by Casey Lane
Meanwhile, Morack cried out in fury and pain as flames engulfed his form. I peeked from under the rim of the shield to observe him. He scrambled under a tree like a wet cat out of the water. I stood up carefully, keeping the shield angled toward the sun, using my advantage to close the distance to him.
As I reached the tree’s great shadow, I noticed it was an oak, unlike all the others around it. It stood strong and proud among all the pines.
I stood over Morack’s burnt body as he lay face down. His head was completely black; his lips and eyelids had been burned completely off. Smoke poured off him, making him look like a beaten blade newly quenched in water. His purple rope had seared into his skin. He was breathing heavily as he turned over to look at me. He stared at me for a few moments in disbelief. A light breeze hit our skin as the morning birds began to sing.
“Hhhh…hhhhh,” Morack wheezed, trying to laugh, but it came out as little more than a pathetic breath of air. “You were right, I let…the bond grow too strong. I should…I should have just finished you both at the slave camps,” he said, panting. “I got greedy.”
“You remember all the power you promised me?” I asked.
“I-I can still show you more, yes,” he replied.
“What my father did up there…that was power…he risked his life just to show me he loved me…”
“He’s dead! He’s nothing! I wiped out a platoon of Spartans trained in war without a scratch on me. That is—”
“Not a scratch? Looks a bit different from here,” I replied, raising my eyebrows.
“Well I didn’t have a shield to protect me,” he said.
“You know who else didn’t have protection when they needed it?” I asked.
“Who, Acula?”
“Your son, your mother, your wife, your aunts and uncles, and all the countless others you’ve bled dry in your anger and lust…other than this dark power you were given, you’re no different now than you were as a man. You’re a corrupted, weak blade.”
Morack paused for several seconds. His long fingers clawed into the soil. Blood poured from his eyes. “Even now, my family, t-their screams haunt me…I couldn’t bury enough souls to drown out my son’s calls for help…I couldn’t,” he said, coughing. Morack lay before me a broken man, almost pitiful in his crumpled form.
“There aren’t enough souls in all of Greece,” I replied.
“But…I-I still have much to offer…I-I can you show you so much more—”
“All that is over.”
“…What about the fire your father spoke of, the fire to change, to become more?” he asked.
“You’ve had hundreds of years to find your fire,” I replied. “In all that time, you indulged only in darkness,” His eyes peered up at me, white orbs surrounded by cracked, burnt flesh. “But even now…I think I’m capable of mercy.”
Morack cracked a smile and said, “Yes…mercy…”
I snatched him up by his wrist as his eyes widened. “Mercy for all those who should ever cross your path.”
“What?” he said. I began dragging him towards the light. “No, no, wait—what are you—let me go! Aaa-aaaah!” He screamed as the sun touched him. I put the shield over me. I pulled him into the middle of a field as he shrieked, attempting to anchor his claws into the soil, even digging for the darkness below.
“I can…bring…Ahhh…your father back. A-Acula, I swear it, it’s not too late…I-I can save your father!” he begged. I shook my head at Morack slowly, staring at him as I continued dragging him. Morack’s eyes popped out of his head as cones of flames spewed through the sockets.
I stopped, kneeling down next to him as screamed out, reaching towards me. Soon, even his desperate pleas died out.
His skin turned white, burning into his bones. Then his skeleton dissolved in front of me. His body turned into a pile of ash as white smoke billowed into the blue sky. Then, what sounded like a hundred souls left him—voices from his victims, I imagined, exhaling, unshackling their chains unto the heavens. Men, women…children.
Morack was no more. His ashes would mingle with the soil, and maybe one day, a year or a century or a millennium from now, he would become clay molded into man once more, forged with a new fire. Perhaps then he could redeem himself. But the monster lay smote at the bottommost valley far from his mountain fortress, and for that I felt no remorse.
I stumbled back under the oak tree, leaning against it. I slowly slid down it, staring at the pile of powder before me. I glanced up the mountain where my father lay.
I climbed back up the mountain, using a shady path and always keeping in the mountain’s shadow on the far side from the sun. I waited until night, and then carried Father, Icar, and each Spartan to the highest point I could find. I carried them one by one, thanking them for their sacrifice.
I buried Father last, not because I planned it, but because it was the most difficult. I laid him inside the hole I dug. I placed my hand over his before I covered it with dirt as the night wind howled. Tears streamed down my face, dripping onto his body.
“F-father…by the gods, if you can hear me…I pray you are…with Mother now. I wish that for you…One day, maybe the gods will allow m-me to be…with you and her…Thank you for your devotion, your courage, and your love, Preturias of Sparta.”
