Vanquished (23 page)

Holgar couldn’t figure out why Solomon wanted to meet. Every instinct in him screamed that this was some sort of trap. They were meeting sixty miles away from the monastery—too far for those Uzi-loving monks to serve as backup. It felt as if the Salamancans were sitting ducks about to be tagged so they could lead the birders to their nest. He should have asked Viorica for pack support. It would have been a good test of their new alliance, and, frankly, the Salamancans could have used the help.

The sound of a helicopter filled the night air, and Holgar bared his teeth. It was time. The streamlined chopper came
into view a minute later, lights brilliant as it descended. Holgar slipped out of the ring of light into the darkness, where he could better see without being as quickly seen. He crouched low to the ground, still wishing he could change at will if things went badly.

He could smell the fear coming off his teammates. Even Noah. Holgar had warned them that the vampires would be able to smell it too, and they had repositioned themselves so that Solomon would have to exit the helicopter upwind of them.

It was a small thing, but to creatures like werewolves and vampires, scenting fear on an enemy gave them a surge of energy, a boost. Denying it to Solomon would keep him that much more on edge. And they needed every edge they could muster. This was the president of the Vampire Nation.

The chopper touched down. The rotors were still whirling as Solomon emerged and, with an exaggerated show, took off the sunglasses that were an affectation. Holgar felt a rumbling of hatred deep in his chest.

Solomon approached Jenn, who stood a few feet in front of Holgar’s hiding place. Holgar clenched his jaw and positioned his Uzi. He sighted down it. Jenn was standing to the right of his firing line, as they had discussed. But it would still be far too dangerous to let loose.

He knew Father Juan’s job was to monitor the helicopter. Like Holgar, Noah would be concentrating on Solomon. Holgar wished Father Juan had brought along
Esther Leitner and Father Wadim. The four of them were spread too thin for such a dangerous rendezvous as this.

“So, Ms. Leitner, we meet at last,” Solomon said, his voice slick and polished.

“So it would seem,” Jenn said. Holgar smiled. She sounded cool, detached, and in control. Good. This was the Jenn who had nearly killed Jamie. This was an alpha to respect—and fear.

“I believe we have a mutual enemy,” Solomon said, clearing his throat delicately. “Lucifer.” Solomon emphasized the name as though expecting it to cause consternation.

Instead Jenn shrugged. “So?”

Uncertainty flickered across Solomon’s face for a moment. It was quickly replaced again by the suave, sickening smile that he trotted out to charm millions on television.

“I don’t know how much you know about him, Jennifer, but he’s legend, even among
us
. He won’t be easy to kill for anyone.”

“Hmm,” Jenn said, sounding unimpressed.

Solomon smelled worried. “Maybe you’re not getting this. If you thought
I
was bad—and we both know just how bad I am—wait until Lucifer makes a move. He won’t hesitate to wipe out all of humanity and us, too, to rule this world. No one is safe.”

If he wipes out all of humanity, what will he eat?
Holgar mused, glad to see that Jenn was still holding her ground.
Shoulders back, head held high, she was a warrior. His admiration for his alpha surged.

“Why are you here?” Jenn asked.

Solomon’s grin changed, more real, less artificial. “Okay, you’re not big on the buildup. I admire that, so I’ll be equally blunt. We can help each other.”

“How?” Jenn asked, curiosity and skepticism heavy in her voice. Holgar leaned forward, wanting to know how, too.

“An alliance,” Solomon said, as if his answer should have been obvious. “We band together to destroy Lucifer and send him straight to hell where he belongs.”

Holgar was so amazed that he nearly burst into laughter, his default mode when life got too weird. It was a good week for truces, wasn’t it? First the Transylvanian werewolves and now Solomon.

“And then what? You alone rule the vampires, the world?” Jenn asked.

Solomon slowly shook his head and his grin faded. “No. In exchange for your help in ridding us all of this tyrant, I and the remaining vampires will fade back into the shadows from which we came. I had hoped we could all live together in peace, but . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows. Maybe we’ll try again in a couple more centuries.”

