The Witch Hunter (4 page)

Alistair rose from the booth and bowed to them mockingly, "Next time we meet, I'll make sure the tables are turned."

They didn't tear their eyes from him until he'd exited the bar.
Shit, shit, shit
, thought Liz. Old as vampires who wanted in her pants and werewolves hell bent on harassing her out of town? How much more complicated could life get? Reluctantly she said, "Perhaps you should call Zac and let him know."

Gabby shook her head, "Not right away, lets just enjoy our food first. He won't be back tonight. We need this, and I won't let that jerk ruin our night."

Liz smiled, understanding her friends sentiments, "Lets do it."

Zac had thought about the many ways he could kill Alistair all through the next day. He was thankful Sam had gone to work; the constant badgering about his intentions would have pushed him over the edge. This was one thing he wouldn't be talked out of. His train of thought was broken as his cell began to vibrate across the coffee table.

"Gabby," Zac said sharply as he answered it.

"Zac, Liz and I were just confronted by Alistair," came her concerned voice. "I was able to fend him off, but he'll be back."

"Where are you?" he snarled, infuriated. 

"We're outside Max's."

"Go home," he snapped. "I will deal with Alistair."

"Zac," Gabby sounded worried.

"Just go home, Gabby," he hung up on her. Alistair had gone too far.

He found the offending vampire leaning up against the facade of Max's, arms crossed, waiting for him. Zac strode up to Alistair and grabbed the front of his shirt roughly, pulling him close. "That was a low blow Al," he hissed threateningly. 

"I can go lower, if that's what you really want," he sneered, pushing Zac off him.

"I don't know why you insist on all this when none of us know anything about your girlfriend," he sighed. 

"Oh, but I'm well aware you don't know anything. Making your life difficult is much more entertaining," the older vampire smirked, satisfied with the over the top reaction he had received in greeting. "I could go for full exposure. Not everyone in this town has forgotten the real reason behind the massacre at the Degaud Manor. How would you like that?"

Zac grabbed the front of Alistair's shirt again, wrenching him close. "This ends here," he spat, furious. 

"Are you challenging me to a duel?" Alastair laughed, obviously assured that he would be the victor no matter what.

Zac stifled his own mocking laughter, "It's the twenty-first century, Al you old bastard. I had more of a fight to the death in mind, not pistols at twenty paces." The only option, as he saw it, was to kill the vampire and that was going to be problematic. Alistair wouldn't let his guard down for an instant or put himself in a position away from areas populated with humans. He knew Zac would attempt bodily harm given the slightest opportunity. A fight to the death was the only option he would consider and was banking that the other vampire's arrogance would be his downfall. There was no way he would win on strength alone; there was close to four hundred years between them. If he was to actually kill him, a challenge of this magnitude outside of town was the only way.

Alistair's eyes brightened, "A fight to the death. No rules, only death for the loser."

Zac pushed him back, dropping his grip from his shirt. He wouldn't play mind games with him, no matter what he threatened to do. If he won, then Alistair would be gone for good and if he lost, well, he'd be dead. Zac could think of worse things.

"In the woods by the manor," Zac said. "Two hours. And come alone." He knew he couldn't rely on Sam, his brother didn't agree with his tactics almost one hundred percent of the time. And a death match? Well, that one took the cake. This he had to do on his own. 

Tucking a wooden stake in the back of his jeans, Zac made his way through the forest. Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting long eerie shadows that distorted the ground ahead. The nominated two hours had passed and he hoped he was going to his victory, not his death. 

The older vampire was standing so still, he almost mistook him for another shadow. Alistair's soft chuckle cut through the silence, "Are you ready to die, Zachary?"

"Quit the small talk, Al. Lets get on with it," he sneered, chomping at the bit to draw blood.

Alistair pulled a gun from behind him, which had been hidden under his jacket. Pointing at Zac's thigh, he pulled the trigger, the bullet tearing through flesh and splattering blood as it made contact. The force of the close range impact knocked him from his feet and he landed heavily on his back, grimacing in pain, clutching his leg.

"Wow," Zac hissed through clenched teeth. "Talk about bringing a sword to a gunfight. You're a piece of work, Al. Where'd you get the wooden bullets? From ye olde carpenter shoppe? How long did it take you to whittle those you old bastard?"

Alistair laughed, clearly not put off by his sarcastic observations. "I'm not one for these devices," he tucked the gun back into the back of his pants. "Call me old fashioned, but I like to use my hands. That way I can feel the life bleed from you when I tear your heart from your chest."

Zac grimaced as he dug his fingers into his torn flesh and pulled the bullet out. Throwing it aside, his eyes darkened to black as he lunged for Alistair, knocking him to the ground with a roar. The stake was in his hand, but the older vampire grabbed his wrist before he could bring it down into his heart. There was a crack as the bone broke under the pressure. Grimacing in pain, he dropped the stake as Alistair threw him to the side with enough force to crash him into a tree.

