by Craig Zerf
Lord Byron stood still and studied his own feelings with a detachment borne of hundreds of years of self inspection. And he was shocked when he finally worked out what the strange emotion was.
Fear.
Not a fear of any physical harm, although that was a distinct possibility. No, this was a fear of failure. A fear of losing seven hundred years of planning and maneuvering that had brought him to the pinnacle of leadership as the Grand Master of the United Kingdom House of the Nosferatu.
But even he had to admit that he had not covered himself in glory over the past few weeks.
Failure had been piled on top of failure as he had not managed to completely wipe out the Olympus Foundation, letting the wizard, the girl and another Shadowhunter escape. He had blundered once again when he had tried, unsuccessfully, to exterminate the girl the second time.
Then he had not foreseen her teaming up with the London Yardies who had proceeded to exact a terrible toll on his brethren, bringing the true death to scores of them as they attacked two of his clubs.
Then when he had finally caught up with them, he had instructed Cromwell to lay a trap and it had all gone horribly wrong. Once again he had failed to see what had been in front of him the whole time. Sir William was a shapeshifter.
And not just any shapeshifter. No, according to the few vampires that had escaped his wrath at the Camden Club ambush, he was the fabled Omega Wolf, the one wolf who controlled all others. The Alpha of all Alphas. Bigger, faster and stronger than a normal werewolf. Capable of assuming a man/wolf hybrid mode.
Personally, Lord Byron did not believe them, the myth of the Great Wolf had been bandied about for centuries but he, for one, had never seen him. However, there was no denying that Sir William was most definitely a creature of great power.
Whatever his beliefs, the unthinkable had happened. Janus Augusta, the head of the Italian house and also the Capo di tutt'i capi of the Federation had travelled once again from Italy to England in order to personally take over the running of the purge against Emily and the Olympus Foundation. Such were Lord Byron’s losses that the Capo had actually brought in reinforcements.
One hundred big hitters, all of them Masters, plus another one hundred Grinders. He had also brought one hundred Familiars so that they had people who could operate in the day to search for Sir William, the Yardies and the Hawk girl.
It probably wasn’t actually necessary for the Capo to bring over such a large number of reinforcements but he had done so to prove a point. It was a public slap in the face for Lord Byron. Basically the Capo was saying, ‘Not only do I have to sort out your problems, but I have to even bring my own people to do so.’
Never in his hundreds of years of command had Lord Chelsea Byron been so publically shamed. So openly belittled.
The only thing now that the Capo could do to further his humiliation was to demote him. And although that was almost unprecedented, it had been done before.
That was what was fuelling the fires of Lord Byron’s fear. The loss of his position. His power. And with it, his existence.
Because, if he was demoted, then he knew that the Capo di tutt'i capi would insist on the true death. No one wanted an ex-grand Master moping about the chapter like some sort of whipped cur, begging for scraps and souring the atmosphere.
Whatever was about to happen, Lord Byron was sure that his humiliation was not yet over. His blunders had been huge, as would be his chastisement.
The door opened behind him and the Capo and his entourage entered, led by Cromwell the Enforcer.
The first thing that Lord Byron noticed was that none of Cromwell’s own Enforcers were with him. Of the twenty six people that entered the room, Cromwell and Nathan were the only brethren belonging to the United Kingdom chapter. The rest were all from the Italian house.
The Capo seated himself on one of the leather wingbacks, steepled his fingers together and stared at Byron, his obscenely long fingernails almost tangling together as they curled around each other. Lord Byron approached the leader of all leaders and prostrated himself flat on the floor in front of him. For he knew that now was not the time for false pride. Now was the time to debase himself as much as possible. To humble himself before his lord and master.
No one spoke for fully five minutes. A seeming eternity.
Finally. ‘I am disappointed,’ rasped the Capo. ‘I was here only a few weeks ago and you assured me that you had everything under control. The girl was as good as dead, you told me. You guaranteed it. Now I return because, instead of killing the girl, you have killed almost fifty of my children. Not counting the slovenly waste of who knows how many Grinders and countless Familiars.’
Lord Byron said nothing. Nor did he move. He simply lay flat on the floor, arms outstretched in front of him, and waited for his fate.
‘Stand,’ instructed the leader.
Byron rose slowly to his feet but kept his head down.
‘I blame myself,’ said the Capo.
Byron shook his head. ‘No, my lord,’ he said. ‘It is my fault entirely. You are incapable of making a mistake.’
