It was a slow road to recovery, and although he knew the lady in red wanted him for nefarious means, he couldn’t help the feelings that stirred within. Only, now that love was replaced with a hatred that wouldn’t be quenched so easily. He would end the lady’s life if it meant a return to normalcy, or as close a wolf could get to the normalcy of human life.
Still Lukas’ face was mired in bruises and black lesions that snaked outward from his sleeved shirt. He watched his father speak to the pack from as far back he could get. He was humiliated by their constant stare and sought the shadows his monster was so fond of. Yet, no matter the distance from his pack mates, Lukas couldn’t separate himself from the scornful stares of his peers.
His father, Bernhard, stood atop an overturned oak with hands raised high above his head. His war calls bellowed out past the crowd to the forest that surrounded and let all the predators in the region know what beasts lay claim here. He was dressed in ceremonial wolf skin pelt with sizeable fangs displayed to show all how fearsome a prey the beast he’d slain had been. It wasn’t attire he brought out often, but the Old World still ran hot in his veins, and on nights such as these he would prominently display it for the whole pack to bear witness.
“Brothers and sisters,” bellowed the hot tempered Bernhard, “the wolf inside brings me here as it does all of you. A storm approaches, one unlike we’ve ever felt before. All of us can sense its arrival. We have for some time. Still, we do nothing to stop its spread. We let it fester. We let it grow beyond the natural order.”
He looked out across the somber faces of his pack mates. For decades Bernhard ruled over these men and women. He saw them through skirmishes, border disputes, and the rare possession, but not once had he seen them through a war. None would admit to the fear and yet there wasn’t one Bernhard looked upon that didn’t showcase that fear to him.
“Shall we hand Salem over to the vampires?” he asked overtop a round of derision from the wolves below. “That’s what we do now by not taking a stand. We hand the city over to them on a silver platter. I say no more! I say we take back the grounds that once belonged to us and we do it with the vampire queen’s beating heart in hand! With the blood mark we shall see our oldest foe banished from this world!”
The blood marking was an ancient ritual amongst werewolves with roots back to the lycan years when they were still more monster than man. Though they had shed their more feral lycan instincts, werewolves were still bound to their traditions, for those traditions were what separated them from their undead counterparts. They were the monsters that understood what it meant to be human.
That human part would hold no sway over them on the next full moon. Through the moon’s grace they would lose themselves to the monster and through the ritual’s temperance they would channel the monster in proper direction.
A thumping hymn to the pack master broke out amid the families of the Wendish dynasty. They beat on their chests and stomped on the ground for Bernhard, for their pack, and for the ill-fated lady in red they believed would soon depart from this world.
A howl to the moon gods above saw Bernhard raise a hand in the sky and then stab into the meat of his chest with the claws of his wolf. Blood poured down to the oak below and stirred the rest of the pack into frenzy. While their thoughts lingered on the feast of a queen, Bernhard’s went to one of a less lofted position.
The esteemed mayor of Salem, Victor Dukane, had uncovered the truth of their kind and their presence within the city. He knew Victor better than most. Bernhard knew that if he didn’t act soon it would be him that fell to obscured blade. While his mind loitered on the inevitable, another of Bernhard’s pack seized the opportunity before them and took a authoritative position over the pack’s dejected youth.
“I plan to kill a dozen with my own hands!” Kaleb Ramsey barked next to his pack master. “How many wolves will stand up and make the same claim as me—?”
A guttural rumble from the belly of Bernhard Wendish saw the towering youth down from the overturned oak tree and back to his family. Kaleb felt ashamed that he’d been scolded in front of the entire pack, but beyond that shame there was anger to gnaw at him.
“I’d like to see you attempt such foolishness again,” chided his sister with a soft hand across his neck. “Maybe then you’d get the swift kick in the butt you’ve been looking for.”
Leanne Ramsey was the polar opposite of her gargantuan brother. She was of fair complexion with strawberry blonde hair that cascaded down her slender frame. She looked over her shoulder to the back of pack. There, a roughed up Lukas Wendish leaned against a shadow and a tree. Her heart went to the disparaged heir and the troubles he’d yet to recover from. She always cared for him and yet knew it could never be. Ever since they were children his heart belonged to another.
“You mock me in public?” Kaleb asked, taken aback and visibly wounded by his sister’s comments. He turned his focus to what captured Leanne’s interest. When he came upon Lukas Wendish, his nostrils flared and brow sunk low. The appeal of public challenge filled him with spiteful thoughts, but the indignity of such a lopsided victory kept him from the edge of open warfare.
“I’d rather the heir have died,” he growled.
Leanne looked back at her brother with concerned eyes. “You mean no such thing.”
“You know, dear sister,” said Kaleb with eyes still locked on Lukas, “that remains to be seen.”
Lukas stood apart from his brother and sisters, but not by choice. To the proud werewolves some scars could not so easily revealed. The scars Lukas bore were of the darkest nature, so he kept others at bay in fear they would learn of the inner turmoil that clawed at him still.
