Flay nodded unwillingly. She crossed in front of Gareth without looking at him and took Adele by the arm.
Gareth said to Flay, "You heard your master. Keep her safe or it's your life."
Adele blurted out with unexpected alarm, "Aren't you coming?"
"No," Gareth replied. "I have much to do here." He looked again at Flay with a silent warning before slipping out.
CHAPTER
D TRUDGED THROUGH wretched London with Flay as her her sole overseer. The manic pace of bloody celebration had slowed. The air was warming, and the city's stink hung heavy with a filthy fog. The war chief vented frustration on the princess with harsh sounds and firm cuffs. The princess wasn't sure if Flay would protect her from aggressive passersby despite Cesare's warnings, but the two moved through the streets so quickly that most of the slothful vampires in the street barely had time to stare, much less accost them.
Gareth's abandonment hurt her, but she shouldn't have expected more from him. He was a vampire, and she chided herself for dropping her guard as much as she had around him. Now, Adele thought about the possibility that Senator Clark was indeed sailing northward. Selkirk's information apparently had made its way to Alexandria, and now her medal-chested Intended was roaring in to drive this rabble before him and bring her safely home. She grudgingly allowed that this was the kind of man many women would justly crave. After all, how many men would take on a country full of monsters for his fiancee? In this day and age, there was nothing wrong with having a husband willing to spill blood to ensure his wife's well-being. Adele's thoughts were broken by a blow from Flay that knocked her hard to the cobblestones.
"Get up!" the war chief snarled.
The princess struggled to her hands and knees. Flay had no patience for the human's weary pace, so she reached down and gripped Adele by the neck, pulling her to her feet, and slammed the woman into an iron lamppost. The breath whooshed out of the girl, and she grunted in pain.
Flay smiled at the noise and raised a clawed hand. "Maybe if your face was disfigured, Prince Gareth wouldn't find you so fascinating."
Adele had a sudden revelation about Flay. Pain and hurt showed in the flicker of Flay's gaze, quickly obscured by despair and a feverish recklessness. The vampire was jealous. Adele could hardly believe the startling concept that vampires had emotions, but this emotion in this particular vampire was even more horrifying. Flay was eager to harm Adele in spite of Cesare's warning.
So Adele plunged her other stone knife deep into Flay's abdomen.
Flay screeched with fury. Blood oozed through the vampire's fingers as she pulled the knife free and studied the weapon.
Adele raced down an alley, but the soft pads of Flay came up fast behind. A weight fell on her and slammed her down in a tangle of arms and legs. Hissing was close in her ear, and she lashed back with an elbow. She caught something solid, but Flay's claws sank into Adele's soft shoulder and lifted her up. Adele struggled, but there was no escape this time.
A sliver of steel slid from Flay's chest. The vampire looked down with surprise at the sword point dripping with her blood. Her mouth tightened into an annoyed scowl as she leapt forward off the blade, tossing Adele aside. A heavier blade whispered through the air where her neck had just been.
Greyfriar surged past the prone Adele, tossing something white over his shoulder that hit the ground at the princess's booted feet.
"Run!" he shouted as his cloak filled the narrow alley. The sound of swords cut the air.
Adele grasped the small bundle. It was paper wrapped around her own Fahrenheit khukri that she had lost in Riez. Glancing hurriedly at the paper, she saw it was a yellowed old map of southern England with a black X scrawled over the town of Canterbury.
Adele drew the glowing blade. "Let me help you."
Greyfriar took a second to turn and stare through smoked glasses. "Run! Fast!"
In that split second, Flay fell on the swordsman like a hawk. The two became a blur of arms, steel, and teeth. Flay surged, fell back, and surged again. Greyfriar dropped the wide-bladed scimitar and worked the tip of the rapier. His blade was a blur, and its sharp hiss filled the air, competing with Flay's own snarling.
