by Gaja J. Kos
“Things had been set in motion long before your return,” Rose whispered. She met the paleness of Morana’s eyes, then the flaming green of her consort’s. “Long before we met, too.”
“Rosalind?”
She shook her head, feeling the leaden weight in the pit of her stomach grow. After the knowledge of the higher circles merged fully with her mind, she shared its depths with the two deities, offering insight into the working of the Trinity she had gleaned, as well as divulged every bit of information about the vampires, as dismissible as it might have seemed at first sight. Yet there was one thing she had kept to herself.
One thing she couldn’t bring herself to say.
Not on this day. Not when there was nothing she could do to change the course their lives were already taking.
So she simply offered them a faint smile. “All that matters is that we have found our way to each other, that the fates have not been cruel in keeping us apart.”
Her hands found theirs, and she gave them both a squeeze as their fingers interlaced, the Trinity now not only one of energy, but of flesh, too. Trepidation crawled down her spine, murmuring of the fear nothing in this realm or the next had the strength to snuff out. But still she laughed, the sound husky as it spread across the dawn-touched sky.
“I don’t know about you, but I sure as fuck am ready to start mowing the bastards down.”
Veles chuckled, though the tightness of his grip suggested he wasn’t any less nervous than her at the prospect of what their actions would bring. What they would turn them into.
“I confess, I have never been happier to be the bringer of death than I am right now,” Morana said, her tone carrying a hint of mirth.
Rose didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
Their energies connected, merging not only their metaphysical strength, but their hopes, fears, and desires alike.
The Trinity would not cease their death march until every last of the fuckers lay soulless on the ground. And as the first pair of dragon wings touched the blazing sky, Rose released her hold on the echoes of mortality she still possessed.
She embraced her destiny without a sliver of hesitation, allowing herself to shift into a being of power—a deity who transcended the rules and morality of men.
A deity, who sought only the destruction of her enemies bent on tearing her world apart.
Chapter 37
Katja watched the river of bodies with disbelief. There were more vampires flooding onto the street than she and Dragan had been able to predict, even with the aid and knowledge of the higher circles—gained not only from Rose, but all the sources combined—on their side.
Her lips pulled back into a sneer, while the twins—Jürgen in human form and Jens in wolf—growled softly as they flanked her on each side. But while her miscalculation filled her with fear-driven anger, the dozens of vampires pouring out onto the street gave her hope, too—hope that Dragan and other likeminded individuals from the vamp community would only have a few solitary traditionals to deal with beyond the Kolduny’s barrier.
Because as she watched the ever-growing crowd, there was no mistaking the darker brethren among them. If not by their malformed, grotesque features, changed through centuries of isolation and malevolence, the traditionals scattered among the twentyfourhourlies were easily distinguishable by their aversion to sunlight they seemed to hold on to despite the peculiarity of the circumstances.
Shrieks of their fury pierced the air, their limbs thrashing wildly as they fought the compulsion forcing them to walk the dawn-touched streets. Not that the twentyfourhourlies were doing much better, but their wrath carried a different kind of danger. A different kind of threat.
Her kin.
Treacherous pieces of shit who still believed what they were doing was right—and would stop at nothing on their path to reaching their twisted goal. Katja’s fingers lowered to the blade strapped to her thigh, but she made no move to draw the weapon. Not yet.
In utter silence, the three of them watched as more and more vampires poured from around the corners and joined the eerie march of magic-guided marionettes. Their numbers now easily surpassed forty, if not fifty strong, with whispers of stragglers pushing in from behind.
All herded in their direction.
Katja had to admit it was odd seeing the vampires hesitate—seeing them gather there like protesters, marching down the road in a slow rhythm. All the while, the anger morphed their features into masks, plucked straight out of the most daunting nightmares. But she knew the spell wouldn’t last long. And she didn’t mind it.
The first of those who had been drawn out by Sander and Serafina’s magic had already started to shake off the disorientation the Kolduny’s power had brought upon them. Their gazes frantically searched their surroundings for a chance to break off and strike from a position of their own choosing, for anything that would give them an advantage.
But this battlefield belonged to the pack.
The buildings were set tightly side by side, with no alleys or passageways for the vampires to slip through. There was only one path they could take, and it wasn’t difficult to see the bastards were well aware just what waited for them at the end of that particular line.
Or at least they thought they did.
Amusement touched Jürgen’s features as the air stirred ever so slightly. He knew as well as she did what the welcomed undulating motion of the currents indicated.
Their gazes met, the contact overflowing with love, with devotion, and, most of all, iron determination.
Instead of a growl, as Katja had half expected, a light chuckle slipped from Jürgen’s lips. “Jens is complaining that he feels left out.”
Her gaze flickered to the glistening pitch-black fur, appearing even more silken in the filtering, warm rays of light shining upon them. She looked at the blue undertone of his eyes not even his wolf form could change, and smiled.
