Underworld: Blood Enemy (15 page)

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Seated in the backseat of the limo, Kraven whimpered in pain. Blood spilled from his arm, and he pressed down on the wound with his other hand, trying to stanch the flow. “Damnation!” he cursed, even though the silver bullet was hardly likely to kill him. “This hurts like hell!”

“Hold on, regent,” Soren urged him from the driver’s seat. “There will be painkillers back at the mansion.”

“No!” Kraven cried out in alarm. “We can’t go back to Ordoghaz, not yet. How the devil will I explain getting shot while meeting with two lycans… with Lucian, of all creatures?” Kraven shuddered at the thought; the pain in his arm was nothing to the sufferings he would endure should his collusion with the infamous lycan warrior be exposed. “Head for the nearest safe house!”

Yes,
he thought,
that’s the right move.
The coven kept a number of safe houses throughout the city, hidden away in various inconspicuous locations. They were mostly used by the Death Dealers for stakeouts and interrogations, but they also provided emergency refuges for any vampires who found themselves stranded in the city too near sunrise. There would be quantities of cloned blood on store and first-aid supplies.

His mind raced frantically, looking for a way to salvage this disaster.
Don’t panic,
he ordered himself.
I can still turn this around. Nobody needs to know what I was doing tonight.

Soren arrived quickly at the closest, most convenient safe house: a broken-down brownstone in a rundown corner of Pest, not far from the city’s notorious red-light district. Decades of smog and soot had blackened every centimeter of the buildings dingy exterior. Steel-shuttered windows and spray-painted graffiti made it appear the ugly pile of bricks had been deserted for some time. Kraven hoped to hell that Soren had the right address.

After parking the limo at the curb, Soren helped Kraven out of the vehicle. A group of junkies loitered on the steps of the old brownstone, but Soren chased them away with a snarl and a flash of his fangs. Crack vials shattered beneath Soren’s boots as he assisted Kraven up the steps and snapped apart the padlock sealing the front door. He held the door open while Kraven staggered inside.

Rats scurried away in a hurry as the two vampires invaded the unlit foyer. Kraven’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, and he found himself at the foot of a winding series of stairs that led to the upper floors of the building. Trash was strewn about the scuffed vinyl floor of the lobby: protective coloration, disguising the building’s true nature.

“The interrogation room is on the sixth floor,” Soren informed him. Kraven trusted Soren to know such things, which were quite outside his own interests.

“Of course they are,” he said sourly, eyeing the daunting climb ahead. “I don’t suppose there’s a working elevator?”

“I’m afraid not,” Soren said.

Naturally,
he groused silently.

Cradling his wounded arm, which had already stopped bleeding, Kraven let Soren help him up the endless stairs. The dilapidated steps creaked alarmingly, and every step sent a fresh jolt of agony through his arm, but at last, they reached the sixth-floor landing. Kraven watched impatiently as Soren shouldered open a door to the left of the staircase. The loyal henchman flicked on a light switch as Kraven stepped through the door.

Fluorescent lights came on, exposing a sparsely furnished room that looked positively spartan compared with Kraven’s lush accommodations back at the mansion. Instead of antique beds and sofas, there were only a few sturdy metal chairs and tables, weapon racks on the walls, and several neatly stacked crates of ammunition. Cracked plaster walls were unadorned, save for a single bulletin board bearing the mug shots of various known lycans and their associates. Closed-circuit TV

screens monitored the lobby, stairs, and corridor outside. Sealed metal shutters kept out both sunlight and prying eyes. Chains and shackles hung from the ceiling or were affixed to the metal chairs, the better to contain unwilling occupants. The bare wooden floor was speckled with dried lycan blood.

Typical Death Dealer decor,
Kraven thought uncharitably.
Ml business, just like Selene.
He had been trying to entice the gorgeous Death Dealer into his bed for centuries now, but her single-minded fixation on the war had always gotten in the way. I
imagine she’d feel right at home
here.

He planted himself in an uncomfortable steel chair while Soren hustled up some supplies. A large silver refrigerator hummed away in one corner of the room, next to a wooden ammunition crate.

Soren yanked open the door of the fridge, exposing several packets of refrigerated blood. He hastily retrieved a couple of packets and handed them over to Kraven. “These will help you to heal,” he said.

