Shades of Blood and Darkness (Templar Chronicles Missions eNovella #1)

by Nassise, Joseph

  His gaze met Cade’s confused one and a wicked grin scurried across his lips.

  "Sorry, boss," he said, without a touch of remorse, and his hand whipped around toward his former leader, a razor sharp set of talons extending from his fingertips and seeking Cade’s face.

  At that exact moment, most likely the result of some undisclosed prearranged signal, the rafters suddenly vomited a scurrying, seething horde of ravenous creatures that descended the walls with spider-like grace and came rushing across the warehouse floor toward Olsen and Riley.

  "It’s a trap!" Cade yelled, throwing himself away from Bishop and out of reach of those deadly claws.

  His warning was unnecessary, however, for Olsen had already caught sight of the swarming horde. Without hesitation the Templar opened fire with his MP 5, pouring 800 rounds per minute into his foes. Riley followed suit, his combat Mossberg booming in the echoing confines of the warehouse in sharp contrast to the buzz of Olsen’ weapon.

  Cade rolled away from his opponent and came up in a crouch, his pistol held securely in his right hand. He could see that Bishop had already risen to his feet and was snarling in rage at having missed his target.

  As his enemy came charging toward him, Cade triggered his Sight.

  In the Beyond, the warehouse was a darker, more ominous place, full of the shadows of pain and suffering caused by the slave-driving mentality of its owners. Here, the true nature of the team’s attackers also revealed themselves, as their thirst for the team’s life force was an almost physical presence pulsing out from them in waves of need and desire.

  There was no mistaking the fact that the warehouse was full of very hungry Ch’iang shih.

  Nor was there any doubt as to what had happened to Bishop.

  Cade calmly noted his former team-mates’ altered condition - his savage hunger, his unholy rage, and his dual existence in both the real world and in the Beyond - and then he was out of time. As his formed team-mate rushed in to savage him, Cade fired point blank into the man’s face.

  Bishop went down, hard, with a bullet hole just beneath his right eye.

  In the fifteen seconds it had taken Cade to dispense with Bishop, Olsen and Riley had littered the warehouse floor with vamp bodies. The staccato stutter of Olsen’ weapon was interspersed with the booming tones of Riley', but still more of the creatures swarmed off the rafters high above and charged toward them. Worse yet, many of those who had gone down were now starting to get back up.

  While Bram Stokers’ fictitious creations had access to regenerative powers, the Chaing ’shih did not. Yet such powers were not really necessary, for their bodies were really nothing more than animated corpses give new life by the hunger and desire of their souls. As such, bullets, even high powered ones from a weapon like Olsen’ MP5, did little to actually stop them. Those Chaing ’shih who had gone down under the Templars’ onslaught did so more from the sheer velocity of the striking ammunition than from any physical harm the bullet might have caused them. A bullet hole to the chest was of little concern for an undead creature and was nothing more than a few moments worth of inconvenience as they were knocked off their feet.

  Cade quickly took in the situation. “Go for their legs, “ he yelled to the others. When it appeared they did not hear him, he stepped up between them and directed his own fire at the legs of his opponents. It only took a moment before his companions caught on to what he was doing and followed suit.

  The warehouse was filled with a cacophony of sound; the bark of Cade’s handgun, the booming sound of Billing’s shotgun, the shrieks and wails of the Chaing ’shih as they were cut down in mid-step by the precision shots of the knights. Conversation between Cade and his men was next to hopeless. It was only the steady training and discipline that Cade enforced on his team that allowed them to operate as a cohesive unit even in the face of such an overwhelming assault. As one man’s weapon would run dry, the others would step up their volume of firepower, allowing him to reload and rejoin the fray.

  Soon, however, their supply of ammunition began to dwindle and then disappeared altogether.

  As one, the knights dropped their weapons and drew their swords. The vamps closed in, anticipating an easier time of things now, only to discover that the knights’ still had plenty of bite left to them.

