Blood Eternal (23 page)
Count the days, Saloman, and make the most of them.
Chapter Eleven
T
he vampire Dante was thrilled. Budapest was in the grip of a massive electrical storm, and the crashing thunder vibrated through his new, ultrasensitive self like an entirely new experience. The pelting of the rain on his upturned face made his skin positively sore, like hailstones. He felt as if he were drawing the forked lightning from the sky into his own body, boosting his already massively greater strength and energy. The angry thunderclaps seemed only to echo his own power.
he vampire Dante was thrilled. Budapest was in the grip of a massive electrical storm, and the crashing thunder vibrated through his new, ultrasensitive self like an entirely new experience. The pelting of the rain on his upturned face made his skin positively sore, like hailstones. He felt as if he were drawing the forked lightning from the sky into his own body, boosting his already massively greater strength and energy. The angry thunderclaps seemed only to echo his own power.
Besides which, the storm matched the atmosphere he desired for the occasion. Black skies, filthy clouds obscuring moon and stars, thunder and lightning—every good horror film should begin with these things. And Dante was determined to make an impression.
Luk, interestingly, was not immune to the storm either. The Ancient had paid only erratic attention to his surroundings on the journey into Hungary, as if his mind were on higher things, like power and revenge. Dante had no quarrel with that, but it was good to see Luk smile at the thunder; it meant he was paying attention.
They had eight Turkish vampires with them. Not a great haul, much to Luk’s fury, for although the presence of an Ancient had impressed every vampire they encountered, Saloman’s was the name and reputation they knew. The discontented would cling to Luk for a while, using him in their quest for freedom from Saloman’s restrictions on matters like killing, but with each defeat they’d trickled back to Saloman. All Luk could do was latch onto other rebels and annoy Saloman. And at least Saloman
was
annoyed.
was
annoyed.
Should Luk defeat him, it would be a different story, of course.
Another fork of lightning flashed across the ominous sky, briefly illuminating the narrow street and the carved stone angel above the doorway on the left. Dante had nearly walked past it. Again. As the thunder tore through his head, Luk stopped dead, gazing up at the angel, frowning.
“Maximilian,” he said slowly. “That is Maximilian’s work.”
Impatiently, Dante began, “Who the hell is—” He broke off. “Oh. Saloman’s other creation? Did he enchant it?”
“You spotted that? Good for you. Yes, he enchanted it, and through it the whole building. Subtly, and not badly done.” He reached up, as if trying to touch the angel, then dropped his hand back to his side. “He carved it too. Most talented sculptor I ever saw. He could have been better than Michelangelo. . . . One of the strongest of the new vampires too, ambitious. We could use him, although I suppose he will side with Saloman.”
“Not necessarily,” Dante said thoughtfully. “As I recall, it was Maximilian who led the conspiracy against Saloman and killed him back in the seventeenth century. No one knows where he is now.”
Luk dragged his eyes down from the angel and laughed. “Saloman taught him well! They both killed their creators. Is this your ‘club’? The building is full of vampires and humans.” His eyes glittered. Although he didn’t talk about it so much, Luk was still eternally hungry.
“We need Angyalka on our side,” Dante said uneasily. “I’ve done my research on her. Once, she was Zoltán’s lover—Zoltán, who deposed your friend Maximilian—until Saloman appeared on the scene. Clearly, she follows whoever is the strongest, with one important caveat. She doesn’t tolerate anyone breaking her rules. No violence or feeding on the premises. It keeps her safe from the hunters. I’ve made sure the others understand the rules.”
Luk curled his lip. “I do not follow rules. I make them,” he said, and pushed open the door beneath the stone angel. Impatiently, Dante beckoned the others to follow. In a fresh bolt of lightning, he caught sight of the angel again, and instead of the exquisite carving, he saw now just a dull, all but featureless decoration. Surely that was a bad omen? As if his powers lessened when Luk left his side, as if he weren’t quite as in control as he wanted to be.
