The Vampire Went Down to Georgia

by Selene Charles

  She suspected she should have announced her presence to the Alpha chieftains, but she’d not cared to bother. There were better ways of grabbing their attention, anyway.

  She stood in the center of the flower-covered field with her ever-present sword, Nox, beside her. Her quicksilver blade hummed with the anticipation of the bloodshed that might soon come.

  War hadn’t come to kill, but she would be heard. If she wasn’t, she had no problem feeding Nox this night.

  “Patience, my pet,” she crooned. She smirked as she watched the ember eyes draw ever closer in a hunting perimeter.

  She lifted a brow, eyeing the pelt of a particularly pretty snow-white shifter leading the pack. The alpha bitch’s eyes were subtly different from the others’. They burned the neon green of the McCarrick pack. That was who she needed to talk with.

  She cocked out her hip so the calf-length, rabbit-fur jacket parted just enough to expose the smooth and powerful nakedness of her muscular yet feminine body. She knew exactly what she looked like, framed by moonlight and the snow-white pelts of thousands of dead woodland beasties, with her red hair flowing like a bloody wave down her back.

  She was power. Beauty. Grace.

  The white wolf halted, and with her, the others stopped moving as well. Good. T’would be a terrible shame to have to kill such glorious creatures.

  War grinned and gave the merest incline of her head in greeting. She never bowed. To anyone. For none of the Veilers in this world came remotely close to matching her in power.

  But there were rules she must abide by. Damn the Maker for them, but in that, at least, she was far outclassed, and well she knew it.

  No, these pathetic creatures were nothing to her save for their ability to see her fulfill her reason for being.

  “I come in peace and wish to speak with the McCarrick.”

  War opened her thoughts to the bitch, hearing her voice as clear in her mind as the alpha bitch had just heard hers.

  “He is McCarrick no longer and can be of no use to you now. Depart from us, witch, or we will punish you for daring to come upon our pack in such a disrespectful manner.”

  War chuckled, and Nox blazed, sensing the rising thrum of bloodlust within her mistress. War had always loved a good, bloody skirmish.

  “Witch I am not, Alpha bitch. But heed my words well. I will speak to the man once known as the McCarrick. He and I have business to attend to. So call him out to me, or your days end now.”

  The white wolf growled, muzzle pulling back as she exposed the long fangs of her canines. The scruff of her powerful neck rose high, and the wolves moved closer, tightening their circle around War.

  She sniffed. “I vow to you, creature, you do not want to be doing that. I’ll give you one chance more. Call him to me or face your punishment.”

  But the bitch did as War knew she would.

  Her cry of attack was followed by a swift wave of ten of the most powerful and deadly warriors the Alpha Council could boast.

  The ring of Nox’s steel slicing through bone, flesh, and fur rang out like a deadly symphony.

  They’d never stood a chance, any of them. The battle had been far too swift for War’s liking, but in the end, she stood in the center, drenched in the blood of her enemies and staring at the castle walls.

  Hundreds of warriors had gathered upon its balustrades, many of them dressed in armor, but all wearing looks of absolute shock and denial.

  War licked her lips, lashes fluttering at the exquisite sweetness of such a fine and robust vintage. Then, kneeling, she took her blade to the white wolf’s pelt and, in one swift motion, skinned that lovely fur off. Taking the hot skin in hand, she draped it over her shoulders and bit her lip from pure, orgasmic bliss.

  Cries of alarm and shock rang out all around, and the swift snick of loosed arrows rained down around her. War smirked.

  “Send me the one they called the McCarrick, or you shall all die! You will only get the one warning, so choose wisely, my friends.”

  The chatter above was utter anarchy and chaos. The castle was divided in two—those who believed her threats, and those who vowed retribution for what had been done this night.

  War simply stood where she was, running a finger down the corner of her jaw as she licked the sweet elixir of her enemies’ blood from her fingertips.

