Pagan (MPRD Book 1)

by Andrew Chapman

  We were almost back to the safe house when a pair of headlights appeared ahead of us. We scattered and brought our guns up. Now, yes, technically speaking there was a chance that the car headed our way, which was traveling at night and coming from the north, had a nice, friendly human inside it, but is never hurts to be ready, right?

  The car was weaving slowly from one side of the road to the other, doing no more than twenty miles per hour. When it reached the Falcon’s car park it wobbled across the road, mounted the curb and shuddered to a stop. I started running. I knew that car. It was the silver Jaguar I’d borrowed from Marguerite.

  I reached the driver’s door and wrenched it open. Marguerite was inside, slumped over the steering wheel. I gently pushed her back into her seat and lifted her head. Her shirt was torn open, shredded by what looked like claws, and her stomach was in even worse shape. Long, ragged slashes had spilled blood into her lap, her skin was paler than normal—even for a vampire—and her breathing was shallow and ragged.

  “Marguerite?” I said, laying my hand on her shoulder.

  “Jack?” she said weakly. “I had to warn you. He knows, Jack. He knows.”

  She slumped against my shoulder, only her seatbelt preventing her from falling out of the seat. I reached past her and pressed the seatbelt release, catching her as she fell, then lifted her in my arms.

  “Let’s get her inside,” I said. “Anna, we need her conscious, we have to find out what’s going on. John, get the car out of sight. Marie, could you—“

  “I got it, Jack,” said Marie, holding up my FAL. “Come on! Lets get moving.”

  The look on Marie’s face was one of worry. Was she worried about the vampire or the message she’d brought? Marie held the Falcon’s door open for me and caught my eyes as I went in. I did the only thing I could think of.

  “It’s always some sort of fuckin’ drama with these vampires, isn’t it?” I said quietly.

  I smiled with relief when she covered a giggle with her hand.

  CHAPTER

  36

  “She’s going to need some blood,” said Anna after I’d carefully placed Marguerite on an empty table.

  “Is this the vampire that saved you, Pagan?” asked Norse, putting down his weapon and removing his jacket.

  “Yeah, that’s her,” I said.

  “Okay, then she can have some of mine, right?” he said as he rolled up his sleeve.

  “Sure,” said Anna. “John, can you take care of that?”

  John led Norse to a chair and started working whilst Anna cleaned the wounds. We sometimes joked about John being a nurse, but he was a fully trained paramedic and he was good at it.

  “These were made with silver,” said Anna quietly. “That’s why they aren’t healing.”

  “They look like claw marks,” said Marie.

  Anna nodded absently.

  “Okay people,” I said quietly. “Anyone not doing something medical get out. We still have half the night and patrols aren’t going to do themselves.”

  “We’re probably gonna need more than one donor,” said John.

  I looked at Norse’s crew and raised my eyebrows.

  “Volunteer?” I asked.

  “I’ve got it,” said Coop.

  “Okay, everyone else, with me.”

  “We’ll call if we need anything,” John yelled after me.

  Once we were outside Pogo lit another cigarette.

  “Where now?” he said through a cloud of smoke.

  “Well,” I said, “we’re going to head back up the road. See if anything followed her. Knuckles?”

  “Something tells me we might need to stick close,” she said, looking around. “If the lady is being chased we’ll need to dig in.”

  “Okay, in that case Bolt can stay here, Happy, Hacker and Frenchie come with us,” I said.

  “We gonna ride?” asked Happy.

  “In what?” I replied.

  “Follow me,” he said with a glint in his eye.

  Around the side of the inn was a big garage and inside was a sight for sore eyes; a Fox 4x4 Armored Reconnaissance Vehicle. Further back was a Saxon Armored Personnel Carrier. I gave a low whistle. The Fox was about the size of a Land Rover, with a turret-mounted RARDEN cannon and a 7.62mm coaxial machine gun. The Saxon was little more than a heavily armored truck, though there was a 7.62mm General Purpose Machine Gun on the roof.

