The Protectorate encampment outside East Angliae,
Roman Britain
"Save the girl…"
The words echoed in his head until he thought of nothing
else. If only his father had revealed to him more detail. If only he knew who he
was looking for.
If only…
The unending questions tortured him. Haunted his days and
tormented his nights. But with nothing more than a broken relic hanging from a
piece of knotted cloth, Donovan Bramwell had little to go by in his search for
the mysterious girl his people had headed out to protect.
For the last fortnight he had roamed through strange lands
trying to return to his grandfather's camp. The task hadn't been an easy
one. First, he had spent several days trying to escape the priest charged with
seeing to his protection, and then he had to make his way back to the
Protectorate camp by hiding from Roman barbarians pillaging their way through
Britain's provinces. None of his fellow Dead Walkers—humans and other
immortals who walked on the dark side of life—could have managed to escape as
he had. And now, by the devastatingly haunting site lying before him, all he
could think of were his father's last words to him.
"Should we fail, it will be up to you to save the girl…"
Donovan wandered through the encampment searching for his
father and grandfather, the two men responsible for driving the task at hand
into his brain. If only they had allowed him to remain with the camp and not
sent him off to a church for safekeeping. He was ten and five—a man—for the
gods' sakes. He didn't need to be kept from war like a child, secured from
the evils of the world.
Staring at the devastation surrounding him, Donovan's heart
ached. He could have helped his people.
For more than a month now, he had heard the council, both
mortals and vampires alike, speak of a pending invasion by the Romans. The
Protectorate, from what Donovan had surmised, had set off on a mission to save a
royal Celt, a girl born to both vampire and mortal worlds. But by the looks of
things, his people hadn't been successful. And now it was up to him to carry
out a task that an entire force of warriors had been stopped from doing.
Everywhere he turned Donovan found nothing but charred tents
and decapitated bodies. Long wooden stakes secured most of the corpses to the
muddy earth. Others were brutally beaten and riddled with arrows. The smell of
burning flesh churned his stomach. He easily deciphered vampire from human.
So did the enemy.
The thought struck fear into his soul. These Romans must have
known whom they were dealing with when they invaded the camp. The oath of
secrecy within the Protectorate had been broken, thought Donovan. If Caesar had
known a unified society of vampires and mortals existed in the Isles, he also
had to know subdivisions of the group existed throughout the Empire. A chill ran
down his spine as the realization of the horrid notion settled in his mind.
There were Dead Walkers everywhere. But until now, the Protectorate had managed
to keep the vampyric wars to a minimum, keeping the evil Dead Walkers well
within reach so that no major attacks outside their own realm could take place.
Obviously, the Protectorate had misjudged its stronghold.
A strong grasp locked around his ankle.
Donovan stumbled, his hands flailing out in front of him. Mud
smacked his lips. A Vampyric aura clawed at his soul, emitting from the fingers
squeezing around his leg.
He gathered his strength and pushed his arms against the
slippery mud, rising to his knees and staring at the ground below.
A bloodied body lay next to him, huddled in a muddy cocoon.
Donovan examined the man's face. But it did him little
good. The poor soul had been beaten to a bloody pulp, leaving his bones broken,
his features unrecognizable.
The man moved his raw lips in slow, tedious motions. From an
opened mouth came no words. The man flexed his hand a second time.
Donovan sensed the man wanted to say something to him, mayhap
reveal his dying wish. He leaned in close, placing his ear near the injured man's
mouth.
"Vastos…Iceni…"
He had never heard such names. The man's words made little
sense to him.
"Go…away. Return…to…Eire."
The man loosened his grip, but kept his fingers lightly
wrapped around Donovan's ankle. He said nothing more.
Donovan pulled away, and then turned back to face the man.
Something didn't make sense to him. The man gave off the aura of vampire, not
mortal. But he still had his head. He also hadn't been staked. Why would one
vampire be left with his heart intact, when all the others had been removed?
Donovan moved his leg, trying to free it from the dying man's
grip, but the bloodied warrior refused to let go. The overwhelming sense of
protection followed by an immense feeling of possessiveness washed over Donovan's
soul. The man clung to him for dear life.
Donovan searched the man's face one more time. Something
had to be recognizable. Then he saw it, four small trickles of blood oozing from
the man's neck.
He recognized the mark on the instant. Double puncture
wounds. The man had been bitten in the ancient Vampyric way, and apparently
so after he'd been beaten. He had also been drained of most of his blood.
