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Part I

ONE

A Night On the Town

TWO

Dubious Honor

THREE

There is Always a Choice

FOUR

Someone’s at the Door

FIVE

Breathe

SIX

The way things are going

SEVEN

Was

Part II

EIGHT

A Girl and her Wolf

NINE

Death Becomes Me

TEN

First Kiss

ELEVEN

Something’s At the Door

TWELVE

Changes

THIRTEEN

Descent

FOURTEEN

All Good Things

FIFTEEN

Of Wolves and Men

SIXTEEN

The Road to Ostia

SEVENTEEN

Justifiable

EIGHTEEN

Lux Ferre

NINETEEN

Liam

TWENTY

Homecoming

TWENTY-ONE

First Impressions

TWENTY-TWO

Over me

TWENTY-THREE

Exile

Part III

TWENTY-FOUR

Cut to the Chase

TWENTY-FIVE

Preparation

TWENTY-SIX

Entry

TWENTY-SEVEN

To Old Friends

TWENTY-EIGHT

Till Death

TWENTY-NINE

Awakening

THIRTY

Loose Ends

EPILOGUE

Part I

ONE

A Night on the Town

Staring down the barrel of a cocked and loaded snub nose .38 Special revolver is not how I had planned start the night.

“Your money … now!”

The pistol shakes in an unsteady hand. My mugger for the evening is wearing designer jeans, a hooded jacket, and a t-shirt with an ironic slogan on it: “I got L.A.id.” Cute.

He’s probably an out of work actor, but that label would apply to half the population of Los Angeles. The dilated pupils suggest someone coming down off a high and looking to prolong it in any way possible.

“You’re on the wrong side of town to be mugging somebody, aren’t ya?”

The lack of concern in my voice seems to be agitating him. Of course, the Cheshire Cat grin on my face might also be what’s doing it. Fuck if I care.

“Well, well. An Aussie sheep-fucker. Gimme your cash before I put a bullet between your muttonchops, Dundee.”

That one stings a little. He obviously envies my sideburns, but I have to set him straight on my accent.

“First, I’m Irish and I have never fucked a sheep sober. Second, I got no cash. Third, I am in a hurry, so let’s speed this along, Dinner.”

The cold barrel of the pistol presses against my forehead.

“Dinner? What the fuck are you talking about? Fine. I saw your leprechaun ass park over there. People in L.A. who drive mint-condition ’68 Camaros have cash. Don’t try and feed me that shit.”

My laughter echoes in the top floor of the parking garage. A man and a woman both dressed in cocktail attire avert their eyes and hurry into the elevator. People’s concern for their fellow man really warms my heart.

My mugger seems to be getting antsy, so some small talk is in order.

“What type of shit would you like me to feed ya?”

The barrel presses even harder against my forehead as he replies. “Fine, smartass. I’ll go through your pockets after I put a new hole in your head. Like I give a shit.”

Apparently, this guy is in that special place where he won’t remember killing to get his next fix. He doesn’t seem to notice that I am still smiling. Even if he did, I doubt it would change anything. His mind is made up.

His eyelids close in the instant before he pulls the trigger.

That’ll do.

My hand slams into the gun before his eyes reopen. I knock the weapon loose and send it flying towards the nearby wall.

He opens his eyes and stares at his bruised and empty hand. We both look toward the wall. The pistol is there: embedded barrel-first into the concrete.

“Wh-what the hell are you?” Even though he barely chokes out the question, the drugs are making him far braver than he ought to be.

“Do you really want to know?”

In a rare moment of clarity, he processes enough of the situation to inspire him to run. As he turns, I grab his wrist and jerk him back to face me.

“Oh no you don’t. No running. Not now.”

My left hand finds the collar of his hooded jacket as I pull him closer, bringing us nose-to-nose.

His eyes widen as the drug-induced haze begins to fade. I smile as a tiny bit of lucidity sneaks back into his face, and the scent of fear reaches my nostrils.

“My oh my … what big pupils you have, Dinner. How do mine look?”

My eyes burn as the glowing crimson light seeps into them.

The doomed mugger knows what to do next.

He screams.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I am sitting at the bar.

I glance down at my hand with a frown. It is damn near impossible to get blood out from under your fingernails once it dries. Oh well.

My third beer tastes almost as good as the first two did, but my thirst seems to be drawing attention. Looks like the entire wait-staff is taking bets on how long it takes me to pass out. I hate to disappoint them, but I can hold my booze pretty well.

It is almost eight o’clock. I’m so terrible at time that I figured I might as well come in a little early. Otherwise, I might forget to show up at all. My little run-in with Muggy the freshly dismembered mugger almost made me late.

When my watch shows eight on the dot and my cell phone rings, I know something is wrong.

She is the poster girl for punctuality. If a meeting is set to start at twelve thirty, she’ll open the door and take her seat at twelve twenty-nine and fifty-nine seconds. If anyone tries to get in her way, figuratively or literally, they’ll end up in a broken pile in the corner, figuratively and literally. Yep, Lucy is a force to be reckoned with.

I run a hand through dark, shaggy hair as I peer at the display on the back of the cell phone. It’s her. Looks like I’ll be dining alone tonight.

