by Greg Cox
But all he cares about is that coldhearted killing machine, Selene!
A bust of Kraven caught her eye, his regal profile captured in chiseled stone. She swerved purposely to one side, knocking the bust off its pedestal. The sculpted head crashed to the floor, exploding into a zillion pieces. Snow-white shards of broken marble went skittering everywhere.
Not so handsome now, are you, my lord?
A moment of vindictive glee gave way to alarm as she realized exactly what she had done. She stopped in her tracks and looked back at the frightful mess on the floor. In a panic, she scampered back and dropped to her knees beside the remains of the bust. Looking about her furtively, she hastily began sweeping the incriminating fragments behind the concealing folds of a large hanging tapestry.
Crimson tears leaked from her eyes as her anguished soul rebelled at the cruel injustice of it all. Why Selene? she wondered bitterly, torn between despair and indignation. Why not me?
Selene was still gazing sadly at Viktor’s tomb when Erika slipped into the viewing room behind her. One of Kraven’s adoring acolytes, the older vampiress noted distantly. She didn’t bother turning around.
“It’s a waste of time, you know,” the servant girl said a few moments later, after waiting in vain for Selene to acknowledge her presence.
“What is?” Selene asked. She remained facing the crypt, her back to the lissome blond vampiress, whose name was Erika if she recalled correctly.
Summoning up her nerve, Erika crept up next to the preoccupied warrior woman. She motioned casually at the metal hatch marking Viktor’s secluded resting place. “I seriously doubt Viktor wants you freezing your ass in here, staring at his tomb for hours on end.”
For the first time, Selene turned to look directly at the other woman. “No,” she agreed vehemently. “He’d want the Death Dealers out there right now, scouring every square centimeter of this city.” She clenched her fists at her sides, giving vent to her frustrations. “Damn Kraven! He’s a bureaucrat, not a warrior.”
“What’s the difference?” Erika asked cheekily. “He’d still be a prick.”
The girl’s flippancy caught Selene by surprise, forcing her to take a closer look at this puzzling baby vampire. Perhaps she has a bit more brains and independence than I first assumed?
“But then again,” Erika said, flashing a wicked grin as she leaned languidly against the thick plexiglass window, “he is quite the devilishly handsome prick.”
There’s no accounting for taste, Selene thought, mentally lowering her estimation of Erika by a notch. “Trust me,” she said drily. “He’s all yours.”
A pained expression passed over the blond vampire’s face, indicating that Selene had touched a sore spot, but Erika quickly managed a forced smile. “Come on,” she said lightly, “we need to get you ready.”
Selene blinked in confusion. She had absolutely no idea what Erika was referring to. “For what?”
The petite maidservant rolled her eyes, as if she didn’t believe Selene could be so clueless. “The party. Amelia’s envoy will be here any time now.”
Oh, that, Selene thought without much enthusiasm. Her gaze drifted to the bronze hatch marking Amelia’s tomb, which was unoccupied. In theory, the female Elder would take her place in the crypt upon Marcus’ Awakening, but Selene would have preferred a very different transition of power. If only we could skip ahead a hundred years and wake up Viktor instead!
Rats and spiders scurried away from the cooling body, frightened by the alarming sound of something large and powerful advancing through the moldy drainage tunnel. Although the rain momentarily had ceased falling on the city streets above, oily puddles remained scattered around the sewer as evidence of the deluge. Massive paws splashed through the stagnant pools of rainwater, mixed with the sound of bony claws scraping against the brick-lined floor of the tunnel. Trickles of light filtered down through rusty grates in the ceiling, throwing the shadow of an enormous beast upon rough, uneven ground.
Bones snapped and twisted noisily, further disturbing the verminous denizens of the sewers, as a grotesque metamorphosis took place in the murky shadows. Dense fur rustled scratchily as it receded into an almost hairless brown hide. Feral snarls evolved into recognizably human grunts and moans.
