“They were doomed the moment you passed along that information, Derek. Even if you’d been there, they wouldn’t have voted to wait for a more precise strike.”
“I still would have said not to do it.”
“Yeah, which is why they didn’t wait for your vote.”
I gave my vote, I wanted to say. I just told the Professor to relay it without thinking about the consequences or specifics. Instead, I said, “I don’t think the vampires are going to much care for me after this. It makes the meeting I want to set up all the more important.”
“I’ll see you in Nassau.”
“Penny—”
I didn’t have much of a chance to respond further, because as I turned a corner, my car slammed into a pair of trees overturned in the road. The airbag activated and prevented me from smashing my face into the steering wheel as my body thrown against the seatbelt around my waist.
Disoriented, I looked around and saw there were several figures standing perfectly still on both sides of the road. They were beautiful, elegant, and dressed in clothes every bit as fine as Christopher’s own. The clothes were inappropriate for the weather, though—a mixture of trench coats and suits with the occasional evening dress. None of them showed any sign of discomfort, however, looking at me with the same sort of gaze an owl might give a mouse.
Vampires. Shit.
The furthest one to the left moved so fast it seemed like he was teleporting, ripping off the car door before tearing out my seatbelt. He was six feet tall with skin like ivory and a spherical bald head. The vampire grabbed me by the neck, either to crush it or pull me out.
I didn’t have much time to figure out my next course of action because unlike what you saw in the movies, humans were pretty much helpless in personal combat with vampires. Even the lowest member of the undead possessed enough power to tear a man apart like wet tissue paper.
I’d slain more vampires than anybody else alive, but I’d done so with equipment designed for fighting them. By the time I drew my gun, the vampire holding my throat would have time to crush it a dozen times over. Instinct guided my next actions as I refused to be captured by the Vampire Nation.
Even if they intended to take me alive, my hatred for their parasitic race trumped any predisposition toward self-preservation. The discovery of Christopher’s survival had dulled none of my rage. I summoned all my ki into my fists, feeling the swift and powerful flow of life energy through my body. It was difficult to strengthen myself because I was already going unconscious. The bald vampire had pulled me out of my car and was lifting me up by its right hand, giving the barest of squeezes but enough to strangle me. So, I knocked his head clean off with a kick of my left foot. I didn’t mean this figuratively, either. I struck out with a ki-enhanced blow and decapitated the vampire. Its head traveled off its neck like a football, causing us both fall to fall to the ground. I’m not sure which of us was more shocked by the action.
Lying down in the snow next to my ruined car, I felt a surge in mystical energy. It was not clean energy, either, but the life-force of the slain vampire. A hateful mass of hunger and blood passed from the dead vampire on the ground to me. In an instant, the Bloodsword passed from the passenger’s seat of the car to my right hand. Remembering cutting my hand on the weapon, I realized I’d consecrated the weapon to myself. I was a blood magician now.
The other vampires didn’t hesitate to take advantage of my shock, three of them raising a pair of Uzis at me before firing. Time seemed to slow down, and I saw the bullets explode out of their weapons’ barrels, moving in slow motion like I was in a Hong Kong action movie.
Falling backwards, I rolled on the ground and pulled out my pistol with my left hand. I fired at the vampires, striking all three of them in the skull. My aim was perfect despite the fact that I was firing with my oft-hand. Even more so, my weapon moved faster than their own, although vampires possessed unnatural speed.
With most of the monsters sent to hell, I felt another surge of alien power as the sword in my right hand took on a red-black hue. The black ki running through my body was incredible, giving me a rush greater than any of the drugs I’d taken undercover. I felt strong and invincible, as if the remaining three vampires before me were helpless. I lost all sense and found myself casting aside my gun. I burst forward at an inhuman speed, launching myself at the nearest vampire, driving the Bloodsword into the side of its chest and through its heart.
