The Van Wilden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by Jessica Gleave

  Gareth and Alastor stood next to her, their eyes wide, both of their mouths gaping open.

  Once again, he ignored her, the rage coursing through his body drowning out every coherent thought. He stormed out of the house.

  “We better follow him.” Vivienne’s voice carried out to him as he ran straight for the town lair location.

  He didn’t care if their base of operations wasn’t there anymore. Any vampires in his path would be shredded—the body parts left too small for them ever to merge back together and regenerate, their ashes scattering on the wind choking everyone around them.

  They would regret killing his fucking dog.

  ***

  Oscar didn’t know which way he was running, and he didn’t care. His grief and rage blinded him to all else but the thoughts of Brutus’ forlorn body.

  He felt them before he heard them, cawing and laughing amongst themselves. A group of four young males.

  “Yow, yow, yowl,” one howled toward the night sky.

  “Yeah, did you see how it squirmed. Stupid dog.”

  Oscar’s teeth grated against each other and heat crept up his neck. They’d witnessed Brutus’ demise.

  He leaped out of the shadows roaring like a monster.

  “Run!” one screamed as they hightailed it away.

  Pathetic. Oscar caught the one who howled by his collar, grasping him by the neck with his other hand. “Where’s your leader?”

  The vampire rasped and clawed at Oscar’s hand.

  “Fine. Don’t talk, but you will take me with you. First, your friends.” Oscar dragged the vampire alongside, gurgling noises erupting as his grip tightened.

  They killed his fucking dog.

  He followed the others who were leading him to the abandoned town lair.

  How ironic.

  These vampires were either dumb or weren’t trained to know what to do. They were quick, reaching the house well before him, but nothing beats the wrath of a Primus finding his beloved puppy dead.

  When he caught up to them a mere minute later, he threw their comrade into them like a bowling ball, knocking them down like pins resulting in stunned expressions.

  His lips pulled back, baring his fangs as his hand touched the stakes at his waist.

  Oscar stood over them. “Like to take joy in watching innocent animals die, do you?” He lunged for all four of them and seized the vampire he had thrown, whose olive eyes darted around the room as the others were trying to shove him off of them. Oscar wanted to rip the vampire’s torso apart but refrained from doing so in case the body wouldn’t burn. He settled with slamming the body down on his knee, severing the kid’s spine, then he pulled out a stake and jammed it into his lifeless chest.

  “Dude.” One of the other vampires—a preppy looking kid, with sandy hair styled into a quiff, now untangled from the others—put up his palms and shuffled backward.

  Oscar grunted and lit the stake in the vampire he held, then tossed the burning vampire aside. The flames licked his skin, but the burns would heal. That pain was nothing compared to the hurt he was experiencing from seeing Brutus’ dead body.

  He leaped forward, fisting the other vampire’s white t-shirt, hauling him up close. The vampire’s eyes, a dark tawny color, widened before Oscar’s other hand whipped forward ramming a stake into his torso, piercing the lungs and muscles to reach the heart. With his hand inside the vampire’s chest, Oscar realized his grave mistake. By plunging the stake into the heart through the inside of the body, the stake would unlikely set alight. Bollocks. He flung the body away from him, his hand now coated in blood, and he grabbed another stake. He crouched down and stabbed the wooden weapon into the front of the chest this time.

  He looked up to see another vampire scrambling in the dirt to get away from him. Oscar stood and lunged for him. The vampire’s black eyes widened, his beige skin took on a pallid color. He turned, running two steps before Oscar grabbed his long black hair tied at the nape of his neck. The vampire’s back arched, and he howled. The sound was familiar. This was the one who had howled before. How ironic he was howling now like Brutus inevitably had. Oscar’s other hand flipped a stake around and rammed it into the vampire’s temple.

  One vampire left. This must have been the one who’d made fun of Brutus. His lips and chin trembled, making his black beard bobble up and down. Didn’t any of these vampires shave when they were human? Oscar’s roar echoed around the empty neighborhood as he leaped onto the vampire still lying on the ground from when his comrade had knocked him over. He’d watched the whole scene, mouth agape, like a fish.

