Chapter Twenty-One
Behind the Chicago leader ranged a couple dozen vampires, mostly big, burly guys I didn’t recognize except as fanged menaces. But at his left and right were Owun and Ferretstache, and behind them were the cowboy wannabes.
Damn it, if the least of them didn’t stay down, how could we hope to defeat an indestructible Soul Stealer? We were screwed. My hand rose to my neck to ease my pounding heart. The comfort of my grandparents’ locket was gone.
I cut a quick glance at Seb.
The dagger’s hilt was in his chest, and Blackthorne was bent before him. Drinking. I shuddered and looked away.
“Kai Elias,” Cleomenes crowed. “You don’t look so good. What a delightful surprise.”
“For one of us.” Elias, still buttoning his shirt, had bent his head to hide his face and moved deliberately away from the pair completing the ceremony, calling attention to himself while slipping out of the most revealing of the candlelight. I caught the silver glint of his hair, but I was sensitive to it.
“I have a surprise, too,” the Soul Stealer said with a muffled laugh. “We are now at last equal.”
“Are we?” Elias sounded almost bored.
Equal. How long would it take Blackthorne to suck enough of Seb’s blood to become Cleomenes’s equal? His superior? How much of Seb’s heart’s blood would he take?
And without anyone to interfere, would Blackthorne even stop?
I wavered, suddenly dizzy.
Before Cleomenes could catch on to what Blackthorne was doing, Elias moved into a shaft of moonlight.
Stark white light cut an old man’s lines into his face.
“You fool!” Cleomenes clapped his hands and actually giggled. “We aren’t equal; I’m your superior. Now you will fight me, and when I win, I’ll haul your lifeless body out into the sun for purification and the final death.”
“Master, no.” Owun stepped forward. “Remember your promise to the Shadow L—”
“Silence!” Cleomenes backhanded him. The young vampire stumbled back, hand to his mouth.
Elias’s gaze was bleak. “I won’t fight you, Cleomenes. You know why.”
“Then I’ll simply kill you.” Eyes an insane red, the Soul Stealer approached us.
Elias stood there, still drawing the mad vampire’s attention, the brave idiot. Aged as he was, even with all his vaunted wisdom, if Cleomenes charged him now, he’d be dead in a moment.
“No.” Blackthorne, behind Elias, turned and straightened slowly to his full height, nearly a full foot taller than the other males now. “This fight is mine.”
Cleomenes’s eyes widened, and he wasn’t as cocky as a moment ago.
Blackthorne was huge, over eight feet of truly terrifying vampire, his face plated like a red-armored tank, his eyes containing the flames of hell.
Seb, smaller, grayer, was half hidden behind him.
I only had eyes for my lover.
He’d aged twenty years in seconds. He wasn’t bent, but his shoulders were a bit rounder, weren’t as broad. His muscles weren’t as full. His face was lined, cheeks slightly sunken.
But his eyes were the same. Intelligence and strength burned there.
Cleomenes snarled, “I have challenged Elias, youngling.”
“I claim prior right.” Blackthorne’s voice rang with force. “I challenged you years ago. It’s time to pay your debt to me and mine. I call you, before these witnesses, to a Challenge Fight.”
Blackthorne misted, his clothes dropping. When he snapped back he was naked, though no less a dark, dangerous shadow. “I challenge thee, Cleomenes. For crimes against me, against mine, against all those boys you slaughtered for your own ego, I challenge thee to a fight to the final death.”
“You want to fight me?” The Soul Stealer laughed. “Little Aiden Blackthorne, you think to fight me? I made you!” Black spit flew in the stark white light. “I own you. I’ll command you to surrender and slit your throat. And then…” He pointed at Elias, gray-haired and ashen in the moving circle of moonlight. “I’ll slaughter the coward who broke with me all those years ago.”
Cleomenes glided past us, all the way to the stage at the far side of the hall. He misted then, dropping his clothes as Blackthorne had. When he snapped whole, he was far more muscled than even the last time I’d seen him.
I shivered.
“I’ll fight you, and kill you,” the Soul Stealer rasped. “And then? Oh, then comes the best part. I’ll take those who’ve dared try to avoid their fate, and drain what’s left of their miserable lives.” He jabbed a finger at Elias.
Then the mad vampire pointed straight at Seb.
…
Seb’s heart, which had been beating erratically and painfully after he’d pushed the last of its precious blood past Blackthorne’s lips, actually stopped. He exchanged a single glance with Elias. How can Blackthorne defy his maker?
Elias gazed back steadily. Even now, the once-ancient Pharaoh was serene. Despite knowing Cleomenes had made Blackthorne, knowing the old vampire’s commands would ring in the youngster’s very cells, knowing the ancient stolen blood in Cleomenes veins would only make his command ring louder, Elias’s black eyes only gleamed with confidence.
And one thing more. One unexpected thing. Though the Ancient One had given up the most precious of his blood, there was still something old—and to Seb’s shock, infinitely wise—in the other’s dark gaze.
