At one time the main table had formed a semi-circle, but since hostilities between the two species escalated it had been divided so that two arced counter’s now faced each other. Tall white candles stood in holders on the table’s polished surface, mugs and pitchers of alcohol positioned near each main throne. A mini banquet had been provided, slabs of both cooked and raw meat offered upon centuries-old silver platters. Isaac noted the vampires drank what he assumed to be blood from crystal decanters, a selection of fruits and poultry spread across their tabletop.
Markus sat in his regal throne at the center of the vampire table, his pale face infected with a look of disdain. Back straight, one arm thrust forward on the polished mahogany, his fingers drummed a muted rhythm on its elegant surface. To the Elder’s right sat his wife; Ilanna holding an air of beauty that was not lost even on Isaac. The years and strains of battle had been kind, her alabaster skin smooth, beauty highlighted by the waving forms of shadows passing across her face. Anton sat stern-faced to Markus’s left, the Eliminator present in the same capacity as Trace.
“You’re late,” Markus observed.
Isaac had yet to reach his throne. Pausing by the high chair and making sure a thick coat of sarcasm rode his voice, he said, “Yeah sorry; the traffic was a nightmare.”
Markus snorted disapproval, obviously unimpressed by Isaac’s comment.
Pulling on the chair’s backrest, its feet scraping on the room’s dust-coated rock base, Isaac sat on his throne. His two accomplices took their seats, Trace to his left, Sava on his right. Isaac picked up the large, silver jug and sniffed its contents. The liquid smelled like wine, but imprudent trust had already cost lives over the centuries. Isaac tipped the contents of the jug onto the floor behind his chair. Trace retrieved three bottles of German beer from his coat pocket, pulled the top off each, and handed them out.
“Why would we poison you, Isaac?” Markus questioned. “Have you not learned to trust us by now?”
Isaac smiled. “Have you not learned, Markus, that one can never trust a vampire; especially after six centuries of warfare.”
“Isn’t it the hope,” Ilanna offered, “that we can learn to trust each other again; otherwise what’s the point with this truce.”
“Maybe one day, my dear,” Isaac said. “But after such a long time I doubt trust from either side would be achieved in the span of one year.”
She shrugged, seemingly accepting of Isaac’s words. In reality, the vampires were right not to trust him but Isaac would never reveal that to anyone outside the two werewolves sitting beside him in counsel. With the passing of each day, with the rhythm of every heartbeat, Markus’s downfall, and ultimately the covens, got closer. Yet Isaac knew he couldn’t trust the Elder seated across from him, not even if the goodwill and guidance of Ilanna influenced the oldest of all vampires. Markus’s treachery glinted in his eyes with as much vibrancy as firelight thrown by the torches on the walls. The vampire Elder was waiting, looking for that ideal opportunity to dispose of Isaac and claim victory of his own in this immortal conflict.
As had been the case four hundred years previously this truce was fragile and unsteady, crumbling on its own foundations.
“Trust is shown with actions, not words,” Isaac said. “I agreed to this truce in order to exterminate our similar threat of hybrid domination and my soldiers are committed to that act alone.”
“Lycanthrope actions tell me that your kind is still not to be trusted.” Markus held Isaac’s gaze with an icy stare as he persisted. “There continue to be renegade werewolves attacking our fortress in Romania—although as each foray is repelled I cannot understand their futile persistence. Not just there, though, but there are also isolated assaults throughout Europe. We agreed on an equal truce yet your kind has hardly held your end of the bargain.”
Isaac took a long pull on the beer and slammed the bottle to the table. Liquid splashed over the bottle’s neck. “And you have been aware for the past five centuries that there are certain factions, who have no connection to my pack, that insist on living by their own rules. It is the actions of those soldiers under my governance that you should heed, not the stupidity of a minority of hooligans.”
“They are werewolves like you, Isaac. Therefore it is your responsibility to control your kin regardless of where they are and what they do. You see no such insubordination from vampires.”
