Underworld: Blood Enemy (17 page)

The Elder recoiled from the werewolf’s claws, stumbling backward across the dungeon. He bumped into the iron bars of the nearby cell, provoking a ferocious roar from within. The bestial noise alerted him to danger, and he threw himself away from the cell only seconds before a hairy arm clawed at him through the tightly spaced metal bars.

Viktor whirled around, stunned to discover that every one of the lycan prisoners had become a fully transformed werewolf. The cramped cell was now packed with growling, snapping monsters, trying like hell to chew their way through the confining iron bars. The musky scent of a score of fur-covered werewolves filled the dank, unwholesome atmosphere of the torture chamber.

While Viktor blinked in surprise, Soren charged at Lucian from across the room. Broken chains dangled from the werewolf’s wrists like decorative streamers, and he spun about with preternatural speed, sending the heavy chains slicing through the air at the oncoming vampire. The chains gave Soren a taste of his own medicine as they smacked loudly against the overseer’s midsection, shattering his ribs.

An almost-human smile distorted Lucian’s wolfen snout. It felt good to be at the other end of the whip.

Heated shouts came from outside the crypt. Lucian moved to throw the heavy wooden doors shut, but he was too late: a squad of Death Dealers, led by Nicolae, poured into the chamber, clutching silver-plated swords and pikes. “Get him!” Viktor shouted to his soldiers. “Kill that treacherous cur!”

There were too many of them, Lucian realized. Even in wolfen form, he could not stand against so many foes, not while his bestial allies still struggled to free themselves from their hateful cell. His eyes searched desperately for an escape route, coming to rest on a narrow window recessed in a dark alcove more than twenty feet above the floor.
That will do!
he thought gratefully.

It was a long way up, but his powerful hind legs were sufficient to the task; exploding into motion, he landed in a single pounce on the narrow stone ledge beneath the alcove. Mercifully, the upper reaches of the dungeon were built directly into the castle’s outer walls, so that the outside world beckoned no more than ten feet below him. The open forest called out from the bottom of a rocky slope.

For a moment, he lingered within the deep limestone shelf, silhouetted against the moonlight sky beyond. He looked back at Sonja’s charred remains and clutched her tiny pendant as if it were the most valuable treasure on earth.

Then he turned his murderous gaze upon Viktor himself, as the tyrannical Elder quivered with anger and frustration on the floor of the prison.
Someday,
Lucian vowed,
you will pay for what you
have done to my princess and my species.

Crossbows laden with silver bolts aimed upward at Lucian, and he realized he could tarry no longer. Turning his back on the dungeon below, he dove through the open window. The warm April wind blew against his face, ruffling his fur, as he fell through the air toward the ground below.

He hit the slope on all fours, then sprang up on two legs, standing as a man did despite the hairy pelt covering his body. He howled triumphantly at the savior moon even as angry cries and tumult erupted from behind the grim gray walls of Castle Corvinus.

Behind Lucian, the sinister fortress loomed ominously amidst the craggy Carpathian Mountains; before him, an impenetrable forest of dense pines held out the promise of safety and freedom. He loped full tilt toward the sheltering woods.

The night was broken by the heated cries and pounding footsteps of a brigade of Death Dealers stampeding out through the castles gate. The irate vampire warriors chased after him, hurling threats, curses, and unheeded commands at his fleeing back. Chain mail rattled loudly amid the towering pines. Silver crossbow bolts whistled through the air, coming to rest in the trunk of a bushy fir tree only inches from the werewolf’s head.

He ran from his determined pursuers as fast as his furry legs could carry him. Clutching Sonja’s precious pendant in his hairy paw, he escaped madly from his tragic past into an unglimpsed future.

Mark my words, Viktor,
he thought vengefully
You have not heard the last of me.

This means war!

* * * * *

Viktor stood on the parapet as his Death Dealers scoured the darkened forest below. Torches glowed like fireflies throughout the misty woods surrounding the castle. A full moon lit up the sky above Viktor, mocking his carelessness.

He found himself wishing that Sonja had died at the keep along with her mother. Better that she had perished then, an innocent victim of a mortal mob, than let herself be seduced by an unclean animal.
At least then I would not have been forced to end her life myself!

Grief for his lost daughter tore at his heart, but he took comfort from the knowledge that he had made the only decision possible under the circumstances. The abomination the lycan had planted in Sonja’s womb had been a threat to the coven’s very future. There had been no choice but to destroy it utterly.

But, oh, the price he had paid!

Bootsteps sounded on the wall walk. Viktor looked away from the forest to see Soren approach him. The overseer held an upraised torch, and his leather boots were splattered with mud and fallen pine needles.

“Well?” Viktor demanded.

Soren shook his head. “The werewolf continues to elude us. We will search the woods until dawn, but he is a crafty beast. He knows how to hide his trail!”

Viktor scowled, remembering how, in happier times, Lucian had distinguished himself as a tracker of his own kind. Now, it seemed, those very skills were being used against them.

The Devil take me for a fool if lever trust a lycan again!

