Wiccans, pagans and even some misguided Satanists used Highgate for ceremonial worship frequently, due to the high spiritual activity and the seclusion. No one wanted to canvass the cemetery at night, so they had free rein to do what they wanted. The Vamp was young, his head shaved and a goatee in the most modern style graced his face. He also smelled musty, Gillian noted. A fanatic in life apparently, he was sleeping in the graveyard itself during the day.
Many younger Vampires who were Christian, Goths or Satanists in life chose to rest among the truly dead after their rebirth. Some did it for the shock value, others out of guilt for their choice. Most older Vampires, including most wiccan, agnostic, Goths, Jewish, pagan, even some of the more enlightened Christian-oriented wouldn’t be caught dead in a real cemetery, especially the older or ancient ones. They tended to be fastidious and private, disdainful of theatrics.
“Bitch.” The Vampire hissed again. “I shall feast on your sweet blood, then tear out your throat.”
“And I shall fuck up your knee.” Kimber suggested as she fired a bolt into the Vamp’s left kneecap. He fell screaming and writhing. That hurt no matter what species you were.
Gillian moved and stood a little back but over him, her gun pointed at his head. “And I shall make your head explode like a melon, numbnuts.”
Over her shoulder, she ordered the girl to get out. From the crackling in the bracken, the girl complied. The Vampire was heaping curses upon them as he snapped off the wooden shaft and drew it shakily out of his leg.
“I will heal, bitch, and I will find you.”
Gill took the opportunity while he was down and busy to kick him in the face. Howling, he clutched his face and rolled back and forth on the ground.
She wasn’t impressed. “Let me tell you something, asshole. I am your worst fucking nightmare. I have contacts all over the city and I will be all over your ass like the black plague if you abuse another Human.”
To emphasize the point, she shot him in the face, the bullet going through the hand covering it, through and out the other hand and side. He was one of Dracula’s progeny, there was no doubt. Osiris and Dionysus wouldn’t stand for one of their Vampires taking up worship of either Satan or the dark arts.
“You tell your master to tell his master, that I am gunning for all of you.” Gillian’s voice was deceptively quiet but so full of menace that the Vamp stopped screeching long enough to stare at her, wide-eyed.
“The compact,” he said, spitting broken teeth and blood. “You Humans cannot violate it!”
“Fuck the compact and fuck you,” Kimber snapped, firing another bolt into his hip.
Gillian raised a delicate eyebrow as he clutched his newly wounded hip. “You are in violation right now, dumbass, for attacking that girl. I want you to spread the word so that your own master skins you and uses your guts for garters.”
The Vamp paled even more, if that was possible. “No! She was willing!”
Gillian shot him again, this time in the shoulder, careful to only wound and not kill. “Liar.”
“Stop! What do you want?” The Vampire was visibly cringing. Of course he had two bullet and two crossbow-bolt holes to contend with, so the women couldn’t blame him for being a little skittish.
“I want you to tell me what you know about your master’s orders.”
He looked truly confused. “What fucking orders?”
Obviously he was a newly dead. Older Vamps were masters of perfect diction and rarely swore. The strongest English profanity Aleksei and Tanis had ever used were hell or damn—the Egyptians and Dionysus didn’t swear at all. Hmm…a new angle to explore.
“The orders you all have from your dark prince, fucktard.”
Gillian stepped closer and the Vamp scuttled back, still on the ground, growing even paler and now trembling. “Unless you want your rebirth to be one of the shortest on record, I suggest you start talking,” she finished meaningfully.
“I don’t know! I don’t!” the Vamp wailed. “I am newly made, they don’t tell me anything!”
Gillian moved up under Kimber’s watchful eye and put the gun against his temple. “Wrong answer. Try again.”
He tried to grab her and she kicked his elbow, bruising her foot but snapping the joint. He shrieked again and Gill swore, rubbing the top of her foot against her calf muscle. This time she put the gun against his forehead,
“I am going to ask what you know just once more.”
“We are to cause panic, confusion…turn the Humans against our own kind.” The Vamp managed to sound contrite and pathetic.
