by N M Thorn
A tall woman dressed in a shimmering, silvery dress walked into the room and halted at the foot of the bed, observing Cole with frosty contempt in her oversized green eyes. She was slightly taller than the other two rusalkas, and her face was just as tender and enchanting. She moved with fluid grace, stepping soundlessly on the floor with her bare feet. Her flowing, slightly green hair moved about her in soft waves as if the room was filled with water.
She smiled and glided around the bed to lower herself on its edge. Seizing his chin, she lifted his head just a little and peered into his eyes. As her powerful magic washed over him, Cole moaned, horrified by the realization that his body reacted to her charm more eagerly than he anticipated. Her magical energy felt different from that of the other two rusalkas, its dark touch raising goosebumps on his arms.
“Hello, traveler,” she purred, caressing his cheek, her every move sending more and more magic through him. “Let’s see what kind of beastie you are.”
As debilitating weakness spread through him, he tried to fight, but his body was refusing to obey the command of his mind. She reached forward and forced his lips apart, running her fingers over his teeth. Then she let go and wiped her hand on the sheet.
“Just as I thought,” she said, turning to the other two women. “He is a vampire.” She laughed, slapping his cheek gently. “He might have been able to fight your charm, but his true nature is not going to help him escape my magic.”
She leaned forward, looming over him with malice. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. She didn’t object, but her hand landed on his chest, steadily moving south—touching, probing, exploring. Her malignant magic spread through him, making his entire body pulse and throb with desire, but he resisted with everything he possessed in his frazzled mind.
“He resists,” she whispered, anger making her musical voice deeper. “How can he still fight me?” She seized his chin, crushing it with her fingers, and jerked his head up. “Look into my eyes, vamp!”
A sharp, pulsating pain took hold of him, becoming stronger with every passing moment. His body shuddered and convulsed of its own accord, and his mouth opened, a howl of pain escaping his dry throat.
“Open your eyes, vampire,” she commanded, her long fingernails cutting into his cheeks. “Obey, and the pain will stop.”
He opened his eyes and met the Queen’s malignant stare. A deep shudder rushed through him as for a heartbeat, he saw her true form. The image of a beautiful young woman was just an illusion. Beneath the shimmering layer of magic, there was an old crone with a wrinkled face and yellowish-brown, sharp teeth. Her skin, the color of a swamp, was stretched over her bones, and a large hump decorated her back, bending her forward.
Cole wasn’t sure how he was able to see through her illusion, but at this moment, he couldn’t care less. Seeing her true form broke her charm, setting him free. He rolled over his shoulder and dropped to the floor on the other side of the bed, his sword in his hand.
“Lobasta,” he growled and laughed, feeling the leftovers of the rusalka’s charm being expelled from his body, clearing his mind completely.
“How did you…” she seethed, baring her pointed teeth. She charged at him, vaulting her deformed body over the bed.
Cole sidestepped her, grazing her side with his sword. She hissed in pain and spun in place, bluish-green liquid staining her gray, dirty dress. She lifted her bony arm with deformed fingers and long claws and stared at her own blood dripping off her shaking hand. Cole backed away, searching for a position inside the small room that would give him a better fighting chance.
Iriada cowered in a corner, but her eyes gazed at him with hope and encouragement, her pale lips moving like in silent prayer, her hands pressed to her chest. He searched the room with his eyes for the second rusalka but couldn’t find her anywhere. As he switched his attention back to the Queen, a high-pitched shriek cut his hearing, and something heavy dropped onto his shoulders, a slender but strong arm wrapping around his throat.
Cole reached back with his left hand and seized a handful of hair, eliciting a furious hiss from the rusalka. Using the opportunity, the Queen charged him again, reaching forward with her skinny arms covered in something resembling fish scales. Her gray claws started to elongate, turning into dangerously sharp blades before his eyes. Wrapping the rusalka’s hair around his wrist, he spun in place just in time for the Queen’s claws to pierce her servant’s back.
