by Gaja J. Kos
A freak of nature. A goddess. A descendant.
The almost opaque gold became translucent as it reached for the sky, infusing every atom of air with her presence.
With a call the dark warlocks would have no choice but to answer.
Curled up on her well-loved couch, Katja cradled a glass of blood as she watched Greta study the board up on the wall with distinct interest, the sunlight seeping through the window warming the nape of her neck. While she was probably the only one—aside from Rose, of course—who didn’t mind staying at Veles’s residence, it still felt nice to be home.
At least this way, she didn’t have to hunt down the god whenever she needed to move somewhere beyond the premises. Or go through the unnerving sensation of detaching herself from the world when Veles’s power rushed through her.
She took a sip, the smooth taste of the alcohol-laced blood, courtesy of Greta, sliding down her throat. Here’s to hoping the supply will last throughout this shitstorm.
“Well, this is something.” Greta blew out a whizzing breath before she spun around and stalked over, her long, red hair flowing across her shoulders.
Katja nodded from behind her glass as the were eased herself onto the couch next to her. “You should see the one I’ve set up at Veles’s place. This”—she motioned to the board—“is nothing.”
Piercing blue eyes cut from the wall to her. “So why are we here and not there, then?”
“Because he and Rose are up to something,” Jürgen growled from the kitchen. “And we’re not invited.”
“That,” Katja confirmed. “Besides, we have a few things to deal with here, anyway.”
“That bad, huh?”
A weak smile formed on her lips. “Possibly worse.”
She placed her glass down on the table and padded over to the board, her bare feet moving soundlessly across the parquet. Every note, every name was burned into her memory. She sighed and unpinned one of the green pieces of paper, her fangs shooting out as she ran her thumb over the smooth surface, then turned around and handed the name to Greta.
The werewolf frowned. “Milivoj?”
But before Katja could answer, a knock snagged her attention. She gave a quick nod to Greta—a silent promise to continue the conversation soon—then strode over to the front door and opened it without pause. Although the knock had caught her unprepared, she knew who was waiting on the other side well before the sound finished resonating through the apartment. The vampire’s presence was a familiar sensation pulsing on her radar, letting her know he was a friend.
“Sorry I couldn’t come yesterday,” Dragan said in way of greeting as he stepped over the threshold, his hair disheveled, implying he’d had a long night of the less than pleasant variety. “But I was hunting down a lead of my own. Unsuccessfully.”
Katja waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. We needed time to figure things out, anyway.”
“And did you?”
Her lips pulled into a tight line. “Yes.”
Some part of her knew she should be happy about the progress they’d made, but it was hard to cheer, given what the result had turned out to be. There was just no winning in this game.
Without another word, she led the slender vampire down the narrow hallway and into the living room area. Greta pushed off the couch as soon as she laid her eyes on the newcomer, her hand already stretched out in front of her.
Dragan accepted it without hesitation, a smile dancing on his thin, yet handsome features. “I heard a lot about you, Greta.” His amused gaze darted to Katja, then back to the werewolf. “Glad to finally meet the person who puts the twins to shame.”
Greta grinned, a wide smile that eased the weight in Katja’s chest that had been clawing at her since last night without pause. “Ah, yes, the boys try, but they still have some way to go.”
“I heard that,” Jürgen rumbled moments before he emerged from the kitchen with a plate of bite-sized sandwiches. Although, for a werewolf, bite-sized didn’t exactly conform with human terms.
“Can I get you a glass of blood?” he asked Dragan once a still grinning Greta took the food off his hands.
“I’d love one, yes.” The vampire thrusted his hand in his hair, ruffling the unruly strands, then spun to face Katja. “So it’s true? Tomo’s captain is an Upir?”
She motioned him to sit down on the couch. Greta plopped down next to him, while Katja perched herself on the edge of the club table.
“That name”—she nudged her chin toward the green piece of paper the red-haired werewolf was still holding—“Milivoj, that’s Tater.”
Questions lined the vivid blue of Greta’s eyes as she met her gaze. And not without cause.
The were hadn’t been here yesterday when she and Jürgen had studied the board until he had to drag her off to bed, lest she wanted to fall asleep in an undignified heap on the floor. But Katja knew Jens had brought his sister up to speed on the Upir situation while the two of them had spent the night at the twins’ place. Just as she knew what the frown was about.
There was no clear link between the ancient Upir names and the human or vampiric covers they had taken up in this day and age. Coming up with a plausible list of suspects was based more on guesswork than facts, something only confirmed by the inability to identify the Upir Zarja had scouted out with Tomo. The centuries the creatures had spent on Earth had made them adept at hiding in plain sight, and even with Rose’s comprehensive list, outlining all the Upirs residing in Ljubljana and the town’s vicinity, they had basically gotten nowhere.
Until now.
“Tomo was able to link Vaclav to the captain—or rather, Vaclav’s former human cover, as well as Pelican Foods, the business he’d ran under his vampiric persona. There were a couple of police charities both had attended, and the blood supplied for the guests came from Pelican Foods. It’s a weak connection, at best, but it did make me wonder just who among the Upirs Vaclav had been close to back in the day.” She loosened a breath and took a sip of her rapidly vanishing alcohol-laced blood. “We have some records of their activities ranging across an impressive line of centuries, so I dissected every shred of information until I narrowed it down to three names Vaclav had been in cahoots with. After that, Jürgen and I studied each one of those names in detail, searching for anything that could be linked to Tater.”
