The Vampire's Retribution, page 28
“Bon Giorno, Signore. I am Rosalinda,” she said, not very proficient in English. “It is determined I go.” Her gentle voice could calm any anxious heart.
The good sister didn’t appear comfortable around him, but he sensed a world of history behind a quick glance, which came at him through thick, long lashes. Hope swelled within him. And like a dancer, spry and sure-footed, she got in and sat next to Magdalena, never touching the vehicle, never revealing her hands.
The van door slid shut and Gabriella tossed a pair of sunglasses over, which he caught midair. “Super! Mystical vamp speed intact. Seeing as you haven’t been in heavenly morning sunshine for a really long time, I think you’re gonna need them more than me. Put them on, and there’s no need to say thanks out loud, either. Healer…holy girl…psychic… ex-Guardian all rolled into one. Some of us just seem to have all the luck,” she added with a touch of sarcasm.
“And talkative, too,” he muttered under his breath.
The van sped down the empty streets with him gripping the dashboard.
“Relax, Malone. The color’s already draining from your face, and I don’t have any yummy yogurt bars hidden up my sleeve to sop up those wicked tummy acids you’re about to experience.”
As his stomach growled, he shot her a glare. She reminded him of Alana but didn’t look old enough to be released from the mystical mission.
“I’ll be thirty-two in October. I did my ten years, packed up my weapons and came here to get ready—just for you,” she replied, taking treacherous mountain turns on two wheels. When they were almost to the top of the mountain, she pulled the van off the road into a dense patch of trees. She cut the engine and turned to him. She outlined what would happen. It was a very simple plan, and she answered every one of his questions before he could ask it. Then she said with a devilish grin, “Okay, are we ready to rumble, Malone?”
His answer? “Absolutely.”
Chapter 39
The Villa
“There are two of them in the circular drive,” Gabriella whispered. Her habit was tucked up into a cinch at her waist for the hike up the hill. A pouch hung from it, containing items she’d need. Unlike the other healers in black sandals, Gabriella wore sturdy work boots as well as thick, black leggings under her habit.
“You must like carrots,” he whispered with a sardonic smile.
“Nah, I’m an old burger and fries girl. I’m using my other set of eyes. The one on the left is built like a bull, don’t ya think? We’ll make sure he does the carrying.” Sister Magdalena nodded, but he was confused. Where is the third sister? “Rosalinda is going in the other direction. Her mission is different. Don’t worry, Malone. She grew up here…she can walk the mountain blindfolded,” she replied to his unanswered question—again.
He shrugged, not about to question this one. Sister Magdalena waited, silent behind him. He couldn’t imagine how this shy doctor was going to pull it off. The ex-Guardian smoothed her habit back in place, and both nuns smudged earth on their hands and faces. Gabriella signaled. Magdalena started to whimper. They stumbled toward the skinny guard. In perfect Italian, Gabriella cried, “Scussa, Signore, scussa.” She held up Magdalena, who sobbed between coughs.
The guard eyed the villa but let them approach. Gabriella spoke rapidly, pointing at the trees, gesturing wild with her hands, frantically describing how the van had “broken down”. Michael heard the translation in his mind: “Please, sir, can we use your phone to call our convent and a towing service? We don’t wish to impose, but this is the closest villa.” Gabriella started to cry, and Magdalena swooned into the guard’s arms.
“Vincenzo,” he called loudly, “Vieni qua!” The beefy guard came running, completely forgetting his evil mission.
“Grazzi, mille grazzi,” Gabriella said, swiping away her tears. Then they were led into the villa where Alana and Lukas were being held.
****
Michael stayed low and followed the tree line around the back. Outside, a broad disfigured woman was hanging clothes. When she turned in his direction with clothespin in hand, he knew she was the Georgian and her name was Sofia. He followed her sightline to his right. A window yawned open. He crawled through tall weeds, climbed into a small bedroom, and moved in silence stopping behind the open door to the kitchen.
Two guards were eating breakfast. Michael smelled his son’s blood on them. He sensed Lukas was directly under the kitchen and heard his boy’s shallow breaths. Unconscious. Irregular heartbeat. He swallowed his rage. But not time to kill. Not yet. Gabriella’s animated voice came at him, talking rapid Italian on the foyer’s phone.
