“Ancient light, rid evil from my sight! As I command it, so it becomes!”
The roiling cloud of evil rippled and perhaps five of the vampires heeded the Levenach’s spell. After only a moment, though, they rejoined the flock.
Their numbers were too great, their power too strong, Alder realized coolly. He could not care. He had to feed soon, and the only sustenance that would do was Laszlo…
Or Beatrix.
She seemed to move slowly closer to him as he watched her hungrily, and Alder heard his own feral whine as if from far away. His vampire eyes could see every strand of her fiery hair, every pore in her creamy skin, and the vibrating light that surrounded her. He could remember the feel of himself buried inside her, the tiniest taste of her blood that had been left in his mouth when his fangs had scraped her neck, and he was ready to take her again. He would fly down upon her, knock her to the ground, and take her body and her blood in the same moment. Before her precious Leamhnaigh, where they could watch as he destroyed her and know the truth of her goodness as he drank it, used it up. And then he would destroy them all….
And then the most vicious scream shook the already trembling night air, announcing its owner’s arrival like wicked royalty, and Alder felt its vibration to his black, cold core.
“Beatrix Levenach,” the voice called, loud enough for the mortals in the clearing to hear, but also whispered like a lover into Alder’s ear. “You do look delicious.”
The sight of Laszlo le Morte strolling from the woods into the clearing like a dandy mortal caused Alder to go temporarily blind with madness. At last, there was the face that had haunted Alder these one hundred years—the pointed, bearded chin, the long, bony nose, the sharply slanted, black eyes. His arms were clasped behind his back, hiding from view the unusually long palms and fingers Alder knew he was so proud of. Alder could still remember the feel of those fingers digging into his shoulders, holding him down while his soul exploded from his being, his blood flowed out of his veins….
Alder crouched and then sprang, flying over the clearing in a single leap toward his unnatural maker.
But Laszlo was older, faster, and not even Alder’s supernatural vision saw clearly how fast the dark-haired devil flashed to Beatrix, bending her against his body, one impossibly long hand over her face, pushing her head away to expose the hump of her throat.
Alder fell to the dirt with a thud but then quickly sprang to all fours, ready to fly at Laszlo again.
“Alder,” Laszlo said mildly. “Why, it seems a hundred years!” The demon chuckled. Beatrix did not so much as twitch.
“Let her go, Laszlo,” Alder growled. “And put me off no longer. I will have your blood this night.”
“Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not,” Laszlo said thoughtfully. He looked down at Beatrix, leaned a mite closer to her neck and took a long, exaggerated sniff. A greasy smile slid across his thin lips. “Well, well—fucked her, have you? And—oh my!—what are these here? Fang marks?” Laszlo nuzzled Beatrix’s skin and laughed. “Tsk-tsk, Alder. Sampling the goods over-much, I daresay. Perhaps you’ve already drank enough of her, then, for me to end your life once and for all.”
“Test me,” Alder dared him.
“I think I shall,” Laszlo conceded. “Just as soon as I’ve had a taste of the Levenach’s fabled blood myself. I, too, have longed to savor witch blood again, and once again it is you who has given me chance, so I’m certain you won’t mind at all….”
He began to lower his open mouth, long, stained fangs protruded, and Beatrix’s right fist swung up from its dangle, smashing the remains of salt into Laszlo’s face.
Chapter Nine
Laszlo’s claws fell away from Beatrix and he hissed as he flew backward from her. Beatrix staggered aright and spat in the dirt, trying to clear her mouth of the close taste of his stinking flesh.
The vampire swiped at his face, and in the glow of salt fire and torch, Beatrix could see the melted pock-marks the mineral had left in his skin, like a sheet of candle wax onto which hot embers had flown.
The salt would not kill him, of course, but it had bought her time to escape. And it had shown Laszlo that the Levenach would not make easy prey.
“Not nice, Levenach,” Laszlo tsked, smiling through his pitted skin. He wagged a finger at her, and to Beatrix the digit seemed as long as her forearm. “Your determination is to be admired, but I do take offense. I would have taken you quickly. Now, I fear ’twill be much more painful if only because of your poor manners.”
