Dracula Unleashed (7 page)

Orange and white police Land Cruisers lined the waterfront. Officers crouched behind the safety of the large vehicles. Every kind of weapon from pistols to semiautomatic machine guns appeared, all aimed at Genna's vulnerable eyes. The roar of a distant motor heralded the imminent arrival of an air force's F/A-18 Hornet. Not even a magical being as large and as strong as Genna could survive the firepower of an air-to-ground missile.

No negotiator stood between the confused creature and the lines of weapons. She had been named an enemy without being given the courtesy of diplomacy.

The serpent unrolled like a cobra, balancing on her tail and spreading her head above the line of fire. Even with most of her body underwater, she was taller than a five-story building. A set of green fleshy whiskers decorated her muzzle. Despite her lack of lips, she sneered, baring one curved fang at the tiny humans below her.

John broke into a desperate run.

A nightstick slammed into his belly. “I really can't let you do that, Guide.”

John jackknifed to the ground, his abdomen exploding with the pain. He landed on his hands and knees, broken glass and rocks digging into his skin. Unable to move, he vomited on a pair of faded police shoes.

“Disgusting,” the man said. A huge gap-toothed mouth appeared in John's vision. John struggled to raise his gaze. The freckle-faced, red-haired man kicked off his soiled shoes. “What did you go and do that for?”

John closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his cracked ribs. Swell, Lucifer himself was running this clusterfuck.

 

 

Minerva slapped the window glass with her palms. She did not know the man who had attacked her father, but he was bad, bad, bad.

The window did not even wiggle.

Stupid baby body.

The child lifted a lip, her fangs fully emerged. What did Helena know? She was sprawled in the rocking chair, a cold washcloth over her eyes.

Harley bustled in the kitchen. Minerva heard the slam of cupboards and the clink of ceramic mugs. Tea. He wanted tea. The two adults could not see her dad crouched in the middle of a busy street, holding himself as though he were broken inside.

How often had she seen her mother disappear out an open window? But this one was closed. Minerva licked her sharp teeth and focused hard. With a grunt and every ounce of power she possessed, she flung her body against the glass.

The old window gave way. Riding the window like a sled, she plummeted head first toward the cobbled street.

 

 

Lucifer hauled John up against a police car, handcuffing him with only a few fumbles. John kicked backward, his foot breaking the first fallen angel's knee. Instead of falling, the false police officer laughed. What should have been peals of pure evil ended up a twittering giggle.

“My plan is working perfectly. Chaos is breaking out everywhere. War is the inevitable result, and Hell will be full again. All I have to do is keep you, Guide, out of the way for the next thirty seconds. Then you will be mine.”

Bullets hit Genna with low-pitched, gut-wrenching thuds. John's ribs shifted under his skin and he gritted his teeth against the discomfort. His healing power was undoing the damage done, but it was too late.

An ear-shattering whine shook the buildings. The jet had fired one of its rockets.

“Do you know what you have done?” John screamed above the sound of Genna's certain death. If only he could punch this idiot right in the nose.

The missile hit. Genna exploded into bits and pieces. Chunks of her body flew. Her giant disembodied head spun end for end toward a distant mountain, her purple eyes dull and lifeless. Her dismembered corpse filled the sky. Bit by bit, her body disintegrated.

Her dust sprinkled over the entire city. The angry howls of werewolves and other paranormals pronounced their intent as clearly as someone speaking through a bullhorn.

As of right now, Switzerland's PNC population declared civil war.

John closed his eyes in despair.

A soft fist took a handful of John's hair. Lucifer's hard hips ground against John's exposed ass, mimicking lovemaking. “First, you die,” Lucifer sneered in John's ear. “Then I will take back Valerie and Lance, the two you took from me.” A sharp edge dug into his throat. Another one of those cringe-worthy giggles. “This will be fun. For me. Not so much for you.”

Something from above John thudded against Lucifer. The unknown weight shoved the Fallen's body hard into John's.A gout of hot sulfurous fluid sprayed over John and the hood of the Land Cruiser. The Great Tempter groaned and gurgled.

John cranked his neck to look over his shoulder.

