The werewolf—now a naked man—paused as he took a brief moment to regain lost strength. Sweat lacquered his skin, and as the werewolf knelt beside him, William found his gaze pulled to the necklace around the creature’s neck and the lump of crumpled metal hanging from the chain.
The werewolf smiled. “Good evening, William.”
“How do you know my name?” The words didn’t come out coherent; the werewolf upon him continuing to bite against his flesh. The naked man reached out and touched the lycanthrope on its head and the beast lessened its grip. William panted air, terror heaving in his chest.
“We know everything about you, William, but I have to say you weren’t easy to find. You should be congratulated for that achievement.”
“How did you find me?”
“We have our ways.”
William didn’t want to die, and with the chance of living forever the thought of death terrified him, but he felt a strange sense of acceptance wallowing through him. “Why?” he whispered, wanting to know why werewolves and vampires hunted together instead of fighting amongst themselves, but the naked man didn’t get the meaning of his question.
“You know, you should be proud of yourself, William.”
William frowned. There hadn’t been many times in his centuries on earth when he’d felt proud.
“You’ve lasted a long time. In fact, if our information is correct, you’re the last one left.”
The last one left! In the world? William strained his ears, but couldn’t hear the sound of police sirens.
“The last one where?” he asked, only realizing how pitiful he sounded once the words were out.
“The last one in America: the last hybrid on this continent. You may yet go down in history—if we can be bothered to make a record of it, that is.”
The naked man’s comment was met with laughter from the surrounding vampires, grunts of humor from the werewolves.
Don’t kill me, William wanted to say, but of course he knew they would. He’d read somewhere that when faced with death people sometimes see their life flash before their eyes. Maybe it was just a mortal thing, because William saw nothing except the callous eyes of the werewolf kneeling over him.
A vampire stepped forward and handed something to the man. He took it and held in front of William’s face. Clear liquid filled the body of the syringe, the needle long and thick.
“What’s that?” William asked, his voice whispered through his clenched larynx.
“Vampire venom. It’ll kill you stone dead, William. It’ll end your miserable undead existence on this planet.”
William’s stomach cavorted with dread, his heart raced, and his mind cried out in fear of the approaching abyss death would bring.
“It’ll be quick,” the man continued. “I won’t say it won’t hurt—in fact, it’ll hurt like fuck and you’ll be praying for death; but it will be quick.”
The cold point of the needle touched William’s arm. He screamed, the yell distorted by the strangulation hold upon his neck. The werewolf bit harder and the hands on his limbs gripped him tighter.
The naked werewolf smiled. “Goodbye, William.”
A sharp stab as the needle pierced his flesh and pressure as the plunger was depressed.
Venom entered his system and an intense agony he’d never experienced before in all of his three hundred and fifty years engulfed his body.
William shrieked.
The werewolf had been right: death couldn’t come quick enough.
TWO
Wan Chai District,
Hong Kong Island, China
A thick mist of drizzle settled over the city and drifted in sheets through glowing neon lights above the restaurants, bars, and strip joints spread along Lockhart Road. The inclement weather didn’t deter everyone however. Tourists and locals alike hunkered under umbrellas, and although cars splashed through puddles many of the bicycles remained chained in place. The rain didn’t even deter the prostitutes; lady-boys and transvestites patrolled the streets, approaching anyone who walked within earshot.
It didn’t delay the hunt either, not now they were so close.
Crouching on the rooftop of the Cheung Kee Restaurant, Anton ignored the stream of rain gluing his clothing to his back and trained vampiric eyes onto the street below, searching for their quarry.
In his opinion, Hong Kong only truly came to life after sundown; the city’s skyscrapers glowing like beacons with a multitude of colors, Victoria Harbor glinting with the metropolis’ reflected light, and even the main streets and darkened boulevards became a haven of luminosity and verve. It also became a time when the enemy crawled to the surface, as if the cover of mortal life would be enough to hide them. Not anymore. A satisfied grin pulled at the edges of Anton’s lips. They could blackout the city, and yet we’d still find them.
