Rancor: Vampyre Hunter (Rancor Chronicles)

by James McCann

  But how could he get the werewulf to challenge him senselessly, for vengeance and not for honor? How could the vampyre get him to say . . .

  “Let’s end this, Shay,” Rellik growled, plunging his sword into the earth. “I know you killed Fred, and I know you killed the others. Now I’m going to send you to Hell!”

  “Will you now?” Shay turned to him, his face disfigured with long, pointy teeth. “You still think you can kill me?”

  “That I do. I have lived among your kind and have learned your weaknesses.”

  “You have hidden among them,” Shay spat.

  “I have spent a thousand years undoing your corruption. Not once have I ever fled from your bane.”

  “You should have. You should have taken your mortal and run as far and as fast as you could. After this battle I will be free to bring her into my world. She will not find you in Heaven; she shall be stuck here on Earth! Do you never learn?”

  Shay jumped from the crypt and marched to his enemy.

  “So shall it be. A fight to the death,” Rancor said, spreading his arms in invitation.

  Alix’s head hurt. She walked down the hall toward the kitchen, flicked on lights as she went, and heard Sam in his den. She considered going inside, but if she found him drunk she would be in no shape to handle it.

  This single thought came into her mind: the rifle.

  “Alexandria, can you come in here?” her father called from his den.

  Alix complied without putting any thought into it. She walked into the den and found Sam sitting at his desk chair–

  Tied up.

  The large, muscular man from her vision of Lenny being murdered stood behind him. Another, in a brown leather jacket and bolero hat, with a guitar resting on his lap, sat on the floor.

  “Greetings,” the man with the guitar said. “I am Jonathan Pyre, and this is my associate.”

  “They call me Bruce.”

  Alix braced herself against a wall for support as the whole world spun.

  “Do you want to save thousands?” the one named Bruce asked. He pointed the double-barrel shotgun at her, while keeping his crossbow poised on Sam. Pyre began strumming his guitar. Alix recognized the tune. Bon Jovi’s Dead or Alive.

  “Now, now, Bruce. No need to be rude. Keep the gun on her father. I’m certain she’ll tell us whatever we want.”

  “But I don’t know anything.” Her knees knocked. Barely able to hold herself up, Alix repeated herself, this time so softly that no one heard.

  Pyre smiled and sang a few words to the song. Between stanzas, he said, “There, there, my dear. We don’t want to hurt either of you. We just want to know where your boyfriend is this fine night.”

  Alix lifted her head and looked into the man’s eyes. Then she looked at Bruce, and saw that he no longer held his menacing weapons against Sam. Instead, he held an open bottle of whiskey. Her tears flowed more easily. What should she do? These men must be animals to threaten her father’s rehabilitation. He had managed to stay sober for five whole days! That was five days longer than ever before in his adult life.

  It hit her what she had to do.

  “The graveyard. He’s at the graveyard,” Alix sobbed.

  “Bruce, leave,” Pyre said coldly. Then, to Alix’s father: “You should be proud to have a daughter who loves you so much. It will be a shame if after this night you return to the drink, after all.”

  Alix watched her father’s face turn red. As Bruce ran out the front door she felt a tinge of satisfaction. After all, Shay was the one at the graveyard, not Rellik.

  Rellik had trained for this moment for nearly a whole millennium. He threw a roundhouse punch–but Shay ducked and jabbed his opponent’s chest. The Wulfsign fell back. He felt a fist slam across his face and a backhand punch against his temple.

  “I have spent the last thousand years training, as well,” Shay said, and spin-kicked his adversary’s stomach.

  The werewolf stumbled back. He brought his fists up. “Then we fight a fair duel at last.”

  Shay jabbed. Rellik ducked. The Wulfsign kicked the vamp’s chest. He grabbed the back of Shay’s hair, slamming his head into his knee. The vamp launched an uppercut. But when he tried a backfist, the Wulfsign caught his arm and twisted him into a headlock.

  “What will you do now as I snap your neck? That will take a few days to heal,” Rellik said.