“Well, then, I guess we should start.”
As soon as the last syllable left her lips, wings of deep red cast the entire street into shadows.
For a second, the very air seemed to still, then Rorik’s massive body landed atop the still-moving procession of vampires with a heavy, menacing whoosh. Cries of pain and death ricocheted off the tall buildings, but even as the vampires fought to scurry away, Rorik’s back angled slightly and Katja could almost hear his lungs filling up. Motionless, she watched the Perelesnyk release his fiery breath and incinerate those who had attempted to run in the other direction. Charred remains crumbled onto the ground, and that was all Katja needed to see.
With a cold smile playing on her lips, she finally unsheathed the dagger with one hand while she sought the pleasant weight of one of Veles’s Smith & Wesson guns with the other. Satisfied, she scanned the vampires Rorik hadn’t already trampled or burned.
“I’ll take the bastard on the left,” she said, motioning to the group of ten or so vamps who were visibly torn between fighting and running for cover.
The instant a growl of agreement met her words, her feet took her across the flat stretch of land in a blur, and Katja unleashed herself on the vampires, letting loose all the darkness, all the hatred she had buried long ago, but never snuffed out entirely.
Now, she knew why.
War. It was raging below, its ripples filling the air and carrying the taint of lives lost.
He had seen many battlefields, aided and served where interference was needed, but in the unfathomable length of his existence, he had never seen something quite like this.
Sebastian flew low above the buildings, zigzagging past the organized maneuvers of the Perelesnyks as he surveyed the city turned battlefield, separating friend from foe and monitoring the damage.
With Rose, Veles, and Morana taking the northern side, he was left extending his aid to the three groups and their subdivisions covering the rest of town. He circled over the eastern end, gazing down at the territory belonging to Tim, Frank, and Evelin, with the force of two brow
n packs at their disposal.
The werewolves were locked in combat on the ground, each taking on a group of vampires in their respective quadrant—but no Upirs. No sight of the creatures who would, in the end, make the difference between winning this war and being buried in the rubble of bloodlust-fueled ruination.
He swore, the sound muffled as a powerful roar came from Athanasy, quickly followed by the blazing hit of his flames.
But Sebastian didn’t spare more than a glance at the screeching, charred bodies crawling across the ground like ants. His attention belonged to the familiar prickle that rubbed against his skin, warming the amulet he had secured around his neck.
No, there were no Upirs in sight, but he could sense the chaotic blend of their ancient magic, tainting the air like a festering disease despite the dragons’ best attempts to counter its presence.
The sheer force of it eroded the buildings, gnawing at them until brick and mortar tumbled down onto the streets below. His wings worked relentlessly as he studied the damage and sought out its source.
Sometimes, when fate decided to offer a boon, the falling debris would crush the vampires who were slithering around, searching for an angle that would allow them to jump the humans and weres.
Sometimes, but not nearly often enough to lessen his unease at the sight of such destruction.
He looped to the left, scanning the streets.
The vampires the falling rubble failed to crush didn’t stay alive for long. Perelesnyks were swooping in from above, using fire, claws, or teeth to dispose of the enemies, while human officers and soldiers sniped them from abandoned buildings, their precise shots taking out the vampires’ heads and hearts. The smell of death permeated the air, rivalling the potency of the Upirs’ magic, but never surpassing it.
Sebastian batted his wings, riding the currents towards the south, where the essence of ancient chaos grew stronger.
He spotted Tomo shouting orders down below, but he was surprised to see the voice was not coming from the sidelines. Instead, the graying human was fighting right alongside his men, the crack crack crack of his guns cutting through the harsh melodies of battle and the subsequent screams. The group ceased fire as a tank rolled by, the explosion effectively obliterating a thick congregation of vampires who had tried to rush them from the crossroads on their right.
Seeing that they held their own, Sebastian flew forward, dipping down just long enough to slice his twin blades across the necks of three vampires hoping to conceal themselves from the humans’ sight in the deep shadows, then pushed on again, going deeper and deeper south. He entered the territory just in time to see Greta jump off a sky-blue Perelesnyk’s back and throw herself right into the thick of it.
The harsh, liberal spray of blood was the only indication of her efficiency as the werewolf moved in a whizzing blur, her speed and the sheer mass of bodies she had taken on now concealing her from Sebastian’s sight. He started to descend, adamant to pick off at least those on the outer edge of the group and ease the werewolf’s load, when the sudden appearance of wing-cast shadows caught his attention.
Shadows, indicating not dragons’ wings, but those like his own.
A flicker of hope flared to life within him. Hope that those of his brethren he had reached out to on the eve of battle and divulged enough facts to raise awareness without revealing the pack’s plan, had decided to come. He glanced up, hovering in midair, a command already waiting on the tip of his tongue.
Only it wasn’t them he now watched descend over the capital. It wasn’t even the Kresniks who had sided with the two-souled oppressors, gliding on the winds.
