The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  She disappeared, only to reappear instantaneously right in Guthrie’s face, tearing the shotgun from his hands and shoving him backward thirty feet through the air. His spine impacted with a tree trunk, and the sound of wood cracking echoed through the clearing.

  Vampire, I reminded myself a bit frantically. As long as his head’s still attached and there’s no silver sticking out of his chest, he’s fine.

  Edward murmured something low in an unfamiliar sounding language. A shimmer of light like an aurora burst up from the perimeter he’d defined with his own blood. Myrial’s gaze raked over him, and she sneered with disdain before returning her attention to Guthrie lying crumpled at the base of the tree.

  “Word to the wise, bean-counter,” she said. “Salt makes a poor projectile. It’s far too light to penetrate more than a few millimeters into flesh...” Her eyes slid to me, darkness flooding in behind her expression. “... unless, of course, you pack it inside a hollowed-out bullet first.”

  A chill like glacial ice settled in my chest at the reminder of how my mother had died. Myrial hadn’t killed her; of that, I was fairly confident. No—I had the Fae to thank for Sasha Bright’s death, and for my family’s downward spiral in the aftermath. Of course, that wasn’t going to stop Myrial from using Mom’s death as a weapon to distract me, now that the evil cow had decided I needed to die.

  Her eyes glowed with hellfire as she studied me. One eyebrow arched with interest as she sensed my newly undead status.

  I bared my teeth. “Oh, yeah. That’s right, bitch. Being a demon-human hybrid with added Fae magic was getting kind of boring, so I decided to add vampire into the mix. Sorry if that complicated your little plan for world domination, or whatever the fuck you’re trying to do.”

  Rans and Nigellus stepped forward to stand on either side of me. Myrial’s attention slid past us, and I glanced back to find that she was taking in Albigard’s presence as he helped Guthrie back to his feet. The Fae met her eyes squarely and leaned back against the cracked tree trunk with his arms crossed—the picture of indifference. Apparently, he hadn’t been kidding when he told Nigellus that his only interest was in Caspian.

  A sharp whoomph of displaced air snapped my focus back to the demon of fate standing next to me. Nigellus had shed his human guise, and now I was flanked by a creature from human nightmare. Where Myrial’s androgynous natural form exuded grace, from her shapely legs to her spiral antelope horns, Nigellus’ demon guise screamed power. Horns like a ram’s curled backward from the sides of his skull, and muscle bulged from his nearly seven-foot frame. His leathery wings spanned twenty feet easily, each one topped with a vicious, curved claw at the wrist.

  “There is no turning back now, Myrial,” he said, his voice ringing with otherworldly resonance. “Killing innocent humans wholesale? You must know I cannot allow you to destroy the treaty with your treasonous scheming.”

  “Allow me?” Myrial purred; the words smooth as poison. “Dearest Nigellus, how do you plan to stop me?”

  A flaming blade burst into existence in Nigellus’ right hand, and Myrial laughed aloud. As casually as breaking a twig, the succubus snapped the barrel of Guthrie’s shotgun free from the stock at the hinge, and tossed the two pieces aside.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “How very predictable. Come then, O mighty demon of the first rank. Let us see if you can defeat me while also keeping your precious pet vampires alive.”

  My neck prickled as Rans and Nigellus dove forward, attacking as one. Everything about Myrial’s blithe reaction screamed trap, but I couldn’t see where the trap was, or how it might be sprung. There was no one else lurking in the bushes—my vampire senses insisted Myrial was here alone. I drew my salt dagger and swirled into vapor, circling above the two-on-one fight in search of an opening.

  I’d agreed not to engage Myrial directly unless there was absolutely no other choice. As much as it stung, I knew that my paltry few weeks of combat training were essentially useless against a demon, and we’d already proven she was stronger than me when it came to pulling animus as a form of attack.

  As long as I remained incorporeal, there wasn’t a lot she could do to me directly. If the others managed to get her pinned but were unable to deliver a debilitating strike, I would do my best to swoop in and plunge my salt dagger someplace it would do the most good. Hopefully while avoiding falling on my ass during the abrupt transition back to solidity during a fight.

