Phoenix Contract: Part One (Fallen Angel Watchers Book 1) (4 page)

Matthew gasped with a sudden insight. “You did this to yourself.” The priest stared at his old comrade with open disgust. “This ghastly, awful thing you have become—”

“Was self-inflicted, indeed,” Daniel agreed, savoring the irony. “It was an easy thing to locate an isolated pack of vampires and only slightly more difficult to eliminate their master. The creature was depraved—his mental degeneration reduced to animalistic cunning.”

“Only the transformation wasn’t quite what you’d planned,” Matthew surmised. “Was it? What went wrong?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Daniel uttered a horrible, ragged laugh and shook his head sadly. “Perhaps the incantation was wrong, perhaps the demon wasn’t powerful enough, or perhaps the blame lies with me—the purity of my blood. Maybe I simply wasn’t a skilled enough sorcerer—”

“Why?” Matthew asked. The question was full of compassion and despair. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

“Well, I was dying, old man,” Daniel replied plainly, his pallid face going stark and slack. “Stage four bone cancer. I’d run out of time to perfect the ritual. It was do or die.” He chuckled. “Now I have nothing but time.”

“Until the cognitive erosion sets in,” Matthew said. “Gradually, you’ll become like these poor unfortunates.” He indicated the minion vampires.

“That’s quite correct,” Daniel agreed. “There really is no putting one past you, Matt. I see you’ve surmised the reason for my unexpected visit. With your help, I think the decay can be delayed and maybe even prevented indefinitely. I have no intention of winding up a drooling cretin.”

“I won’t help you,” Matthew said, “no matter what you do to me.”

“Oh, but I think you will,” Daniel disagreed. “Once I turn you, then you’ll be more than happy to help.” Lightning swift, the vampire lashed out and seized Matthew’s wrist, forcing the priest’s arm down.

Matthew cried out in pain as Daniel squeezed his wrist until his hand opened and the crucifix dropped to the ground.

Aiden shouted and swung her crucifix around to protect Matthew, but she was too slow. Daniel dragged Matthew away and thrust the priest toward his minions.

“Hold him,” Daniel said.

Immediately, the carrot-topped boy and the policewoman caught hold of the priest.

Aiden expected Daniel’s attack, but that didn’t prepare her for the vampire’s speed. Daniel rushed her, progressing so fast his contorted face filled her vision. She kept the crucifix level and aimed for the vampire’s eyes, but Daniel caught hold of her wrist with disturbing ease. Then he twisted her arm, causing a wrenching pain in her shoulder. Against her will, Aiden bent over to avoid having her arm torn from the socket. She lost her grip on her crucifix.

“Let her go!” Matthew shouted. “She’s done nothing.”

Daniel immobilized Aiden, ignoring her struggles. He forced her head to the side and exposed her throat. “Oh, I don’t think so. I want you to suffer, Matt,” he said. “As a self-styled Lord of the Night, I’m rather pleased with the revenge I’ve concocted. So I’m going to eat your pretty daughter and make you watch.”

The vampire continued, adopting an amused tone. “One of the more distinctive and interesting traits of the vampire subspecies Upyr is our distinctive tongues.” Daniel allowed his mouth to loll open, and a bloated tongue flopped out. Black and glistening with forked serrated edges, it bore a barbed hook on the end.

His breath was putrid. Gagging, Aiden lashed out with her only free hand, gouging Daniel’s cheek with her nails. She hit the crucifix-shaped burn mark and dug into the raw flesh, leaving four parallel scratches. The vampire hissed and slapped her across the face.

Stunned, Aiden slackened, and Daniel secured his hold on her with his hands so she could not breathe. Distantly, Aiden heard Father Matthew shouting and the vampire minions growling. Daniel’s angry pallid face loomed, filling her entire field of vision. Her heart thundered in her ears, and her toes scraped the ground. Then Daniel released Aiden’s throat, and the air came rushing back. She sucked down a gasping breath.

Lips peeled back and tongue protruding, the vampire bent over Aiden’s throat. Ice cold and slimy, his tongue slapped against the soft flesh of her throat twice. Then the barbed hook embedded in her flesh, and Aiden cried out in pain. Her blood flowed from the cuts, and Daniel sought to seal his lips over the wounds so he could drink.

Desperately, Aiden fought to break free, but the vampire’s strength was simply overwhelming.

The night air reverberated with a series of pealing thunderclaps, and a powerful downdraft struck the parking lot. Daniel jerked his head away from Aiden’s throat, and his barbed tongue dislodged, ripping open her flesh. Aiden cried out and pressed a hand to the wound to staunch the bleeding. Everyone stopped to stare up as a vast shadow passed overhead.

“What is that?” Daniel asked as the shadow descended.

“That Mr. Would-be Lord of the Night,” Matthew breathed, sounding both relieved and self-satisfied. “Is the real deal.”

The shadow swept over the parking lot and crossed in profile against the silver moon. Aiden received the impression of a man’s body and vast black wings extending perhaps fifty feet from his torso. From the distance, she couldn’t discern whether they were feathery or leathery. The creature’s shape was that of a bat as opposed to a butterfly.

