Dark Hunt: Division 4: The Berkano Vampire Collection

by Nicole Zoltack

  2

  Seraphine Durand pulled the hood further down over her face. A vampire execution. She had never witnessed one before, and the sight of it left her frustrated and furious.

  Yes, Hernando Lopez had gone too far by feeding so violently that Alois Schmidt lost his head. To rip him apart afterward was distressing. Even she would admit that.

  But Alois Schmidt had cut off the heads of how many vampires? And not all of his victims had been guilty of the crimes charged against them.

  Did the queen truly care for justice? Of course not. She was a witch. As such, witches could do no wrong in her eyes. Humans adored the queen and all of her kind, worshipping them as if they were all gods.

  Vampires, though, were regarded as worthless parasites.

  “As if witches don’t feed off humans too,” she muttered.

  Their psychic energy was just as important as their blood.

  For a week now, Seraphine had heard the grumbling. Dismayed and angry vampires had claimed they would take out Alois Schmidt. Most knew that would serve no purpose because the executioner would merely be replaced.

  Apparently, Hernando hadn’t gotten the message.

  “Stupid fool.” Tears blinded her.

  The rain diminished to a drizzle. Not a rainstorm but Seraphine lacked a reason to smile.

  She avoided witches, humans, and vampires alike. Although she thought of ducking into The Mean Gladiator, she opted not to. Isolation would better serve her. She was too depressed and distraught for company.

  Her dwelling was a broken, dilapidated building miles from other houses. Inside, she headed straight for the kitchen. Seraphine was careful to avoid the patches in the hole that allowed the dim light of the dying day inside. Some of the buildings within Ville de Liberté had been restored but not all. Even the queen lived in a ruined castle.

  That thought gave Seraphine a sense of amusement and pleasure.

  She opened the icebox that contained no ice. Inside was the stein of Früh Kölsch she had stolen from the queen. It tasted bitter. The salt of her tears probably hadn’t helped.

  Yes, vampires could cry.

  Hernando had been ambitious, stubborn, and prone to extreme emotions. It did not surprise her that he’d taken action. It also did not shock her that he had gotten caught. Someone must have witnessed the event.

  Murder. It had been murder. Even she could not deny that. A drunken witch could be easily overwhelmed.

  The new executioner had wielded the axe as if he had been born with one in his hand. His displayed familiarity was chilling. One swift stroke of it had cut the rope and released the deadly blade, solid and sure. The witch most likely was as powerful with his magic as he was with his muscles.

  Seraphine had gotten a good look at him as he marched through the crowd to the death platform. He had brushed back dark brown hair. His nose was sharp, his jaw firm. He was in his mid- to late-twenties if she had to guess, although she had a hard time assessing ages for other species. Some scruff covered his chin and cheeks. His eyes had been dark, hauntingly so.

  Alois Schmidt’s eyes had been light blue. He had never appeared haunted. He relished his job and hated all vampires as much as the queen. For this new executioner to be so proficient from the start, he must be from the same bloodline.

  The more she drank, the smoother the beer went down. No small wonder the queen only drank this, or so rumor said.

  By the time she emptied her stein, however, she felt angry. She was far too furious to hide away in her worthless dwelling.

  Twilight neared, and her vampire senses would tell her where she was and where she needed to go. She pulled the hood of her capelet low so it nearly reached her nose.

  For what seemed like an hour, she wandered the streets, hoping to outpace her frustration, her hatred, her anger. Life was cruel. Life was unkind. Life was miserable.

  And yet this was the only life she had.

  Not for the first time, she wondered what living in other divisions would be like. Certainly one had to be pro-vampire. Not all areas held vampires in disdain. After all, vampires were fierce and powerful.

  But so were witches.

  And that was the crux of the problem.

  “It’s getting to the point that I only drink once a day,” a vampire female walking ahead of Seraphine said.

  “I hardly ever go out at all like this anymore,” her male vampire companion said as if embarrassed.