  Nox quivered, craving the bloodshed nearly as much as her mistress. Already, the steel glowed blue. The blade had absorbed all its enemies’ blood and wanted more. A bottomless pit of hunger, it was.

  Behind her and hidden among the trees, War sensed a presence lurking. Not a shifter. No. This presence was powerful, her most bitter and ancient of enemies. Her brother and one-time lover, Death.

  War curled her lips and hissed. “You will not stop me, brother. Not this time. You’ll see.”

  The roil of Death’s killing fog spread like belching screens of black steam along the forest floor—withering and desiccating anything in its path, be it insect, flora, or fauna—and circled her naked, delicate ankles. War hissed as her flesh broke out in weeping blisters.

  But she was one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and could not die from one of Death’s little parlor tricks.

  He chuckled, hidden within the folds of that darkness.

  “Aye, my sweet bride, what terrible deeds have you got up to now? And such a waste of fine shifter flesh too,” he said, sounding mournfully amused.

  She snickered, hating how much she still enjoyed their deliciously witty banter.

  “What would life be without me to keep you on your toes, lover mine?” she asked with a curl of her lip.

  He scoffed. “You cannot win this time, War. She’s stronger than you can imagine. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

  Yes, yes. War knew all about Death’s little desperate play. “You think making her fall in love”—she spat the word as the vile thing it was—“will save this world? You’re mad.”

  “You’ve failed before, haven’t you?” His words were laced with hubris.

  War hissed, twirling on her naked heel and glaring up at the figure that had coalesced from within the shadows.

  A male, tall and powerful, dressed all in black, with piercing, tricolored eyes and thick, wavy hair. But he could fool no one in this form. He was no mere man, but the embodiment of all that was unholy and unnatural.

  His face, usually a thing of severe human beauty, was contorted into that of his true form—a skull etched with bands of elegant, fiery-gold runes in the ancient language of their tongue, spoken only by the four of them.

  War had always preferred Death’s true form to that of the illusion he so often wore, and the old heat they’d once shared burned bright as ever within her.

  “We were good together once, an indomitable force that could have taken all the realms. Nothing could have stopped us,” she whispered with longing for the male she’d once known.

  He snarled, moving toward her. Like charmed cobras, her hair danced and swayed in the night on the currents of the incredible power he kept firmly checked within. She wet her lips. There’d never been anything near as beautiful in her eyes as Death.

  “You are mad with lust,” he snarled in obvious contempt, “forgetting what you are and why you are. You would see us all burn just to say you have won. I stopped wanting you a long time ago, Bellum.”

  Her lashes fluttered to hear her name spoken in the ancient tongue. Her fingers clenched, tacky with the drying blood still laced upon their tips. He leaned forward, the wash of warm breath caressing her mouth and making her heart seize violently within her with each inhale she took.

  Gods, he was so powerful. Why had he gone and gained a conscience? Damn him for it. She narrowed her eyes at him, and even as her body raged with liquid lust and need, she stepped back and flicked Nox up, pointing the very sharp tip of it into Death’s chin.

  Now it was his turn to hiss as the fiery gold runes in his face blazed blood red from Nox’s deadly touch.

&nb
sp; His face contorted into a thing of monstrous beauty. “I will stop you. No matter what it takes. No matter what I must do. You will not win this world. Our daughter will be safe from your deadly influence.”

  She laughed, the sound cruel and full of evil.

  “I will use Tenebris as I have always used her. And when it is through, when this world has been eaten by her mad darkness, I will end her too. Nothing will keep me from my victory. Not you. Not her. You could have been so much more, Messorem, but you were always too weak. I hate you. I always will.”

  He grinned and then swiftly turned his jaw away from her blade. Already, the bloody red was leeching away, turning his runes back to brilliant shades of gold. But she saw how his body trembled. He’d absorbed just a taste of Nox’s power. When it was all over, he would be the very last thing War stuck through with her blade.

