Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

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Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 244

by Lindsey R. Loucks


  “Umm-hmm. Girl, what sorta wolf did you catch?”

  Lilly beamed. “This is James.”

  “The blood warden?”

  “That's the one.”

  James offered his hand, and Oscar grasped it with both of his. He had a fierce grip. “Forgive me if I howl,” he said, “but boy, you're a specimen all right.” He held James' jaw for a moment, feeling the square edges. Then he turned and led them off, shouting back, “Umm!”

  They followed him through the mouth of the fireplace, where the flames vanished just seconds before they passed, and came back on just as quickly. This was the rumoured “back room,” which normal patrons of the bar didn't get to see. When James glanced around, he could see why. The place was filled will all sorts of the weird and wonderful: witches, vampires, werewolves, fey, ghosts, even a necromancer with a party of zombies.

  Oscar brought Lilly aside, leaving James at the bar.

  “Eh, something with no blood in it,” he said. “Like a beer or something.”

  “And no eyes too, I suppose,” the barman said. He didn't smile, so James wasn't entirely sure he was joking.

  “No. No eyes, please.”

  James stared for a moment as the barman poured him a beer. “So, what are you?”

  “I'm the barman.”

  “Yeah, but … like, are you an alien or a robot or a creature from another dimension, or what?”

  “I'm … just the barman.”

  “Human?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “Oh.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “Sorry. It's just … you know.” James gestured around the room, and realised he probably shouldn't be drawing attention to himself.

  “What are you?” the barman asked.

  James smiled. “You know, I don't quite know yet.”

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “I do. You're in a world of trouble.” James turned to see Ioana Danesti standing there, her face as dour and stern as ever. She held up a photo to him, which showed him in bed with Rua. “This has been sent to all the families. Everyone knows. You can tell Rua that her summons will go unanswered. Having a blood warden on her side is one thing. Having it in her bed is another. The perfect marriage is over. You'll get no support from us in the war ahead.”

  36

  House Hooligan

  They came from Millwall, London, and they called themselves the Favoured Fangs. They weren't the favourites of anyone who met them. They caused havoc throughout Britain, but Ireland remained largely outside their sphere of influence, thanks to the strong control of the Kavanagh clan. With that crumbling by the second, the Fangs came out and crossed the Irish Sea.

  They came by boat, and operated their own ships. They brought crates of supplies with them, the kind that don't get through customs. But these vampires got through no problem. They battered the guards to death with their baseball bats. And they loved it. They loved it almost more than blood.

  “Right, you lot!” the leader, Boxer, said. He liked the crack of a baseball bat as much as the rest of them, but what he really loved was bare-knuckle boxing. It usually ending with a few dozens strikes to a bloodied face. Sometimes it didn't end at all until he was dragged away.

  “The so-called Kavanagh empire's fallin',” he continued, spitting that foul family name out of his mouth. “We're not 'ere to claim the thrones. We're 'ere to 'ave a right good laugh about it all, and get the Kavs laughin' too. Let's give 'em all bloody smiles, and let's show 'em that no one, not no Irish or Romanian or anything, can tell us where we can an' cannot go!”

  There was a chorus of hoarse and chesty cheers, and an almost rehearsed routine of bats patting hands. Those smooth ones were if you got lucky. They had ones with nails and studs as well.

  37

  All Roads Lead to Umbra Montis

  James raced back to Umbra Montis, where a crowd was already gathering. He could see the banners of the O'Connor family, which were a sizeable number, as they paraded about in front of the building, chanting and shouting. It almost looked like a kind of protest, but James knew it would not be long before it was a battle.

  He sneaked in through the back, rushing upstairs to where he found Rua standing on the highest balcony with John Gorman, surveying the forces below.

  “I know,” she said, before James fully drew up beside her.

  James panted from the race up the steps. Before he fully caught his breath, he could see the amassing armies in the shadow-swept fields. He felt a little bit like watching the beginnings of a siege. Except that there was barely anyone in the castle.

