[Underworld 04] - Rise of the Lycans

by Greg Cox - (ebook by Undead)

  His face curdled in disgust. He gave Lucian a withering look. “I should have crushed your skull under my heel when you were born.”

  “Yes,” Lucian agreed. The utter coldness of Viktor’s words, and an overpowering sense of destiny, fueled his determination. It felt as though they had always been moving toward this moment, ever since Viktor had callously murdered his wolfen mother two centuries ago. “You should have.”

  A furious exchange of blows reached its climax as a powerful swipe knocked Viktor’s sword from his hand. The blade flew from the Elder’s fingers. Unarmed, he lunged at Lucian, his fanged mouth opened wide.

  Lucian rammed his sword down the vampire’s throat.

  “But you didn’t,” he said.

  Viktor choked on the blade. A bloody froth bubbled past his lips. Lucian leaned into the thrust until their faces were only inches apart. Viktor looked back at him in pain and shocked disbelief as a crimson haze flooded his bulging blue eyes.

  This is for you, Sonja, Lucian thought.

  He yanked back his sword. Viktor tumbled backward off the stairs, landing with a splash into the pitch-black waters below. His pale face disappeared beneath the surface of the river, leaving behind only cloudy scarlet swirls that were rapidly carried away by the current. Within seconds, no trace of the Elder remained.

  Lucian tossed his sword into the dark river. The fire within him cooled and died, giving way to sorrow and fatigue. Tears welled in his eyes as he came to the end of the longest night of his life. He retrieved Sonja’s pendant and stared mournfully at the precious heirloom.

  He wondered if he would ever feel whole again.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The dawn was rising as Lucian staggered out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Radiant sunlight set the bodies of the fallen Death Dealers ablaze, so that countless small bonfires were scattered throughout the bailey. More fires burned upon the ramparts. Thick black smoke billowed from the windows of the keep, which had been laid waste by the victorious rebels. Flames consumed the stables and smithy. Torn pennants had been ripped from their spires.

  He found them all celebrating their triumph. Lycans in human guise and the wild werewolves mingled freely in the blood-soaked courtyard. An enthusiastic cheer, which was seconded by the howls of the wolves, greeted Lucian as he emerged, bloodied but unbowed, from the entrance to the balcony. They raised their weapons above their heads, or flaunted charred vampire bones, as they hailed the leader who had brought them to this historic moment. Sabas and Xristo shouted as loudly as any.

  The warmth of the acclamation helped to lift his spirits, which were still weighed down by tragedy. He raised his own arm in acknowledgment. Sonja’s pendant hung around his neck.

  If only she could have lived to see this day!

  Raze came and joined him on the balcony. Lucian was glad to see that the formidable African had survived the bloodshed. Once more in human form, he clasped Lucian’s arm in fellowship. An uncharacteristic smile lit up his broad features.

  “It is finished,” he said.

  Lucian pondered his friend’s words. Following Viktor’s defeat, he had eventually made his way to the Elders’ crypt, where he’d found the tombs of both Marcus and Amelia lying open, their ponderous sarcophagi missing. The implications of this ominous discovery were not lost on him. He knew that as long as the remaining Elders endured, the coven could rise again. And that the vampires would never forget or forgive what had transpired here tonight.

  “No,” he said solemnly. “This is just the beginning.”

  The sleek black bark sailed down the Danube toward the Black Sea. The jagged peaks of the Carpathians receded into the distance as the ship cruised away from the forbidding mountains. Fog blanketed the surface of the water. An icy winter wind filled its sails. A carved figurehead bearing the likeness of an enormous bat faced the sea. An ornate capital V was emblazoned upon the sails and pennants. Towed behind the bark, an empty skiff bobbed in its wake.

  Deep in the hold, Tanis lashed the Elders’ sarcophagi together, securing them for the long voyage ahead. He double-checked the knots before turning to the mute figure standing in the shadows.

  Viktor waited silently. Blood dripped down his chin, a legacy of the wound that had nearly killed him. A black robe had replaced his lost armor. Tanis shuddered at the memory of the Elder’s bleeding form bursting from the depths of the underground river as the scribe had frantically rowed the skiff away from the castle. Viktor’s watery resurrection had nearly caused Tanis to jump out of his skin. Truth be told, he had thought twice before pulling the Elder from the river….

  More dead than alive, his gaunt face as white as a ghost’s, Viktor let Tanis escort him to his own sarcophagus. He settled back against the red velvet lining. Azure eyes gazed balefully inward. His fingers twitched at his sides, as though imagining Lucian’s throat within his grasp. Tanis would not want to be a lycan once the Elder regained his strength. He could only imagine the bloody campaigns to come.

  The lycans are no longer slaves, he realized. Now they are our mortal enemies.

  The ship sailed forward into the future.

  Epilogue

  Six hundred years later…

  Selene perched upon the roof of a sooty building, gazing down at the city below. Driving rain pelted Budapest, while the howling wind carried the memory of winters long past. A beautiful woman, with dark brown hair and alabaster skin, she resembled a long-dead noblewoman whose name and story she had never heard. Lustrous black leather clung to her lithe frame like armor. The tail of her trench coat flapped in the wind.

  Heedless of both the storm and her own precarious roost upon the narrow ledge, she stared grimly into the night. Her striking chestnut eyes were fixed on the teeming streets beneath her. Her tongue traced the polished contours of her fangs. Lycans were abroad tonight, and she and her fellow Death Dealers were ready. Twin Berettas rested against her hips. Silver bullets waited to send the hated werewolves to hell, where they belonged.

  More than half a millennium had passed since the infamous Lucian had embarked on his murderous crusade, but the Death Dealers’ work was not yet done. Selene waited eagerly for tonight’s hunt to begin.

  The war continued….

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