Blood Eternal

by Marie Treanor

  And at least he’d been able to give her a telepathic warning; with the detectors used to him and Dmitriu, Elizabeth hadn’t been sure that they’d pick up any other vampire presence, so his own senses had been a very necessary part of the plan. When he and Dmitriu had emerged to face Luk’s attack, there had been no time for the hunters to object.

  Obeying his instructions, Maximilian and Dmitriu avoided tangling with Luk, and concentrated on his supporters. But clearly Luk had given instructions too, and those were to take out Elizabeth. Despite his trust in her new strength and abilities, her vulnerability scared him. He had to even the odds for her, and in his relief at achieving it, he’d turned his back on Luk.

  Like taking candy from a baby, Luk mocked as Saloman froze in the grip of agony and humiliation, and the fear he hadn’t been able to shake off in millennia of existence. It gets you every time, and you never learn.

  Saloman made no telepathic reply. He couldn’t.

  “Saloman!” Elizabeth’s voice, full of agony, told him she’d seen his situation. But this time, it was up to him to rescue her. He rode the pain, hanging on to one thought until, finally, Luk caught it.

  I’m sapping your energy.

  The pain loosened its grip as Luk instinctively drew back a little. But still he didn’t release him. Instead, he drifted in front of Saloman, staring at him with pure, unadulterated hatred.

  I’ve got enough, Luk sneered. I’m stronger than before. And you’re just as frightened.

  Saloman bared his teeth. “I like fear,” he whispered. He sought it out at the epicenter of earthquakes, like the one in Peru just before he’d heard Luk’s waking scream.

  He took a step forward and Luk’s eyes widened in shock. As Luk fought to tighten his grip once more, Saloman slammed his mind shut. He felt Luk’s furious battering against it, but Saloman, staring deep into his cousin’s red-tinged eyes, simply threw him out. Panicked, Luk stumbled backward and Saloman followed.

  “Not this time, Luk. I choose who enters my mind, and you lost the privilege.”

  “When you killed me?” Luk screamed, swinging his fist faster than lightning into Saloman’s face with enough force to break a human jaw. It slowed Saloman, but only for an instant. He thrust with his stake, drawing blood from Luk’s arm as his cousin blocked the blow.

  “No,” Saloman said. “When you failed to knock.” He thrust again, and Luk fell backward into the hunter István, who was fighting one of the Turkish vampires. “Now the door is locked. For good.”

  István whirled and caught his vampire opponent unaware by a backward thrust of the stake that turned him to dust. At the same time, from some hunter’s instinct, well honed in many battles, he seemed to spot Luk’s next move before he made it. After all, trapped between István’s and Saloman’s stakes, Luk had only one direction to go.

  As Luk jumped, ensuring that any blow from Saloman’s stake would miss his heart, István grabbed him around the waist, pinning both arms, presumably to keep him on the ground. It didn’t work; Luk was too strong. He simply took István with him, and landed on top of one of the tall bookcases before shaking the hunter off like a dog dislodging a flea.

  As Saloman whirled to face two charging vampires who were overdesperate to gain the power of an Ancient kill, he saw Luk kick István in the ribs, hard enough to send him spinning off the bookcase.

  And then, most bizarrely of all, five humans jumped through the windows and rappelled down the library walls.

  Blood dripped from Elizabeth’s arm, trickling over her hand and between her fingers. It made the stake in her left hand slippery and hard to hold, and she’d already bungled one supposedly sure attempt on the heart of the vampire she fought. Of course, distraction didn’t help. She’d seen Luk’s mind-attack on Saloman, and her instinct to rush to his aid had allowed the vampire to slash her arm. That pain, she could live with, but it had been next to impossible to fight with the sudden agony in her head. It had to be Saloman’s pain she was feeling, and along with her terror for him, it almost debilitated her.

  Fortunately, it hadn’t lasted long, though, and somehow, she’d managed to block the vampire, to defend from instinct until the pain lifted and Saloman was free. Another vampire, sensing an easy yet powerful kill, abandoned his fight with Lazar to join the one against her. Leaping high and kicking out, she floored him and finally dispatched her original attacker on the way back down to the ground. And, dropping to a crouch, she plunged the stake into the fallen vampire’s heart before springing back to her feet, panting, and whirling to assess the next danger.

