Dark Hunt: Division 4
The Berkano Vampire Collection
Nicole Zoltack
Copyright 2017 by Nicole Zoltack
Published in the United States of America
Publish Date: 2017
Cover Artist: Rebecca Frank
Cover Art Copyright 2017
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
Created with Vellum
Dark Hunt
Witch Antoine is the queen’s new vampire executioner. Vampire Seraphine is the leader of the rebellion against the witch queen Pierrette Lyon. Together, they will either bring the world together…or tear it all apart.
When a dark hunt begins for the strongest and most well-protected witch within the entire division, Antoine and Seraphine will have to join forces. If enemies can’t become allies to assassinate Queen Pierette, the mad queen will be the one to bring down the executioner's axe on them both.
Dark Hunt is a standalone contribution to The Berkano Vampire collection. Stories can be read in any order.
To learn more, visit fallensorcery.com
To those who look for the light in times of darkness.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Other Books By Nicole Zoltack
Acknowledgments
About the Author
1
The unbearable heat from the midday sun beat down on Antoine Chevalier. His heart thudded in his chest, solid, firm, powerful. The pounding thundered in his ears like a death dirge on a drum.
Stiff, formal, hands behind his back, Antoine stood at attention beside his queen. Isolated, refraining from judgment, he stared down at the crowd, a mix of witches and humans numbering nearly two thousand.
Of course. No vampires would want to witness this. Regardless, they were minutes away from a public execution of a despicable vampire.
Abomination. Monsters. Leeches. Vampires were born criminals who preyed on the helpless humans. It was up to Queen Pierrette Lyon, and those who faithfully served her, to keep the vampires in check.
It proved impossible for them to remain neutral where vampires were concerned.
The queen sat on her gilded high-backed chair, perfectly regal, perfectly indifferent. Her façade was a beautiful mask. From Antoine’s position just behind her, he could only glimpse her side profile, but he had her face memorized. Dark, immaculate, arched eyebrows above black eyes. Bow-shaped lips painted blood red. High cheekbones. Thick side-swept bangs concealed her forehead. Twin expertly executed French braids styled her wavy black hair, which extended just past her elbows.
Her hands were clasped in her lap. Her knuckles were white. Strange. The queen was always so poised. What had her so frustrated, angry, and upset? Nothing ever seemed to affect her.
She tilted her head to the left, and another witch stepped forward to hand her the stein. The queen drank only a sip of her favorite Früh Kölsch before giving it back to him.
Antoine, the queen, and the witch holding the stein of beer were the only ones on the wooden dais. A scarlet-colored rug draped the area beneath her chair. It served as her throne when she ventured from her ruined castle. No matter how often she had Château des Flammes repaired, the castle fell into disrepair. No protections spells aided the matter. No charms, no talismans, not a thing.
Queen Pierrette Lyon would not abandon the structure for any reason. She had built her empire here in the division Ville de Liberté. Her witches did their best to ensure her rooms within the castle were habitable and comfortable.
This platform, her perch for the vampire executions, was the only location where she ever ventured. She spent most of her time within Château des Flammes. What need did she have to wander out into the public? None, although she had no reason to fear the vampires. Every criminal was routinely hunted down, either by her fellow witches or by her bulls.
Each night when the moon rose, the queen unleashed her bulls out onto the streets of Ville de Liberté. Once upon a time, the land had been the separate countries of Spain, France, and Germany. The Rift had devastated the world, and the after-effects lingered even now, fifty years later.
Climate patterns had altered drastically. During the dry period, the air hurt to breathe. When the rains began, storms lasted for weeks at a time—terrible, fierce, and powerful. Venturing outdoors in ice season could claim your life. And the hot part of the year was so intense that vampires had to burrow underground. Otherwise, they risked dying when the sun shone, despite being indoors or even concealed in coffins.
The dry season had just ended, and Antoine expected the first rainstorm would be any day now. For once, the day was somewhat beauteous.
Perfect for an execution.
“Bring forth the prisoner,” the queen announced.
The moment she opened her mouth, a hush fell over the crowd. Even before she spoke, those gathered only whispered in peaceful tones. Her voice contained incredible power, striking fear into the soulless vampires, hope into the hearts of humans, and acceptance and adoration into the souls of witches.
To the left, footsteps sounded on wooden stairs. Two witches dragged a gagged and bound vampire. The bright sun would blind anyone who dared to look at her glory, but the shade of the platform protected them from her rays.