  “The beginning of the end is nigh,” she rasped, “and nothing you can do now will stop me. I will end the boy. I will kill the shell housing her. And then I will release our daughter to carry out her cruel fate. If I were you,” she said, planting a palm on his chest and sucking in a sharp breath as death coiled like a sharpened sling through her blood, making her tremble and ache, “I would go back to that harpy bitch you love so much and spend what few weeks you have left with her. It’s really pathetic how much you claim not to love that bitch when I see the evidence of it written all over you.”

  He hissed, moving so swiftly that she hadn’t seen it coming. Death’s bony hand curled around her neck, lifting her high in the air.

  The night smelled of ozone as lightning and thunder crashed all around, blasting the trees and filling the night with towering flames.

  Death’s face looked even more transformed and majestic as he snarled with teeth filed to silver killing points.

  War cried out, dropping Nox as she clutched at his hold, trying in vain to shove him off her. But his grip was absolute and unyielding.

  “Hear me, and hear me well, Bellum. You will not win. You cannot win. And if you should harm even a hair upon the heads of those in my charge, I will end you. I will defy all that I am and all that I was made to be to see that you never again draw from the breath of life.”

  She snarled. “The Master would end you if you harmed me.”

  Death drew War in close until his bony nose cut cruelly into hers. “Then it is the price I will pay. But I think you overestimate your appeal to the Master.” His smile was vicious. “Never. Never threaten...”

  He wouldn’t say her name. He never would.

  Death was not created to love. He’d never even loved War. But she knew, like a blade through her chest, that he loved Pandora and even Tenebris. War hated him for finally feeling something he could never feel for her.

  Her nostrils flared.

  “We are the gamemakers, and I will leave you to your devices, War, but I have my line, and you cannot cross it. We both know the strongest among us, and it is not you. You are right that the Maker has designed you with a purpose, so keep to it, and I will keep to mine. But threaten my harpy again, and you will not live to see the rising of the sun. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

  She bared her teeth at him, wishing she could kill him again and again and again. But death’s sting could never harm Messorem, at least not until the worlds were all gone. Then and only then could she bring down her most detested rival.

  The fiery pain of hatred, so sharp it shredded her insides to bloody ribbons, filled her soul. Love had driven her once. War had had the finest of beasts as her own. He’d done anything for her. Everything.

  But then came the child, their child, so powerful, a union of the two of them. Destruction in its most absolute and purest form. It’d been their means to pull away from the Maker, to make all the worlds and their peoples bow to them and them alone.

  Death and his damn honor, though, had not seen Tenebris for the power she was. Instead, he’d seen a child. A daughter.

  She snarled.

  “When Tenebris destroys this timeline, just as she’s done to every other, your disgusting harpy will go with it.”

  He smirked, but the humor did not reach his eyes. “I know our daughter well enough to know how powerful a force she is. But you have always underestimated her, and me, for that matter. My harpy has opened my eyes, Bellum. You’ve lost. You’re just too simple to know it yet.”

  With a roar, War slammed her palms down upon his chest, calling the thunder to her. The world shuddered with the swift roll of it, and she was finally able to disentangle herself from his deadly grasp. Messorem gasped for breath as he clutched at his chest, eyeing her with wicked intent.

  War shivered.

  Never before had she felt him to be a true enemy. Always they’d been on opposite sides, but never had there been true hate, at least not him for her. But she saw it now, felt it to the very marrow of her dark soul.

  She swallowed.

  He lifted a bony finger, and his voice was so low that she had to strain on the balls of her feet to hear him.

  “You’ve pushed this too far this time, Bellum. Your madness and disregard for all I hold sacred will be your end. Remember, none of us are irreplaceable. Not even you, dear War.”

  Nox cried out with a sound so jarring and pain-filled that they both grimaced. Wind rushed through the boughs of the trees. The world sang out with Death’s threat, and War felt something in her chest she’d never felt before.

