03 - Evolution (7 page)

That still left Selene to deal with, alas. No doubt she
would try to expose his perfidy to the rest of the coven, but it would
be her word against his. And who would the other vampires believe,
Viktor’s chosen regent—or a coldhearted bitch who had willingly chosen
to consort with a lycan? Kraven felt certain that he could turn the
coven against Selene. Politics was not exactly the female Death Dealer’s
forte.

Ignoring the sycophants and sybarites flocking around
him pleading for reassurance, he nodded at Miklos. “Gather the men,” he
ordered him curtly. Now that he was back in familiar surroundings, some
of his former self-confidence reasserted itself. Not for the first time,
he congratulated himself for having had the foresight to assemble his
own security team, independent of Selene and the other Death Dealers.
“Tell them to meet me outside the crypt at once!”

“Yes, regent!” Miklos replied. He hastened to carry out
Kraven’s instructions. “As you command!”

Kraven was pleased by the vampire’s obedience. Perhaps
this Miklos would make a serviceable replacement for Soren, whom Kraven
assumed to have perished in the underworld.
I will
need a new enforcer,
he thought,
once I have
regained control of the coven.

First things first, however. He still had an Elder to
kill.

Kraven took a few minutes to wipe the blood and dirt
from his face, then made his way down to the security booth outside the
Elders’ crypt, in the mansion’s lowest sub-basement. Closed-circuit
television screens monitored the interior of the crypt, as well as the
grounds outside the mansion. Thankfully, it had required little effort
to persuade the throng of feckless hangers-on to remain upstairs; even
at the best of times, few of the mansion’s occupants chose to venture
this near the Elders’ somber resting place.

Miklos had assembled a four-man strike team. Grim-faced,
the vampire guards cradled Uzis against the front of their black leather
dusters. Kraven gladly accepted an extra rifle from Miklos, having
discarded his experimental silver-nitrate gun after running out of ammo
during his escape from the underworld. It felt good to be armed once
more.

He pressed a button on the control panel and the
entrance to the crypt slid open. Despite his newly acquired bodyguards,
he hesitated upon the threshold, daunted by the enormity of the task
ahead. Killing an Elder, even in his sleep, was no small matter; he
still found it hard to accept that Selene had actually defeated Viktor
in combat, even though he had witnessed the warlord’s death with his own
eyes.

If she can do it, so can I.

He reminded himself that Marcus was surely weakened by
over two hundred years of hibernation. Even Viktor had required several
hours to recover from his recent Awakening, before embarking on his raid
into the underworld. If all went well, Marcus would be dead before he
even realized what was happening.

Or so Kraven hoped.

Dimly lit and cavernous, the crypt was the slowly
beating heart of Ordoghaz. Granite steps led down to the sunken lower
level, where three burnished bronze disks were embedded in the stone
floor. A concentric pattern of overlapping Celtic runes surrounded the
circular hatches, each of which was engraved with a single letter:
A
for Amelia,
V
for Viktor, and
M
for Marcus.

The plaques marked the individual tombs of the Elders,
only one of which was still occupied. In theory, Marcus still slumbered
in his buried sarcophagus, blissfully ignorant of the cataclysmic events
that had rocked the coven over the last few nights. If Kraven had his
way, the last of the Elders would never rise again.

A line from
Macbeth
flashed
through his brain:
If it were done when ’tis done,
then ’twere well it were done quickly.
Kraven had attended the
play’s premiere in London four hundred years ago and recognized just how
apt the quotation was. Macbeth had also murdered a monarch in his sleep,
so as to fulfill his vaulting ambition. Kraven could only hope that his
own grab for power ended less tragically.
Macbeth
was a mere mortal,
he recalled,
and
fictional to boot.

Swallowing hard, he screwed his courage to the sticking
place and gestured toward the doorway. “Go on,” he ordered the guards
impatiently, not about to go first. “Let’s get this over with.”

Flashlight beams raked through the gloom as the other
men preceded him into the crypt. Kraven descended the granite steps
behind them, feeling the temperature drop a couple degrees with every
step. His nerves were strung so tightly he feared they would snap before
he reached the bottom of the steps. A funereal hush enveloped the
ancient crypt, broken only by the footsteps of Kraven and his entourage.
His undead heart was beating a mile a minute.