The restaurant would be closing soon and as such the queue that had formed earlier in the evening had dissipated. Lockhart Road remained busy however, the district’s famous nightlife and entertainment drawing a never-ending stream of tourists to the vicinity.
He was almost seven hundred years old, yet Anton had been a superior Eliminator for almost half his life and knew what he was looking for. After such a long time in conflict, he found it easy to distinguish between mortal humans and hybrid scum. He could even identify a werewolf hiding in human form if he got close enough. His gaze searched the forms below him as they hurried along the street in an effort to stave off the rain.
So far Anton had spent a week in Hong Kong and had bore witness to the extermination of almost sixty hybrid soldiers. The cleansing operation moved at a swift pace, faster here than in America. He hated being this far from Italy, but understood the sacrifices of this international war. After tonight’s operation, he doubted there’d be any need for him to remain on the continent. Now, the hybrid scum had only one more place to run, and they couldn’t hide forever.
The grin threatened to form into a smile with his thoughts, but Anton noticed something different in the scene below and fixed his attention on the illuminated street. A new individual joined tourists on the opposite sidewalk and stood motionless for a moment beneath a large neon sign glowing on the side of an ancient building. A flush of adrenalin flowed through Anton’s ageless blood, and he squinted into the rain at the elderly Chinese man. From this distance he couldn’t discern the man’s features but felt certain he was their target. The man didn’t carry an umbrella, his dark changshan providing little protection from the drifting rain. He looked to be about sixty-five years of age, but of course he could be hundreds of years older than that. Behind the man, three scantily-clad women shielded themselves under umbrellas as they sat on stools outside a seedy bar and tried to attract the first of the night’s clientele. A vampire stepped from shadows in the bar’s entrance, stood next to the target, and rubbed his right hand across his own throat.
Although his colleague couldn’t have seen him, Anton nodded. The signal had been given; their target identified.
Unaware of what had just transpired, the old man stepped from the sidewalk and crossed the busy road towards Anton’s side of the street. He disappeared from view but Anton remained motionless and stared at the vampire in front of the bar. His comrade turned on his heels and stepped back into the darkened nightclub, confirmation the target had entered the restaurant upon which Anton surveyed his small area of the city.
Anton waited two minutes, stood from his position, and crossed the rooftop to the rear of the structure.
In the building under his feet, four hybrid officers waited for their commander to join them. Anton had no idea what they would talk about in their secret meeting, but if he were quick enough they wouldn’t have the opportunity to discuss anything at all. This wasn’t a reconnaissance mission any longer and Anton’s orders were to do what he’d been recruited for all those centuries ago: elimination. Unbuttoning his long, dark coat, he pushed its tail to one side to expose the crafted pommel of his Chinese Maio Dao s
word. He couldn’t see his colleagues, but knew two pairs of vampire Eliminator’s were positioning themselves on either side of the restaurant entrance: his back-up should he need it.
He doubted they’d be required. This wouldn’t be his first solo mission.
Without losing stride, Anton withdrew his saber and stepped from the edge of the building. Gravity took him and he dropped ten feet in less than a second. The rope he’d tied to the rooftop had become slick with rainwater, but his free hand gripped it tight enough that he stopped his descent three feet before the blackened-out window on the rear side of the restaurant. Anton had popped the glass from its frame about an hour ago, when the evening’s clientele were at their most raucous, thus hiding any noise he’d made.
He stepped onto the ledge, ducked his head, and dropped into the room.
Two blazing torches kept obscurity at bay; light from their flames dancing across the dark, uneven walls of the small room. Low ceiling beams deepened the shadows above him, and the dark, storm-laden night only served to thicken the gloom. The floor felt soft under his feet, and he glanced down to see the pale threads of straw scattered around the room. A fetid aroma clung to the static air: the acidic tang of urine mixed with the heavy stench of feces. His nocturnal vision adjusted rapidly to the limited lighting, and he picked out the oval shapes of chain suspended from the walls, long blades hanging from hooks in the mortar, and electronic batons housed in a locked wire cabinet. The torture chamber had seen plenty of use over the centuries; Anton had no doubts about that.