Gillian wasn’t moved. “Why?”
“I don’t know…,” he shrieked as her finger tightened on the trigger and Kimber moved closer. “Truly! I do not!”
He either didn’t know or he had been frightened by something much bigger and badder than she was, so Gillian decided to drop it. Moving back but keeping the gun level on him, she said, “All right. Now, you remember what I told you: no more coerced, unwilling victims or I will track you, find you, then cut out your heart and feed it to the Lycanthropes.”
Nodding, the Vamp tried to rise, but couldn’t since both knees were damaged. He settled for crawling rapidly, like a giant, silk-covered spider off into the darkness.
Kimber lowered the crossbow. “That could have gone better.”
Gill started to answer her, but there was an immense whirring overhead as though a plague of locusts was descending upon them. Both shared a glance. “That’s a bad sound,” Gill remarked, then took off at a dead run with Kimber peeling off in the opposite direction as the whirring got louder.
They didn’t know what it was, but “divide the enemy, then kick its ass” had always been their motto. Hopefully whatever it was would split up and follow them both, giving them a better chance at escape or victory. They’d meet up after they circled around.
Mind racing as to what the hell it was, Gillian skidded up to a large moss-covered tomb and booted the chained wooden doors. The small confines of the tomb would limit access to her and give her a clear shot at whatever pursued. The wood was old and warped, so she kicked it again, hoping that it would give, but it creaked and held. She hadn’t wanted to shoot the chains out of fear of alerting whatever was after her to her position. It turned out, her fears and the noise wouldn’t have mattered.
Whatever was overhead and after her was closer and hot on her trail; it was clear now that she couldn’t outrun it. The whirring grew louder and sounds like chirping and giggling were heard over the din.
What the hell? Gillian thought as she gave up on the door and turned to fight. Dropping to one knee, she aimed at the blackness overhead, trying to fix on a target, fishing one-handed in her bag for the ultraviolet flashlight. Directly over her something whooshed by. She ducked and it slammed into the old tomb. Gill spun and leveled her gun at a small lavender colored…Pixie?!?
“Oh Baldour’s balls!” she snarled as the small, winged creature shook its head to clear it, getting to its tiny feet and staggering around for a moment, seemingly dazed.
Gill aimed a vicious kick and sent it spinning off into the bracken. The rest of the multicolored flock descended on her in that moment of distraction. The battle was brief, violent and mostly silent on Gillian’s part; the Pixies kept shrieking their glee and chittering among themselves. She didn’t waste energy screaming or heaping curses on the little winged menaces. Batting at them, getting off a shot or two, kicking several, Gillian fought to the best of her ability, but there were just too many of them.
Pixies. Cronus on a cracker, she hated Pixies. They were sort of a mangled cross between their distant cousins the demi-Fey, Imps, and true Fairies. They were also a pain in the ass. Traveling in flocks, the little terrors were the cannon fodder of the Fey world. Typically they were sent out to antagonize or capture an adversary deemed either too dangerous or too inconsequential. They died by the hundreds on their missions, but always accomplished their task. As stupid as they were determined, once set
on a course, Pixies would cross land or sea, endure snow or fire to obtain their objective. They needed no provisions, needed no further instructions; they just did their job.
Historically they were used by all denizens of the Paramortal world who held a pact with the Fey. Gillian’s mind was racing as she tried to fight them off. Who had sent them, why, and were she and Kimber really the targets? whirled through her mind. They could have been told to bring back two women walking together from Highgate and would do just that. It wouldn’t matter if it were the wrong two women. Pixies were just that stupid.
Gillian had managed to shove the Walther PPK back into her pocket and out of sight as she realized she might not win this fight. Like the Glock, it had safety features built in, but she didn’t want to risk the Pixies getting hold of a loaded gun, particularly with herself in close proximity.
“Ow! Shit!” She jumped as the teeth from a lime green one sank into her wrist.
