Chapter Fourteen
“You think to kill me?” Seb had been angry and afraid for Brie, but the idea of scrawny, pathetic Cleomenes thinking he could take him was just too much. He laughed. “After all you’ve done to yourself?”
He’d known Cleomenes in Egypt, though in an Egypt vastly different from the golden kingdom of his birth.
Seb had been a vampire for two thousand years by then, and at first, Cleomenes was only a very greedy human. A banker, originally. He was appointed to collect tribute from Africa and Egypt and later managed to rise to governor of Egypt and Alexandria.
Still a bureaucrat at heart, though. And with each new title, he only got greedier. He exercised his office solely for his own advantage. Monopolized grain trade and gained enormous profit from it.
He was universally despised.
History said Cleomenes was executed for his greed. In reality, he was killed in a vampire attack.
And all the advantages of being the apex predator—all the increase in size, strength, and other endowments—weren’t enough for Cleomenes. Greedy for money before, he was rapacious now for vampire power. He tried several shortcuts to become a bigger, purer vampire, even going so far as to expunge much of the human from himself.
Hacking away his human parts, he’d only ended up making himself smaller and weaker.
Cleomenes was now over two thousand years on this earth, yet his grasping ensured he had the strength, stamina, and stature of a vampire half that age. Under five feet the last time Seb had seen him, pinched and slender. His birthmark, a small, wavy line like a bat was still on his cheek, and his brown eyes and black brows were still the same. But under the hat would be silver hair.
In some ways, the master of Chicago should have had Seb’s sympathy. Cleomenes, like Seb, had bad dealings with the Ancient One. He’d been Elias’s lieutenant two centuries ago—until he stomped out when Elias picked a human woman’s cause over him. Cleomenes hated the Ancient One almost as much as Seb.
The similarities ended there, though. In the Revolutionary War, Cleomenes’s appetite for cash turned him into a profiteer. A few short decades later, he used the sparse population and frequent battles of the new frontier of Illinois to kidnap and turn children into vampires—who, if they survived, were harvested and trained as his personal assassin army. Before Elias shut that down, a couple escaped, one of whom, grown to manhood, had trounced Cleomenes at the Battle of Linesville five years ago.
If Cleomenes didn’t have the strength to beat a vampire barely old enough to mist, he certainly couldn’t beat Seb. Even adding in the fledgling Owun, Seb would barely break a sweat. He wasn’t worried as he backed Brie to a good position to pluck her up and run.
Cleomenes and Owun would give chase, but if Seb did it right, he’d whisk Brie upstairs and have her out of here before the bent vampire and his toady even got near them.
Judging the distance he’d need, Seb moved her back a few more surreptitious inches, keeping Cleomenes’s attention by talking. “Why?” he challenged the other male. “Why try to capture me when you know you’ll lose?”
“Lose?” The narrow concrete corridor amplified Cleomenes’s shout. “I’ll win. And I’ll get a lot of money for you.”
Money. That was Cleomenes, all right.
“How did you know we’d be here?” Brie peeped around him. Seb’s heart momentarily surged with pride. She’d seen what he was doing and was helping distract the vampire.
“You let your playthings speak, Rikare?”
“Answer her,” he growled.
“If you insist. It was quite simple. Dear Owun was monitoring for last-minute ticket purchases to New York. It’s not like you used aliases, or anything difficult to find. The second you headed here, I came first…with my lieutenants. Oh, boys.”
Two dozen henchvamps flooded in behind them.
“Seb.”
For himself, he wasn’t worried, but Brie’s breathless voice and the frightened clench of her hand on his back brought out all his protective instincts.
Anger singed him. The bent male could threaten Seb all he wanted, but frightening Brie was over the line. He ripped out, “We’re leaving. You or your lieutenants—one of you move aside.”
The other vampire smiled. “No.”
Vibrating with temper, Seb sorted through his alternatives. He had a flashbang for vampires, though with Cleo before them and the gang behind, there was no way to get all the bad guys without Brie and himself being ground zero.