The translucent plastic packets were cold to the touch. A stamped label on the bags identified them as products of Ziodex Industries, a major biopharmaceuticals firm that just happened to be owned entirely by Viktor and his estate. Ziodex provided the coven with a substantial stream of income, along with copious amounts of cloned human blood.

Kraven tore open the seal on the first bag and gulped down its contents. The refrigerated blood would have been better warm, but this was no time to be a connoisseur. The rich, salty liquid did wonders for his constitution; he could feel the shock and trauma of the gunshot wound ebbing away as the blood restored him. The silver bullet still ached beneath his skin, but it was nothing he couldn’t endure for a few minutes more.

At least he could think clearly again.

“We’re going to have to burn this shirt,” he instructed Soren, “and clean up the backseat of the limo, too.” He drained the second bag of blood and gestured for a third; this one he placed against his wounded arm, letting the chill of the blood numb the pain somewhat. “In fact, we should arrange to dispose of the limo as soon as possible. If there’s one thing our kind are good at finding, it’s bloodstains.”

Soren produced a first-aid kit from a storage locker. He used a scalpel to cut away the sleeve of Kraven’s Armani jacket, then went to work on the black silk shirt underneath. Kraven winced at the sight of his expensive wardrobe going under the knife but reminded himself that there was plenty more where that came from; one of the perks of running the coven was an almost unlimited clothing allowance.

“Perhaps,” Soren suggested, “we ought to tell the Death Dealers something of the attack, so that they are aware that the assassin has acted again.”

These raids must have Soren worried,
Kraven thought, if
he wants to cooperate with the
Death Dealers.
While Viktor and Marcus were entombed and Amelia occupied in America, Kraven had allowed Soren to form his own internal security force, which often butted heads with Kahn and his Death Dealers. Their rivalry was a deep one, which was one of Soren’s primary motives in joining Kraven’s plot to overthrow the Elders. Kraven had promised to disband the Death Dealers once he took over the coven and established his historic truce with Lucian.
Soren should know
better than to invite the Death Dealers’ scrutiny, especially now.

“How am I to explain why our attacker used silver bullets?” Kraven asked him. “And what if the snipers primary target turns out to be Lucian after all? How to explain our presence at the attack?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s too risky. There are too many questions we don’t want asked. Selene and the others will have to track down this maniac without news of this latest incident.”

Fortunately, he had faith in Selene’s determination and abilities. Intent on avenging Diego’s death, she would not rest until she liquidated the unknown assassin.
Certainly,
he mused,
that
woman knows how to hold a grudge. She still hasn’t forgiven the lycans for slaughtering her
mortal family all those centuries ago.

Or so she believed. The truth, as Kraven knew full well, was rather more complicated.

“Excuse me, regent,” Soren declared. He pressed the tip of a hypodermic needle against Kraven’s bare bicep. “This will help with the pain.”

The injection stung momentarily, but Kraven soon felt its analgesic effect. Even still, he flinched as Soren put down the syringe and approached him again with the scalpel. Removing the bullet from his flesh was not going to be pleasant, especially since the open wound had already healed over.

“What became of Lucian, I wonder?” Soren said, perhaps to distract Kraven from the bloody business ahead. “Do you think he survived?”

The suggestion that Lucian might have actually died came as a shock to Kraven. He had been so intent on his own survival that the thought only now occurred to him that, when last seen, Lucian had been left to face the snipers bullets alone.
Can it be,
he wondered in amazement,
that Lucian is
truly dead at last?

In truth, the prospect of Lucian’s bloody demise filled him with mixed feelings. On the one hand, Lucian’s support was key to his entire conspiracy against the Elders. It was the lycans who were, with Kraven’s covert assistance, to assassinate Amelia upon her return to Budapest, providing Kraven with the opportunity to seize control of the coven while the other Elders still slumbered in their tombs.
And it was to be my groundbreaking peace treaty with Lucian,
he recalled,
that
would cement my place as the undisputed ruler of both the Old and New World covens. With
Lucian dead, my dreams of supplanting the Elders
—
and taking Selene as my royal consort

—will
be much more difficult to attain.

On the other hand, Kraven had to admit that it would be a relief to be out from beneath Lucian’s oppressive shadow after all these years. He had never truly trusted the scheming lycan, who often failed to show Kraven the deference he deserved.
If Lucian is dead,
he realized,
I will no longer
have to live in fear of the other vampires discovering that he is still alive.

