Night Kings: The Complete Anthology

by Gregory Blackman

  “We will set fire to the packs of old,” said the lady in red as she knelt down to eye level, “and bring a new dominion over the land… your dominion… guided by my hand.”

  Lukas resisted the vampire queen’s gaze as long as he could before he buckled to her will. He fought with every ounce he had left to give, but he fought a futile battle. Xenia forced herself inside where she could pick at his very being and mold it in her image.

  “Let us leave this place,” whispered the lady in red, “for it is home to you no longer.”

  Xenia moved to grab hold of Lukas once more, but her approach slowed to a crawl, and then not even that. With her hands halfway extended she came to a standstill in the dead of night.

  “What trickery is this?” an enraged vampire queen asked. “Show yourself!”

  Dozens of hooded figures emerged from the woods. Those same woods that once held the vampires and the werewolves that chased them. Aside from their somber attire these figures were unimposing and walked with a certain grace the monsters lacked.

  Their collective hands were raised in the lady’s direction, palms towards her and all fingers pointed upward to the night sky. They didn’t move as monsters, because they weren’t monsters of the night. These were flesh and blood women led by the clairvoyant Cetra Altaras and accompanied by Gemma Kohl. Sisters of Salem united under the night sky after centuries apart.

  The lady in red spewed blood and profanities in all directions as the sisters of the night descended upon her. Once before had she felt this vulnerable, this afraid. Those were the days of her infancy when it was only the lady and her maker. That was a lifetime ago and yet that fear returned to these fields. No different than the last.

  “We hide from you no more,” Cetra said.

  “Back, you vile witch,” said Xenia with a bloody spit in the witch’s direction. “I dance on the bones of your kind! If you thought the humans destructive to your way of life you’ll soon be awoken to the hell I know!”

  “No one should be denied such a last request,” Gemma said. “You may dance your heart out, milady.”

  Gemma kept pace with the high priestess in the face of a terror unknown to her until this night. She faltered, for the briefest of moments, but it was all the time in the world for the vampire queen.

  With their spell broken the lady in red found she was once again able to govern her own body. Rather than heed the words of those beneath her station, Xenia chose to escape with her prize and live to fight another day. Lukas is what she wanted. The rest would have to wait one more night. She moved to take hold of the young werewolf, but found his touch now out of reach. The man in black had taken him out from underneath her thumb.

  “I’m afraid not, my liege,” a mordant Remus Castalon said. “The boy doesn’t belong to you.”

  “And he belongs to you?” Xenia scoffed.

  “Perhaps,” said Remus, “in time he will. What I do know is that day isn’t today.”

  The vampire queen dug as deep as she could to summon the strength needed to break the witches’ hold of her. She went to the shroud in that moment of freedom and called forth the snaked fingers of her forbearers to aid her in this time of need.

  The man in black and his red maker rarely agreed on much over the years. In truth she would’ve struck him down on numerous occasions if it were not for his unusual connection with the vampiric gift known as the shroud. She was twice the monster Remus pretended to be, and yet, it was he that reigned in that dark place called the shroud.

  Xenia poured everything she had left into the attack; one last chance to wipe a century old smirk from off the man in black’s face, but it passed through Remus as if nothing more than the conjuration of a delirious, fractured mind. With her strength all but used up control of the lady’s body returned to the interlopers in the night. She was frozen in her place and forced to watch as the one she chose relinquished himself from her grasp.

  “There’s still much that needs to be done,” the lady said with a quiver of her lip. “None know this better than you…”

  “In this you’re correct, my dark queen,” said Remus as he drove a hand into her chest. “I understand all too well what needs to be done.”

  His fingers wrapped around her black heart. When Remus saw the darkness in her eyes falter ever so slightly he pulled on her heart and her heartstrings and watched the black of her eyes melt away.

  In her dying moments the lady in red saw the sinister grin that now made up Remus’ face replaced with that of her maker. The man in black was born from a dream that she might one day be reunited with her lost love; but Remus would prove that a false notion every chance he could. Despite their many differences it was Cain’s face she looked into in her final moments.

  “My love,” whispered Xenia, “I never forgot you.”

  Freed from the witches’ spell the lady in red was now able to lash out and defend herself against the man in black’s assault. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to harm the man she believed to be maker, savior, and eternal love.

  Xenia brought her lips to his and kissed Cain Vetus one last time before her heart was torn from its home. The lady’s body began to break down underneath its ancient weight and the ash that afflicted all vampires in death spread throughout her body. That ash spread slowly due to her many years upon the mortal realm. It would continue to eat away all the same until she was no more.

  Xenia buckled into the arms of the man that caused her downfall, although she was unaware of whose arms they truly were. Not that it would have mattered to the fallen vampire queen. There were none closer to the lady in red than her man in black.

  “I stand in your image,” Remus said softly, “and for that I’ll forget you, Xenia Parentucelli.”

  It had been centuries since the vampire queen heard her own name. Remus let those words usher the lady in red into the afterlife as the ash took her final breath away. She was as evil as the world made her and for that Remus could not be wholly monster as he took her life away.