Pick her up and run? The vampires would chase them. Eventually, they’d run into innocent humans—off-limits to civilized vampires, but if Cleomenes was insane enough to want vampire war, he’d probably flipped out past caring about a few lives.
Fight the gang? Even if he mowed them down in minutes, that would be plenty of time for Cleomenes to grab Brie.
Fight Cleomenes? That had more possibility, and putting a fist through his smirking face appealed to Seb’s suppressed rage. With as debased as the vampire had made himself, Seb could finish him off quickly. Then he’d snatch Brie and run for the terminal. Hopefully, without their head, the gang would disintegrate into aimlessness, as they had before when she’d melted pornstache’s face.
Mist in, hack off the vamp’s head, mist back to Brie. It’d be all over in seconds. He braced himself to mist.
Cleomenes peeled out of his coat, whipped off his hat, and straightened.
Tall. Massive shoulders. And dark, lustrous hair tumbled out.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Seb reacted immediately, reaching between his shoulder blades for the hilt of his Egyptian khopesh sickle sword, sheathed in a special scabbard sewn into his jacket. Seizing the grip, he drew the sword with a long shing of steel.
…
“Adam?” I whispered into the phone as Seb drew a strange curved blade. “Things are going wrong.” My voice emerged breathy. I fought to keep it steady. I didn’t know exactly what was happening, but Seb had been supremely confident, then something had shaken that confidence. “Seb’s in trouble.”
“Already on my way.”
“Right. We’re at…” I glanced around for a landmark, seeing the tripled row of vampires behind me. They weren’t charging us, which should’ve been good news, but the ravenous way they watched Seb made me break out in a cold sweat.
“I’ve got your location,” Adam said. “I pinged your GPS.”
“Okay. We’re in the v-tunnel. Can you get past the retina scan?” I swung my backpack to one shoulder and rooted around with my free hand for the silver-garlic defensive spray. I found it and hefted it. Too light. My breath shortened. Did it have any oomph left? It was all I had to fight vampires. One-handed, I tested the spray with a gentle nudge of the button. Nothing. I pushed harder. It was empty, damn it. I clenched it.
“I’ve got a scanner hack,” Adam said. “I’m almost there.”
“Hurry.”
“I am.”
Seb flickered…and abruptly he was standing before Cleomenes, torso twisted as he swung that curved sword at the vampire’s neck.
Over before it started. I lifted the spray into the air for a fist pump.
Cleomenes’s arm shot up, directly in the path of the sword. I sucked in a breath, thinking the next thing I’d see was the vampire’s hand flying off.
Instead, the sword hit his forearm—and the blade broke in two.
“Hurry faster.” I swallowed air. Shoving the can into the pack, I again thrust my arm through the dangling strap, shrugged the pack onto the middle of my back, and prepared to run.
With a horrid cackle, Cleomenes slashed claws into Seb’s face. Blood spat and four dark furrows appeared in his cheek, almost immediately sealing.
Cold shafted my middle. Even when Seb defeated the old bastard, what was to say Cleo’s lieutenants wouldn’t try to gang up on him?
Seb dropped the useless handle. His huge body twisted, muscles driving a cross-punch haymaker that would’ve taken a human’s head off.
Never landed.
“Brie,” Adam’s voice floated up to me.
The old vampire’s arm flickered. When it appeared again, Seb’s fist was caught in one hand.
The image registered as a snapshot in my brain. Seb already had pulled loose and launched a flurry of punches and kicks, more blurs of motion than techniques I could follow.
Cleomenes blocked every one.
Heart in my throat, I raised the phone blindly to my ear. “What?”
Blur, block. Blur, block. Every one, vampire fast. Faster. I’d seen Derek wrestle his trucker buddies for fun. This was levels beyond.
“Tell Rikare ‘son.’ You got that? Son…”
Then the old vampire blew apart.
