Blood Eternal (27 page)
Mihaela let out a sound that might have been a sob or a laugh. “No. Sometimes I think I am,” she said incomprehensibly. Her hand turned in Elizabeth’s, squeezing back, and the pain seemed to recede. Glad as she was, Elizabeth felt curiously shaken, not just by Mihaela’s obvious unhappiness, which turned out to be far more profound than Elizabeth had ever guessed, but by the strength of her own empathy. She’d always been good at reading people’s emotions, but recently, with the development of her telepathy, she seemed to be picking up far more than facial expressions and body language.
Forcing her mind back to the discussion, she glanced at Konrad and István. “You see my predicament here. I’m pretty sure Lazar would withdraw his offer if he knew what I’ve told you. As a hunter, in many eyes, I’m too badly compromised.”
István shifted his chair to give his long legs more room. “And in your own?”
Elizabeth lifted her cup and drank before she answered. “In my own . . . I can see the advantages. I want to help protect humans from vampire attacks, from unspeakable fear and violent death. I have no conflict there with the aim of the organization. But—and training me won’t change this—vampires are worthy beings too. I believe that under Saloman that will become more and more obvious. There will always be rogue vampires, as there are violent and criminal humans. Society needs to be protected from both.”
“You know you’re speaking heresy,” Mihaela said, withdrawing her hand in order to pick up her coffee cup.
“I know. I couldn’t join without voicing it. And in voicing it I
would
be ejected from the premises forever. Perhaps I should just remain an unofficial friend of the network.”
would
be ejected from the premises forever. Perhaps I should just remain an unofficial friend of the network.”
“The network won’t change,” Konrad warned. “It must remain true to the principles of its foundation. Eliminating vampires.”
“Everything changes,” Elizabeth insisted. “The world is changing now—Luk himself prophesied some major change of power stemming from what happens here in Budapest. It could be change for good if we just play it right. . . .”
“Under Saloman?” Mihaela said. “You do realize you’re now advocating his domination of the world? The thing to which, more than anything else, you were once steadfastly opposed.”
“I still am. I’m not keen on tyranny of any description, however benevolent. And, in fact, Luk’s prophecy seems to imply that Saloman
loses
power. Look, I’ve sown the seeds of the idea of mutual cooperation in Saloman; I’d like you to think about it too.”
loses
power. Look, I’ve sown the seeds of the idea of mutual cooperation in Saloman; I’d like you to think about it too.”
István smiled slightly. “Tiny cogs like us don’t influence matters like that.”
“Yes, we do,” Elizabeth argued. She hesitated, then: “Saloman doesn’t believe that revealing the existence of vampires will lead to the war and slaughter that you envisage.”
“But it would,” Konrad retorted. “And rightly so. Elizabeth, however good your intentions—and I believe they are good—your thinking is seriously flawed. There can be no peaceful coexistence with vampires. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”
Elizabeth transferred her rueful gaze to István and Mihaela. “You see? I’d make a rotten hunter. Besides which,” she added, making a clean breast of everything, “I’ve been offered another job in Budapest. At the university.”
“You can do both,” Mihaela said earnestly. “Many do.”
It seemed nothing Elizabeth said could rid them of the idea that her rightful place in life was as a hunter. It baffled her, in a pleased sort of way—until she saw Mihaela’s gaze flicker to István, and realized they hoped that being a hunter would finally part her from Saloman.
Chapter Thirteen
R
udy murmured, “Nice one, Cyn.”
udy murmured, “Nice one, Cyn.”
Apart from that, there was no sound in the basement of the building he and Cyn had worked hard to turn into a gymnasium and training area. They’d done it all with material found in dumps and junk shops, mainly because they had very little money between them. Cyn was proud of what they’d achieved, and her confidence had been further boosted by the praise of Pete Carlile and the two other survivors of vampire attacks who’d joined their little troop and come to the basement tonight to help welcome the soldier John Ramsay.
At the Brit’s entrance, all conversation and clowning cut off as if someone had thrown a switch. John Ramsay stood just inside the door facing them. A backpack was slung over his right shoulder. Apart from one important point, he looked exactly as he had in the photo Cyn had seen on the Internet.