The were huffed as he reentered the room and handed a freshly filled glass to Dragan. “Trust me, there isn’t enough beer in the world to make me go through that task again.”
Greta grinned at the grouchiness in her brother’s voice, but the moment passed quickly, her face once more lined with intrigue. “What made Milivoj stand out?”
A bitter smile fell on Katja’s lips. “His pride.” Dragan’s eyebrows shot up in question, and she gave the vamp a small shrug. “I guess he didn’t get the memo to lie low.”
“There are records of him leading the Upirs back when they still terrorized humans and supernaturals openly. He had a knack for putting himself in prominent positions,” Jürgen explained, then snagged one of the sandwiches off the plate and consumed it in a single bite.
“He dropped off the radar shortly after,” Katja explained, “much like the rest of them did. But the records from before revealed he was the only one of the three who actually had some military background.”
Dragan shifted somewhat uncomfortably. His gaze drifted from Katja to the note, then back up again. “I don’t want to ruin the party, but Tater is only a captain on the force. That hardly links him to Milivoj…”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said quietly. “Before he was police, Tater was military.”
Dragan nodded, but Greta leaned back, her body tense. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
Katja angled her head, her expression grim, but it was Jürgen who answered. “Although we hadn’t been able to uncover any vampiric persona he’d adopted, we found several human ones the fucker took in the past.”
“While he made some minor
adjustments to his appearance, there’s no denying it’s the same man in all the photographs,” Katja pitched in. “All prominent positions of power, at least in human terms.” She shook her head. “With all the contacts the bastard had made over the centuries within the vamp and wider community, I fear we’ve only been scratching at the surface this entire time.”
Chapter 12
Wisps of black mist rose from the ground long before the Vedmaks took shape. Rose stood still as the tendrils of foul magic darkened the sky and muted the murmurs of the city. They spread, reshaping reality until she was left isolated, wrapped in pitch-black darkness only the glow of her power diluted. Her were senses active and on high alert, she willed herself to go perfectly calm, perfectly immobile, not wanting to disturb even a single atom of air as she worked on pinpointing the warlocks’ location.
Although she couldn’t tell with certainty how many of them were fueling the mist, she had their numbers. Five bodies were lurking within the shadows, ready to jump her the instant she would try to breach their unique process of transportation. Not the best of odds, but not the worst, either.
For a brief second, Rose wished she could see their faces to compare them to the memory she would carry for the rest of her immortal life. But in truth, it didn’t matter whether they were the men who had slaughtered her father or not.
They would die either way.
Tongues of golden light lapped down the blade of her sword as she sliced through the mist, briefly illuminating a cloaked figure who evaded the cut by an inch. Rose felt, more than heard, the warlock scurrying back, but she let him run, recognizing the diversion for what it was.
Light on her feet, she spun around, her energy lashing out at the same time she struck with her sword. The lethal aureate tendrils wrapped around the necks of two Vedmaks, the blade sinking into the chest of the third. As soon as steel met flesh, ethereal fire engulfed his cloaked body in a blaze of divine destruction.
The warlock screeched as the energy ate at him with insatiable hunger. As the sword slashed his insides, creating more damage than he could hope to repair.
Music.
His agony was music to her ears, the melody becoming more captivating as the dying screams of the two her power had ensnared joined in the chorus.
As the sound hummed through her very flesh, she willed the vines to dig deeper into the bastards’ necks, cutting through skin and sinew like a garrote. They stumbled to the ground, headless and lifeless. But there was no time to revel in their deaths.
Rose pulled the sword of Mokoš from the bowels of the Vedmak she had impaled, ducked beneath the attack that came from behind, then lashed out with a booted foot not a second later. Her heel caught the man in his midriff, sending him flying back into the mist. But before she could follow to finish their little dance, the first of the warlocks she’d seen lunged at her, his fury a thick, syrupy scent that assaulted her nostrils.
Swearing, she threw herself sideways into a roll. Tiny, lethal vines of power shot from her body, probing and piercing the shadows until they struck home. Without losing even a single second, she propelled herself off the unnervingly solid ground and unleashed herself on the Vedmak, energy, claws, and steel alike. He blocked her blow with a blade of his own, his magic warding off the metaphysical advances.
Busy. He was keeping her busy while the other closed in from behind.
A good tactic. But not good enough.
She’d smelled the faint trickle of blood, the coppery essence not even darkness as potent as the one swirling around her could conceal. Step by step, she played into their trap, allowing the two warlocks to sandwich her in as if she were some untested rookie.
She would have smiled if she had the time.
It didn’t take long until the first hint of thick, vile magic brushed against the nape of her neck. Rose flung a lasso of power out behind her. She snagged the Vedmak in its grip and spun him around, hoping to the gods she hadn’t made a mistake as she used him as a shield.
