A slew of nasty expletives threatening, I dragged my tongue over my top teeth. “Look, Captain Asshat—”
“He goes by Ego,” Elodie interjected. Striding into the heart of our huddle, she punched her bag into Finn’s gut for him to take it. “He’s a member of the V.H.M.”
“Oh, shit!” Micah snorted, laughing through her tears. “Vinx went for the passing insult. Elodie opted for the roundhouse-nut punch combo!”
Clapping her fist over her heart, Elodie offered the squadron a salute they returned. “No one’s nuts were punched, I assure you. These elite humans are members of the Van Helsing Magi. Sworn protectors of Lord Draculesti. Guardians of the Nosferatu way of life. Once joining the ranks, they forego their identity and take on the call name of the mortal sin they are most guilty of. As you can see by his smirk, Ego has yet to overcome his earthly curse.”
Ego’s smile vanished, wiped away by a locked-jaw scowl. “Last I heard, you no longer have a place here, Elodie. You serve Vlad’s traitorous son, Rau Mihnea now.”
A pale magi, with delicate features and a dusting of orange freckles across the tops of her cheeks, nodded her agreement. “It was our understanding that your position as a Court liaison had been revoked.”
At the belly of the jet, the ramp service agents began unloading the bags from cargo. A heavy-set member of the crew, with a scruffy beard morphing into the rolls of his chins, scoffed in our direction. “Fucking fangers,” he grumbled.
No one needed vampire hearing to catch his derogatory utterings, yet none among us reacted--so familiar were we with that type of narrowminded thinking.
“Really, Rage?” Ducking out from under the rounded jet doorway, Thomas pulled himself up to full height. “Tell me, would her loyalties, or mine, have been questioned in the slightest had it been known that we were following orders assigned by Renfield, Vlad’s oldest living ally?” Considering he kept his sandy blond hair buzzed short and maintained a rippling physique, he could easily pass for a member of the troop standing before us in their matching jammies.
“Why should we handle their luggage? Not like we’re their servants!” Face reddening, the ramp agent pulled a black samsonite suitcase from the bowels of the jet, and frisbeed it onto the luggage trolley.
“How about, because it’s your job, Phil,” his gangly counterpart—a man all limbs and nose—lobbed back without glancing up from unloading the plane.
The suitcase Phil threw slammed into the back of the trolley, and the lid popped open. Out spilled Elodie’s designer duds, and drool-worthy shoes. While the others seemed content to continue ignoring the man’s rants, I was developing an anxious twitch behind my right eye.
“Brother Thomas, we were not aware you were here.” Pure gristle beneath his uniform, a magi of Asian descent drummed his fingers against the sheathed blade resting at his hip. “However, this changes nothing. Renfield mentioned no special missions.”
“I couldn’t let Elodie have all of the fun here, now could I, Idle?” Thomas rubbed the palm of his good hand over the stump of his severed appendage, chest puffed in challenge.
Rocking back on his heels, Carter combed one hand through his hair. “Ego, Rage, and Idle? Add Sleezy and Pyro to the mix and you’ve got the lesser known cousins of the Seven Dwarves.”
“Be quiet, or I will quiet you,” Elodie mumbled out of the corner of her mouth, not in threat but absolute certainty.
Behind us, ole Phil’s tirade escalated. Planting his feet, he jabbed his sausage fingers in the direction of Elodie’s splayed belongings. “Look at this! I work two jobs to feed my family, and this undead bitch is draped in Gucci?”
The tendons of Ego’s neck bulged, hinting Phil’s commentary wasn’t going as unnoticed as I previously thought. Even so, duty and honor kept him focused. “If you truly were on assignment, why would you abort that to come back now?”
“Phil, quiet down,” the other ramp service agent mumbled, purposely keeping his head down.
“The hell I will!” Fed by his hatred, Phil’s complexion bloomed from red to purple. “I’ve seen the news; people burning these unholy demons in the street! I say that’s a good damned start!”