The figure hovered, descending upon beating wings, and each downward sweep created another thunderous crack and tremendous blast of air. The downdraft hit people and pavement with torrential force, sending leaves and litter flying.

“Magnus!” Matthew shouted. “Any day now would be appreciated.” The priest’s voice shattered the collective trance.

“Magnus,” Daniel breathed, staring upward. The vampire remained frozen, maintaining a brutal hold on his captive.

Aiden kept her hand pressed to the wound on her throat to staunch the blood flow.

The winged figure dropped earthward, making a controlled descent, and the black wings furled, folding inward with startling speed and neatness. By the time he touched ground, the wings transformed into a leather cloak clasped at his throat.

The newcomer’s features were shadowed, obscured beneath long hair that tumbled down his back. In the dim light, Aiden received the impression of sable and copper. His height and weight were well above average, his physique heavy and muscular. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans over steel-toed boots. The beaten leather cloak moved and clung with the supple tenacity of a living creature, swathing and billowing in a dramatic display. He moved with confidence and power, more beast than man.

“Excuse me a moment while I deal with this, my dear,” Daniel said. The vampire shoved Aiden hard, sending her to the pavement.

She landed on outstretched arms, skinning both of her palms. She rolled to her side. Her head spun, and a retching nausea swept her body.

“What kept you so long?” Matthew demanded.

“What kept me?” Magnus repeated. He spoke with a layered accent, alluding to many different languages and locations, culminating in a rich and distinctive brogue. He headed straight for Matthew. “I didn’t even know you were back in the country, let alone in need of rescuing.” His exasperation was plain and good-natured.

Matthew scoffed. “You’ve rogue vampires trespassing in your territory, Magnus. I think you’re losing your edge.”

Magnus shrugged. “
Star Wars
was playing at the Crown.”

“Sorry to interrupt your little reunion, but this is becoming tedious,” Daniel said. He turned on his minions. “Well? What are you waiting for? Attack him.”

The carrot-topped vampire boy and the policewoman released Matthew, surging toward the new arrival. The boy reached Magnus first. Without breaking stride, Magnus delivered a forward punch which punctured the vampire’s desiccated flesh just below the breastbone. The boy screamed, and the policewoman caught hold of Magnus’ arm, attacking him with fists and fangs.

Magnus shoved his arm deeper into the boy’s chest until it disappeared to the elbow. He appeared to be groping for something. The vampire responded with a terrible, tormented wail.

“What are you doing?” Matthew asked, plainly disgusted. Hobbling, the priest made his way to Aiden and sank to the ground beside her.

“His heart has shifted.” With a satisfied grunt, Magnus found his objective and ripped the boy’s heart from his chest.

Before the vampire’s scream faded, his body turned to ash. Reaching overhead, Magnus hooked his arm around the policewoman’s neck. He threw her to the ground and pinned her chest with his foot.

“No, I mean why are you fighting with your bare hands like a barbarian?” Matthew removed a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to Aiden’s throat. When she stirred and attempted to rise, Matthew shushed her. “Rest now.”

“Could it be I’m a barbarian?” Magnus reached into the depths of his cloak and drew a concealed weapon. Metal hissed as it slid across leather, the song of a sword clearing the scabbard. The blade had the length and breadth of a long sword. With a deft downward thrust, Magnus severed the pinned vampire’s head. His foot sank through the dissolving body and landed squarely in the leftover ash.

The three remaining minions charged as a pack. The black man and the elderly man rushed straight at their armed opponent, demonstrating a laudable lack of tactical sense. Magnus stepped into the attack. His sword caught the old man clean through the heart and removed the vital organ with a deft twist.

Magnus ducked the outstretched arms of the black vampire and then cut the legs out from under his opponent. The little girl ran at him from behind and leapt. Latching onto his throat with her only arm, she sank her pronged tongue into the swordsman’s throat. Magnus grunted and reversed his grip on the sword. He angled the blade upward and severed the vampire’s tongue. She fell to the ground, shrieking as blood gushed from her mouth.

Magnus dispatched the two remaining minions while his audience watched. He killed with a brutal efficiency and blood lust which belonged to another era. After, as the dust settled, he brushed off his cloak and stepped out of the cloud.

Daniel clapped slowly and dramatically. “Very impressive, Magnus, but then you’ve always been a showoff, eh? I have the sense to know I’ve lost the battle before it’s begun. So, if you don’t mind my asking, there’s something I’ve wondered for decades. What the bloody hell are you?”

Magnus and Matthew exchanged a long look, and then Magnus shrugged.

Matthew cleared his throat. “Daniel, Magnus is of House Shemyaza.” He spoke with malicious satisfaction, a sentiment unbecoming of a priest.

His tone gave Aiden chills. In her entire life, she had never before heard Matthew sound mean.

“Impossible!” Daniel exclaimed. His dead body moved with the stiff motion of a marionette. “House Shemyaza is extinct.”

“Magnus, if you would.” Matthew motioned his friend into the circle of light.

Magnus hesitated. “I want to kill him.”

“You will,” Matthew agreed. “At least allow Aiden to see you.”