  “You familiar with either of these?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Happy. “I used to work on these things before Black Tuesday.”

  “Are they fueled?”

  “Full to the brim.”

  “Ammo for the cannon?”

  “Full load of 30mm,” he said smugly. “Plus a ton of seven six-two for the co-ax. There’s plenty in the Saxon, too.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So, you stay here with the Fox. Provide some heavy support for Knuckles. We’ll take the Saxon and go check things out.”

  Happy nodded and climbed up onto the front of the ARV and dropped into the driver’s seat. The engine started with a roar and the little armored vehicle shot out fast enough to make the tires squeal as Happy hauled it around the corner and into the car park.

  I laughed and shook my head.

  “Okay everyone,” I said. “All aboard. Who wants to drive?”

  “I will,” said Marie eagerly. “I used to drive army trucks around when I was younger.”

  Marie settled herself into the driver’s seat and I climbed into the cupola. I busied myself loading the machine gun as Frenchie and Hacker climbed into the crew compartment in the rear of the big vehicle. I cracked open an ammo case and took a look at the belt of 7.62mm rounds. They were silver tipped and—beautiful to behold in the dim light—every fifth round had the red tip of a tracer round.

  Marie started the truck and pulled us out into the car park, forcing me to duck under the garage’s doorway. We swung wide and I raised my hand as we went past the others. By the time we got onto the road the machine gun was loaded and ready and I was doing something I really didn’t want to do. I hate night vision glasses. They restrict your field of view way too much, robbing you of your peripheral vision, but tonight I would probably need a pair. I pulled out my Kevlar helmet—I carried it at night for just this reason but I hated wearing it—and clipped my NVGs to the holder on the front. With the helmet buckled in place all I had to do was flip the NVGs down and I could see, both better and worse.

  We accelerated along the road, going back the way the Jaguar had come, a course that would, eventually, lead us to Manchester and the seat of the vamps’ power. We had no intention of going that far, of course. I hoped.

  The street was lined with boarded up—and in a couple of cases burned out—houses. I briefly wondered how many people were still living here, so close to the vamps, then dismissed the thought from my mind. It didn’t matter right now.

  Ahead I saw that the houses stopped and the areas on each side of the road became open farmland. On the left of the road was a gentle hill that would give us a good view of the surrounding area. I ducked back into the cab and tapped Marie on the shoulder.

  “Pull off up here,” I said, pointing.

  She nodded and the Saxon slowed to a stop. I turned to the back.

  “Frenchie, with us, Hacker, get on the GPMG. If we come back at high speed I want it made clear to whatever’s chasing us that we’re not in the mood, okay?”

  Hacker nodded and patted his radio.

  “Stay in touch, boss.”

  The streetlights—what few of them still worked this far from the city center—had stopped quite a way back along the road and, with the Saxon’s lights extinguished the night was black, barely lit by the almost full moon that peeped through the heavy cloud cover. At least it had stopped raining. We trudged through the wet undergrowth to the top of the hill, NVGs in place, scanning the area ahead. At the top a dirt track ran from the road to the dilapidated farmhouse, lined on either side with trees and a low stone wall.


  I jumped the first wall and crouched behind the second, scanning the countryside spread out ahead of me. Nothing was moving along the road at all, which was hardly surprising. I slowly panned over the fields, now mostly unharvested. It was hard enough to get help in farms and with the vamps breathing down your neck it was near impossible. If this went on for long England would be looking at a massive food shortage, especially if our so-called allies managed to enforce sanctions against us. There was a law being bandied about the House Of Commons authorizing emergency powers that would allow the government, next year, to seize these farms and use work crews from the prison system to plant and harvest them. More power to them, I thought.

  We watched and waited for almost an hour before something happened. Something moved out of a line of trees in the distance. I zoomed in as much as possible and focused on the figure. It was a werewolf and it was huge. It—he—was almost seven feet tall judging by the height of the fence he was standing near. He had massive shoulders, a broad chest and long, powerful limbs. He was scenting the air carefully, almost delicately. I knew he couldn’t smell us, we were downwind from him, but he was definitely tracking something.