Maybe I was speaking out of turn, but in that moment, I didn’t care. Hate is an ugly beast of ignorance that often shrinks when confronted. “This is exactly why we’re here.” I stabbed my thumb in Phil’s direction. “Our kind are being targeted by this level of narrow-minded loathing. It’s an epidemic spreading across the United States that’s heading this way. If we let that happen, none of us are safe.”
“You got something to say to me, bitch?” Phil spat. Nostrils flaring, spittle foamed at the corners of his mouth like a charging buffalo.
The chill of Elodie’s cool flesh brushed mine as she elbowed me. “Ignore him.”
“No,” the cute little pixie they called Rage refuted with a wag of her finger. “We’ve heard all about this artificial vamp. It seems if she—or any of you—truly want access within our compound, proof of loyalty is required.”
“W-what does that mean?” I whispered to my people behind my hand.
“I’m waiting, slut!”
“In a minute, Phil!” I snapped before turning with lifted brows to absorb Elodie’s guidance.
“It means,” Elodie’s nose crinkled, as if the words soured on her tongue, “they are trusting you to … handle this matter.”
“Like … handle it?” I mumbled, dragging one finger across my throat in a slicing motion.
Elodie blinked in my direction, struggling to decipher my moronic frequency. “Yes, because that’s the kind of scandal we need right now. Or, if we aren’t trying to add fuel to the fire, you can crush him without laying hand or fang on him. I watched some of your interviews. I know you have it in you.”
“Aw, you watched?” I feigned bashfulness for a half a second, then squared my shoulders and spun in Phil’s direction. “Don’t worry about this little piss ant. I’ve got this.”
“Artie, turn your camera on! Record this!” Phil demanded, swatting at the air between them.
Stretching out his hunched back, Artie reluctantly reached into his back pocket for his phone. “Man, I really want no part of this.” Nevertheless, he thumbed the device to life.
“We need to capture every moment! Knowledge is the only protection we have against these bloodsuckers!” Hands curling into fat little fists at his sides, Phil’s confrontational glare met mine.
Lacing my fingers, I let my hands fall in front of me. “Is that a fact? You know this because vampires harmed you or someone close to you?”
“Fuck no,” Phil snorted, “Me and mine are smart enough to steer clear of you filthy devils.”
“I see,” I nodded, casting a knowing glance to the camera. “May I ask, what source are you drawing the information from that we mean you any harm at all?”
“I seen the footage of that fanger who killed that girl!” Phil stabbed his index finger in my direction, as if I were to blame for the attack. “Your truth is out there for the entire world to see! It won’t be long now until you’re all toasted nice and crispy.”
“One death reflects on our entire species?” I asked, head listing with interest.
Pivoting his upper body, Phil yelled into the camera. “Hell yes! Shows them all for the monsters you are!”
Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I wet my lips and readied for the KO combo. “John Wayne Gacy. Ted Bundy. Jeffrey Dahmer. All humans, all vicious serial killers. By your own terms, their actions would define every person with a pulse as monstrous and demented. Wouldn’t you agree in the falsehood of such a broad generalization?”
“I don’t agree with shit, you undead whore.” Beads of sweat dotted his pudgy forehead, white foam gathering in the corners of his mouth. “What about all those other attacks playin’ on every channel? Crazed vamps tearing into crowds
of people!”
That verbal uppercut landed. Shaking it off, I fought to keep my expression cool. “Attacking the same people that are dragging our kind into the sunlight, and burning our camps. By no means am I saying it’s right. However. cornered animals of any kind are prone to strike.”
“That’s just what you are!” Phil steamed. Stepping closer, his rank breath reeked of cabbage and halitosis. “An animal! Well, I’m calling you out right now!” His palms connected with my shoulders in a rough shove. “What are you going to do about it? Huh?” Shove. “You going to lose control, demon bitch? Show us what you really are?”
Before he could lay hands on me again, I dropped fang.
Artie gasped.
Phil froze, a victorious gleam narrowing his beady eyes.
Elodie started over, only to be halted by Micah’s extended arm.
