by Amy Miles
She isn’t exactly sure of what she expected to appear, but a teenage boy dressed in a filthy umber robe was not it. His head is shaved clean, but his chin sports clumps of poorly grown beard.
His cheeks sag, evidence of rapid weight loss. His robe piles around him on the floor as he crawls toward the room. Roseline watches as a shiny black boot appears in the doorway and kicks the boy in the backside, sending him sprawling face first into the room.
Anger simmers in Roseline’s belly as Malachi comes into view. His face is hard as stone, his features etched with disgust. He raises his boot again to kick the boy. “Stop it,” she screams, lunging against the Eltat’s grasp.
She can feel trickles of blood trailing down her temple and onto her cheek. Although Malachi’s demeanor doesn’t shift, his eyes soften just enough for her to know he is pained by the sight of her discomfort. He nods curtly and lets the boy rise shakily to his hands and knees.
As the boy raises his head to look up at Roseline, she notices two things recognition and determination.
“Don’t look at her,” Malachi grunts, kicking out one of the boy’s hands. He slams back to the ground and grunts in pain.
“Why am I here?” She tries to put as much strength into her demand as she can muster, but the waver in her voice betrays her. If not for the Eltat’s claws digging into her arm, she probably wouldn’t be upright.
Malachi looks away. “He wants you to see something.”
She snorts and sways back into the Eltat. The scaled beast releases a grunt of disgust and shoves her away. In her mind, she knows she’s about to fall, but her body refuses to help. She stumbles, knees buckling just before she tumbles to the ground.
The sound of her nose shattering sounds unusually loud in her ears. Thick blood drains down her throat, gagging her. Roseline swallows, grimacing at the feel of sharp bone fragments lodging in her throat.
“I said she was to remain unharmed,” a voice calls from her left. A frantic mewing sound rises behind her. She closes her eyes at the spray of blood that splashes against her face. The Eltat falls to the ground beside her, a gaping hole remaining when its throat used to be.
Hands wrap around her arms, lifting her to her feet. She blinks away the blood from her vision to glare at Lucien. Malachi closes the gap between them, allowing her to lean back against the length of his body so that she doesn’t fall again.
“I have a gift for you,” Lucien says. His breath hisses through the narrow slits of his nose. His breath stinks of rotting flesh and blood, making her stomach roil violently as she presses back into Malachi’s chest.
“You killed that thing. That’s good enough for me,” she spits back.
“Ah, yes. I never liked that one anyways. He had shifty eyes and he always smelled like garlic for some reason.” Lucien shrugs and turns his attention onto the boy.
Lucien’s long black cloak flares about him as he drops to a crouch and lifts the boy high into air by his throat. Lucien laughs as the boy claws at his hand, his eyes bulging at the pressure on his windpipe.
“Pathetic, isn’t he?” Lucien turns him to the left and back to the right, examining him as if he were a meal. Which, Roseline knows he most likely will be. “So frail. So breakable.”
“Did you bring me here to lecture me on the inevitability of his death? Because honestly, I’d rather go back to my pit and stare at the wall for the rest of the day.” Roseline’s words end in a racking cough that doubles her over. Malachi’s grip tightens to support her.
Lucien tsks, tossing the boy aside. “You disappointment me, Roseline. I would have thought you would like this boy.”
“And why is that?”
He glides close to her, his eyes searching her face. “Because he reeks of Gabriel.”
She tries not to show her surprise, but it is impossible. Her breath hitches as she looks past Lucien toward the boy. She has a very vague, blurred memory of seeing him before.
Sorin’s dungeon!
Roseline remembers now. He was with the group of monks that took Gabriel away from her. That poisoned her so she couldn’t fight back. She stares at the boy as he lies with his cheek pressed to the ground, blood seeping from his hairline. His eyes flutter open to look back at her.
How could she not smell Gabriel on him? Have her senses dulled that much?
“So that’s why he’s here? To torment me?” Her voice cracks. Her hands begin to tremble at her sides at the thought.
