“Aye, she is, but not by you.” Cianán walked away.
“But . . . I love her, an’ she loves me. Does that count for nothin’?”
“Ye don’ think she could love another?”
“No,” he said sternly.
Cianán stared into the flames within the hearth. “She can, she has great passion. I see it in her.”
“She’ll not come to you,” Grantlund said. “No matter what ye think you may do to persuade her—”
“She will,” Cianán said calmly. “An’ ye can’t change it.”
“What makes you think—”
“She was to be moine long before ye came ‘round. Long before she was born.”
“If all ye say is true, then why did she know nothin’ of you until today?”
Cianán grinned. “She did. Perhaps she doesn’t wish to break your heart.” He cleared his throat. “Everyone ‘round here knows she belongs to me. Why do ye think she’s as old as she is an’ not yet married?”
Grantlund stood straight, his chest pushed outward. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to marry her. If ye intend to get in the way, I’ll stop you.”
“Mar sin é? Do ye have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”
“My love for her won’t falter, nor hers for me. If you don’t show me the respect o’ my bloodline, I’ll cut ye down, old man.”
Cianán arched a brow, but remained calm. It was the one good trait he’d learned from his maker. “Ye know nothin’ o’ respect. People don’t respect ye until they fear ye; it’s not given to ye by your bloodline.” He paced across the floor. “I’m givin’ ye one chance to walk out o’ here. Leave now, an’ ye have my word you’ll not be harmed. But ye mus’ not go near her again.”
“I’m not leavin’,” Grantlund said defiantly, and drew his sword.
Cianán turned his head to the young man, hand resting on his sword. “Do ye truly love her enough to die for her? That’s what’ll happen if ye fight me.”
“Aye, but I’ll not be the one to die.”
“Confident, I admire that.” Cianán turned to face him and smiled, thinking how easily he could kill him. The boy knew nothing of him and in a way he respected the courage he showed. But no one would stand in the way of his destiny. It’d taken too long to get everything into place. “Do ye truly believe ye can kill me, for that’s what it’ll take to keep me from ‘er.”
“If that’s what I must do,” Grantlund replied.
“So be it.” Cianán gave a short bow and drew his sword.
Grantlund lunged forward. Cianán’s sword clashed with his, blocking his attack with a downward swing. Cianán stepped to the side, and Grantlund stumbled past him. The boy spun around and raised his sword. Cianán smiled. He gave a quick nod, and Grantlund stepped forward again.
The two fought in the large room. The sound of their swords echoed throughout the castle. Each move Grantlund made, Cianán countered. He fights well.
Cianán suffered no injury, but the boy was slowly tiring. Grantlund jumped onto the chair, Cianán’s blade just missing him. Cianán swung again. Grantlund jumped off the chair and somersaulted to his feet.
Time to end this. Cianán raised his sword, blocking Grantlund’s next attack, and kicked him in the chest. The boy went flying over the chair behind him.
Grantlund rolled backward to his feet, but Cianán was already behind him. He grabbed Grantlund by his hair and pulled back, exposing his throat. He pressed the blade of his sword to his neck.
“I told ye that ye didn’t know what ye were dealin’ with.” Cianán dropped his sword and bit into Grantlund’s neck.
A short cry left Grantlund’s throat. He thrust a dagger into Cianán’s side, twisted the blade, making the wound bigger. Cianán immediately released him, placed his hands around the dagger, and pulled it out. Distracted, Cianán didn’t see Grantlund spin around. Using all of his strength, Grantlund hit him in the forehead with the butt of his sword. Cianán dropped to his knees, dazed. Grantlund walked over to him and plunged his sword into his chest. He wrenched the sword to the side and back again, and withdrew it. Cianán fell over.
Then he’d walked away. Not long after, the stench of fresh blood filtered through the room, stirring Cianán’s hunger and pulling him from the confusion.
