Kingmakers, The (Vampire Empire Book 3) (38 page)

Thankfully, Corporal Darby pulled his revolver, and in one fluid motion, aimed and fired. The bullet struck Nzingu in the arm, holding
the ensnared Gareth. The impact spun the Zulu to the side, but didn't bring her down.

Adele had the attention of the energies, and she was slowly pulling them back. Corporal Darby fired again, but Nzingu was already moving. Gareth was forgotten as she addressed the new threat.

The Zulu avoided three shots, and closed the gap to the door, reaching over her shoulder and pulling an assegai, a short stabbing spear with a long wicked blade. Adele forgot about the geomancy and rushed to block Nzingu's attack. The impact of the two blades made Adele's shoulder ache.

She shouted at the young Harmattan. “Destroy the markings on the wall!”

Corporal Darby hesitated, but then jumped to obey his empress. His sword cut through the drawings on the wood panels. His foot kicked aside the crystals set in a pattern on the floor. Adele felt the power ease further.

Nzingu snarled and slashed furiously at Adele, pushing her back. In the brief breathing room she garnered, the Zulu rushed the corporal. He turned at the last second and her blade buried deep into his abdomen. Grunting with rage, Nzingu yanked up the blade, ripping his belly open. The young man screamed.

“No!” Adele shouted. Nzingu turned quickly, yanking out her blade to meet Adele's frenzied rush. The assegai came in a swift arc wet with fresh blood, and Adele leaned back at the last moment. The tip of the blade slashed her across the face high on her cheekbone. Another inch and it would have taken her eye. Adele continued to run forward till she was inside the spear's reach. She let her anger focus her attack. She swiped her blade viciously in front, but Nzingu crouched and dove at Adele's knees.

Nzingu's other hand flashed with a small dagger, and Adele barely blocked it. She needed room to maneuver. Nzingu slammed an elbow into Adele's face. The empress tasted blood. Kicking out with her knee, she connected with Nzingu's abdomen. The Zulu grunted and her grip loosened. Adele twisted away, rolling several feet until she knocked into Corporal Darby's body. There was blood everywhere. His eyes were open
and he gaped like a fish at her, still dying slowly and terrified. He weakly shoved his saber toward her.

Bless him!

Adele rolled to her feet with the saber in one hand and her khukri in the other, and she came en garde. Nzingu rushed her and the blades flashed in a wild storm of feints and parries. Hot metal sparks flew from them. The Fahrenheit blade sliced deep across Nzingu's chest. Hot blood sprayed up and out, coating both of them. The Zulu warrior cried out as the chemicals entered her flesh and started burning. It was a deep cut, enough to give her pause, but not deep enough to end the fight.

Nzingu renewed her attack, her jaw gritted tightly closed. She had stamina beyond belief and was stronger than Adele. The force of her blows rained down. Perspiration dripped down Adele's face, and pins and needles surged through her arms.

The combatants circled the room, passing the bodies of Gareth and the corporal twice. Adele saw the rapid shallow rise of the soldier's chest. He was dying a slow painful death, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Beside him, Gareth was sickeningly still and smeared with blood, with his skin burnt black as night in spots. Her sword stiffened in her hand, and she refused to give any more ground.

Her arm lifted, and in a blur she attacked. Nzingu barely avoided two thrusts, bounding away. With a swift lunge, she drew blood from Adele's right thigh, but the empress did not relent in her attack. It gave her the drive to press forward. Her blade parried three strikes and then in the space of mere seconds, she saw an opening and thrust forward, stabbing the Zulu on her right side.

Nzingu retreated and attempted to shift toward where Gareth lay, perhaps hoping to deliver a final blow. Adele cut her off time and time again, keeping her well away from him.

But she hadn't expected to step on one of the strewn crystals on the floor. It shifted under her right foot, and she staggered to one knee, connecting solidly with the floor so hard her jaw snapped shut and the wound on her thigh seared with white-hot pain.

Nzingu saw the opening and stabbed straight, her blade aiming toward Adele's heart. Adele couldn't bring her weapon up fast enough.
Suddenly a clawed hand struck out from her left, knocking the assegai away.