Man-shaped once more, Raze staggered through the dank and decaying tunnel. His naked body was streaked with blood, and four jagged silver throwing stars were lodged painfully in his chest, sending searing jolts through his body with every step he took. He reached instinctively to remove the stars, only to yank back his hand as the cursed metal singed his fingertips. Damn silver! he fumed silently, licking his scalded fingers. Vein-sucking vampire bitch!
Newly human eyes adjusted to the gloom. Raze panted loudly like a dog, exhausted by both his injuries and the awful strain of his transformation. He had tried to catch up with the slinky blood who had killed Trix, but her fucking shuriken had slowed him down, allowing the bloodsucking tramp to escape. Now there was nothing left to do but collect Trix’s body and report back to Lucian, who was not going to be happy to hear that the bloods had interfered with the mission.
For a second, Raze worried about the larger implications of the vampires’ surprise appearance tonight. Just another random hunting expedition, or did the goddamn bloods know about Lucian’s interest in that mortal, Michael Corvin?
No, he decided quickly. That’s impossible. The bloods have no idea what we’re about. Our mole would have told us if they did.
Confident that tonight’s confrontation was just an inconvenient setback and not any sort of preemptive strike on the part of the vampires, Raze felt more positive about the future. There would be time enough to track down Corvin again. Right now, he had another chore to do.
He lurched down the tunnel, occasionally reaching out with his hands to steady himself. Slime coated his palms and oozed down his arms as he returned to the blood-spattered stretch of tunnel where he had found the despicable vampiress bending over the lifeless form of his fallen pack brother.
Trix was right where Raze had left him, lying sprawled on his back in a puddle of gory muck, his human face frozen in agony. A trail of bloody entrance wounds stretched across Trix’s chest, leaving little doubt about his cause of death. The lycan’s own gun was missing, Raze noticed glumly.
He threw back his head and howled in rage and lamentation. Trix was only the latest pack member to fall prey to the bloods and their filthy silver. Raze couldn’t wait to catch up with that dark-haired she-vamp again—and make her pay for Trix’s untimely demise. He stared down at the bullet-riddled corpse with blood in his eyes.
Could be worse, he consoled himself. Blood oozing from his chest, the silver-scarred lycanthrope bent over and, grunting in pain, hefted the dead man up into his arms. At least we killed two of the bloods tonight, twice the number of wolves claimed by the vampire bitch. He could still taste the tangy meat of that careless male blood between his jaws, while their new ultraviolet ammunition had performed exactly as promised, roasting the other male vamp from the inside out. Two of them to one of us, he reflected savagely. Not a bad outcome.
He just hoped Lucian felt the same way.
Struggling under the weight of his doleful burden, Raze retraced his steps through the ancient sewer system. Heading deeper.
Selene’s room at the mansion was almost as Spartan as the dojo upstairs. Although her elevated status in the coven entitled her to a roomy suite of her own, complete with a balcony looking out over the front lawn, the actual furnishings were on the sparse side. A modern-looking steel desk gave her a place to work, while a richly upholstered divan allowed her to rest her head when she felt like taking a break. A portrait of a human family, consisting of a mother and father, two daughters, and a pair of twin girls, occupied a position of honor upon the desk. The framed photo served as both keepsake and inspiration, reminding Selene of why she hated the werewolves in the first place.
As if she could ever forget.
Moonl
ight entered her office through the balcony window, casting pale blue shadows onto the stark white carpet covering the floor. The ceaseless rain spattered against the window panes. Selene sat at her desk, staring intently at the illuminated screen of her laptop, which now held the disk from Rigel’s digital camera. Still clad in her fighting leathers, she clicked rapidly through the surveillance photos Rigel had taken not long before his shocking demise. Her lips peeled away from her fangs, and she hissed venomously at the sight of the two murderous lycans in their street clothes. If only I could have exterminated both of you, she thought, gripped by an insatiable hatred that knew no relief; it would take more than the blood of just a single lycan to avenge the death of a Death Dealer.
