The Damned

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The Damned Page 20

by Nancy Holder; Debbie Viguié


  Holgar frowned. “Friend?” he asked, also in English.

  “I’ve been forging an alliance between your pack and myself. We’re going to work together to do great things,” the vampire said with a smile, flashing his fangs.

  Holgar could feel the evil rolling off of him, and it made his hackles rise. He looked to his father for confirmation, and his father nodded. There was a light in his father’s eyes that he didn’t like. The look of him, the smell, reminded Holgar of the night his father had taken down the hunter in the forest.

  “Father, they kill people,” Holgar said softly.

  “Yes,” his father said, his grin growing broader. His dark blue eyes shone in his tanned face. “And this alliance will ensure that we no longer have to disguise what we are from the world.”

  Holgar whined in his throat and hunched his shoulders. “It’s wrong,” he whispered.

  Quick as a flash his father backhanded him across the mouth, so hard that Holgar tasted blood. There were consequences for questioning your alpha. Holgar had never before given his father cause to strike him. He had always been the good wolf, the one who knew his place, the one who followed his leader. But in his heart he knew that this was the wrong path and that it could only lead to destruction.

  His father glared at him, and Holgar dropped his eyes submissively, standing as though he’d tucked his currently absent tail between his legs.

  “Better,” his father said.

  After the creature left, and they were alone, his father challenged him:

  “What are you thinking?”

  “It’s wrong to kill for sport, and that’s what they do,” Holgar said. “I know. I’ve seen their hearts.”

  “And have you not seen mine?”

  “We’re better than this, Father. We have a good life here,” Holgar said, wincing as he waited for a second blow to land. It never came, though, and when Holgar raised his eyes, he saw that his father was amused.

  “You’re naive, son, and that’s probably my fault. This is not a good life. This is boring. Hunting deer for sport? That is beneath us. We have a chance for greatness, and we will take our rightful place in history. Humans are just another form of prey. Evolution decrees that the stronger, the more evolved, live off the lesser. For millennia we’ve allowed humans to think they were the top of that evolutionary scale. No more.”

  “So, you’re going to be the Cursed Ones’ lapdogs?”

  His father bared his teeth and growled low in his throat. “Not lapdogs; partners. Where they have been cursed, we have been blessed. It’s balance, harmony, that we should join together. Equals in the new order. Tomorrow I’ll call a pack meeting, and everyone will meet our new partners.”

  There was no talking him out of it, Holgar could tell. He dropped his head and went to his room, where he spent a restless night.

  The next day the pack met in the Vibbards’ barn, which served as their meetinghouse. Kirstinne remained with her parents, flirting with Holgar from across the room. But he stood aloof and watched as his father delivered the news, hoping to see signs of dissent. He wasn’t strong enough to oppose his father, but some of the others were.

  Yet none of them challenged his father. They all agreed with him. He looked around at the faces of some of the others closer to his age, and they too seemed eager—excited, even—to move ahead with the plan. He couldn’t see Kirstinne’s face, but he hoped she shared his resistance.

  “Now, we’ll get a chance to meet our partners in about an hour. Until then, enjoy the food,” his father said, gesturing to the tables that had been set up around the perimeters of the room.

  The smell of the bloody deer meat made Holgar’s stomach growl, but he had more pressing needs than food. As he listened to the excited chatter, Kirstinne sidled up to him, nuzzled his cheek, and picked up a haunch of meat. She offered it to him first, and when he waved it away, she took a nibble. As she chewed, her expression was thoughtful, and that gave him hope.

  He took her arm and led her outside, away from prying werewolf ears.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  She tried to pop a little piece of deer meat into his mouth. He gently rebuffed her.

  “I’m not sure. It sounds . . . interesting. It just seems so odd, especially given what we were talking about yesterday.”

  “It’s wrong,” he pushed.

  She shook her head slowly. “Not wrong, just one possibility.”

  Frustration rose in him. “The Cursed Ones are evil, and it is wrong to join them.”