Not good. Not good at all. Pixies’ saliva was venomous. It wouldn’t kill her, but it had a narcotic, hallucinogenic effect if enough of it got into her system. The little creature smirked at her through bloodstained teeth and Gill took that moment to punch it in the face, sending it flying into a nearby tree where it crumpled and was still. The rest of them paid no attention to their fallen comrade and continued the assault.
Soon, despite her best efforts, Gillian was trussed up like Gulliver by hundreds of silky cords and had been bitten several more times. Her vision shifted, the dark landscape whirled and Gillian relaxed in her captor’s nets. The Pixies chattered excitedly, picked up Gillian’s bag and Gillian then zoomed away into the night.
CHAPTER
29
T HE darkly handsome Vampire surveyed his prey with eye s of glacial pale green, crystalline and icy. Even trussed up like a Christmas goose, the woman was attractive; her friend as well. Prince Dracula smiled to himself as he imagined the fun he would have with these two. Bringing Rachlav to his knees and under his thumb would be a delight before he killed them all.
With Aleksei out of the way, the Romanian Vampires would be his again. Dracula would again command all of Eastern Europe’s blood drinkers and their allies. With the lot of them at his back, he would move against Osiris. The Greek Lord, Dionysus, was a wild card and would pose no real threat. His followers weren’t organized enough to launch a serious hazard, and Dracula could afford to be selective in his war effort.
Selective he would be in how he dealt with Rachlav. The Romanian Count was strong; powerful enough to challenge him for control. Dracula had made sure Aleksei was at all times surrounded by those who could dampen his powers. Some of the Dark Fey had been allied to the voldevode and had blanketed Aleksei’s lands with spells to ensure that he did not come to full power while Dracula was indisposed. Now that Dracula had made his intentions known, the Fey were reconsidering their positions.
Blood was blood. Whether it came from a Human or Paramortal source mattered little to a Vampire. They would be either cooperative conquerors in Dracula’s brave new world or take their places with the Human cattle. Most of the Fey resented the implication that they would be, at best, no more than a lovely token populace within that world with the Vampires owning the full power.
Now, without Dracula’s knowledge or intent, some of those spells he had ordered as a dampening field around Romania were weakening, crumbling and not being replaced. The local Fey were growing divided in their loyalties; realizing that this particular Vampire, whose magical strength they’d been ordered to quell, might be powerful enough to challenge the Dark Prince, they allowed the spells to corrupt and fade. As the vast metaphysical portals clanged open, Aleksei’s world suddenly began to hum with ancient magic once again.
Aleksei felt it. It was like the surge of a thousand generators switching on. Tingling from head to foot, Aleksei looked at the darkened Romanian skies. What the hell? It felt as he did when he first rose reborn: suffused with energy and power, more power than he’d ever felt. His questing thought was answered…in more than one manner.
“You are coming into your own, my friend. Take what is yours and use it.” Osiris’s mind contact was always staggering to Aleksei, but not this time.
This time he felt invigorated by contact from the Egyptian Lord. Almost as if he were becoming…“More powerful, yes,” again the reverberation on his mind and psyche. “You can be as Dionysus and I are. Use it, Aleksei. Save those you love.”
He turned away from the stars, back to the castle, ready to arrange a flight, find Tanis—and Gillian. Then, a whisper. A ghost within his mind. The voice of his beloved brother, now nearly shattered with defeat, touched his thoughts.
“England.”
Silver eyes glittered and hardened to icy platinum as every muscle tightened with rage. Tanis was near death. The fact that he had managed contact with Aleksei, via the newfound powers, was nothing short of miraculous. Those responsible would pay for whatever damage had been done, and pay with their lives if Tanis met true death.
Gillian. Despite wanting to choke her at the moment, Aleksei prayed that she would find Tanis, and prayed that she wouldn’t. Any being that had the ability to reduce his powerful brother to such a state could snuff out the Human’s life easily. He knew the former Marine could take care of herself under normal circumstances with artillery and a battalion at her back, but as far as he knew, she was loose with nothing but a lone Werewolf for a companion; and these circumstances were far from normal.