Erika passed behind her, holding up an elegant dress. The turquoise gown, a hand-beaded silk georgette imported directly from Paris, had been fitted to Selene’s exact measurements, which conveniently had remained unchanged for generations. The eager young maidservant had followed Selene back to her quarters, apparently at Kraven’s instructions. Selene wished that Kraven were as concerned about the lycans’ suspicious activities as he was about tonight’s big reception.
The blond vampiress strolled up to a chrome-accented mirror mounted on a stark white wall. She posed before the mirror, holding the clingy embroidered gown in front of her. “Oooh, yes,” Erika said girlishly. “You should definitely wear this one. It’s perfect.” She did a graceful twirl before the mirror, then added under her breath, “Maybe too perfect.”
Even concentrating on the digitized photos, Selene couldn’t miss the undercurrent of envy in the younger vampire’s voice. Erika was decades away, in both power and prestige, from rating such posh attire. The servant girl’s own flimsy little frock was considerably cheaper and more tawdry, making Erika look more like a London showgirl than an undead aristocrat.
The girl’s jealousy was the least of Selene’s concerns, however, as the zealous Death Dealer searched the digital images for some clue to the lycans’ mission in the city. Where had they intended to take the Metro to? she wondered, having no doubt that the roaming lycans were up to no good. There’s something afoot.
A head of sopping brown hair, attached to an attractively guileless face, caught her eye. That’s odd, she thought, recognizing the good-looking American she had noticed back in Ferenciek Square; to her surprise, the handsome youth showed up in more than a few of the photos earlier that night. Although often out of focus or consigned to the fringes of the photo, the nameless American was nonetheless a continuing presence in the images flashing across her screen. A coincidence, Selene wondered, or something more?
Closing her eyes, she searched her own memories. In her mind, she saw once again the young man hurrying through the soaking downpour, then riding the crowded escalator down to the subway platform, followed moments later, she now realized, by Raze and Trix, stalking through the throng of commuters with malignant purpose, like hungry wolves tracking their next meal. She remembered the smaller lycan charging at the young American with outstretched claws….
Her dark eyes snapped open. “They were after you,” she murmured, suddenly comprehending.
But why?
Gripped by a renewed sense of urgency, she feverishly worked her laptop’s keyboard and mouse. Quickly selecting the best photo of the unnamed pedestrian, she enlarged the image and adjusted the focus. The youth’s chiseled features came into sharp relief, confirming that he was indeed the same individual she had noticed back in the city. Some sort of ID badge was clipped to his jacket, and she zoomed in on the small laminated rectangle, which turned out to be a hospital employee badge bearing the name “Michael Corvin.”
Selene leaned back in her chair, staring speculatively into the warm brown eyes of the mysterious stranger. Who are you, Michael Corvin? she pondered, resting her chin on her steepled fingers. And why were those lycans after you?
She had lost track of Corvin once the shooting started but doubted that he had ended up in the subway tunnels with her and Raze. Selene remembered the gratifying sound of her silver throwing stars smacking into the werewolf’s hairy chest. Chances were, the injured beast had been forced to abandon his prey, at least for a time. Probably off licking his wounds somewhere, she guessed.
But for how long?
Although she couldn’t have explained why, Selene knew that it was vitally important that she locate Michael Corvin before Raze and his lycan compatriots did. He meant more than just fresh meat to those wolves.
“Mmm, he’s cute,” Erika commented, peeking over Selene’s shoulder. Selene had briefly forgotten that the servant girl was still in the room. “For a human.”
“Who’s cute?” a third voice asked.
Both Selene and Erika looked up to see Kraven, resplendent in a black Armani suit, standing in the doorway. An irked, petulant expression compromised his dashing appearance. For herself, Selene suppressed a flare of irritation at the intrusion; Kraven hadn’t felt it necessary to knock first.
