Brian didn’t have time to gawk over the strange powers he’d just unleashed. The smell of burnt flesh tiptoed on the air, beckoning him like a dog to a steak.
It was time to claim his victory.
He stepped forth to deliver the final blow. Their visitor shouted. Words were indecipherable. He glanced in her direction only to acknowledge her presence. His vision slipped into infrared, an instinct to determine species.
Human. He smiled. He didn’t just want to acknowledge her anymore.
He wanted to taste her.
But first, the entrée.
***
“Brian!” Ruby shouted again. His bright azure eyes found hers. For a brief moment, her heart fluttered. Did he recognize her? Or was he too far gone?
He licked his lips and turned back to Barnaby. His steps were slow, calculated, like a cheetah stalking prey.
No, he hadn’t seen her. He was lost to the animalistic nature that resided inside him.
What could she do? Her very presence didn’t snap him back to reality. Her frenzied words fell on deaf ears. Should she allow him to destroy Barnaby? She wouldn’t mourn. But she’d already witnessed Brian destroy three vampires with reckless abandon. She couldn’t watch him succumb to the nature of all other Undead. She’d promised him she would be his conscience as he struggled with his new identity. Allowing him to kill Barnaby would make her a hypocrite.
But what could she possibly do?
She placed her hands on her hips and bumped the lump in her waistband.
Then she pulled the mini-Ashmore out, aimed at Brian, and fired.
***
The prey writhed in agony. Its smell was so intoxicating. His stomach churned. Never before had he felt so ravenous with hunger. Intent upon taking his victim, Brian didn’t notice the slight movements from the visitor.
Click. Thwip. Schuck.
A painful burning fire blasted through his right shoulder.
“Brian?”
A female voice. Shouting. Calling him.
Pleading?
The warmth heeded his call to heal. Something delicate clanked at his feet.
Click. Thwip. Schuck.
Just as the pain had dwindled to nothing, his left shoulder suddenly burned.
“Brian! It’s me! Ru—”
“—by,” Brian whispered in unison.
The blue electricity spit and died out. He staggered, then yanked the arrow from his left shoulder. He let it fall next to the other arrow that had been buried in the opposite side seconds before.
He shook his head. He’d been so intoxicated with the feelings, with the instincts, the heart-pounding thrill of it all. Barnaby had stated magic was theirs to command. But Brian wondered if it was there to command and control them instead.
Something gurgled. Barnaby. Not the regal, pony-tailed, ruffled-shirt-wearing, cocky Undead leader. Instead, a smoldering, rancid-smelling ball of limbs flopping about at Brian’s feet.
Had he done this? Had he truly reduced the Undead patriarch to a howling, mangled creature?
Had he really shot a bolt of lightning at his once-mentor?
Before he could ponder further, Barnaby stopped moving. He lay on his back, facing the night sky, eyes wide open, not stirring. The charred flesh on his chest knitted together. Pale skin shone through the hole in his ruffled shirt.
Barnaby’s face contorted in pain. “ARRGH! ARRGH! Argh-huh-ha. Ha ha ha!” His scream faded into maniacal, high-pitched laughter. Black electricity encased him again, pitching in rapid bursts like solar flares. He levitated up, nose-to-nose with Brian, fangs revealed in a feral snarl. The electricity moved in and out of his nostrils like dragon’s fire.
Brian felt his own electricity roar back to life in response to the danger lurking before him. Then he realized instinct, vampire genealogy, magic: All of it was interconnected on deeper levels. Undead weren’t brutal by instinct but rather coerced by magic to follow instincts most humans would sooner ignore.
He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Barnaby’s eyes darted to and fro. His voice was but a hushed whisper. “Such a beautiful creation, you are. So much potential. Far more than I could have realized. ‘Tis truly a shame that I must kill you now.”
Barnaby raised his hand behind him as if bowling, then thrust forward, spittle flying as he guffawed.
His hand speared Brian’s abdomen with ease. Brian gasped. He could feel the hand pushing through his entrails. Fingernails scraped along the inner side of his rib cage. Cartilage snapped; lungs punctured; muscles quivered as they were forced aside.