Although his steady eyes didn’t flicker as they moved around the room, there could be no doubt that he heard Rudy’s remark.
At last his gaze found Cyn, whom he must have recognized from her own photo. “Don’t sweat it. I shoot with my right.” He sounded very Scottish, and aggression clearly boiled beneath the deceptive calm of his mocking voice.
“Shooting doesn’t touch the bastards we’re fighting,” Rudy snapped.
Ramsay moved. It looked as if he simply flexed his fingers, and yet an instant later, something flew from his one hand with enough force to whiz as it passed her ear.
Cyn jerked around in fear.
Typical! Only I could find the Internet knife psycho from hell....
But it wasn’t a knife that had buried itself at the center of the dartboard target hanging on the wall. It was a wooden stick. She dared to breathe again.
Typical! Only I could find the Internet knife psycho from hell....
But it wasn’t a knife that had buried itself at the center of the dartboard target hanging on the wall. It was a wooden stick. She dared to breathe again.
Rudy turned his gaze from the board to Ramsay. Although his lip curled, Cyn could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he was secretly impressed.
“You learn that in the British army, son?” Rudy asked.
“Nah. Glasgow pubs on a Friday night. You get all sorts of bams in there.”
Rudy grinned openly.
Cyn said, “What’s a bam?”
“Nutter.” Ramsay stuck out his hand. “John Ramsay. Pleased to meet you, Cyn.”
Cyn, inclined to think she might just have made the right choice after all, let her face relax into a smile as she took his hand. His grip was firm, but naturally so, without anything to prove. She liked his eyes too. They were what had drawn her to invite him here. Blue and piercingly intelligent, they seemed to have layers of character: a certain attractive calm, even wisdom beneath the turbulent defiance of youth.
“And you, John. This old fart is Rudy Meyer. He likes you.”
As Rudy and John solemnly shook hands, the others ambled forward to be introduced too.
“And you’re all survivors of vampire attacks?” John said, examining each of them with open curiosity.
“Except Cyn,” Rudy replied. “They steer clear of her unless she attacks them first.”
The blue gaze came back to her. “Why’s that?”
She shrugged. “I can feel them. I know what they are. They seem to get that and it freaks them.”
John frowned. “Me too. Only, I met one once who didn’t mind. She seemed more curious than dangerous.”
“They’re all dangerous,” Cyn warned.
“I know.” He dropped his backpack on the floor. “So what do you want me for? You all seem able to take care of yourselves.”
“We want to take care of other people,” Cyn said, just a little self-consciously. “We’ve been killing vamps for years, Rudy and me, but we want to understand the bigger picture. We want to be more effective. Fight as a team, protecting one another as we go.”
He knew this, of course. They’d discussed it by e-mail.
“We want to be able to go to wherever there’s a crisis, like Turkey, and make a difference. A real difference.” She lifted her chin. “We want the world to hear about vampires and not laugh. We want people to
know
.”
know
.”
When Elizabeth finally fell asleep, and he’d had his fill of gazing down at her peaceful face, Saloman gently unwound his limbs from her warm, soft body and rose from her bed. At least, it was the bed she had chosen for her rooms from the several stored in the attic.
He was aware she’d elected to make one of her rooms a bedroom so that neither of them ever felt obligated to sleep in the same bed as the other. It would remain a choice. Saloman, who had lived through many ages and many customs, found this arrangement as acceptable as any other, and when she’d made the bed up to her satisfaction and brought him to see it in situ, he’d admired it, laid her upon it, and made love to her for most of the night. In between lovemaking—and sometimes during— they’d talked about things that didn’t matter to the world, only to him and to Elizabeth.
He could lose years of his existence this way, he thought without displeasure as he pulled on his shirt and trousers. Elizabeth was a distraction, however he looked at her, and for a vampire with the world to rule perhaps that wasn’t a good thing. Saloman didn’t care. Right now, the distraction was especially welcome. He could locate neither Luk nor Dante, nor even their remaining Turkish followers.
