The only one fitting that description who might visit him would be his sibling Barnabas.
David hadn’t spoken with Barnabas for over … He searched his memories, finally getting the relevant one to surface... It had to be during the Papal Schism sometime after 1400. Barnabas had been fed-up with the church and had journeyed eastward seeking a different type of enlightenment. Barnabas had occasionally provided assistance to the church over the centuries. Unlike some of the Nicht, he never believed that his soul had been lost due to his change.
David hadn’t cared about the crises in the church, during that or any other time. A cardinal from Rome tasted the same as one from Avignon as far as he was concerned. Barnabas had attempted to change David’s mind but he had been preaching on subjects David could care less about.
One point in Barnabas’s favor was that he had never been an enemy to any of Michael’s children. David truly believed that even he would defend Barnabas if necessary. Rat bastard that David knew himself to be, Barnabas just had this … ‘thing’, this ‘je ne sais quoi’ about him. David simply enjoyed life more when Barnabas was around.
David took a few deep breaths and tried to relax. This was the third trip back to his house in the last few months. After the unsuccessful operation in Turkey, David had made it a priority to know Michael’s whereabouts. He also worked diligently to get lines of information on Bethany Anne. She was a bitch to follow, no pun intended. His information network provided reports on her two large toys floating out in the Mediterranean. He had confirmation that Stephen was also on one of those ships. Based on that information, David had withdrawn a small strike team that had been watching Stephen’s house.
His team had sent him a report on Claudia. She was one of Anton’s grand-children and had been seen near Stephen’s home. Not that it mattered to him. She wasn’t worth the bullets it would take to kill her and the human she had on her leash.
He gave security permission to allow Barnabas entry to his castle. David looked over his notes one last time. They outlined the final stages of a plan for three simultaneous strikes across Europe. He would need to warn the useless lack-wit in Paris that was running an underground group for him. Additionally, any Weres who had the balls to stay in the Underground after Stephen had declared, ‘they only had a day or two to clean up their act or else’.
David controlled his temper before it got out of hand. This would be a significant undertaking. One that would show the world that creatures from folklore were real and were walking amongst them. That should create enough chaos for him to take advantage of quite nicely. He needed to pull together few more details, but he felt that he could finalize his plan in the next few days. A week at the very most. He closed his folder carefully, making sure none of the small notes were misplaced.
He trusted Barnabas would be neutral in this fight. But he wasn’t going to leave his plans out for Barnabas to see. That would result in Barnabas talking his damned ear off, telling him that he shouldn’t be doing this in the first place!
In any event he could use a night to relax and just talk about nothing again. He got up from his desk and walked out of the room, closing and locking the door behind him. Pocketing the key, he turned to walk out to the entryway. Barnabas showing up for the first time in over six hundred years had to portend something interesting was happening.
Who knew, maybe Barnabas would foretell David’s ascendency to the throne. An amused snort escaped David, it’s not like he believed in any of that eastern mysticism shit!
TQB Base outside Denver, CO - USA
Patricia was pulling two suitcases out of her car when she heard her name called out. She turned to see Lance break off from walking with Kevin and head in her direction. She waited until he reached her and then gave him a kiss to remind him exactly who she was.
She smiled when his glazed over expression suggested she might have overdone it a little bit.
Finally, Lance shook his head and smiled. “Back so soon baby, and with so little?”
Patricia looked down at the two large suitcases. “I only grabbed what I really wanted. There is so much of my life in that house that feels … I don’t know, call it ‘Pre-Lance’?”
Lance grabbed the handles for each of the suitcases, “You know you don’t have to sell it, right?”
With everything that had been going on, she hadn’t given her house too much thought. Lance’s house hadn’t been full of little mementos he cared about like hers had been. Since Bethany Anne had moved out, Lance had stayed at the base almost as often as he went home. Then Bethany Anne had come back and pulled him onto her team. Patricia didn’t think he’d been back to his house since then.
He had admitted that TQB Enterprises had paid for packers to go pack up his house and store everything that he hadn’t wanted to just give away. A company had taken care of selling his house and he hadn’t given it ten minutes of thought since then. He had his daughter, which was the only memento he had cared about until Patricia had come into his life romantically.
Patricia had made very sure Lance understood exactly how his comment made her feel that night. That ‘conversation’ had been so enjoyable they decided to repeat it.
She answered Lance’s question, “I know. Hell, I’m paid enough now that I could just let people live in it to keep it up, but it’s just not me anymore. It feels like that is the past me. The one before you, Bethany Anne and just everything. It hasn’t been that long, but the woman who lived there… I don’t know, she’s just not me anymore. Truth is, there is little I value in the house.”
“Well,” Lance huffed playfully, “These weigh plenty so I doubt there are negligées stuffed in here.”
