Vampire Down (Blood Skies, Book 7) (21 page)

I’m not sure that would be such a bad thing right now.

There were only a few people huddled in crowds in the city below, watching the scenes of devastation as they were displayed on the long blank walls of what used to be some sort of sports arena.  They saw burning buildings, bodies strewn onto the road before reanimation, vampire processing stations being filled with the remains from the ruined cities.  Many had bought into Wulf’s “defender of mankind” role and actively tried to sway other citizens to embrace what a good man he was, a benefactor and savior.

Funny how no one talks about how his rise to power including slaughtering villagers and settlements that had stood in his way when Fane marched on Seraph, or the fact that he ousted the very organization that had hired him because they weren’t giving him enough power
, Cross thought bitterly. 
Wouldn’t want to taint his sparkling image. 

Even with as close as he’d been to Wulf those past few weeks Cross didn’t feel  any closer to understanding the son of a bitch.  He was clearly a man of ambition, and despite his brutish nature and naturally sadistic tendencies he did have incredibly charismatic authority and deft political awareness, undoubtedly aided by his ambassadors, Fanian politicians he’d swayed to his side back when he’d first started negotiating with and slowly siphoning power away from the Hammer and Fist.  Originally contracted to help defend Fane from its perceived enemies when the powerful weapons-producing city-state decided to secede, Wulf deftly maneuvered himself into a position of considerable authority.  Soon he was the one calling all of the shots in regards to building up Fane’s military forces, and before long he’d contracted a great deal of Troj, Raza and former Southern Claw commandos, all of who were utterly loyal to him. 

By the time the Hammer and Fist recognized what sort of monster they’d created it was too late.  No one really understood why Wulf insisted the city launch a preemptive strike on Seraph, but before anyone even knew what was really happening Fane’s armies were on the march, razing villages in their path as they tore across the eastern plains.  Southern Claw forces met them near Ath and fought a bloody campaign along the banks of the Bloodnight River, and that had been where things had stood when Cross and every other passenger on a military airship bound for Ath had mysteriously been sucked away to the distant continent of Nezzek’duul, where they’d struggled against dark forces and lost all but a handful of their own before the warlock Creasy had finally been able to send them back. 

And by the time we returned, everything had already gone to hell.

Cross shuddered against the cold.  He pulled his armor coat tight and considered dragging out his wool blanket to wrap himself in while he made some coffee, but the notion of moving that much was just disheartening.  

None of it seemed real.  Danica was held up in Meldoar, believing him dead, and Ronan and Shiv were gone.  He’d failed them, failed them all.

I have to make this right.

But how?  Wulf had him on a tight leash.  Soulrazor/Avenger kept his thoughts shielded from the Raza and any warlocks or witches in Wulf’s employ, but that hardly mattered when they had no intention of letting him out of their sight.  The only reason he was even still alive was because only he seemed capable of using the blades.  Wulf had assassins watching Danica – according to Hasker, the killer-to-be was on the mercenary team she’d recently joined – and at his command she’d be eliminated, and that was that.

“If you don’t cooperate,” Hasker had said, “your red-headed bitch will wind up floating in the Ebonsand Sea.” 

Cross hadn’t dared to try and make contact with her.  That would have been like signing her death warrant.
 
He looked out to the western sky; Meldoar was several hundred miles away.

I never should have left you there
, he thought.  Thoughts of Danica filled him, her voice, her touch, the feel of her in his arms.  He remembered their bodies pressed together, recalled looking into her eyes. 
I’ll see you again
, he thought. 
I have to.

Until they’d finally thrown aside their fears and realized what they felt for each other – first in Rimefang Loch, and later in Nezzek’duul – Cross had never been whole, even if he hadn’t known it at the time.  All his life he’d drifted, moving towards a distant shore, never fully realizing just how alone he really was.  Only looking back did he realize how desolate he’d been, how hollow, and when he and Danica had finally spent that first night together they’d melted into one another, joined spirit and body in a way he’d never thought possible.  He’d realized then how he never wanted to be without her.