“Oh, no. You misunderstand,” Lucien coos, running his finger along the length of her cheek. “He is here to help us find Gabriel. You want to see him again, don’t you?”
She wavers on her feet, dizzy. The room spins about her, faster and faster as her eyes sink back into her head and she falls limp in Malachi’s arms. As he lowers her to the floor, the boy’s screaming begins.
Nine
The tension in the vast great room of Bran Castle is palpable as Nicolae enters through the towering doors with Sadie close at his side. Their footsteps echo around them. He squeezes her hand, reassuring her. “It will be ok.”
“Tell that to them,” she mutters, glaring at each hostile hunter’s face in turn.
Nicolae knew this meeting wouldn’t go over well. The hatred for immortals is deeply ingrained in his brothers, but he hopes after today they might be able to bridge a gap.
“Grigori.” Nicolae nods as he takes a chair across from the tall man. Grigori’s nose sits slightly crooked, a reminder of a time before the truce was begrudgingly forged with Roseline. Nicolae can’t help but wonder if he will be able to extend the same truce to Sadie.
“Nicolae,” Grigori grunts, never letting his gaze fall away from the spunky girl at his leader’s side. Grigori is a fierce warrior, unwavering. Nicolae tightens his grip on Sadie’s hand as her muscles lock down, her lips peeling back from her teeth.
“Easy,” Nicolae whispers, tugging her toward two empty sets at the end of a long, rectangular table. He holds the chair for her as she sits and then remains behind her seat, his hands gripping the high wooden back.
“I called this meeting tonight to speak of peace” Nicolae begins, but is instantly cut off by loud protests.
Fists pound against the glossed surface of the cherry wood table. It stretches the length of the room, large enough to seat twenty people easily. Hand carved chairs tip over backward, clattering to the floor, as his brother’s lurch to their feet in protest. He closes his eyes, fighting for a calm he doesn’t feel. “Peace, brothers. This is the time to speak, not act. I only ask that you listen.”
“Those are fine words for someone who brought a traitor into our midst,” a man with a strong, square jaw and wild mane of ginger hair growls from the corner of the room. Nicolae squints but struggles to put a name with the man’s face.
“I am your leader by birthright.” Nicolae pauses to look at each man in turn. “You know that Sorin raised me to one day take his place. I didn’t ask for it to be so soon, but I assure you that I am more than capable of filling his shoes.”
A laugh rises from a man at the far end of the table. Even though concealed in shadow, Nicolae knows him to be Bodgan Ardelean, his uncle’s swordsmith. The barrel-chested man who sits stroking his favorite battle ax is not one that Nicolae would usually like to take on, but this is not a normal situation.
“You aren’t fit to lead us. Sorin knew you were weak, and now you’re always spouting off about making peace with that filth. Your uncle would turn over in his grave if he saw you today.”
Nicolae grits his teeth as he releases his hold on Sadie’s seatback and steps into the space before his own chair, taking up his rightful place at the head of the table. “I am well aware of what you all think of me. I know you feel betrayed, and I don’t blame you for that. For generations, we have been taught to hunt and kill immortals, but we can’t live in an archaic society forever. Roseline and Fane have proven that not all immortals are bad. They helped you take down Vladimir Enescue and this is the thanks they get?�
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“They are different.” Grigori holds up his hand to silence the protests. “They have proven themselves to be honorable. Your girl hasn’t.”
Nicolae’s grip tightens on the edge of the wooden table. His knuckles pop as he tries to withhold his anger. He should have known Sadie would be the first topic on the agenda.
“She is under Fane’s protection and has no desire to harm any of you.”
“Are we supposed to just take your word for that?” Nicolae turns to look over his shoulder at Costel Petran, a well-respected leader among the European hunters guild. He is short and rotund, but Nicolae knows him to be deceptively strong. Although he has only seen the man from a distance, he knows his uncle thought very highly of the man, and that worries Nicolae. This man must despise immortals just as much, if not more, than Sorin did.