Then Elias said, loud enough to ring throughout the hall, “Cleomenes made Blackthorne…but I have remade him. We shall see whose will is stronger. Blackthorne.” His timbre was pure vampire command. “Do with Cleomenes as you wish.”
Blackthorne’s eyes fired blood red and his fangs came out in force. “With pleasure.”
The young vampire dashed toward Cleomenes with the power and speed of ancient blood, and Seb’s heart began again to beat, then race as the youngster grew claws like rakes and tore into the Soul Stealer.
His claws raked dust in the air. At the last possible instant, the canny older vampire had misted away.
Mist. Seb could only hope the gist of what he’d passed on to Blackthorne last night remained with him.
But no, Blackthorne misted, too, to follow the Soul Stealer. Damned kid had gone crazy and forgotten about Cleomenes’s infiltrating hooks in his bloodlust. Seb growled. Well, with that much ancient blood poured into Blackthorne’s veins, he was bound to go insane.
Seb grew claws into his palms, tiny compared to what they had been. He wanted only to be by Brie’s side, but the weight of custom compelled him to stay where he was until the challenge fight was completed, or it might be ruled a mismatch.
The fight wouldn’t last much longer. He forced himself to watch the less-experienced Blackthorne get eaten alive by Cleomenes. Regretting nothing about his life, except losing Brie so soon.
Sure enough, fingers of the Soul Stealer’s mist trailed back, infiltrating through Blackthorne’s cloud of a body. Seb nearly closed his eyes on the horror that was about to come.
Nearly missed it when Blackthorne fought back.
As Cleomenes threaded hooks into Blackthorne, the youngster’s mist rolled into them, as if taking more and more into himself. And then he shot straight down, toward the floor.
The Soul Stealer’s tendrils, caught, descended too, dragging the main body of Cleomenes’s mist along.
Blackthorne hit the concrete and burst solid, as Seb had when fighting Cleomenes. But unlike Seb, Blackthorne had been prepared.
The Soul Stealer…wasn’t.
Cleomenes’s mist was still clawing to get away when Blackthorne solidified. The result was that part of the Soul Stealer was absorbed into Blackthorne. The younger vampire rolled, ripping free from the main body of mist.
The rest of Cleomenes condensed midair with a decided squawk.
Yes. Seb silently fist-pumped.
The old vampire plummeted to the ground and hit with a short, sharp crack. Seb peered closely. The Soul Stealer was actually smaller. Blackthorne had stolen a part of his strength.
That was another new trick for Seb’s bag, if he lived through this.
Blackthorne was on top of Cleomenes instantly, slashing at his neck with one hand full of machete-like claws.
With the other, he reached for the old vampire’s chest.
“No,” Cleomenes snarled, body fuzzing into a river of mist beneath the younger vampire. The Soul Stealer snaked away, leaving a spatter of his own blood on the floor.
The snake headed toward the stage assembly. Blackthorne blew into mist, jetting to cut the old vampire off. Cleomenes squiggled off in a random direction, snapping whole with an open mouth baring fangs, brandishing huge talons.
Blackthorne collapsed where Cleomenes had been headed. He spun and misted again, shooting straight for the Soul Stealer.
The leading threads of Blackthorne’s mist shot into Cleomenes’s nose and mouth. The older vampire staggered back, making choking sounds.
Then Blackthorn solidified—still half in the older vampire’s head. Bone exploded outward.
Brie retched.
Fuck custom. Seb flew to her side and wrapped his arm around her trembling body. She leaned into him gratefully.
Cleomenes blew into mist, leaving teeth scattered on the floor. It wasn’t as gruesome as it seemed. He could pick them up later and heal them into place.
Again, he jetted toward the stage.
Why? Just getting away, or did Cleomenes have an objective? Seb couldn’t tell, and worry ate at him like acid. Without his ancient blood, his brain was listless, dull, drained. Everything was dimmer, sluggish.
Again, Blackthorne misted, slower, tiring. He managed to cut off the older vampire, barely. Both collapsed into their bodies, circled each other for a second, a vampire’s eternity, then crashed together in a torrent of violence. Blood flew.
They separated. When the Soul Stealer circled this time, he was limping. Blackthorne took a microsecond to grab a cleansing breath. A fighter’s trick to conserve energy, a sort of mini-rest. Seb had used such techniques himself. Blackthorne might be tiring, but he was in far better shape than the Soul Stealer.
The first stirring of hope tingled in Seb’s chest.
The rivals slammed together again in a flurry of claws and fangs. More blood flew, and a few awful chunks, too. Under Seb’s protecting arm, Brie trembled. He hugged her tighter.
The combatants separated again.
Cleomenes looked bad. His chin sagged, partially healed, but his mouth was dribbling blood. His chest was a crosshatch of deep gashes, exposing bone and organs. Pools of his stolen blood littered the floor. Without more to replace it, his healing would be compromised.