“Something unforeseen has altered my plans.”

After all these years living in a thousand different places, her husky voice still has a hint of an accent. Spanish? Romanian? No one can really guess her origin beyond the fact that she is not from around here.

“It’s been a month, Lucy.”

“I know, Wolf.” There is a pause. She sounds genuinely sorry. I have to stifle a laugh. She doesn’t feel regret or contrition. It’s part of her “curse,” though it’s more of a blessing if you ask me. She sometimes forgets that I know her far better than that. When the well-practiced dramatic pause is over, she continues.

“I need you to do something for me. I have been summoned to a meeting at nine o’clock. I want you to go in my stead and deliver my warmest regards.”

“You really know how to cheer a guy up.”

Her laugh is short, but sincere. That is one thing she has a hard time faking: laughter.

“I thought you might like that. Come see me when you are done and I will show you just how grateful I am.” That purring voice makes me forget I’m in a crowded restaurant. I reply with a low growl of approval.

The couple who just sat down at the table nearest the bar is staring a hole in me. Maybe the growl was a little louder than I thought. I give the wife a smile and a wink. She blushes. Her husband fumes. The waitress laughs, oblivious to the scene.

Everyone here but me is dressed like they just walked in from the roaring twenties. I always forget about the dress code. The doorman knows I come here with Lucy, so he usually doesn’t usually hassle me about my old leather jacket and jeans. Plus, people generally don’t hassle me about much.

The husband at the nearby table is still glaring at me. I raise an eyebrow and meet his gaze, widening my smile to give him a view of one of my slightly larger than normal canine teeth. His eyes dart around nervously before settling back on the fruity little cocktail that just arrived for him. Maybe he knows an old wolf when he sees one. Good call, hubby.

“Wolf, are you still there or are you frightening the sheep again?”

I laugh as I press the phone a little tighter to my ear. “Can’t help it, Lucy. It’s just too much fun.”

“At least behave yourself for a few more minutes. I am sending Nash and Christopher to pick you up.”

“No promises. Wait … who’s Christopher?”

“Christopher is new. Be nice.”

“Lucy, you know I hate new gits and … when am I not nice?”

She ignores the question. It’s probably for the best.

“Silly wolf. If I do not see you at midnight, I shall be most disappointed.”

“That makes two of us, darlin’.”

I close the phone and slide it back into my pocket.

My ride should be along momentarily. If she is sending Nash, it can mean only one thing: wherever I’m going, somebody is going to die.

In that case, I think I’ll have another beer.

TWO

Dubious Honor

“I have a special task for you, Christopher.”

When she spoke those words, I was absolutely ecstatic. She finally trusted me. Maybe I would actually become something more than a lowly, nameless peon within the Romana organization. My day had arrived!

Then she told me what she wanted me to do and now, I doubt I will live through the night. There has to be a way to make this work, though. I want to be part of her inner circle. I’ll do whatever I have to do to win her over. For starters, I’ll get through this.

Less than five minutes after our conversation, I am riding alone in the back of her black luxury sedan. The driver hasn’t said a word. In fact, he has yet to speak at all in the three months I have been a part of the family.

His name is Nash, and he is my employer’s personal bodyguard and driver. At first glance I thought he was in his late twenties, but he must be far older than that. Given that he is at least seven feet tall, I am curious how he fits in this car. An ill-tempered giant in a ten thousand dollar suit certainly makes an impression.

Despite the luxurious ride, my stomach is in knots. The man we have been sent to retrieve is something of a legend in the organization. Supposedly, his skill is only exceeded by his temper. Surely he must have some redeeming qualities. After all, he has Lucifera’s trust, if not more.

What a name: Lucifera Romana. I have had bosses who seemed like they could read my mind, but she is the only one who actually can. In our first meeting, my eyes wandered as she spoke. I found myself gazing at her curvaceous bottom. She did not even turn around when she addressed my lusty gaze that day: “Christopher, if your eyes prevent you from giving your full attention to my words, I shall gladly pluck them out of your head for you.” You have to respect an employer who lets you know where you stand.

We pull up to the curb outside of Lucifera’s favorite restaurant, the Cicada Club. It is surprising that she does not prefer someplace more expensive. I myself no longer have any use for restaurants, or food for that matter. Rumor has it that Lucifera would often meet our guest at this very place. Supposedly, she and this man sometimes stay after dinner and dance on nights when the restaurant has its twenties-themed balls. Such interaction between a master vampire and a werewolf is scandalous, to say the least. Immortals stick with their own kind. That was one of the first rules I learned.

I am still new to being immortal. Finding out that monsters were real was a pretty big deal. Becoming one was even bigger.

From all accounts, Lucifera’s werewolf is absolutely insane. He killed a fledgling vampire just for speaking her name. The tales of his exploits are often repeated, but separating fact from fiction is a difficult task. Rumor has it that he once killed nearly twenty vampires single-handedly when Lucifera had been deposed by a treacherous plot among her most trusted members. I don’t know what to believe.

He has not made it out of the restaurant yet, so we sit here at the curbside by the entrance and watch the beautiful people walk by. Though I doubt I will get much of an answer, I decide to ask my silent chaperone his opinion.

