the battlefield and filling his ears, in defiance of every law of nature. He’d raised his great sword, its blade gleaming red with the blood of the enemy, and roared his challenge. They’d taken lesser men, but they would not take Gabriel Halldor.
Except that they had. He’d thundered across the field, slaying men left and right, intent on only one thing . . . killing every one of the black-robed four, slicing their throats and silencing their sniveling voices. But twenty paces from his enemy, so close that he could see their mouths moving in the torchlight of the fortress wall, he’d found himself on his knees in the bloody slush of the field, with no memory of how he’d gotten there. Even then he’d fought, his fury dragging him back to his feet, driving him forward.
Their next blow had struck like the gods’ own lightning, stealing every ounce of his strength, every moment of his will. He’d lain face-down in the mud, surrounded by the stink of spilled guts and blood, and been helpless to move even a finger in his defense. He’d thought it was his end and had been content to go to his gods, knowing he’d lived a warrior’s life, that he’d fought long and bravely and died with his blade in his hand.
But that wasn’t what happened.
He’d awakened on this cold slab of a blasphemous altar, chained like an animal, surrounded by more of the black-robed cowards who murmured in constant whispers and stared at him with unseeing eyes, as if their awareness was trained inward on things no honorable man would ever want to see.
Their hissed voices halted abruptly, cut off as if some silent signal had been given. Just as silently, they parted left and right, clearing a path for a new figure, this one cloaked in black, but with his head bare. He studied Gabriel as he approached, his eyes black holes as his gaze raked Gabriel’s chained form, lingering on the bulge of his muscles as he strained against his bonds.
Gabriel watched the newcomer with careful eyes. He’d heard tell of sorcerers who could ensnare a man with one look, horror stories whispered among children, of evil men who would bespell a careless young boy and take him away forever. He didn’t know if this man was one of those, but he was clearly the leader of the sorcerers who’d wielded their magic so effectively against Gabriel’s father’s armies. So he was cautious as he studied this new enemy, looking for weakness, for the perfect place to attack. The man’s neck appeared delicate, more like a woman’s than a man’s. And Gabriel was the most powerful of warriors. He’d ripped the heads off much stronger men than this. All he needed was a few moments’ freedom, and his enemy would fall, as so many others had before him.
“Urban Gabriel Halldor,” the man said in a low, sensuous voice.
“Gabriel Halldor,” he growled in response. He hated his brute of a father and refused to wear his name.
The man smiled as he moved closer, his lips thin as they drew back over strong, white teeth. He stared, and his eyes flickered red, as if a fire now burned within their empty depths. His smiled widened . . . and for the first time since he’d become a man, Gabriel knew real fear. This was no sorcerer, no gelded spellcaster. This was a creature whispered of in the shadows, something everyone feared, but few could claim to have seen. Forsaken of the gods, they were unable to walk in the clean sunlight, spurning food and drink, living instead on the blood of other men. And women. Every household had stories of young women stolen away in the night by bloodsucking creatures who seduced them from their families and turned them into wanton slaves, never to be seen again. Vampire. Gabriel didn’t realize he’d spoken the word aloud until the unnatural creature responded.
“So you know what I am,” he murmured, seeming amused.
“I know what you are,” he growled, refusing to be cowed. “What do you want? You and these other cowards?”
“Ah, of course. One must wade through the blood and guts of a battlefield to be counted a true man, is that it?”
Gabriel glared his hatred. “At least we die with honor, face to face with our enemy, not hiding in the shadows.”
The man shrugged, as if Gabriel’s words meant nothing. “It will take a very big shadow to conceal you, Gabriel Halldor.”
His gut clenched. He would rather take his own life than live as such a coward.
The vampire moved without warning, his hand snapping out to grip Gabriel’s long hair, wrenching his head back with surprising strength, until his neck was stretched taut and bare. Gabriel braced himself for death, for the cold edge of a blade, but had to choke back a scream of horror as the vampire’s mouth came down on his neck instead. He felt not the clean slice of a blade, but the ravaging bite of an animal, sinking its teeth into his flesh, tearing through sinew until he could feel the hot rush of his blood. And above it all, the sickening slurps of the vampire as he drank Gabriel’s blood down, draining his life with every grunting gulp.
His awareness faded into gray, and then black. And finally, nothing.
WHEN HE WOKE, he was hungry. More than hungry, he was starving, as if he’d gone a week without food. His limbs felt weak, his muscles refusing to respond to his orders to move.
“The weakness will pass.”
He jerked up to sit on the edge of the same stone slab where he’d been bound the day before. Had it been only a day? It must have been longer for him to be so weakened. He turned his head slowly and found the vampire staring at him from across the room.
“You will call me ‘Master.’”
Gabriel’s lip lifted in a sneer. He would never lower himself before this creature.
The vampire smiled knowingly. Lifting his hand to reveal a short, thick blade that Gabriel hadn’t noticed, he pressed it to his other wrist until a long slice of flesh parted and blood welled. “Come here, boy. Drink and be mine.”