  His opponent turned into fog. Rellik fell into a foot sweep and tripped the vamp; then he leaped back to his feet. He glared hard at his shocked opponent.

  “I told you I learned much this past millennium,” the Wulfsign said, with an iron voice. “Such as you can only transform one body part into fog at a time.”

  He couldn’t stop smiling. He hoped his other lessons would prove just as true. “Now get up, and see what else I know.”

  Shay turned every body part into fog, starting with his head and ending with his feet. The eerie blue mist rose as one beast, parts of it manifesting into two clawed hands and a jaw of jagged teeth. It struck, one hand slicing Rellik’s cheek. But the Wulfsign caught the other, snapped the talons off, and followed the move with an elbow strike that shattered its teeth.

  The fog howled and slunk away.

  The vamp slowly gathered to form its human shape and turned its back on Rellik. Shay slumped, unable to rise past his knees. The Wulfsign glared, his emerald eyes burning.

  “I learned something else, Shay. Whatever you attack with, it cannot be turned to fog.”

  Shay lay helplessly on the ground, clutching his broken hand against his chest as blood poured from his mouth. He laughed, the apparent fear in his eyes not heard in his voice.

  Rellik growled, “What is so funny?”

  “My victory is turning you against your principles. I have already won.”

  “Then I will be your final triumph. For you, forever ends tonight. Are you ready to become mortal?”

  Shay spun and sliced Rellik’s chest, but suddenly he stopped. The Wulfsign stared into the vamp’s horrified face, uncertain what had made him halt so abruptly. He looked down and saw . . .

  A wooden shaft that resembled a bolt from a crossbow stuck directly through his enemy’s heart.

  Pyre finished his song and stood. Slinging the guitar over his shoulder, he glared at Alix. He walked to the doorway, stopped as if to savor the moment, and when he turned back his eyes looked like two endless pits. His smile was wide and bright beneath the brim of his hat.

  “Go to him, Alexandria,” Pyre said. “I want you to suffer greatly, just as I did.”

  He turned and left.

  Stunned by his last remark, Alix stared into space for a moment. Then she reached into her purse and felt for the ring. This time she slipped it onto her finger, unsure why. A tear left her eye and her hand tingled. Sam leaped from his chair and ran to her. He grabbed and shook her as if to wake her.

  “Alexandria! We have to go help him!”

  “But Rellik isn’t there.”

  In the silence they threw their arms around one another. Alix sobbed, knowing she had made a terrible mistake. Both she and Sam turned to the mantel and stared at the portrait of their lost loved one.

  Then, at the rifle beneath.

  Rellik scanned the area. He prayed that the bolt had come from a crossbow Alix operated. But as Shay fell, turning into a pillar of dust for the evil he was, Rellik’s power died.

  “I’m mortal,” Rellik realized, when all his senses lost their heightened ability. He looked up and saw a large man running at him.

  “I am Bruce Tannis,” the stranger growled, leaping at Rellik. “I AM SALVATION!”

  The Wulfsign caught his opponent and tried pushing him away–but forgot to compensate for his lost strength. Bruce tackled him to the ground. He got on top and pummeled him with his fists.

  Rellik wrapped his legs beneath his adversary’s waist, threw him off, and scrambled to his feet. His nose was bleeding and one eye had started to puff out. He shouted:

 
“Don’t be a fool! I am mortal now! If I wasn’t, I would have turned to a wolf and ripped out your throat.”

  “I was told you like sport.” Bruce took out a silver-laced Buckmaster knife. “I shall save thousands by killing you!”

  Bruce swiped but Rellik dodged, caught his opponent’s arm, and kicked his kneecap. Bruce staggered and yelled, managing to pull his arm free. He tried to rise, but fell back to the ground, his leg broken and unable to support him.

  “I’ll get you an ambulance,” Rellik said as he turned to leave.

  “Don’t mock me,” Bruce spat. “Before you kill me, at least tell me why you were fighting the vamp. Was it over the same prey? Was it the girl?”