Just stick to the plan,
he
reminded himself.
Everything is under control….

A lifeless body lay sprawled upon the bottom floor of
the crypt, its neck twisted at an unnatural angle. A weathered,
middle-aged profile was pressed against the marble tiles. Owlish eyes
stared blankly into the void. The man’s dingy brown coat was streaked
with blood. Dead for hours, the discarded corpse had already begun to
stink.

Gagging at the stench, Kraven recognized Singe, a lycan
scientist who had formerly labored in Lucian’s service. Selene had
captured Singe and “persuaded” him to reveal to Viktor the existence of
Kraven’s secret alliance with Lucian, forcing Kraven to flee the mansion
with all due speed. Singe had still been alive when last Kraven had seen
him. He wondered briefly who had actually killed the worthless lycan,
Selene or Viktor?

What does it matter?
he
decided. The loose-lipped scientist had already caused enough trouble.
I only regret that I can’t kill the bastard myself.

A river of blood had flowed from the lycan’s crushed
skull, pooling and coagulating atop the engraved bronze hatches. Dark,
clotted gore defiled the raised letter
M
on
Marcus’ plaque. The smell of congealed lycan blood turned Kraven’s
stomach.

He pointed at the hatch. “Open it.”

“Yes, regent.” Miklos himself knelt beside Marcus’
hatch. Heedless of the sticky black goo, he inserted his beefy fingers
into the cold metal grooves surrounding the
M.
Ancient gears, untouched for over two centuries, resisted his efforts at
first, but then an inner disk rotated beneath his fingers, activating
the dormant locking mechanism. Miklos rose and stepped aside as the
intricate designs adorning the hatch began to shift of their own accord.
Kraven heard the muted rumble of a hidden clockwork apparatus slowly
coming back to life. The circular plaque sank into the floor, then split
apart into four wedge-shaped segments that retracted from sight,
exposing the top of the steel sarcophagus below. Another
M,
illuminated in lapis lazuli, confirmed
that Marcus dwelt within.

But not for much longer,
Kraven vowed. He fully intended to incinerate the Elder’s remains until
naught but ashes were left behind. “Ready your weapons!” he informed the
guards.
Tonight a new era begins in the history of
the coven. The era of Kraven the Supreme…

The crypt itself seemed to shudder as a harsh grinding
noise suddenly came from below. Kraven’s eyes widened in alarm. He had
attended numerous Awakenings in his time and they had never produced
such a clangor. Instead of operating smoothly, as it had down through
the centuries, the ancient apparatus sounded as though it was tearing
itself apart. Steel ground loudly against stone, producing a discordant
clamor that caused several of Kraven’s guards to place their hands over
their ears. They looked in confusion to Kraven, who was no less
dumbfounded than they. His jaw dropped.

Something’s wrong,
he realized.
Horribly wrong.

A look of utter dread washed over his face as the ornate
sarcophagus lurched upward from beneath the floor. The empty coffin was
torn to shreds, as though Marcus had literally clawed his way out of the
metal tomb!

But how?
Kraven thought.
Why?
The Elder should have been dreaming in
silence, dead to the world. What had roused him from two centuries of
unbroken slumber?

An awful suspicion came over him. He shot a worried
glance at the body of the dead lycan, lying only a few yards away. His
eyes traced the stream of dried blood flowing from Singe’s corpse to the
empty shaft that had been concealed beneath the bronze
M.
Crimson stains could be seen within the
mangled wreckage of the sarcophagus.

Singe’s blood!
he realized
in horror. Beneath his sodden garments, a cold sweat broke out over his
body.
The lycan’s blood must have awakened Marcus!

A dry, raspy sound emerged from the murky shaft. Unseen
lungs wheezed noisily.

Marcus?

Kraven backed away from the shaft. Every instinct in his
body urged him to bolt for the stairs and leave the accursed crypt
behind, but he was hesitant to flee so blatantly in front of his few
remaining acolytes. He needed to put on a show of strength if he ever
hoped to regain his former position in the coven.