“Test me,” Beatrix said, borrowing the phrase from Alder. “You die this night, devil.”
“Die? Me?” Laszlo began to chuckle. The chuckle grew into rolling laughter as, with swishes and soft thuds, vampires began to drop to the ground behind him, like a demonic army.
“Going to put end to us all, are you?” he guessed in a condescending tone. “That’s quite an ambitious task. I do hope you brought your supper along, Levenach. There is no mortal—or witch—who can match me. Your poor pet, Dunstan, discovered that too late. Smart enough to align with me, but too stupid to realize I had used him until he sat with his fat head in his fat hands.” Laszlo looked to Alder. “Remind you of anyone?”
Beatrix felt the crowd of Leamhnaigh gather closer to her, eventually flanking her. She let her eyes dart to the sides and saw that they had collected the talismans once piled against the inn’s door and were now clutching them defiantly in the face of Laszlo’s fiends. The folk now knew the truth, and Beatrix felt her ancient blood, her magic blood, shooting impatiently through her veins.
“Stay behind me,” Beatrix warned the folk in a low voice before addressing Laszlo once more. “It stops tonight,” she said to the vampire leader, realizing at once that Alder stood between the two groups—Beatrix and the Leamhnaigh on one side, Laszlo and his vampire offspring on the other.
In that moment, she did not know with which side he would stand.
But she could not allow herself—or her heart—to dwell on the repercussions of whichever choice he made. Tonight was All Hallow’s Eve, Beatrix was the Levenach, and she would honor her family’s vow to its ancient and unknown resolution.
Laszlo’s keen and evil senses must have caught her quick glance at the white wolf, for he homed in on it like fresh blood.
“You fancy he’s in love with you, don’t you?” Laszlo taunted, his children pacing and gnashing their fangs impatiently behind him, scraping at the dirt like beasts mad for the kill. “Perhaps he’ll take you with him when you’ve put through with me, eh?” He belched his despicable laugh once more. “Alder might be here to destroy me, true, but he also has another motive, do you not, Alder?”
Beatrix could not help but glance to where Alder had been crouched. He was no longer there. Her eyes flitted about the clearing, but she saw no sign of him.
She knew a blink of panic at the thought that he had abandoned her, but dismissed it. It did not matter. Alder was what he was, and naught Laszlo could say would deter Beatrix from her duty.
“Hmm, wonder where he’s flown off to?” Laszlo mused with a smirk. “Well, I’ll tell you why Alder is here, and why he’s kept such close company with you, Levenach—he needs you.”
“Alder doesna need me to kill you, Laszlo.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” the demon insisted, wide-eyed. “You misunderstand. He doesn’t need you to kill me, he needs your blood.”
Beatrix froze. “My blood?”
“Alder seeks his revenge on me, true, but do you know why?”
“Because it was you who made him a vampire,” Beatrix said boldly.
“Oh my, yes. And I must say he is still quite put out with me for that. He wants his pathetic little soul back, for what reason I can’t possibly fathom. He has come back to this place, on this night, one hundred years later, to try to regain that sorry scrap of humanity which I so graciously liberated him from.” Laszlo paused, looking at Beatrix with unconcealed glee. “Did you hear that, Levenach? One hundred years. Alde
r is no stranger to the Leamhnaigh. He has been here before. Think on it for a moment, if you must—what happened here one hundred years ago, tonight?”
“The massacre,” Beatrix whispered.
“Correct!” Laszlo smiled. “The massacre, exactly! One hundred years ago, I was led into the Levenach compound by…?”
“A mortal,” Beatrix choked out.
“Right again! And that mortal was none other than Alder the White, ruler of a small English settlement just beyond the border. He was hungry for power, and it was power I promised him. Drunk with the idea of it, he couldn’t get here quickly enough! He was so very offended when the truth came out.” Laszlo showed his fangs.
“I care not if ’twas Alder,” Beatrix said, trying to overcome her shock and not let Laszlo see how it affected her. “You tricked him. He’s nae to blame.”