He must not know about the virus,
Holgar thought.
Or maybe he’s stalling us while he sends his guys into Dr. Sherman’s lab.

“And if I say that I don’t believe you?” Jenn asked.

Good, Jenn,
Holgar thought.

“I’d say that I don’t blame you after everything you’ve been through,” Solomon said, daring to sound sympathetic. “But I have a gift for you, a gesture of my good faith.”

He raised his hand, and the side door of the helicopter opened. A lone figure stepped out on shaky legs. Holgar blinked in shock as he recognized Jenn’s father from TV, sitting beside Solomon, imploring Jenn to come to him. The bastard who had betrayed her to Aurora and gotten Heather converted.

Jenn sucked in her breath. Holgar heard her nearly soundless hiss of anger and hatred—almost vampirelike. Fury rolled off her.

“He’s been through a lot,” Solomon observed, as Paul Leitner staggered toward them. “But I saved him from Aurora. Don’t be too hard on him. After all, in the end all we have is family,” Solomon said, sounding sad and wise.

Her father lurched forward a few more steps, and Father Juan broke from his position to intercept him. Leitner was human. Holgar could smell him. But Jenn’s father was still a traitor.

Holgar clawed at the ground reflexively.

“Jenn?” Leitner said, voice quavering.

Solomon gave a short dip of his head. “Please, think over my offer. You have everything to gain.” His face darkened. “But with Lucifer still alive, you have everything to
lose.” He glanced at Father Juan, then changed his line of vision to where Noah waited in the darkness.

“Okay. I’ll think about it,” Jenn said.

“Don’t think long,” Solomon said. “We’re the last, best hope for both our peoples. Your priest has my phone number,” Solomon said.

The vampire got into the helicopter, and it flew away, plunging them all back into darkness. Holgar looked down and realized with shock that the fingers he had dug into the earth were no longer human, but wolf pads and claws instead.

* * *

Jenn was reeling. There was too much to take in: Solomon’s offer, the unknown status of Project Crusade, and not least of all her father standing in front of her, tears streaming down his face. He looked old, and small, and helpless.

And she hated him.

“He’s human,” Father Juan confirmed.

“Ja,”
Holgar added, his voice deeper and more gravelly than Jenn had ever heard it. She turned to glance at him and saw him straightening slowly, hands clenched at his side, and his eyes . . .

She blinked in surprise. They were glowing wolf-yellow, reflecting the light from the moon.

Noah placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back to the moment. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She shrugged his hand off. She needed space, needed
to breathe. “Fine,” she said, more tersely than she’d meant to.

As if she were in a movie, she saw her father reaching out a hand toward her. She couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t deal with him. A week before, a day, an hour, she knew in her heart she would have killed him for what he’d done to her family, to
his
family.

Now everything was so complicated.

“We need to get back to home base,” she said. “Let’s move out.”

In the cell bristling with stakes, Antonio spent every moment hating himself. The thought that he had bitten Jenn still made him shudder, but with a terrible mixture of remorse and longing, regret and desire. He wanted more of her blood. He wanted it the way a drowning man wanted air.

The monks of the Brotherhood of St. Andrew had told him they could help. They came to pray and chant, but he felt no different. They were wrong. Just as Father Juan had been, and Jenn.
They should never have trusted me.
But then again, if what he had heard about the virus was true, it would all soon be over.

The tumblers of a lock clicked in the distance, and,
moments later, footsteps echoed against the stone floor. One of the monks coming to check on him, no doubt. He didn’t even raise his head.

“You’re a sorry excuse for a man, vampire or not.”

He jerked his head up in surprise and saw Jenn’s grandmother, Esther, standing and staring at him, arms folded across her chest, eyes critical.

“Excuse me?” he asked, so shocked to see her there that he could barely process what she’d said.

“You heard me. Sorry excuse for a living creature.”

He felt his lips twist in a snarl. “You don’t understand.”