“Gareth!”

The vampire prince was on his feet. He glanced at Adele. Fresh blood smeared the lower half of his face like war paint. He had fed.

For the first time fear settled across Nzingu's face as she saw the rage swell in Gareth. She jumped back, but wasn't able to avoid the swipe of Gareth's other hand. It ripped across her throat and chest, eliciting a scream of pain from both of them. Gareth's hand burned bright, but the talisman around Nzingu's throat was torn aside. Then he slumped to his knees.

Adele bounded back to her feet and pressed the advantage Gareth had given her. With one hand, the Zulu attempted to stem her gushing blood and, with the other, hold off the enraged empress. Adele knew the fight was ending. None of them could keep this up much longer. All of them were wounded, but she just needed to outlast the Zulu. Bright, fresh blood continued to well between Nzingu's fingers.

“My lord!”

Baudoin had arrived. Adele risked a glance behind her and saw the vampire halt in his tracks at the threshold to the room. His face was marred with pain. He had never experienced geomancy. Even at its mildest, the effect was excruciating. A desperate Nzingu tried again to activate the energies of some of the small traps that still lay intact on the floor. Baudoin crashed through the doorway, snarling as he felt the heat, desperate to reach Gareth's side.

Adele quickly slammed a hand on the ground and wrested the crackling energy from Nzingu, whose eyes went wide as the power fell away from her and the ley lines went cold.

Baudoin took up a position in front of Gareth also, protecting him.

More footsteps pounded out in the hall. Adele's Harmattan.

Nzingu dropped a hemp bag on the floor into one of the rune circles. It exploded in a flash of sound and a crackling of energy. Baudoin threw himself over Gareth while Adele dove to the side.

A crash of glass told Adele that Nzingu had made her escape out a window. She turned to the Harmattan crowding in the doorway.

“She's outside! Stop her!”

Shirazi made fast hand signals to his men before he and three soldiers ran for the broken window and leapt through in pursuit of the assassin without heed of danger. The rest of the Harmattan spun on their heels and raced off down the corridor.

Adele crawled over to Gareth and her chest constricted. There was so much blood, and the cruel gash across his throat was like a grisly smile. When she touched him, he winced. She cursed herself; she was imbued with energy. She dare not come near him.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse hiss, trying to rise.

“For what?” Adele signaled Baudoin to help Gareth as she had to force herself to move back. Gareth's eyes darted to the body of Corporal Darby.

She pulled herself to her feet. “You saved me. You both did.”

Baudoin cradled Gareth's head. “He needs blood.”

“I can't. My blood will kill him now.” Adele shook her head in anguish. “Go. Tell the people what has happened. I'll stay here to protect him.”

Baudoin slowly relinquished his place, lowering Gareth onto the floor wet with his blood. Then he rose and ran from the room at a speed Adele couldn't follow.

Immediately Gareth's head turned toward her. “You're hurt too.”

“I'll manage. The wound isn't deep. It hit the muscle. I'll be sore, but mobile.”

“Can you help me stand? I have to get out of this room.”

“No.” Adele let out a shuddering anxious breath. “I can't touch you. We must wait until help comes.”

Gareth seemed satisfied by that. He held her with his eyes as they remained apart for what seemed like hours. Finally, Adele gratefully heard the sound of approaching feet.

Captain Shirazi returned, wheezing from exertion. The report on his lips faded when he saw the state of the empress, and he started moving toward her. Then he stopped short over the mutilated body of Corporal Darby, staring down. His pistol cleared its holster, and he pointed it at Gareth.

“Captain, put your weapon aside,” Adele commanded.

Shirazi knelt over the dead soldier. His hand touched the bare shoulder where two puncture marks could be seen. “It fed from him!”

“To save me!” Adele shouted. “Corporal Darby was already dying. If Gareth hadn't gotten to me in time, I would be dead now too.”

“He was a brave man,” Gareth said quietly. “He tried his best to stop the assassin. He did not fear death. I made sure he felt no pain.”