Patricia blushed and looked around, “Lance! Let a girl get married before you toss out those sort of comments!”
“Really? You believe anyone on this base cares one way or the other?”
Patricia slapped his arm and then slid one arm under his and leaned against him as they walked towards their on-base quarters. “Ok, maybe it’s just me thinking about the wedding I can’t have.”
Lance looked down at his fiancé, “What are you talking about? Why can’t we have a wedding? What kind of wedding did you want?”
“What kind of wedding does any woman from my generation want? Huge! The kind that makes other women green with envy, a dress that makes magazines fight to splash the pictures across their front page.”
“Your generation wanted that kind of wedding?” She wasn’t that much younger than Lance. Technically, they were in the same generation, but he wasn’t stupid enough to comment on that.
“Ok, so maybe that’s just what I wanted.” Patricia let go of his arm so he could open the door for her. He grabbed the bags and did this little dance move to get both suitcases in while holding the door open with his foot at the same time. She had tried one time to help him and received one of his patented peel-the-skin-off-your-back General Reynolds’ glares. She had decided that next time she would just allow him to open the door for her.
Patricia was learning that being one of the boys in his group was substantially different than being his fiancé. Right now, they were a couple. During a work day where she was responsible for her own activity, he wouldn’t think twice about her grabbing a door. But as soon as it became personal time, that shit went by the wayside, fast. For her part, she was loooooving it! Being emotionally spoiled by his attention was a luxury she had no problem enjoying and she made damn sure he knew she enjoyed it.
Patricia continued their conversation, “However, I’m thinking that it might not be a good thing for you and I to have a wedding and invite a lot of people we know.”
Lance opened the door to their quarters and waited for her to go in before following her. “Why not?” He closed the door behind them.
“Have you really looked at yourself lately? I saw some of my photographs taken just a couple of months before I went to Florida. Bethany Anne’s gift has already made me look five to ten years younger. Hel
l, I’m losing weight and not even trying. No more Spanx, no more…” Her voice trailed off. No need for Lance to know what else she had been doing in an attempt to look younger.
“Do you want these in the closet or on the bed?”
Patricia answered, “Closet please. Nothing in there I need right now. I just figured I would follow your example and I told them to ditch all of the furnishings and pack up anything personal. If it all went up in flame, I have the most important pieces already with me.”
She stretched and could hear a loud pop from her spinal cord. “God that felt good!” She raised her voice so Lance could hear her from the closet, “You know the worst part?”
“Not a clue.” He answered back.
“I would have made those bitches green with envy. Have you seen this body lately? Hell, Sophia Loren would be asking me for advice.”
Lance came out of the closet, “Have I seen it lately?” He looked at his watch. “Not in the last ten seconds. So, can I get a peek before I go back to the meeting I’m skipping right now?”
Lance was twenty minutes late to his meeting and Kevin didn’t even give him shit about the smile he couldn’t keep off his face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Berlin, Germany
Scott was purposely sitting alone at his table in the club. The few girls who might be interested in him couldn’t get past the ‘stay the fuck away’ vibe he was projecting.
The club’s music reverberated through his body, the noise threatening to overwhelm his new abilities. Gabrielle had told him there was no time like the present to learn how to cope. He nursed his Drambuie, neat. He was dressed all in black, his fair skin a counterpoint to his somber dress and attitude. The booth had little light shining down on it, leaving his face in shadows.
Some guys would normally be aggressive and try to push out a single person taking up a whole booth. They would take one look at his arms and decide there were better ways to ruin their night.
Scott had asked specific questions. The type that would have mattered when he was patrolling the streets in New York. He figured they would also matter in Germany.
He learned there was another global truth. Assholes acted the same whether they were from America, Germany or parts unknown.
He had learned that his mark frequented this club. He and his posse would always sit at this table. If it was already occupied they would ‘convince’ the occupants that they wanted to party elsewhere. Any of the ladies were ‘welcome to stay’, of course.
Bump bump bump, da da bump, bump bump. The beat was giving him a headache. How the hell did vamps deal with this shit?
Scott lifted his gaze as two beers clomped onto his table. He had been aware of the group coming towards him. Had he wanted, they would all have died before they realized they had even been noticed.
“Table’s taken gents, find another.” Scott kept his language in English. Although, he had attempted to learn German. Apparently his new abilities and talents didn’t include wrapping his head around a new language. Fucking Darryl was picking them up like kids grabbing candy off the ground when the piñata was broken.
A third bottle was set down between the first two. His mark leaned across the table and gave Scott a damned malicious glare. Scott had to give the dick credit, he had ‘nasty vibe’ down pat. This creep would be evil no matter what he was doing. That he was connected to the terrorists had nothing to do with his religious beliefs. Like others back through time, this ass was using religion as justification for doing evil while calling it good.
