To keep the secret hidden for so long, to allow the sordid child to live, was unforgiveable.
Markus must have been running faster than ever before, for she failed to catch up with him. There were no doors or hidden alcoves in the narrow passageway save for the entrance to the catacombs just off the library wing. If he reached the library unhindered, a door on the building’s southern wall would lead out into landscaped gardens and a short sprint to the fortress ramparts where he could easily disappear into the ancient city of Rome.
For the sake of the coven, and her own appeasement, Ilanna hoped he would never make it.
She rounded a bend in the hall, and found herself near the library and the doorway that led into the bowels of the castle. Anton stood on the steps leading from the library, his stoic form hindering the progress of a screaming mob of deranged vampires and lycanthropes. The Eliminator’s expression remained emotionless, body buffeted by the crowd pushing at his back. It seemed he deliberately held the swarm at bay to allow Ilanna time to reach her husband first.
Using his sword Anton pointed at the entrance to the catacombs. “That way.”
Without hesitating Ilanna thrust open the door, turned as she closed it, and threw the bolt into place. That should buy me some time.
Darkness overwhelmed her, the upper tunnels sparsely lit by torches on the walls. The pungent aroma of smoke and warm earth filled the corridor, the atmosphere containing heat from the building and eliciting a thin layer of sweat to coat her body. Deeper into the catacombs, in the lower levels, the air cooled considerably.
Listening to the tunnel ahead of her, she heard nothing, the only sound coming from the enraged shouts of the pursuing horde beyond the entrance. Something slammed into the door. Anton would open the gate eventually; she had to find her husband soon.
Ilanna ran into the darkness.
Burial chambers were dug into the soft lava rock, small caves large enough only to contain the casket of its occupant and a few personal treasures. She knew Markus would not seek sanctuary in these tiny alcoves. The pack would sniff him out within minutes and rip him to shreds.
In addition to the entrance from Santi Quattro Coronati, the crypt contained one other entry point, but its location had been closely guarded for centuries. Only werewolf Elders knew of its placing and the direction to take within the catacombs to reach the exit. It would take Markus an age to find the right path; time the Elder did not have.
Forced into this subterranean tomb, Markus had only one place to hide.
Ilanna hurried to level three.
Enormous torches offered more light along the corridor that led to the boardroom but Ilanna didn’t need added illumination. She’d been down here so often in the past year, sometimes walking hand in hand with her husband, that she could navigate the passages with her eyes closed.
The room’s guard did not sit quietly in his private chamber, but stood before the closed doors with a forty-inch saber clutched in its malformed hands. The aged vampire recognized Ilanna and uncertainty gripped the creature.
Running to the vaulted entrance, breath easing from her lungs as if she were comfortably rested, Ilanna confronted the guard with her own sword.
“In the name of the Elders open this door,” she said.
The vampire flinched, the discomfort of its predicament all too evident in its nervous movements. It had never before disobeyed an Elder and obviously feared Ilanna’s wrath should he do so now. The words uttered by the vampire were strained and whistled between malformed teeth, as though its vocal chords had only now been awakened from six hundred years of hibernation. “I am instructed not to let anyone enter this room.”
“I am ordering you to open this gate!”
“Markus ordered me not to.”
Ilanna raised her sword and pressed its blade against the guard’s neck, pushing him painfully against the door. Blood oozed from its point that broke the skin. “Open it in the name of Gabriel!”
The former Elder would turn in his grave if he knew of his grandson’s treachery.
The guard’s terrified eyes stared wider and it offered a subtle nod. Ilanna released the sword’s pressure; the guard reached to his right and opened the door.
Anton must have forced his way into the tunnels because the angered shouts of the chasing crowd echoed down the passageway behind her.
“Lock it after me.” Ilanna pushed through the opening. The entryway slammed shut at her back, its lock engaging with a loud snap.
A macabre serenity presided in the spacious room, complete silence hindered by the soft cackle of burning torches placed around the walls. The entire room had a different feel about it, no longer the meeting place of the war cabinet but now the final refuge of her desperate husband. She sensed his presence as she stepped cautiously towards the boardroom tables, glancing into gloom settling like a starless night across the ceiling.
She’d hunted werewolves in the darkness of medieval houses or through the obscurity of dense woodlands, but Ilanna never imagined she’d be stalking her own husband in such a manner.
“Markus?” Her soft voice sounded too loud in the quiet room.
Out of nowhere Markus dropped to the floor, landing effortlessly before lunging towards her in one movement. His blade whistled through the taut air and Ilanna parried the blow with a grunt of effort. Sparks jumped from contacted steel.
What’s happening? Is he trying to kill me?
He shoved her, force driving into her shoulder, pushing her sideways. Ilanna retained her footing and gazed at her husband. Markus had transformed as much as a vampire was able to; blood filled his muscles, pupils dilated until his eyeballs became dark orbs, fangs elongated over his lower jaw. He gripped his sword tight with both hands, fingers tipped by scythe-like talons.
Ilanna counterattacked, stepping forward and swinging her weapon with power. Markus left the ground, the athletic back flip carrying him up onto the table the two of them had often sat at during counsel. She brought the blade down a second time, Markus dodging the blow with ease, the saber slicing a deep cut into the polished mahogany surface.