  “We’re liable to get our heads chopped off just for breathing,” another vampire said to a friend two blocks down.

  Near the vampire pub, a small crowd had formed. A hanging wooden plaque bearing the sigil of the building waved back and forth in the breeze. The painted image consisted of a blood-stained warrior standing on top of the torn limbs of his defeated enemies. There could not be a more perfect sign for The Mean Gladiator.

  The pub was crowded. Vampires all over the division had wanted to drink away their sorrows.

  “Seraphine, you coming in for a drink?”

  She wasn’t even sure who’d called her name, but she shook her head. “No thanks.”

  “No fun.”

  A vampire at the bar pursed her lips. The dress she wore was so tight it might as well be body paint. “Don’t walk out there alone. The bulls will be out soon. Spend the night here.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Fine like Hernando?” The vampire snorted. “You want to hear a story?”

  Not really, but the vampire was already telling it.

  “I heard that the queen fell in love with a vampire when she was in her teens. She would magically alter her blood with a spell so he could drink it. But then he spurned her by falling for a vampire. He was the first vampire she had ever killed. What do you think about that? The queen once loved vampires, and now she hates them!”

  “She hates vampires, and vampires hate her. Seems pretty fitting if you ask me.” Seraphine nodded and continued walking.

  Shadows lengthened all around her. Darkness surrounded her like an oppressive fog. Seraphine risked a glance upward. The impending storm was building intensity. Night had not yet fallen.

  “Hey, Seraphine. I got a fresh body. You got some herbs, and it’s yours. What do you say?”

  She grimaced at the rail-thin vampire who jumped off the roof, landing far too close for comfort. Manfried Fischer was one vampire who had thought he had befriended a witch. Instead, the witch had gotten him hooked on magical herbs. Manfried often forgot to feed. If he wasn’t careful, he was liable to snap and go off on a major feeding spree. Vampires could not survive more than a day without at least a single feeding.

  “You know I don’t have any herbs, Manfried.”

  He glanced around and approached her, again invading her personal space. “I have a small stash left. Do you want to try some?”

  Normally, she thought Manfried harmless. She pitied him.

  But tonight, she was too worked up to have much compassion.

  “Manfried, show me the herbs.”

  He was gone and back in the blink of an eye. Eagerly, he held out a small, black pouch.

  She swiped it out of his hand, opened the pouch, and dumped the contents onto the ground.

  “No!” he howled as if a werewolf instead of a vampire. Manfried dropped to his hands and knees.

  Seraphine grabbed his hair and yanked him back to a standing position. “Do not grovel. Do not disrespect yourself. You are not a witch. You are not an addict. You are not a witch’s plaything. Suck it up, Manfried. Be a vampire. Act like one.”

  He jerked himself free. Despite being as blood-free as her, if not more so, his shove was more powerful than she’d anticipated, and she nearly stumbled.

  “You should act like one yourself,” he snapped. “You don’t drink as much as you should either. Why not?”

  “Why do you chase after herbs?” she asked, deflecting.

  “I know what I want, and I go get it. Is that so wrong?”

  “When it leaves
you a hollow shell of yourself, yeah, I would say it’s wrong.”

  Manfried flared his nostrils. His fingers were changing into claws, and his fangs had descended.

  “You really want to fight me?” she asked, her voice softening to almost a whisper.

  After a moment, he breathed easier and dropped his vampire side.

  “No,” he admitted. “But did you have to be so brutal about it? I could’ve had one last—”

  “Did you ever stop to consider that the witch who gave it to you wasn’t really your friend?”

  “That’s not true!” he protested.

  Seraphine crossed her arms. “When did you last see her?”

  “Um…”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “But it’s not as if the herbs are dangerous,” he argued.

  “Are you sure about that? Look in a mirror. You’re wasting away. You said you have a fresh body. Drink. You need it.”

