by Greg Cox
Where are the Death Dealers? she thought. Why aren’t they saving us?
The entire coach rocked back and forth, like a ship tossed about upon a stormy sea, as another monster slammed into the side of the carriage again and again. A painted yellow wall bulged inward, wooden planks splintering loudly. The treasure chest slid across the floor, slamming into the maiden’s side hard enough to bruise her ribs. Mother pulled Natalya under her, sheltering the girl with her own well-fed body. Her blood-soaked wimple had come loose, exposing graying blond hair. The string of rosary beads broke apart. The precious relics rolled and bounced over the quaking floor.
Another titanic blow shook the coach. Steel and timber buckled as the head and shoulders of a second werewolf smashed its way into the carriage. Canine jaws clamped down on Natalya’s mother and tore her away from the girl. The wolf shook the older woman’s body back and forth while more blood painted the interior of the carriage incarnadine.
Suddenly an orphan, Natalya was all alone in the dark.
Sonja was the last vampire still astride a horse. The rest of the Death Dealers had already been yanked to the ground. Her sword cut a bloody swath before her. A crimson stream gushed down the gutter of her double-edged blade. Hecate reared up, striking out at the swarming werewolves with her steel-shod hooves. But for every creature Sonja struck down, two more seemed to burst from the swirling mist. Her azure eyes glowed like balefire.
Was there no end to these creatures?
A heart-wrenching scream called her attention back to the besieged carriage. Squinting through the grisly haze of battle, she spied a werewolf clinging to the side of the coach. Another beast crouched upon the roof. Ruptured steel plates suggested the carriage’s passengers were in mortal peril, if not already dead. Sonja remembered the innocent mortal girl she had smiled at before. She prayed that she was not too late to save her.
Hecate charged toward the carriage. The horse’s thundering tread alerted the werewolf on the side of the coach. Turning away from its mortal prey, the beast growled at Sonja’s approach. Gore dripped from its open jaws.
Whose blood is that? Sonja wondered. The girl’s?
A massive paw swung at her head, its lethal claws slicing through the air. Sonja ducked beneath the claw and, in one smooth move, slashed her blade across the werewolf’s abdomen. Hot blood sprayed from the gash, and the beast’s steaming entrails spilled onto the ground. Howling in agony, the werewolf clutched at its guts with its clumsy mitts, even as more of its innards dangled from the grievous wound. A crimson flood gushed through its fingers. It dropped limply onto the ground beside the coach. A billowing sheet of fog covered the carcass.
Hecate trampled the body beneath her hooves. Sonja savored the monster’s death.
If only she could have slain it a few moments earlier!
Off to the other side of the carriage, Raze fought for his life against the unyielding chain. Swollen veins bulged beneath his skin. Beefy muscles, hardened by years of backbreaking servitude, strained to the utmost as he dug his heels into the dirt and tugged on the chain until his aching arms and back felt as if they were being torn apart on the rack. His knuckles whitened and the rusty links dug savagely into his sweaty palms. But despite his strenuous exertions, the chain refused to give even an fraction of inch. The trapped slave feared that he wasting the last moments of his life.
Intent on his struggle, he nearly jumped out of his boots when the coach door banged open only a few feet away. The sudden noise made his heart miss a beat. A second later, a blood-soaked corpse slumped out of the carriage onto the ground. It took Raze a moment to recognize the mutilated body as the master’s daughter, Natalya. The girl’s throat had been torn open, her fine clothes ripped to shreds. Glazed green eyes and a tortured expression captured the unspeakable horror of her final moments. Every inch of her ravaged body was awash in blood.
May your ancestors guide your soul to Paradise, Raze thought, mourning her loss. Never mind that her father had enslaved him and treated him harshly; Raze had not known the girl at all, but no one deserved to die in so barbaric a fashion. Let alone one so young and fair.
A werewolf leapt from the roof of the carriage, landing a few yards away from Raze and the other prisoners. Its cobalt eyes glared at the hooded captives. Drooling black lips peeled back, baring bloody fangs. Its hackles rose.