  Oscar landed on his body. Straddling the kid, he grasped the vampire’s head, his black hair shaved close to his scalp. The vampire hollered, his caramel face twisting as Oscar ripped his head apart like a stale loaf of bread. Blood, skin, and skull shards flew everywhere, and the brain plopped out onto the ground. Shit. The whole body had to be together to burn.

  He lifted himself off the dead vampire and went to retrieve the organ, placing it back inside the jagged, fragmented skull as best as he could. He plunged a stake into his heart, lighting the ends quickly while holding the brain inside the skull.

  Once the body was aflame, he let go of the head and turned to the others. The vampire with a stake in his head was beginning to revive. The stake was slowing coming out of his skull.

  “Stay fucking dead,” Oscar growled, taking another stake out of his holster and sinking it into the vampire’s chest. The body twitched, and the olive eyes were lifeless once more.

  He lit the end of the stake and turned to the other with the two stakes in his body and set the protruding stake on fire.

  Oscar stood looking around him at the burning bodies, his chest heaving. Vivienne, Gareth, and Alastor approached.

  “Did you question them first for the whereabouts of Morgana?” Vivienne asked, watching the flames burn out, the bodies combusting into ash.

  “I had meant to.” He howled at his stupidity. He was a Council Elder after all. He shouldn’t have let his emotions rule him. He turned toward the house and began smashing his fists into the walls as chunks of mortar and bricks went flying.

  “Jaysus,” Alastor cursed.

  “Fuck,” Gareth exclaimed.

  “Oscar, stop this nonsense at once,” Vivienne snapped.

  “Aye, we’ll stop him, Mrs. V.”

  “Don’t hurt yourselves in the process.”

  A hand clamped down on his shoulder, stilling his vandalism. He turned his head to see Gareth’s eyes full of sympathy. “I feel like doing the same thing. But you have to be the level-headed one here. Without Morgana to boss us around, we’ve only got you to keep old Irish and me in line.”

  “And you, too, Mrs. V,” he said hastily when she opened her mouth to protest.

  “We need the stern Oscar Van Wilden to stare us down and put us in our place. We need you to be the Elder we’ve come to know and respect. Our coven…” he waved a hand at the other two, “… needs our leader. And she’s being held somewhere.”

  Oscar grunted, but his lips twitched.

  Gareth grinned. “So, you need to be our leader. Teach us two knuckleheads…” he motioned to Alastor, “… strategies and scouting techniques to find Morgana.”

  “Aye, I miss Brutus, too.” Alastor stepped up. “What they did was feckin’ wrong. And the bastards will pay, don’t ye worry about that. But we need ye.” Alastor gazed at him as he spoke.

  Oscar’s shoulders slumped. He pulled his hands away from the destruction. “Thank you. You’re right. I wasn’t myself. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve been myself for quite a while. But what I do know is I’m sorry for my behavior. Now and recently. I shouldn’t have kept Mariza’s imprisonment from all of you.”

  Alastor nodded.

  “Good. Then let’s get back to the house. We’ll bury Brutus in the morning.”

  ***

  In keeping with the town’s theme, in their backyard grew an old oak on the border of the forest
.

  “I suppose it is only fitting I bury him under this tree, considering we adopted him here.” Oscar drove the shovel into the mound of dirt he’d created.

  A sniffle came from Vivienne. Immense sadness filled their bond from both their ends.

  Gareth dipped his head, staring at the small grave Oscar had dug for Brutus. “Morgana will be devastated when she hears about this.”

  Ava nodded, holding on to Alastor’s hand. Tears trickled down her cheek.

  “He was only in our lives for a short time, but he was family.” Oscar placed Brutus’ still body into the ground. “Even though you were not a Primus, may you return to bone and ash. May you take with you our love to wherever it is that you will find peace.”

  Oscar squatted and placed a handful of dirt on top of Brutus. “Farewell, my friend.”