  “I was stopping him from killing anyone ever again, you fool.” Rellik turned and walked to his sword. He took it from the ground and returned to the man.

  “Then why did you kill the Tannises? Why did you kill my parents!”

  “I saved them. I saved them all,” Rellik kneeled and balanced himself with his weapon. “I am not evil. The legends about my kind are nothing but lies. You cannot become a werewolf by drinking water from my paw print, nor from eating food cooked by my hands. My bite does not spread my seed, nor does the full moon make us change. It was wrong of humans to make up those fallacies to justify their hatred.

  “But vampyres are different. They crave pleasure and spread their kind like a disease. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I do.” Bruce gave a shout and grabbed the sword from Rellik. With one last effort, he thrust the blade through Rellik’s chest.

  Bruce staggered to his feet, using the sword as a crutch. The vampyre was long dead and, though the werewolf clung desperately to life, he would soon join his counterpart.

  “If silver is also a myth, fight or not, you’re going to Hell.”

  “I will die,” Rellik choked on his blood, “but only because I have been made mortal. You missed my heart.”

  “But you didn’t miss my parents’ hearts.”

  “I saved them from a life of evil–from living as this vamp before you.”

  “You’re a creature like them. If you aren’t evil, why would they have to be?” Bruce’s voice resounded with hatred.

  Rellik thought about the vampyres he had trained with, the renegade vamps that sought a life of principle and forgiveness. He wondered again if it was possible for a vamp to redeem him or herself. If so, could Ariana have also been redeemed? As he wiped away a tear that had come down his cheek, he shivered from the cold.

  “Vampyres cannot be saved. I did not kill Ariana for nothing!”

  Atop the western hill, Alix and Sam watched the strange scene in horror. As they descended the crest, Sam clung to his hunting rifle and Alix clung to him. They looked at each other, then at the man standing over Rellik. Sam did what he thought he must, knowing only that he had to save the outsider.

  He pointed his gun directly at the man, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger. It disturbed him when revenge eased his heart. His daughter cried at the sight of him killing, but as he rubbed his wrists from where the ropes had cut he knew he had done the just deed.

  “Go to him. I’ll call an ambulance and police,” he said.

  “Thank you . . .” Alix hugged him and whispered, “Dad.”

  Rellik lay helpless, but knew when he saw Alix rush to him that he could at last die in peace. She sat in the bloodstained grass, resting his weak body against hers, clutching his jacket against the wound. He embraced her and she kissed his forehead gently. Rellik knew his time had ended. The world about him grew ever colder. He wondered how he’d ever forgive Pyre for this evil. He truly wondered how his soul could ever forget this.

  Rellik thought about his life. It had been long, solitary, and hardly worth the value mortals placed on theirs. In truth, he had come to terms with his immortality only because of Pyre’s fellowship. And it was because he had come to terms that he had loved more deeply than any one person deserved.

  The Wulfsign looked into Alix’s eyes and knew that, because of her, because of a memory from so long past and yet so near, he would never regret his life. Yet he also knew, as he felt death coming closer to claim him, that her soul would live on. Perhaps even to love another. Would she forget him? Would she remember their past?

  He watched her tears run freely, dropping from her trembling chin to land on his face. He smiled. Ignoring the pain from his wound, he caressed her soft cheeks. He wiped away her sorrow and wished he could be courageous for her. He wished he could be the brave Rancor one last time. But his eyes were showing too much sadness. He could not hide that from her.

  “The ambulance is coming. My dad called for help,” she said, but her voice died in the air between them.

  Rellik still smiled. A full smile, this time. His eyes, too, had lost their dark quality as the emerald color danced with light.

  “It no longer matters.”

  “Don’t be foolish.” Alix fought back against the grief that was overtaking her.

  “Do you remember the first time we met?”

  “Of course. That day at school.”

  Rellik reached out to touch her lips. The look of sorrow was embedded within his emerald eyes, and when he spoke, his lips barely moved.

  “No. Do you remember the first time we met?”

