by CC MacKenzie
The Vampyre Legal Chronicles - Marcus
Book One – Marcus
By CC MacKenzie
The Vampyre Legal Chronicles - Marcus
Magic will return to the human realm of Earth. And Earth will burn as the ground shakes and mankind will perish under the combined fists of pestilence and disease. And magic will rule the land. And so it begins...
Take one broodingly hot vampyre. Add one gorgeous New Born. And this is just the beginning...
Anais Walker has one passion – Corporate Law.
And one goal – a glittering career with Gillespie, Pattullo & Hindmarch.
Success is so close she can taste it.
Until a lamentable slip of concentration jeopardises a billion dollar deal with the Chinese in Shanghai.
Is Anais about to lose it all?
Famously ruthless corporate lawyer Marcus Gillespie has two secrets.
He’s a Vampyre Prince.
And after two hundred and thirty years he’s found the woman for him.
She’s beautiful, smart and with a body to die for. After six months of mentoring Anais, the time has come to move her from the boardroom to the bedroom. And when Anais makes a costly mistake, Marcus has the gorgeous lawyer just where he wants her…
But although passions run red hot in the bedroom, Anais refuses to give her heart or commit to a future not of her choosing. When an ancient enemy arrives in Shanghai with bad news, Marcus finds himself in a race against time not only to win her heart, but also to save her life…
The Vampyre Legal Chronicles - Marcus - Copyright
Book One - Marcus
Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2015
Published by More Press
ISBN: 9781909331181
The right of C C MacKenzie to be
identified as the author of this
work has been asserted by her
under the Copyright Amendment
(Morals Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyright.
Apart from any use as permitted under
the Copyright Act 1968, no part
maybe reproduced, copied, scanned,
stored in a retrieval system,
recorded or transmitted,
in any form or by any means,
without the prior permission
of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and
incidents are either a product of
the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual people
living or dead, events or locales is
entirely coincidental.
Cover design by: Gabrielle Prendergast
Conclave
Headquarters of Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch, New York City, present day.
Contrary to popular urban myths, vampyres do not dwell in deep dank places under the earth.
Vampyres love heights.
To a human eye, the three men relaxing on the penthouse balcony at the top of the tallest building in the City, overlooking the metropolis of New York, might appear successful businessmen, which indeed they were. The human eye might also assume they were in their late forties, which indeed they were not. Their combined age measured two thousand three hundred and forty-one Earth years.
Dressed in bespoke suits in shades of grey, ranging from silver through charcoal to almost black, and handmade in Savile Row (nothing but the best for these boys), all three were enormous in stature. A stature one of their sons had described as, 'Built like armoured fucking tanks.’ But then all vampyre princes were towering in stature, towering in a ruthless intellect, and all were... ancient.
In fact one had been there when the clan Gillespie disappeared in 1228 from the small town of Badenoch in Scotland. Since he'd been made by The Maker himself in Badenoch in the year 1228, Duncan Gillespie was a vampyre Elder as well as a vampyre Prince. His blood and the blood of his many progeny were among the purest in the vampyre nation.
After the passing of hundreds of years, and against all odds, Duncan had managed to retain a minuscule spark of human conscience. A conscience which troubled him still because he held himself responsible for the destruction of three hundred and nineteen souls of the Clan Gillespie. Why he alone had been spared to become vampyre he knew not. He’d decided long ago it was probably the capricious hand of fate. Unlike most of his kind he did not believe for a single moment that he was anything special or a chosen one. However, he did believe he had been more than fortunate to survive the carnage of the vampyre wars that had followed.
Today, in the middle of an unusually bitter winter, found him wondering if the initial conflict that had split their nation might have been avoided. As a rule he was not a person given to deep introspection. He tended to keep profound thoughts for more important concerns. But tonight Duncan was brooding and he wondered if these thoughts and these feelings were the beginning of The Fade.
Even vampyres didn’t live forever.
All three vampyres raised their glasses of heavy crystal filled with the finest claret, a Château Latour, to salute a fat moon of glorious silver. A moon which hung in a sky as black as jet. All three turned their faces to the celestial body and drank in the precious light as if inhaling vitamin D from the sun.
Duncan sipped deeply.
Tonight his keen intuition for trouble was twitching.
The vampyre witch Ezekiel’s unrelenting demands for a meet with the vampyre council, on neutral ground, were becoming bloody tiresome. And very bloody. As far as members of the council were concerned, the time for talking to someone most of the council regarded as an abomination had long passed. But a rumour, barely a whisper on an arctic wind, had reached Duncan's ears of heavy losses incurred by Ezekiel’s Legion in a battle in a distant land. Specifically, in the Sinai Peninsula in north east Egypt, a land which was seeing more than its fair share of bitter ethnic conflict. What the witch had been doing with part of his Legion, in the middle of a bloodstained war zone, didn't bother Duncan at all. He gave himself a mental shrug. Who cared? Anything that put a hitch in Ezekiel’s relentless ambition for world domination could only be a good thing. It was best, Duncan took another deep sip of wine, not to think about it. And it was certainly not a good idea to think of Ezekiel himself. No point in attracting that bastard's attention. Ezekiel broke every vampyre law by dabbling in the black arts, magic, (and God only knew what else). The latest story doing the rounds, one of many, was that the witch could read a human's thoughts, even a vampyre's thoughts. Probably untrue and a load of piss, but where Ezekiel was concerned one could never be too careful.