Gabriel’s mouth flooded with saliva. He could smell the rich aroma of the blood. This wasn’t the death smell of the battlefield; this was life. Warm and heady and inviting. He stood.
“On your knees,” the vampire crooned.
Everything in him resisted. He’d never fallen to his knees for any man. Not even the cruel lash of his father’s whip had brought him so low. And yet, some insidious voice inside him was whispering that this was something he must do. That he needed the blood the vampire was offering if he was to survive. Gabriel would have sworn before all the gods that he’d sooner die than crawl. But that same voice was telling him to crawl, telling him he had to survive.
And so, Gabriel crawled. And he drank. And when he lifted his head, he felt the fangs splitting his gums, changing his life forever. He was no longer Gabriel Halldor, greatest of warriors. He was Vampire, creature of blood and darkness. He lifted his head and howled.
THE FIRST FEW nights had been the worst. The realization that he no longer had a family or friends, no fellow warriors to share the bloody joy of battle, to drink and fuck and celebrate victory and life. That life, the only one he’d known, was as gone as if he’d died on that battlefield, instead of been taken. All he had left was his Sire, the one he called, “Master,” though the word nearly choked him every time. He wanted to kill the bastard, and that same voice inside him that had insisted he survive, now whispered that he could do it. That he was strong enough to murder his Sire and be free. But he overrode that cursed voice, and stayed by his Sire’s side, traveling with him for weeks, months, and then years. He fought in one war after another, becoming the monster released from his chains to terrify the enemy as the sun set and the battlefield darkened to shadows and noise. Foe after foe retreated rather than face him, and his reputation grew even greater than what he’d earned in his previous life. He was still a berserker, still enraged by the smell of battle, the reek of fear and death. But he no longer bathed in his enemy’s blood. Now he sank his fangs into it and dr
ank. Draining one after another and tossing their bodies aside.
And he was paid well do to so. Or rather, his Sire was. His Sire, who had no name for him but “Master.” The bastard worked his own magic from the safety of whatever fortress had hired him, and then counted their coin and moved on.
Gabriel hated his life, felt sullied by the blood he spilled night after night. There was no more joy in victory. There was only horror and the clink of gold coin.
Until the night he woke at sunset to the sound of his name whispering on the wind.
He tried to block his ears, remembering the last time a voice had whispered to him like that. It had been more than three years, but the words still lived inside him, the vampire’s curse that would not let him die, no matter that he woke every night regretting that he’d survived another day. But as then, this new voice would not be silenced. It was a call to battle, he realized as he listened more closely. A heroic leader somewhere, with enough magic to power such a remarkable seeking, was asking the greatest warriors on earth to join him in fighting the darkest evil to beset mankind. But what did Gabriel know of fighting evil, when he had become that very thing?
Driven by the hunger that was his only companion these days, he rose from his solitary bed and prepared to hunt. He’d become stronger this last year. If he fed well enough, he could go several nights without fresh blood, though as often as not, blood was there for the taking on the foreign battlefields of his new life. He was aware of his Sire just waking in a room down the hall. That one would not go a night without fresh blood, even if it meant killing a benefactor. Gabriel thought about that as he splashed icy water on his face and arms, trying unsuccessfully, as he did every night, to rid himself of the blood taint that seemed to ooze from his very skin, as if the evil could not be contained. And he was reminded of the voice inside himself, the one that now whispered of his Sire’s weakness. It told him he was stronger, more powerful, that he no longer needed the damn vampire who’d ruined his life. Gabriel stood, running strong fingers over his long hair, sluicing water down his back, as he considered what that might mean.
The whisper of that distant leader, calling him to battle, intruded on his thoughts again, bringing images of massive armies arrayed against one another, of great warriors standing side by side, united against a nameless evil. Gabriel paused, longing for the friendships he’d once shared, the joy of a battle waged for the lives of men who stood beside you, rather than the clink of a gold coin. He hungered for that lost companionship. He hungered to feel clean again.
As if sensing his doubts, the far-away sorcerer whispered his very name. Gabriel Halldor.
Gabriel froze, then he walked down the hall, grabbed his still- groggy Sire by the throat, slammed a fist into his chest, and ripped out his heart. Then he gathered his few things and started walking.
He had no destination when he set out, only the voice on the wind which became his steady companion. He traveled every night, feeding when necessary, killing only when he must. As if the sorcerer’s call protected him, he found a safe place to rest every morning—an empty cottage, an abandoned barn, or even a cave still smelling of its previous occupant. Once or twice, he found an inn with no other travelers, where the innkeeper didn’t question his desire to sleep through the day, as long as his gold was good. He laughed on those days, thinking of his dead Sire and hoping he was suffering somewhere in the afterlife, knowing his precious gold was providing Gabriel a day’s rest.