Shirazi's face remained hard, but his eyes drifted back to the still body of his chosen man. His mouth worked free of its grimace, and his gun lowered.

“Please help me with Prince Gareth,” Adele said. “We need to get him to a room, but I can't carry him.”

The captain hesitated with a look of disgust.

Adele demanded, “Pick him up, Captain. Please!”

Shirazi now obeyed his empress. Gareth was a terrible sight to behold; he stank of burning flesh and his wounds were horrific. The captain knelt and easily gathered the prince into his arms. Adele led them upstairs.

As Shirazi settled Gareth into a bed, Adele asked, “What of the assassin?”

“Gone,” Shirazi informed her. “We followed the blood trail down to the Grassmarket and then lost it. My men are sweeping the area. From the amount of blood, I expect they will find her body soon.”

Baudoin appeared in the door with Morgana behind him. The serving girl's face was terrified when she saw the state of the prince.

“He'll recover from this,” Adele assured Morgana, embracing her.

Morgana gulped, but then noticed Adele limping. She saw the bloody leg. “You're injured too!”

“You help him.” She gestured toward Gareth lying pale on the bed. “My men will help me. All right?”

Morgana wiped her tears away. “Aye, miss. We'll help him. Don't you worry.”

Shirazi stepped over to Adele and dipped a shoulder under hers. They walked out of the room, where they found a line of townspeople that stretched down the corridor. The captain looked at the people in surprise.

“They're here of their own free will,” Adele told him. “These people care for him as you do for me. Gareth isn't a monster, Captain.”

“I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.” Shirazi stared in mute wonder as they passed the anxious people.

A silent shadow shifted outside the window of the library. Flay was only just recovering from the shock, and willing her rage under control. Gareth and that human together, fighting side by side, as he had promised to do with Flay. All Gareth's talk. Lies! And she had believed him.

Flay pressed her hand against the glass, claws slowly extending from her fingertips, scratching the surface. She was going to slaughter every living thing in the castle, starting with the empress. Let Gareth profess his love to her then.

But her own flesh prickled with the heat emanating from the room, and the familiar, horrible stench of Adele washed over her. She could smell nothing else. Flay drew back snarling. Her fury demanded to be let loose, but she had nowhere to go. Once Adele had nearly killed her. Now the human had humiliated and shamed her. Like Gareth had. Flay would see to it he was humiliated.

Gareth would pay for his betrayal.

A
DELE STOOD IN
a shadowed corner of Gareth's room, her anguish welling up out of the darkness. The townspeople had long since departed, and the room was steeped in silence. Gareth lay unmoving on the bed, his body struggling to heal the damage wrought by the geomancy.

She felt safe in the shadows away from prying eyes. She didn't want anyone to see her despair as she hovered over him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept, as she had for a day now since the fight in the library. She wondered what life would be like without him. It terrified her to think that way, but their lives were so chaotic that it was an all-too-real possibility.

Damn Mamoru.

Why couldn't he have understood that Gareth wasn't any harm? Was it so hard to trust her?

Damn Nzingu and her ruthless cunning.

His library. The place held dear by both of them, and the assassin had modified it into a killing floor. Gareth had no defense against such cruelty. If he had been human he would have been dead from his wounds. Bandages stained with blood obscured the right side of his chest and arm. The burns were still dark red welts on his skin. It always frightened her to see
him like this, so much like the myths of old when vampires lay still as the dead in tombs. It was more than just a deep sleep.

Adele wiped her hands down her clean skirt as if there were still some residue of blood there even after the scrubbing she had given them. Stepping quietly from the shadows, she walked over to the bed and sat beside him, her hand searching for his and taking it gently. To her relief she didn't seem to cause him any additional injury.

She couldn't bear the thought of saying good-bye to him another time. The odds of his returning were growing insurmountable. Adele's fears swirled inside her, and she couldn't quiet them. His hand flinched, and the creases deepened at the corner of his eyes. He was in pain. Geomancy created the only true pain vampires felt. Yet he said nothing. If it had been her she would be demanding some sort of relief. And he had hours to go yet before the burns faded. Frustrated, she chewed her lower lip and held his hand tightly. Over the next hour, his grip was intermittent. Sometimes gentle and sometimes strong when the pain grew worse.

