Authors: Amy Miles
“I thought not.”
Fane rises and begins to pace before the fire.
His shadow lengthens against the wooden floor as he passes.
“There may be another option.”
His musings capture Nicolae’s attention.
“Tell me.”
Fane swiftly moves to Nicolae’s side.
“You forced a truce with Roseline when you came looking for me.
I know that wasn’t easy for you, but somehow you convinced your men to fight alongside her to overthrow Vladimir.
Do you think they would be willing to accept a new truce?
One between you and me?”
Nicolae nods but with hesitation.
“Perhaps, but why?”
“I can take Sadie with me, train her when I have time, but only return when I am sure that she is safe.
If we can prove that she is not a threat, your hunters might be willing to spare her life.”
Nicolae thinks it over, absently rubbing his jaw.
“Yes, it might work, but on one condition.”
“And that is?” Fane arches an eyebrow.
“I’m coming with you.”
His friend hesitates, clearly none too pleased with this additional requirement.
Although he and Fane have created a bond over the past couple weeks, their relationship is still new. There is hardly any chance that Fane would be willing to freely allow Nicolae access to intimate knowledge of the immortal world.
“I have your word that you will not interfere with Sadie’s training?
We do it my way or not at all once Roseline is safe?”
Nicolae nods.
“You do.”
“Even if that means turning your back on your brothers?
Knowing they will hunt you to get to her?”
He swallows roughly but nods again.
“Sadie is my family now.”
Reaching into the folds of his cloak, Fane withdraws a serrated blade.
Nicolae tenses but does not move away as Fane closes the gap between them.
Fane grips the handle in his right hand, never breaking eye contact with Nicolae as he tilts the blade and slices through his left palm.
Blood splatters against the stone floor as Fane holds out the knife.
Curling his fingers around the handle, Nicolae presses the blade to his own flesh.
“Not too deep,” Fane warns.
Nicolae nods and slides the blade across his palm, slicing through several layers of skin.
A hiss passes his lips as he holds out his hand.
Fane grasps it in his and their blood mingles, sealing the pact.
Lightheadedness overcomes Nicolae as he is released from Fane’s grip.
The blade clatters to the floor as he sways, unsteady on his feet.
“I told you not to cut too deep,” Fane scolds as he lowers Nicolae onto the couch.
Warmth trails down his arm as Fane holds Nicolae’s hand aloft.
It soaks through Fane’s white shirt, staining his flesh.
Nicolae winces as Fane presses down near the wound.
“Ow.”
“Sorry about this,” he mutters as he draws Nicolae’s hand close.
“There’s no other way.”
“What did you say?” Nicolae asks.
His vision blurs and he closes his eyes as the room begins to spin.
“Just hold still.”
Nicolae cries out as Fane’s teeth pierce his flesh, just to the side of his wound.
The immortal retracts his teeth and buries them back in again, slowly working his way around the deep gash.
Each time Fane’s teeth sink into his palm, Nicolae’s fingers jerk in reflex.
“I’m not a midnight snack.”
“I’m almost done.
Stop being a baby.”
He bites one final time and then rises up, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth with his sleeve.
“Next time heed my warning.”
Nicolae holds his hand aloft, amazed to watch as his flesh begins to knit itself back together.
The pain recedes and the blood flow stops completely.
New, pale flesh seals completely over the wound in a matter of minutes.
A four-inch scar is the only reminder of his blunder with the knife.
He grins up at Fane. “Wicked.”
Six
T
he sound of blood dripping down to the floor is music to Lucien’s ear.
He taps his foot to the beat, humming as he works.
His knife is sharp, easily peeling back layers of human flesh.
His stomach growls with need but he reins himself in.
Now is not the time to feed.
The screams of the two priests died off less than an hour ago.
He misses them, the way they carried up to the great heights of the cathedral, echoing through the vast hall.
He had very much enjoyed their pleas for mercy, offering him anything in the church’s possession to spare their lives.