  Manfried’s left eye twitched. “I don’t know…”

  “You’re a vampire, Manfried. “You aren’t a witch. Be a vampire.”

  He nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “If I am, you’ll owe me a bottle of wine at The Mean Gladiator.”

  Manfried snorted. “A glass,” he bartered.

  “Bottle,” she insisted.

  The vampire shook his head and slipped away. Seraphine sighed and hoped he wasn’t off to search for more herbs.

  Quickly now, she resumed her trek. Two streets down, a human couple stared at her, crossed the street, and hurried on their way. Seraphine sighed. She wasn’t strolling around to find a snack. She hadn’t had blood in a while, yes, but she could hold off longer.

  “Wish I had more of that beer,” she muttered to herself.

  “What’s that?”

  A shadow had detached from the abandoned electronics store. No one within the divisions used electronics or any electricity for that matter. The Rift had caused a lot of devastation, including the ruination of almost all technology.

  “I wish to cause others fear,” she lied to the newcomer, whoever it may be.

  Seraphine flashed her fangs. She was not in the mood to be startled or approached, not by anyone, vampire, human, or witch.

  The shadow belonged to a man who seemed familiar. Shadows cloaked half of his face. The lack of blood circulating within her body diminished her ability to see through the gloom.

  “Why prey on the weak or vulnerable? Why seek to intimidate?”

  She listened to the shift in his heartbeat. Fight or flight would kick in. He was a witch. He might choose fight, and where would that leave her?

  “If you must know, I seek solitude.”

  He stepped forward. “You might want to go hide under a rock, vampire. The bulls will be out any minute.”

  “If you’re trying to intimidate me, I hate to break it to you, but you’re failing. Miserably.” She impatiently brushed some of her long, light brown hair back. It must’ve fallen out from her hood when she’d tousled with Manfried.

  “I know your kind.” He lifted his sharp nose into the air. “If you aren’t careful—”

  Recognition dawned, and anger surged within her. This man was a witch, and not just any witch.

  He was the new executioner, the one who had killed Hernando.

  “If you aren’t careful,” she said, jabbing his chest, “I’ll snap your neck.”

  3

  The vampire dared to touch him, dared to threaten him. Antoine was not about to take that slight willingly. After all, he had just executed a vampire. He was a strong, powerful, capable witch.

  But he saw a flash of detection in her eyes that melted into hatred, dismay, and fierce anger.

  She knew him to be the executioner, but how? Word could not have reached the vampires yet.

  Her hood.

  This vampire was the woman who had lingered at the guillotine.

  “You can try to snap my neck,” he said slowly, “but you’ll fail. For your crime of assaulting one of the queen’s protectors, you will face the guillotine.”

  “And your axe,” she said coolly. “I do not fear you, witch.”

  “I have never known fear,” he boasted.

  They circled each other warily. The drizzle had ended, but the clouds remained. Perhaps tomorrow, the rain season would officially begin.

  For now, though, the sky remained a blanket of darkness. No stars twinkled. The moon hardly ever shone down on them anyway. Only the torches lit at perches along the buildings gave any source of illumination.

  If Antoine could ignore the disgust and revulsion in her eyes, he would have recognized her green eyes earlier. Although her features were dainty, she appeared strong, tough, and capable.

  Antoine eyed her with no shortage of suspicion. Her fingers had yet to change into claws, and her fangs made no appearance either. Would she attack him? Was she stupid enough to risk it?

  Or maybe fearless would be more apt.

  “You can’t deny that Hernando Lopez murdered a witch,” he said.

  “Trying to convince yourself you did the right thing?” she asked in her most taunting tone.

  “I know I did,” he said, sounding as stubborn as they come.

  “And Alois Schmidt was so blameless and pure and noble and good.” Her words dripped with disgust and sarcasm.

  “He did all the queen asked of him.”

  “Ah, yes. But is the queen as pure and noble as you believe?”

