04 - Rise of the Lycans (33 page)

The wolf tore his head off.

Sniffing the air, Lucian followed Viktor’s scent into the keep. Havoc raged
all around him as the werewolves and lycans ran amok throughout the venerable
structure, exacting bloody retribution for centuries of unjust persecution and
subjugation. Now the vampires would know what it was like to be hunted like
animals by a bloodthirsty foe. Ignoring the tantalizing smells and sounds of the
massacre, Lucian trailed the Elder down into the very bowels of the keep, below
even the now empty dungeons. The corpses of axed guards littered the lower
stairs and corridors; Raze’s handiwork, no doubt. Lucian raced over the bodies
as, sword in hand, he hurried after Viktor. The distressing possibility that the
Elder might elude justice added wings to Lucian’s heels. He was not going to let
that happen.

Run all you like, Viktor,
he taunted silently.
You cannot escape me! I
swear it upon Sonja’s soul!

The Elder’s noxious scent led him to a wooden trapdoor embedded in the floor
of a murky underground corridor. A crimson hand print, left behind by a
gore-soaked gauntlet, revealed Viktor’s escape route. Lucian yanked open the
door and, without hesitation, dropped into a sloping stone tunnel that seemed to
lead down into the very heart of the mountain, almost as though Viktor were
seeking refuge in the depths of hell. Undaunted, Lucian raced down the tunnel.

He thought he heard water lapping somewhere ahead.

Viktor reached the stairs leading down to the dock. Many feet below, his
fellow Elders waited with Tanis aboard the loaded skiff. He could sense the
muffled heartbeats of Marcus and Amelia as they slumbered within their
respective sarcophagi, dreaming of bygone centuries while waiting patiently to
rise again, each in their turn. How in Perdition was he going to explain this
disaster to Amelia when she awoke at the turn of the century?

Damn you, Marcus! This is all your subhuman brother’s fault!

He removed his helmet, the better to breathe in the musty stairwell. It
galled his soul to leave the fortress in the hands of the enemy, but a wise
commander knew when to execute a judicious retreat. Immortality stretched before
him; there would be time enough to retaliate later. For now, it was more
important that the Elders of the coven escape to his estate outside Buda.
I will
return with a fresh army of Death Dealers,
he vowed,
and make Lucian and his rabble pay for this atrocity, even if I have to burn
down every forest in Eastern Europe!

The block-and-tackle still hung suspended from the ceiling. Viktor took hold
of the dangling chain, intending to slide down the cable to the waiting skiff.
But before he could dismount from the steps, iron links snapped apart above
him—and the chain plummeted down into the abysmal waters far below. He heard
Tanis yelp in alarm as the chain splashed beneath the waves. The skiff pulled
away from the dock, leaving the Elder behind. Viktor stared in surprise at his
empty hands. He looked up the steps.

What in blazes?

Lucian pounced from the upper landing, alighting onto the stair only a few
steps above Viktor. Pure animal hatred flared in his cobalt eyes. He growled
like the wild animal Viktor had always treated him as. He tossed away a broken
link of chain.

I have you now!
he gloated.
Did you truly think you could escape
me?

Viktor met Lucian’s murderous glare with one of equal loathing. Yanking his
sword from its scabbard, he hurled himself up the stairs at his lycan nemesis.
Their swords clashed loudly in the flickering torchlight. Frightened bats fled
their roosts. Mice scurried away in panic.

The intensity of the Elder’s attack staggered Lucian, forcing him backward up
the steps. Sparks flew as tempered steel blades collided with preternatural
force. The dueling swords engaged in a heated conversation, exchanging deadly thrusts and ripostes in a blur of motion. This was more
than just a battle to the death. Their mutual hatred raised the stake beyond
mere survival as each man held the other accountable for their broken hearts.

“You defiled my daughter,” Viktor hissed.

Lucian refused to take the blame for Sonja’s death. Parrying an angled cross
from Viktor’s broadsword, he launched a furious counterattack that slammed
against the Elder’s defenses like a hammer striking an anvil. “She was your
daughter!”

“I did what needed to be done!” Viktor declared without remorse. He sneered
at Lucian across their interlocked swords. Bitterness sprayed from his lips.
“How did you think this would end?”

Not like this!
Lucian thought.
Not for Sonja!
A glancing blow from
Viktor reopened one of the arrow wounds on his shoulder. Hot blood streamed down
his arm, making the grip of his sword wet and sticky. Raw anguish frayed his
voice. “I loved her!”

“You
killed
her!” Viktor spat.

The accusation fanned the flames of Lucian’s wrath like the bellows of his
forge. The searing memory of Sonja burning alive before his eyes, her charred
skin flaking away while she shrieked in agony, stoked his rage into an
all-consuming blaze. Abandoning all caution and restraint, he hacked at Viktor
like a maniac, driving the Elder back down the stairs. Viktor’s foot slipped
upon the mildewed steps. The tip of Lucian’s sword sliced his cheek, drawing
blood. Viktor’s hand went to his face as he fought back against Lucian’s feverish assault. A crimson smear glistened upon his metal gauntlet. It was,
perhaps, the first time in untold centuries that Viktor had been wounded in
battle.

His face curdled in disgust. He gave Lucian a withering look. “I should have
crushed your skull under my heel when you were born.”

“Yes,” Lucian agreed. The utter coldness of Viktor’s words, and an
overpowering sense of destiny, fueled his determination. It felt as though they
had always been moving toward this moment, ever since Viktor had callously
murdered his wolfen mother two centuries ago. “You should have.”