The war chief parried with her claws, taking awful gashes across her hands but blocking Greyfriar's killing strikes each time. The need to spill blood surged through her. This was the moment she'd waited for, the moment when she could kill the Greyfriar and feed on him. But she knew she could not. The princess was her charge. The princess mattered.
And the princess had fled.
Despite Flay's need to kill this man, he was merely an impediment preventing her from going after Cesare's vanishing prize. He seemed to know it and revel in his ability to delay her. Flay tried to slither past in a swift shadow, but he blocked her with a skill and agility that was extraordinary for a human. Each passing second carried the princess away into the chaos of London. The desperate vampire lifted herself only to feel Greyfriar's grip on her ankle. She kicked him across the face, but his steel grasp refused to lessen.
Enough, Flay thought. I have no time to duel this lucky wretch.
The war chief threw back her head and screeched. Greyfriar flinched at the sound. Within seconds, the alley began to fill with vampires. Some responded to the old war call. Others were merely drunk and hoping for some bloody street burlesque. The sight of a human and a vampire in battle sparked an instinct that pressed them onto the swordsman.
A flood of bodies tumbled into Greyfriar. Their claws and teeth ripped into him while he strained to hold Flay's ankle. She took hold of an iron fixture high on the wall and pulled with all her strength. His fingers slipped from her foot and, through a web of arms and legs, he saw Flay rising into the sky.
With a frantic burst of strength, Greyfriar surged to his feet, shed ding revelers like a trapped bear sheds dogs. He rushed out of the clinging mob and leapfrogged up from side to side between the narrow alley walls. Pausing on a ledge, he pulled his pistol and fired all the cartridges one after another. The barrage hit the airborne Flay and tumbled her like a pinwheel. But none was a kill shot, and she righted herself quickly. The vampire slipped out of sight among the rooftops.
Greyfriar tore frantically at his gun belt and scabbards, needing to jettison his weapons and baggage to go after Flay. He had to stop her from finding Adele at all costs, even if it meant abandoning his precious masquerade. But countless sharp hands pulled him down. He battered helplessly against the surrounding rabble, only hoping Adele had enough time to escape.
Adele felt like a coward, but she ran anyway, racing into the street, where drunken vampires watched her pass. Some pointed and laughed at the spectacle of someone's meal running away. She quickly turned off the crowded thoroughfare and slipped into a canyonlike alley. It was empty, but in the narrow slot of pale light overhead figures glided past.
If her Intended was coming for her, where would he go? Selkirk knew she was in the Tower. Should she go there and wait for rescue?
Adele felt the crumpled map in her hand. Canterbury. Would Greyfriar meet her there? Was he part of the rescue attempt? Was her Intended waiting there? She had no idea if the ship that had been seen was really his. One thing was clear: London was teeming with vampires. The only solid chance she had was the X on the map. Greyfriar. He was the answer.
Adele moved silently down the narrow lane. The enemy could emerge from any of the doors lining her path. One of the doorways was open, and she crept to the side to see or hear if there was activity within. She heard nothing, so she slipped past, but a glint of light inside caught Adele's attention. She was amazed to see piles of metal inside the room. Weapons! Perhaps she could find another weapon to add to her dagger. Something longer and deadlier.
Adele rummaged as quickly and as quietly as she could in the steel debris. Finally it was mere providence that made her stumble. A glance toward her foot and she saw a weapon of distinction. It was the blade of a halberd with the handle snapped, so its length was no more t
han four feet. It was a weapon designed for crushing blows and powerful thrusts. Even without the long wooden haft behind it, the halberd had an edge that would slice through the flesh of vampires.
Adele looked out into the lane and her courage trembled, but she had no choice. She tightened her grip on the halberd and stepped out into the street, where she was greeted by fog and shadows, which worked in her favor. Adele racked her memory and decided the river was to her left. She set off, hoping that her instinct was correct; there might be no time for a second chance. Soon the sound of lapping water indicated to her that she had made the right choice.