The Capo waved one of his ancient claws in front of his face in dismissal. ‘Pish and nonsense,’ he said. ‘I make many mistakes. But tell me now, Byron,’ he continued. ‘This new creature that you have created,’ he pointed at Nathan. ‘Talk to me about it.’
‘He is an ex-Shadowhunter, my liege. I turned him only a short while ago but his growth has been exemplary. The combination of his Shadowhunter genes and the Nosferatu has gifted him with unusual strength and capabilities.’
The Capo beckoned to Nathan. ‘Come here, my child,’ he commanded.
Nathan walked over and knelt before the ancient vampire leader who leaned forward and took his face in his hands, turning it from side to side as he inspected him. Then the Capo pulled Nathan towards himself and slowly and deliberately licked his neck, his purple tongue rasping across his jugular. He pursed his lips, tasting. Rolling the flavor around in his mouth like a wine connoisseur.
The he leaned back into his chair again. Nathan stayed on his knees, his head down.
‘Tell me, Lord Byron,’ continued the Capo. ‘Who did you entrust with this latest botched ambush attempt that your house made?’
‘As always I assigned the task to Cromwell the Enforcer. But the failure is mine alone.’
‘I shall decide who has failed and who has not,’ snapped the Capo. ‘Or, as in this case, who has failed me the most.’ He closed his eyes for a while and sat as still as the dead. Lord Byron started to suspect that he had actually fallen asleep or had gone into some sort of deep fugue state. Then he suddenly spoke aloud, his voice a whip-crack of command.
‘Child,’ he addressed Nathan. ‘Kill the Enforcer.’
Nathan reacted instantaneously, jumping to his feet and attacking Cromwell in one fluid movement. Cromwell, however, also reacted instantly.
The two beings clashed in a welter of kicks and punches, the movements so fast as to be completely indistinguishable to the mortal eye.
Within mere seconds, hundreds of blows had been thrown and both Cromwell and Nathan were bleeding from numerous cuts. Nathan’s wounds, however, healed almost as soon as they appeared, whereas Cromwell’s took a little longer to knit together.
The Capo smiled in pleasure. ‘Look,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘The child’s healing process is phenomenal.’
As the fight progressed it became obvious that Nathan was by far the superior warrior. Cromwell had grown complacent as the decades had passed, surviving on his reputation more than his actual physical prowess. Whereas Nathan had trained every day as a Shadowhunter. And he had trained specifically to kill vampires, something that even an Enforcer did not specialize in.
In fact, after a few more seconds of hyper-speed combat it became apparent that Nathan was actually toying with the Enforcer. Holding back in order to prolong his humiliation.
The Capo cackled with genuine amusement when he realized what the ex-Shadowhunter w
as doing.
‘Enough,’ he said as he chuckled. ‘Games are over. Finish him, my child.’
And Nathan casually grabbed Cromwell by the throat and tore out his jugular. Then, with a quick twist, he plucked his head off, walked over to the master of masters and presented him with it.
The ancient vampire took the head from the ex-Shadowhunter and held the jagged stump of the neck to his mouth, sucking on it like a gourmand trying to remove the marrow from a soup bone. When he had removed any last traces of blood he threw the detached head to the floor and then reached forward to stroke Nathan’s hair.
‘Good, my child,’ he crooned. ‘Lord Byron,’ he continued. ‘Discipline has been carried out. That is not to say that you are blameless but for now, I forgive you.’
Byron sank to his knees once again. ‘I thank you, my master.’
‘Now, this Nathan. He is your new chief Enforcer. Tell your brethren. When the child speaks, he speaks with my voice. He is now a Caporegime.’
Lord Byron nodded and, somehow, managed to keep his look of shock and disbelief off his face. To be considered a Caporegime to the master of masters was a privilege that few ever experienced.
Even Lord Byron himself had never been honored in such a way. A Caporegime was almost a member of the master’s family.
He was to be trusted and obeyed above all others except for the Grand Master of his house.
Ostensibly, it made Nathan Tremblay the second most powerful Nosferatu in the United Kingdom. And he was only days old. A child.
Swallowing his pride, Lord Byron stood and bowed to Nathan. ‘Well done, young Nosferatu,’ he said. ‘This is a high honor indeed.’
‘Yes,’ added the Capo. ‘Now rise, my child, and sit here by my side for a while.’ The old vampire waved the others away. ‘Leave me now. I have things to discuss with the child. Go. Go and return only when I call.’
And his ancient red eyes stared at Nathan with a look of lust that he was unable to control.
Chapter 33