“What about the werewolf? Is he in your custody too?” The taller vampire smiled, showing his fangs again. He was being rude on purpose.
If the vampire wanted to goad Marcus, he had chosen the wrong man tonight. Marcus’s only goal was to leave as soon as possible and he felt that, for once, he was headed the right direction. Diana would be proud of how he was conducting his end of the exchange. “When we arrived, we found that man on the ground, a few meters from the renegades.”
“You found him like that. Unconscious. Why do I find your story very hard to believe?” The tall vampire’s fangs slid all the way down and seemed to lock in place with an audible snap.
Marcus’s patience snapped as well, but for Diana and Daniel, who expected him not to be too late for the party, he bit down a tasty remark.“Listen, I don’t care what you do with the werewolf as long as you let us leave with the kids.” Marcus sidestepped the tall vampire. “Now, if you’ll excuse us—”
“Don’t think so.” In the blink of an eye, the short vampire was in Marcus’s face. “Those are our guests. We were expecting them tonight, and I won’t let you whisk them away.”
The man’s height didn’t reach Marcus’s nose, but he knew it wasn’t wise to underestimate a vampire’s strength. Their power had nothing to do with physical appearance, but it came from age and lineage. He had no clue if the short man was a fake or if he could pose a serious threat.
Footfalls from behind diverted both vampires’ attention away from Marcus. He took advantage of that by moving sideways, and stepped into the safe shadow of a tall, gnarled olive tree. There, he reached down to his boots and carefully unsheathed two silver daggers from the hidden lining in his custom footwear. Since Diana’s kidnapping at the hands of Claudius, Marcus never left the house without his silver blades. He slid them up his sleeves that unrolled to his wrists, and entered the cone of filtered light once again.
“Gentlemen.” Peter climbed the slope, cell phone in hand. “I am the Renegade Controller.”
“What an honor. The Controller himself came to visit us. Maybe we should throw him a party. What do you think, Lucio?” The shorter vampire turned toward the other and cackled.
“Hmm.” The tall vampire seemed to study Peter, then nodded, a sly attitude in his stance. “Maybe we should. I heard the Controller’s appetites are up to our standards.”
“I’m flattered, but I must decline your gracious invitation.” Towering over the two vampires, Peter stood with his back straight while keeping his cell phone pointed at an angle. His eyes emanated a chilling black light. “Per Peace Act Alliance’s accords, as the Renegade Controller, I officially take custody of the boy and the girl. The Immortal Council appreciates your collaboration in the matter.”
Marcus had never seen Peter on the job and he was impressed by the aura of power the demon so calmly wore. He was also relieved the night might still be salvageable. The hydroplane had just landed in the harbor and was mooring. From his vantage point, Marcus saw the medics taking out a stretcher. Peter turned and walked away. Marcus was about to follow when he caught sight of the two vampires flying toward them.
From over his shoulder, Peter gave Marcus a subtle shake of his head, his lips turned up as he lowered his chin to point at the cell phone he was orienting backward. The attack happened in a blink. One moment, he and Peter were descending the slope. The next, the two vampires were pointing their fangs at their jugulars.
Immediately, Marcus had his blades out of his sleeves and pressed one against the short vampire’s throat while he threw the second to Peter, who caught it in midair. “You really couldn’t resist the temptation to be an ass, could you?”
“Let me go,” the vampire hissed between his fangs. His shaking hands were on Marcus’s arms. A burnt smell accompanied the sizzling sound of silver marking the undead’s skin.
“Why would I?” He angled the blade so it pierced the man’s throat. “It serves you right. We were polite to you and you tried to feed from us. Not cool.” He pressed the edge of the blade deeper.
The vampire screamed, but Marcus didn’t let go of him. He had sensed the vampire’s strength. Without the silver incapacitating him, the man would have made a fearsome opponent.
The second vampire was safely locked under Peter’s arm and kept in check by the blade Marcus had tossed him. “You must be the stupidest vampires I’ve ever met, but you lessened my paperwork tonight. So, thank you.” He reached for the cell phone and brought it to his mouth. “Archangel, did you see enough?”