Costel’s dark brown eyes look nearly black in the dim light of the dining room of Bran Castle. Nicolae would feel much better if they could light a fire, to add more light to the dreary room, but he knows the heat disturbs Sadie so he resists.
“She is none of your concern.”
“I beg to differ.” A man with raised red scars lining his arms stands up to join the argument, easily the tallest of the hunters in the room. Danut Lupei became a hero after the fall of the Berlin Wall. He led a small group of hunters over the ruins of the wall and rooted out an entire coven residing in the Kremlin. His brutality is nearly as legendary as Vladimir’s, so Nicolae has always been glad to have him fighting on his side.
Nicolae turns to face the man. “Is that a challenge, Danut?”
The heavily muscled man grins, appearing excited at the prospect of a fight, but Grigori holds up his hand. “Enough. This is getting us nowhere. Nicolae called us here for a reason, so let’s hear him out before there is bloodshed.”
Never before has Nicolae been so grateful for his second-in-command. He has never particularly liked Grigori, but Nicolae could almost kiss him right now. Clearing his throat, Nicolae stares each of the men down until they slowly sink back into their seats.
He glances at Sadie, who perches on the edge of her seat. “It’s ok.”
She nods stiffly and relaxes back but looks far from comfortable, despite the fact that Fane paces in the hall beyond. He was less than happy when Nicolae asked him to remain outside. Although Fane’s presence may have been accepted by several of the hunters, Nicolae vowed to do this on his own, to lead his men without any outside help.
“You have all seen the news reports,” he begins, pausing for effect. The shift in the room is instantaneous as each man nods. “Someone has taken up Vladimir’s quest and they must be stopped. The killings have been spreading through Europe and are now popping up all around the world. We must stop this before it gets out of hand, but we can’t do it on our own.”
Nicolae hesitates and braces for the anticipated uproar but is shocked to find that none of the men speak. He raises an eyebrow in surprise but Grigori nods at him to continue. “Someone is trying to send a message, and I don’t think it’s just for the humans. We are being called out.”
“By whom?” Costel leans forward.
“We have reason to believe Lucien Enescue is behind all of this.”
The room explodes around Nicolae. He waits several minutes before speaking. The angry whispers cease as he continues. “I have already sent a team to each of the crime scenes to see what details they can uncover, but it doesn’t look good. Initial reports show teeth marks and the victims drained of blood. I think Lucien wants the humans to know about immortals.”
“But that’s insane!” Danut pounds his fist against the table top. It shudders, the wood groaning in protest. “Those beasts have spent thousands of years hiding their existence. Why would they come into the light now?”
“Because they want to shift the food chain,” Sadie whispers.
All eyes swivel to land on her. She blinks, startled to find herself in the spotlight. “What did you say?” Nicolae whispers.
She stares back at him, unsure if she should speak or not. He smiles, encouraging her. Slipping to the edge of her chair, she clears her throat and addresses the group.
“You may not like me, and to be honest, you’re not so likable yourselves right now, but I know both sides of this story.” She pauses to lock eyes with each man sitting around the table. “I can smell your fear even though you try desperately to hide it. I can hear every quiver of your heart as you think about the global battle you have on your hands, and you are right to fear. Lucien knows what he is doing. He wants the entire world to fear him, to know that immortals are the top of the food chain now.”
A heavy silence fills the room as her words trail off, and she leans back in her chair. Nicolae can’t help but smile at the effect she has had on his men.
“Can he really do this? Flip the food chain on its end?” Grigori mutters, clenching his hands into fists.
“They can and they are. Already humans are terrified to leave their homes at night. People are afraid to travel or to even say hi to their next door neighbors. Mass panic is beginning to spread around the world. Lucien’s murders are becoming more brazen, more gruesome. These attacks are increasing by the day.”
“But there has to be more than one person doing this,” Bodgan says, running his thumb along the edge of his battle ax. A small sliver of blood appears and Sadie stiffens beside Nicolae. Every hunter fixes her in their gaze as she releases her breath and turns her attention away. “No man can move from country to country so quickly.”
