But her sudden humility was of as little importance as her shame. Pride in him, happiness at this outcome of his work, swamped everything else. What mattered was that she could help him now, that she was wholeheartedly behind him and needed to tell him so.
Peru. He must still be in Peru, lying low. Did she need a visa to go there?
Saloman! she called urgently.
No response. No matter. She’d buy her ticket and then phone him. Her reasons for not contacting him before now seemed so trivial as to be laughable. Grabbing the laptop, Elizabeth set about finding the cheapest ticket, using one hand for the mouse and keyboard and the other to dig her battered credit card out of her purse.
When the phone rang, her heart soared. She seized the handset, stabbing the “receive” button, and, gasping, said, “Hello!” She braced herself for his voice, for all the melting, delicious things the sound of it did to her body and mind.
There was a slight pause; then a very different voice said hesitantly, “Elizabeth?”
She hadn’t even glanced at the number. Wrestling with unworthy disappointment that her friend Mihaela certainly didn’t deserve from her, she said, “Of course it is. Who else would answer my phone?”
“Sorry. You sounded different. Are you running for a train or something?”
Elizabeth quashed her rising laughter. “A plane, actually. No, I’m at home. What’s happening? Nothing bad, I hope?”
Over the last three months, since Mihaela had learned of her relationship with Saloman, their communications had been less frequent than before. Elizabeth always had the feeling that when Mihaela called she was checking that Elizabeth was still alive, while Elizabeth herself found conversation difficult now that she knew she faced the hunter’s unspoken but constant disapproval. It saddened her, as she’d always known it would, but she still hoped Mihaela would come to understand.
“Actually,” Mihaela was saying, “it is bad. Very bad. There have been mass killings in Turkey tonight—a vampire on the rampage, completely out of control.”
“Oh, dear. Are you over there? Are there not hunters in Turkey?”
“Yes, but they’re a little tied up, since the vampire revolt seems to have spread into Turkey now that Afghanistan is quiet again. They asked for our help, as I’m now asking for yours. You see, we think the rampaging vampire is an Ancient.”
Elizabeth closed her mouth and swallowed. “It can’t be. I’m sure Saloman’s in Peru.”
“Not Saloman. Luk.”
“Luk?” Elizabeth stared at the phone as if it weren’t working properly, then clamped it back to her ear. “Saloman’s cousin? How could it be Luk?”
“He was buried in the Turkish hills. The exact location wasn’t known to any hunters—it was never well enough described in the sources—but it could conceivably have been tracked via local folklore. Much as you did with Saloman.”
“You mean he’s been awakened? My God, who would . . . ? Oh, shit.”
“ ‘Oh, shit’ indeed,” said Mihaela heavily.
“Not Dante,” Elizabeth begged.
“We should have let Saloman kill him.”
“I should have let Saloman kill him.”
“We were all on your side,” Mihaela said impatiently. “We just didn’t have the guts to step in. No point in casting blame now.”
“But how could Dante or anyone else awaken Luk? It would have to be Saloman, wouldn’t it? The blood of his killer.”
“Yes,” said Mihaela in an odd, distant voice. “It would. Look, Elizabeth, you awakened the last Ancient and so you know the most about the early stages of his revival. We could use your help.”
And Saloman’s?
The words hung unspoken between them. Neither would bring it up. But if Luk was really awakened, Saloman would already know. . . . Or would he? Could he “feel” the awakening over the huge distance between Peru and Turkey?
“Can you come?” Mihaela asked.
Elizabeth’s eyes strayed to the computer screen. Slowly, she reached out and hovered the mouse over the “Buy Ticket” button, like a caress. Soon. She shifted it to “Cancel” and clicked. “Of course. I’ll book the next flight I can and call you back.”
Dante said, “Luk.”
The vampire glanced up from his bonds, which he’d been studying with dispassionate interest. When Dante had finally managed to persuade him to leave the terror-stricken village, Luk had walked passively at his side to the hidden car and sat silently through the remains of the night until they’d reached this ruined hut. Here, he’d submitted to be being retied too, just as if the ravening monster who’d spread horror and carnage through an entire village were another being altogether.