Seb’s lips parted in wonder. Could the youngster actually win?
Then, in the microsecond that Blackthorne again grabbed a resting breath, Cleomenes blew his body into mist—headed straight for the nearby stage.
This time the old vampire achieved his objective. He collapsed whole, facing the stage, and reached down for his clothes.
An icicle of fear impaled Seb’s chest.
Instantly Blackthorne charged Cleomenes.
The Soul Stealer turned to meet him, a horrific, gap-jawed grin on his face. A needle glinted in his right hand.
Brie stiffened, her eyes wide on Cleomenes’s treachery. She began to shout, No!
Seb clapped a hand over her mouth—any interruption would be ruled as interference and the fight awarded automatically, irretrievably, to Cleomenes—just as the Soul Stealer slapped his hand against Blackthorne’s exposed flank.
Blackthorne stumbled. Regained his feet, only to rock woozily back a few steps.
He fell to his knees and retched. “P-poison.”
Elias swore.
“He cheated,” Brie gasped.
Cleomenes chortled, dribbling a bit. “Now I win.” Though the words were indistinct through his broken jaw, the meaning was clear.
The Soul Stealer shuffled forward, claws raised. Not nearly as long as they’d been, and the arms scrawnier, but with Blackthorne dazed and on his knees, perhaps dying, enough to do the job.
Seb’s breath rasped in his lungs, panic for the other warrior stinging him. Get up, he mentally urged Blackthorne. Get back in the fight.
The Soul Stealer’s claws flew toward Blackthorne’s neck. Brie choked back a horrified cry. Seb cursed. Behind them, Nixie Emerson cursed and Julian groaned.
And Blackthorne…proved Elias right.
His muscled forearm shot up in an automatic block, with the speed of ten thousand martial drills and the force of a lifetime of discipline. Grimacing with effort, the younger vampire twisted his blocking arm to roll Cleomenes’s attack off—and force the older vampire off balance.
The Soul Stealer stumbled forward. As he did, Blackthorne sprang up, thrusting legs and body with a tremendous marshaling of will into a pile-driver of an uppercut.
Not quite straight, and the youngster’s head wobbled. Still, enough force went into the punch.
Blackthorne’s fist tore the old vampire’s head from his neck.
Cleomenes’s skull flew into the air, arcing up…and down, hitting the concrete with a smack. His body fell separately with a wet thud, leaking blood out of its neck.
Brie sucked in air, covering her mouth with both hands. “I-is it over?”
He wanted to reassure her. Wanted to release the tension in his own body by hugging her in victory. The truth was much harder. “No.”
The headless body pushed to its knees then lurched to its feet, neck wound sealing off even as it rose. Its hands flailing, it began seeking its head.
Brie throttled a cry, her cheeks draining of all color. Seb’s arm was so tight around her, he lost the feeling in his fingers. Even now, the Soul Stealer could live. If the body lifted the head to its neck, it would fuse. Cleomenes could fight on.
Blackthorne, gray face set like slate, stumbled after the body, evidently moving by willpower alone. He caught up with the body just as its foot struck the head.
It reached for the head.
Blackthorne grabbed the body’s reaching arm in bloody hands. Swung it by the arm until it was speeding in a circle.
Raised knife-like talons.
Skin green-gray, eyes rolling in their sockets, Blackthorne obviously called on the last of his strength and willpower to slam the body’s chest into his talons. He yanked the beating heart from broken ribs, and threw it away. The body he dropped to the floor.
Without a heart to move blood, the body was finally lifeless.
It was over.
Aiden Blackthorne had defeated Cleomenes in a horrific battle, barely, but defeat him, he did. Seb opened his mouth to cry victory.
Blackthorne collapsed.
Elias made a sharp sound and ran toward the young champion—just as Blackthorne’s prone body wavered. Misted.
Mist that settled onto the floor. Through the floor. Probably dying, instinctively seeking healing soil.
Before he could be declared winner.
“There is no winner!” the youngling Owun shouted.
Elias stopped. Seb, trembling with fear and rage, turned to see Owun flanked and backed by Cleomenes’s entire gang.
“I declare myself to be Cleomenes’s second in this battle. As such, I call the fight a draw.”
Seb looked over to see Elias’s shoulders tense. Blackthorne could rise in an hour or a day or a month—or never. Elias turned, his black gaze meeting Seb’s, and he shook his head ever so slightly.
The ancient vampire had given more blood to Blackthorne than Seb—blood he wouldn’t be receiving back anytime soon.
Right now, Seb was stronger than Elias. It was up to him.
He released Brie to step away from her, taking attention from both her and Elias. “There is a winner.” His voice, augmented with vampire command, boomed in the space. “Cleomenes lost.”
“Cleomenes lost, but that doesn’t mean his opponent won.” Owun’s voice rang with no less assurance. “Blackthorne has not claimed victory. Therefore, the territory of Chicago is mine.”