He overheard what was said of him, not just from the Ramsey tribe, but of all the other families his father oversaw. Their words cut through him as deep as the wounds his mother inflicted the day earlier. He overheard every comment, but he wasn’t the only one that did.
“You should be mindful of the brawny one up front,” his mother said as approached from the rear. “If he senses weakness he may try and sway others to his favor.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Don’t be foolish,” whispered Aubrey into his ear. “You’re a child no more. Others will test your authority as the next leader. Your father won’t always be around to keep our family at the head of this pack. That burden will rest upon your shoulders one day. You must prove yourself worthy or face austerity by those that wish to command power. That is the way of our people. That is how it must be.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I hope so,” said his mother, “for all our sakes.”
To those of the Wendish clan, Bernhard was husband and father, but to all werewolves in Salem he was known as pack master. Tonight he would lead them and with a howl to the sunken moon above he let all his wolves know where his intentions lay. They would run and they would hunt. They would know what it means to be free. For in only a few weeks, when the moon became full, this was a pack that would be at war.
Soon all the werewolves of the pack began to tear through what little clothing they had on. Flesh tore and blood splattered across every inch of the ground of the were-grounds. Amid the cries of agony from the men and women the monsters inside each of them came out.
“Join us?” Aubrey asked.
Lukas shook his head disparagingly. “If only I could, but I fear my wolf is in too rough a shape to keep pace.”
Aubrey Wendish brushed the silvery strands from her face and looked back at her only child with sadness in her eyes.
“I never wanted this for you,” Aubrey said with a soft kiss on his cheek. It wasn’t often she showed the traits one considered weak among their pack, but she would do whatever it took to see Lukas succeed in this world. No matter how much it tore her apart.
“I know,” Lukas said. “Go on. You don’t want to find yourself too far behind. I’ll wait for the two of you at home.”
Aubrey took her son in hand a
nd gave him one final goodbye kiss on the cheek. She left him in the darkness and moved towards the yellow light from dozens of turned werewolves. With their pack master to lead them the wolves passed through the veil of darkness that surrounded.
That left Lukas alone in the woods he once coveted so much. It was in his newfound solitude Lukas that realized that for the first time in days he was able to enjoy these woods without friend or foe to force his hand. He returned home to await his family in solace, where he could be neither bothered nor scorned by any of his kind. Not until the black veins of the lady’s possession finally relinquished their grip upon his body.
It would take days for Lukas to return to his normal self. Days he would soon find that he didn’t have. The time of the vampire queen was already at hand.
Chapter Twenty Four
Night Kings: Dayside
Gregory Blackman
Once Friendly Faces
It was the last stop for Remus Castalon. Night’s End. It was off the beaten track and the only place in Salem he could find solitude from the lady in red. A fresh supply of bear blood and the hardest liquor this side of the globe didn’t hurt matters, either.
It was common for Remus to sit down in the furthest reaches of the Night’s End and enjoy the peace afforded to a vampire as infamous as the man in black. That peace wasn’t born of fear or hatred but of reverence. In a room full of cutthroats and killers he was untouchable one. He was the one they feared even in death.
Tonight wasn’t a common occurrence for the man in black. Nor was it for the shadowy patrons of the Night’s End. He would come in, speak to none, and back out before dawn would rise overhead. For when the Night’s End saw its peak hours, sunlight reigned, and Remus was nowhere to be found. He had better things to do than rub elbows with monsters of lower caste.
Sunlight wasn’t the bane to kindred the world was led to believe. For vampires the sun’s rays had a draining effect powerful enough to nearly cripple all but the strongest of kindred over an extended timeframe. Yet, for a race that never slept it was those hours they would take to libations. The Night’s End was that place for the monsters of Salem. That’s why Remus chose it for last.
He went from vampire to vampire in search of an ally to bear his cross one final time, but there was only one response he received from all those in attendance. None dare question the lady’s will.
“You’ve got to be out of your mind to go after the bitch,” said the bronze-skinned vampire that sat across from the man in black. “She’ll tear you to shreds; tear your lineage to shreds and any that dared share a drop of blood with you.”
“You give our queen too much credit, Akil,” said Remus with a crooked smile. “She is flesh and blood. No different than you or I.”
“Royal blood,” Akil said with a disgruntled snort. “I know better than to tie myself to another of your kind. One is plenty for this dusty footed traveler.”
“Don’t I know it,” Remus said.
The two of them met in the early 18th century during a raid on one of the vampire queen’s primary holdings in Alexandria. Reapers descended upon the fortress from all sides and threatened not just the life of Remus Castalon, but others of his royal bloodline. Many died in the assault. Many more would’ve fallen in their wake had it not been for the actions of the younger kindred in the surrounding city that came to aid their monarchy in its time of need.
Akil Fayed was one of those vampires and it was there he caught the affections of one Corina Petravic, second life sister to the man in black, and dark daughter of the vampire queen herself. It was a union born of hellfire and one that burned hot with passion. Now that Remus looked upon the man’s wearied face he saw it was a union that burned out long ago. He didn’t have the monster needed to tame her heart left in him.