He watched Grantlund place his sword on the table and rip off a piece of his shirt at the bottom to take care of the wound on his neck. When he realized Cianán was gone, he panicked and reached for his sword. Cianán attacked him from above before he could get to it, relishing in the fear wafting through the room.
Cianán slammed his fist into Grantlund’s face, shattering the right cheekbone. He flung him at the wall across the room. Bones cracked on impact. Grantlund slid down the wall to the floor and landed on his face. Cianán jumped across the room in one leap, landing at the boy’s head. Grantlund didn’t move, and Cianán wondered if the impact killed him. He turned him over. Grantlund moaned.
Interesting. “You’ve a strong will to live.”
Grantlund slowly opened his eyes. Cianán loomed over him, his face only inches above the boy’s. The blood from the wound in Cianán’s forehead dripped onto Grantlund’s face.
“I must say, I’m impressed; you’re much stronger than I anticipated.”
“I . . . killed you.”
“Aye, you certainly attempted so.” He felt his chest where the sword pierced.
“What . . . are you?”
Cianán’s fangs elongated. Grantlund coughed, choking on the blood in his mouth.
“Since you’re going to die, I’ll tell ye . . . I’m vampyr.”
Grantlund’s eyes widened at the revelation. Cianán always loved that expression.
“A few more inches an’ ye would’ve paralyzed me,” he said, pointing at his chest. “That is, if you’d left the sword in. It wouldn’t have been much more to burn me an’ scatter my ashes after that.” He laughed. “But truly, the only way to kill me is to take my head. I can survive a stake, or sword, in the heart. It’s not easy, but it’s possible. I’m very old an’ very strong, unlike some of my progeny.”
Cianán smiled, baring his fangs again. “My poor child, ye don’t understand why I must have her, do ye?”
Grantlund coughed again and cried out in pain.
“I can make it easier for ye. I can take your pain away. Would ye care for that?” Cianán whispered.
Grantlund groaned again and slowly moved his head back and forth.
“No? How interesting, ye prefer an agonizin’ death to the quick one I can give ye? Of course, I did cause this agony. I must say, you’ve earned my respect, Grantlund. A bit later than ye wished for, I’m afraid. It’s too bad ye must die. I could use a man like you.”
Grantlund wheezed, trying to catch every last breath. Cianán heard the death rattle take hold, but the expression on the boy’s face was curious.
Cianán leaned in closer. “Somethin’ has ye perplexed. It must regard me.” He grinned again. “I could’ve killed ye instantly, especially after your little remark concernin’ your bloodline. I don’t care if ye come from a king’s line. Honestly, this was a bit excitin’ for me; I haven’t fought like that in centuries. At least they trained ye well. Thank ye, I needed the practice. I even refrained from using my magic.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. Red sparks sizzled between them. A red cloud drifted upward.
Grantlund struggle against death, holding on to each minute breath.
“I’ll take care of her, for a time at least. She’s very important to me. If ye only knew how much.”
Grantlund gasped for breath, until the last bit of air left his body. Cianán grabbed his face and turned it from side to side.
“Ah, child, ye fought well. It was a good effort; however, there was no chance for ye to win. Ye came close. Too close, if ye ask me. A mistake I’ll not make again. I don’t blame ye, though. You had to try. Was she worth your life?” He turned the boy’s head once more. “You’d be a
fool to say no.”
He leaned forward and went to finish what he’d started with the first bite. Halfway through his meal, there was a loud knock at the front door.
Whoever it is can’t see what’s happened here. He waved his hand and walked through the archway. Specks of red light jumped from his fingertips and the curtain closed behind him. He waved his hand again, this time over his bloodstained clothes, and the stains disappeared. When he returned, Grantlund’s body was gone.
* * * * *
Present Day, Phoenix, Arizona
That’s how it happened. I’d forgotten about that. Cianán searched his forehead, rubbing over an area that should feel smooth, like new skin. A place where there should be a scar.