  She took in the scene in a bare instant. The library was a mess. Tables and chairs had been upended and broken in the fight, some of the smaller bookcases overturned with books spilling out; Luk’s fire hadn’t caught enough to do much more damage than blacken one side of a bookcase, charring a row of books and singeing a few bindings before István had put it out. Since then, presumably, Luk had been kept too busy to summon any more fire.

  Among the carnage lay a couple of wounded vampires, and the body of the dead hunter, Seb. There would be time enough to grieve for him later. Right now there was too much to do. Elizabeth fought on.

  She had a glimpse of Saloman cutting a swath among the invading vampires, striking out with both hands in perfect time. His victims exploded into dust, and he strode on, repeating the maneuver with equal success before the enemy cottoned on and leapt back out of his way.

  Elizabeth crashed her elbow back into the flesh of a fresh attacker and spun to meet him.

  Apart from the lost Seb, the hunters were still on their feet, although bleeding. Lazar had blood all over his face, yet seemed to attack with a joy in battle that implied he’d been released rather than forced from his desk.

  Near him, Mihaela plunged her stake and turned another vampire to dust. Though the numbers were still drastically against it, Elizabeth began to hope that maybe, just maybe, they could win in the end. Then Mihaela stepped back, almost touching a wounded vampire that lay at her feet. Elizabeth saw his sword arm twitch, and she yelled a warning to Mihaela. Hacking her own opponent to the ground, she sprinted across the room to help, but it was too late. The fallen vampire yanked on Mihaela’s leg, bringing her crashing down to meet his bared teeth.

  No! Elizabeth’s agonized cry felt long and drawn-out; she didn’t even know if she said it aloud. All she knew was, she could do nothing to stop this tragedy, and neither could the unbalanced, helpless Mihaela.

  Incredibly, Mihaela landed on dust. Beside her, a capable hand withdrew the stake that had killed her attacker. Elizabeth skidded to a halt. Mihaela twisted to a crouch, staring up at her undead savior for the smallest instant and giving a curt nod. Maximilian, who had not betrayed Saloman again, straightened and turned away in search of fresh prey. It was a tiny incident in the carnage of battle, and yet as Elizabeth rejoined the fray, it bothered her, because of the expression in Mihaela’s eyes as they’d encountered Maximilian’s. The hunter who didn’t fear death had looked frightened by her salvation.

  Running next to help the sore-pressed Konrad, Elizabeth heard her name called and looked around wildly for its source. A row of people under the windows stood in wary, defensive postures, scanning the carnage before them.

  “Elizabeth!” the woman’s voice yelled again.

  “Cyn?” Amazed, Elizabeth began to hack her way forward. What the hell are you doing here?

  The thought formed involuntarily in her head. She certainly didn’t expect a response. Yet a different voice said telepathically: She’s come to help. We all have.

  John Ramsay! Bloody hell! Emotion bubbled out of her as laughter, and she raised her voice with triumph. “Good news, guys! The cavalry is here! Now we can do this!”

  For Cyn, the battle scene was a swirling, hacking, bloody mess that she could make no sense of. In the confusion, there was no way to tell who were the humans and who the vampires—except when they jumped. Yelling for Elizabeth had been a desperate attempt to find
friends from enemies; but her joyous response lifted Cyn way beyond fear and indecision. Now they would make a difference.

  They formed a wedge, as John had shown them, and fought their way toward Elizabeth. But it seemed the good guys were badly outnumbered, for a sudden, shocking attack from three sides broke up their wedge. Someone—she couldn’t tell who—fell to the ground, and then Cyn was fighting for her life without time to pay attention to anyone else. She used her feet with brutality and, finding an opening, staked the vampire to dust. Whirling, she found another leaping toward her, far too fast to be human, and raised her stake once more. Without warning, it was wrenched from her hands. The vampire ran past and she thrust backward with her second stake at the one who’d interfered. She hit something hard and unyielding, and spun to ram the stake home.