“Yes, I did.” Ludwig Barnes’s voice came through loud and clear. “You, an officer of the Immortal Council in official business, were attacked without provocation and that voids property law number one hundred and thirteen, comma two.”
Marcus heard the annoyance in Barnes’s voice, and also noticed that he had sanctioned Peter’s involvement as mandated by the Council.
“The two vampires are found guilty and will be ordered to report to Castel Sant’ Angelo tonight. They will be assigned community service for their involvement,” Barnes continued. “And if they are found serial offenders, they will spend time in Regina Coeli. Are there any questions?”
The vampire Marcus was holding swore a string of obscenities. Marcus had only to flatten the blade against the man’s skin to silence him. “Show some respect to the archangel.”
“I apologize for my crude language, archangel,” the vampire whispered as Marcus lowered the dagger to the hollow of his throat. “We’ll leave for Rome at once.”
“Report to the Office of Urban Violations,” Barnes said.
“You heard the man.” Peter’s face lit with mischief as he released the hold on his vampire. “If I were you, I wouldn’t disappoint him with a no-show.”
The man looked first at Peter and then at Marcus, who was still keeping his vampire hostage by holding the blade over his heart. “You’ll hear from our sire.”
“Of course, we will. In the meantime, scoot.” Peter accompanied his words with the same hand gesture one would use with a recalcitrant child, indicating the spilling light of the manor behind them. “Go clean up first.”
The tall vampire’s eyes had a murderous glare, and his mouth tightened into a flat line as he turned to Marcus. “It would expedite the process if you could let go of my friend.”
Marcus smiled. “But, of course.” He opened his arms to the side, the silver blade shining bright.
The vampire blinked, but kept his composure.
The one Marcus had just released immediately stepped by his friend’s side, one hand massaging his throat, pain etched on his face. “You’ll pay for this.”
“Send me the bill.” Marcus stepped toward him and felt a primal pleasure when the man stepped back, eyes widened in fear.
The tall one placed a hand on his friend. “What about the werewolf?”
Marcus raised one eyebrow as he played with the dagger, throwing it in the air and catching it. “What about him now?”
“We were expecting him, and our sire will be very displeased if we come back without him,” the tall vampire said, his eyes darting to the side.
Before Marcus could muster a proper answer, Peter raised one hand. “That werewolf belongs to a gang. The Reds. Do you know of them?” he asked, his voice controlled, but Marcus caught the amused undertone.
The short vampire hurried to answer, “No, of course not. We don’t know anything about any gang.”
“Thought so.” Peter waved goodbye at them, then smiled at Marcus. “Sometimes, I love my job.”
Marcus snorted. “I bet you do.”
“I’ll go check on the Red.” Peter brought two fingers to his forehead and saluted Marcus. “Centurion.”
“Controller.” Marcus saluted him back. “I’ll make sure those two clowns don’t have a change of heart.”
“Good thinking.” Peter launched the silver blade in a long arch back to Marcus. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He raised one hand to catch it, then k
ept watch and waited for the two vampires to get back inside the house. Only when the door slammed behind them and the darkness was restored, did he pivot on his heels and head back toward the rest of his group.
Chapter Six
As Quintilius stood beside the werewolf, Alexander watched with growing fear when the medics tried to wake Raphael. The boy lay on the stretcher, covered by a thermal blanket that should have helped raise his body temperature. Instead, Raphael was stiff and cold to the touch.
Peter and Marcus stood nearby, worry etched on their faces. They had come back relatively cheerful from their talk with the vampires, but their mood fell in line with everyone else’s soon enough.
“Is this normal?” Alexander asked to no one in particular, feeling useless. He had run back to the main trail when he heard the screams, but arrived when the situation was already under control.
One of the two medics shook his head as he took the boy’s vitals again, then he let the stethoscope hang from its tubing and sighed. “We need to take him to the Tiberina Island Hospital. He’ll need a full toxicology panel. By now, he should’ve been awake. If only the girl would talk to us—” He carefully opened one of Raphael’s eyes and flashed a small light there, only to sigh even louder. “She could set us in the right direction. Since we don’t know what happened, we’re wasting valuable time he doesn’t have.”