Minerva, her face coated in Lucifer's steaming blood, dug her small fangs deeper into the first Fallen's throat. Her tiny clawed fingers scratched grooves through her enemy's forehead. She sliced his face open from the top of his forehead, through his eye, and down to his chin. The cut smoked as though she had poured acid on his flesh.

One last scream, the sound of a wounded bear, and Lucifer disappeared.

Minerva hung in the air, her eyes wide open and staring at John. She started to fall. John flung himself forward, his cuffed hands reaching for her.

She landed in his palms. The two stared at each other in shocked silence.

“We gotta get out of here,”
she finally said.

“Yeah.” John scrambled to his feet and held her close. “Things are going to get much worse before they get better.”

 

 

Parent and child cuddled on the sofa, clinging to each other as the newscasters reported the devastation around the globe.

John rested his head in his hand and wept.

Minerva curled against her father's chest, listening to his heartbeat. Yet again, she looked up to make sure he rested against the back of the rocking chair, his lips pressed together and his eyes tightly closed. The low light in the nursery glinted off his swollen eyes.

This pissed off Minerva to no end.

“Dddddd?” Her awkward mouth managed a splatter of drool instead of the word her mind could shape so clearly. She pushed out her lower lip in temporary frustration and retreated to mind-speak.

“
I wish I had killed that bad man.”

“I am glad you didn't.”

“Many would say your mother deserves to die for her bad acts. But she is trying to make things better.” John's warm hand rubbed over her back, soothing her anger. “Making the decision of who lives and who dies is not one to be made in the heat of fear.”

It was much too big of a thought for a small, tired girl. She rubbed her dry eyes with the back of her hands.
“Tell me something good, then.”

“I will tell you of Milarepa,” he murmured against her head.

His lips vibrated against her scalp. It tickled.

“A Tibetan saint. A story about him tells of how one day he'd been out gathering firewood outside of the cave where he'd been living peacefully for many years. He got back and there were seven huge demons waiting for him. I could describe their metal bodies and their eyes like cups, and what they were doing, but I'll skip that part, okay?”

Minerva shook her head, the rhythms of his speech lulling her further.

“Well, Milarepa was frightened, of course. He tried thinking of Buddha and did some usual things to try to calm them. Nothing doing. Then he realized that these might be this place's spirits or deities, and he'd never honored them during all the years he lived there. So he sang to them and praised them. Three of them disappeared. He sang another song to the others, telling them how wonderful they had come today, and how he'd be delighted to speak with them again. Three more disappeared. The last demon was the most frightening and powerful of them all. Then Milarepa sang to it too.”

“I don't know the tune, but I remembered the words.” John cleared his throat.

“Then,” John said, brushing her hair from her eyes, “it gets better. Milarepa stepped right into the demon's mouth, but the demon could not eat him after that, and it disappeared too. The lesson is, when you honor what scares you, when you believe that whatever is is perfect, you gain great gifts. Now rest.”

Unconvinced by her father's story, Minerva stroked her fangs with her tongue.

Let her father teach peace and bring others together. If the foul-tasting man came again, there would be Hell to pay.

Radu always did like them pretty.

Valerie clung to the outside of a skyscraper, her toes and fingers jammed deep into mortar. The two detectives, one Latina and one white male, had watched endless relays of surveillance tapes until they had found the perfect shot.

The image was clear and steady: two vampires, both handsome as all young Turkish men inevitably were, with thick white stripes bleached into their black hair. For all their attempts to look alike—the matching clothing, the radical dye job—they weren't twins. One's face was narrower. His nose sported a prominent bump and his mouth was pressed into a disapproving line. The second had a broader jaw and fuller lips. They were hot in a hypermasculine way: belt buckles the size of her two fists, the PVC pants that clung lovingly to their crotches.

They both dressed on the left.

The male detective forwarded the tape frame by frame. The entire saga unfolded in slow time before the two police officers and their unseen spy. The vampires approached the intact Baxter Building. The first carried a number of small metal devices. The second held a miniature tool box.

They went in. Minutes passed; more than long enough for them to set a bomb. They sniffed the air, exchanged bloodthirsty grins, and with a single bound, took off over the rooftops of the Pearl District.

Valerie shook her head in disgust. The careless boys had forgotten the most important survival tactic of the modern age: never,
never
forget that cameras can and will record you. Assume you will be seen, assume you will be recognized.

