"Where am I? Can you get me out of here?"
"Your mind and spirit are far from your home in Orleton, where your body lies. You’re on one of the upper hellish planets. Angelus created a portal from here to the astral plane and used an artifact he placed in your old house to return and kidnap you. I believe he might have captured you sooner, but the block to your power prevented him gaining power over you. The spell he used to block your memory made contact problematic, but when you slept I found a way. I have seen the imp and can tell you she is a true friend. I must go, Angelus is coming, and here, in his stronghold, he is far too powerful for me to fight. Be strong, Tatya. You're not alone."
The loud clang of doors brought her awake. The quick pounding of heavy feet along the corridor and the rattle of keys at her cell door had her nerves jumping. Otakay was gone, and she was alone again, but knowing who she was gave her confidence. She also remembered why the demon wanted her as the swirl of hot hatred marking his approach washed through her.
The troll guards entered first, holding their torches high, and stood aside as he blazed in, dominating the small space.
Tatya locked her knees together to conceal the nervous dread creeping through her at his arrival. She stared at the floor, hoping if she didn't meet his gaze, he wouldn't realize she'd regained her memory. Recollecting her name, and who he was, didn't remove her fear of him. She remained at his mercy.
"Look at me!" He grabbed her chin, tilting her face up toward him.
She gasped in pain as the heat from his fingers burned her skin, but met his gaze.
The heat subsided, though he kept his grip on her. He laughed; a full-throated deep belly laugh that rolled around and filled the cell. "You are full of surprises, Tatiana. If you think reminiscing over your past is going to make any difference, I hate to disillusion you. You must know by now I enjoy a good challenge." He leaned in close to her neck and inhaled her scent. "You'll never escape, and you may remember who you are, but here, your powers are useless. You have two choices. Surrender or die. Despite your demon and vampire blood, you will die eventually. Time moves in a different way here, and your death will be long, slow, and excruciatingly painful."
Her mouth was dry, otherwise, she would have spat in his face. "Death, by whatever means is infinitely preferable, because my death delays your plans, and afterward, you must find me again." She stared into his eyes, realizing he meant her no harm. He was beautiful. She blinked rapidly as she remembered how he had used his demon glamour in the past. She squeezed her eyes shut. No, not anymore.
"We'll see. You are in my domain, and here, you have no power," he sneered. As he stalked out, the temperature dropped. "No food. Just water," he instructed the guard.
As the wearisome blanket of silence, settled over the dungeon, she lay in the thick darkness mulling over Angelus's words. Was he right about her powers? She remembered how it felt to dip into the swirling pool of energy, and one thing she was sure of—if she could access even the tiniest drop of her power, she would use it to get out of here. She meant what she said to him. She would rather die than surrender though she would never take her own life. A sudden picture of sitting with Changing Sky outside his cabin, watching fat white clouds scud across a blue sky rose in her mind. Gratitude and love for her mentor and friend flooded her heart. First Nepta, now Otakay and her memory returned. She smiled. No, she wasn’t alone.
Chapter Eighteen: Revenge—Part One
Forked Lightning and Vanse shook hands, though each gave a slight shudder of revulsion at the other’s touch. It was a short, if heartfelt, handshake.
“Give me your number, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I have news of his whereabouts.” Vanse tapped in the number.
“I’ll be waiting.”
As Vanse moved toward the back door, his phone rang. He listened, then turned to Forked Lightning, a predatory look in his eye. “I know it’s short notice, but call as many of your wolves as possible, and tell them to wait at St. Raphael’s back entrance. Anyone who can't make it by the time we arrive will be too late. You might want to double the guard on your injured friend too. Serkan’s been detected trying to enter via the sewers.”
“I’m parked out front,” said Forked Lightning, pulling out his phone and moving toward the front of the shop. “You sure come through quick on your part of the bargain. I’ll see you there.”
Twenty minutes later, a suspiciously large group of werewolves and vampires gathered at the rear entrance to the hospital.