Raze looked around for help and spotted a bearded stranger wrestling with a wolf near the back of the carriage. No knight, the man wore a tattered leather vest and trousers. His spiked collar looked even more painful than the iron ring around Raze’s own throat. The stranger had one arm locked around a werewolf’s throat and was struggling to keep out of the way of the beast’s deadly fangs and claws while hacking at the monster with a bloody sword. Clearly, he had troubles of his own….
This is it, Raze realized. It was now or never. Freedom or death.
Gritting his teeth, he threw himself into one last herculean effort. He yanked hard on the chain attached to his manacles and was rewarded with the sound of a loud snap at the other end of the links. He staggered backward, almost falling onto his rear, even as the ravenous werewolf pounced at him. Gaping jaws offered him a view straight down the monster’s gullet.
Raze swung the severed chain like a lash. The iron links cracked against the werewolf’s skull. The beast let out a hurt yelp and collapsed to the ground. Its body twitched and fell still. A bloody froth spumed from its jaws. Raze whipped the wolf again and again until he was sure it was dead, then looked up to see the bearded stranger staring at him in wonder. His strange blue eyes took Raze’s measure even as he withdrew his sword from the bowels of a fallen werewolf. Steam rose from the monster’s exposed entrails.
“Impressive,” the man said. He lobbed his sword over to Raze before returning to the fray.
Chapter Eight
Sonja called out to the carriage’s passengers, but no one answered. Concerned for their safety, and fearing the worst, she jumped down from Hecate and hurried to check on the coach. She took only a few steps, however, before the earth erupted right behind her. Sonja spun around, sword in hand, but not fast enough. A werewolf sprouted from the ground, like a mythological monster spawned from a dragon’s tooth, and grabbed her from behind. A sharp pain stabbed her in the side as the creature’s claws penetrated her metal cuirass. Her boots lost contact with the slippery mud as she was yanked down into a yawning pit. She hacked and stabbed at her captor even as she fell into the darkness. Hellfire!
She landed hard upon a rough floor several feet beneath the forest. Driven back by her sword, the werewolf retreated for an instant, allowing her to hastily take stock of her surroundings. To her amazement, she found herself trapped in a network of crude tunnels stretching away into the shadows. Tangled roots hung like stalactites from the ceiling. Centipedes and other vermin wriggled through the dank clay and earth. A few faint beams of moonlight entering the underground warren via gaps in the ceiling gave her just enough light to see by. Fog tumbled through the open pits. The pungent scent of the werewolves polluted the air. She choked on the stench.
The size and extent of the tunnels astounded her. The beasts had built all this, in anticipation of this ambush?
Perhaps they’re not nearly so mindless as we believed.
A quick glance informed her that she was far from alone. Werewolves infested the tunnels like oversized rats, scrambling to join the battle overhead. Meanwhile, the wolf that had snared her was closing in for the kill. Blood dripping from his injured snout, the beast charged at her with murder in its eyes….
Rounding the corner of the carriage, Lucian spotted Sonja at last. His heart leapt with joy and relief. Thank the fates she’s alive! But before he could call out to her, a werewolf lunged up from out of nowhere and dragged her, kicking and shouting, beneath the earth. In an instant, she disappeared from sight.
No! Lucian raged.
He couldn’t believe that he had found her, only to have her snatched away from him at t
he last minute. He raced to where she had been standing only seconds before. The forest floor trembled beneath his feet and he looked down to see a moving hump of dirt shifting below the leaf litter and other detritus like a gargantuan mole. His keen ears heard a snarling werewolf racing underground—straight toward Sonja!
Empty fists clenched in frustration. What had he been thinking off, tossing his sword to that defenseless slave? Glancing around for a weapon, he spied an exhausted Death Dealer slumped against the trunk of a skeletal oak. The vampire’s ebony armor was liberally splattered with blood, whether his own or his enemies’ Lucian could not tell. Without pausing to ask permission, he snatched the soldier’s sword from his grip and raced after the burrowing werewolf. His fist tightened around the ornate steel hilt of the weapon. Thankfully, only the blade was coated with silver.