He lost count of the days and weeks but knew it had been nearly a year when the voice that had guided him changed, becoming stronger, until finally he found himself on the edges of a huge encampment. Fires dotted the field, and everywhere he looked, men gathered in small groups, laughing, talking, arguing. The distinctive clang of a blacksmith’s hammer as it shaped metal, the slide of blade against stone as warriors sharpened their edges for battle, rose above it, all in a song so familiar that it brought tears to his eyes. He scanned the encampment hungrily until he finally found what he’d been seeking. On a low rise, in front of a grand tent, stood a man. In the same moment that Gabriel saw him, the man’s head turned, his gaze finding Gabriel where he stood in the darkness. His face split in a grin, and he held out his hand.
“Gabriel Halldor,” he said, his voice carrying easily over the distance. “It certainly took you long enough.”
Nagano, Japan, present day
THE MAN HAD BEEN Nicodemus, the greatest sorcerer of his time. It was a land and a time when sorcerers ruled, and his power had been tremendous, his leadership unrivaled. Both had brought him love and admiration from his men and the people he saved, but they’d also brought hatred from those who envied his strength and what he accomplished with it. He’d been young at the time. Not only young in appearance as all sorcerers were, or as Gabriel’s dead Sire had been, but physically young in years. It was one of the reasons his enemies hated him so much. That he was already able to defeat them despite his youth. That he would only grow stronger as he aged terrified them all the more.
Nicodemus had given Gabriel his life back that first night, lifting the vampire curse that his Sire had burdened him with. He’d taken away the bloodthirst and relieved him of the deathlike trance that forced him to lie helpless while the sun was in the sky. Gabriel had still preferred a cloudy day with the sun mostly hidden, but he no longer had to fear death from a single ray of clean sunlight. For that alone, Gabriel would have pledged his life and loyalty.
But Nicodemus had been more than a powerful sorcerer, he’d been a true leader of men. He’d stood on the front lines of every battle, with Gabriel and his brothers beside him—the great warriors whom he’d called from the four corners of the earth. Nico, as they’d called him, had fought by their sides, as much a warrior as a sorcerer, for all that magic had been his most fearsome weapon. Those battlefields had reeked of sorcery, the scent rising above even the usual blood and gut stink of war.
Gabriel had rediscovered his will to live on those fields. Not for the killing. He was not a brute to kill for death’s sake. It was the love he’d felt for Nico and for his fellow warriors, the three who would become as close to him as brothers, the destiny they’d shared in fighting against the true evil of their ultimate enemy. Sotiris.
Gabriel had to fight against the urge to spit at even the thought of his name. With a single, carefully crafted spell—and Gabriel suspected, the aid of a traitor—Sotiris had taken it all away. But now, in the aftermath of his bloody battle with the gangsters who’d tried to kidnap Hana, Gabriel realized that Sotiris had done even more than that. It was bad enough that the ruthless sorcerer had stolen Gabriel’s new life and friends. But he’d also destroyed Nico’s spell and taken away Gabriel’s hard-fought humanity. He was once more a thing, an unnatural creature who preyed on others, who drank blood to survive. Even now, the hunger was building inside him, as if once fed, it had roared back to life. Could the rest be far behind? Would he shrink before the sun tomorrow? Fall into such a deep sleep that he could not be roused?
What good would he be to Hana then? How could he protect her? And why would she want him to? He was no longer a man to deserve her respect or affection. Had he actually thought to call her his? Thought he deserved to love her, to earn her love in return?
Perhaps it was good that he’d been reminded of what he was. He would protect her with whatever life he had left. But there could be nothing else between them.
Chapter Two
HANA CAST SURREPTITIOUS glances at the man next to her as she drove. He’d been sitting there like a sphinx ever since that last fight, before they’d finally escaped their pursuers. He hadn’t so much as shifted his eyes in her direction, much less actually spoken to her. Well, not since the “It’s you,” conversation, when he’d confirmed what she already knew. That their enemies were after her, and that they wanted her alive to be chained and used like a thing, not a human being at all. It was a terri
fying thought made more so by the knowledge that with her grandfather dead, there was no one left who cared enough to miss her, much less to organize a search and rescue. Her parents were still alive, but they wouldn’t even notice she was gone. Of course, if either of her brothers had disappeared, her parents would have done whatever it took to get them back. Hell, they’d have sold her to secure their freedom.
She snuck another glance at Gabriel. He cared about her. She hadn’t imagined the electricity between them when she’d been cutting his hair. They’d had a real moment there, one that could have gone a couple of directions—right into bed, or not. She’d chickened out when it came down to it, but now she wished she hadn’t. Wished she’d have shown him what he meant to her. Because he loved her, despite his current funk. He’d never said the words, but he didn’t have to. He’d bathe the world in blood to save her. She tilted her head in thought. Blood. His fangs, which had seemed to disappear once he’d been freed from the curse, had reappeared in that last fight. She’d seen him drink from his enemy’s neck, just as a vampire would have done. Or so she assumed. She’d never actually met a vampire, much less seen one drink blood. Gabriel couldn’t be a vampire, though, because it was daylight, and he wasn’t even sunburned. But then, what did the blood drinking mean?
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