All form of sentiment had left Markus. Fighting for his life, it seemed he didn’t care if he had to kill his wife in order to prevent his own demise.
Landing on the concrete between the tables Markus whipped his sword through the air in a majestic arc. Ilanna dropped her weight, sinking low to avoid the blow. She kicked out, her heel connecting with his knee, and the crack of his shattered patella resounded off the room’s uneven walls.
Markus screamed and collapsed to the floor.
Standing then yanking her sword from the wood, Ilanna swung the weapon. The blow—contacting close to the hilt of Markus’s sword—sent his weapon skidding across the floor into darkness. Parting her legs for a firmer stance, she jabbed forward with the sword and stopped the tip of the blade two inches from her husband’s face.
Contorted in agony, his expression calmed as he gazed at her. His fangs reseeded, pupils swam into focus, body shrinking in size as composure overcame his desperation.
Don’t be fooled, Ilanna told herself. After what she’d just witnessed a large portion of her trust for the vampire had evaporated.
“Why, Markus?” That was the most important question.
He shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t intentional.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. I’m sure all the others who crossed the bloodlines didn’t do it intentionally but they still did it; and they paid the price.”
“It just happened. It didn’t mean anything.”
Anger flared through her system. She pushed forward, the blade now an inch from his eyes. “Of course it meant something, you bastard. You kept her alive; you accepted the child and you raised it as your own. You released the hybrid. You are partially responsible for all the vampires who have died at the hands of those cursed hybrids.” Ilanna paused; tried to swallow but a lump of heartache was lodged in her throat. She blinked to disperse the tears. Hoping
her voice wouldn’t crack when she spoke, emotions snagged her words. “You are partially responsible for the death of Gabriella.”
Anguish creased his features in the moment before he hung his head. She hoped shame had overridden him: that he rested his chin upon his chest in a pose of abject sorrow and regret. Ilanna took a step back, uncertain if he were lulling her into a false sense of security before springing from his position on the floor. His damaged knee might prevent swift movement, but it would regenerate soon, and she couldn’t be too careful.
Drifting faintly through the gap between door and jam came the muffled sound of the horde gathering outside. Although quiet because of the thick oak doors, she could still decipher their chanting: a call for the destruction of Markus.
When he eventually lifted his head, she ignored the tears in his eyes.
“Why did you let it happen?” she whispered. “You didn’t need that child; it should never have been born. If you’d prevented the birth we might have still had a chance.”
“Ilanna, please, don’t say that. I’m sorry, really I am.”
The apology didn’t mean anything to her.
There would be no point asking him if he loved the creature that had bore him a bastard child. The werewolf was in all probability dead but Markus must have had some emotional ties: he let the female lycanthrope live long enough to give birth; he’d raised the child until the girl was old enough to be freed.
A moment of weakness she could understand; might even have been able to forgive given time, but for him to allow the abomination to be born showed a predetermined aspiration to have a relationship with the offspring: something forbidden by vampire law.
Six hundred years of conflict flashed through her mind; centuries spent by his side slaughtering werewolves and hybrids in the honor of the coven. Almost the same length of time devoted to each other; being together, raising legitimate children, sharing their immortality, their hopes and dreams, their bed and bodies.
Centuries that amounted to nothing more than deceit and lies.
Markus had no excuses.
“Please, my darling wife,” he pleaded; “forgive me.”
Their relationship came down to this: Markus on his knees begging forgiveness for a crime that was unforgiveable. Ilanna shook her head. “I can’t.”
Ilanna knew that if she didn’t act appropriately the coven would never forgive her.
* * *
Isaac pushed his weight through the gathered crowd: throngs of vampires and werewolves bunched together in the constricted passageway deep in the catacombs.
These foot soldiers have no place down here; only an Elder has the right.
Some of his pack had shifted shape despite his earlier warnings, but in a way he understood their insubordination. After what they’d just witnessed, to know that the coven still contained such a treacherous member, their display of furious emotion was almost acceptable. Isaac wouldn’t punish them; not for this.
Using almost a thousand years of brute strength and importance, Isaac pushed the gathering aside and advanced on the locked entryway.
A sibilant, piercing hiss filled the passage as the room’s guard warned the gathered mass to hold its distance. The deformed vampire took its honor of protecting the sacred chamber very highly indeed, it seemed. Anton stood beside the creature, sword drawn to ensure no one ventured too close.
Werewolves and vampires alike screamed for the blood of Markus and for the serving of justice. The baying crowd parted. Isaac strode defiantly to the heavy doorway and stopped two feet from the guarding vampires.
The sentry hissed at him but Isaac ignored its warning. Instead he turned to Anton. “You cannot deny me right of passage. The Book of Perpetuity states that no one can refute my access.”
Anton glanced once at the hunched vampire beside him, yet Isaac could tell the Eliminator knew he had no choice. There were only two living Elders granted unconditional access into the chamber—one of those stood outside the doors, the other had fled for his life into the darkened meeting room.
Lowering his sword, Anton nodded to the centuries-old guard. “Let him through.”