In all his fifteen years, thought Donovan, he'd never seen
such madness, such barbarianism. This war now engaged vampire against vampire.
The thought sickened him. But why leave this particular Vampyric soul with his
head and his heart intact?
The man relaxed his fingers.
Donovan welcomed the opportunity to move away. He rose to his
feet and looked down upon the dying vampire. Whoever had committed this act did
so on purpose. The enemy wanted this specific vampire to die from bleeding, a
death most painful to a vampire. Once a double bite was complete, nothing could
be done to aid the victim, not even the gods could interfere. He'd die a slow,
painful death, two times over. One would kill off his mortal body, the second
death his Vampyric soul.
The thought unsettled Donovan more now then when he had first
discovered the puncture wounds. He bowed his head and prayed a silent prayer to
the gods. No soul should have had to endure such agony. He couldn't even begin
to imagine what the man must have witnessed on this battlefield. Donovan
wondered what it would feel like to be left so alone, knowing death would soon
claim your soul. If only he could understand the man's dying words. A pang of
regret gnawed at his soul.
A fiery pain struck his shoulder, crashing down upon his
flesh and cutting to the bone. On the instant, Donovan spun on his heel and drew
his sword.
A man dressed in a black cloak stood before him, the hood of
his cape covering his eyes. "So fine an ending to so fine a day," the
stranger said.
Donovan pushed the razor sharp edge of his sword closer to
the man's neck.
"A wound there would do me little harm."
Shock washed over him like a tidal wave. The entity standing
across from him gave off no Vampyric aura, no telltale signs of his soul's
hellish curse. Donovan didn't waver. At present, it didn't matter to him who
he was facing. It wasn't the first time he had battled a vampire, and if he
had anything to do with it, he'd survive this fight and live to face more.
"Who are you and what have you done to my people?"
"Your people?" The vampire before him raised one of
his gauntlet-covered hands, pushed the sword from his neck and pointed a
glove-covered finger down to the dying soul lying upon the ground. "The
last I checked," he said. "This group of worthless souls belonged to
his father."
Donovan froze. Impossible. It couldn't be his father.
"You lie." He didn't know what else to say. A son should have
recognized his own father, even among such physical chaos. How could he have not
known?
The vampire took a step forward. "I admit to many sins,
but in all my days, I have never once lied. I've no need to."
Donovan doubted that. He took a deep breath, his lungs
suddenly gasping for air. The girl… Thoughts of the young Celt came
flooding back to him. If the body upon the ground truly was that of his father,
then the mission had even more meaning. He reached for the silver stake hidden
under his tunic. During his vampyric training, he'd learned how easy one could
make the body become a virtual weapons caddy. "Back away or I will kill
you."
The vampire smirked. "Not even the gods could kill
me."
"Where is Angus Bramwell?"
"The Lord Protector escaped," the cloaked vampire
said. "He left like a coward, fleeing over that hill." He pointed to
the land behind where Donovan stood. "Not a loyal leader, in my
opinion."
His father had been abandoned. Pain hammered Donovan's
heart. He should have been there for his father, fighting side by side,
attacking the enemy. Donovan wanted to scream, to cry out, rant, rage…. But he
refused to show such weakness in front of his enemy. He'd focus on the task at
hand and mourn his loss later. He needed his every essence of will power to
avenge his father's death. He would have his revenge and he would have it no
matter what.
Donovan leaped forward. He aimed the stake for the vampire's
chest, hitting the heart dead center.
He bounced back, the force of his thrust too great for his
own weight.
A loud hiss splintered the dead air. A flash of white blurred
from beneath the vampire's hood.
Fangs… He refused to be bitten. Donovan lunged for the
vampire's neck and flicked a small dagger from under the wrist of his tunic
sleeve. He aimed for the jugular this time, hoping the man's neck would be
more pliable than his chest.
The vampire's hood fell back.
Donovan gasped. His hands remained poised at the vampire's
neck, an invisible force keeping him from moving the dagger any further. The man's
eyes were all too familiar to him. They were identical to his father's…to
his grandfather's…to his own. He backed away, stunned and confused,
disbelief coursing through every last nerve in his body.
"Yes," the vampire hissed. "You and I are one
and the same."
He shook his head, trying to dispel the shocking notion. Not
only had the vampire read his mind, but the creature also had revealed
information he found difficult to fathom. "Impossible."
