Dark Hunt: Division 4: The Berkano Vampire Collection

by Nicole Zoltack

  “That’s the way of the world. At least the way of this division, thanks to your queen. Do you get down on your hands and knees and lick her shoes clean? Because she walked through a lot of filth to get to the top. She broke the backs of vampires to ascend to power. She wants to abolish us all. If she could, she would round us up and have her bulls annihilate our kind. Honestly, I’m surprised she doesn’t take a more ancient route in killing us.”

  Seraphine hesitated, clearly wanting the witch to ask her for more details. He refrained, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of holding his interest. Honestly, he wished he could bring her in. Yes, she had assaulted him, but he wasn’t hurt, and he had fought back. The situation didn’t quality as grounds for an execution.

  Yet with her hatred, disgust, and anger, it was only a matter of time before her base instincts took over. She would kill a witch. He was certain she would.

  The vampire narrowed her eyes in frustration, and Antoine chuckled to himself, amused at her plight.

  “Gladiator style. Have us fight each other. Round up all the vampires and promise the victor spoils. A lie, of course. When only one vampire remains, it would be so simple for witches to kill him.” She flashed her fangs. “Or her.”

  “Gladiator pits are despicable,” he said dryly. “The queen would never opt for something so cruel and vicious.”

  “Because public executions via guillotine are not cruel or vicious.”

  “For murders, the crime must be severe,” he countered. “It is supposed to serve as a deterrent.”

  “But us vampires are so stupid and ignorant that we can’t control ourselves. As if some witches don’t try to take on more than they should. As if you all are immune to the lure of power and prestige. Blood sacrifice—”

  “Is expressly forbidden. No witches practice that form of magic.”

  “Are you certain about that?” she challenged.

  From the look on her face, that fierce glint in her eyes, she believed what she was saying.

  Antoine hesitated. He did not trust her, but just in case…

  “If you see any such magic being practiced, come and tell me.”

  She snorted, disgusted. “As if you would accept my word on anything. You doubt me already.”

  “Without specifics, how can’t I?”

  “You and your queen. You have no idea what actually happens in the division. The pain, the suffering… It’s not just vampires who are hurting either.”

  She took a single, deliberate step toward him. Her features twisted with sorrow. “Hernando was not a terrible vampire. Yes, he did wrong by Alois Schmidt. Yes, he should have been punished. Maybe I can even accept that he had to die. But for it to be displayed for all the division to see… for it to be a sight of hatred and scorn… The queen uses it to spurn more fear and anger toward vampires. It’s no wonder we want to lash out, to fight.”

  “So you admit that vampires’ first instincts are to fight and prey on others?”

  “No.” Her voice was haunting, sad, and sorrowful. “To defend ourselves. To protect ourselves. We have no magic, but we are powerful, and we will not submit and be wiped out.”

  “Have you killed humans? Or a vampire?”

  Seraphine hesitated.

  “Have you committed crimes against the division?” Antoine pressed.

  “Turning this into an inquisition, are you?” Her laugh sounded hollow. “If you wish to force me onto the guillotine platform, you’d better be one of the strongest witches in the division. I will not go willingly into that foul day.”

  “Is that a challenge?” he growled.

  “Yes.” She launched herself at him.

  Antoine’s lips vibrated as if speed talking, and harsh winds whipped out to throw her aside. She anticipated the attack and adjusted position so swiftly she became a blur, sidestepping his gust attack.

  One of her legs swept out, knocking him onto his back. Antoine blasted her with another gust. She struck against a wall hard enough to leave an indentation.

  Pounding hooves nearly knocked Antoine to his feet. The bulls were thundering down nearby streets, seeking out vampires.