Behind him the crowd’s calls for justice fell silent, and Isaac waited patiently for the sentry's aged fingers to turn the key and force the door. He pulled the entrance open a few feet and held the door ready to close behind the Alpha-Male.
Isaac glanced at the Eliminator. “Keep this horde at bay, Anton. A true justice cannot be dealt if a lynch mob is allowed access.”
It pleased him to see Anton nod in agreement.
Isaac stepped into the boardroom; the door closed behind him and its sliding bolt echoed through the chamber.
Torches blazed eternally and amber light flickered off the room’s stone walls. Shadows seemed intent on fighting for control of the boardroom, subduing the light before relinquishing ground. The soft crackle of fire was hidden by the whispered sobs of a crying woman.
Between the tables used so often in recent times for the meeting of the war cabinet, Ilanna knelt on the cold floor. Firelight skipped across her leather-clad back, the silhouette of her slumped form expanding then retracting across the raised platform. Isaac’s lycanthropic eyesight searched the darkened recesses of the room for movement, or the cowering form of a hiding Elder, but saw nothing of the sort.
Glancing once over each shoulder, he satisfied himself that Markus had not hidden in alcoves beside the immense entrance, those niches still inhabited by the bronze statues of past leaders.
He made his way slowly across the open floor, senses alert to possible movement among the heavy shadows fluctuating over the vaulted chamber’s uneven walls. As he approached Ilanna’s hunkered form, the sweet scent of spilled blood flooded his nostrils.
The vampiress knelt in a large pool, the lifeblood made darker due to shadows pushed by firelight.
Her hands clutched her sword in a weak grip, the silver blade stained with streaks of blood.
Markus lay on the stone before her; his regal attire, made of dark blue silk, almost lost amid the gathered shadows. The Elder’s left arm reached out, fingers placed delicately on his wife’s knee. His broad shoulders, often pushed back in a display of power and self-importance, ended at the ragged stump of his torn neck.
Pale in the gloom settled beneath the mahogany table used by vampires during counsel, the head of Markus rested against a carved table leg. An expression of resigned acceptance seemed to be frozen on the Elder’s features; not fear, or anger, or sadness; as if Markus understood there would be no other way.
Isaac did not reach out to place a comforting hand on Ilanna’s shoulder.
Let her wallow in her grief.
Instead, he stared at the severed head of Markus, the coven’s oldest vampire, and smiled with satisfaction.
THIRTEEN
EUROPE
Castel Bãtrânilor
Carpathian Mountains, Romania
The jagged spikes of pine trees stabbed the sun as it glided beyond the distant horizon, its waning light pushing shadows across the castle’s palatial gardens to drape Ilanna in a solemn blanket of emptiness.
She sat on a granite bench in the oval garden, ten feet from Gabriella’s headstone. Gazing over her daughter’s monument, she stared at the sun as another day of her eternal existence came to a close. To her right, water gurgled in a fountain; its sound a calming accompaniment to the natural undertone of leaves caressed by a cooling evening breeze.
A fur coat hung from her shoulders. She’d dragged herself from bed, leaving shattered emotions buried beneath the covers, her naked body warm under the coat.
This moment offered an embrace of comfort, but also the grip of profound grief.
She’d lost count of the times she’d sat in this area of the grounds over the last two years, only a short distance from Gabriella. Despite the heavy weight of sadness at not having her daughter around anymore, just being close to the girl’s resting place instilled in her a deep sense of serenity. She�
�d breathed it in often, gaining strength from the love she still held for her little girl—their little girl.
Markus loved Gabriella, had doted on the child, and for a while they’d been the happiest of families. Ilanna could scarcely believe how quickly everything had crumbled around her. The death of Gabriella, the strain on her relationship with Markus, then that final crushing blow two days ago in the form of that horrible secret her husband had kept hidden.
If she hadn’t taken his life, she would never have forgiven him. For over four hundred years their relationship had been a lie, and that hurt the most.
She pushed the thoughts of her husband forcefully from her mind. After nine hundred years the great vampire was dead. She’d killed him. May God have mercy on his soul.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, happy not to shed a tear.
When she opened them again the sun had almost gone, its brilliance lighting the heavens with a glorious sunset.
Ilanna forced a smile, and settled into this comforting yet grief-filled moment.
It was also a moment of hope.
Ilanna hid her hands under the fur coat and stroked her enlarged abdomen. The baby moved, as though responding to her touch.
The legacy of Markus lives on.
She would not contemplate aborting the child in spite of its father’s betrayal; to hell with what the coven thought about the bloodline of a traitor being born anew through her offspring. Her kind should not be concerned with such matters when more pressing issues needed to be addressed. Ilanna was now the oldest living vampire, a regal and venerated ruler who would see to it that the coven did not collapse under this distressing shockwave of disloyalty.
She’d ensure the coven would be in a strong, vibrant, and healthy state when she eventually transferred power over to her heir.
Boy or girl, she hoped the child would rule the coven with the same reverence and pride as Markus had done—she hoped her offspring would not make similar stupid mistakes like its father.
The Last Stand -- Blood War Trilogy Book III Page 15