Dante said gently, “That is your name, isn’t it?”
“Luk,” the vampire repeated.
“Luk, the Ancient vampire.”
“I wanted blood,” the vampire said vaguely.
“Well, you got it,” Dante said grimly. “And now we’ll have a plague of angry villagers, police, and probably vampire hunters down on us before we can do what we have to do. You were only meant to bite the one man.”
“I was hungry.”
“Why didn’t you come back when I called you?”
“I was hungry.”
Dante sighed in frustration and crouched down to face his companion at a safe distance. According to Elizabeth Silk, Saloman had been physically weak on first awakening, but had talked with perfect lucidity. What was more, he had possessed enough self-control to pace his feeding until he was strong enough to take it. Luk, if this was indeed Luk, had drained Mehmet dry and then slumped down the wall like a drunk passing out. Dante had brought him another unsuspecting victim later on, but then what was supposed to be Luk’s first hunting expedition had gone disastrously wrong.
The vampire had seemed to be intoxicated with blood or the desire for it, with no concept of discretion or moderation. In fact, he behaved more like Dante imagined a fledgling might than an awakened Ancient. The senator was just grateful Luk hadn’t turned on him. Yet. Of course, treating the vampire like a pet animal who had to be tied and dominated had helped instill in Luk a sense of Dante’s superiority and, hopefully, untouch-ability. But Dante was a worried man.
“How did you die, Luk?” Dante asked.
Luk stared at him without obvious comprehension. Although he was a good-looking man, and dark in coloring, there wasn’t any other resemblance to Saloman that Dante could discover. A little older in appearance, his face was broader, squarer at the chin, which was partially covered by a hint of a dark goatee. His shaggy hair bore streaks of gray at the temples, and his eyes were more hazel than black.
“Who killed you?” Dante persisted. Until now, he’d refrained from asking the questions that might upset his unpredictable potential ally, but the matter had just become urgent.
The vampire frowned, shaking his head like a dog in the rain.
“Was it a stake through the heart?” Dante prompted. So far as he knew it was the only possible way to kill a vampire, and yet there had been no stake in Luk when they’d found him.
Luk’s frown deepened. After a moment, he took hold of his shirt in both hands and tore. Both he and Dante gazed at the crack in his chest. Some vaguely red fluid that wasn’t quite blood seeped out of it.
“Is that why you need so much blood?” Dante asked. “Because you just bleed it out again?”
Luk laughed, a wild, eerie sound that set Dante’s tight nerves on edge. Dante rose and fetched a first-aid kit from his rucksack, but when he tried to bandage Luk’s wound, the vampire jerked in his bonds, flinging Dante and the dressing off with a bewildering speed of movement that nevertheless filled Dante with much-needed fresh hope, because whatever else he was, Luk was damned strong.
“Okay, no bandage,” he allowed.
Luk began to hum a vague, mournful tune from which he suddenly broke off in order to let out another of his wild laughs.
Not for the first time, it crossed Dante’s m
ind that Luk truly was insane. Although the sources had claimed this to be the case, they’d said the same thing about Saloman, who certainly was not. At least, not once he was awakened. Somehow, Dante had assumed Luk would follow the same pattern. But Luk didn’t even seem to know who he was. Mostly, he seemed frightened and miserable. He rarely said anything that wasn’t simply a repetition of Dante’s own words. Except, “I’m hungry.” He said that a lot.
Dante thought hard. Perhaps when Saloman had killed him, for whatever reason it truly had been Luk’s time to die. In which case it was possible Luk would be of very little further use.
Experimenting, he spoke the name of Luk’s killer. “Saloman.”
The vampire’s head jerked up. Another of those weird, preternatural wails escaped his lips, turning Dante’s blood to ice in his veins. There was fury there, and pain. But what interested Dante was the recognition. Only Saloman’s name had produced this reaction since the vampire had awakened. It must be Luk. . . .