Kraven bit down on his lip as Soren’s scalpel sliced deeply into his flesh. He tasted his own cold blood upon his tongue.

In theory, of course, Lucian had already “died” centuries ago.
Has this mysterious assassin,
Kraven thought,
done in reality what I only claimed to do?

Kill Lucian?

Then

A.D. 1202

Chapter Fourteen

CASTLE CORVINUS

Lucian hurried down the corridor toward the chapel, glancing back over his shoulder to make certain he was not being followed. Excitement warred with apprehension in his heart and soul as he wondered at the note he had received via Grushenka, summoning him again to the chapel for the first time in weeks. He and Sonja had not dared to meet in their trysting spot since Soren had surprised them there more than a month ago.
Why now?
he pondered.
What can be so urgent?

He paused before the door of the chapel. Could this be a trap of some kind? No, he reassured himself, he would know Sonja’s delicate handwriting anywhere. The note had manifestly come from his beloved. Moreover, it was early morning on a sunny April day. Soren and Viktor would surely be asleep in their respective chambers.

Wouldn’t they?

He knocked hesitantly on the door, then quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

“Lucian!”

His heart soared at the sight of Sonja standing before the altar, clad in a sylvan green gown brocaded with velvet vines and leaves. Her turquoise pendant rested atop her breasts. All his fears were momentarily dispelled by the thrill of finding himself alone with his beloved once more. They ran toward each other eagerly, falling into a passionate embrace. Their lips met in joyous reunion, and Lucian lost himself in the heady sensation of kissing Sonja again after weeks of loneliness and deprivation. The familiar taste of coriander and honey stirred his senses, and he wondered how he had ever survived without her.

She alone makes my life worth living.
At length, their lips came apart, and reality intruded upon their idyll. Sonja rested her head on his shoulder, her arms still wrapped tightly around his waist. “Thank fate you came!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been trying to slip a note to Grushenka for days, but Soren seems to haunt my every movement. I think he’d lock me in my chambers from dawn to dusk if he dared.”

Sonja’s lament sent a chill down Lucian’s spine. How much did Soren suspect? And how far would the ruthless overseer go to regain Viktor’s favor?

“What is so urgent?” he asked her. “Not that I do not welcome any opportunity to be in your company.”

She gently pulled away from him. A smile played on her features as she took his hand and laid it on her stomach. Lucian stared at her in confusion until, beneath the brocaded silk, he felt life stirring within her belly.

He gazed at her in wonder. “You are with child?”

“Our child,” she affirmed, smiling back at him.

Lucian was stunned by her revelation. “But how is it possible?” He could not tear his hand away from the new life quickening within her womb. “A lycan and a vampire…?”

“You and I are both pure-blooded,” she observed. “You were born a lycan, and I a vampire. I daresay this rare combination is what allowed us to conceive a child together.” A speculative tone entered her voice. “There are vague references in the ancient annals that hint as much—and suggest that such a union might produce a being of extraordinary power.”

Lucian marveled at the very idea.
A hybrid of our two races,
he thought.
Half lycan, half
vampire.
Who knew what wondrous attributes such a child might possess?
Perhaps enough to
change the world….

Sonja eyed his thoughtful expression. A flicker of concern showed on her face. “Does this news please you, beloved?”

“How can you doubt it?” he answered, rushing to reassure her. Honor and emotion both compelled him to his knees. He knelt before Sonja and took her hand in his. “Dearest Sonja, jewel of my existence, will you do me the incalculable honor of becoming my bride?”

Tears of happiness burst from her eyes. “Of course, dear Lucian, with all my heart!” She glanced about her, an irresistible idea dawning on her jubilant face. “And look, my love, the chapel is already prepared for us.”

Like her, Lucian saw no reason for delay. No Elder or Council member would ever sanction their union, so a private ceremony of their very own would have to suffice. He rose to his feet and escorted Sonja to the altar. The fabled Wolf and Lamb looked down on them from the tapestry as they prepared to take their vows. Lucian filled a tarnished brass communion cup from a sack of wine they had hidden away months ago. He lifted the goblet before him as he faced Sonja before the altar.

