by Greg Cox
Accepting her provocative invitation, he took hold of her slim white hips and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her slender waist. His lips found her belly, and her taut flesh quivered uncontrollably as he kissed and licked his way up toward her breasts. Her supple skin was smooth as porcelain and cool as a refreshing mountain stream, and his hungry tongue left a moist trail across the sensuous contours of her nubile body.
Erika gasped once, then bit down hard upon her lower lip. Kraven smiled at his own amatory prowess; no doubt, the silly minx had been waiting for this moment ever since she became a vampire.
“Something was in the stable, tearing the horses to pieces,” Selene said softly. She remained standing beside the open window. It felt strange to be speaking to him like this, and of such a deeply personal matter, but she couldn’t help herself. It felt oddly right as well, although she couldn’t have begun to explain why.
“I couldn’t have saved my mother. Or my sister. Their screams woke me. My father died outside, trying to fend them off. I stood at my door, about to run to my nieces, when… Twin girls, barely six years old. Butchered like animals. They cried for me… and then there was silence.”
“Jesus Christ,” Michael exclaimed. Despite his own troubles and the bestial contagion wracking his body, his earnest young face was filled with unmistakable compassion and sympathy. Her throat tightened, making it even harder to speak. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had even tried to share her pain.
“The war had spilled into my house, my home.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but she could see Michael hanging on her every word. Crimson tears welled up in her eyes, for the first time in centuries. After all these years, the memory was still like an open wound. “And the next thing I knew, I was in Viktor’s arms. He had been tracking the lycans for days. He drove them off, saved me.”
Viktor’s name provoked a puzzled expression from Michael. “Who?”
“The oldest and most powerful of us all,” she explained. “That night Viktor made me a vampire. His blood gave me the strength to avenge my family. And I’ve never looked back.”
Until now, she added silently. What was it about this human that made her want to open up like this, break free of the emotional armor that had encased her heart for ages? He was just a mortal, and one infected by the lycans.
“I saw your pictures,” she blurted. She told herself she was only changing the subject, turning the focus back on Michael, where it belonged. “Who was the woman? Your wife?”
Michael’s head jerked back in surprise.
The lycans’ armory was housed in an abandoned bunker many meters beneath the thriving metropolis above. Water dripped on the concrete floor outside the bunker as Lucian inspected his troops.
Fully armed with UV-compatible semiautomatic weapons, several dozen lycans were lined up in the tunnel, their backs turned to the crumbling brick walls. Humanoid figures, clad in grubby brown apparel, gripped their guns and rifles, preparing to deal out ultraviolet death to their ancestral enemies. The lycan soldiers snapped to attention as Lucian strode past them into the makeshift armory.
Excellent, he thought. The pack looked fit and ready for combat.
Although dimly lit and grimy, the armory was perfectly functional. Lycan commandos were busily going about their duties, inspecting and oiling high-caliber weapons, loading UV cartridges, and so on. A rickety aluminum table had been set up in the center of the converted bomb shelter to assist in the planning of tonight’s operation. Pierce and Taylor, having traded their bogus police uniforms for scuffed brown leather, stood around the table, poring over a detailed map of the city. They looked up from the chart at Lucian’s approach.
“How are things progressing?” he asked them curtly.
The two lycans smiled in answer, baring sharp white teeth.
Now it was Michael’s turn to relive the worst night of his life. He stared bleakly into the past as Selene watched him from across the barren hideout.
“I tried to swerve, but he hit us anyway. Sent us right into the oncoming lane. When I came to, I realized part of the engine was now in the front seat… and she was pinned there, not six inches from me, in this… horrible position. She must’ve been in shock, because she just kept asking me over and over if I was all right. She was more worried about me than…”
He had to pause, his throat choked with emotion. Selene’s heart went out to him. Considering his history, she was amazed that he had ever gotten into a car again, let alone endured her speeding Jaguar the night before. Michael had told her all about their headlong plunge into the Danube; she felt a stab of remorse for subjecting him to yet another automotive catastrophe.