  She faced a tall, dark vampire with coal black eyes tinged with amber flame. With desperation, she thrust the stake with all her might. The vampire brushed it aside as if it were a mildly annoying fly.

  “Know thine enemy,” the vampire said dryly. “And protect the descendant.”

  “Rudy?” she blurted, looking wildly around her. She’d forgotten the descendant stuff that made Rudy so valuable a kill. But the vampire had already turned away, literally bumping into John, who froze, staring at him while around them battle raged.

  “You’re . . . you’re . . .” John stammered.

  “Saloman,” said the vampire, and with a speed that blurred before Cyn’s eyes, he staked two vampires rushing on their little scene.

  Saloman himself. The overlord of all the other monsters. “Oh, shit,” Cyn whispered, staring after his gracefully leaping body.

  “It’s a vampire war!” John yelled. “We’re in the middle of a fucking civil war!”

  Rudy and Cyn’s cavalry was making a difference. Through sheer numbers, they were splitting up the enemy more and giving everyone a better chance.

  Fighting on with new hope, almost on autopilot, Elizabeth caught sight of István dangling from the top of a tall bookcase, on which stood Luk, surveying the scene below him like a general. It was a long way for István to “dreep”—drop safely to the ground—but, dividing her attention, Elizabeth saw he had no such intention. Finding a foothold, he simply climbed up the shelves until he could jump up beside Luk and attack.

  “Elizabeth!” he yelled through the noise of the fight, and she realized what he meant to do. Alone, he couldn’t hope to kill Luk; but he could, possibly, push him off his perch for Elizabeth. Off balance, much as Mihaela had been, Luk would be an easier kill.

  Luk laughed to see the hunter there, and Elizabeth began to get a bad feeling about this risky strategy. Worse, as she backed off from her latest opponent to do her bit, sharp pains prickled at her chest and sides, growing ever stronger, and it came to her that István was already hurt. It was there in his stiff movement, as he dodged Luk’s swinging foot and parried the thrust of his sword. István was incredibly brave; she already knew that, but she’d never regarded him as foolhardy before.

  He couldn’t do this alone. Elizabeth reached for the shelves with one hand, glancing behind her to check on the battle’s progress. Luk must have issued some telepathic order, for all his remaining vampires were disengaging and homing in on one target: Saloman.

  “Oh, shit,” Elizabeth whispered. Together they could weaken him, let enough of his blood for Luk to kill him. The hunters, baffled by the sudden maneuver, began to harry the vampires, but as they formed a circle around Saloman, each fighting a hunter with one hand and Saloman with the other, the damage was already being done.

  Leaping back from the bookcase, she saw that István was employing a simple and possibly even effective measure, simply charging his damaged body into Luk’s, too close for the sword to do much harm. Too close to the Ancient’s teeth as well, but for the moment, he seemed to be avoiding that danger by coming in low.

  Elizabeth hesitated no longer. Leaving István’s bizarre battle for later, she ran to the circle surrounding Saloman. Dmitriu and Maximilian were there already, fighting side by side with the hunters. So was Rudy and Cyn’s little group, although it was doubtful whether they knew why—they were simply trying to kill vampires, and for the moment that was enough.

  Elizabeth’s run felt like a battle charge. She even heard her voice yelling as she targeted her prey and leapt on him, killing the vampire instantly, more from surprise than skill. It gave Dmitriu next to her an extra opening to break through to Saloman’s side, and the circle began to break.

  Another fell under Saloman’s merciless stake and, satisfied for the moment, Elizabeth sprinted back to István’s struggle with Luk.

  Luk teetered on the edge of the bookcase, locked in a grotesque embrace with István. It looked bad for the vampire, but even as Elizabeth ran to perform her part of István’s plan, she realized with dread that Luk was laughing.

  With a movement so sudden it blurred, he hauled István upward and sank his teeth into the hunter’s throat. István continued to push, knowing, surely, that he would fall with Luk. An instant later, under Elizabeth’s terrified gaze, Luk straightened, lifted the hunter high in his arms, and hurled him to the floor like a gnawed chicken bone.

  István landed at Elizabeth’s feet with a sickening crack.

