Sundown, International: Duty & the Beast

by Cat Marsters

  Well, that was nice, but hardly useful. Idly, Finn turned back more pages, going back further than the vellum, away from any form of language spoken today, away from any script even recognized. Brute symbols were carved into pages of pressed reeds and wood.

  On a page made of what looked like human skin, he glanced at a collection of glyphs that made him blink, and read again.

  “… slain the Elfking …”

  The Elfking? What were Sofie’s family doing writing about the Elfking?

  “Master Vampire Uda has slain the Elfking. Her brethren grow in strength, yet she has no Childer to overcome her power. We fear for the Elven people with no champion. They have lost their powers and are slain in their thousands by the Vampires, living in forlorn hope that the Elfking will return and wreak vengeance on those Vampires who slew him and his people…”

  Master vampire Uda? That name was familiar to him. He put down Weerwolf Chronicels and picked up Vampyre Storeys, a slim volume only a few hundred years old, lying open to a newish page. The vampires, who tended to live for centuries if they could avoid angry mobs with stakes, had never been large on writing down their history.

  But in the last couple of hundred years, someone had. And what they’d chronicled was the death of Uda, the oldest Master, and quite possibly the oldest vampire in the world. She’d been slain by her own Childe, the Egyptian vampire Masika. The vampire whose Childe had recently been killed…

  Wait. The vampire who killed the Elfking was now dead? And the vampire deaths he’d seen were related to Masika. Related to Uda.

  He grabbed Weerwolf Chronicels again, and scanned the page for more information.

  “…the Elfking will return and wreak vengeance on those vampires who slew him and his people. This is his curse. He cannot rise until the dust of her bones reaches him in the earth, when he will slay the brethren of the Master vampire.”

  Dust of her bones. How long had she been dead? Long enough for her bones to become dust and find the Elfking under the earth. And now he was after Uda’s brethren.

  If Masika was killed, her mate would slay every single Elf on the planet.

  Finn raced for his clothes, and half flew up the six stories to the surface.

  Sofie’s nose had long been her best asset in police work. She could sniff out a lie at fifty paces, just by the scent of terror sweat. Tracking down suspects was her specialty.

  She’d picked up the scent of the dead vampire at the morgue, and tracked it to an alley where the stench of blood was strong. Rain had started to fall, blurring the scents, but a clear picture still stood out in Sofie’s mind.

  The vampire had been feeding when she was killed. She’d entered the alley from here, and her victim -- Sofie sniffed the ground -- had entered that way. The victim’s blood smelled alive, not dead -- perhaps a useful witness.

  Except that there was a third scent under the other two. There was the overwhelming stench of dead flesh, that of the vampire; and the fresh, strong scent of the living human.

  And something… older. Something elemental. Of the earth, for sure, but also of the wind and rain. The edge of the scent Finn carried, but also a scent she’d picked up while sniffing around the second vampire victim last night.

  The Elfking.

  Tail quivering, Sofie set out after his scent.

  Finn first saw the Elfking as a towering blur against the rain. In a dark alley, miles from any civilized part of town, the vampire with the scarred face was circling a massive pillar of energy.

  He was hard to see in the rain. Finn had the feeling he’d be hard to see in clear daylight. It was like staring at the sun, too bright to take in. All he could see was the blaze of a crown and a sword.

  But he could hear the words. Words that Finn had never heard spoken out loud, only seen written on the bodies of two dead vampires.

  Masika was weakening, her strength failing as the Elfking spoke the words of the spell that would kill her. The words of it were already appearing on her skin, writhing across the smooth flesh of one arm, and the scarred tissue of the other.

  “No!” Finn yelled, angry and frightened. “No, stop it!”

  Be gone, child.

  The Elfking’s voice arrived straight in his head. Shaking it off, Finn tried again. “Don’t kill her. We have no quarrel with vampires. We’re allies now.”

  A small lie, but he figured if he was going to go to hell for anything, it wouldn’t be that.

  The Master’s spawn must die.