“I don’t think we need to find another. It’s just you with such a large table. We need it significantly more. Plus,” The mark leaned forward a little more. “I was always spoiled as a child, I throw a fit when I don’t get what I want, and I want this table.”
Scott downed the rest of his drink. The alcohol wasn’t doing shit for him. Even the honey taste of the Drambuie wasn’t covering some of the less savory flavors his palate experienced now. None of the guys had considered possible changes to their taste buds. Beer tasted like shit now. Lesson learned, if a little late.
Scott leaned towards the guy, “Listen…” He cocked his head slightly, allowing the guy to fill in the blank.
“Call me Peter.”
Yup, that was one of three names his mark would sometimes use. Scott was pretty good with faces, but he would feel bad if he fucked up the wrong guy.
“Peter … I’m Scott. Unfortunately for you, this table isn’t yours. Not now, not later tonight, not anymore.”
Scott put both hands on the table, palms down as if he was going to get up.
Peter’s face transformed from nasty vibe to unrighteous fury. His right hand reached under his jacket and pulled out a switchblade. He flicked it open and waved it in Scott’s face. “You have five seconds to get your ass out of my space you fucking ugly-ass American!”
Scott smiled, “Or?”
Peter’s face went from furious to maniacal, “This!” He turned the knife in his palm and slammed it down through Scott’s left hand, pinning it to the table. Peter’s two friends closed in, waiting to dance to the soundtrack of pain and agony.
They both stopped their jumping around when Scott merely glanced down at his hand and looked back at Peter, “That the best you got?”
Peter was caught off guard because this prick didn’t even flinch! His hand was impaled to the table, blood seeping out of the wound. The napkin for his drink was starting to turn red as the fresh blood seeped into it.
All three watched in confusion as he reached over with his right hand and easily pulled the knife out of the table. Not even reacting to the pain he must have felt as the knife exited his wound. Scott looked up, “So, ‘Peter’, are you man enough to put your hand on the table?”
Peter knew that whatever drugs this guy was on, he personally wasn’t fucked up enough to let anyone cut through his hands. Just the healing alone would scar him plus he would certainly lose ability in his hand.
That was when Peter noticed that the bloody left hand was healing. He looked up to the guy’s face and back to his hand. Then back to his face, his mouth open. “Maybe we have the wrong table.”
Peter was looking Scott dead in the face when Scott’s visage turned. No longer was there a brooding American in front of him, but rather the Grim Reaper had made an appearance. Scott’s smile barely showed any teeth as his eyes grew dark, impossibly dark. Peter’s blood drained from his face.
The feeling of impending death started crawling up his neck. His two friends were already turning to run away as Peter stepped back and put up his hands. “No! Leave me alone!” His blood racing, Peter was about to turn and force his way back through the crowd. That was when he felt the hardest damn punch to his stomach it would ever be his misfortune to feel. He went to his knees, gasping for breath. His chest felt like it was on fire as he struggled to get his breathing back in sync. His eyes closed, tears starting to travel down his face from pain and fear. He barely felt a hand grasp his collar to pull him upright.
Scott held on to Peter’s collar and reached behind him to grab one of the untouched beers. He took a swig and his face scrunched up in disgust. “God, that’s revolting!” He put it back on the table. He turned to the guy in his hand, “come with me, Mustafa Ali Abrahm. You have a date with destiny, and she’s the queen of bitches.”
Scott slipped another hundred to the bouncer on his way out. He smiled as he took the prick down the street. He heard the bouncer’s mumbled comment, “Good to see that trash get taken out.”
Apparently, good little Mustafa here wasn’t universally loved.
Mustafa was slowly becoming aware of his plight as Scott steered him down the second alley away from the club. They had only travelled twenty feet before it was pitch black.
Mustafa Ali Abrahm, terrorist, killer and supporter of all things evil looked around, his eyes straining to see into the inky black. He couldn’t break the grip of the man who held him. His terror was already threatenin
g to overwhelm him when a voice, like silk on steel came from everywhere and nowhere.
“Look what one of my own has brought me tonight. It’s a piece of trash this world has been crying out to be rid of. Let’s see what you have to tell me little rat, before you get sent so very, very far away.”
Mustafa turned his head, his mind going completely numb as he came face to face with the glowing red eyes of a demon.
Five minutes later, a scream was heard for just a split-second before it suddenly cut-off. The echo lost itself quickly in the early morning noise of music spilling out of clubs.
TEAM BMW - En Route to Colorado Base - USA
William was stretched out, as well as his huge body could, in the leather seat of the G550 Bethany Anne owned. “Seems almost stupid, flying to Miami in a SHLY and then hitching a ride from Miami to Colorado.” He placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Stupid or not, he was going to enjoy the amenities.
Kneel Or Die (The Kurtherian Gambit Book 7) Page 7