The beefy guard brought Magdalena into the kitchen and sat her down carefully trying to revive her. “Hey, old cow,” he yelled in Italian, waving his arms over his bald head, “get your ugly face in here.” Again, he understood every word watching from the slim space where the bedroom door met its frame. Sophia trudged in and saw the pale nun, blessed herself, then brought her a glass of water. No emotion animated her scarred face even though he sensed she knew Magdalena.
As soon as Gabriella entered the kitchen they sprang into action. Magdalena slumped to the floor and the guard dove for her. Sophia dumped the pot of hot coffee on one eating breakfast. His howls of pain erupted, and Michael burst in to snap his neck. Gabriella knocked the wind out of the other guard with a hard, fast punch to his chest. Michael snapped his neck as well. When the third one cornered Gabriella, Michael killed him swiftly by crushing his windpipe and then, he did the same to the fourth guard before he could shout.
“Four down, two to go,” he said as Sophia looked at Gabriella.
“Okay, she says they’re upstairs not feeling too well. She served them spoiled food an hour ago. What do you say, Malone? Are you ready to kick a couple of sore butts?” she asked, with tight fists on her waist.
“You know, Sister, you’re some piece of work,” Michael whispered with a smirk. “Remind me never to get on your testy side.”
She gave a quick shrug and signaled him to slip silently up the wrought-iron staircase in the foyer, and he had no trouble following her lead. At the top landing, they detected two beating hearts. The men were located in the smaller bedrooms, both on the villa’s right side. Michael started to speak, but Gabriella held a finger to her lips. She pointed to her forehead, instantly conferencing him without words. Each took a bedroom and waited by the bathroom doors for their unsuspecting victims.
Alana’s scent was on a shirt lying on the floor by the bed. A toilet flushed and then water ran in the bathroom sink. Fifteen seconds later, a man staggered out moaning, holding his stomach. Michael grabbed the sweating perpetrator by the throat, held him high off the ground and glared murderous.
“You touched her, didn’t you?”
Choking, the wiry bastard eyes popped wild. When released he collapsed on the floor, coughing and grunting.
Rage stood in his eyes. This one is evil, devoid of anything except vain stupidity. He grabbed the shirt off the floor and bound his mouth, and then stood on each hand. Bones broke when he ground a heavy heel into each of them. One at a time. And slow. His muffled screams were useless as Michael pulled him up by the hair. “You will never lay your filthy hands on an innocent again.” He kneed the guard’s chest, sent him careening across the room to land in a broken heap. “And just in case you feel like running,” he added, bringing down the heel of his boot on one kneecap, then the other, which rendered the man unconscious.
“A little bit of overkill, ya think?” His gaze lit on Gabriella dragging the other guard gagged and trussed with nylon cords behind her.
“Pent up aggression, Sister, or payback?” he asked noticing the guard’s broken jaw.
“Well, he kept cursing at me, so I taught him a lesson. There’s hope for this one’s soul.” Michael took over, flinging the guard across the bedroom, which landed him in the bathroom tub.
She suddenly stilled. “You need to hurry. I’ll get the van up the driveway.” Adding with respect, “This is as far as we can help, Champion. The rest is up to you.” Without a sound, she left, and he followed her down the staircase. As she sprinted through the foyer he turned and stared at the open basement door. The time had come.
Like angelic sentinels the two sisters were standing silent and still. Sophia walked over to Rosalinda with a kitchen knife in hand. Her head bowed and Rosalinda placed her hands on the Georgian’s wispy-thin hair and blessed her. With tears in her eyes, Magdalena embraced Sophia.
Sophia looked down the stairs. Something close to resolve echoed through his soul.
“No, Signora,” he whispered, “this is my fight—mine alone,” but she put her right hand over her heart and bowed her head.
The angelic sentinels moved away, and he approached just as she grabbed a broomstick which was wedged between the wall and the first stair. More than ready, he followed her down. She stood by a door. Alana’s scent came at him, but she shook her head and pointed to the opposite door. He jerked his head toward it. The scent of his son wafted strong, and his heartbeat was erratic. As the Georgian entered the room with Alana, he entered the other.