In his place was a pillar of smoke. The smoke…Cleomenes was the mist. A terrifying, misty snake that wrapped around Seb’s head until it covered his face and scalp like a blanket—or plastic bag.
I tried to scream. Like a nightmare, nothing came out.
Cleomenes’s mist collapsed in on itself, thickening around Seb’s face, collapsing to smother him, tightening until only the red glow of Seb’s eyes showed…and then even that winked out.
Cleomenes was killing him.
…
The vampire mist tightened and thickened around Seb’s face like a plastic bag. Incredible. Not that he had to breathe to exist, as his vampire nature could keep his human cells in stasis indefinitely. It was how vampires survived, completely covered in soil, and where the legend of the grave came in. But it took fresh oxygen to power active human cells. Without it, his muscles and brain would shut down.
Leaving Brie defenseless.
Normally, he’d be able to hold his breath for three or four minutes. Fighting burned his oxygen at an accelerated rate. If he couldn’t neutralize the move in ninety seconds, the fight would effectively be over.
He’d be damned if he’d let her down.
A panicked vampire would try to blow his own body into mist. Then Cleomenes could tie his wrap-bag off at Seb’s misted neck.
Effectively cutting off his head.
Think. Seb had trained hard enough, thanks to his first, hated ancient mentor, that he could not only mist, he could not only blow his body apart, but he could blow it unidirectionally.
He burst into a jet of mist aimed straight down.
Cleomenes’s bag snapped closed—with Seb’s head already free.
As mist, Seb wasn’t conscious, but he could sense things. He knew when the other vampire’s mist tried to recapture him.
Cleomenes surrounded him, sliding against him…
Tried to slide into him.
Bad. Wrong. Like touching the skin of a dead body or stepping in a pool of horror.
Seb jetted straight into the nearest wall. Hitting the concrete jarred Seb solid, Cleomenes’s tendrils snapping off. Seb’s brain came together, screaming at him. Where the fuck did Cleomenes get that fast, that smart? The mist bag and body infiltration were techniques known only to the ancients.
Seb didn’t stop, blasting again into mist, rocketing up and away from Brie, luring the other vampire into following. The fastest of all vampire movement, mist not only had downsides of not being able to think and only being good for seconds, it became impossible after too many successive mistings.
As an ancient, and a well-trained one at that, Seb was banking on being able to do one more than Cleomenes.
The other male’s mist rocketed after his. Again, he tried to infiltrate.
Seb arrowed sharply down. Cleomenes shot over him.
But as the other vampire shot over, he dropped hooks into Seb’s mist, sharp, disturbing.
Seb collapsed solid—hurtling at mist speed.
His sudden solidification plus a never-encountered technique, when he’d learned every technique there was centuries ago, froze him an instant too late to save himself.
He plowed into concrete with a force that shattered his forearms and kneecaps.
Seb rolled to a stop, shouting, a warrior screaming off his pain. A warrior also fought through his pain, and an ancient vampire didn’t stay down long. His bones were already healing as he lurched to his feet.
Cleomenes dropped lightly beside him and slammed his fist into Seb’s temple.
The world fractured. Jagged vibrations of vision and hearing confused him in the instant the other vampire launched a second punch.
Seb threw himself back, instinctively avoiding the other male’s fist. Damn it, Cleomenes shouldn’t have even been able to land the first one. Even if he’d gotten a lucky jab in, Seb should have barely felt it.
Bags, tangling, hooks…fucking advanced for a non-ancient. But for an ancient…
Keydew’s words came back to him. Ancients being hunted. Soul Stealers. And Cleomenes, insanely strong, ranting like a crazy man, his flesh and bone withstanding—breaking—metal.
Fuck. The bastard had somehow bought himself the blood of an ancient.
As a Soul Stealer, Cleomenes would have the ancient’s speed, strength, stamina, shapeshifting—and worst, the almost limitless power of personal regeneration. Virtually indestructible. Even Brie’s silver-garlic spray would only irritate him.