Sebastian swallowed, wings batting wildly as he rose into the sky, unable to tear his gaze off the darker, twisted offshoot of who he was.
The Keepers.
The Keepers were here.
And they came in numbers.
Chapter 38
They glowed. They glowed in undulating waves of gold, olive, and ice blue, the colors merging, as were their very beings.
They were the last breath of life, the cool touch of death, and the world everlasting that followed. The Trinity of Death, not merely complementing in power, but bound into something that created a new whole—an unbreakable force in which individuality was freely cast aside, remaining as nothing more but wisps of thought and character, drifting in the sea of a higher conscience.
Slowly, they walked down the main road leading into the very heart of the city, their feet guided by phantom winds, taking them where they were needed. Their energy flowed before them, above them, beside them, behind them, creating a universe within a universe and transforming the town into a seamless blend of darkness and light. Into a new plane, where all three realms, the underworld, the earth, and the waiting room, converged into the one they now gazed at. It was a realm seen through Duševje, through the net of all lifelines Morana’s branch of power brought forth, and through the essences of the souls lingering between this world and the next, as well as those whose dying breaths were soon to come.
Vines of gold, blue, and green, spread from the base of their bodies, slithering across the ethereal ground and curving through the air like silken ribbons. With haunting, liquid grace, they snaked around souls and the flickering images of the vessels they bore, of the DNA in which the spirits were wrapped, carefully confirming each target before the tendrils sealed the encompassing net and plucked the souls from existence as easy as tearing petals off a rose.
Winds ruffled their hair, whining and whizzing, stirred by the sheer strength of the power and the swiftness of the maneuvers with which they worked as they walked the plain as Death.
They swept through the ghostly silhouette of the town, liberated from the barriers that would have stopped their flesh and slowed their movement. Here, they were all. Felt all. Controlled all.
They were the breath this plane drew, the threads of its existence, and the blacksmith of its fate.
Lives flickered out in their wake like lanterns on a stormy night, like grids of a city’s power line shutting off one after another in an eerie, marching rhythm. They would cleanse the world of moths so eagerly nipping at its fabric… But the territory was vast.
And carried far more than just the souls of wayward vampires.
Motherfucker, Jens growled through the bond, watching in disbelief as the rest of the vermin came out to play. The rats that had been waiting in the shadows, untouched by the Kolduny’s magic—or the need to fight.
Until now.
Like a flood that came straight out of a nightmare, the streets filled up with beings sympathetic to the Upirs’ cause, sympathetic to the idea of overthrowing the established order of the world and forging a new one where they would come up on top. Vesnins, the scum of the magic-wielding community that originated not from Kolovrat, but this world, the Bauks, spirits of darkness who lurked in those places sunlight had yet failed to pierce. They murmured curses to draw their victims closer with the desire to devour them whole—they all revealed themselves like a bloody surprise party and stepped into the embrace of battle.
The amulet around Jens’s thick, wolf throat warmed as voices reached him, the syllables entwining and reshaping into weights that wanted to cling to his skin and pull him under. The spell bounced off the protective shield, but the pulse emanating from the pendant did not hide the Bauks’ intentions. Instead, it stripped them of their strength, allowing Jens to feel the creatures’ primal yearning to taste his flesh.
He snarled at the shadows, at the glowing, hungry eyes monitoring him with a menacing glint, but he didn’t attack. As long as the city was still bathing in light, the Bauks would be unable to step beyond the line of nurturing darkness.
Although the predator inside him growled and thrashed at the thought of leaving his enemies behind unharmed, there was a far larger threat descending from above.
Keepers.
Only they weren’t the only ones.
Do you see that? His twin’s ragged voice slammed do
wn the bond.
He nodded.
On the backdrop of the clear, blue sky, mixed in with the leathery wings of the Perelesnyks, were wings of another kind, translucent and ethereal—so similar to the Keepers yet possessing an edge of purity the self-proclaimed guardians didn’t have.
Stunned into silence, Jens watched as the Kresniks battled amongst themselves, two forces that cleaved their order down the middle, separating the light from the dark.
Sebastian had done it.
He had rallied those who had remained true to their calling. Yet even with their added numbers on their side, even with the police and military mowing down vampires with exceptional efficiency, they were still a long way from victory.
The thought cut into him like a blade, and he lunged at a nearby vamp, tearing out the female’s throat with his teeth, then pushed on, locking onto the next target. His claws clicked against the asphalt as he rushed towards the circle Tristan and his pack formed, with Katja standing tall and tense among them.
Jens knew what they were facing long before the pulse of chaos hit. Long before he joined their ranks and gazed into the pitch-black eyes of a male Upir, stripped of any semblance of humanity.
Despite the thick, black coat, the amulet burned against his skin as the ancient magic pressed against him like a seething, translucent shroud. Its strong force was enough to keep him from advancing, from launching himself straight at the fucker’s face and tearing it off in a single move.