That made it all the more fun when he started carving.
After the BBC fell silent about the four working girls slain in the red light district of Amsterdam, Lucien knew he needed to up the ante.
Perhaps the crowds weren’t large enough nor the location popular enough.
He needs to remedy both of those.
Investigators are no closer to finding a lead to tie the two murders together, nor have they released any details about the bites.
Although the police may have trouble sleeping at night, the rest of the world is still in the dark.
After tonight, that will not be the case.
He reaches for a cloth to wipe the blood from his hands and steps back to admire his work.
Three crosses have been nailed to the wall.
The two priests hang from the outer crosses, their hands and feet nailed to the wood.
Their clothes have been removed, save for their shorts, and their chests laid bare, flayed alive with a knife.
But his eyes are not drawn to them, for they are merely for effect.
The real jewel hangs in the middle.
The girl’s head is tied to the side, covering a single bite mark over her artery, in traditional vampire fashion.
Her long blonde hair brushes against the floor from her upside down crucifix.
Her arms stretch out on either side of her, large galvanized nails piercing her wrists.
Her feet have been placed one on top of the other, a nail driven through the tops of them. Blood seeps from the wounds, trailing toward the floor.
She is exquisite even in death.
Lucien kneels, brushing her cheek with a gentle caress.
“Whatever are they going to make of you, my dear?
Will they be smart enough to realize you are more than human?
That your heart recycled the blood of a four-hundred-year old girl?”
Surely, her burnt orange eyes should make her supernatural nature obvious to even the most daft of investigators.
“It is such a pity to lose such great beauty, but sacrifices must be made.”
He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes to the memories of countless rendezvous they shared over the years.
If Lucien had been capable of love, Victoria might have managed to capture his heart.
She was ruthless, merciless, stunning…all the things he would have looked for in a mate.
But she has served her purpose now.
“It has been fun,” he whispers.
He rises and lets his hand drift away from her face.
No heartfelt goodbye.
No final glance.
That is not his style.
His long cloak billows about him as he turns and descends from the altar, practically skipping past the church pews.
He has left the murder weapon, the mallet and box of nails in the open, laid out neatly in a puddle of holy water.
He grins, giddy with the irony of it all.
Lamplight filters in through the stained glass windows of Notre Dame Cathedral, casting an eerie glow on his victims.
For a moment, he is tempted to turn back for one final glimpse, but he resists.
Let the churchgoers who arrive for Mass tomorrow enjoy the first glimpse of his work.
His laughter echoes through the great church halls as he shoves through the double doors and out into the night.
***
A
Breaking News Report
symbol scrolls along the bottom of the screen, detailing the gruesome details of yet another killing spree, this time in the heart of Paris.
Nicolae frowns at the tension in his friend’s shoulders as Fane paces back and forth, watching the muted screen.
William and Sadie are curled up next to each other on the couch, William’s drool dripping dangerously close to Sadie’s arm.
If she were awake, he’d have a black eye by now.
Tiptoeing past the sleeping siblings, Nicolae joins Fane.
The flickering light of the TV is the only light in the room.
“There’s been another attack,” Fane says, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nicolae’s jaw sets firmly as he nods.
Together, they have been watching the news in snippets, trying to keep Sadie and William from hearing the reports.
“What do we do about it?”
“I honestly don’t know.
We don’t even know who is initiating these attacks or where they will strike next.”
He turns to stare at Nicolae’s profile.
“Have you heard anything from your end?”
Nicolae’s stomach clenches at the thought of his estranged brothers.
“We aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment.”
“I thought not,” Fane says, sinking down onto a chair behind him.
He perches on the edge, too anxious to sit back.
“We can’t let this continue.
Whoever is behind this targeted Victoria.
She was no fool, Nicolae.
It would take a skilled hunter to track her down.”
“I don’t think it was one of us,” Nicolae says, staring at the blurred out images taken from the crime scene.