  Kirstinne put down the chunk of meat. “What are you saying?”

  “I can’t challenge him. I can’t stop this partnership from forming. But I don’t have to stay here to see it happen. And neither do you.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  Holgar took a deep breath and grabbed her hand. “I’m leaving. I don’t know where I’m going to go just yet, but I’ll figure it out. I want you to come with me.”

  She stared at him for a moment before pulling free and taking a step backward. She shook her head violently. “I can’t. This is my life, my family. I can’t leave my pack. And I can’t believe you, of all people, would ask me to.”

  “We can start a new pack,” he begged, heart aching at the look of rejection in her eyes.

  “No! I can’t. This is where I belong. I follow my alpha, no matter what,” she said.

  “But Kirstinne!”

  She put her hand on his. “Stay, Holgar, please. I won’t tell anyone about this.”

  Stunned, he stared at her. “I can’t stay,” he whispered.

  “Then there’s nothing left to talk about,” she said, with a catch in her throat. Without another word she turned and ran back toward the house, passing his father on the way.

  Holgar stood his ground as his father approached. “She looks upset.”

  Holgar shrugged. “We both are.”

  His father’s blue eyes narrowed. “So are our new friends. I just got a call. Apparently, one of them went missing last night. They’ve asked for our help to find him.”

  “Don’t you have better things to do than look for one of their prodigals?”

  “It’s a gesture of goodwill and faith. Come back inside so I can brief everyone together. We’ll start a hunt, find out when and where he was last seen. Hopefully, he just passed out in a strange lair last night. With any luck he won’t be missing for long.”

  Holgar knew this was a moment he would never forget, no matter the outcome. His father had chosen the pack’s path. And Kirstinne has chosen hers, he thought with genuine sorrow. With his next words he would choose his.

  After a beat Holgar said, “He’s not missing.”

  “He’s not?” his father asked, looking perplexed.

  “No.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “Wherever dead vampires go, I suppose.”

  His father blinked. “He’s dead? How do you know this?” his father asked sharply.

  “I was the one who killed him.”

  His father looked like Holgar had slapped him. “There must have been some mistake,” he said at last.

  “No mistake. He was a vampire, and I killed him. And I’m not going to stay and make nice with the Cursed Ones.”

  His father turned white with rage. “Are you challenging me?”

  “No, Father,” Holgar said, his heart breaking. “I’m leaving you. All of you.”

  And he turned on his heel and walked away.

  Three months later, tired, hungry, and covered in fresh scars, Holgar stood at the gates of the University of Salamanca. He had won a dozen fights with vampires, mosdy through sheer luck and stupidity. But he wanted to fight so that he could kill them through skill and practice. Now he intended to spend the next two years training, studying, trying to become a Hunter.

  From what he understood, the Hunter was a lone wolf, like him. Holgar had crossed the paths of two other werewolf packs. In neither case had he asked permission to join.
Though he had physically left his pack, he could not let go of them emotionally. He had never imagined a life without them. When he slept alone after a hunt, he dreamed that they surrounded him, telling him that they’d been wrong and he was right. His father and Kirstinne joyfully reunited with him.

  But it was only a dream.

  Now he looked up at the massive gates, all gingerbread and bric-a-brac, so unlike the simple lines and spareness of decoration preferred by Danes. He had never seen anything so ostentatious.

  LAS VEGAS

  TEAM SALAMANCA MINUS ANTONIO;

  TAAMIR AND NOAH

  Until now, Holgar thought as he stared at the sea of flashing lights that made him squint against the brightness. It was so intense that it hurt. And his ears picked up the sounds of traffic, and the clanging of whistles, sirens, coins, and bells as they passed each casino entrance. It was nearly deafening, and he wondered how the Cursed Ones could stand it.

  “Where do you think we’ll find her?” he heard Jenn ask.

  He glanced to the other side of the street and then pointed. “Somehow I think that’s where we need to go,” Holgar said.