Frying to a crisp would defeat the purpose of an execution.
Magical shackles on the vampire’s wrists stripped him of his strength, and the gag prevented him from speaking or unleashing his fangs.
Gracious in every moment, the queen rose from her throne. Rubies surrounded by diamonds dripped from a coiled silver chain around her neck. The gemstones clanged softly, and the folds of her skirt whispered as she advanced a single step forward.
No monarch would ever be more beautiful than Queen Pierrette Lyon.
Layer upon layer of silk, lace, and ruffles accented her gown. The magical protection shield surrounding her from her clothes and jewelry was nearly enough to force Antoine to step back.
“Ungag him,” she decreed.
Antoine stepped forward and yanked off the cloth. Magic in the material tickled his arm as he slid back into position.
The vampire’s head remained hung. Powe
r from the shackles had zapped his energy, and this vampire appeared almost unconscious.
“Vampire, what is your name?” The queen stepped forward, hands sweeping out to include her audience in the conversation as if performing in a play.
The vampire did not answer.
One of the witches holding him struck the prisoner in the back of the head.
He did not respond.
The crowd began to murmur, already restless.
Pierrette’s face remained indifferent. Antoine had no doubt it was impossible for her to feel fear or worry or doubt.
She pressed her hands to her bosom. “He does not wish to share his misdeeds. What a pity.”
When she turned her back to the crowd, her expression changed for only a moment to utter hatred, disgust, and repulsion. Then her mask reformed.
After shifting to one side so the crowd could see her again, she snapped her fingers.
The vampire’s head jerked up as if controlled by strings.
“Vampire, what is your name?” she repeated in a critical tone of voice.
“Hernando,” he said, his voice scratchy and unpleasant.
“Hernando…” She waved her hand with a flourish. Even that simple movement was graceful.
“Hernando Lopez.”
“Hernando Lopez. Can you tell me what you did last night?” the queen asked.
Antoine did not know which crime the vampire had committed. He was eager to hear the admission himself. It seemed that the crowd held their collective breath in excitement as well.
“I was indoors,” Hernando said, a sullen expression on his face.
“Where?” she asked.
Antoine wanted to rub his chin but refrained. His queen would not appreciate him being anything but a loyal soldier. Any distraction might cause him to fail, should the vampire somehow break free of the magical hold. Even one vampire could take down twenty in a matter of moments, especially with so many humans present.
“In a pub,” he said, his words insolent.
One of the witches holding his arm appeared ready to strike him, but the queen shook her head, showing mercy.
“Which pub?” the queen demanded.
After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “The Mean Gladiator.”
A known vampire hideout.
The queen sighed and shook her head in disappointment. Not a single strand fell from her twin French braids.
“I so hoped you would not lie because I do not appreciate falsehoods. Do you care to try again? Please feel free to share and elaborate on what exactly occurred in said pub.”
“I drank at The Mean Gladiator. I did.”
“And afterward?” she asked, a threatening tone overwhelming her serenity.
“I could not venture the streets. One of your hell bulls would have captured me.”
“So what did you do instead?” A sweet smile on her lips, she continued, “Tell the truth, and perhaps I will spare you.”
The crowd hissed and booed at that, angry and frustrated. They’d come for blood and demanded Hernando’s. Honestly, they did not need to know his crime. His species was reason enough. Hernando could be executed for his need of human blood for survival… if the crowd had its way.
But the queen adhered to standards and morals, unlike the terrible vampires. The devastating monsters eventually ended up in trials such as this. Always, the vampire was found guilty. Always the vampire was executed.
Today would certainly be no different.
But before sentencing and the carriage of justice was complete, a verdict must be reached.
Was the vampire purposely delaying his execution? Antoine was skeptical. Vampires were devastating monsters who felt no fear, no remorse, and no shame. This one seemed to aggravate the queen and rile up the crowd out of spite before his inevitable death.
“I climbed up to roof of the pub,” the vampire muttered, “and stole along the rooftops until I stood on top of The Flaming Sword.”
The building housed another pub, although this one was frequented by witches. Antoine enjoyed wine there a few nights a week. Last night, however, he had not.
Pierrette said nothing.
Hernando hesitated and then continued on with his story. “I waited until Alois Schmidt left.”