  Vivienne walked up next and threw her handful gracefully over his forlorn body. “Mommy will miss you, running after you when you knocked breakables over and even your loud barking.”

  Gareth, Alastor, and Ava also threw their handfuls of dirt into the grave.

  “Do you want us to fill it in for you?” Gareth asked Oscar.

  “No. I think I should do this myself.”

  “Okay.” Gareth patted his shoulder.

  “I’m staying to help.” Vivienne lifted her chin. Oscar nodded. He felt the determination from her. He wasn’t going to argue with her. Not over this.

  “I’m going to take Ava back to her place, and then I’ll be back,” Alastor told them.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Ava said to Oscar and Vivienne.

  “Aye, as am I.”

  Oscar gave them a grim look. “Thank you both. Keep yourselves safe on the way. Who knows who else they’ll try to target next.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rivulets of blood trickled down her arms and legs.

  The smell assaulting her senses.

  Even though it was her blood, her body still craved it.

  Dying and in need of blood to sustain her.

  To replenish all that she had lost.

  All that blood at her feet, and she couldn’t drink a single drop.

  Morgana opened her eyes to see Ragnorok standing there, leering as he held up another goblet full of her blood. “My revenge is going to taste oh so sweet. Have I told you I’ve spent all this time discovering everything I could about you, your parents, and The Council. All for this moment. My turn to eliminate you all.”

  Ragnorok sipped her blood, making an appreciative groan. “You taste so good… delicate and smooth like liquid velvet coating my tongue.”

  Morgana ground her teeth, pushing against the chains. “I’m going to rip out your heart,” she vowed. She was going to make sure she inflicted as much pain and agony on him as he was doing to her. How dare he taunt her like this!? Drinking her blood like it was a goddamn wine tasting. Never again was she going to get herself into a position to be used as a blood bag. After this, no one was going to drink her blood ever again.

  And to add to the humiliation, they’d cut her leather pants up to her inner thighs to allow more blood to drain. The metal burned into her skin when she moved.

  “Yes, that’s it, get your heart rate up. It’ll pump more blood out of your body.”

  Morgana’s head slumped forward. He was right, and it was making her woozy as the blood drained out.

  “I’m going to kill you,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “We’ll see.” He sipped from his goblet before handing the goblet over to a nearby vampire, whose face she couldn’t see. He handed Ragnorok a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. The Forest Clan leader wiped the blood from his mouth. “Oh, and speaking of eliminating you all, your little family pet is already dead.”

  Morgana’s eyes widened. Her heart ached as she strained against the chains. Her eyes squeezed shut. “You didn’t!”

  “Oh, but I did. Reports are coming in that your father trashed our old town lair in his wrath rampage.”

  “You’re pathetic, killing weak innocents!” Tears stung her eyes. Morgana wasn’t much of a crier but hearing her beloved family pet had been killed warranted them in this case.

  Ragnorok grasped her chin, squeezing her cheeks, “No. You’re pathetically weak.”

  She tried to wrench her face free but failed. “It’s because of vampires like you that I have to do my job.”

  “And it’s vampires, or in your case, half-vampires, like you that I have to do my job cleansing the human race of disgusting weaklings. You and your followers are killing vampires just for living like vampires were intended. You are the monsters.”

  Morgana pushed against the chains once more. “You killed a dog, a sweet, innocent, beautiful dog. There’s no honor in that. And you will pay the price for all of your crimes.”

  “You killed her,” Ragnorok screamed, inches from her face. “She was my family, and you killed her.”

  “Who?” Morgana’s eyes narrowed before realization hit her. “Angelique?”

  Ragnorok pulled his face back, astonished. “So, now you remember?”

  “Oh, I remember her well. How she was getting fucked while her entire clan was being eradicated,” she spat.

  “You lie. All she ever did was what was best for us.”

  “She wiped out the few remaining humans left in the old country. She took it too far.”

  “Says who? A bunch of ancient vampires who were born instead of turned? How is that just? How is that fair?”