  In the face of the savagery of the knights’ defense, the vamps retreated to the darkness among the machinery in the far corner of the warehouse. Those wounded that could walk followed suit, while still others, unable to walk due to shattered legs and kneecaps, used their arms to drag themselves along the floor in pursuit.

  The three knights took a moment to catch their breath.

  "Bishop’s gone," Jones said matter-of-factly as he kicked a still twitching forearm away from his boots.

  Having already written off his former teammate, Cade glanced over to his right where he had left Bishop’s body before joining the fray. That section of floor space was empty. Jones was right; Bishop was gone. But had he gotten up of his own accord or been dragged away by his comrades?

  Before Cade could ponder the question further, the vamps attacked again.

  This time they came drifting in and out of the Beyond, so that Jones and Riley were mostly unable to see them coming. Nothing more than an occasional whisper of movement was visible as the vamps streaked in toward them at inhuman speed, flickers of motion they caught out of the corner of their eyes and desperately tried to counter.

  The vamps had not counted on the changes the Adversary had wrought in Cade, however.

  Cade’s Sight showed the vamps clearly, even when they stepped fully across the barrier into the Beyond where they believed they were safe. As the vamps closed in, Cade kept up a constant stream of information, calling out commands to his men, telling them where and when to strike. He danced in and out of the battle like a whirling dervish, his sword flashing in the light, striking his foes with savage grace.

  But his fierceness was not enough. By the time the vamps retreated for a second time, all three of the knights were bleeding from multiple wounds and their energy was getting dangerously low. They would not be able to hold the vamps off for much longer.

  Across the floor the knights could see the vamps gathering together again, preparing for another assault. They must have abandoned their previous tactic, for they were clearly visible to all three of the Templars.

  Grimly, the knights waited for the onslaught.

  Much to their surprise, it did not come.

  At least, not yet.

  The milling group of Ch’iang shih suddenly parted ranks and an Oriental woman of extreme beauty stepped to the front of the group. She was dressed in a traditional Chinese gown of flowing green silk that matched the emerald hue of her eyes. Her midnight black hair flowed loosely across her shoulders and down her back where it hung almost to the floor behind her. One hand held a Chinese war fan across her upper face and even from across the warehouse Cade could see the gold lacquer that covered nails several inches in length.

  Behind her, like a faithful servant, came Bishop.

  His face bore the evidence of Cade’s marksmanship; a large swatch of flesh and bone had been torn away just below his right eye. It did nothing to dim the unholy light in his eyes, however, and only served to increase the hatred in his heart for the living knights standing before him.

  The woman spoke up in a voice like a softly lilting breeze. “Why have you come here?" she asked.

  Cade ignored the question and gave the standard Templar response when encountering a supernatural being. “Your kind is not welcome in this place. You are an insult to the Lord. Renounce your evil ways and let the Order send you to the rest you deserve."

  In a voice pitched so low that only his fellow knights could hear him, Jones said, “You get better at that line all the time, boss."

  Riley laughed at the remark. “He does, doesn’t he? Sure has a way with women, too," the knight joked.

  Cade ignored them, though their quiet humor in
the face of almost certain death made him proud. He had trained them well. He did not expect the Ch’iang shih princess to accept his offer, but the demands of the Code required that he offer such succor to any supernatural creature he encountered. It was a throwback to the days before the Inquisition, when the Order would offer surrender to all their foes before resorting to force. Personally, he thought it to be complete foolishness, but he had taken a vow to follow the Code and where it did not conflict with his own personal mission of vengeance he strove to do so.

  At this point it served to gain him a few more precious seconds to try and figure a way out of their current predicament.

  Cade had no doubt that many a foolish young man had fallen for the woman’s innocent facade but the sudden guttural bark of laughter that escaped from her near perfect lips revealed the animal hidden beneath that glamorous form. Her razor sharp teeth flashed into a smile.