  I was aware of Guthrie circling, as well—ready to provide whatever backup he could, on the off chance that an opening arose. Dad had poked his head out of the back of the van at the first clash of blades, but thankfully hadn’t broken cover any further than that. Edward was standing in the shadow of the vehicle, trying to remain inconspicuous, and Albigard was at the opposite edge of the clearing. Both the Fae and the butler appeared watchful, keeping an eye on the perimeter but not getting involved otherwise.

  That was probably a wise choice. If I’d thought the demon battle in California was awe-inspiring—even with much of the action obscured by torrential rain—it was downright terrifying to watch when I could really follow what was going on.

  As I’d grown more familiar and comfortable with my new vaporous form, I’d come to appreciate the expanded awareness that came with it. It wasn’t exactly the same as seeing, hearing, tasting, and smelling through human senses. In many ways, it was better—more like the awareness I experienced through my magic. I could ‘see’ the three forms ducking and whirling beneath me, swooping in and out of the physical plane at will, with dizzying speed.

  It was almost incomprehensible to a human mind—or to a newly turned vampire one. I knew enough to understand that Rans was desperately outclassed by his very nature, only able to keep up his attack because of the seamless way he and Nigellus worked together. Not for the first time, I ached for the betrayal that had fractured the pair’s relationship—my anger with Nigellus second only to my anger with Myrial.

  As the fight raged on, another fact became apparent. Nigellus had been more badly drained last time than I’d appreciated. In California, he’d been recovering from the massive amount of energy he’d expended resurrecting Edward, after Myrial tore the aged butler to pieces. Now, he was facing no such limitations. The edge of his blade caught Myrial a glancing blow on the shoulder, steam hissing at the contact. For a bare moment, I dared to hope. Could my harebrained plan to disable the succubus actually work?

  I caught a nonexistent breath in nonexistent lungs as Rans took advantage of the opening to jab the salt dagger toward her heart. Myrial twisted, and it sank between her ribs, inches away from its target. And instant later she ripped Rans away from her. He somehow managed to keep hold of the dagger’s hilt, and vanished into mist at the same instant Myrial’s battle scythe sliced through the space he’d just occupied. Then she was teleporting a few steps to the right to avoid Nigellus’ charge, still obviously on the back foot.

  Please, I thought to whatever ineffable powers might be listening. Please, just let us have this one and I’ll never ask for anything else, not ever again—

  Light flared on the far side of the clearing, followed by a sound like crackling electricity. Fae magic prickled through me. I staggered back into solidity a safe distance away from the demons, already clawing for my Makarov semiautomatic with its iron bullets.

  Shit... shit, shit.

  A portal glowed in the nighttime darkness, power arcing from its irregular edges. Albigard stood in front of it, magic glowing from his raised hands. As I squinted against the unexpected glare, he hurled a crackling globe toward the rip in reality, but it met an identical ball of magic emerging from the portal midway, the opposing forces exploding against each other.

  Two figures emerged, the opening snapping shut behind them. My skin crawled with a familiar and unwelcome sense of revulsion. Caspian’s presence here was not a shock. But it took me a moment to recognize the sickening flavor of the other Fae’s magic.

  It was Reefe, the Fae who’d
tortured me on Dhuinne when Caspian’s power wasn’t up to the task. The one who’d nearly torn my magic free of my succubus core, uncaring of the agony he caused in the attempt.

  I lifted my gun, sighting along the barrel.

  The air between us shimmered, distorted by magic as Reefe and Albigard traded reality-bending attacks. My finger tightened on the trigger, the Makarov recoiling in my hand. Neither Fae staggered, the bullet either missing its mark entirely, or deflected by whatever energy Reefe was wielding.

  Caspian’s unnatural green gaze fell on me. He dropped into a crouch, prowling sideways as he lifted a gun of his own. Unthinking, I swirled into vapor before he could fire at me. If I’d expected him to express surprise at my newly undead status, I was disappointed. His face hardened, and quickly turned to take in the rest of the battlefield.

  The fight between Myrial, Nigellus, and Rans was still raging. Caspian stayed behind the cover his companion was providing, as Reefe and Albigard traded magical attacks. I flew around, trying to find a better angle of fire, but then several things happened in quick succession.