  The queen’s control of them was strong enough to keep the bulls patrolling despite weather conditions in any season. All night long, they were vigilant in their perusal. During the first few nights, the bulls had accidentally killed the vampires they encountered. The queen had ordered those bulls slain. She wanted the vampires to stand trial accordingly, which meant they had to be brought in. Ever since, each bull’s horns were magically enhanced. One slice of a vampire and the fanged monster would lose consciousness. The beasts would then carry them to Château des Flammes.

  Bulls ignored witches entirely. The magical animals protected humans until dawn.

  At the sound of stomping hooves, the vampire glanced around wildly. Antoine could use his wind to keep her there until a bull found her.

  Before he had a chance, she crossed over to him, threw him onto the ground, and gripped his throat again, with fingers not claws. Her face was inches from his.

  “Think about what I said.”

  Using her vampire speed, she climbed the nearest building to the roof. By the time the witch was back on his feet, she had jumped enough roofs to be out of sight.

  Three massive bulls patrolled the street. The queen fed her animal workers well, and these beasts were muscled beyond belief.

  For a long moment, Antoine hesitated, staring at the rooftops. If the vampire had wanted to, she could have killed him during his careless moment of indecision. He should never have delayed attacking her. He was the new vampire executioner after all! He was a disgrace!

  Her last words sprang to mind. Think about what I said.

  And that was exactly what he did as he made his way back to his small house near Château des Flammes.

  4

  Anger, rage, and frustration kept Seraphine company as she jumped and rolled from rooftop to rooftop. Why had she talked to that witch for so long? Why had she hesitated to kill him not once but twice?

  By the time she reached her home, she knew why.

  The beer.

  The wine offered at The Mean Gladiator was watered down even though in fairly decent supply. The last few grape harvests had been poor. To ensure their vintage did not run out, year after year, the establishment owners watered the wine more and more.

  Only the queen ever drank beer.

  The alcohol had been far more potent than Seraphine had anticipated. Because she had so little blood coursing through her veins, the alcohol affected her more than usual.

  And her tongue.

  And her judgment.

  Damn.

  At least the witch did not know her name. She did not know his either, but the rumors would be starting shortly. No secrets lasted long in Ville de Liberté.

  As Seraphine neared her home, she became more feverish and worried over what she had said.

  The queen was vicious and vindictive. She would soon give up this mockery of justice and have all vampires hunted down and killed. Seraphine was certain of this. The queen’s quest for power would never end. After all, she had gained her position of power only after her mother died under mysterious circumstances.

  One day, the current queen’s mother had gone out to tend to her royal garden. There, she was said to have had a heart attack. Supposedly, no one could heal or revive her.

  But one witch Seraphine knew had whispered that she’d seen the event in the garden. The princess’ lips had been moving. A spell? Why hadn’t the queen been wearing any protection charms? The notion that the monarch would go anywhere, even on royal grounds, without a talisman struck Seraphine as false. Any talisman or charm should have prevented magical foul play.

  Seraphine hadn’t lied when she’d said some of the vampires executed had been innocent of their crimes. To protect the guilty, the innocent accepted the consequences. They knew if they tried to declare the truth, the queen would never allow them to go free. She woul
d search and find someone to come forward who claimed they had witnessed another crime.

  After all, vampires were detestable, terrible monsters. Everyone knew that.

  On top of a building that had once been a church, Seraphine hesitated and squatted. Her gaze fell to the ground. The bulls marching in the streets were massive. Every year, their girth increased beneath glittering horns, the magic almost visible to the naked eye.

  How many vampires would be caught on this night? Seraphine knew better than to hope the answer would be none.

  That vampire executioner would gladly wield his axe again for the crowd to see.

  Bitter disgust filled her. This was her life. Lurking in the shadows. Denying her thirst. Trying to help those she cared about.

  But ignoring the plight of her people wasn’t an option. Yes, Hernando had been justly killed for his crime. However, the week before, Yvonne Pan had not forced a witch to steal from the queen. The witch had done that himself. The moment he had been caught, however, the witch blamed it on the pretty Yvonne. Vampires and humans alike thought Yvonne one of the most beautiful creatures in the world. Most likely, her fame was why he had blurted out her name.