Although the outline of the bodies can be seen, the more gruesome details of the priest’s death have been left to front page coverage of newspapers around the world.
“Nor do I and that’s what worries me.”
Fane’s fingers dig into the leather arms of the chair.
“Someone is trying to expose us.
But who?
Vladimir is gone.
It doesn’t make any sense.”
“What about someone under his command?
Lavinia?”
Fane snorts.
“That woman couldn’t pull anything like this off.
She may be demented, but she’s far from methodical.
No, whoever is planning these murders is patient, disciplined.
I fear this is only the beginning.”
Nicolae blows out a deep breath.
“What about Roseline?
Do you think Sadie could be right?
That Lucien really is alive?
This sounds like his MO.”
Fane dips his head in consideration.
He slowly nods, his expression darkening.
“It could be.
Or maybe Malachi is on a rampage.
Who knows?
But we can’t let it continue.
This latest attack is getting major attention.
People are starting to get scared.
Whispers of fanged monsters in the dark have already begun to surface.
A few more of these and there will be people with shotguns and pitchforks breaking down our door.”
The thought chills Nicolae.
It will be nearly impossible to keep Sadie from being killed by his own hunters, let alone protect her against an entire town or country.
Romania is deeply veined with tales of vampires, so if word gets out that the myths could be true, people will flock to Bran Castle to hunt them down.
“We have to leave,” Nicolae says, staring blankly at the muted news report.
“I agree.
The sooner the better.”
He looks back over his shoulder at Sadie and William.
“We will let them sleep tonight, but tomorrow we head for Canada.”
“Canada?”
Fane nods.
“You will all be safe there.”
“You?”
Nicolae’s brow furrows.
“You aren’t planning on sticking around?”
“No,” Fane shakes his head.
“I have to go after Roseline.”
“But that’s suicide,” Nicolae protests.
“If Lucien really is the one behind these attacks, that means he is alive and deadly as ever.
What do you think he will do to you when you show up on his front doorstep looking for Roseline?”
Fane rises from the seat, a sad smile spread along his lips.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?
I have to find her and I know you understand that.”
He pauses to place his hand on Nicolae’s shoulder before he leaves, closing the door behind him.
Nicolae hangs his head, weary of fighting, and death.
Will it ever end?
When he looks up, he finds Sadie staring at him in the dark.
“How much did you hear?”
“All of it.”
Nicolae smirks.
“I should have known you were faking it.”
She nods, biting her lip.
“We can’t let him go on his own.
He won’t survive.”
“I know.”
He sighs and sinks back into a chair, covering his face with his hands.
“But what else can we do?
I won’t risk your safety for his.”
“As touching as that is, he is your friend now, Nicolae.
Your family.
Maybe not by blood, but that doesn’t matter.
He would risk his life for you.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
Sadie slowly unwinds herself from William.
He snorts, twisting to his side to clutch a pillow before settling back into a deep sleep.
“We need help and I know just where to get it.”
***
R
oseline clutches her stomach as her thirst begins to build once more.
It comes faster now, more potent with each feeding.
Although her wounds start the healing process with each time Malachi shares his blood, as soon as he leaves they begin to fester, pus-filled scabs that leave her weak and debilitated.
She has learned to tell time by her thirst.
Malachi comes three times a day giving blood each morning and night.
His visits in the afternoon appear to be for nothing more than to offer her company.
Despite his blood sacrifice, she can’t bring herself to trust him.
He has been too vague about the length of time she has been here which worries her far more than she lets on.
Although he seems sincere in his concern for her, doubt continues to eat away at her.
Why does he want to help her?
Surely coming to her aid places his life in danger.
Or does it?
Is it naïve to believe that this selfless streak runs deeper than even he knows?
It is hard to concentrate now.
The voices in her mind continue to grow stronger even as her energy wanes.
She grows strong and alert after each dose of angel blood, but its effects quickly fade.