Clearly reluctant, Magnus obliged. For the first time his features were plainly visible. Aiden caught her breath. To call him beautiful would have been inaccurate because his features were too masculine. To call him handsome would have been woefully inadequate. Clean lines and broad planes defined his face, a robust symmetry bordering on perfection. He possessed a tawny complexion, and his flesh had the polished sheen of stone. Magnus had a high forehead, an aquiline nose, and a generous mouth set in a predatory smirk. His warm topaz eyes, the color of gemstones and gold coins, lacked whites and possessed an elongated-slit black pupil—cat’s eyes or maybe snake’s eyes. His rich sable hair fell in a loose mass about his shoulders. Each hand had six fingers.

“Dear God,” Daniel prayed.

“That’s right,” Matthew said. “This entire time, for decades, while you searched in vain for immortality, Daniel, I was concealing it from you. How old are you, Magnus?”

“Two thousand years. More. I don’t keep track.” Magnus shrugged.

Dead silence followed the preposterous claim.

“I’m going to kill you. Do you hear me, Matt? I’m going to rip out your heart and eat it!” Daniel screamed. A fit of fury seized the vampire. Daniel sprang at Matthew, flying at the priest with extended arms.

Magnus stepped between the vampire and the priest. The sword sang to the night. It sliced through the air with clean broad strokes, severing Daniel’s arm and then his leg. The vampire crashed to the ground. Magnus altered the position of his sword. With a downward thrust, he drove the blade through Daniel’s abdomen, cleaving his torso neatly across the waist. Daniel’s corpse underwent sudden and rapid decay, collapsing inward.

When the ash cleared, Magnus stood beside Aiden and Matthew. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

Matthew chuckled. “What, rubbing that sanctimonious braggart’s nose in your immortality? Yes, I must confess. I’ve wanted to do that for decades. Oh, oh, oh!” The priest grimaced in pain and pressed a hand to his left shoulder.

“Matthew?” Magnus bent, reaching for the priest.

“Father?” Aiden said. She continued to swim in her own weakness and resented her passive role.

“Help Aiden,” Matthew said, waving away Magnus’ hand. “Let me rest. I’ll be fine. Here, take this.” He fumbled with his pocket and then handed Magnus a small silver flask. “It’s holy water. Aiden’s been bitten. The wound will need to be purified. My crucifix got knocked out of my hand and landed over there near the gutter.” He indicated with his hand.

“I’m fine. Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Aiden protested.

Magnus loomed over her, attempting to inspect her injuries. His fingers were hot and alien against her skin, and she flinched from his touch.

“Stay put while I retrieve the crucifix,” Magnus ordered. He moved away from her. A moment later, he returned carrying the crucifix.

Aiden shook her head but stayed still. She automatically tried to place his accent and failed. There were too many layers. “Where are you from? I can’t quite place your nationality.”

“I’m Averni.” He sank to the ground beside her, and those six-fingered hands touched her again, causing her flesh to crawl.

“The Averni were a Celtic tribe,” Aiden said. Her foggy mind recalled little else other than the Averni had been from the region of Gaul before it became France.

“That’d be correct.” The Celt reached out with his strange, strong fingers and pushed Aiden’s head to the side to expose the wound. He removed her hand and examined the bite. His glittering gold eyes were intelligent and inhuman. Up close he smelled earthy and sensual, a suggestive scent which caused Aiden to flush and look away.

“Why is your name Latin?” she asked.

“My mother was Roman. Stay still,” he replied.

“How bad is it?” Matthew asked.

“Not too bad.” Magnus threaded the crucifix’s chain through his fingers so the holy symbol rested in his palm. He opened the silver flask and poured holy water over the crucifix.

Aiden felt excited and afraid and so tense she wanted to crawl out of her skin. “Are you really immortal?”

“Yes,” Magnus said. “This is going to hurt. I’m going to have to hold you down.”

“Aiden, you can trust Magnus,” Matthew said.

It took a second for the threat to register. “I, no,” Aiden said immediately, her resistance too little and too late.

Magnus shoved her to the ground with one hand and pressed the crucifix against her throat with the other.

The crucifix
burned.
Aiden cried out in pain and anger. The stench of burnt flesh filled her nostrils. She thrashed with all of her strength only to be held firmly in place. A white-hot wall of pain submersed her consciousness, and she drowned, sucked down into a merciful state of oblivion.

She came to on a bed of asphalt. Her neck throbbed with a pain far worse than the original bite wound. She tasted blood in her mouth, and the inside of her lower lip hurt. With a groan, Aiden brought her hand to the wound and discovered a cotton gauze pad taped over the injury. Her vehicle’s side door was open, and her first aid kit lay beside her on the pavement.

With a groan, Aiden sat up and looked around. Ten feet from her, Matthew lay unconscious on the ground with the Celt’s leather cloak folded beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. She felt a huge relief to see the garment had ceased its unnatural writhing. Magnus crouched alongside Matthew, more cat than human in posture. Without the cloak, the straps of his baldric were visible, crisscrossed over his chest. The sword had returned to the sheath on his back, the hilt visible over his left shoulder.