I placed his shield atop him, crossing his hands around it; his blood still covered the griffin he had painted on it. I began to cover his body with dirt. I spread it across his bronze shield, filling in the nicks and abrasions in it. As it began to cover his face, I stopped, looking at him.
I thought about his journey. I thought about his words, his example of building a sword and a man. I thought about how some men would fight their whole lives to build themselves to become strong, to become bronze. But I realized that once a man truly loves someone unconditionally, he’s not like the sword anymore…
A man becomes the shield.
Epilogue
Many years later…
“Sir?”
“Yes, come in.”
A man opened the door in front of me. Before I entered, I noticed the room’s exotic fabrics and furniture. A giant lion’s head was mounted on the wall to my left.
“Leave us,” said an imperious man with thick, wavy blond hair. The servant left the two of us alone in the room. “Have a seat,” he said, turning towards me. He was a young man with an intense expression on his face. He looked me over as he began pacing back and forth in deep thought.
I chose to remain standing.
“So you’re the famed hunter of monsters, they say?” He studied me more, and I didn’t mind his stare; I was more than accustomed to more hostile appraisals than his. He raised his eyebrows and stood with his arms crossed, his hand tucked underneath his chin.
“Some say,” I replied.
“That’s quite unusual armor, or is that a cloak? Where did you get that?” he asked.
“Custom. I made this cuirass myself; it’s a mesh of bronze and fur. Lightweight, but offers some protection against blades…and claws,” I said.
“Yes. Claws. I’ve lost nearly forty men to this…creature. Any chance these rumors are simply fiction? You know how men are…they tend to exaggerate,” he said in a confidential tone. “Maybe my men were simply killed by assassins?” he added, looking into my eyes for an answer I couldn’t give him.
I shook my head from side to side.
“Doesn’t hurt to ask, I suppose…You know, you look awfully…young for such a reputation. How old are you, twenty-four?” he asked, dropping his arms to the side.
“A bit older than that,” I said. “It’s the sun, I avoid it all costs.”
“Bad for the skin, is it?” He smiled.
“You have no idea.”
“According to reports, this monster is a female, and she poses as a prostitute, leeching off my men. What do you know of her?”
“We crossed paths, but we were kids back then…she was a witch’s daughter.”
“Hmm.
So she’s a witch, then,” he said, nodding.
“No. Worse. Far worse.”
“I get the feeling you’re withholding information from me.”
“You’re a busy man; I’ll only bother you with what matters,” I replied. He nodded his head slowly.
“They say she’s unbelievably beautiful…they say no man that has lain eyes on her can resist…”
“I’m here for the job, beauty, beast, or both,” I replied.
“Fair enough. They say you won’t except traditional payment. What do you want in return for your services?” he asked.
“It’s a bit of an annoyance, but I want your men to leave me alone. I’m stopped at every checkpoint for my appearance. I’m Greek, yet I’m treated as a foreigner in my own lands. Specialized trades such as mine often appear peculiar. Anything you can do in return?” I asked.
“I’m Alexander the Great, conqueror of nations? If I cannot control my own men, how can I hope to control others?” he said, smirking.
“Good,” I said, turning my back on him.
“Oh, and Acula? We leave at sunrise,” he said casually.
“We?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m already heading towards your objective. You will join me. You could use the sun, you’re very pale,” he said.
“I work alone, Alexander, it’s the only way,” I said. His eyebrows pinched forward as he walked closer.
“Do you forget who you are speaking to? They say you are Spartan; maybe I’ll just invade your homeland for that remark,” he said.
“Do what you like, conqueror,” I replied. No matter what territories he held, I would not be cowed by any mortal man. The witch’s daughter was another matter, though, and I was anxious to be on my way.
He stepped closer, to within a few inches of my face. He looked on at me with a curious stare. He didn’t say a word for several seconds. “You don’t fear me, do you?” He asked.
“I fear nothing anymore,” I replied. He immediately turned his back to me.
“I can see that…very well, Acula of Sparta. If you’re successful with this assignment, I have might have another mission for you.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
“For now, take this; it will aid you in your journey,” he said. He handed me a short sword off the table. “Pure bronze,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Is it?” I asked.
“Of course, my finest made it. Most use iron these days, but there’s something classic about the feel of the bronze,” he said. I pulled out my father’s sword, much to Alexander’s surprise. “Now that’s an old sword,” Alexander noted, the barest hint of admiration in his voice. “The style is Spartan, of course.”