“Mr. Nash, sir, have you met this guy?”

His eyes lock with mine in the reflection in the rear view mirror. The glass surface reveals aspects of his nature that humans cannot see with the naked eye. Pale, dead flesh and glowing green eyes peer back at me. I will never get used to that.

He doesn’t say a word or make any move. After about a second his gaze returns to the road in front of the car.

I’ll take that as a yes. Nash is not one to mince words, so neither will I. “Is he going to kill me?”

The bodyguard’s eyes drift back up from the road and lock with my own with a look that that can only be described as amusement. Almost imperceptibly, he tilts his head slightly to the side, and then returns to peering intently ahead.

Great. He doesn’t know, and that amuses him for some reason.

I am far from prepared when the rear door across from me opens. His description would have called for the man to look like the Devil himself. What slides in is around five foot ten, and maybe 175 pounds. His hair is dark and, for lack of a better term, shaggy. The best word to describe him is “average.” His only somewhat memorable feature is the longer-than-average sideburns. He has to be an Elvis impersonator on the weekends.

“Evening, Lurch.”

Whoa, he’s Irish. Interesting. She left that part out. He addresses the giant like they are old friends, though if Nash hears his snide greeting, he doesn’t let on. The stoic behemoth remains motionless, with eyes fixed on the road as he pulls away from the curb and into the flow of traffic.

It is time to make my introduction. I extend my hand across the back seat towards him. He turns his attention from the back of Nash’s head to my open palm.

“I’m Christopher. You must be—”

That is as far as I can get. The words have barely left my lips when a quick motion from the new passenger slams me back in my seat. The shifted claws of a werewolf are digging into the flesh of my neck, pinning me to the auto’s black leather upholstery. It is true what they say about these beasts. Though they are not as fast as my kind, their strength is terrible.

He holds me fast with only his left hand. I struggle with his wrist, but it is no use. Though his face looks no different than when he entered the car, his wrist and hand have grown a thin layer of fur, and his nails have lengthened to the razor-sharp talons that are currently embedded in my neck.

I can only stare in horror as he looks me up and down. Dogs drool over T-bones with the same expression he has on his face right now. The look does not change as he pokes me in the ribs with his free hand.

“Interesting. Cold, but not icy. Flesh is firm but not hard … not so old. You were turned, what, six months ago?”

If my throat and windpipe were not completely closed by his grasp, I would have answered that I became a vampire seven months earlier. He would not have been listening anyway. As he leans in close to my face, the smell of alcohol and blood floods my nostrils.

“Let’s get something straight, uh, Charlie? Chevy? Whatever. I would just as soon rip your chest open and feast on your heart as I would look at ya.”

The car comes to a screeching stop. The werewolf glances forward, seeing the icy gaze of Nash in the rearview mirror.

He laughs. Apparently he does that a lot.

“Sorry, Stretch. I forgot. No killing in the car unless absolutely necessary.” My attacker looks back at me with a frown. “Well, Chico, I’ll have to kill you another day.”

The clawed hand releases my throat. I grab my injured neck, taking in a deep breath of sweet oxygen, purely as a reflex. The werewolf is quite amused by this, and laughs heartily as he settles into his seat.

“You’re already dead, Chuckles. The dead don’t need to breathe, or did ya forget?”

I really do not like this smiling bastard. I don’t know if he’s getting my name wrong on purpose, but he’s right about my breathing. It is merely the memory of my humanity that causes me to take in air as the humans do. They say the need will eventually pass. I hope I live to find out.

“Of course.” My voice is hoarse. If I were human, I’d be in the hospital for a week with a crushed larynx. My vampiric healing will make me whole in a few hours, but I am still in a great deal of pain. Regardless, I have instructions to relay to this … thing.

“Lucifera was to meet with a master vampire from the Old World named Emil Vladu. She said you would know what to do.”

The werewolf’s smile fades into a scowl. He was doing a fine job of frightening me before, but his violent behavior pales in comparison to the eerie red glow of power bleeding from his suddenly brooding glare. Though I am still young in vampire terms, my nature gives me more awareness of supernatural energy than humans possess. The sensation of feral malevolence emanating from him makes my skin crawl. I am officially scared shitless.

“Yeah, I know what to do.”

His words are more akin to a snarl than anything else. At least he is looking out the window and not at me anymore. Thank the Devil for small favors.

The rest of the ride passes in silence. The once-jovial werewolf does not utter another word.

Nash pulls the car over in an upscale Beverly Hills residential area. The house is a two-story Tudor, positioned about fifty feet up a grassy hillside from the curb. It is nice by human standards, but hardly what I expected for the temporary home of a visiting master vampire and his coven.

The werewolf opens his door and steps out of the car. Before he begins the walk up the hill to the house, he turns back and peers inside towards Nash. Apparently his infinitely annoying werewolf sense of humor has returned.

“Nash, you talk too much.” Again, if the silent vampire hears the werewolf’s jab, he does not let on.

He turns his attention back to me. “It’s my job to give you a hard time, Christopher.” A slight nod of my head is the only acknowledgement I give him. Hopefully that means he will not be killing me.