The vampire shrugged, and then backed away. He clawed at the
stake protruding from his heart and removed it with a single tug, tossing the
blood-soaked metal to the ground in annoyance. He hissed a second time, and then
lifted his head up. He stared Donovan square in the eyes, his beady red orbs now
flaming with anger.
"Tell me, Donovan," the vampire said. "Do you
welcome the odd sensation of being a quasi as opposed to being a full-fledged
vampire?"
Donovan didn't answer. He also decided not to think too
much. The vampire before him knew his name, read his thoughts. The sense of
being in dangerous territory overwhelmed him.
"I can take away the pain of slow growth, the pain that
boils in the blood of one who teeters on the brink of both Vampyric and mortal
worlds. I can take it all away and grace you with full Vampyric powers." He
reached out an open hand, welcoming Donovan to step closer.
"How do you know of the quasi existence?"
The enemy offered a sly laugh. "I, too, was bitten while
within my mother's womb for the sole purpose of being born a quasi. But the
gods interfered, robbing my soul of life before I was born. The powers of
darkness then came to my mother's aid and gave me back that which had so
wrongly been taken away. I am now a full-fledged vampire with more powers than
any other in existence. No other dead walker can match my strength."
He didn't believe such nonsense. The gods didn't sin and
they didn't make mistakes. Only mortals and others born to this world erred in
judgment.
A rustle in the nearby trees caught Donovan's attention.
The essence of fear, emitting from a mortal soul, pricked his nerves.
The vampire slowly turned his head toward the forested land
adjacent to the camp, his eyes suddenly widening, focused on something unseen in
the distance.
The girl! Donovan knew in the deepest depths of his
heart, the vampire recognized the same soul that he did. His father's words
echoed in his head once more, sending a chill down Donovan's spine. He needed
to do something, anything. He wracked his brain for an answer, trying
desperately to think of a way to distract the vampire from the girl in the
forest. He dropped his dagger, the clanging sound of its metal blade hitting
against a broken shield on the ground caused the vampire to turn back to face
him.
"I know your thoughts, Donovan. Therefore I know your
plans. You are a fool to risk your life for another."
Donovan didn't answer. He took one step backward, then
another, and yet another.
"You can't escape me."
Maybe not, but at least you won't get the girl. Donovan
spun about and ran through the charred camp. His heart raced, and his breathing
was heavy. He scanned the area with his preternatural abilities and found only
one possible means of escape—an embankment at the edge of the hill.
Donovan ran as fast as his body allowed. Sliding over mud and
decay, his feet skidded and stomped. He refused to stop until the girl at least
had a chance to escape the vampire now in his shadow.
As he dove over an embankment, his heart pace slowed, and his
breathing calmed. He swallowed hard. He no longer had control of his body. The
skin upon his neck tore with the puncture of two fangs sinking deep into his
veins. He hadn't even realized the vampire had snagged him. His thoughts
swirled into one blur…Father…grandfather…the girl… He continued
to fall into a deep abyss of confusion until he felt nothing but the
encompassing mass of darkness.
"We found a girl, my lord," a deep voice echoed
from somewhere in the distance.
I have failed Father, Donovan thought. Donovan's
body went limp, his mind swirling in heavy fog.
The vampire at his neck took one last drink of his blood, and
then withdrew his fangs. Despite the confusion reeling through his mind, Donovan
remained aware of the vampire lingering over him. He swore he heard the creature
curse, then spit. But before he could decipher his enemy's words, the gaping
holes torn into his flesh began to burn. As the night air blanketed his skin, a
raging heat engulfed his blood. He tried to move, but his limbs were powerless.
The vampire's unexpected act of pulling away confused Donovan even further. He
wasn't going to die. His enemy wasn't going to kill him.
A moment later, ice-cold flesh brushed against his lips. A
metallic essence drenched his tongue as an uncontrollable desire to drink
overcame him. Donovan fought the urge to feed. Yet, despite his best efforts, he
swallowed hard, taking in all that the vampire offered him and then some. As he
swallowed, he felt the outer edge of his soul slip away. Panic rose inside
Donovan. Despite his confusion he struggled against the attacking vampire and
pushed away. He fell back, drained of all energy.
The burning sensation that seared his neck, flared up again.
"Vastos has returned," the vampire lapping at his
neck, whispered. "Welcome to my dark world."