Thoughts of missed opportunities tormented him.
I should have realized something was amiss,

he mused,
when Sonja was so appalled at the prospect of marrying Nicolae.
His fists clenched at his sides.
Had she already succumbed to the beast’s seductive wiles by then, or might I have
still had a chance to turn her from that fatal course?

He would never know.

Another set of footsteps approached him, from the opposite end of the parapet. Irritation flared within his heart as he saw that it was the dark-haired lycan wench who had first informed Soren of his daughter’s misdeeds. The worthless scullion crept toward him, Sonja’s damning ribbon still clutched between her grimy fingers.

“Yes?” he asked impatiently, already regretting that he had not consigned this particular bitch to the dungeon along with the rest of her filthy breed. “What do you want?”

“Nothing but what I deserve, Elder.” She grinned wolfishly at him, her bright eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Has Leyba not done well? Did I not speak the truth?” She extended an open palm before him. “How might I be rewarded for my great service?”

The trull’s naked greed infuriated him. “You dare to approach me now—and expect to profit from my daughter’s ruin?” He snatched the blazing torch from Soren’s grip and thrust it at Leyba, setting fire to the wench’s hair and clothing. “Here’s your reward, she-beast! Burn as she burned!”

Leyba let out an agonized howl as her squalid hide went up in flames. Her raucous caterwauling assailed his ears, and he grabbed her with both hands. Heedless of the fire consuming her flesh, he lifted her high above his head. In his mind’s eye, he saw Sonja—his precious Sonja!—burning as well. His daughter’s dying screams echoed within his skull, in concert with the high-pitched keening of the lycan bitch who had betrayed her.

Viktor flung Leyba from the parapet with all his strength. The blazing figure arced across the sky like a falling star before crashing to earth somewhere within the shrouded forest below. Her final cries were lost to the night.

The Elder sagged against the battlements, exhausted more from emotion than from exertion.
If
only I could cast away my painful memories so easily,
he lamented, feeling the loss of his daughter like a stake to his heart.
First my wife, now my Sonja… I am bereft of family and
affection.

“Well done, milord,” Soren said gruffly. “The bitch had it coming.”

Viktor shot Soren a murderous glare. “Be thankful I do not set you to the torch as well!” he snarled. “I have not forgotten your many failures where my late daughter is concerned.”

Soren staggered backward, taken aback by the Elder’s savage rebuke. “But milord…!”

“Silence!” Viktor ordered sharply. “If you are wise, you will not try my patience further.”

He turned away from the crestfallen overseer and stared darkly out over the parapet. Alas, Leyba’s death had not eased his pain or quelled his all-consuming anger. Killing the female meant nothing; it was the male, Lucian, who had brought this catastrophe down upon him.

I will not rest,
Viktor vowed,
until the lycan who despoiled my daughter is dead… even if I
have to exterminate his entire loathsome species!

Now

A.D. 2002

Chapter Sixteen

BUDAPEST

Built by the Turks during the sixteenth century, the Petofi Baths were one of the oldest and most prestigious of the city’s famed thermal baths. In theory, the bathhouse closed to the public at dusk, but tonight the interior lights still could be seen through the frosted glass dome above the main pool.

A gleaming black limousine was parked in front of the building, while the front entrance was guarded by a pair of unsmiling thugs packing suspicious bulges beneath their leather jackets.

Selene perched atop the central cupola, unseen by the human guards below. She had easily gained access to the roof of the bathhouse by scaling one of the adjacent buildings and stealthily dropping onto the large glass dome. Sneaking past mortals was simplicity itself compared with stalking lycans; for once, she didn’t have to worry about her scent giving her away.

I could get used to this,
she thought.
Too bad I’m only interested in killing lycans.

Using a glass cutter, she quietly removed a small, round segment of the dome and peered through the peephole at the scene below.

The steaming octagonal pool glowed green in the dimly lit bath. Green marble columns supported the dome. Rose-colored granite walls, dating back to the glory days of the Ottoman Empire, surrounded the pool, and arched doorways led to the attached locker rooms, sauna, and side pools.

Selene could feel the heat from the sulfurous waters rising through the hole in the ceiling.

Leonid Florescu lounged within the heated pool, having booked the historical baths for his exclusive use this evening. A young blond woman, whom Selene assumed to be his mistress, shared the bath with the notorious arms dealer. A floating chessboard bobbed atop the water between them. An open bottle of plum brandy rested on the tiles at the edge of the pool, next to a plate of
fatányéros. A
pair of additional bodyguards stood watch over the chamber’s exits and entrances.

Given Florescu’s profession, Selene had to assume that the guards were well armed.

Selene drew her eye away from the peephole, satisfied with what she had seen. Her intel regarding Florescu’s whereabouts had proven correct. Now all she had to do was pry some more information straight from the horse’s mouth. She had questions that demanded answers, questions that she hoped would lead her one step closer to finding Diego’s killer.

An exploding grenade, sending her comrade’s body flying. An armored figure spraying
fiery death from a flamethrower. Diego’s body burning up before her eyes, his dying screams
ringing in her ears….