Erika, on the other hand, immediately went into humble servant mode. Lowering her eyes, she bowed demurely and shuffled out of the room with a minimum of fuss, ducking beneath Kraven’s arm as she passed through the door into the hallway outside, leaving Selene alone with Kraven.
Without waiting for an invitation, he sauntered into Selene’s private quarters, his hands clasped behind his back. He strolled over to the balcony window and peered out into the stormy night. “Need I remind you,” he said peevishly, “that we’re expecting important guests?”
“No,” Selene answered archly. “Erika’s done that at least twenty times in the past hour.”
Kraven turned away from the window, flashing her a wounded look. “Then why haven’t you slipped into something more befitting?” He glanced at the empty silk gown, which Erika had left draped on the divan. “You know I was planning for you to be at my side this evening.”
Selene could not think of a less appealing prospect, even if she didn’t have more important matters to attend to. “I’m not in the mood,” she declared. “Take Erika. She’s just dying to be at your side.”
Kraven grinned, evidently amused by the servant girl’s hopeless infatuation. He walked over to where Selene was sitting, then leaned down toward her, bringing his ruddy face much too close for her liking.
“I’m sure she is,” he whispered, “but everyone knows it’s you I desire.”
So what else is new? Selene thought, weary beyond measure of Kraven’s advances. They had played this scene far too many times in the past. You’d think that after all these years, he’d take the hint.
His breath, hot and reeking of plasma, was unpleasantly warm upon her cheek. He moved to kiss her, but she deftly edged away from him at the last minute, a trick she had sadly had cause to perfect over the decades.
Kraven bristled at her rebuff, stiffly raising himself to his full height and throwing back his leonine black mane. Scowling, he swept a disdainful eye over her muddy boots and leathers, still besmirched by grimy souvenirs from Budapest’s moldering sewer system.
“If you ask me, you take this entire warrior business far too seriously.” He glanced at the framed family portrait resting on her desk. “You can’t undo the past, no matter how many lycans you kill.” His callous gaze left slimy, imaginary tracks across the precious portrait. “You do realize this, don’t you?”
Selene shot him a warning look. He was coming dangerously close to trespassing upon sacred ground. Perhaps realizing that he had gone too far, he backed off a bit. He smiled amiably, as if to remove the sting from his sarcastic query.
“And besides,” he continued, taking a less confrontational tack, “what’s the use of being immortal if you deny yourself the simple pleasures of life?”
Hard to enjoy those pleasures, she reflected mordantly, while a lycan is tearing out your throat and making a feast of your intestines. She took a deep breath, not wanting to re-fight old battles. Maybe I should make the most of Kraven’s presence, while I actually h
ave his attention.
She pointed at the enhanced photo on the computer screen. “Do you see this human?”
Now it was Kraven’s turn to sigh impatiently. He took a moment to inspect his well-manicured nails, which were apparently of more interest to him than the last moments of two Death Dealers. “What of him?”
“I can’t be positive,” she began, “but I’m beginning to think that the lycans—”
Kraven cut her off as the sudden glow of headlights flashed across the window. Selene realized that Soren had arrived with the visiting dignitaries from the New World Coven.
Damn, she thought. Their guests’ timing could not have been worse. Just when I was about to tell Kraven my theory!
Kraven beamed happily, his truculent mood instantly lifted. “Now, please, put on something absolutely stunning, and be quick about it.” His chest expanded beneath his elegant evening wear, like a rooster strutting in a hen yard. “I have a glorious evening planned. You’ll see.”
He headed for the exit, but Selene had not yet given up on the idea of sharing her concerns regarding the lycans. For better or for worse, he was the designated leader of the coven, and he needed to hear this.
“Kraven, this is serious,” she called after him. “I think the enemy was following him.”
He paused in the doorway and looked back at her with a puzzled look on his face, as if he’d just heard a bad joke whose punchline he didn’t quite understand. “That’s absurd,” he said. “Other than for food, why would lycans stalk a mere human?”