  “Was it them?” he asked. “The O'Neills, I mean.”

  “Of course it was them!” John growled. “They're behind everything. They attacked my family on the road. They've been breeding like rabbits in that hole of theirs.”

  “It doesn't matter who it was,” Rua said, sounding resigned. “It matters who fights.”

  “Well, the Danestis won't,” James told her.

  “No,” she said softly. “Not even Lorcan. He hasn't been back yet.”

  “So, who can we count on?” James asked.

  Rua turned to John with pleading eyes.

  “I'm sorry, Rua,” John said, “but I can't risk losing more of my family. I can't even justify them coming to your aid. You broke the sacred tradition that has kept all our families at peace.” He turned to James. “You were supposed to be the peace-keeper, not the bringer of war.”

  Rua looked at him, taking his hand. “It was only a matter of time, John.”

  He yanked his hand free. “Save your devilry for the next man.” He stormed off, leaving Rua alone with James.

  “Just us,” James said. “That's kind of what got us into this mess.”

  She turned to him, but did not take his hand. She knew where loneliness had guided her, and what doom it had wrought upon them. She had locked up her heart for the good of the vampire kingdoms, and the safety of humans too. By unlocking it, she had also unleashed many horrors. “This mess” was the understatement of a century.

  “Just us,” she repeated. “That's what'll get us out of it as well.”

  38

  Party Crashing

  The stage was set for war, but fate had a cruel way of working things. The O'Connor clan grew in number, waiting to bolster their forces even more before their assault, or maybe just hoping the show of size would make the Kavanaghs give up the thrones willingly. But something else happened. A limousine pulled up, followed by two other cars, and out stepped the most unlikely soldiers. They kind of looked like the guests of a hen party.

  James raced downstairs to bring them in before the O'Connors got to them. They stumbled in, half-drunk already, and between their giggles they could be heard saying all sorts of things, like “I wonder if it's haunted” or “I love what you did with the banners outside. Very medieval.”

  “It's a bad time,” James told them.

  One of the women hobbled over to him, grabbing him by the collar with one hand and holding out a half-empty bottle of wine with the other. “No such thing, love.”

  Another woman blew a party horn in his ear, and the assembly of nine woman half-marched, half-tripped their way up the stairs, screaming and shouting, and doing what they thought was dancing.

  “What are they doing here?” Rua asked from the top of the stairs.

  James shrugged. He glanced at the bookings at the counter in the foyer. “Looks like Ebed has them down for tonight and tomorrow.”

  One of the women passed Rua, turning to her. “I'm getting married!” She dashed up the steps.

  Another woman stopped where Rua stood and looked her up and down. “Here, Laura!” she shouted up at the bride. “Why can't we have dresses like, hic, this?” She pawed at the silk of Rua's gown.

  James grimaced, barely finishing the expression before Rua, still looking down at him, gave a slight push of her hand, which threw the bridesmaid up the full flight of stairs. The woman screamed, a
nd the entire brood of hens screamed too, racing away in all directions, barricading themselves in some of the empty rooms.

  Rua shook her head. “We need to get them out of here.”

  At that moment, James heard more cars pulling up outside. “God, not more of them.”

  Rua sighed, and James felt something communicated by her breath. This wasn't more unexpected guests, though they were unwelcome ones. This was the O'Neills.

  “You better get your cross,” Rua told him. “We now have two armies to fight.”

  Several black cars pulled up outside, followed by a truck. The doors opened one by one, and out came Dearg and her kin. The truck was packed with dozens of newly-minted vampires, enough to rival the force of the O'Neills, and all eager to prove their worth.

  “Nice flag,” Dearg shouted over to Cathal O'Connor. She raised her hand, and, with a twist and flourish, she called down a bolt of lightning, which struck the banner he carried, setting it ablaze. He growled at her, but backed away when the Brute Brothers drew up behind her.

