by Greg Cox
Sopping wet, he slicked his hair back as he rode an escalator down to the platform, which was jammed with milling commuters. A good sign, he realized; the large crowd meant that he hadn’t just missed an uptown train.
Idly scanning the soggy assemblage, he caught his breath in his throat as his gaze fell on an amazing-looking woman standing on the platform below, leaning back against a kiosk. A startling and spectacular vision, she was clad in glistening black leather from her neck down to her knee-high boots. A long black trench coat, belted at her waist, failed to conceal her lithe, athletic figure, while her porcelain features bore a timeless beauty and glamour. A jagged crop of dark brown hair gave her a sexy electricity that made Michael’s pulse speed up. She looked out of place amidst the everyday hustle and bustle of the Metro station: an exotic apparition, wild, mysterious, enticing…
Everything I’m not, he thought wryly. Absolutely riveted by this astonishing eyeful, he was unable to look away, even when she raised her head to stare right back at him!
For an endless moment, their eyes met. Michael found himself drowning in enigmatic chestnut-colored pools that seemed to hold unfathomable depths far beyond his ability to probe or comprehend. The mystery woman returned his gaze, her eyes seeming to penetrate all the way to the back of his skull. Her frozen, neutral expression divulged little clue to what was going on behind that perfect face. Michael found himself wishing that he wasn’t looking quite so bedraggled at the moment.
The chestnut orbs examined him frankly, and just for a split second, Michael thought he saw a glimmer of interest, mixed with perhaps a trace of ineffable sorrow and regret. Then, to both his relief and his disappointment, she looked away, choosing to glance up and down the length of the platform instead. Who are you? Michael wondered, consumed by something more than mere curiosity. Where did you come from? What are you looking for?
The escalator carried him downward, closer to the woman by the kiosk. Michael swallowed hard, debating whether he had the nerve to say something to her. Excuse me, miss, he rehearsed mentally, but I couldn’t help gawking at you…
Just as the moving stairs reached the bottom, however, and Michael started to step onto the platform, a bright blue train came roaring into the station, accompanied by a gust of cool air and a deafening blast of noise. The train’s sudden arrival startled Michael, momentarily shattering the spell the bewitching stranger had cast over him, and when he turned to look again for the lady in question, he discovered that she had vanished from sight completely.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath. The subway doors hissed open, and the impatient commuters surged toward the waiting train. Michael expended a few more seconds searching for a glimpse of the leather-clad enchantress, then reluctantly headed for the train as well.
Probably just as well, he thought, utterly failing to convince himself. An amplified voice spoke over the station’s loudspeakers, instructing the people on the platform to step aside and let the arriving passengers exit the train. I’m running late for work as it is.
Hidden in the shadows beneath the escalator, Selene watched the wide-eyed American youth turn toward the sleek blue train. For the second time in less than ten minutes, she chastised herself for letting the nameless human’s striking good looks divert her from the mission. Still, she had to admit that her undead heart had skipped a beat when she saw him coming down the escalator, even as her fascinated gaze had lingered on his chiseled countenance much longer than it should have. I must be getting feebleminded and girlish in my old age, she thought archly, unable to shake the memory of the American’s pale brown eyes.
Raze and Trix came down the escalator a few moments after the unlikely object of her attention. The odious sight and smell of the lycanthropes brought her back to business. She watched intently as the uncouth pair joined the horde descending on the newly arrived train. Farther down the platform, artfully concealed amidst the station’s murkier nooks and crannies, Rigel assiduously kept his eyes on the lycans as well. He and Selene exchanged a glance, then simultaneously slipped from their hiding places to trail after their detestable quarry.
Selene was grateful for the backup when the two lycans split up, spreading out through the advancing throng like timber wolves converging on an unsuspecting deer. She signaled Rigel to take Raze, who was heading roughly in the other vampire’s direction, while she stayed close to Trix. Nathaniel, she knew, was still aboveground, keeping watch over the station’s entrances just in case any lycan reinforcements showed up unexpectedly.