Cold fingers settled over his non-beating heart. He closed his eyes.
Click.
Thwip.
Chapter 46
A horrid wrenching wracked the pit of his stomach. Then warmth crept into his torso, healing.
Then he heard the rustle of clothing, a wicked cackle, a sharp cry.
Brian opened his eyes. Barnaby stood above Ruby, sans the black electricity. Blood drenched his hand. Ruby lay still between the Undead leader’s feet.
No! Please, not Ruby! The warmth spiked, dissipated, then spiked again, stronger. He had to control it. He couldn’t allow the magic to overwhelm him again.
Barnaby held forth an arrow. He then crushed it in his hand. Splinters of wood fell upon Ruby’s unmoving body. “She’s alive,” he muttered.
Brian didn’t know what to say. His body was intact once more; healing warmth pitched through him turbulently.
“I could have killed her, you know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Barnaby smiled. “In due time, Koltz. In due time, all of humanity will be dead, and I will be the supreme leader. You have seen to that.”
Brian squinted.
“The platelet, you fool,” Barnaby said. “The platelet which you created will provide the sustenance necessary for my brethren and me to survive long after these whiny meatbags are gone.” He stepped over Ruby and stalked forward. The smile melted from his face, replaced by shadows and lies. “You can do nothing to turn back the tides of Fate, Koltz. But it is not too late to join me.”
Brian furrowed his brow. Had Barnaby created him and mentored him in the hope his peaceful nature would be irrevocably influenced by the magic of his new birthright? Had he thought he could convert Brian to his wicked cause?
He couldn’t let that happen. He shook his head. “No. Hell no.”
“Then I regret to inform you that only one of us will survive tonight.”
Barnaby waltzed toward him, his intentions evident in his gait and stride. His eyes, blank pools of black ink. Lips, tightly pressed together. Time seemed to pause, and Brian was transported to the basement of his past, to the moment when his mother had pleaded for death. He could smell the dankness of that basement, could feel the imminent presence of Death around him.
Brian finally understood: Kill or be killed.
There were no other choices. No peace. No negotiations.
Barnaby levitated and came at him in a flurry of flying fists. Knuckles pummeled Brian’s face, momentarily blinding him. During the millisecond of afforded advantage, a leg-sweep put Brian on his back. His blue electricity flared to life. He levitated back up, saw another leg-sweep, and jumped to avoid it. A foot hit him square in the chest. He doubled over. A knee rammed into his chin. He stumbled back. Countless rapid jabs to his mouth rocked him further. He didn’t have time to react, no time to defend.
Barnaby was done toying with him.
Ruby stirred behind Barnaby. Brian wanted to cry out and tell her to run, but a sharp backhand made him bite his tongue instead. Ripples emanated from Barnaby and plowed into Brian, leveling him onto his back. Brian attempted to levitate back up, but he’d been crippled, at least until his healing powers kicked in. He willed warmth to build inside and mend his broken body.
Then Barnaby’s dark figure emerged from the sky above him. He fell, crashing into Brian’s stomach. The stone rooftop cracked bene
ath them yet remained intact.
The warmth finally heeded Brian’s call. Sonic ripples radiated from his hands and drove into Barnaby. Barnaby was suspended in midair, stomach down, arms outstretched like a sky-diver, sending his own powers in retaliation.
Anger stirred within Brian. It was only a short matter of time before he would be all-consumed by the magic once more.
In a final effort to avoid the hostile inner take-over, he forced all of the warmth into his stomach until it burned. Then he unleashed it, willing it through his extended fingertips. His body was a cannon-like vessel. The speed and force of the ripples intensified. They burst into Barnaby, propelling him higher and higher.
With a roar, Brian tensed every muscle of his body. He mustered every feeling of anger and betrayal and pain into the pit of his stomach and unleashed the power roiling within.
Barnaby screeched in disdain. Then he was blasted out of sight.
Brian hopped up, the electricity lacing his body anew. He sped to Ruby. She gasped when he touched her shoulder, then whimpered when she realized who it was. He surveyed her wounds. She had only a welt on the side of her head from Barnaby’s wicked blow. Other than that, no apparent injuries.