Although used by an occasional reckless member of staff in a hurry, this door had been allocated to the vampire community. Since the government statute granting vampires a legal license—for a substantial fee—that permitted them access to blood banks, many hospitals in the country had found uninvited tenants in their basements. As long as the vampires contributed a significant monetary sum to their new landlords for the privilege of easy access to their food supply, the status quo remained undisturbed. For the most part, the public remained unaware of the predators inhabiting the places where they sought help when they were ill or dying.
Both groups stood behind their leaders. In a game of who blinks first, the vampires stared at the werewolves with ill-concealed condescension, while the weres growled, not bothering to hide their aversion to the company they were forced to endure.
“This isn’t about vampire or werewolf,” Forked Lightning turned his back on the vampires and faced his fractious pack. “This is about revenge. They,” he stabbed his finger in the general direction of the vampires, “are helping us. If anyone feels they cannot tolerate cooperating with them to capture Serkan,” he paused and let them digest his words, “then I suggest you leave. Their territory, their orders. Clear?”
“I’ve no problem,” Kohana called from the middle of the group.
“Nor me,” said another, and another, till all fifteen weres who’d made it to the meeting point on time bobbed their heads in agreement.
Vanse’s expression was grim. “We may not have much time. He’s already close to where an exit joins the sewer on a lower level, but we can’t tell how many followers he has with him. Send your wolves in small groups to the basement via the elevator. We’ll take the stairs. Whatever we do, we don’t want to alert security. We should be okay as it’s visiting hours. Between us, we should be able to keep this contained. I think we are agreed that it’s best if the humans know nothing of this.”
For the next ten minutes, separate groups of vampires and werewolves entered the hospital, slipping into the reception and among the medical staff and visitors. Despite their best efforts to be discreet, their movements and intent expressions drew attention.
As the groups reassembled in the basement, Vanse opened a warded door and led the way to the lair. He paused at the bottom, his head tilted. “They’re not far now. There are several floors below this, but the layout of each is the same. We come out at one end of a corridor and stairs to the next level down are at the opposite end." There were other doors, other elevators, and other stairways, but although Vanse trusted the wolves to help him defeat Serkan, there was a limit to how much information he was willing to share with them about his home.
One of the werewolves piped up, “Once the fighting starts, how do we tell which vamps are with us, and which ones aren't?”
“Serkan's people wear black suits,” Fabio said.
One of the younger weres snickered, and another muttered about vamps in black.
Kohana, standing nearby, smacked the pair of them on the backs of their heads.
Forked Lightning turned and snarled, “Take a good look at the faces of those who are here and follow their lead. Anyone got a problem with that?”
Nobody made a peep.
“After you, Seigneur Vanse.”
Five minutes and several floors below, Vanse paused with his hand on the doorknob as if paying attention to something that even the werewolves' sharpened senses couldn’t hear. Then, in a single smooth flowing motion, he opened the
door and as they moved, fast and deadly along the corridor, they heard what Vanse had picked up—the crack of bullets.
Serkan had already entered the lair and a fight was in progress.
The tide of weres and vamps moved down to the next level, grouping themselves in twos and threes as they neared the bottom of the stairs.
As they reached the door, Vanse raised his hand, and the two leaders advanced. Their timing couldn't have been better, as Vanse’s vamps were barely holding their attackers at bay.
Serkan had the advantage—his people had showed up sooner than expected, and were carrying guns, whereas Vanse’s vamps were surprised before they’d had the chance to arm themselves.
Using the narrow corridor to their advantage, Serkan’s followers were making every shot count. As soon as the front row discharged their guns, and while they lined up their next target, the line behind fired. The result was a continuous assault that gave the defenders little chance. Judging by the agonized screams as their shots struck home, the invaders were using silver bullets. But as Fabio had said, Serkan’s followers wore black suits and crisply ironed white shirts, making them easy targets.
