The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) (23 page)

He began wringing his tired hands, cold shivers dancing up and down his spine. He could sense the evil around him, almost taste it. Brainwashed, drugged thugs doing whatever their master bids them to. Unquestioning, unrelenting, and worse of all, compliant. Vincent sighed in disappointment at the predicament of humankind. There seemed to be no hope left. His head dropped in despondency.

Time to retire altogether, old boy,
a voice inside him declared; the voice of defeat
.

Soon enough, the helicopter slowed and then began to lower. Vincent's stomach dropped on the descent. He steeled himself, readying himself for whatever fate awaited him. He didn't want them to see his dejection, didn't want to give them the satisfaction. He'd come this far by always showing a grim determination, never allowing this parasitical force to break him down no matter what it threw his way. He began wringing his hands harder. The whiff of evil was now in his nostrils as they entered the heart of darkness, as they drew closer to his fate. In the following moments, he was smothered by evil. The stench triggered off his anger; it brewed in his belly. Suddenly, there was no more fear or despondency or dejection. Instead, there was a longing anger. And conversely, it was fear from within the darkness he could smell. It reeked. Stank like the bottom of a sewer. It was pure fear that had instigated today's episode. Fear on
their
part. On the part of the enemy. Now alongside the anger, a certain strength began to work its way into Vincent's limbs. A strength these creatures were lacking and something they'd always lack. Faith.

These were faithless beings, devoid of humanity, bereft of compassion. A weak, scared, contemptible species.

And with that realization, Vincent clenched his teeth behind his bag, and he whispered one thing to himself:
"Bring it on."

The helicopter landed with a small bump, causing Vincent to jump in his seat. There was a sharp scrape as the door slid open, releasing a blast of cold air and the hot sound of the rotors.

"Let's go!" came the order before he was shoved across the seats toward the cold. A hand grabbed his upper arm and pulled. He stumbled out of the helicopter, that hand holding him upright. He was dragged along, his feet barely having time to adjust themselves. The ground below them was rough, grainy. His shoes scratched across it until they touched smooth concrete. There, things turned a tad warmer. A door closed behind him and the sound of the helicopter rotors became muffled.

"Watch the steps," a voice said to him as he was led deeper into the building they were now in. He almost stumbled on the first, but made his way down them one at a time, the rough hands gripping him aiding him along. They moved down another flight of stairs before stepping into a new chamber where everyone stood still. After a brief pause, he heard a ping before a scrape of doors sliding closed. Again that stomach dropping sensation as the elevator they were now in plunged downward.

Vincent straightened his back while he waited for the outcome of this confrontation. Now, there was no fear left in his veins, only a sense of disdain, a disdain at such cowardly acts. A disdain for those that feel the need to hide in the shadows to perform their wicked acts.

Pitiful creatures,
he thought to himself, just as the elevator came to a halt. It pinged once more. The doors slid open and then came the inevitable shove out. He staggered into a new area, where he managed to remain upright and come to a halt. As he did, a sudden chill crawled across his skin. This new place felt like stepping into a crypt. An ancient crypt where angry spirits lingered and whispered to those foolish enough to venture into their domain. It had been so long since he'd entered such dominions that he'd forgotten what the sensation was like. But, now deep in the womb of blackness, he felt like a beacon of light in a dark cavern, like a hot coal thrown into the snow, a lion in amongst a den of hyenas.

"Come on!" came that gruff voice and Vincent got moving. He walked amongst the evildoers with his shoulders spread, his back straight, ready for their game.

He was pushed down onto a hard wooden chair, where his arms were forced back behind him and tied to the backrest. He groaned in pain. A second later and the bag was finally ripped from his head. He looked around, his eyes squinted. They didn't take long to adjust to the low
-
lit chamber, the overhead fluorescents burning dim, creating almost a cave-like ambiance. It was a vast chamber lined with massive panels of sun proof glass which looked out over the immense forest of skyscrapers that made up the Loop. That sense of coldness captured within the chamber was all around, all pervasive. It was like being trapped within a refrigerator. Everything had a blue tinge about it. Even the strange items dotted around him, the statues, the carvings, the devices. Déjà vu then began flooding his mind. He knew where he was.

He looked up and around him. The thugs that brought him there were standing to attention either side of him, now with their balaclavas removed. They had mean, stern faces, tattoos creeping up their necks, some with tears carved into the skin beneath their stone cold eyes. These were mercenaries; men whose souls had long since been torn from their chests and the cases left behind sold to the highest bidder. The bidder, in this case, being the Blood Order; the enemy of humankind. Vincent shook his head at them.
What fools, what fools they are for selling themselves and their brethren over to evil.
He wondered why they didn't just jump off the top of the building and get it over with. The outcome was the same regardless.

"Leave us," then came a deep, commanding voice from somewhere ahead of them all. Vincent's head whipped around. He was now faced with the dark, brooding figure sitting nonchalantly in the recliner opposite him. The figure he only just now noticed as if he'd previously melted into the surroundings like a chameleon. Vincent met the dark
,
saturnine eyes of his host; they glimmered like icicles. A mouth opened up and stalactite-like fangs gleamed even more profound.

Vincent glanced back at the thugs to see them obey their orders. They turned and stomped back toward the elevator like programmed robots. The doors slid open, then closed. And Vincent was finally alone with his host.

He faced him once more. "Leviah," he said with a nod. "If it was a meeting you desired, a simple phone call would have sufficed. There's really no need for the heavy-handedness, it's frightfully uncivilized."

Leviah grinned. "I admire your ability to retain a sense of humor in such dire straits, Slayer."

"Straits?" Vincent echoed. "Am I in some kind of danger?"

Leviah gave him a solemn nod. "Indeed you are."

"And for what reason, may I ask?"

"I think you already know."