Isaac leaned forward in his throne, a timeless fury sprouting a rough pelt beneath his clothing, muscles thickening with blood as he fought to subdue the change. “Always pretending to be holier than thou, aren’t you Markus. Maybe it’s because your coven is so civilized that you have no chance of winning this war.”
“What war?” Ilanna intervened. “A legally binding document signed by you both states that at this moment there is no war between us.”
Isaac glanced at her and his anger softened. His fight, although fought against the coven as a whole, wasn’t directed towards Ilanna specifically. He felt certain that if he could slaughter every last vampire with the exception of one, it would be her he’d spare. “Forgive me, Ilanna, but six hundred years of habit is hard to break. Maybe I should have said it was why you were no nearer to winning the war than you were six centuries ago.”
Anton touched his Elder’s arm and Markus leaned in. The two vampires whispered and a fresh batch of infuriation boiled in Isaac’s guts. What the hell are those bloodsuckers talking about?
Markus nodded and straightened in his throne. “I suggest we proceed with this meeting. This childish bickering could have us here all day.”
Isaac nodded. “I agree.” He turned to Trace. “Let’s begin.”
The trusted lycanthrope stood from his seat, gathered his suitcase from the floor, and stepped into the center of the vaulted room. Retrieving enlarged photographic evidence from last night’s raid on hybrid breeding colonies, Trace briefed the gathered counsel on the mission’s success. It was a strange sight to watch Trace and the vampire Eliminator, Anton, agreeing on gathered reports, supporting each other on information supplied. Isaac had more respect for Anton than he had for Markus, and wondered if Ilanna would consider taking the Eliminator as her husband once Markus had been removed from his position. Of course, if Isaac had his way, Anton would follow his leader into death regardless of how much respect he garnered from the pack.
The briefing took a half hour, and the weight of information seemed to suggest that the hybrid clan teetered on the brink of extinction. The only worrying aspect was the apparent confirmation that the two highest ranking hybrid commanders remained alive: Simon Cain and Tamara Wyatt. Neither had been identified amongst the dead from last night’s slaughter, and Trace confirmed the woman’s unfortunate escape from the monastery in the Ukraine.
Isaac smiled. Hybrid commanders in the Americas, on the Australasian and Asian continents had all been wiped out, along with every traceable hybrid soldier. Once the distraction of hybrids was swept under the carpet, the Alpha-Male could concentrate on his ultimate mission.
Trace and Anton took their places at their respective tables.
Markus gazed through shadows floating in the subterranean boardroom and stared at his immortal counterpart. “Tell me, Isaac, your pack seems to have gathered a lot of confidential information about the hybrids, more than we have been able to assemble. How? Have you infiltrated the hybrid clan? Do you have some other manner of finding this information that you have foolishly chosen not to share with the war cabinet?”
A knot of pleasure curled Isaac’s intestines. The extent of lycanthropic knowledge obviously troubled Markus. The pack’s unique technology that allowed them to harvest brain memories had given them a superior edge in both theatres of this conflict and it seemed Markus was now fishing for that information.
I wouldn’t tell you even if my eternal life depended on it. “I’m sorry, but such information is classified.”
Markus’s smile contained contempt. “Come now, Isaac; in this new peace of ours there�
��s no need to be keeping secrets.”
“Oh, really? Do you have any secrets you’d like to share with us, Marcus?”
His expression shifted violently, Markus’s muscles locking rigid. Isaac had touched a nerve and he smiled at his ancient foe. Markus read the grin stretched across Isaac’s face and the Alpha-Male wondered just how violently the vampire’s emotions were colliding inside his undead body.
“I have no secrets from anybody!”
Isaac nodded. “Okay; I was just asking.”
Ilanna stared at Markus, her brow furrowed, recognizing the change in her husband’s demeanor. Anton shot his commander a glance, saw the rage and unease shifting across Markus’s countenance then returned his gaze to the documents upon the table.