The medic turned his attention to Luisa, who was back in Samuel’s safe embrace, after she had fainted. She had seemed to stir when Peter came closer and addressed her with a few questions, but soon after she closed her eyes and leaned against Samuel’s chest, hiding her face.
After that, Samuel covered her with a second thermal blanket, cradled her, and took her closer to Raphael once again. She hadn’t opened her eyes since. “She’s in shock,” he responded to the medic.
“We need someone to fly with us.” The second medic looked up from the ground where he had crouched to secure Raphael to the stretcher with leather belts he tightened over the blanket.
The first medic looked at Samuel. “The girl must come too.”
Samuel stood with Luisa nestled in his arms, looking like a child compared to his massive size.
“I’m afraid we need someone smaller or we won’t all fit.” The medic’s eyes glanced from the angel to Alexander.
“Sure.” Alexander reached for his cell phone to call home.
“Good.” The medic stood back up and told his colleague to raise the stretcher at his mark.
Samuel walked over with Luisa. “I’ll take her down to the plane.”
Alexander moved alongside the stretcher, falling in step with the medics. “Ravenna, I’m flying back to the hospital.” He had been reporting to her on the kids’ welfare. “I’ll get a ride from there.” He waved to the rest of his group and looked down at the hydroplane waiting for them. “I’ll call you back when we land.” He hung up with Ravenna and turned to face Marcus, who stood behind. “See you there?”
Marcus tilted his head toward Quintilius and Peter, who watched over the gang member. “We’ll take the Red to Regina Coeli first.”
“Okay.” Alexander waved a hand over his shoulder and was rewarded by a chorus of somber farewells.
They had slowly started the descent toward the harbor, minding the slick pitted stairs with great care, when Alexander heard a commotion and turned. “What the—”
The werewolf had awakened and was running at full speed toward the medics, red-eyed and foaming at the mouth. Peter, Quintilius, and Marcus chased after him, shouting and swearing. Alexander put himself in the werewolf’s trajectory, and at the last moment pivoted to the side and extended one leg out to cut him down. “Take the kids to the plane,” he shouted to the medics and Samuel. The medics hurried while the angel gave him a concerned look, Samuel’s eyes darting from Alexander to the medics. Alexander gestured for him to leave as what seemed like a stainless steel wall hit him.
At the impact with Alexander’s leg, the Red stumbled and fell forward, taking Alexander along for the ride. While sliding down the slope, the werewolf grabbed Alexander by both ankles. The steep angle of the path helped them gain speed, and soon they were tumbling one over the other in a race to the bottom. Alexander kicked the werewolf, but the man didn’t release his grip. If anything, he curled his fingers around Alexander’s ankles tighter and dug his fingernails into Alexander’s skin until it hurt.
Alexander hit his head, his shoulders, and every single part of his body at least twice on every rock, root, or piece of slate on the path. Blood soon obfuscated his sight, and he blindly slashed at the shifter. They slid for what seemed forever on the muddy trail, the Red snarling, and Alexander trying to nudge him away by any means at his disposal. The werewolf’s hands changed location several times, but never let go of Alexander. When he finally rolled with his head at biting distance from the werewolf, Alexander went for the man’s ear and pressed his teeth tight around the soft cartilage. While still rolling downhill, he didn’t let go of the shifter until he felt the tissue lacerate and give away. The werewolf screamed.
In a strange turn of events, the last time Alexander was forced to fight dirty had been two thousand years ago in a street brawl in Ostia—the ancient Roman harbor just a few kilometers away from Fiumicino. His opponent had also been a werewolf, one with a penchant for beating lupanare, prostitutes, in some cases as young as twelve. Alexander used to have a house one street over from where those ladies of the night worked, and he was friends with some of them. One night, they brought Alexander one of their younger workers, asking for vengeance. The girl’s body had been broken in so many pieces and yet she was still alive. Alexander had called his personal medicus and ordered him to save her no matter the cost. Then he’d gone hunting. He had found the werewolf sitting outside a taberna, drinking wine and boasting about how he had punished a lupanare for not pleasing him fast enough. The werewolf’s screams filled the summer night as life in Ostia slowed to a halt to witness Alexander’s anger.