“I’ll kill you next time.” Though he says it with a wink, I still cannot tell what is in this one’s head.

He slams the door and begins lazily climbing the steps to the house. Nash pulls the car away from the curb and turns to take us away from whatever mayhem awaits this quiet neighborhood.

After we have driven for several minutes, curiosity gets the better of me. Though I know the giant at the wheel will not answer, I still must ask the question.

“Nash, did we just drop that, that beast off to face an entire vampire coven, alone?”

His only reply is a quick look in the rear-view mirror, capturing my gaze for an instant before returning his eyes to the road.

“Surely we just took him to meet his death?”

This time, Lucifera’s trusted bodyguard and driver does not look back. His reply comes in the form of a shrug of his shoulders. From my spot in the back seat on the passenger side, however, I can plainly see that he is smiling.

I am honestly not sure who is more deserving of pity: the werewolf … or the vampires.

* * *

With our werewolf friend left to do God knows what, I stand outside the front door of the massive Romana estate in the hills outside of the city. I turn and watch the taillights of the car grow smaller as Nash speeds away in the distance. He had no further instructions from Lucifera, so I guess I am done for the evening. I slide my key into the twenty-eight foot tall front door. It opens inward without a sound.

The Shadow Hill estate looks like something out of a late ‘90s music video. In addition to the forty-two thousand square feet of living space, a three thousand square foot inner sanctum lies within the very rock of the mountain beneath the main house. I don’t even want to know how much that cost or what construction crew was charged with the task. I suspect that the builders may have ended up a snack for the customer.

I can’t help but feel like I’m in a damn soap opera when I look at the building from the front. Maybe it’s the three-tiered fountain or the twenty-foot-tall windows surrounded by marble and gray mortar. The place certainly fits the bill as the home of the reclusive chief executive officer and heiress of an extremely lucrative, ancient shipping empire. On a clear day, you can even see the LA skyline, including the top floors of the Romana Tower in downtown LA from the balcony out back.

The human staff must have left shortly after dusk. Most of them have never met their employer. They are paid enough that they realize that questioning the daytime habits of their benefactor would be financially detrimental, distasteful, and, most importantly, hazardous to their health. Those who have been lucky enough (or unlucky enough) to meet her realize that it is best not to look a gift horse in the mouth … especially when said horse has fangs.

It still blows my mind that just eight short months ago I was fresh out of college. My entire life was ahead of me. Now, I’m dead. I guess the technical term is “undead.” I have no pulse. I don’t need to eat or breathe, as the werewolf pointed out, and I crave blood.

Mom and Dad were thrilled when I pulled a 1580 on the SAT and a 35 on the ACT. Whose parents wouldn’t be? Those scores just about guaranteed me a free ride to my pick of colleges. Harvard, Cornell, Yale, Stanford, and MIT all accepted my application and offered me scholarships.

There was only one problem: those schools had absolutely nothing I wanted to study. Since my fourteenth birthday, my interests had become somewhat … macabre. To my parents’ disapproval, I had seen every vampire movie ever made, twice.

I remember the day everything changed. I was separated from my folks on the way out of the movie theater in our hometown in Gary, Indiana. Deciding it would be funny to sneak up on Mom and Dad from the back of the theater, I headed around to the back of the old brick building while the crowd went left to the parking lot.

What I saw when I rounded the corner to the alley behind the theater would change everything I thought I knew.

A dark-haired woman pinned a theatre usher against the brick of the building by his throat with only her left hand. Her right hand was smearing something on the wall. The man was limp in her grasp. A few more steps and I understood why. His abdomen had been ripped open. The substance she was smearing on the wall was the man’s blood.

I stood there, frozen. Ten feet away, the woman placed the finishing touches on a message written in crimson with the tip of her index finger. She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. She then moved to the side, revealing her work. The words “You’re welcome” were scrawled in quickly-drying blood.

She was a little over five-feet in height, so I looked her in the eye at the time. My interest in the macabre and my young age made me much more willing to accept the truth of the situation than most would have been. The glowing green eyes and fangs registered with me immediately. This was a vampire in the flesh.

She spun her body around to face me with the dead man still in her grasp, her shoulder-length black hair sweeping out in a wide arc. She crouched to her knees and dropped the corpse to the pavement. She blew me a kiss, then dug both hands into the man’s neck and ripped his head off in a shower of blood, torn cartilage, and bone.

The police found me in the alley sitting against the wall. All I could do was stare at the dead man’s head on the ground. The woman hadn’t laid a hand on me. I told them what I had seen, but who could possibly believe a hysterical fourteen-year-old kid who was raving about vampires? They decided it was a freak bear attack and left it at that. After a couple of years of counseling, the doctors decided I was okay, but I would never give up on my new dream: I wanted to find out everything there was to know about vampires.

Cryptozoology is the study of and search for creatures that mainstream biology considers to be nonexistent. After that night, I became a cryptozoologist in practice, if not in profession. My love for vampire movies, books, and folklore only grew over the years. I even branched out to werewolves, demons, and other such things. My parents tolerated my unusual interests because of my good grades.