The sudden intrusion and increased number of adversaries disrupted the cohesion of the enemy attack, and the new combatants wasted no time. Exploiting their opponents stunned reaction to their unexpected appearance, several weres morphed into their wolf forms, and leaped over the heads of those in front, smashing into Serkan’s front line with ferociously gleeful howls.
Foremost was Forked Lightning, whose fangs shredded several vampires’ necks and tore the hearts out of their chests before they could even aim their weapons. Seeing the disarray in Serkan's troops, Vanse's vamps and the rest of the weres barreled forward taking their opponents on one by one. Or three to one. Serkan’s numbers had been enough to deal with Vanse's family, but he hadn't counted on Vanse himself being present. Neither could he have anticipated the participation of Forked Lightning and his werewolves, who, inflamed by revenge and their blood vows, fought like fiends.
The skirmish ended as Serkan's vamps died or surrendered.
Most werewolves morphed back into their human form. Those who needed more time to change back growled and snarled at the terrified captives.
"Your master has acted against the orders of the High Council, and the sentence for such a crime is death," Fabio informed the prisoners, as he ordered silver handcuffs placed on those who survived, and organized the removal of those from both sides who hadn’t.
The prisoners looked horrified. "We only followed orders."
"I'm sure that will be taken into account at your sentencing. But first you must survive your master’s death, therefore I suggest you are quiet and conserve your energy."
When a master vampire died, those bound to him, especially newly turned vamps, died with their master. Those who had been with their family for a long time—even if they had stayed out of choice—often survived, but when the bond with their master was severed, the effect was crippling, and many ended their lives as rogue vampires.
The captives let out a collective groan, and the last of their defiance evaporated as Vanse appeared dragging an unconscious Serkan by the collar of his jacket along the floor behind him.
Serkan's clothes were torn, and his face, neck, and hands bruised and bleeding, although his cuts closed, and the bruises faded as they watched.
"Chains." The heavy quietness of Vanse's voice was more intimidating than any yelling.
The prisoners stood with their shoulders slumped, their heads bent in submission and stared at the floor. Their future was now in his hands.
Fabio yanked Serkan's hands behind his back and handcuffed him. Others wearing thick fleece-lined leather gloves, brought lengths of silver chains, and wrapped them around his feet and legs. Mona brought a couple of scarves woven through with silver thread and gagged and blindfolded him.
"I've delivered on my half of our pact,” Vanse told Forked Lightning, “and I am grateful for your help in defeating this murderous upstart. Inform me when you are ready to complete your part." Unspoken, but understood was the message: yes, the werewolf pack had helped, but without Vanse’s intervention Serkan would not have been captured.
Forked Lightning watched the vampires roll Serkan in a thick blanket. "Two days till the moon is full. I shall enjoy hunting this bastard before I kill him."
Fortunately for humans, state and individual county laws now issued werewolf packs with a license permitting a legal hunt once a month. No questions were asked as long as humans weren’t on the menu.
At a nod from his pack leader, Kohana lifted the trussed body and tossed it over his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a pile of old rags.
"I will escort you to your vehicle. Fabio, you’re with me. Have Mona and Meera supervise the clean-up and place the prisoners in the cells."
"Cells?" asked Forked Lightning.
"If my memory serves me well, your people are just as organized."
Forked Lightning gave a wry grin. Last year Vanse had been imprisoned deep underground in the weres version of an isolation cell for rogue werewolves. "Touché."
Vanse led the werewolves, all had now shed their wolf aspect, with Fabio bringing up the rear. Despite the current détente between the two groups of supernaturals, nobody was pretending a new era had begun.
The elevator pinged as it stopped at the first floor. It was difficult to tell whose jaws dropped the quickest or whose mouth gaped the widest as the doors opened, and Corwin, Branton and three deputies took in the strange sight of Vanse leading Forked Lightning and a group of weres.