“Old, but true. Do you mind if I test this old sword against it?” I asked. “Just out of curiosity.”
“…why, no, but I hate to see you destroy that relic,” he said.
I quickly slammed the new sword against my father’s, and the new sword broke in half like chalk on granite. The broken portion flew across the room as Alexander’s eyes followed it.
“That…that…w-who made it?” he asked.
“My father.”
“I shall enlist him as my craftsman at once,” he said.
I held the sword up in the air, twirling the blade. “Unfortunately, he died long ago, and this is all that remains of him now,” I said.
Alexander shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said, tapping my armor at the chest. “Your father might be gone, but like his sword, his work lives on, as he has crafted a man of true bronze.”
Stay tuned for the continuing adventures of Acula, the monstrous monster hunter!
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A Vampire’s Revenge
Fleur Camacho
A Vampire's Revenge © 2017 Fleur Camacho
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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
A Vampire’s Revenge
HERE COMES THE DEVIL
Detrand, a sexy, mysterious immortal vampire, returns to England to punish the being responsible for the murder of his Maker. Delving into the city full of shifters, fae and other immortal beasts, he encounters a woman with blood so tempting that he can barely control his blood lust.
He will burn the city down to find the killer, but first he may have to submit to the woman who will consume his heart, or he may never know the truth…
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**Intended for adult readers due to sexual situations, violence, and language.**
Prologue
Ameena fingered the stake tucked in the back of her full skirt, considering her next step very carefully. The darkness threatened her from all sides, but she wasn’t scared. No. She reveled in it. She breathed it in, welcoming the stench of death.
Checking behind her to make sure that she had followed the instructions given her to the letter, she pushed open the door. She ascended the stairs purposefully and, facing the locked door, she pulled the ornate brass skeleton key from her pocket.
It glided into the lock and she twisted it sideways, pushing the door back. It slid an inch and then stuck in the door jam, almost as if it didn’t want to open. She shook the handle, thrusting the door back and forth until it finally ripped open, slamming it against the back wall. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, allowing the darkness to swallow her.
She trailed her fingers along the wall until she reached the ledge. Feeling it, she found a candle and matchstick. As soon as she struck it, the smell of sulfur drafted through the air. Her black hair curled in the humidity of the room, and the candle allowed her to see a glimpse of her pale face reflected in the crude mirror placed over the mantle. She smirked at her reflection, noting the deadly set in her eyes. Then she turned to face the middle of the room.
An eerie music played in her mind as she approached the bed and, for a second, fear slammed into her heart so strong that she was tempted to bolt from the room. She gripped the edges of her black skirt, breathing in and out deeply, saying the words that she’d been instructed. Setting her lips in a determined line, she forced herself forward and pulled opened the curtains.
The man was as still as death.
The candlelight revealed his stark nakedness and she grinned, showing her blackened teeth. Oh the fun she could have with him. She dithered, trying to make up her mind. If only she wasn’t a woman of her word.
Raising herself on her tiptoes, she climbed into the bed and straddled the man. Her full and lengthy skirts spread out under her and she tucked them in tightly. Then she blew out the candle, put it next to her on the bed, and let the shadows envelope her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of s
alt. Mumbling a few words, she spread the salt in a full circle around her and threw a pinch over her shoulder for good measure.
Then her athame was in her hand, it was always within easy reach, and she called to it. It sparked to life, the etched runes glimmering a crimson red, like glowing ember eyes. It was warm and comforting in her hand, and she stroked the handle with her thumb.
Her confidence growing, she grabbed the bag swaddled in between her breasts and pulled the drawstring open. The clipped feathers moved under her steady fingers as she pulled two of them out. She centered them in her hand and then sliced deep into her palm with her athame. The familiar metallic smell hit her nose and she bathed the plumes in the deep maroon liquid, soaking them until there wasn’t a speck of white in them.
Satisfied, she raised them to her forehead and closed her eyes. She marked her forehead and sprinkled the man. Then she put the feathers to her mouth and, swallowing them whole, she began to recite.
“Birdy, exaudi vocem meam.”
A slight trickle of blood slid through her lips and dribbled down her chin. She repeated herself, louder. “Birdy, exaudi vocem meam.”
A flutter in her stomach made her groan but she repeated the words, again and again. As her volume grew, so did the ache in her stomach. It traveled up from her stomach to her esophagus, choking off her breath until she spewed the dead bird onto the bedcover. The bird was a raven, coated in blood and as she swept it from the bed, it gathered bits of salt under its wing.