Chapter 40
Rescue
The room was dark and reeked of spoiled wine. Lukas. Barely breathing. He choked down rage and taking a firm hold on his son’s bleeding wrists he pulled them up and over the meat hook. Tiny ribbons of old scars covered his son’s back and chest, which amped up his fury. He slashed the rope that bound his boy with his pearl-handled knife. Weighing nothing in his arms he flew up the stairs with Lukas cradled close. Immediately he handed him over to the two waiting sisters.
A deep breath refocused his fury as he walked back down. He entered the room with Alana without a sound.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. To his left, Sophia’s body had been gutted down the center. To his right, the love of his life. Her expression was pure terror, but she was alive. Shallow slashes covered Alana’s naked body. Her limbs tied with ropes and spreadeagle on the dirt floor. Her lifeblood smeared like a morbid second skin. Tall black candles burning high and bright stood at the five points of a pentagram painted on the dirt with animal blood as if in preparation for some perverted ritual.
Standing over her? Clayton Mails, barefoot and shirtless. “You fucking. Miserable. Little. Bastard,” he hissed.
Clayton turned. The look was pure shock, but then his mouth curled into a wicked smile. Carved symbols bled down his chest and arms. His fly was open, and one hand was reaching in. Clayton’s beady eyes narrowed as he blew a foul wind toward him, which sent his body flying across the room like a piece of paper.
Hitting the wall, air deserted his lungs. He winced in human pain and tried to breath.
“Your vampire’s here, whore. And I didn’t expect him until sunset.” Clayton sneered, glowering at him. “How’d ya manage this one? Let me guess… You went groveling to the Georgians. I figured that old bitch was one of them when she came at me with a fucking kitchen knife and a broken broomstick; with that pathetically “holier than thou” look on her hideous face. Never send a religious fanatic to do a dead man’s job.”
Clayton’s hand stretched toward him. He hit the ceiling and then crashed to the dirt floor. Blood dripped from his nose, the copper taste coating the back of his throat. Something sinister like dark magic pulled at his soul, which made him nauseous enough to vomit.
“I have powerful abilities that far exceed one mystically enhanced vampire’s. You can watch my final human act before I descend. Satan’s son will burst forth from her womb. My gift to the sorcerers will destroy Guardians, one by one. Not like your insane brat! He’ll be dead within minutes. Mine will thrive!”
A quick glance slid to Alana. Unexpectedly she rolled her eyes as if bored by the creep. “In life you will triumph” echoed through his brain. Whatever dark spell held him in place had to be broken. And his body should have been wracked with pain, but it wasn’t. Something came to mind. Clayton had always been too stupid to be witty, so he took a chance.
“What is this, your awful audition for a scary movie? How long did it take to practice those spooky lines? Jeez, couldn’t you pick something with more pizzazz and a bit less speechy?” Alana nodded and he kept going. “Do you think your twisted little sperm will be able to swim far enough? You’ve got that little thing out and look how you’re pumping yourself. Nothing’s rising. Just a flaccid piece of flesh. But let’s get a ruler. We could measure. I mean, I’m just guessing, but I’d say I have more than a few inches on you.” The crushing sensation against him was still unmovable. “You know, you need to learn a thing or two about lusty sex. There’s a trick to it you’re sorely missing. I’ve never had to tie a woman down to do her. You can pump and thrust all you want, but you’ll never get that pathetic excuse for a dick as far as I have.”
The liaison’s face reddened with rage. He whispered words and with a thrust of his hands, the Champion went sliding into the corner of the stone room. His head split open, and blood trickled down his forehead. “You miserable little vampire, now you don’t get to watch and listen!”
“Oh, come on, Clayton, let’s play fair…just this once. I promise I won’t cheat,” he whined, like this was a game of checkers. But his arms released from the dark magic grip. And the little egomaniac had become distracted, needing to pump his “prized possession.”