“What is your name?” Dante asked. “Who are you? What are you?”
The wailing stopped. The vampire bowed his head. “I am Luk. I am the Guardian.”
“Guardian of what?” Dante asked.
“I am the Guardian. I am Luk.”
“Okay. Luk . . .” Time could be running out. The only thing he knew definitely was that this truly was Luk. “Luk, have you ever made a vampire?”
“Of course.” Although the words sounded certain, the doubtful look that went with them was not encouraging.
“Do you remember how? Would you turn me?”
Luk laughed again, this time with more obvious amusement, which piqued Dante into uncharacteristic anger. “What’s so funny? I can look after you. We can be buddies, feed together, rule together.”
Something changed in Luk’s face at that. His head paused in midshake, and he lifted one hand to his beard, stroking it as if to remind himself what it felt like. Dante caught himself wondering whether it grew, if vampires had to shave, before pulling himself up to concentrate on more important matters.
“Friends,” Luk said sadly.
Dante smiled encouragement. “That’s it, Luk. Friends. I need to be strong, like you.” Aware of the risk, yet sure now that he had to take it and take it quickly, before the world in general and the hunters in particular descended upon them, Dante inched closer and turned his head to one side.
Luk’s gaze became riveted on the region of his jugular.
“Please,” Dante whispered. “Will you turn me?”
He intended to tempt the vampire, explain his needs with this bit of visual impact. For some reason, he thought there would be discussion, a time of preparation, maybe even more persuasion. When Luk fell on his neck, he cried out in alarm, but Luk did not stop. There was piercing, agonizing pain as the vampire tore his flesh. Instinctively, although he’d wanted this for so long, Dante reached up in pure panic to shove him off, but even with his arms bound and useless, the vampire simply hung on with his teeth. His strength was overwhelming, utterly terrifying.
Oh, fuck. Now I’m really going to die. He’s going to kill me outright without turning me.
Maybe he should have stuck to politics, mixed with a bit of business. It was only when he’d begun his serious research into the occult, into immortality, that everything had started to go wrong for him. . . .
The vampire drank his blood in loud, massive gulps. Dante’s consciousness, his very life, ebbed faster than he’d ever believed possible. He couldn’t feel pain anymore. But neither did he experience the pleasure that some victims of vampire bites confessed to. He felt only rage because he was going to die after all, and stay dead. Dizziness consumed him. He was going to sleep, dying, God damn it. God damn the whole fucking world. All I wanted was a little longer, a little more. . . .
“Drink.” The voice seemed to come from very far away, yet echoed so deeply inside him that he imagined it was God himself. His vision was clouded, almost foggy. He could barely make out the shape of the vampire, who had clearly burst free of his bonds, for he pushed Dante’s face into cold, bony, slippery flesh.
Dante tasted the salt of cool blood on his lips and with stunned exaltation licked at the wound, then sucked without conscious volition. The vampire’s teeth buried themselves once more in his neck as Dante drank from Luk’s wrist. His heart thundered in his ears as if it would burst, but he couldn’t stop sucking. Instead the compulsion overwhelmed him—almost like his late wife had once described the urge to “push” during the final stages of labor—forcing him to stronger and stronger pulls. He couldn’t locate the pain; it was all over his body, excruciating, unbearable. And yet he did bear it, couldn’t bring himself to stop drinking the thick, cold blood that was drowning the pain in weird, triumphant physical pleasure.
There were two heartbeats now, out of time and rhythm, growing louder and louder in his head, vibrating through his body like a pile driver, and then slowing, slowing until the beats matched perfectly, and they were both the same.
Chapter Three
It was just another New York bar: noisy, crowded with people from all walks of life; customers shouting their orders over the din of the music; couples holding hands in booths; groups of increasingly loud friends solving the world’s problems around a table full of beer; a small, crowded square of dancers at the back, lit by erratic, flashing spotlights; a vampire in the corner enjoying a quiet meal.