It was impossible to tell which one of the bastards possessed the means of magic-fueled transport. And with only two left, her calculation could go either way.
But as the first Vedmak’s blade pierced the ensnared warlock and the darkness around her didn’t waver, a true smile grew on her lips.
Either the bastards had sent more than one of their own, capable of maintaining the mist, or, for once, luck had been on her side.
“You bitch,” the warlock hissed as his buddy fell to the ground, the now lifeless flesh disappearing under the coiling tendrils of darkness.
Rose noted the position of the corpse, uncertain whether the magic spewed the dead ones out or kept them in place, then purred, “That one is on you.”
The blood in her veins thrummed with anticipation as the cloaked figure threw itself at her in a blur of magic and steel, but she parried each blow, physical and metaphysical alike. Every instinct screamed to end this now, to cast the Vedmak into the embrace of death and rid the world of his festering presence.
Fighting the impulse was, in many ways, harder than fighting the man.
Rose ground her teeth, unsure just how much longer she could keep her bloodlust at bay. She needed an anchor, a tether, creating a divide between her desire and the game she needed to play.
And in the depths of her heart, she found it.
Grabbing on to the image of her pack, to the resonance of their lives, she fashioned it into a barrier to protect herself from the overpowering urge to rent and tear.
She would get her revenge. That was certain. But she needed to ensure her pack’s safety first.
Golden light flared around her in a halo, a goddess cocooned in a ray of sun, forcing the Vedmak to retreat, but only physically. Their powers battled on, unimpeded by the distance, the familiar yet so different essences they carried sending sparks through the darkness.
The darkness that gradually dissipated.
A satisfied smile tugged on the Vedmak’s face as he threw back his hood, revealing sharp, narrow features, and near-black eyes that watched her with dripping, absolute hatred. Absolute victory, too.
And as the rest of the mist faded away, Rose saw why.
The Vedmak had taken her to the single location where her powers meant nothing.
The very cell in which her father had died.
The bastards swarmed her like a seething mass of foul magic. More and more figures flowed through the narrow door on the opposite side, joining their brethren until the entire damned chamber was saturated with bodies and the pulsing energy they emanated. The second before they attacked, Rose balanced her sword in one hand, her claws shooting out of the other.
A battle cry tore itself from her lips.
Letting her body guide her, she sliced in all directions, not caring where the blows landed, as long as they did. The warm spray of blood coated her skin, the metallic tang growing in the midst of the festering magic. Her own energy kept the worst of it at bay, purifying her lungs when she thought she would suffocate, and willed more strength to flow into her limbs.
A Vedmak fell. And then another.
She sidestepped the corpses, muscles flexing as the sword of Mokoš soared through the air and sang a melody of death, of vengeance, that echoed deep within her soul. After she lashed out with a foot to bring down a cloaked figure, she propelled herself in the other direction, her energy severing the skeletal fingers of magic reaching for her as she crashed into another of the hooded scum. Simultaneously, her sword found home in the bastard’s chest and her claws swiped across his neck.
The first lick of blood barely touched her skin when she was already leaping away, more than aware that the moment she stopped, it would all be over. She rolled sideways, slashing at legs and, eventually, progressing upward. Some of the Vedmaks collapsed, some lingered on the verge of death as they tried to hold on to their guts, the stench of an outhouse growing. Yet despite the various states of approaching the gates between this world and the next the bastards
were locked in, one fact remained.
It was becoming impossible to move.
Bones crunched beneath her feet, her balance thrown off as she staggered from limb to limb. A vicious growl found voice, exploding from the confines of her body.
How many more Vedmaks were there?
How many had they bred over the years?
As if in answer, the door vomited a new stream of cloaked figures. Their magic was stronger, potent to the point where her own was having trouble fending it off—at least without the backing of her complete focus.
She cut down two more warlocks who tried jumping her from behind, then quickly claimed their position by the wall. Less space to move, but also less ground to watch. The touch of cold iron brushed against her heated, bloodied skin, and she snapped her gaze to the black crowd of concealed Vedmaks, daring them to attack.
They hesitated.
Only she recognized the feint for what it was.
Her energy formed a barrier the instant the full force of the Vedmaks’ joint magic hit. The two powers sizzled, sparks flying through the room as they pushed at one another, but neither could prevail.
That was until a third power sent her crashing into the wall.
Her sword clattered onto the ground with a deafeningly loud clank as her back rammed against the iron. She fought to stay upright, but the strain of the task made the golden light waver.
It was a tiny fracture, unnoticeable from afar, that ran right down the middle. But it was enough.
Somehow, like her, the Vedmaks had felt it.
United, the warlocks sent all their power to burrow into the damaged shield like a spear, obliterating it into a thousand pieces that became nothing more than ethereal fireflies, drifting through the copper and shit-tainted air. Splintering pain exploded in her temples at the destruction, at the loss of such a fundamental part of her, and in the second it took for her vision to clear, the Vedmaks were on her.
But they weren’t the only ones.
The icy touch of augmented iron kissed her skin, and amidst the magic and arms that were holding her in place, Rose saw the chains, the odd circular armor that had subverted her father’s own strength and inadvertently tore him apart.