  The sprawling building’s ancient Roman architecture, with white gardenlike statues, was very distinctive. The sign for the hotel appeared to have been altered; the letters in the first word were brighter and in a slightly different font than those in the second.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jenn said flatly.

  “Ballsy,” Jamie said, his voice almost admiring.

  “It’s got to be a trap,” Eriko said.

  “There’s a bit of cheek,” Skye groaned, as she read the sign aloud: “‘Aurora’s Palace.’”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Salamanca Hunter’s Manual:

  The Soul of Your Enemy

  Know this: The Cursed Ones have no souls. Neither pity nor prayer can restore their souls unto them. They are truly, hopelessly evil.

  Therefore, when it is the time to strike, do not be moved by your own grace and goodness. Mercy is as useless as a teaspoon riddled with holes would be against an incoming sea.

  (translated from the Spanish)

  SALAMANCA

  HEATHER AND FATHER JUAN

  She remembered her name. She blinked slowly at the memory. Heather. She said it out loud, testing it on her tongue. “Heather.” The word barely came out as a tiny puff of air. Another memory stirred. Someone else had called her by this name. When was it?

  She shook her head slowly. She couldn’t remember. She looked down and saw her inhaler crushed in her hand, the plastic cracked and flattened as though it had been run over by a truck. She brought it slowly to her lips and tried to inhale.

  And panicked.

  There was no breath in her lungs.

  In fact she wasn’t breathing at all. She gasped, sucking in air. Her lungs seared. Terrified, she recoiled, and her head slammed against the metal bars of her cage. She tried to scream, but it came out as a breathless screech that she couldn’t even recognize.

  What happened to me?

  She heard someone coming. When she tried to breathe in, she smelled them. The door on the far wall clanked open, and she covered her ears against the sound.

  “Heather?” someone asked softly.

  “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

  Silhouetted in the doorway, a figure wearing a robe hurried forward. He was an older man, and he looked familiar. He carried a goblet of some sort in his hand, and her stomach lurched hungrily at the rich and spicy smell.

  He stopped in front of her cell, and she took another tentative sniff and smelled blood.

  Blood.

  She wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything else. Only she didn’t want it from the goblet; she wanted it from the source, from him. She wanted to bite his throat where she saw the vein pulsing above his priestly collar.

  I’m a Cursed One, she realized with sudden, dizzying horror. Oh, God, no. But that could only mean one thing.

  Jenn didn’t save me.

  LAS VEGAS

  TEAM SALAMANCA MINUS ANTONIO; TAAMIR AND NOAH

  Jenn kept her head down as they checked into the Desert Blossom. Even though she was heavily disguised in a black wig and sunglasses, she still felt completely exposed.

  She tried to force herself to relax. After all, Skye had also put a glamour on her. When Jenn had looked at herself in the bathroom mirror at the airport in Moscow, though, she had still seen herself. She had wanted to ask Skye if that was normal or if there was something wrong.

  But the witch had been so distraught that Jenn had decided to leave her alone for a bit. Now she deeply regretted that decision.

  “Are you sure I look all right?” she whispered so softly that only Holgar could hear her.

  He turned, looked her up and down, and frowned. Jenn grimaced.

  “What?”

  “That glamour makes your butt look big,” he dead-panned.

  She grinned faintly. “I knew I could count on you.”

  A few minutes later, after they’d all settled into adjoining rooms, they reconvened in Jenn’s. Pleasant, with whitewashed furniture, art prints of howling coyotes and cacti, and bedspreads in Southwestern colors of brick and turquoise, it was almost homelike.

  “How did you know about this hotel?” Eriko asked. “It really is off the beaten path.”

  “I came here with my family for my grandfather’s sixtieth birthday,” Jenn said. “He had always wanted to see Vegas, but we needed to keep a low profile.”

  “Low profile?” Noah asked.

  Jenn realized she hadn’t really told any of the team about her grandparents. “They were radicals in the 1960s,” she said, and everyone stopped to listen. “They’ve been . . . my grandmother has been . . . underground my whole life.”