The vampire, a man with long black hair and crystal blue eyes, stared at me in disbelief. I witnessed rapid decay start to set in as his eyes sunk into the back of his head. His skin began to wrinkle and then crumbled to dust. The power that passed from the deceased vampire was ecstatic, and I wanted to sink my teeth into the side of the creature and drink its blood. However, there was none left after a moment. The creature was nothing more than powder and clothes falling before me. Even so, I felt charged. The Bloodsword felt like an extension of my body and I hacked into the closest of my assailants with wild abandon, severing chunks of its body away like I was slicing cheese. Blackish-red ichor flew from the creature’s body in slow motion, the Bloodsword absorbing it and passing on a portion of the strength to me.
I felt like a god.
Yes, the female voice from earlier whispered. We are gods.
My sole remaining attacker stared at me, looking nonplussed by the hideous slaying of her fellow vampires. She was quite the contrast to her fellows, standing five foot nine and looking like a statue with short, bright red hair and crystal blue eyes. Unlike the others, who were dressed for a night on the town, the survivor had a goth flavor to her attire. One that reminded me of my sister’s friends. She was wearing tight black leather pants, a Sisters of Mercy jacket, and a snug red halter top that contrasted with the snow around her.
The Bloodsword enhanced the urges that were pushing me forth in a berserk fury. I wanted to kill her, to chop her up into little pieces and drain the energy from her body. Years of training let me recognize this was an unnatural desire, but barely. Disgusted by myself, I forced those thoughts back into the recesses of my skull and did my best to assert my dominance over the sword’s will. I wanted to cast aside the blade, but somehow, it managed to stick to my hand regardless.
“You have no right to that weapon,” the woman said, her accent a strange mix of Bahamian and London English.
I coughed, trying to cleanse my throat of the taste of blood. I hadn’t drunk from any of my victims, but it somehow felt like I had. “You have no right to take my life or any of the others you’ve slain.”
“Do you assume all vampires are murderers?”
“Am I wrong to?” I spit on the ground.
“Perhaps not. Yet if we are all killers, then you are one too, Cleaver. The Warlord wishes to speak with you, and the deaths of my colleagues will stop me from bringing you to him.”
I didn’t hesitate with my response. “Not a chance.”
“You were already trying to set up a meeting with us.”
I wondered how she’d heard that. “A meeting between equals is different from being ambushed and captured.”
“No one is equal in this world. My orders are to bring you in alive. Note, they did not say unharmed. I desire to hurt you a great deal for my fallen comrades.”
“Then you shouldn’t have tried to kill me.”
“You fired first. The Bloodsword is empowered now and an extreme amount of damage can be done to your body without being fatal.”
“Bring it, girl.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “The name is Elizabeth Cambridge. You can call me Black Beth.”
She lifted her right hand and closed it. Seconds later, a sniper shot me in the chest. The Bloodsword fell from my grip and I bled in the snow, losing myself to darkness.
Chapter Seven
Despite the vampiress’ statement about the Bloodsword being able to heal me, I was surprised to wake up. The first thing I noticed was I felt like shit. The second was that I had a pounding headache. And the third w
as that I was handcuffed to my chair. I opened my eyes to the dimly lit interior of a private jet.
It was extremely upscale, with black shag carpet, fine oak furniture, and a fifty-thousand-dollar entertainment center. The jet had no windows, but I could hear the whine of engines, telling me we were in the air. There were a number of figures moving around the jet’s main cabin, all dressed similar to the vampires who’d attacked me, but no sign of Elizabeth Cambridge. I was woozy from being shot, as well as the frenzy the Bloodsword had pushed me into. Leaning forward, I felt a stab of pain in my chest and knew whatever healing was occurring wasn’t complete.
Looking to my seat, I saw it was a black leather recliner, very expensive, with elaborate magical runes sewn into the lining. I didn’t recognize their purpose but suspected they were designed to suppress what little magic I commanded. Given how much of a boost I’d received from the Bloodsword while fighting that vampire hit squad, I had to assume the only reason I wasn’t healed was because the runes were keeping me from accessing its power.
Great.