The disarmed Death Dealer shouted in protest, but Lucian wasn’t listening. Rescuing Sonja was all that mattered now.
If she wasn’t already dead.
Trapped underground like a prisoner in her father’s dungeons, Sonja scooted backward until she bumped into a solid wall of earth. Gnarled roots snatched at her hair. Cold vampiric blood seeped through the jagged gash in her armor. Backed against the hard-packed clay, she fought to keep the hungry werewolf at bay. The cramped tunnel made it difficult to wield her sword effectively, yet she jabbed at the beast’s snapping jaws and cobalt eyes, while kicking out at the monster with her spurs. The wolf’s huge head ducked and darted, searching for an opening past her defenses. Its hot breath, redolent of raw meat and marrow, sickened her. She found it impossible to believe that Lucian could possibly be related to such a vile monstrosity.
Farewell, my love, she thought, I fear I shall not know your sweet embrace once more. She winced at the memory of their brief quarrel earlier. It pained her to think that her final words to him had been so cold. Please know that I always loved you….
Despite her preternatural stamina, she felt her strength flagging. The wound in her side burned like fire; blood loss sapped her energy. Her mouth felt as dry as ashes and she would have killed for a fresh flagon of hot cattle blood to restore her vitality. It had been too long since she had last refreshed herself from the castle’s slaughterhouse. Alas, the foul ichor of the werewolves could not slake her thirst. The very thought turned her stomach.
Beneath her armor, her body was soaked in sweat. Her dark bangs were plastered to her smooth white brow. The heavy metal plates and chain mail felt as though they weighed at least a ton. The tip of her sword wavered uncertainly as her weary arm strained to hold it before her. Her lungs gasped for air in the claustrophobic confines of the tunnel. Sweat dripped into her eyes. She tasted salt upon her lips.
Sensing weakness, the werewolf lunged for her face….
Lucian heard the monster growl. His eyes zeroed in on the telltale hump beneath the soil. Realizing that he had not a second to spare, he dived forward and buried the blade deep into the ground. A savage howl burst from his lips.
Die, hellspawn, die!
Sonja swung her sword, but the blade snarled in the hanging roots. Unable to wrench it free in time, she could only throw her head backward against the hard clay wall behind her as the werewolf surged forward to rip her face off. Without her helmet, nothing stood between her and beast’s fangs except empty air. Spittle sprayed her cheeks.
It seemed she would not live to be an Elder after all.
Just then, when all seemed lost, a silver blade stabbed down from above, piercing the werewolf’s skull. Its jaws snapped tight as it convulsed once, then died without a whimper. The sword pinned the monster’s head to the floor of the tunnel. Acrid fumes rose from where the silver seared its lifeless flesh.
Sonja blinked in surprise, startled to find herself rescued from certain death.
What? How?
“Sonja!”
She recognized Lucian’s voice at once, even if she could scarcely believe that her ears were not deceiving her. Squeezing past the dead werewolf, she looked up to see Lucian staring anxiously down at her through the open shaft above her. A gibbous moon haloed his worried face. Leaning over the crumbling edge of the pit, he reached for her with outstretched fingers.
The welcome sight of him renewed her spirits. She had no idea how he had come to be here, so far from the castle walls, but for now she didn’t care. It was enough that he was here for her, just when she needed him most.
Leaping to her feet, she rescued her sword from the roots and gratefully took hold of his hand. His strong fingers clasped hers as he pulled her up from the tunnels. She breathed a sigh of relief as she scrambled onto the muddy surface of the crossroads, safely free of the hidden warren below. The open sky, glimpsed through the bony tree branches, was a vast improvement over the stifling confinement of the subterranean tunnels. A cold wind blew against her face. She no longer felt like she was buried alive. How on earth did the Elders endure it every hundred years?
Lucian looked her over anxiously. His eyes widened in alarm as he spied the bleeding rent in her armor.
“You are hurt.”