  Xenia may have been raised a simple villager, but that wasn’t the life she was meant to live. She was the bastard child of Pope Nicholas V. Stolen from her home by the immortal Cain she was forced the live a life on the run in fear that secret would get out again. When word reached the pope that his daughter had been turned into a monster he spared no expense to see his secret never reach daylight.

  He ordered knights, mercenaries, and cutthroats after her, men that would act on his behest in secrecy; where revealed truths could do no harm. Those men stood nothing next to the true monsters that Pope Nicholas V sent after word began to spread of her true heritage.

  These men were the Knights Templar and they would see that no one dared speak the Parentucelli name again. Xenia ran for so long that survival became a way of life, her way, and she’d rather die than live in regret of those actions.

  Remus wavered as he held the vampire queen’s ashes in hand. He laid the lady in red to rest in the ground as the night grew thin. It weakened him, but it also weakened the monster inside and let him mourn for the woman that re-birthed him in proper fashion.

  The werewolves had their battle cries. Vampires had their tears of blood and Remus shed many for his dethroned queen. He looked up to the fleeted moon and said a silent prayer to the gods above and below.

  “I can feel it,” whispered Remus as the tears streamed downward. “The crown is mine.”

  It was a crown he never wished for while his lady drew breath. Then, in an instant, it became his and the power proved too much to tame. Tens of thousands now forced to kneel at his whim, power few in this world could know, fewer could handle. There would be dissenters, traitors, those that would breed ill will. They would be dealt with as would all others that opposed his reign.

  It took Remus a moment to realize the new world around him. The werewolves stood in awe of what they witnessed. The sisters, on the other hand, were nowhere to be seen, save for the illusive Gemma Kohl that stood with them still. He saw a
wide-set smile on her face, as if they’d just saved the world, but that smile quickly turned around on her with all but a few spoken words.

  “I don’t mean to alarm anyone,” said Elsa Dukane, “but I think I have… a slight problem…”

  Elsa finally gathered the inner strength to leave the porch steps, but it only came after she was struck by the shroud of darkness meant for the man in black. Her face was pale, her movement off kilter, and a deep wound ran along her side. Black fingers spewed outward from the cut and forced the blood from her body. The blood pooled beneath her with every step until she could take no more.

  Elsa had descended two steps, but already she could hardly see the hands in front of her face. The blood loss affected her sight, her mind, and when it affected her balance she tripped over her own blood. Down she went with not a soul nearby to catch her fall.

  “Elsa!” cried Lukas as he raced towards her. “I won’t lose another!”

  But it was too late. Elsa already laid on the front steps of the Wendish home, barely cognizant, eyes rolled back into her skull. In a few minutes she’d be dead.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Night Kings: Dayside

  Gregory Blackman

  A Walk in the Sun

  Time stood still for everyone on the Wendish fields, everyone except the young Elsa Dukane. She succumbed to the lady in red’s final assault and all those around rushed to her side in a show of support. Lukas sped past his mother to make sure he was the first to her side, followed closely by Gemma Kohl and then what remained of the Wendish clan.

  Lukas cradled her in his arms, no different than he’d done for his departed father. Lukas refused to let her leave him, too, and he tried to stem the blood before it could leave her open wound. Despite his conviction, Lukas’ efforts had little effect on the shroud-infected lesion and the blackened blood continued to pour from her side. His actions could only serve to delay the inevitable.

  “You can do something,” Lukas begged of the robed figure that stood above. “You have to do something.”

  “It’s not within my abilities,” Gemma answered. Her head drooped low as the words left her for she knew what fate would befall her closest friend. “I’m sorry, Lukas. I’m so sorry.”

  “But it is within mine,” said an unusually somber Remus Castalon. He approached without a foot set upon the ground, hovered over the grass as if his dominion now extended to the soil he walked. “I can save Elsa Dukane. I can breathe new life into her.”

  “The hell you can,” Lukas growled.

  “You offer slavery,” said Gemma, moving to a defensive position, “not salvation.”

  Remus laughed at such disregard for his offer. Yet, he knew what compliance with their wishes would mean. This was a prize he could not take without force. Remus would learn the secrets locked inside her head and he would learn this one way or another.

  “If that is your concern,” he said through the rage that stirred, “I can renounce my claims on her this very night. She will not know of the progeny curse.”

  “Can he truly save her?” Lukas asked. He looked up at Gemma with bloodshot, teary eyes. “I can’t lose anyone else. Not tonight. I can’t, Gem. I just can’t…”

  Gemma Kohl looked to her love struck friend. This wasn’t what she wanted, but what she wanted held no relevance in this discussion. She couldn’t speak for Elsa Dukane. Not even Elsa could do that anymore. “If she’s a virgin…”

  “And if she’s not?” Lukas asked.

  “A ghoul,” replied Remus, “like all the impure ones taken before her. She would walk this world a barren husk. A tormented hell no decent person should know.”

  Lukas dropped his head low in guilt. He was the reason Elsa came to this home, to this battlefield. He couldn’t let his emotions be the reason she didn’t walk away from it.