“I, Lucian, of the lycan breed, swear upon my eternal life and soul that I will love, honor, and protect you for all time to come. With this wine, I pledge you my everlasting fidelity.”

He sipped from the goblet, then passed it to Sonja, who accepted the cup readily.

“I, Sonja, daughter of Viktor and Ilona, likewise swear that I will love, honor, and cherish you for all eternity. With this wine, I declare myself your true and ever-faithful wife.”

She sipped from the same cup as he, then placed it reverently upon the altar. Her lovely face beamed radiantly.

It is done,
Lucian thought. No rings had been exchanged, no blessings bestowed, yet he had no doubt that his life had been transformed irrevocably.
We need no vaunted authority to sanctify
our union; the purity of our love is sacrament enough.

Now they were truly man and wife.

He took Sonja into his arms again, feeling a profound sense of responsibility toward her and their unborn child. Marriage and maternity, he realized, had forced a momentous decision upon them.

“We must flee this place,” he told her. Never mind that he could not allow her to go through the farce of wedding Nicolae a few weeks hence; her pregnancy and the birth of their child would surely expose their affair for all to see. “We must leave the coven forever and never return.”

“Yes,” Sonja agreed. “I understand.” She trembled within his fervent embrace. “But how will we escape my fathers guards? You know that he will stop at nothing to capture us both.”

Lucian nodded. The risks were great, but they had no other choice. Each passing day increased the odds that Soren or someone else might become aware of Sonja’s delicate condition.
We must
get far away from Castle Corvinus soon,
he resolved.

But how?

* * * * *

In his dreams, Soren once again dined at the high table, at Viktor’s right hand. Respect and authority were once more accorded him as was his due. He savored his status among the other vampires, which rendered the ignominy of his squalid mortal past of no consequence. He had come a long way since his days as a pitiful Viking slave….

“Master Soren!” A husky voice intruded upon his triumph. An insistent hand nudged his shoulder, rousing him from slumber. He awoke to find himself back on his cot outside the castles dungeons. Plain linen sheets covered his muscular frame.

A servant wench leaned over him, still tugging on his shoulder. Her coarse wool kirtle and tumbling mane of wild black hair marked her as a lycan even before Soren identified her as Leyba, a wanton scullery maid no better than the rest of her degenerate breed.

He sat up angrily, shoving the wench aside. “Lycan slut!” he cursed her. “How dare you disturb my rest?!” Tossing aside his sheets, he reached for his whips, which hung on a wooden peg next to the dungeon door. Although he was deep underground, he sensed at once that the sun had not yet set. “I’ll teach you not to accost your betters!”

“Wait!” Leyba cried out. Sprawled on the dank stone floor, where Soren’s blow had deposited her, she held out her hand before her. A shiny golden ribbon was clutched between her fingers.

“Don’t you want to know what the Lady Sonja is getting up to… while you sleep the day away?”

Soren paused at the mention of the princess’s name. Forgetting his whips for the moment, he snatched the ribbon from the wench’s hand and examined it closely. The gleaming fabric was nothing less than the finest silk, of the sort only the most highborn vampire ladies might possess. It dawned on him that the Lady Sonja had a gown of much the same hue.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded.

Leyba smiled slyly, seeing that she had his attention. “Far be it from me to cast doubt upon the virtue of an Elders daughter,” she declared. “Let me say only that I found this keepsake beneath the pallet of a certain lycan whom I know to be besotted with the princess.”

“What?” Soren clenched his fist, crumpling the delicate ribbon. He had no doubt that the wench was referring to Lucian, whose untimely rescue of Sonja had led directly to Soren’s own fall from Viktor’s favor.
I knew it!
he fumed. His cold blood heated up as he recalled how Sonja had brusquely dismissed him when he caught her squirreled away in that rundown chapel.
I knew the
haughty tart was hiding something.

Still, caution compelled him to eye Leyba suspiciously. “How do I know you didn’t steal this ribbon yourself?” he accused her, threatening her with the back of his hand. “If you’re lying to me….”

“I speak the truth, I swear it!” Rising to her feet, she backed away from his upraised hand. “I would have gone to Lord Viktor himself, but a lowly servant such as myself cannot hope to have the ear of so exalted a personage. I had hoped you might convey my dire tidings to the Elder.” Gypsy eyes gleamed craftily. “Did I think wrong?”