Which was why she hung from her fingernails and toenails off the sheer side of a building two blocks over from the detectives' office.

The beautiful blond news reporter's words came through the television loud and clear.

The television clicked over to a music channel.

“We did it,” Timothy shouted. “We killed that damn bird.” Eschewing his dignity, he pumped his arms in a ragged circle and lifted his knees in a vague impersonation of running.

Thomas looked up from the book he was reading. “Then we can leave this place.” He rubbed his chin as he looked over the food.

Despite the noise, the food slept in their pens. The bite marks on their legs, inner arms, and throats shone an attractive red against their hairy legs.

Thom studied their sallow faces. “Perhaps we should take some gifts with us.”

Timothy's grin revealed his fangs. “They need to be awake for that.”

Thom spread his legs. “Then come suck my cock.” He cupped his half-hard genitals. “Might as well celebrate before we . . .
celebrate.”

“Now
that
is a plan,” Timothy smiled.

Despite their careful posturing, the two men were not twins, nor were they brothers, no matter how much they wished it to be. Ever since their teens, Timothy and Thom had been inseparable, two lost souls clinging to each other.

Thom set aside his book, placing the splayed pages facedown.

“You'll break the spine,” Timothy mock scolded, even as he dropped to his knees.

Thom slid two blunt fingers between Timothy's lips. Automatically, he engulfed the intrusion, sucking the blood from his boyfriend's hand. Thom hadn't washed his hands since feeding and a mélange of flavor slicked across Timothy's palate.

Innocence, despair, greed, hatred set his senses on the way to a fast boil.

“Mmmmm,” he moaned, sucking harder on Thom's fingers.

“Tasty, aren't they?”

Timothy nodded, his hands unsnapping Thom's shiny pants. A few stitches in the PVC gave with a little scream. Thom gripped Timothy's hair, tugging hard enough to force him into a backbend.

“Unzip me slowly.”

 

 

Their plastic-coated clothes would distract her with their shine and creaky squeaking. But it would also slow them; they would be fighting both her and their clothes. Once the seams split under the strain of her attack, they would be much more vulnerable. No man liked to be in a fight with his bare ass hanging out.

How soon could she coax them into ridiculous high kicks?

She knew better than to think this would be easy, even with her expanded strength.

No new vampires had been made since World War Two. Valerie had seen to that.

The dry summer wind tossed the city's odors her way. Behind the scents of chocolate, exhaust, and a green, flowing river, the men smelled of high explosives and basil.

They were Radu's children.

Her nephews.

Minerva's swollen eyes and chubby baby cheeks floated in front of Valerie's mind's eye. The only vampire anywhere near her age was Radu's double-crossed child from the French Resistance.

Even though these had been grown men when they had been turned, the little girl might like people closer to her power level to play with.

Radu had always been better with children than Valerie had.

Thomas came up behind her, the rusty barbed wire in his hands. Valerie caught as he swooped it over her head. The barbs dug into her hands as she kept it away from her throat.

He used his greater height to pull her off her feet. Her biceps bunching as he forced her into a pull-up. She torqued her body, dragging him with her to the right.

The younger vampire grunted in surprise at her strength. That was all the opening she needed.

She dipped her elbow. With all the speed she could muster, Valerie drove the point of her joint into his eye. His head snapped into the brick wall. Blood erupted from his temple.

He crumpled to the floor, his face lax.

If he had been human, he'd be knocked out with one hell of a concussion. If he'd been her age, he wouldn't be slowed down at all.

He was so young.

For a vital second, she hesitated.

 

 

A horrendous screech of metal on concrete woke Su from her half-doze. She opened her eyes to the spectacle of eight giant slender legs shifting the detritus of the fall. She blinked and the world focused.

A huge spider, a police badge attached to her carapace, wound silk around the beams and girders that had trapped Su and Umar. Daylight filtered in, setting the airborne debris alight.

Su hurriedly buttoned up her blouse before anyone could see her half-naked body. Butt naked, Umar unwrapped his arms from her hips.

He looked to the sky and asked, “What is it?”

Then he wheezed. And wheezed. And wheezed some more. Violent coughs wracked his body. The floor below them wiggled like gelatin under his convulsions. Even as the spider swiftly and gently lifted enormous chunks of concrete and glass, the bookcase buckled on its unsteady surface.