“No?” Laszlo challenged, amused. “Well, perhaps not. But I do doubt you’ll feel so charitably toward him when I tell you that he’s returned for a purpose more dear to him than my destruction.” Laszlo took a single step forward and the folk around her bristled, readied for his charge. But the devil stopped his advance and only brought a grotesquely long palm to his mouth, as if imparting an aside.
“In order for Alder to regain his soul, he must drink from the Levenach’s lifeblood.” Laszlo straightened. “Of which you, my desirable little witch, are the last defender.”
Beatrix’s blood pounded in her ears. “You lie,” she whispered.
But Laszlo only shook his head with a knowing smile, and in that moment, Beatrix recalled all the warnings Alder himself had given her.
Laszlo stole something from me, many years ago. I’ve come to get it back, and destroy him. And for both those tasks, you, Beatrix Levenach, are the only one who can help me.
You’re not safe with me, Beatrix…You’re in more danger than you have ever been, the whole of your life.
After Laszlo is dead, I cannot stay. You wouldn’t want me to, if you only knew—
And just before they had made love this morning: I don’t want to harm you, Beatrix.
She at last completely understood Alder’s coming, and the point of his mission.
“Make sense now, does it?” Laszlo’s grating voice burst the poisoned bubble of Beatrix’s thoughts. She didn’t know how he had managed to move closer to her, but now Laszlo was perhaps only five paces away. The folk around her were frozen, as if mesmerized by his evil presence, and the vampires behind Laszlo also held their places. It was as if time stood still in the clearing, frozen like the cold night stuffed between the trees.
Laszlo’s black gaze, the color so like Alder’s but colder than hell itself, bored into Beatrix’s mind like frozen talons. His words were a sick caress. “Poor little Levenach—you asked him to make you vampire, but he refused. Didn’t he?”
Beatrix nodded. She seemed unable to do anything but.
“I won’t refuse you, Beatrix,” Laszlo whispered, and now the vampire stood before her, over her, although she hadn’t seen him move. “I will do it…right now, if you wish. Be done with these stupid mortals herded about you. Taste the true meaning of power, eternal power! Then you may chase after Alder the White forever, if you wish…only take my hand and it is done.”
Beatrix looked down and saw Laszlo’s unnaturally long and misshapen palm held open before her. The grotesque image wavered as hot tears filled her eyes. She wanted to scream “nay!” but her throat, her body, were frozen.
Except for her right hand, which was rising toward Laszlo’s, as if of its own accord.
Alder charged Laszlo from the darkness just as Beatrix’s fingertips hovered over the old vampire’s palm, and locked together they flew across the clearing into the dirt with matching screams of rage.
“Feed!” the ancient bloodsucker screamed to his minions as he struggled to throw Alder off.
Laszlo had mesmerized the Levenach, but at Alder’s interruption, she came to her senses and now rallied the Leamhnaigh as the howls of the vampires shook the very forest.
Alder wrapped his hands around Laszlo’s throat and slammed the vampire’s head into the dirt, but a moment later, Alder himself was rolling head over heels, his prey deftly escaped. Alder had barely come to rest against a tree when Laszlo was upon him once more, using his long fingers to scramble up Alder’s chest, a hissing squeal ringing off his fangs.
Alder rammed his palm into Laszlo’s nose and cheek, knocking the old one off balance long enough to throw him to the ground. Their heads lunged and bobbed at each other, mouths open, fangs elongated to battle length, each seeking an opening to rip and feed from his enemy.
Around them, Beatrix led the Leamhnaigh into battle against the other vampires, mortal screams mingling with hungry cries. The smell of blood was everywhere, the air was thick with death and magic and Alder could feel Laszlo’s black blood so close for the taking, could feel the greater storm building around them.
“Your evil ends tonight, Laszlo,” Alder growled, coming close enough to the vampire’s face to rake a gash along one bony cheekbone with his fang.
Laszlo howled in pain, but then drove his fist into Alder’s eye, dazing him for but a second. Alder felt the sting of fangs on his shoulder and rammed his knee into Laszlo’s stomach, sending the black one rolling away.
