The moment Lucian of Penwick entered the old, abandoned house the stench of blood and fear hit him like a brick.
The place, a hellhole in every sense of the word, was littered with mountains of garbage and other debris. Death crept through him, wrapping around his bones. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be pulled down by the weight of it.
The family who once lived here left behind a few pieces of well-worn furniture, remnants of life gone by. From the condition of things—graffiti covered walls, discarded used condoms, empty crack vials and scorched pipes amid the refuge—it was obvious local kids had been using this place for a hangout.
Stepping over the mounds of waste, Lucian went up to second story.
The closer he got to one particular bedroom, the stronger the stench of blood and death was.
Blood splattered the floor and smeared the walls of the small bedroom. The sight of all that blood woke the hunger in him. Fighting to keep it under control, Lucian let his gaze cut through the dark, coming to focus on a girl strewn carelessly on a mattress in the center of the room. Nude, her body was a mess of bruises both faded and new. Her body and hair were covered with blood and things he didn’t dare want to know.
Her open eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling. In them was a reflection of the horrors she suffered at the moment of her death. It was obvious this was no simple feeding, but a gross brutality that had lasted for days.
Knowing she was tortured before her pain finally ended, Lucian remembered well a time long ago when he’d suffered much the same.
After enduring three years of imprisonment in Chinon, his slow, burning death had been a welcomed relief.
Little did he know what awaited him beyond death.
Lucian detected the distinctive scent of renegade vampires. The bastards hadn’t even tried to hide their stink. If anything they made damn sure their stink was detectable over the other odors.
Sworn to respect life, Lucian had to do right by the woman.
More over, the circumstances of her death needed to be concealed. No trace of a vampiric killing could be left behind. Whoever did this knew it and counted on her being found and disposed of.
Assailed by the stench of her death when he lifted her from the mattress, he carried her outside.
A gross injustice, the senseless slaughter pained him more than he liked to admit.Placing her body on the ground, he pushed aside the long, leather coat he wore to conceal the Templar sword sheathed at his hip.
Pulling the weapon free, he stabbed it into the ground. Gripping the handle, he nestled his hands between the cross pattee pommel and the steel crossbar. He genuflected beside her, suffering the burn in his mouth and throat as he whispered prayers for her.
Though they rolled off the tongue of a vampire, scorching it black with each holy word he spoke, he hoped God would accept these prayers.
Someone had to pray for her, even though with no soul she’d be caught between Heaven and earth.
Finishing the Lord’s Prayer, Lucian ignored the blood seeping from his mouth and the awful burning of his tongue. He stood and pulled his sword from the ground. He scanned the area, searching for whatever kindling he could find, and arranged a small funeral pyre around her.
After touching the tips of his fingers to his lips he placed them on her forehead and whispered a plea for forgiveness. Rising, he pulled a Zippo lighter from his pocket and lit the debris. He lingered long enough to watch the girl’s body begin to burn.
No soul would be released to God since the vampire who took her life stole her soul. Seeing the flames and smoke rise into the night sky, he knew it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed it and
called the fire department. Lucian bowed his head, said one final prayer, and returned to his silver Maserati Spyder.
He knew he’d never forget what he saw here. He’d carry the girl with him for the rest of his nights.
Through his remembrance of her, Lucian would give her the only form of immortality he could. Someone, even if it were only a vampire, would make sure she was not only avenged, but remembered throughout time.
* * *
By the time Lucian arrived at Seacrest Castle his mood turned foul enough to have Tristan taking a step back when he stormed into the great hall.
Tristan Beaumont, the unofficial leader of the Templars, was the proverbial older brother to them all. The one they all followed in life—and nothing changed in death. He shouldered the heaviest burden for their redemption and not one night passed when any of them forgot it.
Crossing the hall, a perfect replica of the Beaumont’s ancestral home in Northumberland, Lucian stalked to the hearth. Attempting to find some small warmth from the fire, he didn’t know why any of them bothered anymore. As long as they were without souls they’d never know warmth.