He bolted upstairs after Luk, taking the steps two and three at a time, which at least helped restore his confidence. Dante, before he’d been turned, had been a fit man for sixty years old, but he would never have contemplated bounding up a steep staircase at such a pace. As a vampire, it seemed, all things were possible.
And once Luk had killed Saloman, Dante couldn’t wait to go home to America, oust the current vampire leader, Travis—once Dante’s partner in crime and now, against all the odds, Saloman’s ally—and take over the reins of human and vampire government. As yet he hadn’t quite decided on his methods, but he rather thought a bit of terror, carnage, and war might be best. Humans could be shown the murderous power of their unsuspectedly undead neighbors and allowed to go on their inevitable rampage against them. There would be mass slaughter, mainly of humans, and out of the chaos could step wise old Senator Dante, adviser to several successive United States presidents and the most influential politician of his age, the only man who could restore calm and order. They’d never guess he was a vampire himself until he just didn’t die, and by then it wouldn’t matter. He would be too firmly in control.
But this was no time to daydream. He had to keep Luk in order while letting him impress the local vampires enough to follow him. Just like Turkey, really.
When the vampire bouncers welcomed them inside without so much as a glance of suspicion, Dante’s elation rose higher. With his new, immortal eyes, he was even more appreciative of the Angel Club’s interior decor, its contrast to the outer dinginess of the entrance sharper than ever. He could even appreciate the loudness of the music, the relentless sensuality of its vibrating beat. It was a young band of human males who’d clearly grabbed and held the audience’s attention—although whether for their musical talent or the sheer handsomeness of their singer was debatable.
Dante’s visits here as a human had been a trifle frightening, since he hadn’t been able to tell people from vampires. Now he knew at a glance, and he’d never guessed just how high the proportion of vampires was. Decidedly this was a fine recruiting ground. None of them even troubled to mask—apart from Luk, who allowed only his undead status to be read.
Dante, who was learning all the time, knew he had to keep the secret of his own identity for a little longer. They didn’t want Saloman or his loyal cohorts turning up before they were finished here. To this end, he was sure Luk was helping to cloak him, for several of the vampires here were strong, strong enough to see through the best mask Dante could muster. And among those strong vampires was the Angel’s beautiful owner herself—Angyalka.
He recognized her at once. Her luscious hips seemed to shimmer as she sashayed across the room toward the bar in her simple yet sexy black dress and boots. Dante remembered being surprisingly aroused by her beauty on his previous visits here; now, with his heightened vampire sensuality, he seemed to sizzle. He wanted to bite Angyalka. He wanted to screw her across the bar.
As if she felt his surge of lust—which, on reflection, she probably did—she looked directly at him. He almost exploded.
Angyalka changed direction and came to meet him, her gaze flickering watchfully but quite without anxiety to Luk and their followers.
“Grayson,” she said in English, her exotic accent doing quite unexpected things to his nether regions. “How nice of you to come back. I see you no longer need Dmitriu.”
Now her eyes did widen slightly as they flashed around his companions as if searching for something.
Luk spoke telepathically to him alone.
She’s trying to reach Saloman,
he said in some delight.
I’m blocking her, and though she feels that, she has no idea how or who’s doing it. You never told me you’d already annoyed Saloman to that extent.
She’s trying to reach Saloman,
he said in some delight.
I’m blocking her, and though she feels that, she has no idea how or who’s doing it. You never told me you’d already annoyed Saloman to that extent.
You read all that from her?
Of course. I suppose I should have read it from you. What other secrets do you keep?
A pain, sharp and agonizing, shot through his head. Dante couldn’t help clutching it in both hands, but Luk’s interest was apparently brief, for he was released almost immediately. It felt like someone had loosened some huge steel clamp around his skull, and withdrawn the massive iron bolt that had bored its way through his brain.
Angyalka hadn’t moved. “What can I get you, gentlemen?” she asked mildly.
Relieved of pain, Dante let his libido rush back to the fore. He smiled. “A little wine,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist and jerking that soft, luscious body against him. “And a lot of sex,” he whispered in her ear. “Take me upstairs.”