Perhaps it would be a good time to make his presence felt at the Angel and gauge how many vampires were defecting to Luk. Recent telepathic sweeps had encountered a worrying number of vampire minds closed to him. This could be because the vampires were simply nervous, because they hadn’t yet made a decision, or because they’d already changed allegiance.
It wasn’t beyond Saloman to find out which by force-reading their thoughts, but aside from his personal distaste, that wouldn’t bring them back to him. He needed to impress. He needed to be seen by his people, particularly by those who hid. But Dmitriu was still out hunting, and Saloman would not leave Elizabeth here with no protection. Not when Luk could break just about every enchantment he’d ever set. Mostly because Luk had taught him and understood the workings of his mind too well.
Even insanity hadn’t prevented Luk from seeing into Saloman’s soul. He’d known exactly how to inflict the most exquisite pain, fully appreciated the effect of the doubtle betrayal on Saloman when he’d enticed Tsigana away. And the final, devastating blow of his attempted assassination.
When Luk had leapt on him, hurtling through the black, wet sky with murderous intent, the Guardian had been well aware that the identity of his killer would weigh far more with Saloman than death itself. Luk had known it would shrivel Saloman’s heart, had probably expected it to crush his spirit entirely. What Luk clearly hadn’t counted on was the black rage that had drowned Saloman’s despair, imbuing his lethal hands with a will of their own. Since the clouds of insanity had diminished Luk’s powers as a fighter, Saloman could have disarmed him and spared him. But fury had kicked the weapons from Luk’s hands, and rage had plunged the stake that killed him.
And so Saloman had been left standing over the still body of his dead cousin, whom he would have died to save, rain streaming down his face like human tears, as if water could wash away the blood. He was the last of his kind, alone for eternity.
Saloman shied away from the unbearable memory and returned to Dmitriu. He’d reluctantly let him stay, because of the added protection it afforded Elizabeth, and yet now that he was here, Saloman had to quash the eternal desire of the parent to know where his child was, and stop himself from seeking him across the city.
Mocking himself, Saloman glided downstairs, barely touching any of the steps with his bare feet, and entered his drawing room. Pulling back one heavy red velvet curtain, he looked down onto the quiet street, half hoping for a glimpse of Dmitriu. He wanted to feed on his way to the Angel. He’d already drunk from Elizabeth—increasingly this diet seemed to be all he wanted—but if he took all he needed from her, he would very quickly sap her strength. Right now, she needed all of that, physical and mental.
Leaving the curtain open, Saloman turned back into the room. Although he would never influence her to take the step, he hoped she would become a hunter. While they obviously planned to turn her against him in this way, he hoped for the opposite: that through her, they would learn his true value, gain an insight into the gentler side of his nature and the good that was to be found in vampires.
Unlike the rest of the world, the hunters’ organization had stagnated. You had only to look at Konrad to see that. Of course, during the three hundred years of Saloman’s sleep, vampires had done themselves no favors there—indiscriminate killing, chaos, and occasional mass slaughter did tend, in modern parlance, to piss the hunters off. But Saloman had made a start toward reversing the trend. He doubted Konrad would ever convert—and frankly, he was no loss—but the other two were more thoughtful and receptive. It would take time, naturally, but at least they weren’t shutting their ears or their hearts. And from them, the new tolerance and cooperation could spread.
Saloman sat down at the computer, read the news on various sites, flicked through his e-mail and fired off a couple of replies to the offices of two world leaders. Then he sprawled back in the wooden chair and thought about returning to Elizabeth’s bed. Except she needed sleep, and he needed blood. There was only an hour left until dawn, and if Dmitriu didn’t come home soon, Saloman would be reduced to biting the postman.
Worse, these days Elizabeth seemed to sense his hunger. And when she offered her smooth, tender throat to him, she was too damned alluring to resist. Blood and sex and Elizabeth . . .
Hard once more, he ran his hand over his crotch as if that could calm it, and rose to his feet. Something prickled the back of his neck. He spun fast enough to be invisible to the human eye, just as Luk swung through the glass of the middle window.
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