The entrance to a massive bridge came into sight, and her heart sank. Vampires crowded nearby. She prayed that she could find a second bridge farther on. Stumbling across rocks and brambles on the shoreline, Adele found a small path along the river that she followed with legs numb and aching, her eyes darting toward every shadow.
The morning fog was beginning to thin. Through the grey mist above, Adele saw blotches of red. Her heart leapt with thoughts of her own White Guard. Then she realized it was Flay's Pale. They were searching for her, and they were very close.
She darted into the underbrush, where sharp thorns easily tore through her garments. Abruptly she ran headlong into a brick wall, long forgotten and hidden from view by vines. Reeling back, the young woman looked up to see a small circular building. Surely no one lived in there. It was far too tiny. It must merely cover something from the weather, but it would serve to hide her. With one eye cocked to the sky for signs of approaching Pale, she searched halfway around the building before she found a door. Her shoulder shoved hard, but it resisted. Desperation drove her, and the wooden door eased inward. Debris built up inside scraped back as she wrenched the door back enough to slip inside, where she put her back to the wall and waited. Her frantic breathing sounded loud, so she tried to quell it, but it only increased the ache in her chest. Nothing sprang at her from the darkness and she heard no sounds, so she took the chance and closed the door. Immediately her small sanctuary plunged into complete darkness. It was so ebony black inside that there wasn't even enough light to form the dimmest of shadows. And silence infused the room like a tomb.
Like a tomb.
Adele dropped her hands to her sides and fumbled along the floor, reaching out to touch anything that would give her a clue where she was. Stiff fingers touched things barely recognizable: metal scraps; silky, moldcovered material; and more. She had no idea what they were.
She struggled to her feet carefully, keeping a hand on the wall. The small structure wasn't very wide, and she decided to traverse it keeping close to the wall. With one hand out for protection and the other bracing her against the wall, she followed the curve of the structure. Shuffling forward slowly, she thought she'd be prepared for anything.
She wasn't.
Soft wood gave way beneath her, and she fell farther into darkness.
CHAPTER
RINCEss ADELE WAS gone, Flay thought.
The miserable little wretch was somewhere in London. Most likely she was dead, enjoyed by some drunken rube unaware that he was drinking Prince Cesare's possession and killing Flay with the same act. The cooling body of the bothersome girl probably lay twisted under a tree or jammed in a gutter crowded with corpses where she would never be found.
It was a fate richly deserved, Flay thought as she clung to the dome of St. Paul's, staring into the misty grey morning. The muffled sound of the diminishing bacchanalia reverberated below her. Several members of her Pale perched near her. At some point, she would have to alert Cesare to the princess's disappearance. And it would mean her death. Too bad. Flay would have liked to have seen Gareth's face when he learned that his precious trophy was gone. The war chief considered the possibility of assassinating Cesare and throwing herself on Gareth's mercy. If the elder prince were handed the fait accompli of his brother's death, he would have to take control of the clan.
Or she could kill Cesare and flee Britain. Her reputation was vast and celebrated. But no clan would accept a traitor with hands dark from her master's blood.
Flay caught her breath and tried to think. She was feeling the effects of the warm weather combined with exertion and hunger. She had not fed for two days thanks to Cesare's constant demands on her time.
There was no proof the princess was dead. Perhaps she had escaped with the help of Greyfriar. Flay had broken the fight with the Greyfriar to chase the girl, but had ended up losing both of them. If any human could secure the captive's freedom it would be that hateful swordsman.
Perhaps Cesare would not blame Flay for such an unexpected complication. Greyfriar was well known across Europe for doing the unexpected and unpredictable. Flay had never encountered a human who fought so well, and she had fought and killed thousands of them over her lifetime. He was different. Therefore he had to die.
Flay had to act fast. She would leash her finest hunters and track the princess. She would find the prisoner before the end of the day. And perhaps she would get Greyfriar in the bargain. She smiled at the thought.
One of the Pale whispered and pointed eastward. Through the humid mist Flay glimpsed a small warship as it slipped from a low cloudbank. She had run out of time.