The ground beneath them began to hum.
“You will never best me, pup,” Laszlo said, staggering to his feet. He crouched down, at once at the ready, and Alder mirrored the pose. The two circled each other.
The ground began to shake, as if a thousand horses raced toward the clearing.
Baying hounds added their whispering song to the cries of both mortal and vampire.
“Do you hear it?” Alder taunted, even while the scar around his neck began to burn. “Does it sound familiar to you, Laszlo? It does to me, for I have had one hundred years as its companion. Its slave.”
Laszlo’s face, already the color of old bones, paled further. “Then you know that sound means your death.” Laszlo glanced around the clearing quickly, and Alder knew he was seeking a way to once more escape.
“After you,” Alder invited and then launched himself at Laszlo once more.
It was clear now that Laszlo was no longer fighting to kill Alder, but to keep his own blood in his veins and escape before the hellish band was upon the clearing. Alder’s fury gave him the strength to contend with the ancient one, and indeed, overpower Laszlo until the black one was facedown in the dirt and scrambling to get away from Alder. Alder opened his mouth wide and let his fangs scrape down Laszlo’s back, shredding his tunic and revealing scored and seeping fish flesh beneath the thick material. Laszlo howled and writhed on the dirt.
And then Alder felt the silver and gold glow of the Hunt’s light strike his face. The deep scar around his neck began to throb, as if crying out to be reunited with that golden tether.
Alder’s time was slipping away.
“Release me!” Laszlo begged over his shoulder. “The pair of us might yet escape! Let the Hunt take the rest—you and I will build a vampire empire elsewhere! We have the power—join with me!”
“I may join you, Laszlo,” Alder conceded and he stared down into those ancient, black eyes as the screaming, winged horses stirred the blood-scented air in the clearing. “But it will only be after I have sent you on to hell!”
Alder dropped his mouth to the back of Laszlo’s neck as the vampire raised his face in a final howl. Alder’s fangs crunched into that decrepit old neck, and he drank his revenge to its long-delayed fill.
Chapter Ten
The vampires were retreating.
Beatrix heard the stomach-churning cry of Laszlo le Morte, tangled in battle with Alder somewhere beyond the loopy ring of torchlight, but she could not see them. And, one by one, the lesser bloodsuckers sprang from their toes into the sky, some taking prey with them, others delaying flight to finish their meal hastily on the ground.
Was Laszlo’s scream one of triumph? Had
he killed Alder, and was he now calling his minions away?
Beatrix’s breath caught in her chest at the thought of Alder lying dead on Leamhan ground.
“Alder!” she cried, her eyes straining against the glare of the—nay, ’twas not only the dancing flames that lit the clearing now, but a cleaner light, both silver and gold at once, coming in rolling waves from the forest. The ground vibrated beneath her feet and the screams of horses rent the heavy air, now scented with perfumed smoke and the misplaced odor of wet iron.
The Leamhnaigh were shouting, running about the clearing with no real purpose, trying to gather up the bodies of the fallen, crying out names of those who had disappeared.
“It’s hell coming! It’s hell! It’s come!” a woman shrieked from her place on her knees in the dirt, her fingers raking her cheeks.
Beatrix stood in the midst of it all, unmoved.
Sharp baying of hounds chased a rushing wind down the path, bending the thick trunks of the closest trees with woody screams. And then with a trumpet blast that sounded as if it came from the body of some beast, the gold and silver light exploded fully into the clearing.
And on that wave of light arrived a band of riders and monsters, the likes of which Beatrix could have never conjured in her worst vampire nightmare. Behind her, the Leamhnaigh fell prostrate to the dirt and were at last silent, only weak, muffled sobs breaking their terrified stillness.
Black dogs, some as large as foals, led the charge, loping and circling with their red eyes like beacons beneath the horses’ hooves. But those fantastic creatures could only politely be called horses as they appeared only partially equine, with elongated heads like fabled sea creatures, their long, scaly legs churning the air above the ground, their glinting hooves only touching the dirt as the band came to a halt.
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