Landing with a thud, Zac was on his feet in a flash, ignoring the pain in his broken wrist. He'd had worse and was still able to fight. Alistair was on him before he could react, the older vampires strength overpowering as he shoved him back against the tree trunk, his forearm crushing his neck, almost cutting off his airway. Twisting to the side, Zac managed to free himself, Alistair's arm crushing into the tree, the bark splintering under the force. 

"Stop playing with your food, Al," he darted behind him, grasping his left arm, wrenching backwards until it broke.

Alistair roared in anger as much as pain and grabbed Zac around the neck again before he could escape. Zac tried to struggle out of the headlock, but this time, the other vampires grip didn't budge. 

"Oh, I like it when they struggle," he chortled as he tightened his grip around Zac's neck, landing punch after punch into his unprotected face. Breaking his nose and splitting his lip, blood poring out of the multiple gashes that were opening up with every impact.

Gasping for breath, he eyed the gun that had fallen onto the ground a mere four-foot to the right. If he could manage to loosen Alistair's grip and free himself, he might have a chance to slow him down with a few bullets before staking him. Struggling, he managed to kick sideways, his shin connecting with Alistair's leg, buckling his knee and making him stumble.

As the grip slackened from around his neck, he managed to lunge to the right and snatch the gun from the ground before Alistair could kick it out of reach. Without hesitation, Zac fired, a bullet imbedding itself into the older vampire's stomach. It wasn't enough to knock him to the ground, but he doubled over, clutching his bleeding abdomen in surprise. It was the millionth of a second that Zac needed to stab upwards, the stake hitting its mark with a sickening thud as it tore through flesh and sinew until it rammed home into Alistair's heart. 

"You were stronger, Alistair, but not smarter," sneered Zac as the life drained from the vampires eyes as he pushed him backwards onto the ground, dead. Grimacing, he held his broken wrist and spat the blood that had pooled in his cut mouth onto his desiccated body. "Good riddance."

Turning away from the body, he jumped in surprise as he saw a woman emerge from the surrounding forest. She approached calmly, her hands clasped in front of her, expression cold. Zac frowned as he took in her dress; it was something akin to what ancient Roman women would have worn. Long white folds of silk, low over her shoulders, draped to the ground, cinched at the hips by a low golden belt. Long auburn hair had been pinned up in elaborate braids, a few curls left out to frame her cold face. Zac automatically knew not to make fun of her appearance.

"And who the fuck are you?" he sneered when she came to rest a few paces away.

The woman cocked her head, glaring, "I am the founding witch Katrin and you've just murdered one of my most beloved creations."

Just what he needed, a witch in fancy dress. "And what are you going to do? Cast some witchy juju spell on me?" Before she could answer, Zac threw the stake at her with alarming speed, but as it made contact she vanished, the stake imbedding itself in the tree behind the spot she had stood.

"You will suffer vampire, for the murder of your own kind," he jumped as Katrin's voice came from behind him. "I will enjoy hunting you and all those you love, inflicting pain the likes of which you cannot imagine."

Zac whirled around to face the witch, who had materialized behind him out of thin air. "If you could kill me, you would have already done it," he waived his hand towards her and her form shimmered where it passed through. "You're transparent, so I'd like to see you touch me."

She laughed, filling the surrounding forest with her musical voice, "I'm going to enjoy watching you writhe in agony."

Gasping, he clutched his chest at the sudden pain that tore through his heart. Falling to his knees he tried to draw even breathes, but couldn't draw any oxygen, his airway closing in on itself. Just as suddenly as the pain overtook him, it was gone. 

"That," Katrin crooned. "Was a precursor, vampire. We will meet again, you and I."

When he looked up, he was alone except for Alistair's cold dead corpse. Wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, Zac groaned as he began to drag what was left of the vampire away. The witch had disappeared, but had left the heavy promise of retribution behind. 

If Zac thought he was in trouble before, he was well and truly screwed now.

CHAPTER THREE

I
t was the second time in as many days that Zac walked home after a fight, his clothes torn and bloodied. He'd killed Alistair, but had dug himself a deeper hole. An ancient dead witch who had claimed to be the creator of all vampires had marked him for a slow and painful death. Best birthday present, ever.

It was late when he finally came home, wandering up the driveway, well after midnight. Opening the front door with a little less force than last time, he shuffled into the parlor and headed straight for the scotch. He thought it was best to get a few drinks in his brother before telling him the bad news. Zac poured Sam a glass as he heard his brother sit on the couch behind him.

"Do I even want to know what you've been doing all night?" Sam said, exasperated. "I have a good idea, considering Liz came over and told me what happened with Alistair."

"Well, I fucking killed the bastard," Zac sneered, getting right to the point, handing the glass to him.

"And?" Sam took a large mouthful of the liquor as if in preparation for what was coming next.

"And, his dead witchy overlord is out for my blood. Refill?" he asked sarcastically, waving the bottle of scotch at his brother.