Flay snapped an order to gather the packs and assemble at the Tower. Then she launched herself into the air, angling toward the river, as the ghostly ship drew back into the clouds. She felt a tremor of delightful anticipation. Senator Clark was actually coming into the heart of vampire London to retrieve his mate. It was a grand gesture that Flay could applaud or deride equally, and it was completely futile, even if the princess had been waiting in the Tower for him to rescue.
Now Flay had the opportunity to present Cesare with the head of Clark, and hopefully return the princess to captivity and perhaps finish the Greyfriar too. The hearts of the alliance and the resistance broken in one night.
It was turning into quite a clan gathering after all.
Adele couldn't survive alone. He had failed her.
Greyfriar crouched under a bridge strut listening to the river and the cry of birds growing louder with the rising sun. His besotted brethren were dragging themselves back to their dark holes for a day of sleep after a night of gorging.
The drunken mob that Flay set on him had been troublesome to escape. Greyfriar had spent the next few hours of thinning darkness frantically trying to track Adele through the bloodbath, relying on his vampiric skills again, and those skills were very rusty. He did take in tantalizing whiffs of her, sending him scampering one fruitless direction then another.
Greyfriar had seen Flay tracking the princess too. The war chief had been a brief shadow, and he had no chance to strike. He was relieved at least that Flay didn't have Adele. But that didn't mean the poor frightened girl had not been slaughtered by passing revelers. The vision of Adele dying, calling his name in vain, nailed him in the heart.
She couldn't survive alone. He had failed her.
Nothing was going according to plan. He had hoped to come to Adele in her prison quarters as Greyfriar and spirit her away from London. But as he had shadowed Flay and Adele from the palace across London, he saw that the war chief had become enraged and was ready to kill the princess. Intervention was his only option.
He pulled the cloth wrap away from his face and scented the air, taking in the wet clotted smell of the river, the rusting iron of the bridge, and the ever-present aftertaste of blood in the wind. None of it was Adele's blood. Her scent was so familiar he could almost taste it.
Greyfriar growled and leapt to his feet. Once again, the cloth covered his fanged mouth and his human weapons felt heavy on his hips. He made a show of touching and adjusting them as no vampire ever would, comforted by their shape and weight.
He would work his way east, toward Canterbury. Perhaps he would catch Adele's scent and find her safe. That was all he wished. To find her safe and keep her safe.
She could not survive alone. He must not fail her. Cloud
s drifted across the deck of Ranger, winding through the shrouds and ratlines, softly caressing the men and brass. In the grey silence, masts creaked like trees snapping, gas vented with a roar, and the crew shuffled over the wooden planks as if they wore iron boots. Senator Clark stood at the rail clutching a drop line in his gloved hand, cringing at every noise and glaring at every movement.
This was the type of fight that had made him famous. Flying wildly into enemy territory on the wrong side of the odds, trusting to surprise and boldness and his innate invulnerability. But this was not the type of situation Clark wanted. He only had intelligence from scouts he didn't know or trust. And his goal this time was not his usual favorite of slaughtering the enemy's population or crippling their ability to fight, but to seize a target and escape.
Major Stoddard appeared at Clark's side. He saluted to confirm that shroud canisters had been loaded in the deck carronades. The major's eyes betrayed uncertainty.
Clark nodded confidently and fingered the brass-and-leather gas mask hanging around his neck. It was designed to allow humans to operate normally inside the dark pall of the shroud gas cloud. While the gas wasn't poisonous, it was harsh on human lungs. The goggles were designed with a special gas layer so vampires appeared in the black smoke as a blue aura, whereas humans appeared red. This operation in a well-defined space suited the deployment of shroud gas, however, and Clark had ordered the cannons loaded with the canisters to fire into the Tower precinct.
Major Stoddard's voice was barely a whisper, but he felt the risk of speaking aloud was warranted. He had to make Clark see reason on this matter. "Sir, shroud gas is a dangerous gamble with Princess Adele in the target zone."
The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith Page 17