In both cases, Alexander would have rather won the contest over a duel or a boxing match, but instead, he spat out chunks of werewolf without regrets.
The Red finally let go of him, and Alexander slowed his descent to a halt by pressing his heels into the mud and reaching out to a root for anchor. The werewolf slid past him and stopped several meters down the slope when he ended in a recess on the path, tangled in a heap of airborne roots uncovered by the recent rains. The man hit the side of his head on a protruding rock but didn’t faint. If anything, it seemed as if he was running on an infinite supply of adrenaline.
Alexander had never tried vampire blood. In fact, he wasn’t fond of drugs in general, and his knowledge of their effects was limited to the few times he had inhaled the fumes of hallucinogenic plants in religious rituals. But he could see why people might become addicted to vampire blood. The Red should have been lying unconscious in a pool of his own byproducts. Instead, he stood, charging toward Alexander, sprinting uphill without faltering, his face a mask of hatred and madness.
Knowing he would go back to Ravenna with a broken rib or two on top of all the cuts and bruises he had already suffered, Alexander swore—he didn’t appreciate his enforcer having to worry about him. Preparing for the fight, he straightened up and steadied his legs by slightly bending his knees and lowering his center of gravity. His athletic frame was an advantage on firm ground because adversaries tended to underestimate his strength and speed. But on a muddy and downhill terrain, someone as bulky as Peter or as Samuel would have had a much better chance. Even Marcus would have fared better.
Judging from the cheerful shouts and calls coming from up the hill, at least the Roman had decided Alexander had the situation under control and didn’t need any help. Alexander would have expected nothing less from Marcus, but it seemed that his high opinion of Peter and Quintilius had been misplaced.
Alexander let the werewolf charge him and spend energy to power through the slope, gravity working against him and his
great mass of heavy muscles. With a smile on his face, Alexander waited, slowing his breathing and focusing on how much he wanted to be in Ravenna’s arms soon. The Red ran toward him, the vampire blood affecting how his brain should have processed the external inputs, fogging his ability to understand the subtle changes in his opponent’s stance.
With a cocky grin, Alexander extended his hand out and curled his fingers in a come-hither gesture that enraged the big oaf even more. Then, when the foul breath from the werewolf reached his nostrils, Alexander struck him in the face with his flat palm, concaving his nose enough to debilitate, but not kill him. The years he had spent in the Far East had been devoted not only to china shopping, but also to training in the finest martial arts. It had paid off time and again. And it paid now. Whistles and applauses followed the heavy fall and crash of the werewolf to the ground.
Alexander’s thoughts returned again to that night so long ago, where the blood of another werewolf had tinged the earth red. Now, the viscose slurry mixed with the clay. Two millennia ago, the bastard’s body fluids had seeped through the cobblestones, soon absorbed into the empty spaces, gone and forgotten in a heartbeat. The Red wouldn’t be so lucky. With age, Alexander had become more ruthless. Several years spent in Regina Coeli would break the Red. The werewolf would soon wish Alexander had killed him.
“You can come down now,” Alexander shouted to his friends, not bothering to look up at them. Heavy steps and more cheers reached him.
“Good job, Greek.” Marcus patted Alexander’s shoulder, then walked in front of him. “You haven’t lost your touch.”
Alexander could have answered many things, but eventually said, “See you later,” and rushed to the bay where the medics were loading the stretcher into the plane. Samuel waited on the jetty.
Still holding the girl tight to his chest, the angel frowned at Alexander, his eyes lingering on his forehead and left cheek. “Is everything all right?”
“Could be worse… could be raining.” He had to laugh when a moment later freezing rain pelted his head and shoulders. Then he thought of the trio upslope having to carry the heavy load of the werewolf on the muddy slide and in the rain. “Karma,” he whispered.
An Immortal Valentine's Day Page 11