  Alix didn’t understand. By the expression on his face, this memory meant a lot. Briefly she wondered if the loss of blood had clouded his mind. But the intense look in his eyes told her that he held strong to his senses.

  What was more, that voice had come from inside her mind!

  When she kissed Rellik’s fingers, he moved them to her forehead and pressed. The voice again came to her, saying, Search your dreams.

  Alix closed her eyes and became light-headed. The pressure from his fingers released. Her head stopped spinning. When she opened her eyes she was in a small room, alone, with the crystal orb from her dreams. As in her dreams, fear gripped her.

  “It was you?” she called out, but received no answer. “How could you do this to me?”

  But there was no voice in the room commanding her to look into the sphere. Alix knew this time it held a memory from the past instead of an image of the present. Before, it had been a symbol of fright. She wondered what hellish experience it might recall now. Perhaps it was best to leave that which is suppressed alone.

  Do you remember the first time we met? Rellik’s voice had sounded so full of sorrow that Alix knew she had to look. Had he demanded her to watch those times before, not because he wanted to frighten her, but so she might understand? Alix looked deeply into the globe, recalling her last dream when the pedestal had caressed and comforted her.

  It didn’t feel as horrific as it had before. Clouds covered the night sky like a blanket, and there was a full moon. Droplets of water rested on the ground and trees, as a rainfall had just taken place. There was a small cottage where candlelight flickered in the windows and smoke rose from the chimney.

  The night felt cold. A girl in her late teens was walking with haste along a path that led from the cabin into sparse woods nearby. She carried an empty wooden bucket.

  A thick fog began to envelop the scene. Alix couldn’t see well enough to know if she recognized the girl.

  “No! Not again,” Alix whispered, covering her eyes.

  “No, not again,” the voice said, as it had before, but now sounding gentle, even comforting. She wondered if it had always been that way. Opening her eyes, she saw she was no longer alone in the room. She couldn’t see anyone. Rather she sensed a presence giving her courage and strength.

  “Fear not your own memory,” the presence told her.

  Alix took that encouragement and lifted her head, again staring into the orb. Now the fog had grown so thick that she could see nothing. It kept growing. It started pouring from the ball. She drowned in it, losing all sense of where she was.

  A cold breeze rose. The clothes she wore changed into a woolen dress and shawl. The fog parted. She was
able to look about her strange–no, familiar–surroundings. She had become the girl she’d seen walking along the path in the woods. The girl from her story. The one for whom she could not think up a name.

  Alix checked the path to see if there was a well for water. There was. This was her own memory. She was recalling that she needed water for her sick brother who was fever-stricken. She needed the water to cool him down. Alix shivered from fright, wishing the illness hadn’t taken her parents. But there wasn’t much she could do without medicine.

  Her father had warned her many times not to walk in the woods after dark–especially during a full moon. Just before he died, he’d set wolf traps around the well to help ease her fear, and though the night had grown dark she knew where to avoid them. Clenching her bucket tightly for added courage, Alix kept her spirits brave by reminding herself of her sibling’s dire need for water. As long as she didn’t falter, this wouldn’t take long.

  When she reached her destination, Alix tied the rope to the pail and lowered it hastily down the shaft. The woods amplified every noise. Her hands shook, making the task difficult. Her heart pounded as though someone was watching . . . as though someone studied her every move. The well was an endless pit.

  Alix was concentrating on her task when something grabbed her. She dropped the bucket into the deep well, screamed, and slapped her shoulder to ward off the assailant. She fell to the ground in panic–then laughter. It was only a grasshopper. She wiped the remnants of the insect from her hand. The only demons true and real were the ones in her imagination.

  “Are you well, me lady?” a deep, raspy voice asked.

  Alix couldn’t move. Her muscles froze. She felt helpless as whoever had spoken slowly sauntered close to stare at her.

  He was short, with a very large build, and wore a black hooded cloak. He carried no noticeable weapons, but his garment was long and bulky.

  “Please don’t–”Alix’s voice failed. She wished she had just left the bucket out in the rain. She hoped her death would be quick and painless.