Locking stares with the narrow-minded bigot, I let my tongue tease over the tip of one fang. “If I was ever going to lose control, it would take a hell of a lot more than some miserable little nobody like you. I don’t know what your problem is. Maybe your mommy and daddy didn’t hug you enough. Maybe the neighbor used to touch you in a no-no spot. I won’t claim to know your damage. What I do know, is that one of us just showed their ugly truth to the world, and it wasn’t me. So, go ahead and post that video everywhere. Let it go viral. Then, each night, when you’re laying on your soiled mattress, I want you to the think about the fact that you announced yourself as an enemy to the things that go bump in the night. Every branch that scratches against your window pane, every shadow that stretches across your floor, you’ll lay there and wonder if you’re truly alone. Sleep tight, asshole.”
I didn’t wait for his response, but turned on my heal to march back and plant myself in front of the magi.
In my wake, Phil eked out a plea, “Artie? Ahem … erase the video.”
The collective mood within the huddle shifted, each magi considering me with appreciation.
Turning my head in one direction then the other, I let my gaze wander over each of them before uttering a word. “Enemies of the Nosferatu are rising against us, armed with weapons this world has never seen. They are hell-bent on bringing about our extinction. As sworn protectors of our order, it seems unlikely you would be shown any mercy. Our only hope, is to band together. That is why we have come. Whatever came before, whatever personal rivalries you’re holding on to, I suggest you let them go. Because, as of this moment, all we have is each other.”
Chapter Five
Vlad
I came to with my sword buried in the throat of a Hungarian soldier. Blood gurgled from beneath my blade, bubbling from the lips of my paling victim. Catching his slack weight, I lowered his body to the ground.
“Tis just a matter of bad luck, friend.” Easing his head to the blood-soaked earth, I forced the words through my teeth. “Fate cast us on opposite sides of this war. Go with God, fellow brother in arms.”
A final breath rattling from his lungs, the soldier’s eyes rolled back.
Eight years.
That is how long it had been since The Dragon snaked its way into my soul.
Whenever it took hold, I was forced down, buried within my own mind. Only when its pull lessened would I awake in the midst of some gruesome assault inflicted at my hand. Every encounter was unique, each more grisly than the last. One element could be counted on; The Dragon always granted me a glimpse of our latest atrocity. I was its puppet, yet the beast never missed the chance to remind me I could become so much more.
On the heels of every blackout, that unholy hiss would echo through my mind, its devilish intent sending a shiver down my spine. I am the demon Drákon, born in the depths of hell by my father, Lucifer. Drink of the blood of your victim in sacrament to me. Only then will I bestow the unlimited gift of true immortality. Power you cannot imagine. Strength no man can match. No longer will you fade into the darkness, but rule over it. Drink, my child. Drink, and live … forever.
I wish I could say that the thought repulsed me.
That my stomach churned at the loathsome idea.
Such words would taste a lie on my tongue.
In spite of myself and my every belief, my gaze tugged to the trail of crimson pooled around the cooling corpse. Smelling its coppery aroma wafting through the air, I dragged my tongue over parched lips. Every cell in my body sang out for a simple taste. Just a nip. Surely all couldn’t be lost if I indulged in a sampling of the nectar of life.
Yes, yes, The Dragon purred, sensing my weakening resolve. Bond yourself to me … until the very end of days.
T’was my hatred for that repulsive curse that granted me the strength required to step away. Sheathing my sword, I kept my gaze fixed on the dirt beneath my boots in my march to the edge of the camp where my steed was tied. While I had moved in under the shadow of night, the cresting light of dawn now revealed all that transpired. Bodies impaled on their own swords. Charred remains stalled in frantic crawls from burning tents. Not one that stood against me remained. They never did. The only thing that made this bout different from the last was the stitch in my right side. Gingerly touching the tender spot, I found a gouge sliced through my armor to the flesh beneath. Someone got a lucky swipe in. No doubt The Dragon made them pay for it in torturous fashion. Poor bastard.