Corwin recovered first. "Good to see you again, Vanse. I hadn't realized you were up and about." The sheriff tried not to sound miffed that they hadn’t informed him of this development. "Saw you the other day... er... in the coffin."
"Ah, yes. My situation has changed thanks to my good friend here." He indicated Forked Lightning as Kohana shifted to the rear. "And what can I do for you today, Sheriff?"
"A security guard called us reporting number of suspicious arrivals. Good friend, eh?" He asked no more questions, neither did he move. He simply waited for someone to fill him in.
"Yes, Sheriff. Vanse and I share more in common than our bond with Tatya."
"How is she? Any change?"
"Not yet. But we have a plan."
"Yes?" Corwin was familiar with the supernaturals in his town and had more intimate experience with them than he would have liked thanks to his friendship with Tatya.
Forked Lightning took a step forward. "We're planning a spirit journey," he spoke softly. He did his best to keep his role as the tribal shaman and werewolf alpha separate, but sometimes the line he walked to avoid a conflict of interest was delicate.
"What's in the blanket?"
If Corwin's question threw anyone, they hid it well.
"You recall my wife Leyla and our unborn child were recently murdered by a rogue vampire?"
Comprehension dawned in Corwin's eyes. "Ah,” he paused, as he figured out how to phrase what he wanted to say. “So, you can swear that the bundle on your friend’s shoulder has nothing to do with human affairs."
Forked Lightning lowered his gaze and took a deep breath while everyone else held theirs, then he looked straight into the Sheriff’s eyes. "Yes, I can."
"Well, in that case, I have no jurisdiction here. I'll be on my way, and I take it I can pull my men off Tatya's place?"
"Yes, Sheriff. There will be no repeat of the recent disturbances."
"If there is, and this continues to spill into human territory, I will have to notify the super squad."
Both leaders nodded.
"Well, as this supernatural business is not my affair, I'll be off. People to see, criminals to catch and all that. Let's go, boys. False alarm."
"Thank you, Sheriff." A brief flash of sorrow crossed Forked Lightning's face before he clenched his jaw, and his eyes darkened with harsh resolve.
As Corwin wa
lked away from the elevator, he stopped and looked back at Forked Lightning and Vanse standing side by side. "I don't know what's worries me more—you pair fighting or being friends and teaming up together?"
Chapter Nineteen: Flight
Tatya focused on the link, watching it flare brighter as she concentrated on the golden chain. Lately, it shone more intensely, and more often. Remembering how much Vanse had sacrificed for her over many lifetimes, and how he continued to do everything within his power, even surrendering his life to save her, moved her to tears. Yet, here she was, at Angelus’s mercy—a quality not found in his dungeons. Despair of ever escaping him rose, and she closed her eyes.
The chain glowed, she pictured Vanse in his coffin, and clutched at the hope it gave. Her life in Orleton seemed distant. Otakay hadn’t contacted her again, and she could only pray he had made his way safely out of Angelus’s realm. She had to fight this melancholy, this sense of hopelessness, otherwise, she might as well give up. Maybe being drugged was better because her awareness of what was happening was non-existent. She felt guilty at her ungratefulness toward Nepta. Her stomach grumbled loud enough to wake the dead, a sign that soon the little imp would shove the small amount of un-drugged dried crust and water through the door flap.
“Hsst.”
Tatya hurried over to get the bread and water.
“Here, get these on quick.”
Tatya squeaked as Nepta’s voice came from behind her. She’d been occupied watching the flap, and hadn’t noticed Nepta open the door and slip inside the cell.
“Shh!” The imp put her finger to her lips. “Put these on and hurry.” Nepta drew some clothes out of a bag slung over her shoulder.
Tatya understood this was the opportunity she’d been praying for.
Nepta thrust the clothes into her arms.
Within a few seconds, she had yanked the trousers on, shoved her feet into a pair of too large boots, tying the laces tight, and pulled on the rough jacket.
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