“Then enlighten me,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“You should back away from the bars,” he warned her. “You’re standing too close. I might . . .”

“What? Bite me? Kill me? Bore me to death with your sad tale about how you just wish you could be good?”

“What is wrong with you?” he asked, wondering, just for a moment, if the woman had lost her mind. Grief could do crazy things to people.

“That’s what I want to know about you,” she said with a snort.

He stood, slowly, and wrapped his hands around the bars of his cage. “I’m a vampire,” he said, pulling back his lips to reveal his fangs.

She shrugged. “So what?”

He felt as though she had just slapped him. He shook his head. “I don’t understand your attitude.”

“And I don’t understand yours.” She frowned at him. “You love my granddaughter, right?”

“With all my heart,” he admitted, though the words tore at him.

“Love’s stronger than hate, or fear, or anything. Except maybe faith. And from what I hear, you’ve got plenty of that.” She cocked her head. “At least, you say you do.”

“I have faith,” he insisted. “I
do
.”

“Prove it,” she said, not even flinching.

Without hesitating, he placed his hand against a cross tacked on the wall of his cell. After a moment he showed her the skin, unburned.

“I’m not talking about parlor tricks or magick or superstition,” she said, shaking her head at him. “I’m talking about real faith. And real love. Either you have them or you don’t.”

He stared at her. No one had challenged him like this in a very long time.

“Last time I read the Bible, it said that if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can move mountains,” she continued.

Antonio nodded. “I know the passage.”

She looked at him full on, challenging. “So if you have faith, you can overcome the evil urges in your heart.”

He lowered his head.

“And Antonio? Mustard seeds grow in the dark.”

“I want to believe that you’re right,” he whispered.

Esther exhaled, exasperated. She looked as if she wanted to strangle him.

“Then do it. Don’t want to believe—believe. Or maybe that’s your problem. You just don’t have the will.”

“I do,
señora
,” he insisted, but he couldn’t look at her. He wondered what she saw. A monster that had attacked her granddaughter?

A silence fell between them. He heard her sigh.

“When it all comes right down to it, what a man has is his will,” she said. “If his will is weak, so is the man. If it’s strong, the same applies.”

He thought of the scriptures—
not my will, but Thy will
. But that spoke of freely handing over his will to God. He had spent his lifetime trying to understand the will of God.

But there are some things about His will that I do know. He wants me to be good, and moral, and decent.

“Antonio,” Esther Leitner continued, “the history books are filled with stories of men with iron will who have done great or terrible things. Look at Churchill. Look at Hitler. Two men from your youth on opposite sides of a war. Two men with iron will. When things seemed bleakest, one of them took his own life. Hitler. In the end, his will was weaker.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” he said.

“His cause was also evil. It’s harder to maintain that.”

“Why are you here?” he asked, raising his head to meet her gaze, desperately trying to make sense of everything she was saying.

She looked at him for a long minute without speaking, and he began to wonder if she was ever going to again, or if she would just stare at him as if she could read his very soul.

“I’m sure Jenn’s told you all about her grandfather and me. Well, I was never a revolutionary, not at heart.”

“But—”

She held up a hand to silence him. “What I was was a woman in love with a revolutionary. And because I loved Charles, I stood by him through thick and thin, through years of running and hiding and everything else.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. Then she smiled faintly and directed her attention back to him.

“Now, this might surprise you, but my dad didn’t exactly approve of Charles. In fact Papa disapproved with everything he had in him. Two men couldn’t have been less alike. But in the end he saw how much I loved Charles, and how Charles looked after me the best he could.”

The conversation had taken a more comfortable turn. Antonio was from a time when the approval of fathers mattered in the affairs of the heart. “Then he changed his mind?”

“We
earned
his approval, and kept earning it day after day.” She looked misty again, and Antonio thought of the countless widows who had attended the masses at the chapel in Madrid, when he was preparing to take his vows. The grief. The desolation. Esther Leitner’s happy memories made her burden lighter.