  They marched up to the front door and kicked it in. Dearg cast Ebed's head through the opening. “Brought you back something,” she yelled.

  There was no response. Dearg swaggered in, with a dozen vampires behind her, stopping at the end of the stairs. “Hello?” she shouted, her voice echoing through the giant hall.

  She turned around, arms outstretched, and looked up as she spun. There, at the top of the highest stairs, she saw Rua, her claws digging deep into the bannisters.

  “Come down, Miss Maj,” Dearg shouted up. “Come down off your false throne. It's time to play.”

  But just as quickly as Rua appeared, she vanished out of view.

  Dearg smiled, showing her fangs. “Looks like we're playing hide and seek.”

  39

  Battle of the Brutes

  James retreated to his room, finding the shaking bride there. She had found the cross and held it up at him as if it might ward him off.

  “Give me that,” he said as he reefed it off her.

  As he walked to the door, he turned and looked at her trembling form. “Hide.”

  Before he'd even finished the word, and before the bride let out a terrible scream, a fist punched through the door and seized James, hauling him out into the corridor in a haze of splinters. The hand belonged to Paddy O'Neill, one of the Brute Brothers, and the other bounded up the hallway to join them.

  James freed himself from the giant's grasp and backed away, but he did not run. The twins towered over him liked they always did, but now he wasn't as intimidated by their bulking forms or their enormous shadows. He stood, defiant, holding the Cross of St. Benedict aloft, where it radiated a subtle light.

  “I'm not afraid of no cross!” Joe O'Neill growled, stomping forward.

  True enough, he didn't baulk at the sight of that holy symbol, but as soon as he came within range, James swung the cross, striking the giant, and sending him flying into the wall, as if their roles had suddenly reversed.

  Paddy's eyes widened. Not in a hundred years had he seen such power wielded by a mortal, strong enough to knock his twin aside. He hesitated, like James might have done if he did not feel this well of power coursing through his veins, those same veins the O'Neills could not puncture without facing terrible consequences.

  Joe clambered up from the fractured ruins of the wall, casting aside brick and plaster, groaning as he got to his knees. He looked at this twin in anger, astonished that he was just standing there. It was only when he got to his feet that Paddy raced in to join him.

  James struck Paddy aside, tearing apart the outer wall. The window smashed, and Paddy almost tumbled out. The moonlight streamed in, but it was the light of the cross that illuminated the corridor much more brightly.

  Joe caught the cross between both his hands as James tried a backhand strike against him. Yet, though the giant managed to halt the attack, his hands blistered and burned, as if the metal of the cross were the base of a heated prying pain. He screamed, then let go, and stumbled backwards of his own accord, tripping up over the ruins he had just emerged from.

  With how easy he had flicked the two away like flies, James started to grow a little overconfident, and a little careless. The next time they came, they came together from either side, and James was not able to switch from one to the other before a massive fist struck him in the jaw. He fell back, crashing onto the floor. The cross leapt from his clutch and clattered off the marble far behind. The wind was knocked from him, and he gasped for breath.

  Then the twins stood over him, smiling. James tried to turn and grab the cross, but it was several metres out of reach. Joe grabbed him and pulled him away, throwing him back across to the other side of the hall. The force of the grip was only matched by the pounding of the floor.

  James felt a trickle of liquid down his chin. His lip was busted. The twins' eyes grew a little manic at the sight and smell of the blood. Whatever strength they already had would now be multiplied by their bloodlust.

  James got to his unsteady feet, breathing heavy, holding out his hands before him, not sure how he could ward off blows, or punch back with enough force to match the cross. He saw it glinting far off down the corridor, well out of reach.

  Then the twins came for him.

  And he ran for them.

  Just as they were about to crash, like a rodent diving against a brick wall, he dropped to the floor and skidded between the legs of Paddy. He half-crawled, half ran, stretching out towards the cross, until his fingers grazed the surface of it.