  "You are as arrogant as the commander of the last team that invaded my territory." Indicating Bishop with a disdainful wave of her hand, she said, “Like this one here, I will make you into my personal lap dog for your audacity."

  Cade smiled and all the hatred he’d harbored for years against the agents of the darkness spilled forth from his gaze. Raising his weapon in front of him, he said, “I think you’ll find me more difficult prey than my lieutenant. But feel free to give it your best shot. At the very least, it should make for an exciting end to a fun evening."

  The Ch’iang shih leader snarled, spittle dropping from her lips. With a wave of her war fan she gave the signal for her troops to attack.

  Cade and his men braced themselves for the onslaught, knowing that they had very little chance of surviving.

  The Ch’iang shih dashed forward, their shrieks of rage filling the confines of the warehouse.

  Before they had crossed even a quarter of the distance to their prey, however, the warehouse was suddenly filled with the booming thunder of several dozen firearms and the front ranks of the ravenous creatures were cut apart like confetti.

  Cade glanced behind him, the direction from which the firepower was still continuing.

  High above, on one of the catwalks that crisscrossed the building, stood the members of a second Templar assault squad. They lay down a blistering wave of covering fire over the heads of Cade’s group as other members of their team began flinging hand grenades into the seething mass of oncoming vamps.

  Pure chaos ensued.

  Under such overwhelming firepower the Ch’iang shih stood very little chance of surviving. From his position on the opposite side of the warehouse, Cade watched the vamp leader scornfully turn her back on her followers and disappear back into the darkness.

  With a last angry glance at his former leader, Bishop followed suit.

  The knights and their unexpected allies made short work of the remaining vamps after that.

  When it was over, the rescue squad commander, Davis of Charlie Team, walked over to where Cade knelt on the floor tending to an angry-looking but otherwise shallow wound on Jones’ back.

  “Why is it that Echo always gets the fun assignments?" he asked, jokingly.

  “You call this fun?" Cade asked. “I think its time you got your head examined, Davis."

  “Nah," the other man said, slapping Cade on the back in a wordless show of support for what he and his men had just been through. “I already know I’m nuts. I don’t need some shrink to confirm it for me."

  Cade dutifully laughed and shook Davis’ hand. Charlie Team had pulled their ass out of the fire tonight and Cade was thankful for it. He just didn’t understand how it had happened.

  When asked, Davis just shrugged. “Maybe the big man upstairs was watching out for ya," he said and winked. With another slap on the back he wandered off to direct the clean up efforts, leaving Cade to tend to his wounded teammates.

  “That bitch got away, boss," Riley said, referring to the Ch’iang shih leader, then winced as Cade pulled the bandages around his injured ribs too tight.

  “Bishop, too," Jones added from where he was seated nearby.

  Cade nodded. “I know. We’ll deal with them both at another time. For now, let’s just get you two out of here and back to the commandery. We’ll debrief there."

  Gathering their gear, the three men limped over to the warehouse entrance, now standing wide open to admit the Templar clean up crews that were already mobilizing to wipe any trace of the Ch’iang shih presence from the warehouse. The team slipped across the street to where they had left their vehicle in an adjacent lot.

  After he’d gotten his men settled, Cade turned and gave the warehouse one last look.

  He knew that it would not be the last time they would be hearing from the charismatic vamp leader or from the former Templar who now walked at her side. The Order had encountered another enemy today, one to add to the every-growing list of evils that would have to be dealt with before long.

  But that could wait for another day.

  For now, it was time to take his team home.

  BONUS CONTENT

  If you enjoyed SHADES OF BLOOD AND DARKNESS, here’s an advance look at the first full-length novel in the Templar Chronicles series, THE HERETIC…

  PROLOGUE

  Niall O’Connor watched those around him intently. It was early evening, and the Vienna streets were still crowded, which could make spotting a tail difficult. He was a veteran of this kind of operation, however, and so he took his time, carefully examining his surroundings. When he was certain he hadn’t been followed from the museum, he stepped into the phone booth on the corner and shut the Plexiglas door behind him. Ignoring the mounted public telephone, he removed a satellite phone from his pocket and dialed an overseas number from memory.