A match, or, depending whose blood he’d drunk, perhaps more than a match for Seb.
Dodging a flurry of punches, Seb gazed at the male with new eyes. The transformation had to have been recent. The last time Seb had seen him, Cleomenes had been small and pinched. Now he was bulkier. Less rickety. The blood was rapidly building him up.
For the first time in centuries, Seb stared possible death in the face. Adrenaline spurted hot into his blood, followed by ice-cold fear. He’d never let Brie down that way.
He stepped up his game, faking left. When Cleomenes moved to intercept him, he launched himself up and to the right.
“Coward,” Cleomenes screamed.
Seb’s leap sent him farther away from Brie. He’d been concerned for her before. Now, her being here scared the shit out of him. If his concentration ebbed for one crucial second and he lost to the Soul Stealer, she’d be defenseless against the crazy old bastard.
Not. Happening.
Cleomenes blurred toward him. At the last instant, he leaped away again, landing in a stance he hoped looked ready to run but in reality was planted firmly. Cleomenes didn’t pause, leaping after, swinging a sledgehammer punch.
The leap took the male straight into Seb’s raised fist.
The impact jarred Seb’s bones, cracking a couple fingers and juddering up his ulna and radius. And Cleomenes still managed a roundhouse punch that knocked Seb into the wall.
Cleomenes staggered back, too, though, stumbling drunkenly. Concussed. Win. Seb tried to shake off his own blurry vision to dash past the male, to scoop up Brie and escape, but Cleomenes stumbled into his path.
“It hurts.” The vampire laughed high-pitched and freaky. “The Shadow Lord gave me the power. He didn’t tell me how bad it would hurt.” He popped that maniacal laugh again.
Shadow Lord? Filing the name, Seb drank in oxygen, using the brief timeout to heal and marshal his strength. That was the problem with ancient blood. It was like rocket fuel. The ancient vampire who’d guided Seb when he woke tried to tell him something like that, although minus the rocket fuel image. Seb hadn’t believed him.
No, he’d found out the hard way, by existing four thousand years. Each year, his blood churned more. And more. Until now, when every minute of every day, his cells screamed with bright, clashing energy.
Maybe that was the real reason why Brie affected him so strongly. Her vibrant nature resonated with—and was the only thing as powerful as—his vampire essence.
Seb had come to it gradually. Cleomenes, getting it in one big dose, would not just be driven to the edge of the cliff of sanity, but blasted over.
Although, really, he’d have to already be mad to commit such a horror in the first place.
His ancient master’s words came back to him.
Listen well, fledgling. Soul Stealing is an atrocity.
Master, how do I fight such an atrocity?
You cannot.
As if underlining that fact, Cleomenes shook off his concussion first, coming toward Seb with a growl—and that damned sledgehammer fist.
Seb shook his ringing head. He had to get Brie out of here, now.
But how? Cleomenes was just as strong, just as fast. Or stronger.
Master, how do I fight such an atrocity?
You cannot—but you can make him fight himself.
Seb still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
Using all his training, he went Zen. A split instant before Cleomenes punched, Seb sidestepped. That fist swished past Seb’s cheek so fast and strong the air tugged at Seb’s skin.
“You killed them!” Seb shouted to get the male’s undivided attention. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you? You murdered those seven people.”
“You mean those cattle?” Cleomenes’s insanity burned in his blood-red eyes. “I didn’t have to.”
“Who, then?”
“When I win,” the other vampire growled, “I’ll spit the name on your drained corpse.” He raised that sledgehammer for a finishing blow.
“Certainly. And then you’ll never learn to control the pain.”
Cleomenes’s cross punch stopped millimeters from Seb’s temple. “What do you prattle on about?”