Blinking back tears, he started again. “If I knew then what I know now, I could’ve saved her. Stopped her bleeding, treated her for shock and trauma.” Selene heard guilt as well as sorrow in his voice. “No doubt in my mind, I could have saved her… but, instead, she died right there, not two minutes before the ambulance arrived.”
To her shame, Selene felt a flicker of relief that Michael’s fianc�e, an American named Samantha, was irrevocably dead and buried, but she dismissed that reaction as unworthy of her. What did that matter, anyway? Michael was only a pawn in the war against the lycans… wasn’t he?
“After that,” he continued, “I really didn’t see any reason to stick around in the States. My grandparents—my dad’s folks—emigrated from Hungary back in the forties, after the war, and they used to talk fondly about the Old Country, so once I got my degree, I figured what the hell? I just took off, came over here to, I dunno, move on… forget.” He shrugged nonchalantly, feigning a blas� attitude that seemed at odds with his true feelings. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
You probably would have been better off staying in America, Selene thought mordantly. Without being obvious about it, her gaze drifted to the bloodstained bite marks on his shoulder. “And have you?” she asked him. “Moved on?”
He looked her squarely in the eyes. “Have you?”
Selene didn’t have an answer for him.
Yes! Erika thought rapturously. At last!
Kraven’s icy lips explored her breasts, his keen teeth teasing first one nipple, then the other. Kraven’s strong hands gripped her rump, his demanding grasp leaving its imprint upon her pliant flesh. She ran her fingers through his luxurious black mane, clinging to his unbound hair as though her immortal life depended on it.
Erika could not believe her good fortune. Finally, her most fervent fantasies were coming true. Lord Kraven was making love to her, not Selene, not Dominique, not any of the other girls. The regent of the manor, the ruler of the coven, had chosen her. She had arrived!
He drew back his head, just for an instant, and used his sharpened fingernail to slice a small half moon beneath her left nipple. Erika gasped out loud as her blood began to leak from the stinging, crescent-shaped gash.
Kraven’s mouth returned to her breast, lapping at the crimson stream. Erika moaned ecstatically and threw back her head, surrendering to the moment as the vampire lord suckled on her bleeding teat.
She never wanted this moment to end…
Outside the mansion, beyond the perimeter fence, a matte-black van slowly drove past the entrance to the estate. The unassuming vehicle crept along the road with both its headlights and taillights off, so that it was all but invisible in the deep, tenebrous night. Swirling tendrils of dense gray fog helped shroud the creeping van from watchful eyes.
Singe sat behind the wheel of the van, his lycan eyes easily penetrating the darkness outside. He slowed to a stop a few meters away from the mansion’s driveway and peered through the high cast-iron gates at the secluded Gothic edifice at the opposite end of the driveway. The palatial residence, with its marble columns and towering spires, was certainly grander and more impressive than the lycans’ crude underground lair.
So that is Ordoghaz, the scientist thought. He felt both excitement and trepidation at coming so n
ear to the very stronghold of his foes. An entire coven of vampires, including scores of lethal Death Dealers, was less than half a kilometer away—and completely unaware of his presence.
Or so he hoped.
I really should be back in my lab, he groused silently. This sort of intelligence operation was the sort of thing that Raze or Pierce or Taylor should be handling. Singe took a moment to pine for his abandoned scientific equipment and experiments; he resented being pulled away from his work at such a critical juncture, just as he was nearing the very culmination of his groundbreaking endeavor. At the very least, I should be out tracking down the elusive Michael Corvin, so that we can proceed with the experiment, not spying on a nest of unwary bloodsuckers!
Still, his was not to reason why. With a sigh of resignation, he looked away from the nearby mansion and peered back over his shoulder at the rear of the van, where a five-man team of lycan commandos readied their weapons.