  Rans rematerialized in Caspian’s line of sight, going for another dagger attack on Myrial. Guthrie slammed into Reefe, presumably hoping to interrupt his magical defense. Whether it was effective was an open question—Reefe staggered for a moment, but Guthrie went flying backward as the shield of magic around the Fae flickered a sickly yellow-green color.

  And Caspian lifted his revolver, firing several rounds into Rans’ body.

  I rematerialized with a cry of, “No!” and fired wildly at Caspian. He staggered but didn’t fall, even though I was absolutely sure one of the bullets had hit him in the center of his torso. An instant later, both he and Reefe went down hard as one of Albigard’s attacks made it through Reefe’s defense.

  Whirling, my eyes landed on Rans and the demons just in time to see Nigellus stumble beneath a slash from Myrial’s crackling scythe. Rans hadn’t dissipated; the bullets Caspian fired must have been silver, and they were holding him form-bound. Myrial took advantage of the opportunity to pull a pale metal dagger from her belt and slam it to the hilt into Rans’ chest. I screamed another denial as he crumpled to the ground like a discarded doll.

  FOURTEEN

  DARKNESS RUSHED IN around the periphery of my vision—the same darkness that had claimed me when Guthrie drank me to death so he could turn me into a vampire. I fell to my knees, my gun slipping from nerveless fingers. At the edges of my tunneling awareness, I saw Nigellus stagger to one knee, clutching his chest.

  Rans, I thought desperately, as my connection to my body stretched like an unraveling thread. Rans, oh god, I’m so sorry. Wait for me... I’m coming...

  Energy that didn’t belong to me poured into my magical core, pushing back the tide of darkness. I regained awareness to find that I was lying facedown in the grass and damp loam of the clearing. My fingers twitched—I could feel them again, for some reason. With no understanding of what was happening, I pushed against the ground, making it to a crouch and bracing myself there with one hand.

  In the background, I could hear Fae magic colliding again. A dark form blurred past me.

  “You fucking... bastard piece of shit!” Guthrie growled, launching himself at Myrial without strategy or finesse, his salt dagger in hand.

  She caught him around the throat, lifting him one-handed. The haft of her scythe knocked the dagger out of his hand, and she laughed gaily. “Oh, now, this is absolutely priceless. Nigellus, you two-faced cur...you do surprise me!” she said, sounding genuinely delighted.

  Her hand clenched, and something in Guthrie’s neck crunched. She let him go, and he collapsed to the ground next to the motionless, black-clad figure that I could barely bring myself to look at.

  “Nooo,” I moaned, dizzy with the impossibility of Rans lying there on his back with a silver blade through his heart.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to be alive while Rans was dead, not when it was real. Not when it wasn’t a mistake, like the time we’d been on the boat and he’d been shot in the head. That time had nearly destroyed me. And now... this...

  I just... couldn’t.

  My eyes slid to Nigellus, who was still bracing himself on a hand and a knee. The demon’s expression had twisted in a grimace, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Meanwhile, Albigard’s battle with Reefe continued to rage at the other end of the clearing.

  Nothing made sense. Not when Caspian stalked into view, and not when Myrial said, “Well now—this is going to be even more satisfying than I originally thought. Kill the girl, my bloodthirsty little Fae general, and then kill Nigellus’ pet butler. If he brings them back, we’ll just have to keep at it until he gets tired of the power drain, I suppose. I wonder how long it will take?”

  I staggered to my feet, puzzle pieces whirling in my head. Caspian bared his teeth in an expression distantly related to glee. He leveled his gun at my heart, the bullets inside no doubt cast from the purest silver. I stared into the circular black void of the revolver’s barrel, wondering if this would be the thing that would let me follow Rans to wherever he was now.

  Someone lunged in front of me at the same instant the gunshot echoed. My father collapsed at my feet with a gurgling gasp, and my grip on reality slipped a little further as fresh denial clawed at me. Across from me, Nigellus grunted and doubled over.

  I dove forward, landing on my knees next to my dad and rolling him onto his back. He had an arm clamped around his stomach. The smell of blood was overpowering; it welled around his forearm and dribbled from the side of his mouth.