When the time came to settle on a college, I scoured the course listings throughout the US. Much to Mom and Dad’s dismay, I passed over the offers from Ivy League schools, and settled instead on a full scholarship to UCLA. They thought I wanted to party my education away. The truth was that UCLA had opened a cryptozoology degree on a limited basis.

As far as the folks knew, I was studying biology with the intention of going to medical school. The truth was, I was taking some biology and zoology classes and working with the faculty on a cryptozoology degree that they eventually regretted even offering. Thanks to an anonymous financial supporter I was able to continue my studies and get the degree even though I sometimes had to make up my own classes. I traveled all over the world on someone else’s tab, researching everything about vampires that I could. It was unorthodox to say the least.

The benefactor turned out to be Andrew Morgan, the LA master vampire who preceded Lucifera. He paid my way through school and funded my research as a way to potentially increase his own knowledge and power. Not long after I graduated, he paid me a visit, and before that evening ended, Morgan made me his unwilling undead servant. When Lucifera took his life, it was the first time I had been out of my cell in his estate in months. Though I suspect she would have killed me if I declined her offer to serve her, I accepted immediately of my own free will. I knew she was not the vampire from that night at the theater, but she seemed so similar that I could not resist her charms.

Lucifera took an immediate interest in my studies. She has given me unlimited resources to continue my research. I have yet to provide her with anything of use, but I know that will change soon enough.

Though I have researched my vampire kind extensively, I have neglected the wolves. That changes tonight.

I have mountains of books and interviews on the subject of werewolves. I will pore through my collection of knowledge on the subject. Before the night ends, I will be an expert. Specifically, I will gather up anything I can find that sheds light on how to kill werewolves.

Knowledge is power, and I aim to be more powerful the next time I see my werewolf tormenter.

THREE

There is Always a Choice

Donovan doesn’t see me sitting in the passenger seat as he walks to his car. Though I am over six feet tall in my boots and look like the current stereotypical male Hollywood vampire with my dark suit and wavy blond hair, one cannot really blame the young vampire. It is truly beyond his control at this point. I saw to that the last time we met. He does not remember me, but we have encountered each other on three other occasions in the past two weeks.

Younglings are all so predictable. At first they think they are powerful. By comparison to their former human selves they are. Soon they meet someone like me, and they realize just how pathetic and insignificant they truly are. It is extraordinarily easy to bend their will and guide them to do my bidding. All one needs to do is give them a tiny glimpse of power and promise them a share.

He opens the door of his red Corvette ZR1 and slides into the driver’s seat with the kind of unnerving grace that only the undead possess. He slams the door shut and freezes in his seat. I believe he has just noticed me and is cursing himself for being so careless.

“Hello, Donovan.” I say it with a smile. After all, we are old friends by now.

His expression does not change, but I can tell he is weighing his options. It would seem that he has no idea who I am. Excellent.

“Good sir, to what do I owe this honor?” Ah, Donovan. If I have learned one thing about you in our few meetings, it is that you are ever the diplomat. You sense I am your superior in power, and you immediately show your submission. That’s a good boy.

“Why, I came because you asked me to, of course.” He is both terrified and confused. He makes no move to reply. The scene plays out exactly as it did when I came to him days ago.

“Our time is short, so observe. All of your questions are about to be answered by the one who knows you better than anyone else.” I place a small video recorder no larger than a wallet in the palm of his right hand and press the play button. The young vampire’s body grows rigid when he sees his own face on the video playback display.

“Yes, it really is me. See?” The Donovan who appears on the tiny screen tilts his head to the side and folds his left ear forward so the camera can see a tiny scar in the skin just behind his earlobe. The Donovan who sits in the driver’s seat unconsciously touches the same area. I do believe I have his undivided attention now.

“The vampire with you is Master Emil Vladu. I have heard it mentioned that Lucifera was defeated once in the past. Emil is the one who accomplished that.” The vampire looks up from the screen and into my face. I smile and give a nod. It is always nice to be given credit for one’s accomplishments.

“He has devised a plan to get rid of her. Of course, he wishes to take her place as Master of Los Angeles, but with one fundamental difference: instead of keeping me a virtual prisoner as Lucifera has done, Emil has promised me my own small coven outside of the area. I have even met with the vampires he has promised me on the very night I am recording this video. They are young and beautiful. They are all less powerful than I am, but they have all sworn their allegiance to me.”

Even on the video, I can see that little spark of fire in Donovan’s eye. I gave him just a tiny taste of power, and he is drunk on the mere thought. A quick glance at the Donovan who sits behind the wheel shows me that he has that exact same spark in his eye. Sometimes this is truly too easy.

“All Emil asks in return is that I report back to him on what I observe of Lucifera’s daily dealings and actions, as I have done this night. The fact that you do not remember any of this is proof that Emil’s plan will work.” I can no longer tell if Donovan is even listening to himself on the video. I would wager that he is so enraptured by the idea of ruling his own tiny coven that nothing else can enter that steadily swelling head of his.

The playback stops, and he hands the device back to me. I place it in my pocket and say nothing. Donovan is once again more than willing to do the talking.