He was going to be fine, she tried to convince herself. They had far too much to do together. Incredibly, it had been only a year since they met. That was too short. She couldn't lose him now. It didn't matter what the future held. It was just enough to know they had one. She hoped.

Adele rubbed her face and finally let her tears flow down her cheeks. She leaned over and ever so gently kissed his lips. She hummed an aria from the opera softly, letting it drift over him, the only thing to find its way through his haze of pain. His breathing deepened, and slowly he opened his eyes, still bright as an azure sea. His gaze swiftly found her.

“Oh, it's you,” he said. “I thought I was at the opera again.” His hand reached up and cradled her cheek. He saw the wetness on it. “We're all right now.”

Praying that it was so, she clung to his hand. His breathing eased, and he visibly relaxed. “I could keep you here with but a word.”

“Don't.” Gareth put a finger against her lips. “I'd be powerless against such a command.”

The air felt thick in her lungs as she drew in a deep breath. “It feels like I heal you only to send you back out into battle again. How horrible I am.”

“Nonsense. This is just the way it has to be.”

“No! There is a better life out there for us somewhere. I know it. We should have looked harder for it.”

“We are where we are supposed to be, protecting what we love. Our people. Our own desires come second.”

“It's hard, too hard. How do you handle it so calmly?”

“It's about offering everything you have in order to protect someone you care about. The trick is never hold back. Never doubt yourself or what you have to give.”

“I'm going to have to let you go again, aren't I?” she whispered.

“Yes. As I will let you go when the need arises. We have a day at most before I will need to depart.”

His arms lifted to collect her and hold her against him. She slid carefully onto the bed and wrapped her arms about him, just holding him, feeling his heart beat at her breast, her mouth never leaving his. It wasn't a forceful kiss but a gentle, comforting one that allowed them the reassurance of the other's life and love.

London was calm. The flocks of vampires crowding the evening skies were thinner than normal, and less hectic than a typical clan gathering. Still, there was electricity in the air for the coming coronation and the celebration that would follow. For now, it was somber. The clan lords from across Britain were here, but their packs were left at home. Likely kings and queens of other clans had come too, but they brought only token retinues. Cesare would nearly empty London for the coven. During an interregnum, vampires tried to ensure squabbles were kept to a minimum. Too many had died in internecine struggles over the centuries.

Gareth drifted in from the north watching the green countryside turn grey. His gaze strayed to the pile that was Buckingham Palace. It was no longer his father's home. Gareth had no idea what had been done with his father's cadaver. Once it wouldn't have mattered to him, but humans seemed concerned about how their dead were treated. He had taken so many human traits, this interest in the dead was but one more.

There was the British Museum, his home in London. As he
descended, he saw the grounds in front of the building strewn with wreckage. Large chunks of stone and concrete, and scattered detritus spread outward from the front of the edifice. Gareth touched down with clenched fists, looking with alarm at the massive hole smashed in the front wall. The bronze doors were flat on the portico and the stonework around the doorway had been widened rudely, leaving a gaping wound in his home. There were deep gouges in the ground as if something heavy had been dragged from the building.

Humans were the only ones who could have wrought this damage, and they would not have done so without Cesare's express orders. Perhaps it had been an act of spite in compensation for Gareth's tardiness to London. Perhaps it was simply Cesare's way of speeding his brother's official presence from the scene.

Gareth leapt into the air and angled for the palace. He contemplated a furious meeting with Cesare, and had to remind himself to maintain control. This was not the time to strike his brother. As he closed in on the palace courtyard, he saw an incredible sight. It was the colossal statue of Ramses the Great that had been inside the museum.

Gareth halted in midair and stared down at the object in its strange new space.

“Impressive, no?” came a voice.

He spun to find Cesare hovering above him. His brother smiled. “Welcome to London. Did I startle you?”