So far, so good, she thought, maintaining a discreet distance from both lycans. The motion of the crowd carried them toward the open doors of the subway train, and Selene wondered curiously where the clueless lycans were leading them. Perhaps all the way to the creatures’ latest lair?
She glanced over at Raze, who was standing outside the train, about midway down the platform. To her concern, he suddenly halted in his tracks and sniffed the pungent air of the station. Hell, she thought, instantly on guard. I don’t like the looks of this.
Her hands crept toward the matching Berettas hidden under her trench coat, even as Raze spun about suddenly, catching a glimpse of Rigel. Panic flooded his dark mahogany face, and he reached beneath his own jacket and whipped out a modified Uzi. “BLOOOOODS!” he shouted in a deep, basso profunda voice. Gunfire erupted from the muzzle of his submachine gun, turning the crowded Metro platform into a scene of utter panic.
The Uzi’s harsh report echoed cacophonously within the subterranean confines of the subway station, all but drowning out the frightened shrieks of the terrified human commuters. Frantic men and women hit the deck or else stampeded for the nearest exit. Selene and Rigel dived for cover, taking refuge behind adjacent concrete support columns as they swiftly drew their own firearms. Rigel was equipped with an MP5 submachine gun, while Selene relied on her trusty Berettas.
Ignoring the fear-crazed humans, Raze swept the platform with a blistering hail of automatic weapons fire. Peering out from behind the concrete column, as the relentless fusillade chipped away at the white enamel tiles covering the support pillar, Selene observed that the lycan’s chattering Uzi was firing a type of ammo she had never encountered before. The cascading bullets literally glowed with their own built-in illumination, shining so brightly that it actually hurt her eyes to look at them.
What in the Elders’ name…? she thought in confusion. Her fingers squeezed the triggers of her Berettas, returning the lycan’s fire with a barrage of silver bullets.
Nathaniel paced back and forth in front of the Metro entrance, beneath the protective awning of a bistro across the street from the station. They also serve who only stand and wait, he mused, recalling the immortal words of Milton.
Nathaniel had met the great poet once, in London in 1645, while tracking down a band of renegade lycans amidst the chaos and bloodshed of the English Civil War. A shame that we never tried to make him an immortal…
The leather-clad vampire maintained a lookout over the streets and sidewalks surrounding the station, lest his comrades be surprised by another pack of lycans on the prowl. It distressed Nathaniel that Selene and Rigel most likely would have to follow the two lycans onto a departing train, leaving him behind, but he trusted his fellow Death Dealers to contact him once they reached their destination. If the fates were kind, Nathaniel would not miss out on all the action.
The unmistakable clatter of gunfire upset the night, coming from the subway tunnels below the square. Nathaniel sprang into action, racing across the street toward the entrance to the station. Horns honked angrily behind him as he took the stairs several steps at a time. Terrified commuters, fleeing the alarming din of the unleashed firearms, came rushing up the steps, impeding his progress, but the impassioned vampire tossed the frightened men and women aside like rag dolls.
Hold on! he thought urgently as he landed deftly upon the mud-tracked floor of the subway. He was only too aware that Selene and Rigel faced an equal number of bloodthirsty l
ycans. A Walther P-88 pistol in each hand, he tore down the tunnel toward the turnstile, anxious to lend the other Death Dealers a much-needed numerical advantage. The continuing blare of the gunfight added fuel to his haste. It sounded as though his embattled comrades were holding their own, but for how much longer?
The soles of his boots smacked loudly against the tiled floor. Traumatized humans, pale-faced and gasping, threw themselves against the tunnel walls to avoid the gun-wielding, black-clad figure rushing insanely toward the clamorous din of the underground combat. Nathaniel paid no attention to the agitated mortals, intent on rejoining Selene and Rigel.
Stand fast! he silently entreated them. I’m on my way!
The incandescent rounds ricocheted wildly about the underground platform. Glowing bullets took out many of the overhead lights, which exploded like pyrotechnic amusements, showering sparks onto the cement floor below. The remaining lights flickered fitfully, casting creeping shadows over the besieged station.