  The only scream she heard was her own as she fell to her knees beside him. Somewhere, she was aware of Luk jumping over their heads to land in the middle of the library floor, and the sudden flurry of movement as Saloman and the others homed in for the endgame; but what she chiefly felt was the agony of grief and her own guilt.

  István’s eyes were open and, astonishingly, he wasn’t dead, for his eyelids flickered.

  “István,” she whispered. “Oh, God, István . . . Can you hear me? Where are you hurt?”

  His eyes focused with obvious difficulty on her face, and she knew where he hurt. All over. The pain hit her like a wall in a high-speed car crash. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t move; nausea and dizziness flooded her, threatening unconsciousness. She fought it back, grasping István’s helpless hand in utter pity for the pain of his cracked skull, his broken bones and ribs, and the weakness of his lost blood.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry!” she exclaimed. She should have stayed with him, not given in at the wrong moment to her love for Saloman, who could, after all, take care of himself. Wrong decision this time. “Oh, God, no one should suffer this pain, István; I’d take it from you if I could. . . .”

  István said, “I don’t feel any pain.” He sounded confused by this. “Have we won?”

  Won? Who could possibly have won in this maelstrom of agony? She couldn’t bear it. Her own voice filled her ears, crying out as wave after wave of pain engulfed her and grew, expanding and intensifying until there was nothing else. The staring faces of vampires from both sides, Mihaela’s closer and white with fear, faded into black horror. And still it grew, whatever it was, hurling emotional and physical hurts so deep she wept in agony with them.

  You couldn’t fight destiny. This, then, was where all the prophecies led and ended for her. And there was no time, no more time. . . . Saloman’s beloved face swam in front of her, wide-eyed with shock. She managed to grasp his arm and hold on, tried to speak, to tell him she loved him before she died. But the blackness took her too soon.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  It was sheer temper tantrum that caused Luk to throw the Hungarian hunter down like that, still alive and yet injured beyond repair. Saloman recognized it, because like Luk, he knew the battle was almost won. Only the outcome of the inevitable duel between the Ancients could change things now, and Saloman did not intend to lose.

  As Elizabeth fell to her knees by the wounded hunter, Luk leapt off the bookcase to rejoin their interrupted duel.

  There was a certain sense of déjà vu about fighting an angry, defiant Luk. He was still powerful and dangerous and more insane than ever, and still his friend, whom he must put out of his own misery before he caused any more for the
world. Insanity was a blessing for him. A sane Luk would crumble with shame at what he had done in his rage. Saloman laid all that aside. It was tomorrow’s pain. Tonight, he had a duty that he would not shirk.

  He had no option but to defeat and kill Luk. If Luk killed Saloman, thus finally gaining the power of his true Awakener, he would be unstoppable and the world’s sufferings would be unimaginable. Everyone present must know that.

  As his sword met Luk’s, Saloman knew a sense of relief. It was almost over, and he could fight almost on instinct alone. And it would be a good fight. In his day, Luk had been the best. The tempo increased quickly, far beyond the speed the other vampires could achieve, and well beyond what the humans could easily see. Steel clashed on steel; stakes whizzed through the air; their bodies leapt and evaded, spun and thrust.

  Because Luk was tired and not troubling to mask anything anymore, Saloman could sense when he tried to summon another fireball. He could even block it, although the distraction earned him a deep slice across the knuckles. Saloman licked them hastily to speed the healing process, leaping back as if to disengage and then, as Luk sensed the kill, plunging the stake straight at his cousin’s heart.

  It was Elizabeth’s cry that froze them all in midfight. Penetrating the crashing, yelling mayhem like a knife through flesh, its preternatural, bloodcurdling agony seemed to paralyze everyone. Saloman’s stake paused against Luk’s heart. Luk’s sword, already poised to strike Saloman’s head, stilled. All around him, Saloman was aware, the fighting stopped in shock.

  Elizabeth!

  Ignoring the still very real danger from Luk, Saloman turned his back on his enemy and ran to her.

  She knelt by István’s side, holding the hunter’s hand in both of hers. Tears streamed down her face, which was contorted in agony. She didn’t even appear to be aware of the noise she made. Her arm and hand were bloody from some wound, no doubt painful but hardly enough to account for her obviously unbearable suffering.