"I want peace!” Gann said, standing up. “This is unnecessary. No more blood needs to be spilled. I want peace!"
"No! This is our time, Gann!” Patrick said. “I stand with you Albert."
"What say the rest of you?” Albert asked the seven remaining members. “Are you with us or not?"
"I must stand with Gann. He is the eldest.” Caesar said standing up.
"I also follow Gann. I trust his judgment,” Fredo added, getting up with his brother.
"I am sorry, Albert. But Wilma and I can only support this if the rest of the council is in agreement.” Boris told him. “I think it is obvious that we are not."
"You Bastard,” Albert said, charging towards Maxwell, catching him off guard.
Kane transformed herself into an eight foot tall, talon-wielding beast which caught the brown Werewolf by the neck in mid-air above the conference table. She flung his body into a corner where he landed hard, but jumped up with a howl that pierced the night. He stood there panting, calming himself, but refused to return to his human form. Obviously he waited to see if any of the others would join him in the fight.
"No more!” Gann shouted, turning to face Albert, then looking back to Kane. “No blood between us."
"So we all agree, there will be peace between us?” Kane asked, returning to her human form.
"Yes, there will be peace,” Gann answered.
* * * *
As the sun began to rise in the east, Maxwell and Kane sat in his back yard. Not a word passed between them, but there was really no need. All had gone well; almost all had gone according to plan.
"I am surprised our help never showed up.” Maxwell told her as he suddenly thought about how the rats had failed to appear. It was a good thing the night hadn't turned violent.
"Max, I'm shocked you would even consider believing that my old friend Chaw could be unreliable. Haven't you ever heard that no living being is ever more then 500 feet from a rat?"
"No, I can't say that I have,” he told her.
"Max, you need to get out more. The rats were all around us. They chose to wait until they found out if their presence became necessary. You and I had the situation under control, so that moment never arose."
Kane made him feel so young, so naive, and inexperienced in the ways of life when it came to other creatures of the night. He hoped she would stay around awhile.
Maxwell and Kane sat in his den, in front of the fire. They shared a bottle of brandy, talking of the future, the Vampire's future. Over a month had elapsed since their confrontation with the Werewolves, and animals of the night seemed to be settling into a peaceful existence, once again. Kane surprised Maxwell by staying around for so long; he felt her need to be free again.
"If I ask you a question will you give a straight answer?” he wanted to know.
"I may.” She said with an intoxicated grin.
"No, I won't ask if I can't get an answer. Never mind."
"Oh, don't be so serious Max, I'll answer. I was just joking with you. Really, I was."
He smiled back at her and took a sip of Brandy then sat up and leaned his face close to hers. “You're not a Vampire, are you Kane?"
"Not exactly,” she said, kissing his lips gently. “Not exactly."
"In all my years, I've never seen a Vampire turn into what you did, before you grabbed Albert. What are you?"
"I don't really know, honestly.” She seemed to stare off into the ceiling, remembering something ancient. “I remember crawling from the sea onto bare land and I was already old."
"You don't know how old you are, do you? That's why you wouldn't tell me, isn't it?"
"I know how old I am, but there is no number for it. You are right. I'm not a Vampire. I was there when your species was born. I was there when Gann and his kind were born too. I was there when the earth cooled. Vampires always interested me in ways other creatures of the night could not, so I kind of chose a side."
"What did that make Wilmot?"
"Wilmot was a Vampire. Daniela gave him her blood, and let me take credit for it."
"She knew?"
"She knew some of it, but not all."
"I really am the last Vampire?"
"Yes, you are,” she said softly. She set down the remainder of her drink and said she was going to bed. Maxwell watched her hips sway as she vanished into the back of the farm house towards his bedroom. He set his drink down and followed her, wondering what a child of their mixed blood would be called.
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About the Author
D.L. Russell is a 38 year old African-American. He works as a Supervisor in an Aluminum Foundry in Indiana. He has two children, Xavier & Amia, and a white boxer named Serius.
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Visit www.eternalpress.com.au for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
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