Vampire - Kiss Of Darkness Part 37

"They're all around us," he said, pointing out the rotted caskets in niches in the walls.

She knew what he was really thinking, that the dead really were all around, not just the skeletons, but the vampires, just like him.

"Here we are. You just wait right here. Freshen up, if you like. You'll find that you won't be alone for long." She knew the room. It was the same one the Master used every time. The bed on the dais, the dressing table. She sat down and began playing her part, brus.h.i.+ng her hair, waiting....

She felt the shadow as it formed, felt the miasma, all that was dark and blood-stained and evil, and she was helpless to do anything but brush her hair.

Bryan made a low-key arrival, striding casually through the crowd, tipping his hat now and then as he pa.s.sed a group of giggling girls. He took a seat at the bar.

Vampire, he thought, seeing the bartender, whom he knew could tell that he was not one. He ordered a beer and nursed it, aware of the covert glances he was receiving from around the room. Jessica was nowhere to be seen. He was sure she'd been chosen, just as she had planned to be. Bryan didn't like the fact that she was already gone, but he knew the layout of the ruins, and the minute the others entered to cover his disappearance, he would be in hot pursuit. And if they didn't show...

They did.

Rick Boudreaux and Brent Malone entered together, a pair of wandering Americans out for a good time. Lucien and Ragnor came in next, playing the role of exactly what they were-vampires.

Lucien sidled up to the bar and he and Bryan acknowledged each other briefly, like strangers sizing each other up.

Then Bryan rose. There were enough people milling around for him to make his way to the old chapel without being noticed.

Once there, he hurried to the winding stairs leading to the crypts below.

There was a tall dark-haired man at the foot of the stairs. "Off-limits," he said harshly.

"Didn't hear you," Bryan lied, stepping into the raw earth flooring.

The man's lip curled. "Y'er f.o.o.kin' off-limits." He shook his head. "I've half a mind-h.e.l.l, who's to care?"

He started to laugh, exposing long, yellowed fangs. He reached out for Bryan.

He didn't even come close. Bryan speared him with one silent, powerful thrust, and the vampire burst into dust and ash.

"Old but stupid," Bryan murmured, shaking his head. Too easy. Too d.a.m.n easy.

He hurried down the long corridor of crypts. He could hear music, and his pace quickened. There was a break in the wall ahead; light streamed from it.

He hurried in. There she was, the woman in the gossamer white. Jessica.

There he was. The tall, broad-shouldered, caped figure of the vampyr. The Master.

Jessica was sitting in front of the dressing table, brus.h.i.+ng her hair while the Master stood behind her and stroked her arms. Her eyes were wide, like a doe in the headlights. The Master looked up at Bryan and laughed. "Can you begin to imagine what I will do with her before I behead her?" he asked. "You know, I had counted on you running down here, the great warrior to the rescue. Well, watch, for she is mine. Watch...if you can."

He heard the Master's voice, knew he was supposed to be in such a rage that he wouldn't have heard those coming up behind him. And he was in a rage, but he hadn't gone deaf.

He spun, small, double-edged swords in both hands. They had been honed to perfection. The first two vampires who came after him were sliced cleanly through the midriff at his first furious swirl of motion.But there were more, breaking free of the rotting coffins where they had hidden. They came to life with a fever, with a will, ripping away the shrouds that had hidden them, shrieking out their battle cries. He couldn't keep count. Two from the left, one from the right, another crawling up the wall above him. He leapt to avoid the sword of what looked to be a cavalier, and in the same movement severed the head from the creature above. He managed to get his back to the wall, there better to oppose the horde that came at him. At first, they were like conceited schoolboys, wanting to best him on their own. But the pile of ashes grew before him-and, for those who were younger, bits of bone, decaying flesh, sc.r.a.ps of clothing-and they were still coming....

This was truly a land of the walking dead, he realized.

He got a brief glimpse of the Master, still touching her. His eyes had gone cold, his muscles rigid. He was going to take her away, Bryan realized, and she was still helpless to resist him.

"Igrainia!"

No longer fearing what might threaten from behind, he moved forward. All he feared was a future without her once again.