  Yvonne had been like Seraphine. The two struggled with their thirst. Some vampires accepted their craving for blood, accepted it was necessary. Seraphine hated to take from anyone, whether it was assistance, pity, or blood.

  But Seraphine was going to need help and lots of it.

  She was sick and tired of watching vampires being hunted by enchanted bulls.

  She was sick and tired of watching the bulls hunt them down night after night.

  She was sick and tired of watching the queen—the smug, indignant queen—order the execution of countless vampires.

  She was just plain sick and tired.

  The vampire slayings had once been a monthly affair, if that. Now, there was one every other day. Soon, it would soar to multiple a day. Seraphine could already picture the gleeful swing of the axe over and over again. A parade of magically weakened vampires would be forced to die beneath the blade. Blood would rain down on the land. Humans would cheer and praise the witches for saving them from the terrible vampires. Witches would be pleased because humans weren’t powerful enough to end their reign of power and corruption.

  That would not happen. Not while Seraphine lived.

  She straightened and jumped. A bull at the far end of the alley halted, sniffed, lowered his head, and charged.

  Seraphine waited to leap out of his way until she could smell the cinnamon and vanilla magic on his horns. She landed on his back, facing his rear. With her great strength, she raised his tail until his hind legs lifted off the ground.

  In one swift move, she slid beneath his body, reached up underneath his ribcage, and punched through his hide. Her hand closed around a lung first, but then she located his heart. In the blink of an eye, she yanked it out.

  Her feet slipped on the blood as she squirmed between his legs to stand over him. The giant bull gave a violent shudder and collapsed, hardly uttering a sound.

  She dropped the heart beside his shattered torso and rushed back up the side of the church.

  The queen would take this as a personal slight.

  That was exactly how she’d meant it.

  A threat. A warning.

  A new beginning.

  Seraphine never made it to her dwelling. Instead, she cut back northward to return to The Mean Gladiator.

  Inside, she found little space to walk around. The bright red walls brought to mind her bloody hands. She pushed through the crowd to stand behind the bar and grabbed a pitcher of water.

  The waiter glared at her, but when he saw her wash the blood away, he said nothing. She nodded to him and was shocked when he winked and handed her a drink.

  “Bloody Jorge,” he said.

  Her mouth watered. Normally, the pub only offered the watered-down wine. Of late, after a vampire execution, someone from the pub would hunt down a human. Vampires would capture that human to be a blood bag for the pub.

  “Jorge alive yet?” she asked.

  “For now.”

  She accepted the glass, closed her eyes, and drained it in three large gulps. Immediately, warmth flooded through her veins. When she reopened her eyes, her sight was much sharper, more precise.

  Seraphine nodded to the bartender and stepped out from behind the bar. Torches enclosed within open glass containers dotted the walls. Even their light failed to illuminate the place. Every seat was occupied. Only five tables dotted the entire floor, but there were hundreds of high-backed chairs scattered around the room. Most had been broken and fixed a hundred times over, and the faux gold paint had long worn off most of them.

  For many vampires, this was their home.

  After a few nods, smiles, and waves, Seraphine made her way to the far right corner.

  Baltasar Torres grinned recklessly and patted his lap in eager anticipation. “Seraphine! Sit! I insist!”

  “Another time,” she said.

  But the olive-skinned vampire already had his beefy hands on her waist. He dragged her closer and twisted her around so she could sit on his lap with her back to him.

  She spun away, grabbed his wrists, and bent them back. “I said another time. I did not mean it. Forgive me. I meant never.”

  Seraphine applied enough tension to his wrists that she heard two pops.

  He winced, yanked free, had to lean forward and grab his glass with his mouth as his wrists flopped around. Once he swallowed the blood, his wrists healed, and he shook a thick finger at her.