  Regret.

  Powerful regret.

  There could be no coming back from what she’d done this night, but even if she could have, she wouldn’t have taken any of it back. He’d wounded her pride, and he must die too. All of them had to die.

  “We could have been great,” she whispered.

  He grinned but said no more. And he could have done nothing more to make her sure she’d live to rue the actions she’d taken this evening.

  She dipped her head, and he did too.

  This time, they weren’t friendly rivals. This time, they would not stop until one or the other lay dead at their feet.

  Dean

  HE LEFT HER THERE, returning to the sanctuary of the Nothing, a realm full of darkness and shadows, the only place in all the cosmos that he could go to rage and scream and shudder as the agony of what had been wrought this night fully infected his soul.

  For so long, he’d denied War’s madness, telling himself it was just the great game they’d been created for and forced to play that had made her as wild and impetuous as she was. But she’d gone too far, and he’d read the truth in her heart.

  She would do it. She would end all he held sacred. The only things he held...

  He growled and then roared, leaning back on his heels as he screamed into the black nothingness of eternity, broken and agonized because he knew there was no other choice left to him.

  And then he felt a balm move against his back like a gentle, stirring wave of cool waters.

  Shuddering, he dropped to his knees, never bothering to look up because he already knew who it was. Only one person could ever follow him here, only the one person to whom he’d ever given the mangled, blackened pieces of his dark heart.

  Pandora’s touch was light as a feather as she leaned down beside him.

  The glow of life and power flowed in lavender waves around her, wrapping him in her tender gentleness and sweeping away the shadows within.

  He didn’t want to look at her right now. Didn’t want to see her. He hated her.

  Hated her for making him need her the way he did.

  Hated that she’d ever been made. Hated that he would end anything or anyone that would ever dare to harm her again.

  He shrugged out of her grip. “Leave me be.”

  “We will stop her, Dean.”

  He hung his head, shaking it slowly, feeling the weight of everything crashing down upon him. For so long, he’d only ever managed to stay one step ahead of War. She would come with everything she had this time. He knew it.

  “Lo
ok at me,” she whispered with raw urgency, and he snarled.

  But when she framed his face in her soft hands, all he could do was shudder and grip tight to her wrists. He felt the fires of hell burning through his eyes.

  War had rocked him to his core tonight, and he wasn’t strong enough to deal with this. Not right now.

  She wet her lips, and his soul trembled.

  Her touch was a gentle glide upon his now-fleshed face. He shivered, wracked with doubt and need so profound that he thought he might actually die from it.

  Sweat seeped through his pores until he broke out in a wash of desperate heat. He curled his fingers into his lap and shook his head.

  “Your daughter’s name is Tenebris?” she asked with a soft smile, and he hated the sudden, hot lump that crawled up his throat.

  He swatted her hands off him, sick to his soul by how much he craved her touch.

  She frowned, staring at her hands with a hard, determined look.

  He couldn’t stand to look upon her and glanced to his left.

  “Listen to me, you stubborn, arrogant Horseman,” she snapped, and against his will, his lips twitched.

  Gods, could she not understand how dangerous he was? Did she not know that no one, not even War herself, could go toe-to-toe with him and live if he didn’t want them to? Why had she never seen the darkness in him? Why was she so damn obstinate, believing he was a better man than he truly was?

  “You will stop War. Why do I believe this? Because you have before. With me.” She thumped her chest hard. “You never gave up on me then, and I will be damned if I give up on you now. Tenebris is strong, stronger than War gives her credit for. Stronger than even she knows. And so is Scarlett. Mercer is powerful. This is a winning combination, and we cannot falter in that belief, not even for a second, because if we do, if we fail to believe in them as you believed in me, then it’s all over. So don’t give up. Not now.”

  He clenched his front teeth together, fighting it with all he was worth, but the tears came unchecked anyway.

  He’d never cried in front of another.

  He was too powerful for that.