Su had always thought the movie cliché of time slowing down in times of crisis was merely a convenient way to show off the magic of film. But as though her brain moved faster with the fear, she watched as the bookcase's spine broke into three pieces. A knife-shape edge of a fragment fell right for her knee.

It was going to sever her leg.

Then, so swiftly that even her amazed eyes could not follow, spider silk caught the bookcase. The cutting edge dangled a scant centimeter from Su's flesh.

Umar coughed again, his body shaking the careful balance between silk and danger.

The spider's net held, but the surface she stood on shifted. The bookcase rotated.

The flat of the bookcase's back landed on Su's knee.

Su had just enough time to think that kneecaps weren't supposed to move like that before the pain hit.

 

 

“Mr. Mernissi!” A male reporter in a wrinkled suit and battered tie intercepted Umar and Su before they were tucked into waiting ambulances. “How did you and this little lady survive this tragedy?”

The EMT wrapped an ice pack on Su's wrenched knee, preventing her from identifying herself to the reporter.

Like a bird, Umar puffed his chest. “Fortunately, I was able to keep my head. Before the building came down, I was able to stash the lady and myself under my desk.”

“Did the two of you enjoy the intimacy of your circumstances?” The reporter leered at Su.

A fish-belly white hand pulled the microphone from the reporter's grip. Su's mother was unrecognizable with her hair straggling around her face and the unbecoming red flush of anger crawling up her neck.

“Mr. Mernissi, the woman you are insulting is a decorated officer of the FBPR. Any attempt you make at discrediting her will be seen as an attempt to hinder her investigation of your alleged involvement in the massive wrongs perpetrated by the CCC. You will find that this branch of the Federal Government takes a dim view of those who obstruct justice.”

Su gaped. Her mother standing up for her? Since when?

 

 

“He's alive.” Thom's lips tucked against his teeth until his mouth disappeared into a tiny line.

“What?” Timothy wiped the tears from his eyes. All but one was turned.

“Mernissi survived,” he clarified, as though Timothy were a very small, stupid pet.

Timothy rested his face in the palm of his hand. “We put enough explosive in his office to kill a dozen hawks. What the hell happened?”

“She happened.” Thom pointed to an Asian woman with dust-coated features. “She saved his life.”

Jane, the director of the Tualatin Mountain Homeless Shelter, turned off the television set. The residents of the shelter muttered, the sound low but growing in hostility.

“That's enough,” Jane said. “We don't have the luxury of hating the humans. Jeffrey, Joshua, Jay, go to the pharmacy, buy all the emergency supplies you can think of. Mary, you go . . .”

Before Jane finished her sentence, Valerie had climbed out the back window unobserved. She closed it after herself with a firm shove of her boot. Digging her nails into the old building's side, she spider-crawled to the roof.

“Motherfuckers,” she cursed.

Lance appeared beside her, his wings cradling her stiff body.

“I should have killed them,” she said. “But I didn't.”

He touched his forehead to hers. Her once-colorful aura was again ink black, smothering even her tiny light of hope.

He'd hoped to never see her in such despair again.

“No, I got soft and saved them because they were
family.”
She spat out the word as though it tasted of bile. Angry, she dug her fingertips into his shoulders.

Lance shook his head, his palms coming to rest on her hip bones. He took human form as a blond man with arctic blue eyes and a body built for fucking.

“The bombs had been set long before the gang came along.” He massaged the tight obliques under his hands.

“I'm sick of war,” she whispered.

“So am I.”

Valerie tipped her head to the night sky. “The world is going to hell. Why do I want you so much?”

“Because now is the time we need love the most.”

Lance's penis was a thing of beauty. The polished wood-smooth head was wider than the shaft. Veins circled the girth, and his heartbeat pulsed gently against her palm. The skin of his rod reminded Valerie of raw silk, slick and wet against the hard core.

She pushed him against a wall and knelt. If she moved fast, she could nick one of those pulsing veins and drink. And he would never notice that she did not allow for her own pleasure.

“Not tonight.” Lance lifted her up by her armpits. When he was in human form, he wore the shape she had fallen in love with. His thick arms and defined chest pressed against the ragged gray Henley she loved on him. His jeans cupped his package in a way that could tempt a sinner to sainthood if promised as a reward.