  The phone rang several times before it was picked up. O’Connor could sense someone’s presence at the other end, could hear the sound of breathing, but nothing was said, not even hello.

  Into that silence, O’Connor said, “It’s done.”

  “And?” The voice was deep and liquid, like water running over gravel.

  “The Hofberg object is a fake.”

  Another long moment of silence. Then, “And the other?”

  O’Connor thought back to the long hours he’d spent in the Vatican Basilica; the endless lines, the quiet hope of the faithful, the majestic beauty of the cathedral itself. He’d walked beneath Michelangelo’s Dome and examined the pilasters, the four square columns that supported it, paying particular attention to the great statues of the saints - Andrew, Helena, Veronica, and Longinus - that rested in niches within them.

  There was power in the cathedral, great power. He’d sensed its ebb and flow as it reacted to the faith of those inside; in some fashion almost every object within the building had glowed with traces of it. Even the statue of St. Peter, its right foot worn smooth after generations of caresses by the faithful, had glistened with the faintest of auras though it wasn’t known to be anything more than an ordinary sculpture.

  The greatest concentration of power had clearly been beneath the Dome. Three of the four statues that he’d examined had blazed with it, a result of the True Relics each of them contained, relics that were easily discernible to a man of his particular talents.

  But the statue of Saint Longinus, the one supposedly containing the remnant of the Holy Lance, had not. It was barren, bereft of the same spark of Divinity that so encased the other statutes and their contents.

  “That’s a fake, too,” he said.

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  “Very well. Return to us, and we will begin the next phase of the operation.”

  “As you wish.”

  O’Connor closed his satellite phone, put it back in his pocket, and stepped out of the phone booth. Night had come, the Vienna air grown cold and still. He pulled the collar of his greatcoat closer about his neck, glancing around again as he did so. When he was satisfied that he was still
alone, he walked to the end of the street, gazing in contempt at the closed iron gates of the Hofberg palace as he passed. Reaching the intersection, he paused for a moment to light a cigarette, waiting for the traffic signal to change. When it had, he stepped out into the street, confident in the performance of his mission and already dreaming of the ways in which he would spend his exorbitant fee.

  The smile of expectation still on his face, he didn’t see the city bus surge through the intersection against the light, didn’t see the wide front grill bearing down on him until it was far too late.

  O’Connor’s body bounced off the unyielding surface of the speeding vehicle, flipped high into the air and came crashing back down several yards away. From where he lay broken and twisted in the gutter, his dead eyes stared through the windshield of the vehicle at the empty driver’s seat.

  Across the Atlantic, in a darkened room, a grey hand reached out in the half-light and finally replaced the phone, severing the connection.

  CHAPTER ONE

  As the SUV turned in through the torn and twisted wrought-iron gates that had once guarded the entrance to the estate, Knight Sergeant Sean Duncan looked out the window at the destruction around him and knew the rumors were true.

  The devil had indeed come to Connecticut.

  The damaged gates were only the first indication.

  The marble statue of the angel that had stood watch over the entrance to the commandery now rested on its back in the middle of the drive, one wing still stretched wide, the other crumbled into fragments a short distance away. Its stone eyes gazed unflinchingly at the sky above as if searching for repentance. In the grass just beyond, a group of knights were laying out the bodies of those who had fallen in defense of the gate, the long rows designed to make it easier for the mortuary team as they sought to identify each corpse. Duncan crossed himself and said a quick prayer for the dead men’s souls. Farther on, past the lawn, the still-smoking remains of a Mercedes sat in the cul-de-sac before the manor house, the once-fine leather seats cooked to a crisp and melted across the steel springs beneath.