  “Wiping out humans isn’t doing the vampire race any favors. They’re our food source. We do it for the good of the vampire society.”

  “No, you do it for your pumped-up egos that try to tell others what to do. How to feed.”

  “This type of feeding…” she looked down at the blood pooling around her feet and up toward the other girls chained in a similar fashion, “… is barbaric.”

  Ragnorok waved his arms around. “No, this way it feeds my whole clan, not just myself. This is smart.” He tapped his temple.

  “No, it’s —”

  “Argh!” Ragnorok grabbed his face. “Will someone shut her up!”

  “Will do, boss.” A gangly vampire reached up with the silver knife and before she could protest, sliced into Morgana’s throat.

  Blood spilled out of her mouth, and she glared with as much hatred as she could at Ragnorok before her head slumped forward and darkness took over once again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Morgana awoke to spots of searing pain starting from her hips and spreading across her abdomen. She moved her head down as far as she could to see several stakes whittled from different scented woods, protruding from her body.

  “Ah, good, you’re awake.” Ragnorok chatted to her like this was casual banter. “You can tell me which one is hurting you the most.”

  The fucker smiled at her. If her mouth weren’t so dry from dehydration, she would have spat at him. All she could manage was a venomous glare.

  “Now, now, don’t be like that. I just want you to tell me whether it’s painful, deadly, or nothing?”

  “Like hell, I will,” she gritted.

  “Tsk. Tsk. You’re just prolonging the agony. Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

  “No.”

  Ragnorok grasped her face in his hand, squeezing hard. She struggled to break free. But too much of her strength had already leeched out of her.

  Bloody hell, this silver was doing a real number on her.

  “Tell me which one kills them!”

  She stared at him defiantly. No matter how much torture and pain Ragnorok inflicted on her, she would never tell him. It had been honed into her how important it was to keep this secret.

  Hell, she would have never told Gareth and Alastor if it hadn’t been a matter of life or death. But now it wasn’t just her life. It was everyone she knew and had grown up with—her father, her brothers, other agents, and the Council Elders, themselves.

  As much as she didn’t want
to die, sacrificing her life to take the secret of killing a Primus to the grave would be the right thing to do.

  So, she remained silent.

  She could work through the pain. She’d escape. She’d already done it once. She could do it again because she couldn’t die anyway. Unless she told Ragnorok how, and there was no way she was going to break and tell him.

  At least she knew Mariza hadn’t completely betrayed them. Her sister never told the Forest Clan leader about hawthorn.

  “Fine, we’ll keep going! More!” he snapped, continuing his torture of her by repeatedly stabbing her chest, arms, and thighs. She clenched her teeth and bared it, her eyes stung with tears, leaking of their own accord. Next time she staked a vampire—Ragnorok being the exception—she was going to do it as quick and pain-free as possible. This torture was agony.

  “Now, my dear, this is the final one,” Ragnorok spoke into her ear. Her vision was becoming blurry again. She could barely lift her head to face him.

  “I think I have saved the best for last. This has to be the right one.” He pulled the tip of the stake across the parts of skin that remained on her stomach. Morgana tried not to wince at the burn following the stake’s path. But from the pain inflicted on her, and the instinct to shy away from the smell, it was hawthorn, the only wood able to kill a Primus and their children.

  “You still aren’t showing any signs of pain,” Ragnorok admired. “But I can see the effect the hawthorn is having on your skin. It’s reddening around the cut I made.” Ragnorok held out the stake to his second-in-command. “It’s this one. Go and put it somewhere safe until we need it. Gather up the others. We have a trip to make.”

  “No.” Morgana’s voice was ragged as she tried to stay conscious, but the hawthorn was seeping into her blood. Bleary-eyed, she slumped forward, welcoming the reprieve from the pain with the darkness.

  ***

  After a long and emotional day with Brutus’ funeral, Ava readied herself for bed. As she was sliding under the covers, her open laptop screen lit up, beeping at her from its position where she’d moved it to on her bedside table. Her brow furrowed. She groaned while sitting back up to see what the alert was about.