The Lycan Rebirth (The Flux Age Book 3)

by Steven J Shelley

  Dragging the body into the bracken, Jack resumed his approach. Before long he was heading through a ramshackle rose garden and knew Pinehaven itself couldn’t be far away. Through a rather large hedge wall and there she was - an impressive heritage building dating back at least two centuries. Jack knew the cellar door out back would link to the ground floor internally, but there were two sentries stationed outside. Jack pondered the problem for a good two minutes before hitting upon the solution.

  Standing behind a tree, Jack made a muffled cry of anguish.

  “Stanton?” one of the guards called.

  From behind the tree Jack saw the other aquilan shrug.

  “Fucker might have gotten a snakebite.”

  The first one sighed. “Wait here,” he said.

  The guard’s path took him right past Jack’s tree. The werewolf expertly flipped the man to his back and tore his throat out in one fluid motion.

  “Gillon?” the remaining aquilan called nervously. “What the hell is going on?”

  Before the man could reach for his cell phone or germ Jack was upon him, smashing his head against the cellar door. It swung open on impact.

  “Why, thank you,” Jack said as he dusted himself off and strolled straight in.

  The cellar was dark and quiet. Jack heard voices from the ground level above. He ascended an old staircase carefully, his senses delivering data at extraordinary speed. The staircase admitted to a polished marble entry hall. A debonair man was sitting at a table opposite a well-dressed woman. Jack wondered if they were part of the aquilan High Council. The pair were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t notice the charcoal-grey werewolf climbing the stairs to the top floor.

  Jack paused at the first landing to listen for activity. There were a multitude of footsteps on the floor above him and he lowered himself into a crouch, ready to pounce. Three young aquilan men strode with purpose down the hallway that spanned the floor. None looked in Jack’s direction. The werewolf took the opportunity to climb the remaining steps and sneak down the hall in the other direction.

  The door to the room at the end of the hall was mostly open. Jack saw the barrel-chested torso of a man standing behind a heavy oak desk. Hector Caliri. Finally, a chance to kill the bastard. But a voice screamed in Jack’s head - now wasn’t the time. All Jack would achieve was his own capture. Sure, he could take Hector out, but the aquilan High Council would simply replace him with someone else. Nothing could erase the sins of the past. With these unwanted thoughts in mind, Jack held himself in check.

  Hearing a noise behind him, Jack darted into a room on his right. It was a tidy, spartan bedroom, but that wasn’t what worried Jack.

  His main concern was the attactive young woman with long, curly hair sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Oh my,” she purred playfully. “Why kind of beast has fallen into my lap?”

  Jack closed the door quietly behind him. He decided that honesty was the best policy in this situation. All the girl had to do was scream.

  “Jack Foley,” he said, thrusting out a meaty paw. The girl looked at the paw with amusement before giving it a little wiggle.

  “Jasmine,” she said, her eyes twinkling. At that moment Jack’s keen senses noted that she didn’t smell like an aquilan at all. And yet here she was, housed in close proximity to the boss himself. Hector’s daughter? No, looked nothing like him. Then it hit him.

  “You’re a diviner, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Perceptive and suave,” Jasmine said with a mischievous smile. “You’re up to no good, are you?”

  Jack took a deep breath. “I’m here on behalf of the lycans,” he said seriously. “You know, the ones that were-”

  “Massacred on the night of the Ball, yes,” Jasmine said, her face clouding over. So Jack’s suspicion had proven correct. Like most diviners, this girl had no strong ties to her masters. She might’ve been comfortable, happy even, but that didn’t mean she had to agree with everything the aquilans did.

  Jack looked into her eyes urgently. “Jasmine, I need to ask you one question,” he said. “What’s your estimate of aquilan troops?”

  Jasmine eyed Jack warily, no doubt wondering whether to trust him.

  “I can’t see any reason not to tell you,” she said. “Hector has me divining day and night. I think there might be over two thousand aquilans by now.”