Her hand went to her side and came away wet and sticky. Overjoyed by Lucian’s miraculous arrival, she had almost forgotten how the wolf had slashed her ribs, but an excruciating pang brutally brought her back to reality. Her torn flesh throbbed painfully. She tottered unsteadily upon legs that suddenly felt as limp as cotton. The bright blue light in her eyes faded.
Damnation! What did that mangy wolf do to me?
Maintaining a stoic expression, she tried to dismiss the wound, but her legs buckled beneath her and she crumpled onto the ground. Lucian dropped to her side, visibly distressed by her collapse. Blood coursed from her side, pooling beneath them. She winced as his fingers delicately probed the wound through the gap in her armor. He didn’t need to tell her how bad it was. A few more inches and the monster’s claws would have disemboweled her.
A chorus of angry growls reminded them that they were literally not out of the woods yet. Looking away from Lucian’s troubled face, she saw an entire pack of werewolves circling them. There had to be at least a half dozen of the relentless beasts, all intent on devouring their flesh and blood. Their cobalt eyes glowed in the dark like a swarm of lightning-bugs. Lucian took her sword and jumped to his feet to defend her. He brandished the silver blade menacingly, but the wolves did not back off. Confident that their prey could not escape them, they took their time as they cautiously closed in on the ill-starred couple. Sonja longed to fight back against the monsters, but it was all she could do to keep from passing out from blood loss. She sagged against Lucian’s legs, holding onto him for support. Darkness encroached on her vision. Her eyelids drooped.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Her eyes searched the misty crossroads for help, but saw none forthcoming. If any of the other Death Dealers had survived, they seemed nowhere nearby. Sonja feared that she was last vampire alive in these woods.
If only for the moment…
She squeezed Lucian’s hand as they faced the teeming pack together. She had no illusions that even his matchless strength and courage could prevail against such overwhelming odds. At least I will not die alone, she consoled herself. If I must perish, let it be at my true love’s side.
But Lucian had another idea.
Dropping the sword, he reached beneath his belt and pulled something from a small woolen pouch. Sonja’s eyes widened in alarm as he plucked the key from the pouch. Her heart stopped as she grasped what he intended.
“No,” she murmured weakly. It’s forbidden.
Ignoring her protests, Lucian jammed the key into the lock holding the moon shackle around his neck. A metallic click greeted the key and the collar snapped open. The silver spikes fell away from his throat. He grabbed onto the open shackle and hurled it away from him.
The effect was instantaneous.
His fair skin darkened, turning a mottled shade of gray. His unruly scalp birthed a mane of coarse black fur that sprouted from
his head and shoulders, then spread across his body and limbs, which themselves lengthened and grew larger in the space of a heartbeat. His blood-splattered vest and breeches came apart at the seams as he assumed the proportions of a giant. His fists curled into paws. Clawed feet shredded his leather boots.
The moon pulled on his flesh and bone, so that it flowed like the tide. His very skull underwent a grotesque metamorphosis. A canine muzzle protruded from his face. His brow sloped backward over fierce cobalt eyes. Tufted ears tapered to a point. Flattened nostrils flared above a maw full of jagged incisors. Foam dripped from his wolfen jaws.
Sonja gazed up at him in awe. Despite their past intimacies, she had never seen him like this before. Tall and strong and ferocious beyond belief, like the great beast Fenris of the Norsemen’s myth. Although she had known, on an intellectual level, that Lucian was indeed a lycan, she had never imagined that the wolf inside was so wild, so… magnificent.
Lucian exulted in his newfound power. An overwhelming sense of exhilaration accompanied his transformation. More than two centuries had passed since he had last taken this shape, and he was no longer an insecure boy locked away in Viktor’s dungeon. This time he had changed of his own accord. He flexed his shaggy limbs, feeling the inhuman strength and vitality in them. He had never felt so free.
Or so deadly.
Nevertheless, he was still sorely outnumbered. Six other werewolves stalked him warily, while more dropped from the trees or came crawling out of the tunnels. His startling metamorphosis had given the other wolves pause, but not sent them into retreat. Lucian bared his fangs and crouched defensively in front of Sonja. He realized he was in for the fight of his life. This was going to get bloody….