What the hell? Michael thought, suddenly finding himself stuck in the middle of a full-scale firefight. Along with several other fearful bystanders, he huddled behind an automated ticketing kiosk while the echoing explosions pounded against his eardrums, overpowering even the strident screams of the hysterical commuters. The acrid smell of cordite assailed his nostrils.
He couldn’t believe what was happening. One minute, he was trudging toward the waiting subway, still half-looking for that breathtaking woman in the black leather, when unknown parties abruptly started shooting up the crowded platform. Doing his best to keep his head down, Michael couldn’t get a good look at who was doing the shooting, but his overwrought brain desperately tried to make sense of the situation.
Some kind of Russian mob thing? he speculated. Downtown Pest wasn’t exactly Hell’s Kitchen, but organized crime had been thriving in the former Warsaw Pact nations ever since the fall of the Berlin Wall. Maybe this was a turf war between rival mobsters.
A teenage girl, maybe seventeen years old, made a break for the up escalator. She almost made it—before getting caught in a vicious cross fire. High-powered blasts tore into her upper leg, and she dropped to the floor like a brightly painted marionette whose strings had just been slashed by a razor. Blood spurted from beneath her miniskirt as she stared in shock at her perforated leg. From the bright red color of the blood, Michael knew that the bullets had opened her femoral artery. He couldn’t hear her gasping over the roar of the gunfire, but he saw her chest heaving erratically as all the color drained from her face.
Screw it! Michael thought. With no other choice, he bit down on his lip and darted out from behind the ticketing machines. Crouching as low as he could, he scurried through the line of fire like an army field medic. Bizarrely glowing bullets whizzed past his head, creating dancing blue spots at the periphery of his vision, but he kept on going until he reached the wounded teen, who was lying sprawled on the platform in a swiftly spreading puddle of her own blood.
He dropped to his knees beside her and began feverishly applying pressure to the injured limb. Hot blood soaked through the knees of his pants, dispelling some of the chill left behind by the autumnal weather outside. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, giving him the energy he needed to help this girl.
“You’re going to be all right,” he assured her, raising his voice to be heard over the reverberating screams and gunfire. He struggled to make eye contact with the girl even as he kept pressing down on the wound with both hands. Sticky arterial blood seeped between his fingers.
To his dismay, the teen’s violet eyes were already glazed and unfocused. Her face was pale, with a slight bluish tint, and her skin felt cool and clammy. I’m losing her, he realized, recognizing the telltale symptoms of hypovolemic shock. “No, no, no!” he blurted at her. “Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me now.” Her eyelids drooped alarmingly, and he thrust his face at hers. “Stay with—”
Another burst of automatic weapons fire rocked the platform, interrupting Michael’s desperate attempt to rouse the half-conscious girl. Heavily mascaraed eyelashes fluttered weakly, then snapped awake at the booming sound of the guns. That’s it! Michael thought, shielding the girl’s ashen face with his own body. Every fresh blast made him cringe, expecting to feel bullets slam into him at any minute.
Was it just his imagination, or had he actually succeeded in slowing the girl’s rapid blood loss? For a split second, he was mentally transported back to a lonely roadside in New Haven, watching another young woman slowly die right before his eyes. Not again! he thought, feeling a familiar pain stab him sharply in the heart. Hang in there, he urged the Hungarian girl, forcing the thought of that other woman out of his mind. I’m not going to let you die.
Even if it kills me…
Chapter Three
Across the platform, Selene winced as Raze’s gunfire chipped away at the concrete column protecting her. Bits of powdered stone pelted her face as another unnaturally radiant bullet missed her by centimeters. She angrily wiped the grit from her cheek with the back of her hand before firing around the corner of the pillar with a blazing Beretta.
She glanced to her left and saw Rigel similarly pinned behind another column farther down the platform. A sturdy advertising kiosk loomed midway between them. Selene tipped her head toward the adjacent structure and nodded at Rigel. He nodded back, understanding.