Blood magic had made me powerful but turned me into a fool, leaving me vulnerable to enemy counterattack. Spotting the Bloodsword propped up against another chair, I wondered if Christopher had planned for the weapon to betray me. I shook that thought away. The vampires had me dead-to-rights, and if not for the aid of the Bloodsword, I would have been taken down much faster. The fact that the weapon had opened up my mind to a forbidden form of magic I’d been able to use instinctually should have disturbed me. But as a prisoner of the Vampire Nation, I couldn’t help but wish I had access to a little more now.
“I don’t suppose I could get a cup of coffee?” I called out, rattling my handcuffs for emphasis.
God, you are an asshole, the female voice from earlier whispered in my head. I like that.
Who’s there? I asked, projecting my thoughts inward.
A friend.
Friends can speak to me face to face, I replied.
Soon, the voice cooed.
One of the vampires, a tall, leggy, brunette, walked over and smacked me across the face. It was all I could do not to slip back into unconsciousness. Say what you will about the walking parasites, but they were strong.
“Now, Minka, is that any way to treat our guest?” a deep, Ben Kingsley-like voice came from the back of the plane.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw a figure enter the cabin like he was stepping onto a stage. He was tall. Taller than me, with a short, well-trimmed goatee and flowing black hair trailing down over his shoulders. His mustache was anachronistic, large and waxed with the points coming out to both ends.
The rest of his attire was custom-tailored, with a long coat over an Italian suit that probably cost as much as my car. The coat was so large, it hung from him almost like a cape. There was a timelessness about the look that made it somehow fashionable, even if it was reminiscent of a seventeenth-century swashbuckler.
Behind the figure was Elizabeth Cambridge, still dressed like she was going clubbing, and glowering at me. I didn’t blame her. I had killed six of her associates, after all, but there was something else I noticed in her posture. She was worried about something, or someone.
“Welcome, Cleaver,” the man in the Italian suit said. “You have no idea how much trouble you’ve caused me.”
I looked up to the man, unimpressed. “I like to think I have a good idea how much trouble I cause the monsters of the world.”
His smile took on a cold edge. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
I cocked my head to one side. “A guy who needs to shave off that mustache. Who are you supposed to be? The Dread Pirate Burt Reynolds?” I knew who he was, of course, but I didn’t appreciate being kidnapped.
All of the other vampires on the plane stiffened, as if I’d insulted the Pope about his hat. The one exception was Elizabeth, who gave a half smile to my statement. Right before returning to her previous scowl.
The mustached man gave a low dark chuckle, the laughter not reaching his eyes. “Let me show you who I am.”
He grabbed me by my throat and made me meet his gaze. I didn’t have time to shut my eyes before I was forced into his crystal blue ones. They were the sign of Christopher’s vampire lineage, but purer and more hypnotic than all the others. That was when the vampire shoved centuries of horror into my skull.
I saw thousands of Turks impaled on wooden poles, their blood slowly draining to the ground, followed by a rampage of murder across Europe. I saw slave ships, their prisoners chained like animals, ripped apart like pigs for slaughter. I saw the streets of Victorian London, plied by broken women, stalked by a murderous madman with a knife.
My nose started to bleed as my mind rebelled against the atrocities I witnessed. The vampire continued to hold my throat, however, keeping me steady as he continued to show me sights that equaled or surpassed any I’d seen in the Red Room. Only his grip kept me from biting off my tongue, the horror too much for my brain. As I suspected, I was face to face with Dracula, Warlord of the Vampire Nation.
“Show respect,” Dracula commanded, putting his will in my mind.
What followed was an overwhelming urge to love and obey him. The vision had weakened my will, and I was bombarded with affectionate feelings. Dracula was like Elvis, Jesus, Christ, and Buddha all wrapped into one. I wanted to get down on my knees and worship him. His power was stripping away all of my free will, leaving me nothing more than an obedient husk to do with as he saw fit.
“Now do you know who I am?” Dracula asked, his voice echoing in my mind. He wanted me to grovel.
To kneel.