The first, subtle blow had been landed, but Isaac was merely sparring with the vampire Elder. The knockout punch would be devastating.
“If there’s nothing else.” Markus said, his voice cracking.
Isaac spread his lips into a wry smirk which he hoped infuriated the vampire elder. “There’s nothing else.”
Markus stood, his throne scraping violently on the rock floor. “Then counsel is adjourned.”
Leaving his paperwork on the table and his wife seated on her throne, Markus turned on his heels and marched from the hall.
Isaac smiled and drank his beer.
* * *
Santi Quattro Coronati
The cold water refreshed him the moment he splashed it on his face but it failed to cool his rage. Switching off the faucet, Markus stared into the Victorian vanity mirror and didn’t like what he saw; rivulets of water meandered down his pale sickly skin, his eyes filled with a strained tiredness. His lips bulged, diluting his handsomeness, fangs throbbing with an almost uncontrollable anger.
He doubted he’d relax again until Isaac’s lifeless body had finished decomposing. A nice thought, it was such a shame Markus had to wait so long for something like that to come true. The ideal outcome would be the Alpha-Male’s gory death at the hands of hybrids, but if that didn’t materialize then Markus had other options at his disposal.
The way Isaac taunted him down in the catacombs left Markus concerned that the pack’s leader had some information on him that would seriously compromise his status in the coven. Markus hoped that the Alpha-Male had just been tormenting him, the way a cat plays with a mouse before snapping its neck.
Like every great leader Markus had secrets. As far as he was concerned Isaac only knew of the one: that annoying document he’d been forced to sign that loaded the weight of responsibility for this war squarely on his influential shoulders. Many of his other secrets were of little concern but one of them, the one he’d kept hidden for almost four centuries, didn’t bear thinking about.
A shudder of fear rippled Markus’s body. By the Elders, I hope the coven never finds out about that little incident!
A tentative knock rapped the bathroom’s wooden door.
“Markus?” Ilanna’s soft voice flowed through the gap at the threshold with all the comfort of a cooling breeze on a hot summer day. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Well; can I come in?”
He closed his eyes and hung his head, trying to find some form of composure. “It’s not locked.”
The door clicked open and Ilanna entered, preceded by the aromatic tang of her perfume.
Markus grabbed a hand towel from the rack, dried his damp face, and turned to meet her with a smile he hoped wouldn’t appear too false. She returned his grin but the concern in her eyes was easy to distinguish.
Ilanna reached out and placed her palm against his cheek. “You just have to ignore him.”
Markus’s smile faded. “It’s not so easy to ignore a thug like Isaac. Uncouth; he’s a typical lycanthrope always pushing for a fight.”
“I know; but you didn’t back down and you didn’t stoop to his level.” She paused, gazing into his face.
Markus wondered if he’d ever see a pair of eyes as beautiful as hers if he managed to live for another nine hundred years.
“I’m proud of you, Markus.”
“Why?”
“Because you brought a degree of peace into this conflict; sure, we still have hybrids to fight but for the moment at least our battle is no longer with the werewolves. That in itself has given me comfort and a greater sense of peace-of-mind.”
He couldn’t locate the comforting smile again. If she found out about what he’d sacrificed in order to gain this flimsy peace she’d no doubt be horrified. The document he’d signed that placed all the blame on him had the potential to tear the coven apart. Almost a thousand years previous, when a true and secure peace had bound every vampire and lycanthrope together, laws and regulations were drawn up to help govern their supernatural world. The position he’d placed himself in, if made public knowledge, would ultimately lead to him being put on trial for treason. The punishment was death.
Of course, if Ilanna found out about his biggest secret of all she’d probably decapitate him in an instant without the need for courts and jurors.
Markus turned from her in an effort to hide the troubled emotions writhing across his face. Running the water once more, he gulped down a mouthful, hoping to dissipate the rising sensation of nausea.
Closing his eyes Markus willed his fingers to stop shaking. “I need a moment, my darling.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
No, I’m not. Markus nodded.