She wanted to cry out and couldn't, but it didn't matter. She knew. Sensed him behind her, behind the Master. Without seeing him, she knew he was a flurry of motion, faster than wind, sound, light. The vampires died, crumpling, before him. On and on, the battle raged.

She felt the viselike tightening of the Master's fingers, just as she had felt them once before, so long ago.

She looked up, she saw his face. Saw the eyes change first, to something snakelike but evil in a way no snake had ever been.

It was as if his every hunger for power, wealth, brutality and strength was there, like gla.s.s shards filling his eyes. He drew her up, and she knew that she had no weapons against such strength, except...

Except her teeth, the teeth he had given her.

She could no longer sense Bryan; the power of the horde was too strong.

Just like it had been all those years ago....

"Come, my dear, we are leaving. I would prefer to enjoy the last of your so-called life and then your death at my leisure," he told her, smiling just as she had smiled once before, in a different lifetime. "Once more the great knight Ioin, champion of the wretched, traitorous Robert the Bruce, will be beaten. Sliced to ribbons by too many enemies for any creature to withstand."

Teeth!

She twisted her head and bit his hand, bit with no mercy. She tore at the flesh, and it felt as if she were tasting poison, but she didn't care.

He let out a howl of pain, and everything went dead still.

Then a roar of fury erupted from him, but it was too late. She was free and thinking fast. She lashed out at him with a tremendous kick, courtesy of the tae kwon do studio off Royal Street. She caught him with such force that he flew back against the wall, then turned, ready to join the fray that now seemed like a great gathering of flies atop Bryan.

Flies gathering atop a corpse...?

"Bryan!" she shouted. And then, "Ioin!" The floor was then strewn with weapons. She selected a sword, lifted it and tore into the crowd of attackers. So far, the other vampire hadn't noticed her. She raised the weapon as she had been taught so long ago, and stepped forward, swinging.

Like flies they fell before her. She was ready when they began to turn at last, realizing the danger from their rear. Yet not one lifted a weapon.

She spun around.

Too late.

She felt his fingers, tearing into her shoulders, dragging her around with impossible force. Once again she faced the fiery eyes of the Master.

"It's begun," Ragnor said softy.

Lucien rose from his bar stool, drawing his sword and dispatching the bartender, who had just picked up a hatchet of his own. At the same time, Ragnor turned with his heavy Viking sword and swung it in a wide arc, catching three vampires at once. He slid down from his stool while Lucien leapt atop the bar, the element of surprise gone, and prepared for the fight of his life.

People were screaming, running everywhere. Across the room, Lucien saw Rick Boudreaux calmly reloading his old police revolver. He had it rigged to fire bullets that contained wood, and he had excellent aim.

A fierce vampire roared, breaking off a leg from one of the bar stools, then racing toward Brent who let the man reach him, then snaked out an arm like steel, catching the chair leg and sending the burly vampire cras.h.i.+ng into the fire that burned in the remains of the great hearth. "Sorry, not a vampire," Brent muttered.

"Get down!" Rick shouted to him.

Brent ducked. A silver bullet whistled overhead and exploded into the stone wall. Brent rose, surprised. A hatchet went flying, cras.h.i.+ng directly into the neck and shoulder of the man with the pistol with the silver bullets. He went down.

"Thanks," Brent called to Ragnor.

"Don't mention it."

"Brent, Rick," Lucien called, "one of you finish in here, one of you get on the trail. Make sure none of the victims are followed."

"Right," Brent acknowledged.

"Hurry it up in here," Lucien told Ragnor. "I have a bad feeling about what's going on downstairs."

Ragnor glanced around quickly. No more vampires were in evidence. "I think we're just finished in here," he said.

"Then let's get below," Lucien said grimly.

This was so much like it had been before, except that this time he had seen her there, fighting. She was still alive. He was determined to live, too.

Bryan stepped forward with long strides, his senses so finely honed that he seemed to know the move of his every opponent. He ducked, spun, leapt and struck back with such speed and fury that it was as if he couldn't miss. Every enemy had to be sliced in half, beheaded or pinned through the heart or brain. Slashed to ribbons, they might still come back. Of course, if they were disabled enough, he could always finish them off later.