  “You will rue spurning me.”

  “I’ll survive,” she said. “Are you still in the Day Drinkers?”

  “You bet. Do you finally want in with us at least?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  The Day Drinkers were a clan of vampires who risked going out during the sun-poisoned hours. They were powerful vampires, although not as strong as the Berkano breed. The Berkano clan had existed before the Rift and was known as the worst of the worst, even in vampire circles.

  Baltasar’s group was so powerful they even had a basic grasp of magic. The leaders wore traje de luces they had recovered from the olden days. Their refashioned sequins and reflective silver threads into drawn symbols lured humans to them. Each member had red magically infused muleta to further entice the humans. The muletas also helped keep the witches from seeing the Day Drinkers.

  Seraphine glanced around the bar. Other vampires sitting and standing nearby seemed concerned with their own conversations and blood drinks. No one was paying attention to her.

  Good.

  She leaned closer and whispered, “What I want to know is if the Day Drinkers might be up for a little nighttime fun?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  Disgusted, she slapped his shoulder hard.

  His nostrils flared, the only sign he gave that the blow hurt.

  “You want a rush?” She grinned. “There’s nothing like killing one of the bulls. You guys have the outfits. Why not upgrade from bullfighters to bull killers?”

  “You do know the penalty if we’re caught—”

  “Is execution. I know. Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

  “Of course not. The queen is going to be royally frustrated. She’ll be so pissed she’ll declare war on all vampires.”

  Seraphine smiled vindictively. “That suits me just fine. I want to start an uprising. This will be just the beginning.”

  5

  The shrill scream of undying agony stirred Antoine. He had not slept well. The vampire’s voice still echoed in his mind, but not all the words mirrored her earlier sentiments.

  “You’re worthless. You’re pathetic. You’re a disgrace. You don’t deserve your place, your status, your wealth.”

  In actuality, those exact words had been uttered by the queen to a witch who had failed her. Unlike what the vampire in the alley had said, the witch in question had been removed from the q
ueen’s circle of protection. She could hardly be expected to keep an incompetent employed on her staff.

  To hear the words voiced again by the vampire made him realize just how strong and forceful they were.

  No matter. The queen had been justified.

  Another scream rent the air, forcing him to recall why he had been disturbed from slumber in the first place.

  The source of the sound seemed to come from Château des Flammes. At once, Antoine grabbed his sapphire ring and placed it on his finger. Normally, he never removed it. Tonight, his unease and anxiety had caused him to play with it, and it had become a distraction. His mother had instilled the protection charms within the gemstone. First, she’d given the ring to his father. When he passed away, she’d bequeathed it to Antoine instead of having it interred in stone with his father.

  Thick curtains in Antoine’s house prevented any light from entering, so it was not until he left that he realized day had come. The sun shone weakly. Clouds marred the sky. Storms would arrive shortly.

  He rushed to the château, along with every other protector, on duty or not. Those currently serving the queen stayed outside her door. Surely, those two could handle any situation, but Antoine was not one to hesitate.

  Worried and anxious, Antoine raced ahead and was first to reach the grand doors of the château. The normal guards were not at their posts, and that only increased Antoine’s growing fright.

  He bounded up the broken and uneven steps, but the queen’s chambers were empty.

  The other protectors spread out to explore the rest of the château, but Antoine entered deeper into the chambers. From the crumbling balcony, he could see to the minor courtyard where the bulls had returned from their nightly duty.

  There, at the wrought iron gate, stood the queen and her guards. Her hair was wild, half out of her twin braids. She shrilled again.

  Antoine stepped out onto the balcony.

  The queen’s gaze shifted from the bulls to him.

  “Antoine,” she said, her voice still several pitches above normal. “One of my bulls has not returned. Someone killed him. It must have been a vampire. Who else would do such a thing? You must, as the vampire executioner, go out and locate the killer. Bring the vampire to justice. That is your duty.”