“She does not seem to be pleased that you are here. She suspects that you wish to cause trouble for her in some way, though I do not think she knows what you might do. Surely she does not know that it was you who harmed her in the past.”

“Donovan, I did not offer you the gift of your own coven in exchange for broad generalities. Specifics, dear boy. Else I may decide not to come to you again.” His face falls at the thought of not receiving his promised prize. Yes, the young are so very predictable.

“Of course. Excuse my ignorance my lord. I have seen some things that may be of use to you. This very night, I know that she was supposed to meet with you and your entourage. However, before I entered her office I overheard her calling someone else and instructing them to go in her place.”

Her treachery is hardly a revelation, but Donovan’s confirmation does two things. First, it affirms that he is ready and willing to betray her to get what he wants. Second, this lets me know that Lucifera has likely found out that I was the one who vanquished her so long ago. That adds a level of complexity to the equation, but it should really only serve to make things more interesting. She will fall again, and I will gladly occupy her seat when I am rid of her. This time, however, she will give me what is rightfully mine.

“Donovan, I see I made the right choice in coming to you.” He nods, then glances over his shoulder. He is nervous, and rightfully so. “Tell me, what has become of your associate, Frederick?”

His eyes grow slightly wider. “Lucifera believed him a traitor and had him placed on the top of her office building to die in the morning sunlight.” There is no remorse in his words. The hint of Frederick’s blood that I sense indicates that Donovan himself played at least some part in his former comrade’s fate.

“A regrettable turn of events, but it is also somewhat fortunate. You see, I made Frederick a similar offer through one of my servants. The difference was … this.” I hold up a tiny vial of clear liquid.

“After each of our meetings, I have given you one of these. It is a special substance that suppresses the memories of the past hour. My servants did not give poor Freddy this little dose of medicine. That was by design. I wanted to see just how effective Lucifera’s mental abilities are, and now I know. Never fear. You have earned this.”

I hand him the vial along with an unsealed envelope with a letter inside. “Place this in the mail. Drink the contents of the vial after I take my leave. The letter outlines the directions to the house in northern California that I am giving you. The deed is in the envelope as well. You will find your new vampire servants waiting for you there. It will take the letter two days to arrive at your apartment by mail. By that time, my plan will be completed and Lucifera will no longer be a factor.”

Donovan greedily pockets the vial and looks through the envelope. After he is satisfied that it contains all I have said, he looks back to me and bows his head.

“It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Donovan. When next we meet, it will be as fellow masters. I know I can count on your obedience in the future.”

I open the door and step out of the car. Even if he were to go straight to Lucifera and tell her of our meeting, she would place him alongside Freddy on the roof. He knows that. I have no doubt that my newest servant will do the right thing.

I move far too quickly for him to see. When I am nearly a block away, I turn back to look at where he was parked. The corvette pulls away, but swerves over to the nearest street side mailbox. He drops the letter inside and drinks the contents of the vial. He then tosses the vial in the gutter, gets back in the car, and drives away. Perfect.

The cell phone vibrating in my pocket is an unpleasant but not unexpected distraction. I would wager that it is my faithful lieutenant Peter. He and his team are obediently waiting for Lucifera’s emissary to arrive at the rental house in Beverly Hills. Neither I nor Peter expects the master vampiress to show. We both hypothesized that she would send several of her fiercest warriors in her stead to make a statement by wiping my group out. After all, this is her first visit from another master since she took over this noisy little town from that weakling who held the place before her. Andrew Morgan was not my favorite creation, but he did hold on to this city for far longer than I ever dreamed. A pity Lucifera killed him before I had the chance.

I do not bother to look at the phone as I answer it. “Hello, Peter.”

“Master.” He is one of my most loyal servants. What he lacks in intelligence, he makes up for in sheer fighting prowess. I cannot help but notice the confusion in his voice.

“Peter, what is it?”

“The female did not come, as we expected.”

“I trust you have killed the warriors she sent, then?”

“No, sir. She sent no warriors. That is why I have called. She sent only one, a man. Right now he is standing outside the front door looking at his watch and talking to himself. He looks rather normal, albeit a bit … shaggy.”

“Shaggy?”

“Yes, sir. Unkempt hair, two-day stubble, Elvis sideburns.”

Damn her. I did not know she still kept the company of that filthy mongrel. This certainly complicates things.

“Sir? Should we bring him inside and kill him?”

A simple question. If only the reality were that simple.

“Peter, listen to me very carefully. I want you to hit him with everything you have before you open that door.”

He is obviously confused further by my strange request. “I see. Yes, master. Is there anything else?”

“Yes. Try and stay alive until I get there.” I hang up the phone and dial the number for my other lieutenant. It appears I will need him far sooner than I expected. It is a shame to lose Peter and his men all at one time, but it cannot be avoided now.

Oh how I hate that wolf of hers.

FOUR

Someone’s at the Door

“Try and stay alive until I get there.”

The Master’s words sting my heart. I have served Emil for over sixty years—ever since he discovered me. In that time, my warriors and I have killed no fewer than three thousand of the enemies of Herr Vladu.