  “I’ve told you,” Finn said, “I won’t say it again. We are at peace. Killing this vampire will count as an act of war.”

  My life was war against the vampires, child. I will continue to fight.

  “They’ll kill us all,” Finn warned. He glanced at Masika, who was slumped against the wall now, her sword forgotten, breathing hard.

  I care not.

  No, Finn thought, I don’t suppose you do. What was going to be left of this mighty warrior after thousands of millennia, lying cursed in the ground? What use was reason against a spirit bound for war?

  How could he stop it?

  He opened his mouth, but before any words could come out, a blur shot past him, flicking water everywhere like a wet dog, and hurled itself at the Elfking like a blonde bullet.

  Snarling, massive jaws open to show ragged, fierce teeth, claws glinting in the light of the full moon, Sofie leapt for the Elfking and shoved the tall figure to the ground. The buildings shook as they landed.

  Her growl echoed around the alley and Finn, astonished, muttered proudly, “That’s my girl.”

  The Elfking’s words faltered. Masika rallied.

  Then with a sudden roar, the Elfking’s mighty sword of light thrust through the chest of the blonde wolf, and the night was split with a terrible, piercing, high yelp.

  Sofie fell, heavy and still, to the ground. Her fur receded. Her limbs lengthened. Rain pelted on her smooth, bare skin and turned her blood pink. The sword changed from a column of light to a blade of steel, and it stood out straight from between her perfect breasts.

  From one heartbeat to the next, shock was overtaken by rage, and Finn stared up at the Elfking, who’d regained his feet. No longer a shining, glorious god, he was a wraith of an Elf in tattered robes, with a mad glint to his pale, cold eyes.

  He laughed.

  And Finn saw red.

  The words of the killing spell spilled from his own lips. Words he didn’t even realize he knew how to say poured forth and landed on the glowing white skin of the Elfking.

  Cease, child!

  Never, thought Finn, and chanted faster. The Elfking shot forth his own spell, which knocked Finn back, but he didn’t stop. Masika gained her feet and her sword, and slit open the Elfking’s throat. With a gurgling roar, the ancient fell silent, slumping to the ground as the symbols crawled over his body.

  Masika gave a nod to Finn, and ran to Sofie’s body. Tears pouring down his face, Finn averted his eyes from the glorious creature who now lay dead, and spat out the rest of the spell, sending the Elfking back to death where he belonged.

  As the words of the spell swarmed over the Elfking, his body seemed to shrink back into the earth, until there was nothing left but a shadow of light, and then not even that.

  The Elfking was dead. The vampires were safe, the Elves were safe.

  Sofie was dead.

  On his knees now, his face wet with rain but even wetter with tears, Finn turned his face to the pale body lying a few feet away. Masika, her skin so dark against Sofie’s, was inspecting the wound.

  “Don’t,” he croaked, worn out from the Elfking’s blast and from the killing spell. “Leave her.”

  But Masika put a foot on Sofie’s shoulder, to Finn’s horror, and pulled the sword from her body.

  And Sofie gasped in a breath.

  “Damn,” she said weakly. “A sword in the chest really hurts.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Rome,” Magda told Sofie. “We’re opening a new o
ffice there, could use someone like you.”

  “What, you mean a werewolf who doesn’t believe in the paranormal?”

  “I’d say paranormal is normal for you now,” Magda said cheerfully. “Take it or leave it. We’ve a rather tasty vampire heading up the office there. You should go see him. Spend a few days.”

  “Right,” Sofie said bleakly. A tasty vampire -- so not what she needed right now.

  But what she did need was an Elf with a pheromone problem, and he was headed back to England. It had been three days since the death of the Elfking, three days in which Sofie had recovered from the extremely painful wound in her chest. Masika and her mate, Dare, the oldest and most powerful vampire in the world, had showered her with praise and thanks and endless pledges of fealty.

  And Finn hadn’t even so much as called her.

  Apparently Masika had installed him in a hotel to recover from the half-cast spell the Elfking had flung at him. Sofie caught herself thinking she could use his healing magic -- could use a whole lot more, but she wasn’t likely to get it.