At first, he thought Grantlund’s integration into the coven might work, even with his odd transformation. But now . . . he wished he’d killed him long ago, when he was weak. Or at least had the sense not to kneel over him while he had that deep gash in his forehead. He felt for the missing scar again and combed his golden locks back. It’d be harder to kill him, he’d grown very strong. The magic. Never should have taught him the magic. But it wasn’t his choice. The magic made the decisions, just as it chose him.
His memories leapt forward to Siobhán. Grantlund lingered in the shadows—always in the shadows—watching her after his death, until the night she died. He’d stayed around for a couple of centuries after that, learning from him when he chose to. He knew Grantlund never quite got over his anger concerning him. The reason Grantlund left made some sense to him now. It was something he never understood before. Grantlund disappeared for four hundred years, only to show up at the perfectly wrong moments.
He ran into him a few years ago while visiting Italy. Grantlund interrupted him with a slayer. He’d broken her down to near unconsciousness when Grantlund stumbled upon them.
I wonder where that little Asian bitch is now. She tried to kill him that day. He chuckled. So many tried. The Death look frozen upon their faces when “try” turned into “fail” amused him. Their eyes opened so wide, he thought they’d pop out. Their mouths twisted in a silent scream no soul would ever hear. None of them were prepared for him and his magic, especially when he was at full strength.
However, Grantlund stopped him from killing the slayer that day. He didn’t think Grantlund intended to save the mortal; they were sustenance, and slayers were the enemy. He most likely did it unintentionally. Then again, this fledgling of his was unpredictable. He may have done it to spite him, knowing the slayer didn’t have the skill to kill Cianán.
He wondered about the feelings he’d had before last night, before he saw Grantlund with Kylie. They were strong feelings, as though one of his children were around.
“I thought I’d sensed someone nearby. I wonder how long he’s been here.” He snapped his head back and looked at the upside-down desk again. “Was he at the nightclub that eve?” He stroked his chin, his face twitching at saying the word “nightclub” because it was a modern word rarely spoken by one so old. The news report in the morning paper concerned him too; a death that’d had happened the same night. It had the unmistakable characteristics of a vampyre hunt.
“Bastard.” He knelt down and picked up the papers that fell on the floor from his encounter with the desk.
Dana Nyliin Yang (short for Yangowski) cautiously stepped inside the oversized hacienda. The door had been locked, but it was a simple trick to open it; one she learned long ago from her master. She’d grown accustomed to the darkness she’d found inside the vamps’ homes over the years. She shut the door behind her, pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, and waited for her eyes to adjust.
Stepping forward, she withdrew the Katana that belonged to her grandfather—given to him by the Emperor Ninkô long ago—and walked with purpose through the house. The sword was actually given to her brother because he was the first grandson, but she used it because she was the better swordsman or woman between the two of them. She glided past each room, carefully peeking inside, guarding against an unwanted attack. Must be upstairs. She scaled the steps, peered around the corner at the top, and looked down the hall.
Nothing.
Not a sound.
She couldn’t have been expecting me. She crept down the hall. Of course, vampyres do have excellent hearing. Let’s have us a little fun now.
“Come out, come out, where ever you are,” she whispered, barely audible to herself.
The creature could hear her at her quietest. It was part of the reason she was alert, prepared for anything, just in case. She couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t be around; they usually slept during the day. Shealynn could be here alone, or she could have twenty fledglings around the place. Dana paused and wondered if this was a good idea. The place was looking more and more like it was empty. That made her nervous. She peered through the doorway of the room she was about to pass.
Nothing.
Dana drew in a deep breath through her nose. The end of the hall, huh? That’s where you are. She zigzagged down the hall, checking each room just in case there were more she didn’t scent. It was a faint, sordid smell. The average person wouldn’t notice it, but she was trained to search it out. This one tried to cover it up with incense and perfume, but she smelled it as though the creature were right under her nose. So far, she only smelled one of them. Weird.
When she reached the last door, it was cracked opened. Maybe you were expecting me. She put her hand on the door and carefully pushed it open. Stepping inside, she looked around. Where are you? I know you’re here; I can smell you.