Turning away from the dancing orange flames, he pinned Tristan with a frosty stare. “Another girl was killed tonight.”
Tristan swore under his breath. “Bloody hell!” He let out a heavy sigh of regret. “This makes two now, does it not?”
“As far as we know.”
Tristan pursed his lips and shook his head sadly.
“Have you told the others?”
“No. I came straight here.”
“I’ll call them and tell them.” Tristan sat on one of the chairs positioned before the hearth. He stroked his chin thoughtfully before letting out a long and drawn out sigh. “Where did you find her?”
“Off Blackwell Road. Almost everything was the same as the first, except this girl had to have been held prisoner for days. Days, Tris!”
“Jesus Christ. Do I even want to know?”
“No, you don’t.” Lucian shook his head curtly. “Let’s leave it at, ‘it was bad’. They didn’t merely feed from her. They tortured her and stole her fucking soul.”
Tristan closed his eyes, fighting back the fury the image evoked. More so than the others, he couldn’t lose himself to emotions. Their salvation hinged on his ability to always remain in control.
Once his emotions were reined in Tristan opened his eyes. “You think these two murders are connected to the Daystar?”
“What else am I to think?” Lucian sat on the couch between the two chairs. “What other explanation can there be for the sudden surge of renegade activity? I tell you, Tris, these vampires aren’t only feeding. It’s more than that. The bastards are searching for something.”
This area of Wayne County was extremely rural and sparsely populated. The summer was short, the winters long and severe, hardly a place to attract a large vampire population. Yet here they were, coming in droves since it was a hotspot of paranormal activity.
Most vampires kept to themselves, feeding quietly and staying under the radar. Their discretion was what kept the Templars from hunting them down and taking them out. As long as the renegades, the lowest form of vampire in the nocturnal hierarchy, behaved they had no need to rekindle an ancient war put to rest centuries ago.
Besides, a good old-fashioned vampiric war might attract too much unwelcome attention into their world.
“They tortured this girl trying to get information from her.”
Lucian wanted to agree with Tristan but he knew the girl’s torture ran deeper. “No. I think I was more than that.”
A deep frown furrowed Tristan’s brow. “What do you mean?”
Lucian shook his head in frustration. “I can’t say. It’s something my gut is telling me.”
Tristan slapped him on the knee and stood. “Dawn is coming. I feel your hunger and it’s doing you no good. Feed, then go home and get
some rest. I’ll tell the others we’ll meet here tomorrow night.” He gave Lucian a level look. “We’ll find out who did this and there will be justice.”
Lucian rose and nodded to Tristan, who looked worn tonight.
Haggard. They all knew his burden and none envied him it. “You look like shit, Guardian. Take your own advice and go take care of business.”
“I’m fine.”
His curt tone told Lucian he was anything but fine. Not wanting to press him, Lucian clapped a hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
He quit the hall, heading back to his car with a heavy heart. Shit was about to go down—and it was going to go down hard. A war with the Obyri was fast approaching. The Templar’s fate hung in the balance of the outcome of such a battle.
Driving through the courtyard, Lucian couldn’t help but steal a quick glance at the small chapel set in the far corner of the bailey. He felt the call of the power it housed, thanking God renegades weren’t susceptible to the power of the relic. The last thing they needed was a war with both renegades and the Obyri, another faction of Templar Vampires.
Hell, they were good, but no one was that good.
Relief came to him only once he was through the gatehouse. He didn’t know how Tristan managed to hold fast to resolve in the face of such temptation.
Speeding toward Edessa, Luc knew Tristan called it right, the bloodlust was upon him, and if he didn’t feed quickly, with dawn approaching he’d lose the chance.
Exhausted in body and mind, he knew sleep would bring him no peace this day. Warm brown eyes staring lifelessly at him would haunt his dreams until night came and he woke to his damnation, his only solace, the knowledge that when he found the renegades responsible he’d get the chance to make them suffer for their actions. Though, unless they found the Daystar, renegades were going to keep coming and continue killing. With only one lead to go on so far, Lucian was afraid things were going to get awfully ugly before this whole thing came to an end.