And I wanted to.
But the memory of the horrible things he’d done to men, women, and children kept me from doing so.
Focus, I commanded myself, struggling to resist his command. I was not going to be a vampire’s puppet. Not Christopher’s, not Dracula’s, not fucking Count Chocula’s.
No one’s.
“You’re a guy with a shitty mustache.” I laughed, grinning. It took every ounce of willpower in my body.
“I’m impressed.” Dracula let go of my throat, letting me collapse back into my chair. “It’s nice to meet someone who is deserving of their reputation. I expected my power to liquefy your mind. You must be one of those rare individuals who can resist mesmerism.”
“And what if I couldn’t?” I said, racked by a violent fit of coughs. Throwing off Dracula’s influence had taken every bit of my will, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it again. At least I had the small blessing that mesmerism grew more difficult once you’d failed against a subject.
“I’d have sent you back to your family to rape your siblings, kill your father, and then slit your wrists after confessing to it all on paper. Thankfully, that won’t be necessary.”
Some of the vampires laughed at Dracula’s statement, while others looked uncomfortable. I had no doubt he was serious about his threat and wondered how many others had suffered such a fate.
I clenched my fists, trying to raise my head up from where I’d collapsed. “That would . . . lead to war with the Red Room.”
The threat against my family infuriated me and allowed me to regain a bit of my strength. I didn’t mind if he killed me—that was a danger of the Game—but bringing my brothers and sisters into this was a bridge too far. I wanted to reach up and rip the immortal’s black heart out. The urge felt natural and pure.
What had the Bloodsword done to me?
Made you strong, the woman’s voice spoke. I am tired of vampires.
Was it the Bloodsword? Oh crap, it was.
“I was under the impression we already were at war, my dear Cleaver.” Dracula sat down in the chair across from me and gestured to Minka. Frowning, as if insulted by the request, she poured him a glass of blood from a decanter on a nearby table and brought it to him. “Or do I misinterpret the situation?”
I thought of the terrible casualties I’d inflicted on Ruthford’s plantation. “Ruthford and hi
s men have been at war with the House for a long time. As for the ones I just killed, they ambushed me. It was self-defense.”
“You lying sack of—” Elizabeth stepped forward.
Dracula raised a hand, silencing her. “I do not speak of these things. Annabelle created Ruthford two centuries ago and it was his stupidity to believe your organization could be destroyed outright. The Wise will always compete with the Damned for domination of lesser beings. As for Elizabeth’s team, they were expendable.”
Elizabeth glared at her master. “The Blackguard served you well, Master.”
“And they died. Therefore, they are irrelevant.” Dracula’s tone was beyond dismissive, more like angry that she would even bring up their losses in my presence. His gaze on me intensified, making my headache worse. “As for you, Cleaver, this war is your fault for other reasons. Your treasonous plotting with the recently discharged herald Christopher Hang. The two of you unleashing all manner of chaos on the Vampire Nation and her allies. Tsk-tsk, very naughty. Between you two, we were jumping at shadows.”
I paused, processing that. “Wait. You think Christopher and I are trying to start a war?”
“Do you deny it?” Elizabeth pointed at me, hissing.
“We’re trying to prevent a war!” I snapped, not caring that I was surrounded by psychopathic monsters.
Dracula took a sip from his glass. “I find that very difficult to believe. You do have a certain reputation.”
A black man near the back, who was of medium height but very muscular, sneered at me. “Allow me to be the one to kill him, Warlord. I have spilled the blood of his line before.”
I mentally filed that statement away for future reference.
“Later, Joshua,” Dracula said. “I am interested in what the Cleaver has to say.”
This was all a big game to Dracula, and there was no way to talk my way out of this. But if he didn’t want a war with the House, I needed to do everything in my power to prevent one. I didn’t know what Christopher’s position was in the Vampire Nation right now, but I suspected it wasn’t good. Given I’d met with him under the auspices of his being a representative of the Council of Ancients, I wished I could conjure him up and punch him. I hated being hustled.
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