His arms were tiring, his muscles burning like molten steel, he didn't care. Then he heard her scream.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" he raged. He kicked the vampire in front of him, then staked him dead center in the heart. He fought his way through the crowd, slas.h.i.+ng indiscriminately.

And then, just when it seemed they were about to descend on him again in impossible numbers, they began to fall away instead.

He had a brief glimpse of Ragnor, fighting two-handed, with both sword and ax. Behind him, Lucien, using double-edged swords, as he was himself.

"Go!" he heard Lucien shout to him. "Get her back!"

He burst through the battle lines, staring from side to side. He gritted his teeth, allowing his senses to guide him. The tunnel to the south...

He turned and ran.

Jessica had no idea how long he dragged her through the catacombs before they suddenly burst out into the night.

Beneath the Demon Moon.

There he threw her viciously across the ground.

She rose and realized she was standing exactly where she had stood hundreds of years before, the night bathed in the bloodred light of the moon.

And the creature staring at her, features contorted with a rage that seemed older than time, was lit with that crimson tint, as well.

She scrambled to her feet. She had lost the sword she had acquired. Now she had nothing. Nothing but her wits.

He lunged at her, his own blade so honed it seemed to drip blood, but it was only the reflection of the moon. She willed herself to become mist, and he slashed at nothing.

She materialized behind him.

He turned. "Clever girl. Too bad your father was a traitor," he sneered.

"My father was a man of his people, a great king."

"He was quick enough to watch you die," the Master said, the words barbed. "But then, you were just a b.a.s.t.a.r.d child."

"My father is dead and gone, and history has proved his worth," she said.

He stood still, staring at her, then smiled mockingly. "You have nothing. No weapon. How many times can you transform yourself before exhaustion overtakes you? Eventually, I will reach you. I will slice your flesh again and again. And when you are in such pain that you can no longer abide it, I will create a funeral pyre upon which you will burn. Unless..."

"Unless...?"

"You turn on him," the Master said softly. "What?"

"He became a warrior," the Master said, and spat on the ground. "Warriors kill vampires. You are a vampire, you stupid girl. Do you think he can ever forget that? He's been fooling himself, glad to sleep with you again, but do you think he can love you again?

He has used you to get to me, but one day, when you are sighing in his arms like the foolish strumpet you are, he will stake you straight through the heart. You can't change what you are, so choose to help me-and survive."

She stared back at him and smiled, amazed that there was only one tiny pulse of fear within her, before she told him, "You are as insane as you have always been. You think I'm your creation, but I'm not. Yes, you changed my form, but you didn't change what lies beneath. And I would die a thousand deaths before I would turn on him."

She watched his face contort again. It looked mottled, hideous, as if it were composed of bursting veins, red and black. He started toward her; she leapt aside. He swung; she became mist. She meant to disappear, flee, until she found a weapon, but he reached into the mist and somehow she was a woman again, and his fingers curled around her arm. "You have only one more life to give for him," he spat out. "And you will give it now."

Bryan burst out from the tunnel, instantly aware of the moon, the terrain, the exact location where he stood.

And there, exactly where, once before, he had tortured and taunted Igrainia, was the Master.

He was surrounded by mist, but then the mist became real. Jessica. Igrainia. The sweep of her hair was like a wave around her, golden against the white fur of her cloak, a s.h.i.+ning sweep of all that was angelic. The Master had her in his grasp, but she was twisting, fighting, ever the fierce, proud spirit with whom he had fallen in love.

He let out a cry of rage that seemed to shake the very heavens.

The Master turned to him. His enemy in life and death. With a violent motion, the Master cast Jessica from him, then stared at Bryan.

"You and me, then. The final battle," the Master said.

"The final battle," Bryan agreed.

They circled each other warily. "But will you fight?" taunted the Master. "Think of those scores of vampires, my enemy, my minions, who get to live. Even as we fight, all those little innocent lambs who came here for a taste of the forbidden are running in an insanity of fear, desperate to escape. How many will die tonight, as you fight me?"