And yet here I am
, he thought bitterly.  Wulf was watching his every move – he had no doubt the bastard had his Reza witches scrying him right then and there with some reconnaissance Soulrazor/Avenger was incapable of counteracting – and if he so much as acted suspicious that could be the end of Danica’s life. 
I have to figure a way out of this. 
But if it came down to a choice of keeping Danica alive versus doing something horrible to keep Wulf happy, Cross knew that wasn’t really a choice at all. 

He sat with his back against the wall.  Grime and soot had caked to his skin, the by-product of Night’s foul air, and the wind cut like a razor through the broken brick walls and sandstone towers.  Cross breathed into his hands.  Fear clawed at his insides, and it took everything he had to steady himself.  His chest rattled like he’d drawn an icy breath.

Keep it together.  You can’t afford to make any mistakes now. 

Even though he’d done everything Wulf had asked Cross was constantly on edge.  Tension knotted in his back with such force he felt sure it would rip through the skin.  The things they’d made him do... even if Wulf didn’t seem to fully grasp the significance of the swords his Raza advisers had made clear how vital it was they keep the blades intact.

It’s a key
, Cross had heard them tell Wulf, when they’d either been oblivious to his presence or else hadn’t considered his hearing them a threat.  But a key to what?

For the most part Hasker had busied Cross with clean-up duty, eliminating people who’d been exposed to zombie viruses.  When he wasn’t doing that he was largely ignored or placed on guard duty, sometimes sequestered to work with the Raza deciphering encoded vampire texts or solving arcane algorithms they’d uncovered in the territories they’d conquered, since they knew of his eidetic memory and his ability to retain facts and calculations.  Sometimes Cross had trouble remembering what he’d eaten for breakfast that morning, but he could recall a hex code or thaumaturgic formula he’d read years ago without missing a beat.

It was what he
hadn’t
been able to do that maddened him the most.  He’d watched city blocks full of people wiped out, sacrificed to defeat the invading vampire hordes, and he’d seen uncooperative towns, settlements and refugee camps put to the torch.  The fact that the Coalition had recently halted expansion was the only reason more people hadn’t been slaughtered, and Wulf had reigned in his drive to conquer only because he’d essentially run out of lands that didn’t belong to someone he couldn’t easily defeat.  The Coalition controlled everything east of what used to be Dusk and south of Ath, with the exception of those territories Wulf had handed over to the undead of New Koth, including Kalakkaii and Black Scar. 

Now the Coalition was busy solidifying their territories and preparing for the inevitable conflict against the Ebon Kingdoms.  It had already begun, but it was only about to get worse.  The vampires were amassing forces along their eastern borders, and concentrated attacks had been launched against the ruins of Ath and the free city-state of Meldoar. 

And now Bloodhollow.  I have to get word to Danica
. 

It would have helped to have more information, but no one, not even the Raza or the vampires Cross had been forced to help interrogate, seemed to have any indication as to why the underground city was so important.  Rumor had it the prophetic Lith had seen signs indicating that whoever controlled Bloodhollow would be able to turn the tide of the war, and while Cross had encountered little hard evidence everyone from the Coalition to the upper echelon of the Grim Father’s personal vampire advisers seemed convinced it was true. 

But no one seemed to know exactly
why
.  For all he knew it was a trick, a ruse created by one side or the other to lure their enemy into a trap...but Cross didn’t think so.  Too many spirits whispered the truth of that place, and though he’d never heard of it before he imagined that was because of the re-constructed reality he and the team had been shielded from in Nezzek’duul. 

If the information they’d gathered from the latest vampire was accurate, the Ebon Kingdoms were making a push to reach Bloodhollow that very moment, and Cross guessed Wulf had committed resources, as well, and would be committing more before all was said and done.  He wondered if New Koth or Meldoar would get involved.