  Finn liked women, liked sleeping with them, and he’d liked sleeping with her. But she wasn’t stupid enough to think that three days together meant he was going to stick around. He had a university full of nubile young students to get back to.

  So she recovered, and packed a bag to go to Rome and meet this tasty vampire who might well become her boss, and tried not to cry.

  Because Finn might feel only affection for her, but she’d damn well gone and fallen in love with him.

  * * *

  “She’s a werewolf. Of course she survived,” Masika said, rolling her big dark eyes at him.

  “If the sword wasn’t silver, then of course it wouldn’t have killed her,” Dare explained.

  For someone who was showering Finn with praise and adulation, Dare could be a bit snippy, Finn decided. Probably didn’t trust the pheromones, which was idiotic, since Masika was clearly besotted with the big Greek brute and hadn’t shown the slightest sexual interest in Finn.

  “Why couldn’t you tell me this three days ago?” he said.

  Masika shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

  “I didn’t have a chance. You kept introducing vampire dignitaries to me.”

  “Politics are important,” Dare said dismissively, looking at his watch and turning to go.

  “So is Sofie,” Finn said, but they were already out of the room.

  So Sofie had survived, and apparently she was okay. Well, she had no job and no idea of how to be a werewolf, but she wasn’t about to die from a sword wound.

  He winced. She must be in so much pain. If only he could heal her…

  He sighed, and picked up the phone.

  “Sundown, Inc.”

  “Magda, it’s Finn --”

  “Finn! Hello, darling, I’ve been hearing so much about you. Quite the vampire champion, which must be fun for an Elf.”

  “Er, yes. Could you possibly ask Masika to stop introducing vampires to me? I have things to do.”

  “Such as?”

  “Hand in my resignation for one.”

  “You’re leaving Oxford?”

  Finn stared out of the window at the gray Czech sky. “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

  “Did you shag too many students?”

  “No. I didn’t shag any! Well, hardly any,” he amended. “Listen. Does Sundown have any sort of base in Eastern Europe? Say, I don’t know, Prague?”

  A smile infused Magda’s voice. “Why are you asking?”

  “I just thought it might be nice to, you know, do some more work for you. Quite enjoyed tracking down the Elfking.”

  “I’m sure you did,” she said. “What with the nearly dying and all. Finn, if you want to work for us, Oxford is a hell of a lot closer than --”

  “No,” he cut in. “I want to stay here.”

  “You do?” She sounded surprised.

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat and tried to sound nonchalant. “You know, I think your cousin said she was thinking about doing some Sundown work.”

  “Really?” Now he couldn’t mistake the amusement in her voice.

  “Yeah. Maybe she could head up a new office. She’d be pretty good at that, I reckon. Lots of human contacts.”

  “Yes, I agree. In fact, Sofie’s already spoken to us about some Sundown work.”

  “She has?” His heart leapt. “Well, listen, can you give me her phone number, because all I had was her work number, and that’s not valid any more.”

  “Well,” Magda said, and he heard papers rustling, “I could, but it won’t do much good. You could try her mobile, but it’s probably switched off by now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She should be on a plane to Rome.”

  “Rome?” Finn asked stupidly.

  “Yep. Where the new Sundown office is. Very tasty vampire heading it up, I wouldn’t be surprised if -- Finn? Finn?”

  But Finn was already halfway out the door.

  * * *

  Magda had sent her to the same private airfield where she’d first met Finn. Where he’d careened around the runway, raced alongside the plane, winked and waved and sparkled at her for the first time.

  She’d never met anyone like Finn before. She probably never would again.

  Determined not to cry, because officers of the law, current or ex, didn’t cry in public -- and neither, she was sure, did werewolves -- she waited stoically with her small suitcase, staring blankly out of the window, wondering which of the small planes would take her to Italy.

  She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to do much of anything. But when she’d finally found out where Finn was staying and called to speak to him, the hotel said he’d already left.

  Back to England and all that easy sex, she thought, tears burning her eyes.