Selene shook her head to clear her mind of the painful memories. A look of grim resolution hardened on her face as she stood atop the dome and drew a pair of twin Berettas. Her long leather trench coat flapped in the breeze. Her dark brown hair blew across her face.

Aiming downward at the frosted glass beneath her boots, she squeezed the triggers of her weapons.

The graceful dome shattered before the hail of bullets. Selene dropped toward the bath below, preceded by a shower of broken glass.

She kept firing as she fell, taking out both bodyguards even as she plummeted feet-first toward the luminous green water. The guards died reaching for their guns, their bodies dropping onto the tiled corridor surrounding the bath. Florescu’s blond mistress screamed in fright.

Selene hit the center of the pool with a splash. Ignoring the stifling heat of the water, she quickly holstered her drenched handguns and palmed a pair of shining silver throwing stars. Her boots struck the floor of the bath, and she sprang upward, breaking through the steaming surface of the water,
shuriken
in hand.

Drawn by the commotion, the two guards from outside came running into the bath chamber.

Selene’s throwing stars spun threw the air, catching each of the two men in the throat. Bright arterial blood spurted through their fingertips as the wounded gunmen clutched at their necks, slicing their palms and fingers on the razor-sharp points of the
shuriken.
Their bodies quickly joined their associates’ on the soggy tiles. Streams of blood flowed across the floor of the bathhouse into the pool itself, creating crimson swirls in the choppy green water.

As a rule, Selene went out of her way to avoid harming humans, whom she regarded as noncombatants in her eternal war against the lycans. These particular humans, however, were not exactly innocent bystanders.
If Florescu and his goons choose to involve themselves in our war,
she decided,
then they had better be prepared to suffer the consequences.

Despite her scruples, the sight and smell of so much spilled blood tantalized Selene. She licked her lips involuntarily, resisting the temptation to dip her finger into the crimson swirls and give it a lick.

It had been a long time since she’d tasted fresh human blood, as opposed to the cloned variety.

Instead, focusing her mind on her mission, she waded forcefully toward Florescu, who was backed up against the edge of the pool, his eyes wide with alarm. Her waterlogged coat and leathers dragged on her, but Selene did not let the added weight slow her down. Her dramatic entrance, she observed, had capsized the floating chess set. Pawns, rooks, and other pieces drifted like flotsam in the agitated water. Florescu’s mistress opened her mouth to scream again, but Selene shot her a warning look.

“Don’t even think about it.”

The blonde clammed up fast, and Selene turned her full attention to Florescu, who looked properly cowed. His parboiled complexion paled to a slightly less vivid shade of scarlet. “Who are you?” he asked tremulously. “What do you want?”

Selene saw no reason not to reveal her true nature. Her eyes assumed an azure glow, and she flashed her fangs at the sweating arms dealer. The crimson nectar spreading through the pool, impossible to ignore by one of her kind, made it all too easy to assume the visage of a bloodthirsty undead.

Just give me an excuse to bite you, Leonid. You look like you have plenty of blood to
spare.

Her scare tactics had the desired effect; Florescu gasped out loud and crossed himself.
Scratch
a sophisticated mortal urbanite,
she thought,
and you’ll usually find a superstitious peasant
underneath.

Good. That just makes my job simpler.

“I want answers,” she told him. “About the attack at Statue Park—and the person responsible.”

Once she’d gotten over the shock of Diego’s death, it hadn’t taken her long to put the pieces together. The faceless killer at the park had been equipped with state-of-the-art military body armor, plus silver hand grenades just like the Death Dealers used. And where did she and her comrades get most of their ordnance?

She had remembered, too, how eager Florescu had been to exit the park that evening, not even bothering to take the time to count his money. Perhaps because he knew of the bloodbath in store?

“I don’t know anything about that!” he protested. His jowly face was slick with perspiration.

“That had nothing to do with me.”

Selene wasn’t buying it. She grabbed onto Florescu’s scalp and shoved his head beneath the hot, sulfurous waters. She counted slowly to ten, then waited for the first rush of bubbles to rise past his submerged face, before yanking his head out of the pool. Red-tinted water streamed down his face and sluiced from his nose and mouth. He gasped raggedly for breath.

“Try again,” she suggested.

“I told you!” he sputtered. “I don’t know anything!”

“Wrong answer.”

She pushed his head back under the water.
This is taking too long,
she thought impatiently.

Despite the thick stone walls of the ancient bathhouse, it was only a matter of time before someone reported the gunfire. The blonde whimpered loudly a few feet away, and Selene briefly considered knocking her unconscious.
Just my luck, she’d probably drown.

Selene counted to twenty this time, then brought Florescu up for air again. Was it just wishful thinking, or was he starting to look a bit blue beneath his flushed red skin? “Had enough?” she asked harshly, treating him to another glimpse of her ivory fangs. “Tell me about that bastard in the armor.”

Tears flowed from his eyes, merging with the bloody water running down his face. “I had no choice!” he sobbed pitifully. He was breathing so hard Selene feared he might have a heart attack.

“She made me tell her about the meeting. She would have killed me otherwise!”

Selene let go of Florescu’s scalp. Her eerie blue eyes widened.

She?

Then

A.D. 1202