“Isn’t it a fucking pain when that happens. Look. Your hands are shaking.” He propped himself up on an elbow. “Look at all that pumping and pulling. I’ve had a little experience. Three hundred years of hand jobs makes me an expert. I could give you a few tips. It’s all in the way you—”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Clayton yelled and turned to face him.
Michael stretched one leg far enough to kick over a candle. Its tall flame extinguished. He was free. “Death cannot win against itself. Only in life will you triumph.” He finally understanding the priest’s cryptic words.
When Clayton rushed him, he rolled his body and got another candle down. But it wasn’t time for the liaison to touch him. Yet. Swiftly skirting the pentagram, Michael swiped at a third with an outstretched hand and kicked at the fourth. One candle remained—at Alana’s head. With super speed, he grabbed for its base and flung it in the direction of the liaison.
Clayton took his hands off himself, raised his arms high and swiped the candle away. Michael clicked his tongue and sympathetically shook his head, staring at the pitiful penis. “Oh well,” he said in a matter-of-fact way, “all gone.” The demented liaison made the mistake of looking down at it, and Michael leapt to his feet.
Taking one long stride forward he slammed his boot into Clayton’s carved chest. The puny man sailed into the wall. Out of nowhere, it was as if Clayton rallied more sinister power shrieking, “You think you can take me, vampire? Think again!” Both fists balled. Levelled at his groin. Like a massive shot of hot energy had hit him, he dropped to his knees unable to breathe, which he needed to do now.
Clayton picked up the knife. “I used this on the empath and the Georgian. I used it on that Helena, the meddling angel who raised your brat. I cut your whore with it, too. I’ll be killing you with it as well.” He strutted over and sliced Michael’s left cheek, cackling when his new victim winced in pain.
“Ah, now boy-o, did I finally shut ya up,” he asked, smearing the blood off the blade and down Michael’s leather-clad shoulder. “I want it clean when it goes through your neck. Silver will do the trick, right vampire? But then again, it’s ancient and mystical. They’ll be screaming at their end. They will suffer, vampire. But for you it only takes a second… swoosh across your neck! Oooh—and this blade will send you home to Hell.”
He stood over him gloating, far too talkative and far too confident.
“Only in life will you triumph…”
“Clayton. You have me. Please. Let them go,” he managed to whisper with measured humility.
“What’s this, lad, you’ll be beggin’ me now? Ah, Michael, Michael, Michael—tis not like ya, boy-o! Suffering’s what ya need, hero. It’s what you do best. I’m not sensing the brat’s heartbeat. I think we’ve already lost him, Daddy!” He had slipped out of the phony brogue like a bad actor, came in front of him and sneered.
Michael let a dramatic sob escape. He bent low, aware the maniac was eating this up.
“I win! You’re defeated!” The liaison howled with excitement, closing in for the kill. “Now that’s more like it, you wayward freak. Kiss my feet and beg me more!”
Death cannot win against itself…Only in life will you triumph— He steadied himself.
“Look at me, vampire, I want to see blood tears drip as I send you to my master!”
Slowly, he knelt up straight and defiantly raised his head. The sacrificial blade was positioned at his neck. But when Clayton grabbed a fistful of his hair, a loud shriek sounded and Clayton staggered back.
Boldly, he stood leering. Screams filled the room as the liaison’s hand burned. Charred bone took its place as Clayton whimpered and howled. “What did you do to me, you miserable traitor! Why the sorcerers wanted you in the first place is a mystery to me!”
Michael steadily strode toward him. His eyes filled with pure hatred. “I told you years ago that the sorcerers would never own me,” he said, now dangerously calm. “They could never own my soul. You screwed with my head, used my innocent son as bait, but you did not win.”
The liaison lunged with the charmed knife in his other hand. Michael grabbed his wrist, which went up in flames as well. Screaming, the liaison scurried back against the wall, and he followed with slow, sure steps.
“Then you have the nerve to sic that poisonous beast on me…instead of turning away and doing the right thing.” He touched Clayton’s shoulders and both arms went up in flames. Howling and crazed, his beady eyes bulged.
“You tortured my son within a breath of his life. You destroyed my loyal empath, and you murdered another pure soul today.”