Garreg, my gray Shire stallion, snorted and tossed his head as I neared. Flipping his platinum mane, he protested the noisy clang of my armor. I clucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, steadying him with a comforting hand to his muzzle. All I hath wrought, and he didn’t shy from my touch. What other being on Earth could be so understanding? Gathering my reins in one hand, I slid a boot into the stir-up and heaved myself into the saddle. Settling onto the supple leather, I clicked to Garreg and tugged him to the north, back in the direction or Murad’s dominion. A nudge to his sides with the heels of my boots, and he launched into a smooth canter that never bounced me from my seat. A mercy I was thankful for with my oozing wound. Wind lashing against my cheeks, I cast my stare to the looming horizon and pleaded to God for forgiveness … once again.
Court had stilled for the night. No longer did people mill about for the sole purpose of being seen in their most regal attire. Peddlers had packed away their wares, eager for a fresh rash of sales come morning. In mere hours they would fill the square once more, set for another day of extravagant spending. Those silent hours were when I found the castle grounds most appealing. Only then could I escape the binding fit of the role forced upon me. Murad spared no luxury when it came to his best warrior. Under that generosity, laid a harsh truth I was never allowed to forget: I was his. Murad’s property. Little more than chattel, really. His whims were my decree. His fancy given greater importance than the air in my lungs. More times than I could count, I longed to escape. To my great regret, The Dragon had become accustomed to our lifestyle of violent indulgence. Any plan I concocted to claim my freedom was easily thwarted by yet another blackout. By body and soul, I remained trapped.
One small mercy to be thankful for; I wasn’t alone. Pulling off my gauntlet gloves, I grasped the doorknob to my quarters and pushed open the door as quietly as I could. My care not to wake Dorian proved pointless the second I peered into our shared sitting room. He sat in the middle of the floor, a chalk pentagram drawn around him. Chin to his chest, a looping chant tumbled from his lips. None of that struck me as odd for him. What was slightly off-putting, was the barnyard stench that slapped me in the face the second I entered. In the corner, a goat merrily chomped on a bale of hay.
“Sakes alive, Dorian!” First checking to ensure no prying eyes got a glimpse of this spectacle, I slammed the door shut behind me. “Performing pagan rituals openly? Are you trying to meet the guillotine?”
Head tilting, Dorian considered me as if I were spouting gibberish. “We are in the lunar cycle of the Harvest Moon. That could be crucial for the s
uccess of the ritual. I waited up for you all night, but we need to hurry. The sacrifice must be made before the sun fully crests.”
While Dorian had been a member of the guard as long as I, his body wasn’t covered with the intricate tapestry of scars mine was. He blended with the distinguished men in the court who acquired their titles through clever political manipulations. In some ways, that was exactly what Dorian had done. He spun his talent for the dark arts into a vital position within the guard as alchemist to the men. They came knocking on our door in search of salves for whatever ailed them, believing him to be an expert with oils and herbs. Little did they know; spells and incantations were to thank for each and every one of his sought-after concoctions.
So many soldiers he helped, yet he failed me at every turn.
How many rituals had we attempted to free me from The Dragon?
How many moon cycles did we time our lives around in hopes that it would matter?
Each time, to no avail.
“The sun is almost up. It seems opportunity slipped through our fingers once more.” Ducking out from under my breast plate, I shrugged off my armor and tossed it to the floor in a loud clang of metal. The gash in my side needed to be stitched, or at the very least cleaned. Be that as it may, my heavy blinks made either prospect seem daunting. “Maybe we could try again, in a day … or six.”
“Not an option, my friend.” Dorian scrambled to his feet. Catching my arm, he steered me back toward his circle. “If we miss this, we won’t get another chance for a full year. Come, you can even sleep through it if you like. All that’s required of you is to place your body next to the chalk line.”
“You mean the chalk line of the protective circle I’m not allowed inside of, because it keeps you safe from the demon roosting within me? That line?”
“That would be the one, yes.” Allowing me to sink to my knees in the designated area, Dorian scurried off to retrieve his wooden bowl and bundled sage from the wardrobe.
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