After the damage done to Maeti that Dionysus had reported to him, Aleksei was afraid to hope that the brave little Human would still be alive. Dionysus had sent word that very night that he and Maeti were in Greece—to stay, it would seem. At least for now.
That left one option. He would follow them to England and bring them back. Walking swiftly, he headed for the warm lights of his ancestral home, farther up the mountain. Anubis and the rest of the Egyptians would hold the fort here. Cezar and his wolves would continue to patrol the borders. Pavel would not be held accountable for following orders to protect Gillian, no matter where she went.
They’d discovered the young wolf’s disappearance the same night Gillian didn’t return to Castle Rachlav. Cezar was proud that Pavel was doing his job and sticking with Gillian. Aleksei was furious that Gillian would risk herself and a pack member, but Cezar had suggested that was the least of their problems at the moment. Besides, Gillian was better off with even one known ally rather than facing danger alone.
When Aleksei entered the castle, Sekhmet noticed instantly that the Romanian Vampire was drawn taut as a piano wire. Mentally calling her mate, Anubis, she followed at a discreet distance to the library. Aleksei didn’t waste time explaining what had happened to him. What was apparently happening to Tanis and where Gillian and Pavel were was more important. Besides, Anubis, Sekhmet and the other Egyptian Vampires had been informed by Osiris that Aleksei was more than prepared to handle this crisis.
“Then you must go to them, my friend,” Anubis’s beautiful voice echoed all their thoughts. “Find them, Aleksei, but do not judge her too harshly. She has only her courage and her honor. You are lucky to have such a friend, as is Tanis.”
“I know,” Aleksei said resignedly. “I am furious with her for her foolish act, but I am proud of her too. No other Human would have risked so much to save a Vampire they were not bound to.” He left to prepare for his travel.
Sekhmet and Anubis exchanged a glance. Neither thought that Aleksei had noticed the time frame on Gillian’s oath had lapsed during the last week. Now there was nothing to stop them from exploring the possibilities in their friendship. “He will remember when it is time,” Anubis chuckled, pulling Sekhmet to him for a cuddle.
“We will pray to our gods for them,” Sekhmet replied, then let him take her mouth for a smoldering kiss.
Back in London at the hotel, Trocar and Pavel were growing concerned. Gillian, Kimber and Luis had failed to return for their rendezvous. Electing to give the wome
n and Luis a bit more time before panicking, Pavel lounged on the elegantly covered couch in the ornate suite.
“Where could they be?” Pavel growled, inspecting the actual flimsiness of his kilt.
Trocar was pacing, nervously running a hand through his silken, frothy hair. “I do not know. Since they went to separate destinations, we cannot assume that harm has befallen all of them.” He stopped a moment. “Still…how long, wolf, would it take you to track the Captain and Lieutenant Whitecloud?”
Pavel sat up, ignoring the question for the moment. “You still address them by their military rank?” He realized that he was jealous of the Elf’s prior relationship with both Gillian and Kimber. Especially Kimber.
Trocar smiled and it was wondrous. “Habit.” He laughed. “It pains me to admit it, but I do have a great deal of respect for them both. Captain Key is a formidable leader, for a Human. Kimber, is…well, Kimber.” There was no malice in his tone so Pavel quelled his irritation at the Grael’s obvious affinity for Kimber.
Catching the Werewolf’s almost imperceptible stiffening, Trocar assured him. “We were lovers once, but the time for us to have been together is past. I am not a rival, wolf. Do as you will. Now, however, please tell me, can you track them?”
“You may call me by my name, Elf. And yes, I can track them, even in Human form.”
“Very well, then let us go to where we last met. Time works against us in this game, Pavel.”
The Werewolf relaxed visibly at the soothing tone in the Grael’s voice. The Elf was beautiful by any standard and the effect wasn’t lost on the young wolf. Trocar knew exactly how he affected others and used it to his advantage. Pavel was stressed and Trocar needed him calm. He gestured gracefully to the door, watching as Pavel rose and came forward, sheepishly handing the Elf the end of the leash still attached to his collar.
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