While impressive, this is far less than I can claim credit for in my human life. As a member of the SS, I worked very closely with Heinrich Himmler. We all had our specialties in those days. Between 1940 and 1943 I was entrusted with the task of exterminating those who were not deemed worthy of participating in the Fuhrer’s plans for a perfect race due to their physical and mental defects. Aktion T4 was my life during that time, and I took great pride in it.

I helped set fire to our esteemed leader’s corpse in 1945 as the Soviets closed on our position. I was prepared to take as many of those misguided Russians to the grave with me as I could, but fate intervened. Emil grabbed me as I left the bunker, and carried me miles away from the fighting. He told me he had been watching me for years. It seemed that my dedication had not gone unnoticed. He gave me the gift of my second life in vampiric bliss. I would die for Herr Vladu as I would have gladly died for Mein Führer.

From the appearance of the man who stands outside I do not see why my master is so alarmed. With a short hiss, I summon the eleven warriors who are scattered throughout the house. As we ready our automatic weapons in the foyer and great room, the fool outside announces his presence with a thundering knock.

We were expecting a sneak attack by a group of vampire mercenaries from the Romana bitch’s forces. My team is outfitted for just such an attack. Our weapons are Soviet-issue AK-74 assault rifles. All are upgraded to be fully automatic. The ammunition is lead mixed with silver shards. The combination is painful for a vampire, but will hardly kill. The bullets are meant to slow our quarry down and cause as much pain as possible. After all, they might have something useful to tell us before they expire. We carry machetes strapped across our backs to administer the death blow when they have outlived their usefulness.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in.” The voice from outside the door is tinged with madness.

“I am sorry, sir. I have seen you outside and your erratic behavior frightens me. I have already called the police. Please leave, or they will surely arrest you when they arrive.” Whether he believes me or not is irrelevant. I just want him to stand there for a few more seconds while my men get into position to take their shots.

At my signal, three men line up beside me and aim their guns at the door. The other eight split into two groups and line up at the windows on either side of the door. Unless this fool can fly, he will be cut in half by our crossfire. The stranger ignores my empty threat. I see his shadow in the curtains, moving in the doorway. Very good. Come closer, dead man. Your fate awaits you in a rain of bullets.

Something is not right. His behavior is odd, but there is something else. Even through the door, I can see the heat produced by the flow of blood through his veins. His body temperature appears to be far too high. Perhaps this is some human caught in the grip of an insanity-causing fever.

He leans in closer, putting his hands on the door. His face inches closer and he sniffs deeply, once, then again, before speaking.

“In the story there are only three little piggies. I smell at least eleven, no, twelve little piggies in your house. That’s too many. Let me see what I can do about that. It’s been far too long since I feasted on vampire flesh.”

Mein Gott. The trepidation in my master’s voice. The unnaturally warm blood. The stranger’s reference to feasting on undead flesh. The facts finally piece themselves together in my head.

“Werewolf.”

With that one word, I may have doomed us all. A chuckle escapes the lips of the beast in human form that lurks outside our door. He heard me.

“Fire!”

Not fast enough. Even as we unleash a stream of bullets, I see the shadowy form disappear. The glass windows and door explode outwards. Round after round of the deadly slugs fly towards the spot where the werewolf should be. The twelve of us create a crossfire that would disintegrate anything caught in its path. I hold up my fist and bring the barrage to an end. The only thing left to do is open the door and confirm what I already know.

I step forward and turn the battered knob. The door swings open, dropping fragments of broken glass as it moves. I step onto the small porch. There is no body. My shock gave the beast plenty of time to move before we fired. A single drop of blood more putrid than the Dachau crematoriums lies on the dark brown wood at my feet. The stench of unclean wolf mixed with human burns my nostrils.

The vampiress keeps an unchained werewolf. I can only assume that Emil was not aware of this. Had he known, surely he would have advised us of it. In truth, I have never even encountered such a beast. Few living vampires have.

Though I knew these things still existed, I had heard that they were far rarer than they had been in the past. We have all heard the tales of how my vampire ancestors used the werewolves as slaves. In truth, very few vampires were powerful enough to tame these monsters. The few who were kept their pets locked up, only releasing them to kill, then locking them away until they were needed. Emil told me the stories only in passing. Had I known I would come face to face with one of them, I would have asked more about their weaknesses. If the folklore is true, at least we have silver covered tonight.

On any other occasion, I would have my men fall back in a strategic retreat so we could better plan how to face this new enemy. My orders, however, were explicit: kill Lucifera’s envoy, whoever it may be. I know if the werewolf does not kill us, my master surely will if we do not impose his command, regardless of the circumstances.

The mercenaries follow me to the yard. We break into two teams and prepare to search the perimeter of the house, but before we can move, the sound of breaking glass above our heads draws all twelve guns up to point at the second floor storage room. Two dark objects fall from the gaping hole where the storage room’s window used to be. They land at my feet with barely a sound. The two small piles of tattered clothing indicate that our situation has grown even worse. The beast has shifted to his werewolf form, and he wants to be sure we know.

I signal for my men to return to the house and split up to drive the monster out. I will climb up and follow him through the attic. Before we begin our hunt, the night air is disturbed by a thundering crash of splintering wood. The beast must have broken through the wall.