“What could be valuable enough to risk certain death?” Akil asked. “I might not know the real you, but I know you better than the rest of this lot. The crown doesn’t concern you. It never has. Your sister, on the other hand, she coveted that crown with an unholy obsession. I would expect this of her. Not you.”
“What I want is of no concern to you,” Remus said as he rose from his seat. “Not if I walk alone.”
“I hope she’s worth it,” Akil grumbled into his collared shirt. It was barely audible to vampires, but Remus wasn’t any normal vampire and picked up on it immediately. What Remus failed to realize at the time was that Akil knew that better than any other vampire just how precise his hearing was.
“What did you say?” Remus asked.
“Whatever your reason,” said Akil as he sipped on his chalice, “I hope it’s worth such an assured fate.”
After countless dens Remus Castalon figured his odds in finding those eager to join ranks with him slim to none. What he didn’t count on was that she had gotten to them first. Akil knew far more than he would let on.
“Goodbye, my friend,” said Remus. “Pray that we do not meet in the battle that’s to come.”
With those words Remus saw himself from the shadowed corner of the Night’s End. The conversation had shaken him, but it wasn’t until his eyes rose to those around that Remus received the full understanding of the trap that had been laid for him. In the dimly lit barroom there was a sea of red eyes and they all rested upon the man in black. Friends were not likely to be found at the Night’s End. Remus knew that before he entered. What he didn’t expect to find were that the enemies were already at his doorstep.
Chapter Twenty Five
Night Kings: Dayside
Gregory Blackman
Surrogate Mothers
Familiar woods never felt so foreign to the young Gemma Kohl. She was far south of the city limits, so distant that not even the shimmering light that was Collard Industries was there to guide her path. It was a place that once brought joy to so many, human and forest critter alike, now deserted of all life except for that of the screeching crows above. There was darkness here. Darkness that wasn’t here the last time she paid a visit to these hallowed grounds.
The air that surrounded choked her a little at a time until she could no more breathe than see beyond her shaky hands. A disconcerted nervousness broke out within her that caused her elbows to quiver and knees to buckle. She had come to this place for the noblest of intentions. That’s what she believed, but now that she came face to face with the devastation of her most scared land it was a decision she now questioned.
Despite such reservations, Gemma pressed on in fear of what loomed over her city, unseen, yet felt within every crack, seam, and shadow. There were none that knew it better than these trees. Something, or someone, had upset the balance of nature. It corrupted outward from the stone structures of downtown to the once untouched lands of oak she found herself now.
Suddenly Gemma’s head became overcrowded with a rush of emotion and dark thoughts. She was abandoned by friends and family, left to walk this mired path alone, without so much as a mother to lean on for support. There were others in which she could commune. Others she could lean against during these tenebrous times. That’s where she headed now, through darkness and despair, to a place that had once been a second home to the troubled teen.
Just when Gemma Kohl thought she couldn’t take any more of the darkness’ torment she stepped through an unseen portal and was transported to a distant land; a land where the black veil could not penetrate. She was far removed from the pitch black landscape of the southern forests of Salem. It was a serene setting filled with bright lights and the chirping of small birds, a peaceful place, where the shadows of night dared not tread in fear of the light’s vested interest in these hallowed grounds.
Gemma stood in the sun’s light with hands raised high beside her and let the anguish fade away from the recesses of her heart. This wasn’t a place she came to often, but desperate times called for desperate measures and Salem could no longer wait for their kind to unite.
“It’s been a long time coming,” said a woman’s voice from behind the sol
e sycamore amidst a field of yew.
“None know that better than I,” Gemma replied. This was the moment she both desired and lamented, for it meant the beginning for one and the end for another. “I’m only here because Marianne isn’t.”
Marianne Kohl was many things to many people, but a mother wasn’t one of them. She was known for her unannounced departures, sometimes for months on end, and never with an explanation when she returned. Regarded by many as a seer among their kind, Marianne was blessed with the gift of foresight. It gave her a prominent role within their society, but not all saw these gifts as blessed. To Marianne it was only known as curse. She rebelled against her nature and found solace on the run, apart from humanity, where she could receive no more glimpses of ill fortune.
This time Marianne Kohl had vanished off the face of the New World. Not be to seen nor heard by friend or daughter. Gemma was never alone during these times. She had the sisters to give her the care and supplies she needed to survive. It for hardly ideal for sisters and for Gemma, but they carried on because that’s what they did. Through the good and the bad they would accept the city of Salem and all its citizens, warts and all.
“You’ll come to learn the error of those words one day, child,” said Cetra Altaras as she moved from behind the ashen sycamore and made her way to the beset young woman. “You come when all others stay well enough away. Why is that?”
“I felt a disturbance in Salem,” Gemma replied with assertion. “Now I find it outside our most sacred grounds.”
Cetra scrunched her nose in recognition of the same fate of affairs. There were limits to how much she could reveal to one not yet in the inner circle. Gemma’s mother held a place beside the high priestess, but until such time as the sisters could decide, it was a place that remained vacant.
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