Antoine caught himself before he could gasp in shocked dismay. He glanced at the display in the center of the crowd. The familiar figure of the hooded witch Alois was missing. How perplexing that he had not realized this until now.
Hatred, fury, and sorrow filled Antoine as his hands clenched into fists of rage.
The queen smiled at him, nodding, noticing his displeasure.
Antoine breathed deeply and recomposed himself.
“Go on,” the queen urged.
The vampire sneered with disgust. When he spoke, he seemed to recover more and more strength, no longer sluggish or weak. He made no show of force.
Still, Antoine watched the prisoner with critical eyes, suspicious and cautious. He would risk the queen’s anger and strike the vampire dead before the sentencing if Hernando dared to threaten the queen with anything more than a terrible facial expression.
“I grabbed him from the rooftop.” Hernando lifted his chin as if in victory, appearing pleased beyond measure with himself. “My feet never touched the ground. The bulls had no idea I was even there.”
“You grabbed him and…”
“And I was thirsty.” Hernando flashed a grin, his fangs threatening to make an appearance.
“So you freely admit that you executed one of my witches?”
“Executed. More like drained. But, yes. I did.”
Queen Pierrette turned her back on the vampire and addressed the crowd. “Alois’ body was found in pieces. This vampire drank so ferociously that Alois’ head had been removed from his body.”
Gasps of shock resounded throughout the crowd. People quickly overcame their terror and shouted in anger for the vampire to die.
The queen smiled and nodded in her usual, regal way to the crowd.
“There you have it,” she said in her sweetest tone. “Hernando Lopez, for the crime of murder and devastating Alois Schmidt’s body, you are hereby sentenced to death by beheading.”
Hernando responded by spitting at the queen’s feet.
The two witches holding him shoved him back several paces.
“Antoine,” she murmured while raising a hand.
He stepped beside her before she uttered the last syllable of his name. “My queen,” he said, bowing at the waist.
“Will you take my axe and assume Alois Schmidt’s responsibilities as executioner?”
“It would be an honor.”
She swept behind the throne and brought forth a black cloth. Antoine accepted it and followed the two witch guards as they dragged Hernando down the stairs. The crowd parted to clear an open pathway without needing to be prompted. They overwhelmed the doomed vampire with insults, and a few even threw rocks at him. Magic was expressly forbidden by those witnessing an execution to avoid potential panic and mayhem.
The pair of guards forced the vampire up another short ladder. This raised platform was not nearly as high as the queen’s dais.
She watched them from afar, but it bothered Antoine to see her alone without protection. It was ridiculous for him to feel that way. The monarch was a powerful witch, perhaps the most powerful within the entire division.
Antoine climbed the ladder and stood in position. He waited until the witches forced the vampire into the proper placement, Hernando’s head just so. Only then did Antoine slip on his black hood.
Executioners always wore hoods.
The smooth wood of the axe handle felt solid and firm in his grip. Through the dark hood material, Antoine could see perfectly. The silver blade flashed as he chopped the rope, and the huge guillotine blade crashed down. Within seconds, the act was done, and the crowd cheered.
Antoine grinned now that no one could see his face. As executioner, he had to wait until al
l others left the area before he removed the body. The queen would leave first, he knew. High-ranking witches on the platform next. Most of the crowd would wait to jeer and mock, humiliate and ridicule. Eventually, they thinned out as well.
When Antoine heard no other sound save for the audible beating of his heart, he removed his hood.
Damn. He was not alone after all.
A single form stood before him. A light drizzle had started, and the figure wore a garment covering most of the face. Antoine suspected the person capable and strong despite the slightness of build. He assumed the form belonged to a female. Shadows hid most of her features. He could not be certain if she was a witch or human. In her eyes, though, he caught a glimpse, a mesmerizing green he’d never seen before.
Her gaze never lifted from the two pieces of the vampire. Without a word or glance at Antoine, she turned and walked away, head down, the rain beating on her back.
Antoine knew he should go about collecting the body, disposing it, and washing the blade in preparation for the next public execution. Instead, he stared at the figure until she disappeared from sight.
This was his life. To serve the queen, he would execute vampire criminals.
And he would do so gladly.
He hadn’t time to wonder who was so interested in a dead vampire. Regardless, he was curious.
Shaking his head to rid the confused stupor, he grumbled, “Come on, Hernando. It’s time for you to meet the Inferno Fires.”
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