Way of the Wolf: Shifter Legacies 1 (63 page)

Well I fixed him. Problem solved never to return.

He couldn’t fix the current problem so easily. Threats and money were out. He had no resources. The crack team he’d built for the Stirlings over the years was gone. His entire team was dead and no one knew where he was being held. He had no doubt that the police were investigating, but they would be looking at the usual suspects like AML. The Anti-Monster League
was
involved, but not in a way that could possibly lead to rescue. This place, wherever it was, belonged to Arcadian—a vampire. Nothing could be more opposite to an AML member than a powerful vampire. There was no possibility that the police would be looking at the monster community for a suspect.

He spun back and stalked across his cage. Stephen was sitting on his bed hugging himself. Andrew stopped to study him. The vamp didn’t look good. His cheeks were sunken and his hair had lost its shine. Stephen looked worse every time he stopped to look. Whatever it was that animated vampires was retreating from the surface, like a human body at risk of hypothermia sacrificing its fingers and toes to keep its internal organs warm, Stephen’s body was abandoning superficial things like his appearance. His dwindling reserves were focusing now on survival. He was starting to look like the corpse he was.

He didn’t know much about the reasons why vampires were different from other kinds of undead. Oh, he knew generalities; things that might impact his job like their strengths and weaknesses, but he didn’t know why zombies were mindless for example, or why ghouls had animal like cunning and intelligence. Of all the undead, why were vampires the most like
real
people? The evidence before his eyes gave credence to the common belief that vampires were just corpses animated by magic. He didn’t doubt it seeing Stephen’s deteriorating condition. He hadn’t seriously thought about it before, but then he’d never associated with one before this.

He turned to Michael and nodded at Stephen. Michael had also been watching the ailing vampire. He seemed in pretty good shape for a vamp who had been repeatedly drained, but that was because whenever they brought him back they tossed him a meal. Usually a human from one of the other cages. It sort of topped up his tank each time, but no one had allowed Stephen to feed. Maybe they feared him, and wanted him weakened. There was no way to know, but it didn’t make a lot of sense if that’s what they wanted. It seemed to him that Stephen was more dangerous in his current condition, not less. Besides, they did whatever they wanted to Michael while he slept. They could do the same with Stephen.

Andrew clenched his fists, and prowled his cage some more.

What was happening to Marie right now while he did nothing but fret? He hated to think. They might have let her go. She said they wanted her to close down her father’s investigation into Wilson. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t do what they wanted. All that did was getting away from here. Once away, she could contact the police or something, but getting away from here was the first step.

Stephen growled and Andrew froze. He had accidentally gotten too close. He eased back from the bars, watching Stephen warily. He had vamped out. His eyes were fully gone and his fangs were showing. They weren’t all the way into attack position though. He was fighting it.

He took another careful step back almost too late.

Stephen launched himself at the bars, his clutching fingers reaching through them, fingers hooked like talons. His humanity had folded away, removing the illusion and revealing the true visage of a vampire. He was bestial in his hunger. If the bars hurt, he wasn’t showing it. He was growling and whimpering at the same time. The utter desperation on his face was shockingly clear. Andrew felt sorry for him, but not enough to close the distance. In this state, Stephen wouldn’t just feed; he would kill.

He frowned at the snarling demonic looking vampire, thoughts racing and determination hardening. He would save Marie, no matter what he had to suffer to do that. He
would
save her!

“Michael?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to feed him.”

“Can I watch? He’ll kill you, you know?”

Andrew nodded.

“Are sure you want this?”

“I don’t want it, but I want to save Marie. I’ll have choices to make. After I mean.”

“There are always choices,” Michael agreed solemnly. “I made mine. Stephen his. You must be sure of why you’re doing this. No one really knows why some of us don’t rise, but I have my theory—they didn’t want it enough. Or, to put it another way, their determination—their will to come back, to survive—was weak. The weak do not survive long in my world, Andrew. You must be strong and certain of your reasons.”

“For love of her,” he said, stepping toward Stephen. He held up his wrist. “Tell Stephen the plan?”

“I shall the moment he comes back to himself. You must live long enough for him to feed you. You understand the process?”

Andrew nodded shakily and stepped within Stephen’s reach.

* * *

36 ~ For Love of Her

Dreams of blood and suffocation were his only companions in the void. He couldn’t breathe, wasn’t breathing and panic made him cry out in denial. He didn’t want to die! No sound. No movement. He had no air to make a sound and couldn’t move! Something filled his mouth and ears. He could taste the dirt that gagged his cries and muted his ears. They had buried him alive! He struggled against his earthen prison; he had to get out or go insane! He put every ounce of strength he had into the task, but he couldn’t even twitch a finger.

He felt the day passing. He explored the strange sensation, and concentrated upon it, distracting himself from his fears. Time crawled by. Yes, time was passing. He felt it doing that and it surprised him. Why did it surprise him, was there something about it that was important? It was important because... because... he couldn’t remember! Someone had put him in the ground and buried him alive, imprisoned him in the earth while his body cooled as if dead, and he couldn’t remember who or why or even his own name.

Someone help me! I’m not dead! Help meeeeee!

There was no sound from his lips and no air to make it. Maybe he really was dead. That notion made a kind of sense, not a comforting one mind, but thinking about it rationally eased his fears. He had always preferred to know the worst hadn’t he? He wasn’t sure but it felt right. The unknown was always scarier than the known. He might be dead, but no, that didn’t fit the facts. He was aware and thinking wasn’t he? Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he was just asleep. How could he wake up?

Why couldn’t he remember? Was there an accident? He could be injured and in a coma. That would fit. He couldn’t wake because... but no, he was in the ground not in a bed. He knew that. He could feel the earth around him, and taste it in his mouth. How long had he been here, and where was here? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything!