Firing continuously with both hands, she dived for the rear of the kiosk, as did Rigel, who met up with her behind a mounted poster for the Hungarian Ballet. All around them, luminous steel rounds slammed into the walls and ceiling of the Metro station, turning the polished tiles into an explosion of broken splinters and shards.
Selene and Rigel hid behind the colorful kiosk, their backs pressed up against each other. “Whatever kind of ammo they’re using,” she exclaimed, her heated observation sounding like a whisper amidst the thunderous racket of the gun battle, “I’ve never seen it before!”
“Likewise,” Rigel replied. Concern creased the smooth planes of his perpetually youthful features. As if ordinary ammo wasn’t dangerous enough to their kind!
Selene slammed a fresh magazine into her right-hand Beretta and risked a peek around the edge of the kiosk. To her surprise, she saw that same handsome American youth tending to an injured human girl right in the middle of the platform. She raised an attentive eyebrow, impressed by the young man’s courage if not by his sense of self-preservation. I’ve known vampires, she thought, who were not so brave amidst gunfire.
The tangy scent of the girl’s spilled blood reached Selene’s nose, causing her mouth to water automatically. None of that now, she told herself firmly; the drinking of innocent blood had been strictly banned for centuries.
Her eyes widened in alarm as she spotted the smaller lycan, apparently overcome with blood lust, charging at the kneeling mortal from behind. Although Trix had not been reckless enough to shed his human form in so public a venue, his bestial nature was betrayed by his blood-streaked cobalt eyes, sharpened incisors, and clawlike fingernails. A white froth foamed at the corners of his mouth as he lunged for the human with outstretched claws!
Intent on his wounded charge, the compassionate American appeared oblivious to the berserk lycanthrope closing upon him. Forget it, Selene thought emphatically, unwilling to see the courageous youth butchered by the likes of Trix. She quickly took aim at the oncoming lycan and squeezed the trigger. Eat silver, you stinking cur!
BLAM! An argent bullet ripped into Trix’s shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. Selene smiled coldly, even as the engrossed American youth remained unaware of his near brush with death and mutilation.
The doors of the parked subway train had remained open throughout the frenzied melee, perhaps in hopes of giving the endangered commuters on the platform an avenue of escape. Rebounding from his bullet-propelled fall, Trix took advantage of an open door to scramble onto the train itself, clutching his wounded shoulder.
The floor of the train exploded bene
ath his feet as Selene’s nonstop fire chased him. He dashed across the width of the subway car, barreling into the sealed door at the opposite side of the corridor. Powerful fingers dug into the rubber-lined seam between the closed pneumatic doors, and he grunted in exertion as his superhuman sinews struggled to pry the doors open.
Selene kept on firing, her unleashed bullets eating up the floor behind him. The train’s unlucky passengers cowered beneath their seats, but Selene squeezed tightly on the triggers of her Berettas, confident in her ability to hit only the hated target she was gunning for. She had no intention of letting the injured lycan escape with his life.
Growling savagely, Trix made one last ferocious effort, and the closed metal doors came apart with a whoosh of pressurized air. The lycan hurriedly threw himself through the gap, dropping onto the subway tracks on the other side of the train.
Damnation! Selene cursed, irked by her quarry’s last-minute escape. She moved to go after him, only to see Raze charging toward her from the northern end of the platform. His Uzi blazed volcanically drawing her fire.
She ducked back behind the corner of the kiosk, unable to chase the smaller lycan as she would have preferred. Very well, she thought. Her upraised pistol was only centimeters from her face, filling her lungs with the intoxicating smell of gunpowder and hot metal. Adrenaline spiked the undead ichor in her veins. I’ll settle for the big dog instead.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Trix slumped against the wheels of the stalled train. His right shoulder burned where the vampire bitch had nailed him with her silver. Grimacing in agony, he thrust his fingers into the gaping wound, a task made all the more difficult by the fact that he was right-handed in his human form. The smell of his own blood enraged him as it streamed down his chest to puddle at his feet.