Soren would sooner trust the Devil than a lycan bitch, yet he felt convinced that Leyba was not deceiving him, if only because her lewd insinuations confirmed his own suspicions that the princess could not be trusted. A rare smile graced his saturnine features as he saw before him an opportunity to restore himself to Viktor’s good graces.

Thrusting the ribbon back at Leyba, he strode forward and grabbed her roughly by the arm.

“Come!” he commanded, all but dragging the wench toward the spiral staircase leading to the castle above. “The Elder must hear of this at once!”

They met in her bedchamber early that afternoon, after Sonja dismissed her various servants and ladies-in-waiting. Their plan, such as it was, was to leave the castle the second the sun disappeared below the horizon, then head for the densest regions of the forest, much as they had during their nocturnal trek to Ordoghaz months ago. Soren would no doubt notice Sonja’s absence at once, but with luck, they could elude the inevitable search parties by avoiding the main roads and pathways.

Moving quickly, they hoped to reach the ruined village of Strasba before dawn, so that Sonja could take refuge in one of the surviving buildings.

And then what?
Lucian fretted. The full moon would rise tonight, giving him the strength to effect their escape, but at some point they would have to try to blend into the mortal world. Sonja’s jewelry would pay their way for a time, at least until he could find employment as a mortal. But what trades were available to a lycan retainer who had served the vampires for all his immortal existence?

While Sonja packed the last of her jewelry into a small ivory chest, Lucian took a moment to survey his love’s private chambers, which he had never dared to visit before. A wooden canopy bed, hung with curtains, dominated the room. With its feather mattress and pillows, the bed looked far more luxurious than Lucian’s own humble straw pallet. Sprigs of lavender were sprinkled atop the bed to sweeten the sheets and keep away fleas. Pine chests held the princess’s wardrobe, while sumptuous tapestries, cleaner and in better condition than the one in the chapel, adorned the walls.

His hand delicately swept along the edge of a lacquered cherry vanity, tenderly exploring the combs, hairpins, and perfume bottles arrayed atop the table. Lifting his eyes, he gazed into the brass mirror above the vanity, heedless of the silver beneath the polished glass, and stared thoughtfully at his own reflection.

Hers has always been the life of a princess,
he realized,
accustomed to only the finest
accommodations and possessions. What can I possibly offer her in comparison?

“Forgive me,” he said, “for forcing you to leave all this comfort and opulence behind.”

She closed the lid of her jewelry case. “Do not be foolish, my husband,” she assured him. She smiled at him from a few paces away. “I made my choice of my own free will. Happily will I face the world at your side, rather than live without you for one night more.”

Her reflection joined his as she slid up next to him, resting the soft curves of her body against his rougher form. Contrary to mortal folklore, her peerless beauty was fully captured by the polished mirror. They kissed, and he felt once more how lucky he was to have found her.
One way or
another,
he vowed, I will
carve out a place for us in the outside world.
He pressed his hand against her belly and felt again the cherished life they had created together.
We will live in happiness
forever, Sonja, I, and our precious baby….

Without warning, the locked door burst open. Viktor stormed into the bedchamber, his face a livid mask of rage. Fiery eyes took in the incriminating scene of Lucian and Sonja embracing before the mirror. “What is the meaning of this?!” he roared in fury.

Lucian stepped protectively in front of Sonja as Soren and a pair of armored Death Dealers followed Viktor into the chamber. To his surprise, a familiar female figure squeezed past the guards to reach the Elder’s side. “You see!” Leyba yelped, casting an accusing finger at Lucian and Sonja.

“It is just as I said.” She glared at Lucian, a malevolent smirk on her face. “Your precious daughter entertains a wolf in her boudoir!”

Spiteful bitch!
Lucian cursed her. He was dismayed to see Sonja’s gold silk ribbon—his fragile token of their love—wrapped around the female lycan’s finger. He had noticed earlier that it was missing, but in his excitement and anxiety over Sonja’s pregnancy, he had given the matter little thought.
Your petty jealousy has doomed Sonja and me.

Viktor ignored Leyba’s taunts, intent on his disgraced daughter. “How could you do this, sully yourself with an animal?” Rage contorted his patrician features, and he hissed through his fangs. “You have dishonored your noble heritage, as well as your mother’s memory!”