  Jack grimaced. Over two thousand. The aquila had become very strong indeed.

  There were footsteps in the hall outside.

  “Open the window for me,” Jack said. “Quickly.”

  “Always had a soft spot for you lycans,” Jasmine said as she pulled the rusty old window open. “I hope you can raise yourselves from the dead.”

  “Count on it,” Jack said as he lifted himself through the small opening. He gratefully stepped on a small ledge that wrapped itself around the main building.

  The day was fading fast as Jack inched his way around the outside of the building. The drop to the grass below was no problem for a werewolf, but Jack wanted one final look at Hector’s office.

  He pulled himself around the corner of the building and found himself standing in front of Hector’s largest office window. The aquilan leader was now seated at his desk with his back to Jack. A polished wooden box the size of a lunch pail sat in front of him. Hector fingered the box as if deciding whether to open it.

  On impulse Jack lifted himself up, swung back hard and smashed the window with both feet. Ignoring the shower of glass, he landed a hard right foot at the back of Hector’s head. The force wasn’t particularly great for a lycan, but more than enough to knock a man unconscious. Hector slumped over the box, out cold.

  The first thing Jack did was bolt the door. There were already shouts from the hall - it was only a matter of time before the aquilans broke in.

  Jack took the box and felt a surge of elation when he found that Hector had actually disengaged a digital lock mechanism. Flipping open the lid, he drew a hand to his mouth in a reflex action. The smell was horrendous, but wonderful. There was no smell like that in the world.

  The box contained a small amount of dark tissue.

  3

  Frica, Romania

  Yasmin knew she shouldn’t be hauling buckets of mortar in her condition, but she wanted the final brick to be laid by sunrise. Already the shadows over Mount Brasev were being killed by the emergent light of the day.

  “Grăbiţi,” she extolled the Maramurians who worked alongside her. They were hard, faithful workers and responded with a burst of speed. Her band of Maramurians, an ancient, scattered mountain people, had grown accustomed to working at night. It was when their master was strong, and their master made them strong.

  Yasmin was only just beginning to understand her unique relationship with these rural Romanians. They weren’t vampires, no. She was beginning to suspect that they were plain folk who simply remembered. Remembered who their old landlords were. Tomas had recently discovered that those landlords had almost certainly been vampires.

  These Romanian mountains had seen a number of vampire lords come and go. The last, of course, had been during the Dark Ages, during the last Flux Age.

  And now, as the twenty-first century was gathering speed, a vampire queen had returned to take care of her flock once again.

  Yasmin stood back and watched with pride as her people worked feverishly on the final tower of the outer wall.

  The castle had finally taken shape. What had once been a rambling ruin, fit for mountain goats but little else, had becoming an imposing castle in the Gothic style. The main hall had been built first, then two stately wings to either side. A second level above the hall to include Yasmin’s private chamber. A belfry from which the vampiric beacon shone through the night. And finally, the stone rampart that would, in theory, keep her enemies at bay. Once an uninvited guest crossed a vampire’s threshold it fell under that creature’s considerable power. The outer castle wall had now become Yasmin’s threshold, T
omas assuring her that she would be nigh impossible to beat when at home in her castle.

  The doktor joined Yasmin on the rampart and eyed the eastern sky warily.

  “You should rest, queen,” he murmured. He insisted on using the title even though Yasmin found it strange.

  “Yes,” Yasmin said absently, stroking her belly as she so often did now. She was well into the first term of her pregnancy and had resisted all of Tomas’s attempts to bring her to an obstetrician. She could understand his concerns but she knew that everything was OK. Her senses were alive to the new presence within her. She often wondered how her transformed self would handle being pregnant. So far, her vampiric abilities were heightened if anything. It put to bed her irrational fear that vampire queens - for whatever reason - wouldn’t be able to conceive.

  Yasmin’s mood darkened as she rested a hand on her tiny bump. As ever, what started with her unborn baby inevitably ended with Jack. It was impossible not to think about the child’s father in the same breath. What was he doing? Was he safe? Had he located Florence? She fervently hoped so - the tawny werewolf was a good, moderating influence on him.