“He doesn’t need to,” Nicolae muses, leaning forward and resting his palms against the table. “We know from Sorin’s reports that Vladimir had pockets of immortals already stationed around the world. China. Russia. Australia. The United States. Spain. Africa. South America. Who knows how many thousands of them there are? I’m still waiting for the Intel, but I’d bet my life that these pockets have been mobilized. It’s only a matter of time until this spreads into a worldwide epidemic and we won’t be able to stop these murders. This panic will only grow unless we can end this now.”
A stout hunter, with marbled hair and a weathered face leans forward into the light. Nicolae eyes the older man, dredging up his name from memory: Andrei Ungur. “So you want to join up with Fane and go out in a blaze of glory, is that it?”
Nicolae smiles. He slips out from behind his chair and slowly makes his way around the room, placing his hand on each man’s shoulder in turn. “I’m giving you the chance to avenge your loved ones. Never before has there been a battle such as this. Your names will be infamous. You will bring honor to your families.”
A low rumble begins in the back of the room, and Nicolae decides to take that as affirmation that he’s on the right track. He steps behind Grigori’s chair. “All I ask is for a temporary truce. Long enough to track down these fiends and put an end to them. Isn’t this what we were created for? What you have spent your entire lives training for?”
Another rumble of assent is followed by a few random head bobs. Nicolae begins to speak but is shocked into silence as Sadie rises and stares down at his men. “I may be new to your part of the world, to immortality, but I tremble standing before you, not because of your weapons in hand or the gleam in your eye, but because of the pride I see in this room. You are fierce hunters, and you have earned your name among your kind and mine. I would be honored to fight alongside you, to shed blood and rend limbs to bring order back to our world. Will you fight with me? Will you fight for Nicolae?”
Nicolae’s mouth gapes open at the obnoxious pounding of fists against the table as his men rise and cheer. He turns to stare at Sadie, dazzled not by her eccentric beauty but by the leader she is becoming.
He rounds the end of the table and pulls her hand into his, leaning close to whisper into her ear. “You are so hot right now.”
She laughs and pulls back, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
***
Malachi
has heard his fair share of screams over the years, but none have compared to this. After half a day of torture, the old man still won’t break, but the sound of his agony rises with each hour that passes.
Malachi places his saw on the wooden table beside him. Fresh blood speckles against the floor. He moves his feet back to avoid being stained. “I can end this, you know. No more pain. No more screaming. It can all just go away.”
The man’s head hangs low, revealing a growing bald spot at the top of his head. His whiskers are long, unkempt, and soiled. His eyes are bloodshot, and his mouth hangs open as he sucks in great gulps of air.
Malachi can’t help but admire the man’s courage, no matter how foolish it might be. He has tortured many men and brought them to their knees, begging for death, but this man hasn’t said a single word. Malachi ripped out his fingernails with pliers and shoved a branding iron against his stomach, but the man remained mute.
He screamed. Oh yes, he did plenty of that, but he never spoke a word.
Lifting his head, the man stares defiantly back at Malachi from his one remaining good eye. His left eye rolled off the table and into the corner about an hour ago after being extracted from its socket.
“You have maintained your honor, old man. Let me give you a swift death to end your suffering.” He can feel himself almost pleading with the man, not for the sake of gaining the information he seeks, but so that he can show mercy
The man spits at his tormenter. A mixture of shattered teeth and blood smack against Malachi’s cheek. He sighs and shakes his head as he grabs a scalpel. “So be it.”
***
Gabriel’s knees have gone into complete lockdown by the time they finally arrive at the edge of an unusual body of water. The shallow, briny lake is rimmed with white sand and encircled by dark forests of eucalyptus trees. The ocean is not far away; a narrow strip of white dunes separate the lake from the frothing waves that crash against the shoreline. The water is clear near the coast, beautiful turquoise spilling into the vast spread of deep blue sea.