Brian sighed in relief and bent to stroke her hair.
Something then crashed into the battlement behind them. Brian whirled around. Barnaby was down on one knee, head bent to the stone rooftop as if in thought. Tendrils of smoke wafted off his sleek royal-blue garbed body. His ruffled shirt poked out at odd angles on his back, as if still billowing in the wind.
A dark, burning angel descended from the heavens.
Brian hastened to Barnaby, planning to throttle him before he recovered from his fall.
Before he arrived, Barnaby was gone.
“Koltz!” The shout rang out behind him.
Brian turned. Barnaby stood between him and Ruby, who now sat up, looking groggy. The Undead leader was basked in spitting black electricity.
“Koltz, I am done with you. Your work is done. You have given me everything I need for the future over which I command. When the sun is gone, the humans will be at my mercy. They will perish. You will perish. I will survive.
“It is time to end this little game.”
Barnaby lunged, soaring through the air, claws extended.
“Brian!” Ruby shouted. She shot her right arm forward. Something skittered across the stone rooftop.
At the last possible millisecond, Brian ducked and dropped, hugging the stone rooftop. The object Ruby had slid slammed against his splayed fingertips. He wrapped his hand about it, rose, and turned to face Barnaby.
Barnaby nose-dived toward the merlons, righting himself and twisting around before crashing.
Brian pointed the barrel of the mini-Ashmore without shaking. It felt strange to hold it with confidence. Strange, but good.
Barnaby guffawed. “Really, Koltz? You are too much of a pussy to take me on? Or is it because you finally realize you can never defeat me in fisticuffs?”
Barnaby was right. Brian couldn’t defeat the patriarch. Though his confidence in his physical prowess had improved, he still wore new skin. When it came right down to it, Barnaby was the better fighter.
“Do it, Koltz.”
Brian stared down the barrel of the crossbow. Barnaby’s chest was at the dead-center of the target.
“Do it!”
Brian cursed himself. How was it he had killed his own mother, but he couldn’t kill the man he should loathe the most? Had he truly forsaken all forms of violence so many years before?
No. No, he had simply assumed peaceful solutions were the only way.
Barnaby sneered. “You are fucking pathetic. More pathetic than Ashmore ever was. At least that old codger had some fight in him. You get an upper hand and still succumb to your inner angst. I knew you did not have the balls to shoot me.”
Brian willed his finger to squeeze.
Click.
Thwip.
Brian ran at a dead sprint, inches behind the arrow as it sped toward its intended target. His focus was so strong that he noticed nothing in the world around him, only the center of the wooden arrow speeding along.
“Have you not realized that stupid human weaponry cannot harm me?” Barnaby asked. He glanced down as Brian jumped with a flying kick. Barnaby snatched the arrow, stopping it in midair, centimeters from his chest.
He looked back up. His bottomless black eyes widened. His jaw fell open.
Brian’s foot hit the butt of the arrow. There was a sickening crunch of sinew snapping away.
Brian levitated, landing lightly on the rooftop. Something glinted in the moonlight, drawing him in. He stepped forth, grabbed Barnaby’s free hand, and yanked the ring from the Undead leader’s bony finger. It meant something to Barnaby. It was worth taking away.
“You won’t need this anymore.”
Barnaby clutched the arrow embedded in his chest. The black electricity encasing him sputtered and died. He staggered back a step. Then another. All the while, his face betrayed his disbelief.
Still questioning Brian inaudibly, he stepped back one more time and stumbled backward over a crenel.
Brian rushed to the edge and peered over. He glowered down as Barnaby plummeted, splashing into the Thames River below. He stared over the edge for several minutes, expecting to see the Undead leader fly up to stomp him again.
Barnaby did not reappear.
A hand touched his shoulder. He spun around and hugged Ruby tight.
“What do we do now?” she whispered.