He stepped to the small door, wedged the point of his sword between frame and lock, and popped the door free. Shelving stretched along one wall in the darkened hallway, all sorts of intricate objects and gimmicks lining its surfaces. Anton reasoned the artifacts were probably used in the many pawn shops around the city that hybrids usually ran their war offices from. He’d closed down a few of them in the past week—maybe tonight’s emergency meeting had been called to formulate a surrender plan.
Anton smiled this time. No chance; the coven didn’t take prisoners.
At the end of the narrow corridor between the racks of knickknacks, a beaded curtain hung across a doorway and fractured the lighting within into strips of luminescence on the passageway’s dusty floor. Anton edged towards the entrance, his wet clothes giving off no sound, his footfalls silent in the darkness.
According to vampire sources, there should be five hybrid officers in the room. Five of Asia’s best, Anton mused. Five against one were the kind of odds he thrived on.
He eased his fingers against the covering and pulled one row of beads sideways a small fraction. Smoke hung in the room like the thin tendrils of an early morning mist. He could smell the opium and also picked up the scent of Jie Tea. A wall jutted from the right side of the door, obscuring half of the room. A table lay ahead of the entrance and Anton noticed two hybrids sitting with their backs to the doorway—numbers one and two, he thought—one of the males partially hidden by the wall. The aged hybrid he’d observed crossing Lockhart Road sat across from those two—number three—a rolled cigarette hanging from its mouth, gnarled fingers holding a small china cup. There were two he couldn’t see—a female and another male judging by the information he’d been given and the sound of voices in the room—most likely at the other end of the table. Without sizing up their threat, it would be those two he’d have to be wary of the most. The first two hybrids were dressed in similar changshan’s as their elderly comrade, their greased-back hair shining under the room’s dim lighting.
The top five hybrid commanders on the Asian continent sat less than ten yards from him, and they didn’t even know he was there. Anton’s eternal heartbeat quickened, his hearing picking out the conversation filtering from the table and the rattle of rain outside the building. His wet clothing tightened around his body as ageless blood flooded his muscles, and fangs surged from his gums as he readied himself for battle. His taste buds tingled with the sweet flavor of his own venom.
An arsenal of swords spread across the left hand wall. Anton recognized a broad bladed Dadao and about a dozen Miao Dao sabers hanging horizontally in their sheaths. An over-sized, muscled, humanoid torso intertwined with a dragon decorated the hilt of every weapon—the adopted symbol most Chinese hybrids fought under. A large window spanned the far wall, about eighty small panes that revealed no light beyond. Familiarizing himself with the room’s layout, Anton reasoned the window backed onto alleyways behind the restaurant, those darkened lanes shrouded in shadow.
He couldn’t understand their conversation, but the topic seemed to provoke a lot of emotion. The elderly commander slammed his fist on the table, mouth deforming while talking as his anger produced a subtle metamorphosis. Anton hated werewolves but at least they could control their transformations; the creatures in the room before him were just animals.
By now the restaurant had emptied, and it was time to go to work.
Anton swallowed saliva coated with poison, and allowed his body to expand further as adrenalin flooded his veins. He knew one thing for certain: he’d have to be swift and ruthless.
Pushing the bead curtain to one side and striding into the room, Anton swung the Maio Dao from right to left. He decapitated the first hybrid before the creature could turn towards the noise. Its head dropped into its lap and bright arterial blood spurted from the severed neck.
Without losing fluidity Anton brought the blade down again, swinging from left to right. Aware of the attack, the second hybrid ducked to avoid the saber, but wasn’t quick enough. The razor-sharp blade caught the bridge of its nose, the blow splitting its head in half. Its twitching body slumped under the table.