  “Of course—”

  “Not,” the vampire snapped. She threw back her hood and stared him down, revulsion glaring in her eyes. “Not every vampire she had executed committed those crimes. I’ll admit Hernando did murder Schmidt, but how many lives did Schmidt steal?”

  “You will say anything to make me question and deny my queen. I will not. She would never order a vampire executed who did not commit heinous crimes against humanity.”

  “Humanity.” She scoffed. “We are not inhuman. You cut us, and we bleed.”

  “But the blood is not yours. It’s stolen from humans!”

  Antoine gaped at her, shocked and dismayed. Could she truly be trying to justify the existence of vampires?

  “You prey on the vulnerable,” he added.

  But she cut him off. “Not all vampires drink to the point of killing their blood source.”

  “Blood source.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You can’t even call them humans.”

  “Humans.” She shuddered. “As mindless as sheep. They worship the witches, acting as if you are all powerful. We aren’t abominations—”

  “You are!”

  “If we are it’s because you witches made us!” Her words were almost spat in anger. “Do you think that… Do you honestly believe we want to drink blood to survive? Of course, we don’t!”

  “That is not true.”

  “Believe what you will, witch. I know the truth,” she insisted.

  Antoine couldn’t help it. He chuckled at her misjudgment.

  At that same moment, she chose to strike. The vampire grabbed the nearest torch from an abandoned storefront and threw it at the witch’s head.

  A swift incantation on his part stilled the fire in the breeze he’d created. More magical-infused words made the fire jump through the air, slicing toward her.

  Seraphine anticipated this and darted around his backside. Antoine had no choice but to flicker out the flames before they seared him on their path to her.

  “Aw, you saved me,” she goaded.

  He clenched his fists. Striking a woman was not something he would ever do. Honestly, the very act of forming a fist in a fight shocked him. Witches did not fight physically, but there was something about this vampire that had his blood boiling.

  “I would never save a vampire.”

  “Not even one who saves witches?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Do you honestly expect me to believe such a blatant lie?”

  She dashed forward and gripped his throat.
Strong and capable, she certainly was. Her fingers changed into claws as they dug into his skin.

  “Be careful,” he said. “My blood is poisonous to you.”

  “I could cut you to ribbons,” she said, indifferent.

  “Why would you do that? You vampires are all alike. So uninspired, lacking in intelligence. You killed Alois Schmidt because he was the vampire executioner. Will you kill me now? It will not matter. The queen will anoint another and another—”

  “Until all of us are dead.” The vampire’s eyes filled with hatred but also dismay.

  She did not want to die.

  The realization should not have come as a shock to Antoine, but it did. It also surprised him that she hadn’t tried to rip out his throat yet. What was she waiting for?

  “Not all of us are mindless monsters,” she muttered, releasing her hold on him. “There is good and evil in all of us, vampires, witches, and humans. Some of each commit crimes, and yet, witches and humans never have to face punishment. Why is that? Oh, yes. Because the queen is a witch, and humans are too stupid to realize she doesn’t give a damn about any of them. Her war—”

  “What war?” he interrupted, already bored of her prattling.

  “Her war against vampires stems from her hatred of us. She only pretends to care for the humans because it serves her end to hunt down and kill us all.”

  “Again, you prey on the vulnerable humans. Your very existence threatens the lives of others.”

  “We have been cursed,” she said softly. “Being cursed does not make us evil.”

  “You attacked me, threatened me.”

  “Because you reject the truth. You’re blinded, witch. I hope you open your eyes soon because otherwise, someone will open them for you.”

  “How?” he asked, anger stirring in him once more. Something about this vampire was needling him, getting under his skin.

  He had never talked to one for such a lengthy period before. Normally, they would just scamper away like cockroaches fleeing from the light. That one of them wanted a war of words with him was perplexing and discomforting.

  “How better to open your eyes than to gouge them out?” she asked, her tone sweet.

  Antoine rolled his eyes with disgust. “All you know is violence.”