  “Dad,” I said in a wavering voice, my hands hovering uselessly over him before settling over his arm to put more pressure on the wound.

  “This just gets better and better,” Myrial purred.

  My gaze flew to her, burning with hatred, but she was looking at Nigellus, not me.

  Wait—Nigellus! My father was bound to him. He could save—

  He could—

  My thoughts narrowed down to a shining point as the puzzle pieces fell into place. “Oh, my god...” I breathed. In the background, the clash of arcing magic fell silent, but I couldn’t even turn my head to see who had won the fight—Reefe or Albigard.

  “Edward,” Nigellus called hoarsely. “As we discussed earlier. Now.”

  A shimmering wall of magic sprang up in front of Caspian and Myrial. Nigellus let out a choked noise of effort as Edward drew from his demon master’s power to shove the barrier into them. It slid effortlessly over Rans and Guthrie, but sent the Fae and the succubus stumbling backward. Guthrie stirred, his hand going to his freshly healed throat.

  “Someone get the knife out,” Nigellus rasped.

  I gaped at him, uncomprehending, my hands still pressed against my father’s wound. Fortunately, Guthrie seemed to have a few more brain cells knocking together than I did. He rolled into a crouch and jerked the silver dagger free of Rans’ chest.

  “The barrier won’t hold them, sir,” Edward said, his old voice shaking with strain.

  Guthrie’s amethyst-lit gaze flew from Rans, to Nigellus, to me, piecing together the same thing I had. “You asshole. You’ve got Rans bound to you,” he said. “You’re pouring power through him to keep his and Zorah’s souls tethered.”

  My grandfather’s glowing eyes moved to Myrial next, hatred twisting his dark-skinned features. The succubus stepped forward, her aura pressing against Edward’s magic, distorting it. A hint of worry touched her expression, though it didn’t enter her voice.

  “Put the knife down, Leonides.” The order cracked like a whip.

  “Oh, I’ll put it somewhere, you piece of shit,” he said, and plunged the silver blade into his own chest.

  This time, it was Myrial who sagged, her hand flying to clutch at her sternum as Guthrie collapsed to the ground. Caspian lifted the gun toward Edward, but a cry of rage behind him had the Fae spinning around to meet Albigard’s attack instead. The Fae general’s finge
r tightened on the trigger, and Albigard’s body twisted as a silver bullet slammed into his shoulder. Caspian pulled the trigger a second time, and a third, but the revolver only clicked, out of ammunition. Throwing it aside, Caspian drew a shortsword just in time to meet the first slash of Albigard’s iron blade.

  I looked around at the carnage, realizing I was the only one still able to fight. My hands were covered in my father’s blood. He was alive beneath my grip, gasping weakly for air. With a snarl, Myrial shoved again at Edward’s barrier, which wavered and fell. She lunged forward and jerked the knife from Guthrie’s heart, still clutching her own chest as though it pained her.

  That’s right, bitch, I thought, my right hand inching toward the salt dagger at my waist. Revive your most important game piece. It wouldn’t do to lose your vampire blood source when you’re so close to winning the game, now would it?

  Coiling my body, I waited until she was focused on Guthrie, leaning over him intently. The instant I heard a faint gasp indicating he was alive again, I sprang.

  I had two goals. One—bury my dagger someplace soft and vital. Two—avoid getting skewered through the heart with the silver blade she’d plucked from Guthrie’s chest. Myrial looked up in surprise an instant before I reached her, her great wings mantling behind her in warning. The silver blade lifted, and I used my left forearm to block the sweep of the knife with all my strength.

  It wasn’t enough to disarm her. The blade of my salt dagger pierced her right eye at the same time the silver blade slid into my side. The demon’s banshee wail burned my eardrums, but it was nothing to the burn of silver cutting into my flesh.

  Pain didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was winning against this creature who saw other living beings as a means to her own ends, and nothing more. I screamed in her face, twisting the salt dagger viciously before wrenching the hilt upward. It hit Myrial’s orbital bone and snapped, leaving the eight-inch blade embedded inside her skull.