Duncan’s eyes, cold and dark, were those of a predator. Eyes that had seen too much for too long now scanned the heavens searching for the tell-tale blur, the loss of focus in the night sky and loss of focus which would alert them to the presence of unwelcome eyes and ears.
He took another deep sip of wine, and cast a weary eye over his dearest friends. Friends who'd fought by his side through war and famine and plague. They both looked as grim and miserable as he felt himself, and silent as a grave.
Duncan broke the silence, "Constantine and his extensive pharmaceutical resources are standing by for the first sign of mutation of the swine and avian influenza viruses." He took a long steady breath. His Scottish accent always rose when he was stressed. "He did not anticipate the unfolding Ebola catastrophe in Africa. He believes we are not dealing with a natural calamity."
Prince Don Cristophe Pattullo’s vast shoulders shrugged in the way of the Latin. He’d been likened by one of his daughters to a taller and better looking vers
ion of a young Al Pacino in The Godfather. Fair comment, since it was very true Cristophe had given the Borgias more than a run for their money.
His deep rumbling voice vibrated through the air.
"If magic is again leaching into our reality, I do not believe we have anything to worry about. It is not the first time magic has sought to rule this world. It was defeated before. It will be defeated again. Let's face it, humans, no matter how stupid or inept, are very hard to kill. For centuries they have managed to dodge any number of mass extinction events. The World Health Organisation and many others are winning the war against the spread of the disease. I see no cause for concern."
Cristophe wouldn't worry, Duncan knew. The Italian harboured little love for human beings. On a good day he regarded them as a necessary evil, and on a bad day as nothing less than an infestation of parasites, who did their best to destroy the world they lived in.
"Constantine is warning there have been reports of the hemorrhagic Marburg virus piggybacking on the back of Ebola in Uganda. He's worried. It may only be a matter of time before the virus mutates again and becomes airborne. If that happens, be in no doubt, what we have seen thus far in Africa will be as nothing. The spread will be more deadly than that of the great plague after world war one."
Cristophe shook his head, waved a hand.
"Bah, Constantine's ongoing concern about humans does him no honor. He frets and wrings his hands like an old woman."
"Perhaps it's because he has a conscience," Duncan snapped. "You would do well to remember how the Ebola infection began in the first place."
"It is not the first time disease has jumped species," Cristophe reminded him. "Times are changing. Human technology is evolving at a faster rate than we anticipated. DNA sequencing of the blood of one vampyre surely must threaten our very existence. I admit our young are careless. Stupidly so. Especially in Africa and in Europe. I cannot believe they want a return to the old ways, to drink the blood of humans. Listening avidly to extreme doctrine by lunatics in the guise of priests like Voltaire and Vassily raving about the purity of the race and to openly flout our laws."
Cristophe stopped his rant, lit a slim cigar, took a deep inhale, exhale. Smoke rose into the night sky. "Perhaps," he continued in a silky voice, "it is time for another example to be made. A gentle reminder for Vassily to... toe the line."
At that, the third vampyre prince, Samuel, Lord Hindmarch of Devon and Cornwall, turned his head. These days he looked nothing like the swashbuckling pirate of his youth. The ready smile and twinkle in his grey eyes had long gone. Twin fists of grief and loss now held his heart, trapped, in misery. His ash blonde hair was streaked with silver, which along with pale skin pulled tight across high cheekbones, gave him an appearance of being carved from solid ice.
Cool grey eyes settled on Cristophe.
"You're a bloodthirsty bastard. If you lay a single finger on Voltaire or Vassily the Vampyre Rights lobby will have your ass in court... again."
Clamping the cigar between his teeth, Cristophe sent him a big grin. A grin that showcased fangs so white they could star in their own toothpaste commercial.
"Oh, for a return to the good old days. Beheadings, ritual burnings, burying the bastards alive for twenty years. Good times, good times."
"It is not a joking matter," growled Duncan.
"Who is joking? Vampyre Rights," Cristophe muttered under his breath and shook his dark head. "I don’t know what the world is coming to.”
"You, of all people should understand the inquisitiveness, the sheer tenacity, of the human mind and the human spirit. I'm thinking of the Hadron Collider in Cern. They've already worked out there is more than one reality. How long will it be before they crack the code and open their first portal?" asked Samuel.
"Then we must destroy it," said Cristophe in a ruthless tone that chilled Duncan's spine. "We cannot permit humans to move through time or through realities. They have a hard enough time dealing with the one we live in now."