It was then that the voices reached him. Something stirred within. Almost nervous enough to vomit, he understood what the raucous was all about. He released his hold on Ruby and offered his hand. She raised an eyebrow but obliged. Brian scooped her up, then levitated over the battlements and rooftop, past the spiral tower, skirting the length of the entire Keep. When they were above the courtyard, he descended straight as an arrow, carrying Ruby as if she were nothing more than a piece of cloth.
He landed on the drawbridge and set Ruby on her feet. She gasped, clutching at his bicep.
The courtyard was full of vampires. All of them looked bewildered; none looked jovial. Brian glanced from one Undead to the next. His gaze did not falter.
Adam, the meat shop owner, pushed his way through the front of the gathered crowd. “Where’s Barnaby?”
Brian ignored the question and continued perusing the vampires. He’d been wrong. They weren’t angry. They stood, waiting. Wondering. Hoping.
Everything—the death of his mother, the pursuit of the platelet, the URC, the negotiations, the war, even the ultimate and inexplicable duel between himself and the Undead patriarch—had led him to this point. All of it had led him to these people.
He was the one they needed. The one they had needed all along.
“I asked you where Barnaby was, you moron!”
Brian forced the electricity out. His eyes flared, and every vampire in the vicinity shrank in awe. Or was it fear? He tightened his lips in resolve. He would not be like Barnaby. He would not rule with fear. He would be stern, yet righteous. Undead, yet human. Strong, yet approachable and honest.
He would be exactly what Barnaby could never have been. And with the platelet producing blood, peace loomed on the horizon. His chest swelled as the possibilities danced upon the silence.
“There will be a council meeting tomorrow evening, at sundown. In the great hall. Anyone who wishes to attend is welcome to do so. Anyone who wishes to oppose such a governing body can come speak to me.”
He swept his gaze over the Undead. No one stepped forth to issue a verbal or physical challenge. Not even Adam.
He glimpsed Stella, sobbing on Father Stephenson’s shoulder, the children fidgeting at her knees. She caught his gaze, nodded, and resumed her sobbing.
The pursuing silence was palpable.
He glanced at Ruby. The twinkle in her eyes made his stomach jump.
I’m doing the right thi
ng.
He grabbed her hand and fiddled with the ring in his free hand, a nervous tic much like Barnaby’s. But his was more out of curiosity and anxiety about uncovering the truth. About magic. About humans, the Undead, the world. Fate.
Ruby placed her head on his shoulder. They turned away and strode into the comforts of Safehold Keep as the murmurs and whispers spread like wildfire behind them.
Epilogue
He was floating. This was death, then. He had always thought he was immortal, that Death’s bony hand could never touch him.
Hatred roiled within him, stirring his once-beating heart. Killed by his own brethren, his own flesh-and-blood! He had given that meek human scientist a new life. He had bequeathed the abilities of a vampire unto that miserable human, had given him immortality and physical capabilities beyond his wildest dreams.
He had created him as he was today, and Brian repaid him by killing him.
Sweet, bitter irony.
His body was jolted. The lurching, floating sensation ended. His eyelids were heavy. It was time to open them and behold the afterlife. He had to be in Hell. It was hot, as if the sun was beating down on him. His skin was wet and burned, like being buried in hot sand on a beach.
Barnaby opened his eyes and gasped. He actually was on a beach, face-down, partially buried in sand, the sun beating down from above.
Not Hell. Paradise?
He rolled over onto his back, then sat up, squinting into the sunlight. He held up his right hand. There was no mistake. The ring was gone. The ring which, to his knowledge, had been the only source of his day-walking abilities. Yet there he sat below the sun in mid-afternoon without his precious magical ring. The ring, he recalled, which had been stolen by Brian.
He glanced at his chest—bare, his shirt missing. The shaft of a wooden arrow jutted out of the middle of his breastbone. He laughed. Brain had missed the mark. Perhaps only by millimeters, but he was alive. He gripped the shaft and pulled outward, careful to pull straight out lest the wood splinter and pierce his heart. It slid out easily—there was the sound of a bone cracking, the suction of flesh and muscle being tugged on. But it didn’t matter. His regeneration abilities would soon kick in.
The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions Page 35