A furious exchange of blows reached its climax as a powerful swipe knocked
Viktor’s sword from his hand. The blade flew from the Elder’s fingers. Unarmed,
he lunged at Lucian, his fanged mouth opened wide.

Lucian rammed his sword down the vampire’s throat.

“But you didn’t,” he said.

Viktor choked on the blade. A bloody froth bubbled past his lips. Lucian
leaned into the thrust until their faces were only inches apart. Viktor looked
back at him in pain and shocked disbelief as a crimson haze flooded his bulging
blue eyes.

This is for you, Sonja,
Lucian thought.

He yanked back his sword. Viktor tumbled backward off the stairs, landing
with a splash into the pitch-black waters below. His pale face disappeared
beneath the surface of the river, leaving behind only cloudy scarlet swirls that
were rapidly carried away by the current. Within seconds, no trace of the Elder
remained.

Lucian tossed his sword into the dark river. The fire within him cooled and
died, giving way to sorrow and fatigue. Tears welled in his eyes as he came to
the end of the longest night of his life. He retrieved Sonja’s pendant and
stared mournfully at the precious heirloom.

He wondered if he would ever feel whole again.

The dawn was rising as Lucian staggered out onto the balcony overlooking the
courtyard. Radiant sunlight set the bodies of the fallen Death Dealers ablaze,
so that countless small bonfires were scattered throughout the bailey. More
fires burned upon the ramparts. Thick black smoke billowed from the windows of
the keep, which had been laid waste by the victorious rebels. Flames consumed
the stables and smithy. Torn pennants had been ripped from their spires.

He found them all celebrating their triumph. Lycans in human guise and the
wild werewolves mingled freely in the blood-soaked courtyard. An enthusiastic
cheer, which was seconded by the howls of the wolves, greeted Lucian as he
emerged, bloodied but unbowed, from the entrance to the balcony. They raised
their weapons above their heads, or flaunted charred vampire bones, as they hailed
the leader who had brought them to this historic moment. Sabas and Xristo
shouted as loudly as any.

The warmth of the acclamation helped to lift his spirits, which were still
weighed down by tragedy. He raised his own arm in acknowledgment. Sonja’s
pendant hung around his neck.

If only she could have lived to see this day!

Raze came and joined him on the balcony. Lucian was glad to see that the
formidable African had survived the bloodshed. Once more in human form, he
clasped Lucian’s arm in fellowship. An uncharacteristic smile lit up his broad
features.

“It is finished,” he said.

Lucian pondered his friend’s words. Following Viktor’s defeat, he had
eventually made his way to the Elders’ crypt, where he’d found the tombs of both
Marcus and Amelia lying open, their ponderous sarcophagi missing. The
implications of this ominous discovery were not lost on him. He knew that as
long as the remaining Elders endured, the coven could rise again. And that the
vampires would never forget or forgive what had transpired here tonight.

“No,” he said solemnly. “This is just the beginning.”

The sleek black bark sailed down the Danube toward the Black Sea. The jagged
peaks of the Carpathians receded into the distance as the ship cruised away from
the forbidding mountains. Fog blanketed the surface of the water. An icy winter
wind filled its sails. A carved figurehead bearing the likeness of an enormous
bat faced the sea. An ornate capital
V
was emblazoned upon the sails and
pennants. Towed behind the bark, an empty skiff bobbed in its wake.

Deep in the hold, Tanis lashed the Elders’ sarcophagi together, securing them
for the long voyage ahead. He double-checked the knots before turning to the
mute figure standing in the shadows.

Viktor waited silently. Blood dripped down his chin, a legacy of the wound
that had nearly killed him. A black robe had replaced his lost armor. Tanis
shuddered at the memory of the Elder’s bleeding form bursting from the depths of
the underground river as the scribe had frantically rowed the skiff away from
the castle. Viktor’s watery resurrection had nearly caused Tanis to jump out of
his skin. Truth be told, he had thought twice before pulling the Elder from the
river….

More dead than alive, his gaunt face as white as a ghost’s, Viktor let Tanis
escort him to his own sarcophagus. He settled back against the red velvet
lining. Azure eyes gazed balefully inward. His fingers twitched at his sides, as
though imagining Lucian’s throat within his grasp. Tanis would not want to be a
lycan once the Elder regained his strength. He could only imagine the bloody
campaigns to come.

The lycans are no longer slaves,
he realized.
Now they are our mortal
enemies.

The ship sailed forward into the future.

Six hundred years later…

Selene perched upon the roof of a sooty building, gazing down at the city
below. Driving rain pelted Budapest, while the howling wind carried the memory
of winters long past. A beautiful woman, with dark brown hair and alabaster
skin, she resembled a long-dead noblewoman whose name and story she had never
heard. Lustrous black leather clung to her lithe frame like armor. The tail of
her trench coat flapped in the wind.

Heedless of both the storm and her own precarious roost upon the narrow
ledge, she stared grimly into the night. Her striking chestnut eyes were fixed
on the teeming streets beneath her. Her tongue traced the polished contours of
her fangs. Lycans were abroad tonight, and she and her fellow Death Dealers were
ready. Twin Berettas rested against her hips. Silver bullets waited to send the hated werewolves to hell, where they belonged.

More than half a millennium had passed since the infamous Lucian had embarked
on his murderous crusade, but the Death Dealers’ work was not yet done. Selene
waited eagerly for tonight’s hunt to begin.

The war continued….

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