Cyn leapt forward. The light flickered, but she could still see the red-haired vampire bent over the throat of a smartly dressed young man who held his suit jacket casually over one shoulder.
“Got him, Rudy!” Cyn said into the microphone pinned under her lapel. “He’s right at the back, and he already has a victim.”
She wasn’t used to doing this in public. Normally, she and Rudy followed vampires to their lairs or dispatched them in deserted dark alleyways. But it shouldn’t make any difference. The vampire would turn to dust and no one would be any wiser. She just hoped the victim would still be alive enough to get to a hospital.
As always, Cyn’s blood ran cold as she came up close to the vampire. Every sense screamed at her. She ignored the feeling as she always did, simply drew the stake from her pocket and without pause plunged it hard toward the vampire’s back. Her aim was good; the wood should pierce his heart.
It didn’t. In the last instant, the vampire moved, spinning faster than Cyn could see, and snatched the stake from her hand. For an instant, blazing amber eyes like a wolf’s stared into hers before she kicked his legs from under him, grabbed the victim by the hand, and ran for the door.
Startled people jumped back out of her way, desperate to avoid whatever trouble this turned out to be. As Cyn zigzagged between the tables, she could feel the vampire’s watching eyes on the back of her neck like pricks of fire. Worse, she could have sworn she heard him laugh.
Rudy, who’d have been frightened by her long silence, was already at the door, reaching out to take the victim’s weight from her.
“He’s still in there.” Cyn gasped as the door swung shut behind them. “I couldn’t get him. He might be following us.”
Rudy grunted, heading into the next street—the bar occupied the whole corner—where the pickup truck was parked. “You get this guy to the hospital and I’ll go meet the vamp.”
“He’s fast, Rudy,” Cyn warned. “You can’t take him alone. And we don’t—”
“What the hell’s going on here?” the victim interrupted, straightening in Rudy’s hold and making a vague movement to shake him off. “Who are you? And who in God’s name was that?”
Rudy propped him up against the bar window as he stared from one of them to the other. He’d seemed dazed as she’d dragged him through the bar, but not unduly weak.
“Do you remember what happened to you in there?” Cyn asked cautiously.
The man touched his neck. It looked involuntary. By the streetlight, when his fingers fell away again, she could see only faint red marks, like a min
or injury that had already healed.
“I remember what almost happened.” The man’s eyes fixed on her. “You think he’s a vampire,” he said incredulously.
“He bit you,” Cyn pointed out. “You’re only alive because I interrupted his meal.”
“Not true,” said an amused voice close by. Cyn’s head snapped around. The red-haired vampire leaned one shoulder negligently against the bar window, so close to the corner that passersby actually brushed against his back. Cyn fumbled a fresh stake from her pocket. Rudy already had one in each hand.
The vampire eased his shoulder off the window and took two paces nearer. “I had no intention of killing him. If you’ll notice, I even troubled to heal his wound before I disarmed you.”
Cyn exchanged baffled glances with Rudy, and this time the vampire definitely laughed.
“You don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you? You’re not even hunters. You’ve no idea what’s going on. Let me give you a piece of advice before I leave you: Find out who your enemies are before you start killing.”
“Oh, we have no problem there,” Rudy said grimly, advancing on the vampire, but Cyn caught his arm.
“Wait,” she said urgently. “There’re more of them, lots more, coming this way.”
“How do you know?” Rudy demanded, but at least he did pause, because he knew she felt things he didn’t. But Cyn had never felt anything this strongly before. The chill of vampire presence magnified so strongly that her knees began to shake.
“I feel them,” she whispered. “Too many. We’ve got to get out of here.”
The vampire gave a lopsided smile and turned on his heel. He walked back around the corner and disappeared.
Rudy was already opening the truck door.
“We’ll drop you at the hospital,” Cyn said to the victim, who looked more baffled than scared.
“I’m fine,” he said vaguely. “Vampires? This is crazy. I’m going to follow that guy, see where he goes.”
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