  “Go on,” he said, wistfully. “Get on with it then.”

  By now, the night sky had abandoned them and sunlight began to creep over the landscape. What warmed the werewolves to the touch caused a reverse outcome in the man in black and it saw him tremble at the knees.

  He fell from a height of inches, but still it was enough to send him to the ground. When Remus looked up to those that gathered around Elsa they were shocked to see the man in black had taken on a new appearance. His face was emaciated, as if he’d been locked in a coffin for a hundred years, and his eyes were sunken into his skull. In spite of the sun, and of himself, Remus rose to his feet and slinked closer to the downed Elsa Dukane. This had to be done now or her secrets would forever elude him. He lowered himself to her and looked back at the gathered crowd with fangs bared.

  As they watched in horror Remus took a clawed thumb and pierced the inside of his mouth. He took his time, savored the victory, for he knew the answers would soon be his. This young woman would always be different from the others. Only now she would be his.

  “By the goddess above,” said Lukas as he watched Remus sink his teeth into the neck of one he cared so much for. “I pray this is the right thing to do.”

  “It’s the only thing to do,” Gemma said, flatly. “It’s either this or she dies.”

  To their astonishment the process was denied to the king of the vampires and he recoiled violently from Elsa’s touch as her blood spurted from his malnourished lips.

  “What is this? What have you done to me?” Remus asked as her blood poured down his chin. “What in the nine circles are you?”

  The man in black spat out what blood of hers remained and crawled away from her side as quickly he could. Her blood boiled to the touch; pained him in ways he couldn’t comprehend. Whatever she was he hadn’t experienced it in over four centuries as a vampire.

  Elsa arched her back and convulsed on the ground. Aubrey and Gemma moved to control her, but she wouldn’t be controlled at the moment of her awakening. Her eyes flared a brilliant white for all but a second before they returned to their natural brown. Elsa’s wounds closed and flushed the lady’s shroud from her body.

  It came as a shock to all, none more than the man in black, who now laid hunched in the porch corner, as far from her side as he could be. None knew what to say because none understood what they’d bore witness to. They could only watch as the young girl turned into one of them—a monster. She was the unknown girl in a world of monsters.

  It was a dark end to a darker night. They’d lost much this evening, gained nothing in return, and no matter what happened next they were sure to lose more. The witches were exposed. The werewolves were without their beloved leader. And who knew what causalities would befall the vampires now that a new line, a red line, had been drawn in the sand.

  The queen of the vampires was defeated, but they would all come to find that their true enemy hadn’t been revealed. There was another in that field; one that watched from first bite to last. He was clad in white robes and around his neck dangled a shimmering crescent moon amulet. He stood unaware by all that lingered on the Wendish farm simply because he wished it so.

  The man cast no spell, chanted no incantation. He simply asked for it to be so. He didn’t lift a hand during the attack and he didn’t show himself to others. He was there to watch, to record, and to interpret events as he saw them.

  Against the glimmer in his necklace a sole crack was revealed in his stoic foundation. Only it wasn’t a crack on the amulet he wore. The crack was on his face and it swept upward at a swift pace. The seeker at long last found what he sought.

  Act Three

  Sisters of Salem – The Red River

  Chapter Thirty

  Night Kings: Sisters of Salem

  Gregory Blackman

  Southern Hospitality

  Days had passed since the fires burned across the Wendish fields. Those fires saw a father separated from his son, a crown wrested from a queen, and a girl parted from her innocence. Friend and foe became tethered in the moonlight and none would ever be the same. There wasn’t a soul in the city that emerged from those fires unscathed.
Some were just more open to the truth.

  Lukas Wendish was one of those tortured souls, eyes forced open, unable to shield himself from the dark truths born of their hellish beginnings. They were monsters in the night and would remain so until they found the sweet release of freedom that came with the second death.

  Was that freedom known to Bernhard Wendish as he departed this world? Lukas would never know the answer to that. He liked to think that his father was at peace, somewhere beyond the supernatural veil, but it was a thought that refused to linger for long. For monsters there could be no peace. Not in this life. Not in the next.

  In the days since his father was taken from him, Lukas’ life had been torn asunder and his pack wrested from his control. There was nothing left for him in Salem. Yet, the city’s hold over him wouldn’t be so easily shaken and not a night passed that Salem drifted from his mind.

  Fear was all he knew. Fear of the past; fear of the future, and the fear of not being good enough to fill his father’s pelt.

  That fear clouded his mind and caused Lukas to flee the only lands he’d ever known. He travelled south until his bloodied paws could take him no further. The brown and molted countryside of Salem no longer lingered in his peripheral vision. Now it was coastal plains and rolling hill after rolling hill that encompassed his surroundings. Much of the land he traveled was untouched by man where the wolf in him could run free and without pause, except for the occasional deer that wandered into his path come diner time.

  It was in this particular stretch of forest that Lukas realized something was out of place. A black cloud pushed through the tree tops and rose into the night sky. Lukas had been so focused on the run that he forgot to allow his senses to guide him. Those senses could no longer be ignored and he was struck full-bore with a myriad of synaptic responses.