Movement out of the corner of her eye made her swing the Katana in its direction. A blur flashed past her and into the hallway. She quickly ran after it. While the vamps were fast as hell, Dana was faster than the average human. The blur zipped from one room to the next. When she followed it into a room, it disappeared. She spun around again; it sprinted out of the room. She ran back into the hall. Dana looked to the right, to the left, and saw it going down the stairs. We have one that likes to play games. Nice.
The vamp was toying with her, trying to tire her for an easier attack. Not all vamps had this super speed. She really hated the ones that did. It made it more difficult to chase them. These were the ones she generally killed while they slept, but Shealynn hadn’t shown any signs of this gift when she spied on her. Figured. The older ones tended to be much wiser and didn’t reveal all of their abilities right away. It generally took years of watching to know their every move, and she couldn’t wait that long. There were others who watched for years, but none of them belonged to her clan of slayers. These “others” specialized in vampyres, learning every detail about them, like watchers, but they got involved and killed. It involved too much damn work. Kill them and get it over with, was her motto. Besides, it was her twin’s job to learn all the details.
Dana ran down the hall and descended the stairs in a blur of her own, and right into the main room. She held the Katana up and waited for an attack. The blur flew from one side of the room to the other. Back and forth, to and fro . . . it was rather annoying, really.
“Enough,” she shouted. “Your games are boring me.” She’d studied Shealynn enough to know how to get her attention.
In mid-stream, the blur changed into a tall, slender woman. Her long white-blonde hair settled down around her shoulders and flowed down her back, almost to her waist. She looked at the slayer with her bright blue eyes and smiled sweetly.
“Bored? Can’t I have a little fun before you try to kill me?”
“What do you mean ‘try’? You’re toast, bitch.”
Shealynn laughed. “Oh, that’s funny. I like you. You have a much better sense of humor than the others.”
“Is that so?” Dana was unaware she’d cracked a joke.
“Yes. They didn’t even try to talk to me, that is, until I ripped their guts out. Then they screamed bloody murder and begged for mercy.” She laughed again, and looked her over. “You must be Yang. I’ve heard of
you.”
“I’m honored,” she said with a touch of sarcasm.
“Where’s Yin?” Shealynn grinned widely.
Dana rolled her eyes. Like she’d never heard that one before. “Busy tracking my next kill.”
“You’re fast too; faster than most mortals. I didn’t expect that.”
“Well, there’s a lot more where that came from.” She watched Shealynn carefully. The vamp walked around the room, coming in close. Dana was surprised at how confident this one was, but then they all had that omnipotent confidence about them.
It helped to kill them.
Just as she was ready to strike, Shealynn looked at her. “You know, when he finishes his quest, you’ll die. Even if you succeed in killing me, which you won’t, he’ll seek you out and you won’t have the power to stop him. You’ve never had the power to stop him. He almost killed you once before.”
Dana frowned and held her body steady, though it wouldn’t take much to behead the bitch.
Just a flick of the wrists.
“Ooh, something you didn’t know about, hmm?” Shealynn said with delight, clapping her hands together festively.
The comments were all that kept the vamp alive, and Shealynn knew it. She was dangerously close to her now. Who’s she talking about? What quest?
“Now, if I told you that, you might try to stop him. Though I doubt you could, if you live past today. Besides, he already has one problem to deal with,” Shealynn said, grinning at her.
“How did you know what I was thinking? It’s daylight.”
“I caught the last thought, ‘what quest’.” She walked by her.
A draft of ice-chilled air rushed by, brushing Dana’s arms.
Shealynn waved her right hand around. “It’s annoying, really, to be able to only catch random thoughts during the day, but what’s a woman to do?” She shrugged, and then turned to her again. “I’m sure you’d like to know who I’m talking about, but I won’t tell you. I’d much rather it remains a mystery, even in your death.”
“Well then, since you’re not going to give me any information, let’s get this over with.”
The Dracove (The Prophecy series) Page 12