Fortunately for me, my warriors are blindly obedient. The master saw to that when they were turned. They were all chosen specifically for fighting prowess coupled with their low intellect and lack of ambition. If I told them to march into the sun, they would do it with a smile. With what awaits us in that house, I may as well have told them to do just that.

As the others file back into the house, I leap up through the second-story window and into the attic. Inside, there is a hole in the sheetrock nearly as big as a doorway. The creature must be enormous.

I step towards the hole, but stop well short. The stench of wolf has filled the entire floor, making it impossible to track the beast by scent. I strain to hear any movement. I can detect the calm, slow beat of the monster’s heart, but I cannot discern where he is. Blast.

Five of my warriors make it up the stairs. They signal to me that the first floor is clear. The werewolf must be up here. We regroup in the storage room, and I signal them their assigned rooms to check. Still there is no sign to lead us to the creature.

A slight shuffling sound draws my attention back to the bedroom. One of the troops must have wandered too close, and I turn just in time to see a massive black fur-covered hand grab the vampire’s vest and jerk him backwards out of the room.

“Here!” My shout summons the other four to the hole, where they open fire. After a three-second burst, they stop and move into the room. I follow them and look all around the guest bedroom. There is no sign of the vampire or the werewolf. One of the men nudges my arm and points to the bedroom doorway. The smell of vampire blood hits my nostrils. A wide crimson trail extends across the hall to the closed doorway of another bedroom.

We are in formation outside the room in less than a second. I kick the door in as our bullets rain through the doorway. The dark form inside the room absorbs at least two hundred slugs before I signal for cease-fire. When the barrage stops, I find the bullet-ridden, headless body of my own vampire lying on the floor. Curse the day this werewolf was born

I keep my rifle at the ready and step further into the room. The beast must be in here. The other men fall in behind me as I search under the bed and check the closet. One of them signals me, pointing to a door on the side of the room across from the closet. A bathroom connects this bedroom to another bedroom. God damn that creature.

I glance back to see where my men are. I count three as we enter the bathroom.

Three? Where is Samuel?

I turn back towards the bedroom we have just left in time to see the young vampire as he is thrown into the bathroom with us. Though he still lives, his throat has been ripped out of his neck. Two of our silver shard concussion grenades have been activated and shoved into the bloody hole below his chin. His eyes are wide with terror as he falls into the three vampires behind me.

They are too shocked to do as they should. I, however, am not. I kick the closest of them in the back, sending him into the others as I dive out of the bathroom and scramble around the corner. The two grenades go off in unison, surely blowing all four unlucky vampires’ heads off and showering the entire room with razor-sharp silver shards. The explosion is loud, but probably still not enough to draw the neighbors’ attention. Not that I care about that anymore. I am far more concerned with staying alive until my master can arrive with reinforcements.

The irony that my own thoughts mirror Emil’s last words to me is one that I could have done without. This monster has killed nearly half my men and I still have not even gotten a look at it. Damn. Damn. Damn.

I must get downstairs and escape. Perhaps I can use the other six vampires to occupy the beast long enough to get outside. I should be able to outrun him. At least, I hope I can.

I stand back up and place my rifle at the ready. I can still hear the monster’s heartbeat, but it is somewhat fainter. He must be at the other end of the level. The stairwell should be just outside this door.

I open the door slowly, being careful not to make a sound. The smell of vampire blood assails me again. The severed head of the werewolf’s first victim has been placed on the floor directly in the doorway. The bastard wants me to see it. He is taunting me.

In my ninety-five combined years of human and vampire life, I have never been this terrified. Even as the forces closed in on our position in the bunker I did not feel this close to death. As Emil drained my blood from me on the day he gave me my new life, I knew I would yet live. Right now, my immortal hands tremble. Will my head be the next to be ripped away?

The sound of shouting from downstairs breaks me from the grip of terror. Muffled gunfire is drowned out by a thunderous crash, followed by snarling that must surely be coming from the beast. More gunfire breaks out, cut short this time by a roar, then the screaming of a single vampire.

If the monster is downstairs, then, perhaps I can find my salvation in the same broken window through which I entered the second floor. I sprint towards the storage room, no longer worrying about stealth. Through the sound of my own pounding footsteps I hear the downstairs door open. Damn. I cannot think about that now. I must escape.

I burst into the room, pausing for a moment at the window to see if I can hear any movement either within the house or just outside. I look back towards the doorway. The scent of the monster is everywhere. I can hear its heartbeat like a drum. It is here, somewhere.

Damn it, Emil. Where are you, my master?

My gun is forced down, carrying me with it by the strap over my shoulder. My eyes return to the rifle to find a hand grasping the stock of the weapon. It holds me fast, but I feel no further attack. I stare at the massive fingers. The talons at their tips are easily three inches long and covered with the blood of my vampires. Black fur covers every inch of skin on the hand and continues up the massive right arm.

Though I know it is not a natural wolf the instinct to not make a sudden movement remains. At last, I look upon the face of the beast. Its head is very similar to that of a wolf. Only the size gives away its unnatural origins. The snout and jaws are large enough that it could bite off a good portion of my head if it chose to do so.

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