The rusalka screamed in pain and dropped to the floor, releasing Cole’s neck. Without slowing down, he swung his sword, decapitating her. Her head rolled off her shoulders, falling to the stone tiles with a dull thump. A burst of thick, green blood erupted from her neck before her body finally fell to the side. The Queen backed away, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled the reek of stale water radiated by the paddle of thick, green liquid spreading under the quickly decomposing corpse.
Cole turned toward her, raising his sword to his shoulder. But instead of attacking him, she spread her arms wide and threw her head back. A terrible high-pitched screech erupted from her wide-open mouth. Cole groaned and staggered back, momentarily overwhelmed by the ferocity of the sound.
A few seconds later, the door burst open and at least ten women barged into the room. All of them were armed with swords and daggers and had strange armor on that looked like metallic scales. Quickly assessing the situation, they turned to Cole, their large eyes burning with animosity and unconcealed hostility.
Before they could surround and attack him, cutting all his ways out, Cole jumped on the bed, bending his knees slightly to keep his balance on the soft mattress. His fangs elongated, his fingers turning into claws almost as terrifying as that of the lobasta. A strange burst of energy rushed through him, and his lips drew back into a snarl, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.
For a brief moment, the rusalkas stilled with their mouths open, visibly shocked by his reaction. The illusion surrounding them shimmered, and the image of beautiful women disappeared. Deformed, old hags stood before him, training their swords at his chest. Their gaping mouths were filled with sharp teeth, disgusting green goo dripping from their thin, black lips.
Lobastas… all of them… how can I fight so many of them alone… Cole wrapped his fingers tighter around the grip of his sword, preparing for what could be his last fight. O Lord, if I don’t survive this ordeal, protect my brother…
The calm before the storm was over, and earsplitting shrieks rose in the air as the lobastas assailed him, seemingly coming from every direction at once. Even though they moved almost as fast as him, Cole was still a little faster. He screamed and drove his sword forward. As his blade pierced the nearest lobasta’s armor, he pushed it through her chest in one powerful thrust. The rusalka screamed and grabbed the blade with her hands, struggling to get away. Fueled by anger, a wave of energy rushed through his sword arm. The blade lit up with a bright scarlet light, and the lobasta shrieked, pain turning her already ugly face into a terrifying mask.
There was no fire, but the nauseating reek of scorched flesh polluted the air. The lobasta’s body arched back, her arms flailing, and a moment later, she went down in flames. Cole moved back, away from the hungry fire devouring the monster’s body with an admirable speed. The other lobastas, including the Queen, froze in place, staring at Cole without blinking, and a collective gasp of horror, anger and shock rustled through the room.
“You’re just a disgusting vamp!” screeched the Queen, her green eyes turning the poisonous color of a swamp. “How are you doing this? How did you manage to kill a lobasta? How can you wield the Fire? It’s impossible—”
“I have no idea, but I’m about to find out if I can do it again.” Cole roared and spun around as the lobastas sprang into action, their claws slicing through his flesh. He didn’t care where his blade landed as long as it found a target. Liquid like the water itself, the lobastas kept shifting, moving and exchanging places to avoid his strikes. However, even in the limited space of the r
oom, with his speed and strength, he still had the upper hand, making every strike of his sword count.
A sharp pain in his back made Cole growl more from annoyance than from pain, and he staggered backward until his back with a shrieking lobasta attached to it hit the wall. She yelped, and for a short moment, her grip weakened. While blocking an attack of another monster, Cole slammed his back against the wall again, causing the lobasta to black out and let go of him. As his sword found his next victim, turning her into a stinking pile of ashes and goo, he spun in place, decapitating the unconscious lobasta by the wall with one swing of his blade.
Turning around, he observed the room and rolled his shoulders, feeling the warm wetness of blood as it dripped down his back and chest. Charged with the excitement of the fight and with the strange energy still rushing through him, he couldn’t feel the pain. He didn’t care how severe his injuries were either, knowing that they would heal sooner rather than later.