Their humanoid faces held expressions of feral anticipation. Unlike the out-of-place biochemist, the soldiers looked ready, eager, and loaded for bear. Or, in this case, bats.
“Who actually started this war?” Michael asked.
Selene stood watch by the open window. A shaft of silver moonlight threw her statuesque silhouette onto the uncarpeted wooden timbers of the floor. Despite everything, he couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was.
“They did,” she answered, “or at least that’s what we’ve been led to believe.” Her mournful eyes were turned toward the deserted streets outside. “Digging into the past is discouraged. Many things are.” A trace of resentment entered her voice. “But I’m beginning to suspect that there’s more to this war than meets the eye.”
Like what? Michael wondered, then realized that he was giving serious consideration to the political underpinnings of a secret war between vampires and werewolves. Am I actually buying all this? he asked himself incredulously. He gazed closely at the exotically gorgeous woman standing by the window. In her tight black leathers, Selene looked more like Emma Peel than Anne Rice. Did he really think this woman was an honest-to-God vampire?
I don’t know, he admitted reluctantly. He didn’t know what he believed anymore.
Selene glanced at her wristwatch. “Almost five a.m.,” she announced. “I should be heading back.”
Right, before the sun comes up, Michael realized, appalled that this actually made some sort of sense to him. Was there a comfy coffin waiting for Selene back at the mansion?
“What about me?” he asked.
She paused before answering. “Viktor will know what to do,” she said finally. Michael recalled that, according to Selene, Viktor was the head honcho of all the vampires. Having his future dependent on the decisions of a real-life Count Dracula did not reassure Michael. “I’ll come back tomorrow night,” she promised.
No way, Michael thought, rejecting the idea of spending the next twelve hours hiding out by himself in this dismal safe house. He clambered unsteadily to his feet and pulled on his jacket. “Well, I’m sure as hell not staying here alone,” he declared, trying to ignore the way his head was spinning. He steadied himself by grabbing onto an arm of the solidly built titanium chair.
“You will if you want to live,” Selene said sternly. Stepping away from the window, she crossed the floor to where Michael was standing.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass. The way he was feeling now, he wasn’t sure he was going to last until tomorrow night. His temples throbbed with every heartbeat, and his shoulder burned where that bearded madman had bitten him. For all I know, I’m coming down with rabies.
“Look,” he appealed to her, “you can help me sneak back into the hospital, or I can do it myself.” A shudder passed through him as he recalled his close call at the hospital several hours ago. What if the police were still looking for him there? “Either way, I need to run a few tests on myself, see if I’ve been, you know, infected with… something.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say lycanthropy. That was the precise medical diagnosis, wasn’t it?
Selene maintained a stony expression, apparently unconvinced by his plea. Fine, Michael thought irritably. He nodded at the recalcitrant woman and turned toward the door. Guess I’m on my own then.
Her hand grabbed his arm, and, once again, Michael was surprised at just how strong she was. Her closed fist felt like an unbreakable vise.
Sick as he was, he knew he had no chance of breaking away from her iron grip. Heck, he’d probably be just as stuck if he were in the pink of health. She was that strong.
Strong as a vampire?
Now what do I do? he thought helplessly. He turned back toward her, unsure whether to bawl her out angrily or plead for mercy. How did you reason with a stubborn vampire, anyway?
They stood face to face, only inches apart. Selene’s dark eyes—enigmatic, inscrutable—stared intently into his. Her exquisitely crafted face offered no clue to what was going on behind those unforgettable chestnut eyes. Michael started to open his mouth, still uncertain what he was going to say, but Selene leaned forward unexpectedly and silenced him with a kiss.
Her lips were cold but lush and tender. Michael’s mind was caught off guard, but his body responded instantly, as though it had been waiting for this moment all night. Perhaps it had; Michael hadn’t realized until now just how much he had been wanting to kiss her. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation, and passionately kissed her back.