  As he turned the moonlight glinted off of his claws in a way that it definitely shouldn’t have. I flipped up my NVGs and put my binoculars to my eyes. The werewolf was a lot closer but less distinct through the unenhanced optics. But as the moon broke through again I could see his claws clearly enough. They were silver. Whether they were sheathed in silver or had been replaced with silver I didn’t know, but suddenly I had a good idea what had attacked Marguerite.

  Marie, meanwhile, was growling softly. I had to glance her way to make sure she hadn’t changed into her wolf form. I reached out with my left hand and gently burrowed my fingers through her hair, brushing the skin on the back of her neck. Instantly she went silent, though I could feel the tension in her body. It was almost as if she were vibrating with the need to charge the interloper.

  “Calm down,” I said in a barely audible whisper.

  “Dannor,” she said in a tightly controlled voice. “That’s Dannor.”

  I turned back to look at the werewolf, not through my NVGs but through the night-sight on my FAL. Without even realizing what I was doing I began to squeeze the trigger. Abruptly I released it. The first round in the magazine—and thus, the round in the breech—was a tracer round. Tracers were unreliable at the distance I was looking at.

  “Frenchie,” I said softly. “Catch.”

  I slowly eased back the cocking handle until the tracer was ejected and Frenchie caught the spinning round in midair. The ping seemed unbelievably loud in the silence and I froze. After a second or two I carefully finished cocking the weapon. Dannor seemed oblivious when I looked again, as if he hadn’t even heard the noise. Now I had a standard silver-tipped round and I settled again to take the shot. I compensated for the distance, the drop, the downhill shot and the now almost nonexistent wind, and began to squeeze the trigger.

  Dannor abruptly turned and walked back into the tree line. I let out a breath and released the trigger. Dannor had been a fraction of an inch from death. I swore under my breath.

  “Well, at least we know what was chasing the mademoiselle vampire,” said Frenchie softly. “N’est pas?”

  “But why?” asked Marie.

  “Willingly or otherwise, he’s working for Marcus,” I said.

  Just another reason for him to die, I silently vowed. For some reason I was having trouble reaching the cold, calculating soldier where Dannor was concerned. He’d hurt my mate and I was burning with a fierce, barely controllable rage.

  “Come on,” I said tightly. “Let’s get back. I think I need to ask our guest some questions.”

  We picked our way back to the Saxon and returned to the inn in silence.

  CHAPTER

  37

  “She’s awake,” said Anna. “She wants to see you.”

  Dawn was less than two hours away and we’d just finished preparations at the inn. The Fox was sitting on the other side of the car park where it had a good view of the road and the fields beyond. The Saxon was at the back where its machine gun could cover the side of the inn. A low, thick brick wall surrounded the inn’s car park, and Rock Ape had set up a machine gun nest where the wall met the corner of the inn. Bolt had commandeered an upstairs room which afforded him a great view of the area, and Cally had a similar set-up on the other side of the inn. Frenchie had produced a half-dozen claymore mines from only-he-knew-where and strategically placed them around the inn.

  We were about as ready as we could be.

  I stood up and motioned Marie to follow me as I left the bar. As we reached the top of the stairs Marie grabbed my arm and pulled me to her.

  “Why do you need me to go with you?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Because it’s easier than me having to repeat every word for you later,” I said and kissed her on the nose.

  “Smartarse,” she said and kissed me back.

  Marguerite was sitting up in bed, looking a little better. She was wearing a t-shirt with the MPRD logo on the front—one of Anna’s I presumed—and her hair was pulled back from her weary face in a ponytail.

  “Jack,” she said with a smile. “And this must be Marie.”

  I nodded. Marguerite looked at Marie for a few seconds and then let out a small sigh.

  “I need to warn you about Marcus,” she said softly, transferring her focus to me.