“What is this?” Gareth pointed down at Ramses. “Is this your doing? That statue belongs to me.”

Cesare settled to the earth, followed by Gareth. “I had it done. I wasn't aware that you claimed the objects in the museum.”

“You destroyed my home.”

“Oh, don't go on so. The doorway had to be widened a bit. There are still countless pieces of stone and metal inside for you to stroke. There's still a roof to keep the rain off your head.”

“Why is it here?” Gareth touched the colossus and felt sick that it had been defiled. Adele had explained the statue to him when she was his guest in the museum. It had been their first meaningful conversation. Ramses was from Adele's homeland; he was her ancestor.

“It's Dmitri,” crowed Cesare.

“What?”

“It's a monument to our father.” Cesare patted the pharaoh's stone trunk.

“You simpleton. This statue is someone. This is a real man. His name is Ramses. You can't just grab an object and say it's someone else.”

“No? I believe I just did.”

“But…” Gareth struggled for words. “Why are you even putting up a monument to our father?”

“He was a great king.”

The elder brother shook his head in confusion.

Cesare continued as if it was all quite clear. “This monument will show everyone how magnificent he was; then they will know that I am greater still when I surpass him.”

“But this statue isn't Dmitri,” Gareth repeated.

“It is now.”

Gareth wanted to tear the smug grin from Cesare's face. His vision swam red, and his claws extended involuntarily. Then suddenly a strange thought occurred to him. Cesare was staring up at the huge statue with pride, and Gareth started to laugh.

“Something funny?” Cesare asked with a surprised snarl.

“Yes. Very funny. Perhaps the funniest thing ever.” Gareth clapped a hand on Cesare's shoulder, causing his brother to pull away angrily. The Scottish prince doubled over in laughter so loud it attracted the attention of vampires who were passing.

“You're making a ridiculous scene,” Cesare snapped. “Shut up!”

“I don't think I can.”

“Gareth, you ass. I hope you do enjoy Edinburgh, because you will never set foot outside it once I'm king.”

Gareth laughed even harder, slipping to the ground with his back pressed against Ramses. He bent low to the earth, his body racked by guffaws he couldn't control. The gathering vampire crowd began to laugh too, slowly at first, but then louder with fits of hilarity. The sight of the royal brothers laughing—well, one of them—was a great omen.

Cesare leaned toward Gareth. “I don't even care what you are
laughing about. I have business. When the sun sets, I sequester the coven. You will be there.”

“Oh I'll be there,” Gareth struggled to say. He took a deep breath to recover his stern visage. Then he looked up at Cesare's grim face, and a smile slowly crept back across his lips. He broke into laughter again. The mob followed with renewed delight.

Cesare said, “If you're going to do this in front of the clan lords, the vote shouldn't take long.” He indicated the gathered crowd of giggling vampires. “You're a joke to everyone.”

Gareth rubbed his face with a deep, satisfied sigh. “And you are a human.”

“What?”

“You've become a human, Cesare. We all have.” Gareth stretched out his legs. “Look at us. Look at your clothes. Look at me and my herds. Look at Ramses here. You put up a statue, Cesare. A statue!”

The younger prince glanced from his brother to the colossus and back. His brow furrowed in anger and fear.

Gareth shook his head. “We're humans now. We're just not very good ones.”

“You're mad.” Cesare nimbly lifted from the ground with his attention lingering curiously on his brother. Finally he turned away and flung himself toward the palace, slipping into the black sliver of a window as if he'd vanished through a wall.

The crowd milled about Gareth, unsure of what had happened, or what was going to happen. They began to drift silently into the sky too, one by one, leaving Gareth sitting alone in the dirt with the colossus of Dmitri.

The two brothers stood on either side of their father's throne. The gathered clan lords waited. Many of them were the greybeards who had fought in the Great Killing, but there were a few youngsters, male and female, who had come to power since. This was Cesare's event, but since Gareth was the eldest son, and technical heir, he was the official host. Even so, it was Cesare who nodded to Gareth to prompt him to speak.