Hybrid number three—the head honcho—uttered something in Chinese and lurched from his seat. His outstretched hand almost found one of the weapons hanging on the wall before Anton’s blow severed its torso in two. Its upper body toppled to the right, legs and hips falling left and thudding into the wall.
The glorious scent of spilled blood filled the room.
Anton turned to his right, facing hybrid’s four and five for the first time. The male remained seated beside the empty chair once occupied by the aged hybrid; the female at the end of the table, near the far wall. She looked stunning in a tight fitting Cheongsam, the bright red garment coated with a floral decoration. She’d tied her hair into a bun atop her head which defined the sharp contours of her beautiful face. She might have looked gorgeous, but Anton also knew she would be dangerous. With the arsenal at Anton’s back and her route to them blocked by his dominant form, the female reached over and withdrew a Dadao sword from the belt of her male comrade, leaving him defenseless. For a second his face displayed shock at her impertinence.
Hopefully this’ll be easier than I thought.
Anton grabbed the table and upended it, throwing the furniture as he did so. A surprised yelp left the female hybrid as cups, saucers, and the flat surface of the table itself slammed her into the wall.
The male hybrid jumped to its feet, arms moving in front of its body in some sort of martial arts motion. What a fool. Anton swung the blade and severed both hands below the wrist. The hybrid screamed in agony, but Anton returned the saber in the other direction and took the hybrid’s head off. The body sat back into the seat, while its spinning head shattered one of the small panes and dropped into the night.
The table crashed into the wall, splintering wood, and the female grunted as she steadied herself with the Dadao ready to wield. Anton had been swift, but he’d also been lucky. The surprise of his assault meant he’d laid four hybrids to waste without a scratch to his body but he had a feeling the determined warrior before him would pose a stiffer test.
Something locked around his leg and pain flashed up the limb. He looked down at the elderly hybrid, half a torso now but transformed just the same. It gripped Anton’s leg and sunk fangs into his flesh. Anton yowled in agony and raised the sword to strike, when the female leaped over a fallen chair to land in front o
f him. She screamed in effort as she swung the three foot long blade. Anton countered it by blocking with his weapon, and she swung another blow in the other direction aiming at his legs. He blocked it in time, but feared another blow to his saber would split the steel.
Pain exploded in his face as her elbow connected with his nose. Stars billowed in his vision, and the scabbards covering the swords on the wall dug into his back as he lost his balance. Anton kicked out, planting his foot in the female’s stomach. Air left her in a whoosh and he’d put enough weight behind the kick to send her staggering backwards against the strewn furniture.
The old hybrid tried to tear a section of Anton’s shin away. Reaching down, Anton curled his extended fingers into the loose-fitting changshan and ripped the male hybrid clear of his leg.
The feisty female came at him again, the weapon raised behind her ready to slice through her target. Anton ducked, hoisted the dismembered hybrid into the air, and enjoyed the sight of the female’s broad blade decapitating her comrade. Eternal blood gushed onto Anton’s crouched form.
He thrust forward and drove his sword into the abdomen of the female. Pressure released as the weapon exited her back and she caught her breath in shocked agony. Standing then discarding the bloodied torso, Anton withdrew the saber, gripped it with both hands, and swung the sharp blade at her head.
In one agile movement, the female side-kicked Anton in his chest and propelled him through the large window.
Shattering glass ripped his clothes, and his exposed flesh cooled as the cold night air wrapped him. Falling rain peppered his body. Anton twisted his torso in mid-fall, nocturnal vision searching the darkened alley for a soft landing spot. He didn’t find one and had to make do with the roof of an old Skoda parked in the dirty side street. The windshield splintered and broke loose from its molding, the side windows shattering on impact, sending glass fragments sprinkling across the blacktop. The car’s roof folded itself around the front seats, the vehicle bouncing on its suspension.
The Last Stand -- Blood War Trilogy Book III Page 2