“I’ll be waiting in bed for you, my love,” Ilanna whispered and her footsteps told him she was heading for the door.
If this nervous tide of sickness failed to calm itself Markus doubted he’d be able to make love to his wife, and he silently cursed Isaac for that, too.
The bathroom door opened and Markus sensed his wife pause in the opening.
“What did Isaac mean when he asked if you had any secrets you’d like to share?”
A bolt of panic stabbed his muscles. He halted the bile as it lurched up his throat; could taste its acidity and smell its rancid stench. Markus straightened as best he could. “He meant nothing, Ilanna. He’s trying to intimidate me, trying to impose some form of dominance that he simply does not have. I have no secrets from you, my darling.”
He couldn’t look over his shoulder at her; couldn’t be sure his words sounded convincing enough.
“Okay,” Ilanna whispered, the word lacking any sense of belief. “Don’t be long.”
The door closed.
Markus turned to the toilet, fumbled with the lid, and vomited into its two hundred year-old bowl.
NINE
Alpbach Valley
Tyrol, Austria
A gibbous moon provided modest light yet they had to remain partially transformed in order to see properly. There were other advantages with staying in their more powerful form: their progress was quicker, and their improved senses could warn them of approaching danger quicker than if they’d stayed in their human guise. Haste was of the essence; they had to get away before this miserable war claimed their eternal lives.
He led the way through the forest, holding his lover’s hand and pulling her behind him. In the distant valley, just visible through the blanket of trees, lights in the village blazed like fireflies searching for mates. He hoped the mountain bordering the vale would level off soon; even for a hybrid the climb had started to sap his energy. His girlfriend grunted behind him, either in effort or exhaustion, but he ignored the noise and quickened his step.
They had a unique chance: an eternity together, a lifetime of happiness that could, for once, mean more than a lifetime. He had no intentions of fighting this cursed war any longer; had no desires to lose his love for a cause he no longer believed in. If they could get far enough away from the clan and hide their identity for a few years, he hoped they’d be safe enough to relax and build that home they’d always talked about.
He paused for a moment, breath heaving in his lungs. Searching the throngs of trun
ks ahead of them, he guessed the easiest route would be to their left, through a patch of undergrowth that appeared to traverse the hillside yet still lead them towards its summit. If they managed to get to the peak and into the next valley by daybreak, he reasoned they’d have a good chance of making a clean escape.
Hopefully the clan would be too absorbed with warmongering to notice their absence.
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at his lover. Panting with exertion, she offered him a loving grin. Gripping his hand with her left, she’d placed her right arm across her slightly swollen abdomen. They weren’t just running for their own freedom; their child deserved an immortality of peace too.
“This way,” he whispered, and pulled her through the forest.
Dried woodland debris shattered under their feet but the noise probably wouldn’t carry down to the village and alert the gathered hybrids. His girlfriend’s parents were down there, and hopefully remained blissfully unaware of their daughter’s absence. His own parents were dead: killed in the war he now tried so desperately to escape from.
Echoing through close-set trunks the sound of crunching undergrowth seemed to swamp the forest.
He stopped running; his girlfriend staggering to a halt behind him. For a few seconds at least the disturbance of bushes became the only noise in the woods. Nocturnal eyesight scanned the forest but he saw nothing. The trees closest to him stood as tall sentinels in the grayish gloom of his vision, the dense blanket of night thickest further in.
Pressing her body against his a faint hint of fear cracked her voice. “What is it?”
“I don’t know; thought I heard something.”
Maybe he’d been mistaken. The forest was never a quiet place, not even at night, and the sounds could have been made by almost anything. His powerful hybrid scent picked out the differing levels of forest odor: tree sap and needles, aromatic flowers and cooling earth. A gentle breeze caressed his face, the wind floating effortlessly through dense woodland towards the valley basin.
The Last Stand -- Blood War Trilogy Book III Page 9