"I'm afraid I don't quite follow, Leviah. There is a longstanding pact between us and yourselves, which I believe today's actions on your part have broken."

"Oh, don't play coy, Slayer. It doesn't behoove you."

Vincent turned his head to the side. "Behoove? My my, have you swallowed a thesaurus perchance?"

Leviah interlocked his fingers. "I've been reading."

Vincent's eyes widened in surprise. "Well, I never!"

"I have a lot of time on my hands these days."

"Oh, I see." Vincent looked around in an exaggerated manner. "And
where
is the delightful Veronica?"

Leviah's face turned glum. "She left me."

"Oh, that
is
a shame, I really quite liked her." Vincent looked off to the side as if he smelt something bad. "I have to say I love what you've done with the place," he said, noting all the exotic torture devices dotted around the room. "Quite a collection you've amassed since I was last here."

Leviah slunk back in his seat. "It helps pass the time. I have plenty of it, and there's something quite satisfying listening to your kind squeal in pain."

Vincent's top lip curled back in anger and revulsion. "I think you're in dire need of a spot of fresh air, Leviah," he suggested, facing him once more. "You've been stuck indoors for far too long. Either that or your breakup with Veronica has left you maladjusted."

"You'd be best served keeping your notions on matters you know nothing of to yourself."

A wicked grin spread across Vincent's cheeks. "Touched a nerve, have I?"

"You've done no such thing." Leviah sat forward in his seat. He gave Vincent a dark stare. "Now, let's get back to business."

"Business," Vincent echoed with a roll of his eyes. "Right." He huffed. "I'm still not sure what this business pertains. Maybe there has been some kind of misunderstanding. Perhaps you believe there's been some wrongdoing somewhere?"

Leviah's top lip curled up, exposing his massive fangs. "Where's the relic?"

Vincent frowned. "Relic? What relic?"

Leviah sighed. "This can be as easy or as hard as you want it to be, Slayer. Personally, I'm at ease with either, but for your sake, I'd prefer the former over the latter."

Vincent shook his head. "I'm sorry, I still don't follow you.
What on earth is a relic?
And why would I be interested in it?"

Leviah slapped himself on the knees. "I need a drink," he declared, and rose from his seat. Vincent watched him; the tall, broad-shouldered creature draped in a red, velvet robe, which was open in a thin V, exposing his pale, chiseled chest. He picked up his glass of blood from a nearby table and drank deep. He closed his eyes as he savored the sensation. "This blood," he began, "was harvested from the veins of an eighteenth
-
century scholar by the name of Falconer. He was a quite brilliant mathematician, biologist, astrologer; a human of high intellect, a rare entity indeed. It's that very exceptionalism which gives his blood that inimitable palate. It's all about the blood, Slayer. Everything." He opened up his eyes again and laid them on his captive. "I wonder what kind of nose your blood has. No doubt vintage for sure."

"Why don't you come and find out?" Vincent dared.

Leviah let out an absent laugh. "All in good time, Slayer. It's taken centuries to arrive at this point. A few more minutes isn't going to hurt anyone."

Vincent chuckled. "Well, I'd love to stay and party, but, unfortunately, I'm a busy man." His fake grin then drooped. "You see I have a home that needs repair and a fine servant I need to bury, since your lapdogs decided to gun him down in cold blood."

Leviah raised his eyebrows in surprise. "So, he wasn't a
holy one
after all."

Vincent took a deep, shuddering breath. "It appears not," he replied, his eyes watering, his voice loaded with chagrin.

"And you had such high hopes for him, didn't you?"

Vincent bit his lip. Tears slipped down his cheeks. From the grin on Leviah's face, he knew the cruel vampire was enjoying the spectacle. He wished he could wipe the tears away, but with his hands tied, he had no choice but to leave them on display.

"Never mind," Leviah said, "I'm sure you'll find another victim to replace him soon enough."

Vincent turned his head away.

"Contrary to what you may be thinking, I take no pleasure in the boy's demise," Leviah informed him. "To be truthful, I've grown tired of the slaughter. It's nothing but tit-for-tat. If it's necessary, then so be it, but other than that, it's a fleeting pleasure."

Leviah turned away and headed for the windows, glass in hand. Outside, the sun was a burned-orange dot, darkened by the tinted glass. He stopped and stared up at it; he winced but continued his stare regardless as if repulsed and intrigued at the same time. "I long to be freed from this prison of light," he stated. He had a small chuckle to himself. "Remember when I first had this tower constructed, Slayer? It was a symbol of victory. I genuinely thought I had won. Veronica was here by my side, you and the Holy Order were defeated." He spoke with a dreamy smile on his face. "I'd been truly convinced the prophecy was about to be fulfilled. The darkness would arrive at any moment." His head then dropped. "And yet still I wait." He turned and faced Vincent. "
'Forge your empire, your order'
, the Mad Monk said to us all when we were children. Then, when you become powerful enough, the darkness will fall, and that's the moment to resurrect your father to his former glory. And then you'll be free of the light." He shrugged in an exaggerated fashion. "Well, where is it? I'm still waiting!"

"You're the most powerful vampire in the world, Leviah. You don't even need your father."

"How can you possibly say that when that thing still burns in the sky!" Leviah snapped, pointing back at the sun outside the window. "The Mad Monk said my father's return would destroy it!"

"Maybe the prophecy is... a lie," Vincent ventured.

Leviah's face contorted. "No. the Mad Monk could
see
. He had powers beyond the natural. The darkness
is
coming, just as he prophesized. The ice will freeze the seas; blood will run delectably cold. I can sense it."

"You've thought that before, Leviah."

Leviah grinned. "Ah, Slayer. It's coming, it's coming." He wagged a finger at Vincent as he spoke. "It's definitely coming. It has to. Plans are afoot."