  Yasmin felt the brush of Tomas’s hand against hers. It drew her from the troubling pit her thoughts had tumbled into. The doktor was looking at her with a strange, anguished intensity, as if he was waiting for something he knew would never come.

  Yasmin instinctively knew what that was. It had remained unspoken between them for a while now. Tomas Verdano was a good man, that much was clear. He had surrounded himself with a fine family but they were now all dead. Since that dark time, Tomas had devoted himself to the vampire cause. But what had started as fierce loyalty to Yasmin had become something deeper, something far more personal. Once Tomas had been divined as a vampire, Yasmin had been the one to ‘confirm’ him, mark him as one of her own. Since this usually required the consumption of blood, the process was uniquely sensual and intimate. Yasmin firmly suspected that vampire queens in the past were expected to spread their sexual attentions far and wide. That may have worked in the past but this vampire queen was different. For Yasmin, all roads led to Jack Foley. Tomas would need to resolve his passions without her help.

  Still, his stares had been growing more intense lately. There was something feral about them. Tomas had thrown himself into the research of vampire lore and seemed to be taking on the hungry wildness of a traditional vampire. Yasmin hoped she wouldn’t need to hold him at arm’s length, and that their relationship could return to what it used to be. Something told her that wasn’t going to happen. She’d read somewhere that vampires rarely lived together, and judging from Tomas’s recent behavior, she could see why.

  “What shall we call it?” she said quietly, wrapping herself in her impossibly comfortable white fur coat.

  Tomas raised his eyebrow.

  “The castle,” Yasmin said. “The Maramurians need a name to chant as they walk up and down the mountain.”

  If Tomas recognized Yasmin’s light-hearted tone, he didn’t show it.

  “A vampire’s castle should be feared,” he said seriously. “In the old language, the word for ‘fear’ is frica.”

  Yasmin nodded, her smile fading. Tomas was so serious these days. The last thing she wanted to associate with her home was fear, but she could see the benefit of sowing doubt in her enemies’ minds. Plus, she felt as thought she should allow Tomas to have his way on this. Perhaps it would dissolve some of the strange tension between them.

  “Make it happen, Tomas,” she said. “Frica is complete as the sun rises.”

  “Then let me escort you to your chamber, queen,” Tomas said with a half smile. It was only a small victory for Yasmin, but a victory nonetheless. She allowed herself to be led from ramparts dusted pink from the new sun.

  The last thing she heard as she settled into her shadowy, coffin-like bed was the proud song of the Maramurians as they descended the mountain.

  Yasmin woke to the sound of Tomas’s voice. The quiet scientist didn’t usually speak so forcefully. His voice carried all the way from the main hall.

  Yasmin freshened up before heading down the spiral stairwell to the ground floor. Tomas was standing in the gloom holding a lantern. Yasmin could just make out three figures near the front doors.

  “I’m telling you, we must see the queen immediately,” one of the newcomers was saying. Yasmin peered at him with interest. The man was imposingly tall and had fine, almost regal features. She judged him to be around forty-five, and he was dressed stylishly in a black designer suit. The other two were both women, and Yasmin guessed they must all be siblings. The sisters had sharp, near-pretty features with pitch black hair. They wore heavy velvet dresses that reminded Yasmin of eastern European gypsies.

  The most compelling thing about these visitors were their thin, crimson lips and cold, dead eyes. They were vampires, that much was certain.

  “It’s OK, Tomas, they’re kin,” Yasmin said in wonder as she stepped past him.

  The tall man stepped forward with a haughty smile.

  “Finally, some hospitality,” he sneered. “We travel from Poland, my queen. Our main objective is to be confirmed under your grace.”

  The man dropped to one knee and laid an arm on it, veins up. Yasmin hesitated, throwing a glance back at Tomas. He had a look of resignation, as if Yasmin had no choice but to comply.