"I will never understand your continued hatred of humans, Cristophe," Samuel mused. "The study and understanding of human beings is a life skill, and since you've lived for hundreds of years, I would have thought you might have taken the time to perfect that skill. When we have the theoretical as well as emotional understanding of why people are the way they are, it is then relatively simple to embrace compassion and forgiveness."
Cristophe's dark brows met, his eyes narrowing and sharp as a blade.
He rudely jabbed his cigar in Samuel's direction. "You have been spending too much time with your new friend in the Vatican. Perhaps you should join the church. With your vow of chastity you should fit right in."
Samuel didn't even blink.
"He is a good and compassionate man."
"Makes a fucking change," Cristophe shot back, not giving an inch. "Most of them have been self-serving bastards who got high on wine, women, and... power."
"You should know since it takes one to know one. Things have changed, evolved, since the seventeenth century, Cristophe. It is a pity you are still so set in your ways."
Unoffended, Cristophe flashed another toothy grin.
"One of these days, when the world again goes to hell in a hand basket, you'll thank me for my family's ruthless streak. And that time is coming a lot sooner than you think."
Samuel opened his mouth to respond, but Duncan had heard more than enough and beat him to it.
"I'm too old for this shit," he said, sounding like one of his four sons. The words were murmured in a thick Scottish burr. "And we are running out of time. It is true that, for most of our race, technology is advancing at too fast a pace. Every day brings with it the heightened risk of discovery."
Plus, it wasn't only humans who were happy snappers with their cell phones these days. Rebellious young vampyres (who were too stupid to live) were walking a very shaky line with their sensational YouTube videos and Facebook pages. Christ, his own sons were tweeting.
How the hell had the fate of his species come down to... hash tags?
"We have fine sons, Duncan," Cristophe growled, plucking the thought from his head. "They will not let us down."
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Not one of Duncan's sons had taken the time to find their mate.
Actually, that wasn't quite true.
His second son, James, had found his, but he'd not taken that final step to bring his wife into their world, to take her vein.
Duncan glowered and glared in useless frustration.
The way his sons dragged their feet was pitiful, it really was.
"Even though their yearning is upon them, none are doing their duty," said Samuel in the gloomy voice of doom. "I still say we must change the law that permits them to take the vein of only one human female. Our sons must spread their pure seed far and wide. Our race must survive and prosper."
Duncan turned his head. His eyes met those of his old friend and he read quite clearly the guilt and anxiety in those cold grey eyes.
"We are Vampyre, Samuel. When placed in a human womb our fetus are parasites."
Duncan knew the term parasite deeply offended his friend, but the truth was the truth even if some found it unpalatable.
Samuel rose in a smooth move. Even for a vampyre Prince he was tall, wide shouldered, with long muscled thighs.
Now those cold eyes were chips of solid ice.
"Our medics report great success with a diet of pure vampyre hemoglobin."
Duncan kept his voice low but the tone was implacable and diamond hard. "Fifteen percent fatality is too high a price to pay."
His word was law and they all knew it.
"Duncan is right, Samuel," Cristophe said with an Olympian disdain. "We would be no better than Ezekiel's Legion. Not one pregnancy they’ve imposed upon a woman has come to term. And how many humans have died because of it? Too many females have been taken, forced, into slavery. It is an abomination."
Samuel spun around, his pale eyes
flashing with grief and fury.
"Do you think I do not know that?"
Since he’d heard it all before, Duncan gripped the shoulder of his old friend in a gesture of support and solidarity.
"No one blames you for the loss of our young. The guilt you carry will destroy you one day. Let it go, Samuel. We need to trust in God and trust in our sons. Between us we will prevail. Our laws are there for a reason. One day Ezekiel will pay a heavy price for breaking those laws."
At the mention of the witch, Cristophe heaved his bulk out of the chair and cast a probing eye towards the heavens. His dark gaze narrowed on the hundreds of vampyre warriors stationed on rooftops for as far as the eye could see. Warriors of their personal guard, the Centuri, moving in a complicated dance on the top of New York City's highest buildings. For this meeting the Centuri were on full alert and combat ready in armour of black leather.
"All of us have been blessed with fine sons, and God help me, two daughters," Cristophe growled in a hard put upon voice.
The Italian accent was thicker whenever Cristophe mentioned his headstrong daughters. The girls lived to give their sire a run for his money. But the love he had for them could not be denied.
Duncan’s lips twitched.
Even Samuel’s icy demeanour thawed. "They honour you by the work they do." He turned to face Duncan. "It must please you James has taken a bride."
Duncan nodded. "One down, three to go," he said. He didn't have the heart to dash his friend’s hopes by telling him that James had not, as yet, taken Charlotte’s vein. He'd never understand his second son's enthusiasm for equal opportunities and women’s rights. Both ideas flew in the face of their patriarchal society, their vampyre laws and were downright... dangerous. James was determined that the ultimate step, to bring the woman into their world, must not be forced upon his bride and the love of his life.