  “‘Underground’ means hiding out from the government,” Skye explained to Taamir and Noah. Then she blushed. Jenn figured it was because after the war started, witches had gone underground too, to hide from the vampires.

  “Impressive,” Noah said. “So they were the resistance of their day?”

  “They believed they were fighting for a just cause,” Jenn said. She heard the tentativeness in her own voice.

  “This is the same grandfather you mentioned back in Russia,” Noah ventured.

  Jenn nodded. “There were three guys in suits and shades up at my grandfather’s funeral. One of them, Greg, was wearing a black cross, and he spoke with my grandmother.”

  “Were the other two wearing crosses?” Taamir asked.

  “I never got close enough to tell,” Jenn confessed. “But that was when Greg told me I had big shoes to fill. And that there were people who were hoping I would fill them.” Her voice was soft; she was feeling shy about her leadership position. It seemed like some strange dream that they had unanimously agreed that she should take over the team. Even Jamie had said so. Now she wondered why. Father Juan had told her she was special. But she didn’t see it. Didn’t understand any of it.

  “So the black crosses were following you to Moscow,” Taamir said tightly.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. If they’re so keen on you, why don’t they actually speak to you?” Jamie demanded. He was sitting on her bed with his boots on the spread. Jenn gave him a look that he either ignored or didn’t catch. “See, no matter where we run into them, they just push us out of the way.”

  “But we know they know who we are. And they got us back to Madrid from New Orleans,” Holgar argued.

  “And boy did that freak out Father Juan,” Skye said. She gazed into her scrying stone, then rested it in her lap.

  “Freaked me out too. All of us.” Jamie moved his head, cracking his neck. The loud snaps of his bones startled Jenn.

  “I don’t like it. Any of it. You’re all very reckless,” Noah said. “In the Mossad—”

  “The Mossad ain’t here, mate,” Jamie snapped, cracking his knuckles. “And we are.”

  “
Except for Antonio,” Skye pointed out.

  “Yeah, well,” Jamie said, then muttered something Jenn couldn’t hear.

  Silence filled the room. Jamie pulled out a pack of cigarettes and toyed with them. Skye picked up and examined one of the decorative pillows on Jenn’s bed, and made a face at Jamie, gesturing toward his boots.

  The boots did not move.

  “So. You came to this very hotel with your grandfather,” Skye pressed on.

  “Yes,” Jenn said.

  It had been a happy trip. Her grandparents, her parents, Heather.

  Heather.

  She felt guilty at the thought of her sister. She had been so worried about Antonio that she had nearly forgotten about her. Jenn hoped that Heather was all right and that Father Juan was helping her adjust to her new life—while still being Heather. In her heart, though, she didn’t believe there was much hope, especially without Antonio there to guide Heather through the bloodlust. She shivered.

  Jenn closed the blinds, then dumped her bag on the bed, forcing herself to concentrate on the present situation. Because of the airline regulations they’d had to leave their weapons behind, and that had made all of them unhappy.

  Eriko flopped down onto one of the beds with a bone-weary groan.

  “You okay?” Jenn asked.

  Ever since they had found Eriko half dead, the Hunter hadn’t seemed right. She had super healing abilities, but instead of getting better it seemed almost like Eriko was getting worse.

  Maybe she’s just getting worse at hiding her condition. Maybe it’s always been bad.

  Skye studied her scrying stone again. She was still really shaken by the encounter with Estefan in Russia. Jenn had been waiting until she calmed down to ask her more about it, about him, but she was starting to worry that Skye wasn’t going to calm down.

  We’re falling apart. We’re spent. And now, now we have to rescue Antonio. Aurora’s Palace. I can’t believe her nerve! How are we going to get In there to find him, let alone rescue him?

  She remembered walking through the original hotel as a child. It was enormous, and the shopping area alone was a marvel, with a ceiling that mirrored the sky and changed to reflect the time of day. What was it like now? Perpetual darkness?

 

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