“Your skin, your blood, your very cells. They burn.” Seb forced himself to stay still. Knowing what he did now, he could see he’d started this all wrong. He’d been the ignition flame to the other male’s already boiling blood. “You thought drinking an ancient’s blood would make you invincible. All it’s done is send you to hell. Your whole being cries out for relief.”
Shocked silence, wide eyes. Then a whispered, “Fuck.”
While Cleomenes stood there, stunned, Seb pulled his next trick. He drew his gun and shot the Soul Stealer full of holes.
The special cartridges had extra explosive powder to give the bullet extra oomph, designed to pierce a vampire’s skin. The silver bullets were made to shatter, exploding shrapnel through the vamp’s body. Silver bullets wouldn’t kill most vampires, but they’d slap down a good hurt, and more importantly, the silver would keep even an older vampire from misting or shapeshifting, at least until he forced the pieces out of his flesh.
An ancient’s skin, though, was too tough for even a silver bullet to penetrate.
Seb wasn’t expecting the first round to do more than dent the Soul Stealer’s hide. That was why he needed to play on Cleomenes’s burning blood, to shock him into standing still enough for Seb to drill all ten bullets into the same place—the relatively soft tissue of his belly.
The first one splatted flat against the vampire and dropped like a dime. The second made a divot. The third hit the divot and banged flesh open. The fourth tore into meat. The fifth pushed the fourth farther inside, and the rest went in like burrowing animals.
Cleomenes roared in pain. He backhanded Seb in the skull, knocking him into a stumble. “You think to hurt me? For every injury, I’ll hurt you ten times worse.” His expression changed into concentration, his body puffing… He stayed solid.
Grabbing what breath he could, Seb sheathed his empty firearm, backing carefully toward Brie. “I’ve been maimed, tortured, and killed. You can’t hurt me worse.”
“Maybe not you—directly.” Cleomenes rasped. Silver shards began pushing through his skin and out. “Boys, grab the woman.”
Three of his thugs broke ranks to run toward Brie.
Terror burned through Seb. Heart shooting into overdrive, he burst into mist and shot toward her, reforming in time to send the goons about to pile on top of her into the wall with a jab-cross-jab of hammering punches.
And while he was saving her from the rank and file—Cleomenes dashed in and grabbed her by the throat.
“Seb Rikare! This is how I deal you the agony you deserve.” He drew back a hand full of talons to slash her open.
Seb saw red. A terrible roar blasted and echoed in the hallway—his. He flung himself into mist, jetted toward the vampire, and reformed midair, smashing his skull into the bastard’s face. Like hitting concrete. Pain exploded in every bone.
Worth it, when Brie popped free.
He landed, pivoted, and sprinted toward the wall of lieutenants, forklifting Brie along the way into his arms.
She clutched her neck, her face white.
Anger tore through him at that. How dare Cleomenes threaten her?
His fear and fury drove him like a semi into the tripled wall of henchvamps. He spun at the last moment, launching himself like a battering ram into their ranks.
“Rikare!” Cleomenes’s roar was deafening, as if a thousand ghosts hissed in rage. “You dare to defy me? You die!”
The other male leaped toward him just as Seb hit the wall of vampires, plowing through the first row, smashing into the second. The third row tried to resist, but a pair of well-aimed kicks shattered kneecaps and broke him through. As vampires keened in pain, Seb hurtled past.
“He’s mine,” Cleomenes screeched. “Get out of the way! Imbeciles. Move!”
Seb only had a split second to act. Still running, he bundled Brie into one arm, reached under his jacket, and pulled out his flashbang. He pulled the ring with his teeth then dropped it to the floor. Special issue, the tube was no bigger than a lip balm.
The enemy vampires laughed, not impressed.
He was counting on that.
“Move aside, you fools!” Cleomenes finally crashed past the vampire gang, too late.
Seb wrapped his arm around Brie’s head, pressed her to his chest, and hardened battle plate around his whole head like a helmet, covering his ears and eyes. Risky, because he had to stop running or hazard smashing into a wall.
He breathed a prayer that it worked.