  Yasmin knelt before the tall man and wasted no time in sinking her teeth into his forearm. She found herself drawn to his blood and feasted enthusiastically. A part of her wondered if she was making a scene as she gorged on the sweet nectar. She and Tomas had been receiving steady supplies from Bucharest but there was nothing like a fresh fountain.

  When she lifted her face she realized her mouth and cheeks were probably covered with blood. Tomas helpfully provided a cloth.

  “My name is Ralph Odessa,” the tall man said in a tight voice, his face pale but sanguine. “My sisters and I sensed the fire and came to pay our respects.”

  Yasmin smiled inwardly. She was beginning to wonder if her vampiric fire would attract any followers at all. It was a thrill to have strangers come in from the cold and kneel before her, however bizarre it was! Of course, Yasmin simply smiled and acted like this was all routine.

  The Odessa sisters stepped forward humbly, heads bowed.

  “Anna,” said one.

  “Irina,” said the other.

  “Welcome,” Yasmin said, unable to tear her eyes from the bulging veins in their forearms.

  Later, the Odessa siblings were seated in Yasmin’s drawing room, a comfortable chamber adjacent to her bedroom. Yasmin’s servant Ligo, a Maramurian hand-picked by Tomas, had prepared several delicious glasses of mulled wine. Yasmin and Tomas sat alongside their guests before a roaring fire.

  “Was it hard to find a diviner in Poland?” Yasmin asked Ralph. Thus far, conversation had been a little stilted. Yasmin sensed that the Odessa sisters had been instructed to stay quiet while their older brother handled the talking. It seemed such an old-fashioned notion that Yasmin wondered what kind of family they were from.

  Ralph inclined his head stiffly. “We know a man in the neighboring village. He tends goats.”

  That last bit Ralph uttered with contempt, as if he couldn’t believe that such a man could possess such an impressive skill. Yasmin resisted the urge to ask more questions about this man. She already had a diviner, and Mischa was probably sound asleep in the next room. The young girl was slowly adapting to life at Mount Brasev but still liked to sleep all night. Yasmin couldn’t criticise her very human habit.

  “Diviners need to be protected,” Yasmin said. “I hope you were divined by mutual consent.”

  Ralph looked at Yasmin strangely, but inclined his head.

  “We live a quiet life in rural Poland,” he said. “All we desire is to be left alone.”

  Yasmin could certainly understand that. It seemed vampires weren’t the most social of creatures.

  “Do you feel any different,
now that you’ve been confirmed by me?” Yasmin asked with a smile.

  Ralph thought for a moment before replying. “Nothing obvious,” he said. “Although I do feel the connection between us.”

  Yasmin could feel it too. She now felt intimate with these people in a way she could never adequately explain. She just knew that her new followers would defend her to the death if needed. As she would for them - it definitely worked both ways.

  “That said, we shall be leaving tomorrow,” Ralph said abruptly. “A vampire’s home is his alone.”

  Yasmin nodded, trying not to be offended by the gender-specific reference. What Ralph was alluding to was true. There might be a sense of kinship between vampires but they could never live together in a community the way lycans did. Which didn’t really help when vampires were attacked without warning, but then vampires were exceptionally strong on their home turf.

  “I understand,” Yasmin said. “I’m extremely happy that you came.”

  Ralph gave Yasmin a meaningful look. “We didn’t come here just for confirmation,” he said delicately. “I bring intelligence from Poland.”

  Yasmin tried to hide her intense interest. She hadn’t considered this kind of benefit - shared intelligence!

  “Go ahead,” she said calmly.

  “My sister Anna was collecting herbs in the woods outside Dolina,” Ralph said. “Our family practices the art of subsistence. She came across a horde of ghouls digging some kind of hideous midden. Unafraid, she concealed herself behind a tree and listened to the commotion. She learned that the ghouls’ master, the one known as Herr X, is currently in Turkey on important business.”

  “Where exactly?” Tomas said, failing to hide his interest.