This will get messy.
  If the Coalition deployed troops to Bloodhollow’s rumored location they’d have to move on Meldoar, which would very likely trigger a full-scale conflict.  Wulf’s forces had the advantage of sheer numbers and their powerful military technology, but the Gol had the Doj of Ath on their side, as well as highly advanced thaumaturgy, decades of magical research and bio-arcane weaponry they’d developed for Thornn.  Fane might have once been the center of industrial weapons production for the Southern Claw, but the majority of the arcane research had taken place in Meldoar, and they’d rightfully guarded their secrets with their lives. 

If those two get into it, the Suckheads will move right in and mop up the mess. 
The world was an open can of gasoline, just waiting for someone to drop the match.

“
Cross.”

He jumped at the sound of the Raza’s voice, the same one who’d help capture him.  The cold-eyed woman was pale and slight, with her signature white-grey robes and alabaster skin.  She floated inches over the ground, just inside the doorway which led to the rest of the ruined building.  He didn’t know her name – he wasn’t even sure if she
had
a name.  He’d once had teammates, Kyver and Tayanna, who’d left the order and reclaimed their lives, and they’d explained it had been the nature of the Raza to wipe individual identity away.             

“
Jesus,” he said.

“
Not exactly,” the Raza replied. 

“
What do you want?”

“
Hasker wants to see you.”

“
He knows where I am,” Cross said.  “Tell him to come see me himself.”

“
Are you sure that’s the message you want me to take back to him?” she asked with acid pleasantness.  Cross watched her, those black eyes, that gelid flesh.  She was practically a vampire herself, at least by appearances, and based on the things he’d seen the Raza do they were in many ways much worse.  Human organizations like they, the Crimson Triangle and the Revengers embodied everything that had gone wrong with humanity After the Black.  The vampires were utterly inhuman, driven by a need to destroy, to annihilate – humans had no excuse.

“
No,” Cross said.  He wasn’t afraid of Hasker, not really, but he wasn’t afraid of Wulf, either.  He was afraid of what they could do to Danica. 

They’ve got me firmly by the balls, and they know it. 

The Raza led him out of the building and onto Night’s soiled streets.  Drifts of ebon fog caged the area, and within a few minutes the once seemingly endless sky was completely enshrouded by drifts of carbon cloud.  The air tasted of sulfur and blood.  Night’s roads were covered with rubble, smashed glass and broken shards of wood.  Fires burned inside those buildings left unaffected by the recent attack, and even the unscathed areas of town seemed particularly dark and quiet, keeping still as if afraid of being discovered.  There was little sound save for the grind of military vehicles, little motion but that of soldiers and mercenaries on patrol.  He heard Troj in the distance, battling each other in ridiculous displays of brutality, their capacity for violence pronounced by the fact that they could regenerate almost any injury. 

They passed open camps and hollow homes; frightened faces peered out into the dark.  Night’s people had become creatures of the shadows, terrified to venture out for fear of Wulf’s retribution.  Cross felt a chill run up his spine.  He hated seeing them like this, hated seeing anyone live under the yoke of another. 

I have to kill the bastard. 
If only it were that simple.

The Raza left him at the foot of a tall set of stone steps leading up to an open courtyard atop a low hill, in front of the remains of a once-exquisite manor.  War and time had torn away much of the facade, leaving a crumbling stone and iron structure stained with soot and powder burns.  Red flames in sconces lined the winding stairway, grim rows of funeral flames lighting the way to the raucous party up above.  Cross climbed the steps slowly, Soulrazor/Avenger slung across his back, his dark armor stained with blood and necrotic remains, his sweat staining his face.  He was so tired – every muscle ached like he’d been twisted inside out, and a knot of stiffness was lodged in his neck and back like he’d been nailed to a post. 

There was laughter up above, and he heard the crackling sound of an arcane gramophone splaying something like old show tunes.  The music was tinny and distant and entirely at odds with the somber and grim-faced mercenaries drinking on the terrace, stoic and humorless men in mismatched armor and second-hand weapons, their eyes locked on the dead sky, their hands on their drinks or the scantily clad whores who traipsed around, drugged up and unaware of what they were doing.  The girls dressed like gypsies, old world Eastern European peasant’s clothing hanging loose off their voluptuous bodies, long skirts cut up the sides to reveal legs addled with track marks and bruised veins.