He stood on top of the bed with the sheets and the mattress soaked with sticky, green goo. All the lobastas were dead, turned into ashes. He stared at the sword in his hand in disbelief. It was a gift from his maker, and Cole had had this sword for centuries. He had been in countless sword fights through his long life, yet never had he experienced anything like this. It was almost as though he were wielding magic.
Impossible. Vampires can’t wield magic.
Shoving the troubling thought to the back of his mind, he switched his attention to the Queen. She stood by the wall, her ugly, grotesque figure cowering in the corner between the wall and the bed, her hand clasping the wound on her side. Her malicious cockiness was gone as she stared at Cole with widened eyes. He jumped off the bed, landing on the floor soundlessly. Not in a rush, he made his way to her and brought his sword up, placing the tip of his blade against her chest.
“What are you?” whispered the Queen. “That was…” Her voice turned into a hoarse whisper as she pointed at his sword. “I have no idea how it is possible, but I know magic when I see it. You’re not a vampire. Vamps can’t cast.”
“Agreed,” Cole snarled, exposing his long fangs. “But my fangs beg to differ. I am a vampire. I’ve been a vampire for over a thousand years. So, trust me, water-bitch, I know what I am. Whatever this was—magic, powers, God or the devil himself—I don’t give a damn. I enjoyed every second of it!”
He thrust his sword forward, forcing it through the Queen’s heart. She didn’t scream. Her mouth opened wider, green goo dripping down her hairy chin, and her eyes bulged as she gripped the blade with both hands. Her skin seared and blistered at the touch of the steel, and a heartbeat later, she collapsed to the floor, her body slowly turning into ashes.
Cole wiped the blade on his pants and turned to Iriada, a faint smirk lifting the corners of his mouth.
“So, now that we’re done with that… where can I find mavka Kostroma?”
Chapter 28
~ Cole Adams ~
Cole followed Iriada through the long hallways and passages of the underwater palace. She moved quickly and soundlessly, constantly glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was still behind her.
“Are there other lobastas in the lake?” he asked, falling into step with her.
“Not here,” she replied without slowing down, “but there are more. Now that their Queen is dead, it’ll be a while before they attempt to come back to our realm, and when they return, we’ll be ready for them.” Her eyes lit up with a furious glimmer, her hair flowing around her in soft waves.
They walked out of the palace through a hidden backdoor and crossed an empty courtyard toward a tall stone wall. Iriada halted in front of it and drew an invisible rectangle in the shape of a door, whispering something under her breath. With a grinding noise, the stone blocks moved and pulled apart, creating a low, narrow doorway. Iriada turned sideways and slipped through the opening, motioning for him to follow.
Cole pressed his hand to his mouth, his eyebrows rising as he assessed the size of the opening. “There is not a chance in hell I can go through this,” he muttered to himself but turned sideways just like Iriada had done and pushed his shoulder through the doorway. To his shock, he slipped through easily, but when he glanced back, the opening in the wall was gone, and the wall remained as untouched and solid as it had been before.
“Don’t worry,” whispered Iriada, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. “I can open this doorway again.”
He moved through a dark corridor, following Iriada, the sound of her steps echoing loudly in the heavy silence of this place. The putrid stench of stale water and drainage assailed his senses, and he pressed his hand over his nose. Dirty water was dripping from the low ceiling, sliding down the slimy walls covered in green goo. Something slipped and moved under his feet, but he didn’t care to find out what it was. The floor was covered in a slushy mix of mud and water, and he had to slow down to keep his balance on the slippery surface.
Soon, the corridor ran into a wooden door with a dirty old lock on it. Iriada touched it and whispered a few words in a language he didn’t recognize. The lock clicked and fell to the floor with a loud bang. She grabbed the handle and pushed, but the door wouldn’t budge. Cole smiled and gently moved her aside. Applying pressure with his shoulder, he pushed with all his strength, and the door moved with a mournful squeak. A musty, unclean smell rushed from the room behind the door, and he stalled for a moment, sharpening his senses.
“We’re here,” said Iriada.