  “We’ve heard a few things about our new neighbor,” I said. “Is he as big a bastard as he seems?”

  “Bigger,” she said. “The dossier I sent doesn’t do justice to him.”

  “Was it a werewolf that tore you up?” asked Marie.

  Marguerite nodded.

  “Marcus has a bodyguard of loyal werewolves. The leader, the biggest—“

  “Dannor,” Marie interrupted.

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “We’ve met before,” said Marie, her voice a growl.

  I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  “What about the others?” I asked. “And those silver claws, what’s that about?”

  “It’s their trademark,” sad Marguerite. “Marcus has their claws surgically replaced with silver, to intimidate his subordinates and peers.”

  “What about when they change?” I asked. “What happens to the silver then?”

  “Well, apart from Dannor, that’s not a problem. Marcus’ bodyguards are all inmüt.”

  Marie gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.

  “Inmüt?” I asked. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a werewolf that can’t change,” Marie explained. “They’re born human or wolf and are stuck that way. They’re seen as blessed or cursed, depending on the era. For a while a wolf-form inmüt was thought of as bringing us closer to the wolf and they were revered. Later it was the human-form inmüt that seemed to be leading us away from the curse of the werewolf. It’s just an accident of birth and it’s very rare. Where did he find them?”

  “Well, the rumor is that he’s been tracking inmüt wolves for hundreds of years,” said Margeurite. “It seems he believes that the blood of the inmüt makes him stronger.”

  “He feeds from them?” asked Marie, aghast at the idea.

  “Yes, it keeps them subservient to him. When he found out I was working for the Ministry he sent one of them after me. I was lucky to get away with my life. If I hadn’t been armed I don’t know what might have happened. The standard punishment for females that betray Marcus is he allows his wolves to play with them.”

  Marguerite stared out of the window, tears in her eyes.

  “Which is a civilized euphemism for gang rape,” she said after a few seconds. “And they’ve been getting more and more vicious since Marcus put Dannor in charge.”

  “How did he find out about you?” I asked.

  “I have no idea. He must have at least one spy working for the Ministry. It was after I sent that report in, a f
riend got word to me that Marcus was coming for me.”

  “A friend?” Marie asked. “Will they be okay?”

  Marguerite laughed bitterly.

  “Oh, she’ll be fine,” she said. “Friend wasn’t the right word. The bitch called to gloat. It gave me enough time to grab a gun before one of the inmüt kicked my door in.”

  “You said ‘he knows’ before you passed out in the car,” I said. “He knows what?”

  “He knows about you killing Lord Vómaire,” she replied.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Lord Vómaire was Marcus’ sire, the vampire who turned him.

  I must have looked as blank as I felt because she explained.

  “Lord Vómaire was an incredibly powerful vampire, at least a thousand years old. He rules—ruled—all of Romania and a large slice of Germany. A month ago he came to England to meet with The Three, where he arrogantly dismissed the notion that The Pagan was anything to be worried about and came after you. He tracked you down and you killed him.”

  “A month ago?” I said, puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean. Unless you mean that bastard with all that ‘come share my bed little wolf’ business.”

  “That would be him,” said Marguerite. “Marcus inherited some of his sire’s appetites. The whole business about expanding south is a smokescreen. He’s vowed to kill you in revenge for his sire, and to bring Marie and Anna back as his sex slaves.”

  “He can try,” growled Marie in a voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “Well, speaking as the one target out of the three that isn’t immune to this bastard’s mental abilities,” said Anna, “I’d rather he didn’t try.”

  “You have one advantage,” said Marguerite. “His ego.”

  “How so?” asked Anna.

  “Marcus refuses to believe that you are truly immune to his will,” she said, looking at me. “He believes that your invulnerability is a myth, created by weak-willed vampires to excuse their inability to dominate you. He believes that, whilst you are strong, you will fall to him.”

  “Faghag syndrome,” I said, laughing.

  Marguerite gave me a puzzled look.