I should have never returned to
this goddamn house!
he thought bitterly. Eternal exile was
sounding more and more appealing.
I had an entire
planet to hide in!

Suddenly, the very floor of the crypt shook beneath him.
A tremendous pounding came from below, as though something—or
someone—beneath the stone floor was striving to break free. The tremors
threw Kraven and the other vampires off-balance. Kraven stumbled and
nearly fell. His hand reached out to steady himself, coming to rest
against the twisted iron frame of the sarcophagus. One foot landed in
the pool of congealed blood around Singe’s corpse. The sticky gore clung
to the sole of his shoe.

Fear showed on the faces of his men. Like Kraven, they
looked about them anxiously, their fingers on the triggers of their
automatic rifles. They shifted uneasily on their feet, trying to keep
their balance despite the gargantuan blows shaking the floor of the
crypt. Naturally pale faces turned even more ashen.

“May the Elders preserve us!” Miklos exclaimed. The
other men muttered in agreement.

Not bloody likely,
Kraven
thought. There was only one Elder left, and he did not appear to be in a
benevolent mood. Kraven’s confidence deserted him and he opened his
mouth to order an immediate retreat.
We have to get
out of here… now!

But before he could take another step toward the exit, a
shadowy figure erupted from the floor. The force of the explosion threw
him backward, onto the floor. Chunks of shattered stone and tile rained
down on him like shrapnel. He cried out in pain as the jagged fragments
pelted his face and body, slicing through silk and flesh alike. Fresh
blood streamed onto the ruptured floor. His Uzi slipped from his
fingers.

No!
he thought hysterically.
This can’t be happening!

Blood from a scalp wound ran down his face, obscuring
his vision. Dazed, he blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the
chaotic scene unfolding around him. Automatic weapons fired wildly,
their muzzle flares creating a strobe effect that disoriented Kraven
even further. All he caught were fragmentary impressions of a dark
figure laying waste to his men.

An inhuman growl echoed throughout the crypt, audible
even over the blare of the rifles. The hellish noise sounded like a
cross between a wolf’s howl and the screech of an enraged vampire bat.

Leathery black skin flashed across his field of vision
at preternatural speed. Gleaming black eyes shone like polished
obsidian.

Gunfire chipped away at venerable stone walls, but
failed to stop the creature loose in the devastated crypt. Dust and
pulverized stone went flying. Powdered debris filled the air. The acrid
odor of cordite invaded Kraven’s nostrils, overpowering the stench from
the dead lycan. Smoke rose from the barrels of the unleashed Uzis.

A rifle was snatched right out of a soldier’s grip, only
seconds before the hapless vampire was catapulted into the nearest wall
with enough force to crack the ancient stones. His body slid to the
floor, where it collapsed into a heap.

Bloodstained talons raked across another vampire’s face.
Blood gushed between his fingers as he clutched his mutilated
countenance.

Panicky shouts gave way to bloodcurdling screams. Kraven
listened with alarm as, one by one, the guards’ rifles clattered to the
floor. A peculiar flapping noise reached his ears.

Immortal bones snapped like twigs.

Bright arterial blood sprayed like a fountain from a
headless body.

“Heinrich!” another guard shouted in horror, only
seconds before a clawed hand exploded from his chest. A bony fist
crushed the vampire’s still-beating heart within its grip.

Kraven caught another glimpse of an indistinct figure
behind the dead guard, but the creature moved too quickly for him to
focus on it. Within a split second, the figure retracted its claw and
disappeared back into the shadows. Its victim dropped lifelessly onto
the shattered floor.

It was a massacre.

A third soldier dashed toward the steps, only to be
snatched back by his collar and dragged back into the bloodbath. Smoke
and dust concealed what happened next. An agonized shriek was cut off
abruptly.

Miklos cried out frantically, momentarily exposed by the
flare of his Uzi. A pair of gleaming fangs sank into his neck and his
rifle fell silent. The strobing muzzle blinked out, shrouding the
guard’s fate in darkness. His dying scream trailed off into a pathetic
moan before Kraven heard another body drop limply onto the floor.