  “I do hope you’re waiting for me,” came a voice behind her, and all her grace deserted her as she spun around so fast she nearly fell over.

  “Finn!”

  He smiled at her, that easy grin that made things happen to her insides. His eyes sparkled, and she had to restrain herself from rushing into his arms.

  “Going somewhere?” He indicated her suitcase.

  “I, uh.” She looked down at it, trying to remember. “Yes. Rome.”

  “Ah.” Hands in pockets, he nodded. He was still sparkling, and she cursed him for being so damn cheerful when she was so damn miserable. “Nice place, Rome. Lots of, you know, Roman things.”

  “Yes. So I hear.”

  There was a pause. Come with me, she wanted to say, but she’d spent a lifetime being restrained and logical, and she wasn’t about to start making emotional outbursts now.

  She’d done enough of that with him already. Best not to terrify him. At least, let him think well of her. If he thought of her at all.

  Her throat ached and she fought desperately not to cry. Forcing her chin up, she gave him a rather poor excuse for a smile.

  “Founded by werewolves,” Finn said conversationally, as if she wasn’t falling apart in front of him.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Rome. Romulus and Remus, you know?”

  “I thought they were raised by wolves.”

  “Werewolves. Why do you think the Romans were so fond of blood sports?”

  He was twinkling again, and she had no idea how serious he was being. Maybe the Weerwolf Chronicels would tell her the truth.

  “The ancient Romans were werewolves?” she said, summoning her cynicism.

  “Absolutely. You know, their lunar goddess was a virgin?”

  “What, didn’t she meet any Elves?” Sofie snapped, sharper than she’d meant to because it bloody well hurt that he’d taken her virginity so wonderfully, and apparently it meant nothing to him.

  Finn’s grin flared, then faded as he saw her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but a loudspeaker announcement cut in.

  “That’s my plane,” Sofie said stiffly. “It was nice meeting you, Dr. McCready.”


  She turned and made her way to the door, unable to fight the tears that burned her eyes, the pain choking her throat, the misery that swamped her. She’d never see him again, and she’d blown her last meeting with him, and now she didn’t even have her pride and she’d never, ever be able to keep this inside herself until she was safely on the plane, away from him.

  She’d never be able to keep it inside her for the rest of her life.

  But at the door a hand spun her by the shoulder, and before she could quite register the pain on Finn’s face he was kissing her, so hot and sweet, on and on, wave after wave of wonderful kisses, and then the tears did spill down her face because this was how she’d wanted to say goodbye.

  No. She’d never wanted to say goodbye. This was how she’d wanted to go on with him.

  “Hadn’t you better get on board?” he murmured, letting her go, and the tenderness in his eyes was unbearable.

  Unable to speak, she nodded, turned and fled out into the cold and the noise of the tarmac, rushing toward the plane and pausing, very confused, when she saw that it was a cargo, not a passenger plane. A ramp at the back was being lowered.

  “I think there’s some mistake,” she called to the dispatcher, who sighed and brought his clipboard over.

  But before he could say anything to Sofie, the roar of a car caught her attention and Finn’s E-type Jaguar came thundering toward the plane, swerving at the ramp and skidding to a halt three feet from Sofie.

  The door swung open and his Elvish eyes sparkled up at her. “Did I mention I’m going to Rome?” he said, grinning, and she ran into his arms.

  Cat Marsters

  Cat lives in a village in southeast England, which, while not quite a fairytale setting, is nonetheless very pretty and was mentioned in the Domesday Book of AD 1087. She shares a house with only slightly batty parents who hardly ever tell her to get a real job, and a musician brother who knows there’s no chance she’ll ever get one if he doesn’t. Life is kept from being boring by the often hilarious antics of three geriatric cats and a dog who thinks she’s Marilyn Monroe.

  Cat has been writing all her life, but in order to keep herself rich in shoes and chocolate, she’s also worked as an airline check-in agent, video rental clerk, stationery shop assistant, and laboratory technician. She’s aiming for a fairytale cottage, and asks all potential Prince Charmings to apply in writing with pictures of themselves and their Aston Martins.