  Then Joe seized him by the ankles and pulled him back a bit. Paddy stepped with his massive boot on James' spine. The blood warden cried out as he felt the bones crushing. It seemed like it all was over. They would add him to the trophy cabinet.

  Then a presence appeared far down the corridor, out on the balcony. Everyone looked in that direction simultaneously, feeling that tremendous power. The balcony doors blew open with a gust of wind, and a flurry of bats span and twisted into the form of a man: Lorcan. He raised his head, and his eyes were a terrifying red. Then he raised his hands, and the cross rose too. He pushed them forward, and it flew forward, all the while with Lorcan's hands burning from the astral touch.

  The cross came within reach of James' outstretched hand. He grabbed it, and Joe backed away, but Paddy stayed there, keeping James pinned to the ground with his foot.

  Then Lorcan advanced down the corridor. Joe started to run, but Paddy stood his ground. Lorcan held his hands out again, and seemed strained, as if lifting a terrible weight. Paddy rose a little, and then with a flick of Lorcan's wrists, the vampire king pressed the giant against the ceiling.

  James clambered up, groaning from the pain in his back. Lorcan could not hold the weight, and let Paddy drop to the ground with a crash.

  “Slay him!” Lorcan bellowed.

  James leapt upon Paddy, holding up the cross. The end of it turned suddenly sharp, like a stake. Paddy tried to punch and swat, but Lorcan used his telekinetic abilities to pin the Brute's arms to his sides, forming his own shape of a cross.

  “To Hell with you!” Lorcan said.

  James drove the golden stake into Paddy's chest. The vampire spasmed, coughing up a spew of what looked like coal and lava. He burned, and then turned to dust.

  James stood up, exhausted. “Good of you to lend a hand.”

  “Two,” Lorcan said, showing his own burnt paws. “And there's nothing good about me at all. But there's nothing good about them either. Less of us in the world, well, that's a good thing!”

  40

  The Silent Sister

  Lorcan flew back outside to join the mounting battle, roaming through the black fields like a battering ram, knocking down wave after wave of vampires from the O'Connor clan, the O'Neill family, or the Favoured Fangs, the latter of which arrived in bulk, pouring into the castle to swing their bats and clubs at everything in sight.

  Inside, James followed suit, forging a path through the O
'Neill army, staking vampire after vampire, coating the floors in a thick layer of dust. Some of the newer and weaker creatures of the night barely even got in reach of him before they exploded from the painful push of the cross.

  Yet, though James whittled down their numbers with ease, there was another, stronger vampire making her slow pursuit. No one was entirely sure of her real name, or if she was even related to Dearg. They called her the Silent Sister, for she never spoke, and barely made any sounds at all. Some said that she had a dispute with her elder sister, and Dearg tore her tongue out as a lesson. Yet, for all this, the Silent Sister maintained a certain unbreakable loyalty, the kind of loyalty that meant breaking others.

  The way ahead was clear, but James was wary. He tip-toed down the corridor, cross raised high, ready to strike at a moment's notice. He knew too well, however, that he'd get no notice at all. His eyes searched out every shifting shadow, every flicker of candlelight. His nose hunted the scent of the dead, though he knew they could mask that too. Most of all he relied on his gut, on his instincts, and that told him to be careful, that danger wasn't just around the corner—it was all around him.

  He halted suddenly, feeling a presence, though it seemed distant. He turned slowly, seeing nothing down the corridor. He paused for a moment, waiting for the strike, but nothing came. Then he returned to the path ahead, taking a few paces forward before stopping and turning again. Yet nothing happened then either.

  Then, as he turned back, keeping his eyes on the door ahead, something emerged from around the corner far behind him: the Silent Sister. She stood for a moment, arms drooping, head lolling to one side, as if she had been hanged, and was still swinging. Then she opened her mouth, as if to scream, but no sound came. Instead, she started to fade away, changing into a gaseous form, so thin and faint that it could barely be seen up close, never mind far away.

 

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