He could feel that was where she lived. A room upstairs, behind the club, redolent with her scent, her presence.
She didn’t shove him; he didn’t land winded against the bar. And yet he felt as if he had. Somehow, she’d extricated herself from his arm and stood now a foot away from him.
“I do not have sex with fledglings,” she said contemptuously. She said it loudly enough for all who cared to hear, and in the sudden silence of the room—the band had just stopped playing and were coming down from their stage for a break—he guessed many did. However, before embarrassment could strike, if it was going to, Luk provided a most unwelcome distraction.
He let out one of his wilder laughs. “Is that another of your pathetic rules?” he asked. “Like no feeding?”
Without any further warning, he reached out one arm and seized a passing human male, who happened to be the band’s handsome singer on his way to the bar.
“I’m hungry,” Luk said to the surprised youth, and sank his fangs into his jugular.
Dante groaned. His plan was aborted, as it were, at takeoff.
As once before, Elizabeth found the door of Saloman’s huge house in Budapest simply opened when she pushed it. And as always at the prospect of seeing him again, her heart hammered in her breast so hard it seemed to curtail her breathing.
Ridiculous. He might not even be here.
Ridiculous. He might not even be here.
He could still be in Istanbul, where, she knew, a major vampire battle had been waged. In fact, she and the Hungarian hunters had been preparing to go to help their beleaguered Turkish colleagues when word had come from Mustafa that things were quiet in the city once more. One of Luk’s living victims, a wealthy and respected businesswoman, had come forward to tell the hunters all she knew: that Luk had left the city and wasn’t coming back.
Inside Saloman’s front door, Elizabeth closed it and dropped her suitcase to tug her hand through her soaking hair and wring out the rainwater. Shaking herself like a wet dog, she dragged her bag along the spacious hall before abandoning it at the foot of the stairs. As she began to climb, a flash of lightning seemed to spring from several points in the house before the crash of thunder filled her ears.
Saloman’s head appeared over the banister from two floors up and she paused, overwhelmed by the whole setting.
Her heart lurched with pleasure and with hope. But he was too far away for her to make out the expression on his face, to read his difficult but not impossible body language.
“Hello,” she called, feeling slightly foolish. “Can I come in?”
“Always. I left the door open for you.”
He’d probably sensed her arrival in Budapest, felt her drawing nearer to him across the city.
“Come up,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
She’d never been in this portion of the house before. Most of her time had been spent in his bedroom. Intrigued, she climbed up past the landing where both drawing room and bedroom were located and found him waiting for her at the top of the next flight. Taking her hands, he kissed each of them in turn and then, briefly, her lips. But when she would have returned for a longer kiss, he was already leading her away. “Come.”
Smothering her disappointment, she asked, “What is it?”
“I’ve had some more rooms made livable. What do you think?”
Reaching past her, he flung open the door on her left. Elizabeth walked past him into a large, bare room with three sets of shuttered windows. At the far end another door opened into another empty room beyond. They were gracious, well proportioned, with the high, decorative ceilings of the nineteenth century. If you really looked, you could see where some of the ornamental plaster had been repaired in a couple of places. The floors were polished wood; walls and ceilings were painted white. A large, elegantly carved fireplace occupied the center of one wall.
Elizabeth walked through the empty space, gazing around her, and peered into the next room. They were mirrors, really, of the rooms he largely lived in below, except without the character of opulence and comfort he’d achieved there.
“They’re lovely rooms,” she acknowledged. “What will you use them for?”
He came and stood beside her in the doorway. “I thought I would give them to you.”
She blinked. “To me?”
“For when you are here. You can decorate them, furnish them as you see fit. Have a sitting room and a study if you like. Or a bedroom, a gymnasium, a library, whatever. They are yours to do with as you wish.”
Stunned, she took a moment to take in his meaning, to recognize the gladness that seemed to surge upward from her toes until it constricted her throat. And yet she still had to ask: “You’re not even doing this to keep me out of your hair, are you?”
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