He tried to concentrate on what he
did
know.

He, yes, he was a he. It was a new thought. It was a beginning. His name was... it was... his thoughts were muddled and slow. He didn’t know his name or how he came to be here, or even where here was. What did he know then? He knew he was in the ground and that the tyrant in the sky was holding him down. He felt it up there, trying to blot him from existence. It held him immobile and was trying to push him deeper into the earth, but the earth cradled him and protected him from the tyrant—the sun. Yes, it was the sun up there holding him down, imprisoning him in this hell. That ball of fire that would burn him to ash if not for the cool moist earth surrounding him. Suddenly the earth was not something to fear. It was home. It was protection, and he felt panic recede a little more. It wasn’t trying to suffocate him; it was trying to protect him. It was holding him safe from the guardian of the day.

Day!

That was why time passing was so important. The day would pass, and night would follow. He would be free then he was certain deep in his bones. When the guardian of the day left the heavens, he would rise. He wanted to frown at the thought; there was something about it that tickled his memory, something about rising was important. It was on the tip of his brain, but it wouldn’t come to him. He forced himself to think, but it wouldn’t come clear. Was it about his first rising? Did he remember that or was it just a fantasy brought on by a mind empty of memories and desperate to fill it? He wasn’t sure, but thought that it was a true memory. It was clearer than anything else he could remember. His first rising was important because... he struggled to bring it forward. It was important because...

Marie!

The name blasted into his memory like a bomb exploding, bringing with it images. He saw her in his head and yearned to go to her, but there was something important he had to do first. Marie was linked with his first rising. She needed his help. Yes! She was in danger and he had to help her. He struggled harder to move knowing that, but it was no good. He wouldn’t rise until night. He felt that time approaching but it wasn’t here yet. Soon now, very soon. He could feel the guardian lowering in the sky. Night was coming, and with it freedom and retribution.

Retribution.

That was a new word and it found its place in his memory. It clicked into place and suddenly more words flooded his brain. His memory began to fill with thoughts, words, and feelings. Love... oh goddess that was a beautiful concept. He savoured that one. He felt love, and knew love. He loved Marie. Fear... he had known that one from the first and shied away from it, but this fear was subtly different. It was fear
for
something, not fear
of
something. He feared for Marie. Anger... that one socketed home in his head, and if he’d been able to move it would have rocked him back upon his heels—it had such weight.

More words and concepts flooded his mind. He was coming back to himself. These thoughts and feelings were him, and he was flowing back into his body from somewhere else. Somewhere bad? No, just somewhere else. He was coming back. That’s what he knew. He would be himself soon. He would be
more
than himself soon. That was a strange thought, but it was somehow comforting among all the strangeness. It was a familiar thought. He was coming back
for
her, and he was becoming more. All for her. He was doing this for love of her.

Rage... another familiar word. Vengeance... oh! Goddess what a concept vengeance was. He could taste it, and it was sweet. He would have vengeance. Someone had promised it to him, and he would hold that person to his word. He would have vengeance upon those who had hurt Marie. Rage again at that thought, but it was already familiar. It was rage at the thought of Marie hurt.

Night was so very close now. He was going to rise; it was happening. He had beaten the odds and was coming back for her. He was...

Andrew roared as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the last fragments of his consciousness arrived home in his corpse. He bucked and spat out the earth in his mouth and suddenly he reared up out of his grave already raging. His thoughts were an inferno of hate. They had hurt Marie! Anger blasted into his mind, it felt external as it struck him, making his head feel as if it was going to explode. He would have screamed, but his lungs were empty.

His heart thumped once in his chest and stopped. He froze at the odd sensation. Another thump, and then nothing. A minute went by, more than one? Thump; another beat of his lazy heart. He had a very slow heartbeat, but he wasn’t breathing. Was that normal? He didn’t know, but he needed to practise breathing. How would he talk without air in his useless lungs?

Pain in his jaw. Gah, it hurt like the worst toothache in the world. He spat blood and dirt... and his upper canine teeth fell to the ground as fangs replaced them in his mouth. He explored them with his fingers. Damn, they were big suckers! Suckers... he giggled. Get it? He laughed again, and moaned as his belly cramped. Goddess he was hungry! He was suddenly starving.

Andrew...

He whirled around, but there was no one there. His eyes were unbelievably keen, and he could tell that he was alone out here. It was dark and there was no moon, yet he could see as if it had been full and high in the sky. Another cramp doubled him over. Goddess he needed... he felt sick when he realised what he needed. He needed blood didn’t he? He had to feed. Isn’t that what he was supposed to do now that he was one of the monsters? Grief for his lost humanity clogged his throat. He wanted to deny what was happening to him, but he had volunteered for this.

I didn’t know! I didn’t know what I was getting into!

He wanted to howl his denials to the heavens, to the goddess. Make it be all a dream, please! Make the attack not have happened. Make Mister Stirling be alive and Marie safe, and he would do anything she wanted. He would dedicate his life to her; do her work in the world like one of her clerics even!

I would, I swear I would. Goddess please... please do this for me. Please don’t let me be dead. I don’t want to be dead!

You’re not dead. You’re undead if anything. It’s just a label. Do not dwell upon this now. Hear me, Andrew! You must hear me! She needs you, as do I. Marie needs you. Can you hear me? You
must
hear me or all is lost!

He blotted out the strange voice in his head. Imagination is all it was. He was alone in his head and the garden both. Another cramp folded him double. Oh goddess it was happening. He was one of the monsters now, and he had to feed... he had to do it, for her. He wanted to cry like a little boy when he realised what he’d done to himself. He had given up his goddess given soul for her.
She
was his soul now, and the centre of his world. She must live to give his own existence meaning. He would endure this unlife for her, torture though it might become. For love of her.