CLICK-CLICK. A pair of metallic snaps intruded on his bliss, and Michael’s eyes snapped open in confusion. What in the world? His eyes widened further as, looking down, he saw that Selene had handcuffed him to the heavy titanium chair.
“Hey, what the heck are you doing?” he gasped, feeling betrayed, frustrated, and disappointed all at the same time. Pulling away from Selene, he tugged vigorously on the cuffs, but the sturdy chair, built to withstand the frenzied efforts of a captured werewolf, was bolted securely to the floor and refused to budge.
He was trapped.
Selene stared at him implacably, showing none of the ardor and affection her moist lips had bestowed on him only seconds before. She reached beneath her coat and drew out her pistol.
Michael gulped, wondering if this was the end. Had the kiss been some sort of twisted gangland tradition, bestowing a final benediction upon the condemned, or had she simply meant to distract him long enough to put the cuffs on him? Either way, he was suddenly reminded just how little he truly knew of this woman or what she was capable of.
And I thought she was my last, best hope!
What remained of his strength evaporated, and he stumbled backward into the waiting chair. He dropped weakly into the seat, unable to stay on his feet a second longer. Go ahead and kill me, he thought bitterly. Just let me sit down for a minute first.
Gun in hand, Selene stepped toward him. She leaned down to look him straight in the eye. The voice that issued from her lips was flat and devoid of emotion: “When the full moon rises tomorrow night, you will change, you will kill, and you will feed.” She shook her head ruefully, forestalling any objections. “It’s unavoidable.” Her steely gaze drifted to the metal cuffs holding him fast to the chair. “I can’t leave you free to roam around. I’m sorry.”
This is insane! Michael thought furiously, wishing he had the strength at least to rattle his bonds in defiance. One minute you’re kissing me, the next minute you’re telling that I’m going to turn into a monster?
Selene racked a round into her trusty automatic. Michael wondered how many of the bullets had his name on them.
Instead of shooting him, however, she ejected the magazine and held it up to him so that he could see the gleaming silver bullets inside.
Just like the Lone Ranger, he thought irrationally. Thanks a bundle, kemo sabe.
“A single round most likely won’t kill you,” she explained in a monotone, “but the silver should prevent the transformation… at least for a few hours.” She reinserted the cart
ridge into the gun and dropped the loaded weapon into his lap. “If I don’t return in time, do yourself a favor. Use it.”
Later, Michael would realize that he could have conceivably pulled the gun on Selene and demanded that she free him. (Not that silver would have much effect on a vampire, probably.) Right now, though, he could only gape at her, dumbfounded and amazed just to be breathing, as she fleetly exited the room, slamming the door shut behind her. He heard the click of a lock sliding into place, followed, a few heartbeats later, by the sound of her bootsteps disappearing down the stairs.
Numbly, he lifted the gun from his lap. He stared at it as if it were an alien artifact.
“Use it,” Selene had said.
She wasn’t serious, was she?
Chapter Twenty-one
The sporty gray sedan came screaming toward Ordoghaz at breakneck speed, racing the rising sun. Cutting it a bit close, are we? Singe thought wryly, watching from inside the parked van. The vampiric inability to tolerate sunlight was a weakness that he and his lycan kinsmen did not share with their enemies. He wondered what had kept this tardy bloodsucker out so late.
The driver of the sedan was in such an obvious rush that Singe judged it highly unlikely that he or she would spot the unlit van lurking in the shadows across from the entrance to the vampires’ mansion. Raising a pair of binoculars to his eyes, he saw that the driver was a dark-haired female sporting the distinctive leather garb of a Death Dealer. He guessed at once that this was the infamous Selene, who had already foiled at least two attempts to take Michael Corvin into custody.
Singe felt that this was reason enough to want her dead.
To his acute disappointment, she appeared to be alone, which prompted him to wonder where exactly Michael Corvin was now. Was the elusive mortal already sequestered somewhere within the forbidding walls of Ordoghaz, or had this undead vixen stowed him elsewhere?