They crossed the threshold into a large hall with a low ceiling. The room was dark, but with his sharp vision, Cole could see a chain of small cells with rusty iron bars lined up against the walls. Iriada moved forward and stopped in front of one of the cells. A black shadow moved in the darkness of the space, rushing toward the entrance.
“Iriada? But how did you get here?” A female voice, hushed and raspy, sounded from behind the bars.
“Kostroma!” Iriada grabbed the bars and hissed in pain, jerking her hand away. “Iron. Dammit! There are no locks on these doors, and I won’t be able to open them with my magic.” She threw an anxious glance back at Cole, her shoulders dropping.
Cole nodded and smirk. “Well, I don’t have magic,” he said calmly. “But I hope we won’t need it.”
He seized two bars and tried to force them apart, the muscles rippling under his skin. The bars screeched, slowly moving under his force. He screamed, applying more strength, and the bars gave in, creating an opening big enough for a person to slip through.
A young woman stepped through the opening he created and halted in front of him. Except for lobastas in their natural form, all types of rusalkas were beautiful, but mavkas had that special, tender beauty that left any man who was unfortunate enough to lay his eyes upon them breathless, making him forget about everything else.
Just like all mavkas, Kostroma was breathtakingly gorgeous, her long blonde hair flowing around her as if carried by a light current. Her large, green eyes slipped up and down his unobstructed torso covered in dried blood and splatters of green slime. But as her gaze halted on the gold pendant on his chest, her lips parted, shaping the letter ‘O’. Her slender arm reached for the chain but halted halfway, her fingers trembling slightly.
“Where did you get it?” she asked, staring straight into his eyes as if she were trying to read his soul.
Detecting a fluctuation of the magical energy field around her, Cole clenched his teeth and averted his gaze. Then he took the chain off and put it in her hand. “Yakov Bruce says hello.” He massaged his shoulder with his hand, feeling an unusual weariness in all his muscles. “He needs the box he gave you in eighteen twelve. Do you still have it, my lady?”
“I do,” she replied airily.
She lifted her hand, her fingers brushing over his lips, but he seized her wrist and stepped back, letting go of her arm.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he said dryly, a crooked smirk curving his lips, “but if one more rusalka forces her fingers into my mou
th to check my fangs, I’ll have to bite.” He gave her a light bow filled with mockery. “I am a vampire, if that’s what you wanted to know. And yes, Yakov Bruce sent me here.”
She gasped and pressed her hand to her chest, a vibe of discomfort lingering over her. “My apologies…” she exhaled, dropping her head. “The Queen must have put you through hell.”
“The Queen is dead,” Cole replied calmly. “I’m sorry, but Yakov is waiting for me on the shore, and time is working against us. I really need that box, my lady.”
“Thank you for helping me and my people.” She inclined her head in a light bow and moved around Cole toward the exit, gesturing for him and Iriada to follow.
Kostroma crossed the hall and halted by the door, staring at Cole with doubt in her green eyes. “It’ll be a lot easier if I use a portal,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “It’ll be a little unpleasant for you, but if you don’t mind some discomfort, we could get the box a lot faster.”
“Go for it.” Cole nodded.
She turned her back to him and started to chant, accompanying her words with a circular motion of her hand. The air in front of her shimmered like a mirage, and a large vortex filled with rotating water opened before her.
“Iriada,” she said, a warm smile playing on her lips, “please help our friend through the portal. I don’t want him to suffer…” Her voice trailed as she turned to Cole. “Brace yourself.”
She jumped into the portal headfirst as if she were diving into a lake. Iriada stepped next to Cole and took his hand.
“We’ll go together.” She smiled, stepping closer to the whirlpool. “It’ll be quick. Just don’t let go.”
She stepped closer, wrapping her arm around Cole’s waist, and they dove into the swirling mass at the same time. Streams of water enveloped him in their icy embrace, completely immobilizing him. Even though he didn’t need air, for a brief second, he felt as if he were drowning. His lungs burned, and his muscles spasmed painfully. He opened his eyes but could see nothing but the blur of twirling water. Fear—overwhelming and debilitating—squeezed his heart, and he jerked, struggling against the hold of the portal.