03 - Evolution (5 page)

“Enough, Marcus,” Amelia said.

Turning his gaze back toward his persecuted brother,
Marcus saw that the deed was done. The spears and chains had done their
work, overcoming even William’s preternatural strength and endurance.
Enmeshed in his chains, the werewolf collapsed onto the snow, beaten and
bleeding. His chest rose and fell beneath his heavy bonds. Only this
labored breathing assured Marcus that his unfortunate brother still
lived.

“William,” he whispered hoarsely.

Mixed emotions warred within his chest. It could not be
denied that his brother had posed a dire threat to them all. His
depredations had ravaged the countryside for years now, costing the
lives of countless innocent vampires and mortals. Worse yet, his hellish
curse had proven damnably contagious, creating an entire breed of
subhuman monsters like himself. Before William had succumbed to the
primeval infection in his blood, the world had never heard of
werewolves. He had become the progenitor of a loathsome new species.

And yet, William could not be blamed for what he had
become. Marcus stared in sorrow at his vanquished brother. If not for a
capricious twist of fate, their destinies might have been reversed.
He might have been born a vampire,
Marcus
thought,
and I… an animal.
He alone
understood how hard his brother had fought against the curse.

But what would become of William now?

“Marcus!”

He turned to see Viktor stalking out of the forest,
flanked by a complement of additional Death Dealers. The warlord’s armor
and sword were smeared with lycan blood. His helmet had gone astray
somewhere, exposing a craggy, weathered face. Although immortal, Viktor
resembled a man in his early fifties—the very age at which he had become
a vampire. Pale brown hair, streaked with gray, hung past his shoulders.
He appeared enraged to find Marcus present, in defiance of his
instructions.

To hell with him!
Marcus
thought furiously. The red-haired Elder drew his sword from its
scabbard. He had his own grounds for anger. His voice rang with
betrayal:

“He was not to be harmed! Place him in my charge as we
agreed, or you will pay for your deceit!”

A chorus of metallic threats greeted his threat. Looking
around, Marcus was surprised to find himself targeted by dozens of
loaded crossbows. His jaw dropped as he realized belatedly that the
Death Dealers took their orders from one Elder and one Elder alone.

Viktor.

“And you will learn your place,” Viktor said sternly.
His voice softened as he strove to reason with the other Elder. “Your
sympathy for this beast is foolish.” He gestured at the captured
werewolf. “Your brother is entirely beyond your control.” Viktor shook
his head. “It will be done my way.”

Marcus swept his gaze over the weapons arrayed against
him. His face held not a hint of fear. “You know well the consequences
if you murder me… or William.”

“If you so much as speak his name again,” Viktor warned,
“you will have chosen that future for him yourself.”

Was he bluffing? Surely he wouldn’t
dare…?
Marcus’ blue eyes were ablaze with fury. He scanned the
implacable faces of the Death Dealers, but found no sympathy for his
brother’s plight, nor any trace of the loyalty to which he, Marcus
Corvinus, was entitled. He had no doubt that the warriors would open
fire on him if Viktor commanded it.
Turncoats!
he thought venomously. He clenched his fists at his side.
Traitors!

He looked to Amelia for support, but found none to be
had. Her beautiful face could have been made of porcelain for all the
emotion it displayed. “There is nothing else to be done, Marcus. In
time, you will understand this.”

Never!
he thought.
Not in a thousand years!
For a moment, he
contemplated taking arms against the lot of them, Viktor and Amelia
included. After all, he was older and stronger than them both. If he
could just manage to liberate William from his bonds, the two of them
might stand a chance of escaping Viktor and his treacherous jackals.
They could escape into the sheltering wilderness and therein plot their
revenge.
I still have my own loyal vassals back at
the castle,
he reminded himself.
They will
not stand by while I am treated thus. William and I can still reign over
the coven as we were always meant to.

But, no… this was only a hopeless fancy. The odds against
them were too great. It was two Elders against one, with over a dozen
Death Dealers allied with Viktor as well. And, after his ordeal, William
lacked the strength to retreat, let alone engage in combat against
superior numbers. Although it galled his very soul to admit it, Marcus
realized that this was a fight he could not win. At least not tonight.

Scowling, he lowered his sword.

“What is thy will, milord?” he asked, his voice fairly
dripping with sarcasm.

Viktor chose to ignore the other Elder’s impudent tone.
“Imprisonment for all time,” he decreed. “Far from you.”

He turned and strode away, confident enough in his
guards to turn his back to Marcus. He gathered his lieutenants to him
and began to make the arrangements for the disposition of the prisoner.

Hatred smoldered in Marcus’ eyes. Tearing his irate
gaze away from Viktor, he took one last look at his condemned brother.
The vanquished werewolf sprawled upon the snow-covered ground, his
mighty limbs rendered impotent by the chains wrapped around his furry
body. The Fates alone knew when and if Marcus would ever lay eyes on
William again.

I shall not forget you, my brother,
the Elder vowed. He wiped a blood-red tear from the corner of his eye.
I will bide my time until our moment comes round
again. No matter how long we must wait, someday you shall be free once
more.

And the world will tremble before us.

Present day

The abandoned mine was located in the rocky hills northeast of Budapest. A
corrugated-steel door barred the entrance to the mine, which was built
into the side of a hill. Rusty metal tracks led up to the sealed
doorway. Security cameras monitored the approach to the mine. DANGER! NO
TRESPASSING! a sign read in Hungarian. Selene ignored
the warning, tramping through the snow up to the locked entrance. A full
moon provided the only illumination, but Michael found that he could
easily see through the dark.

Another side effect of his new condition?

The young American was still trying to process all the
life-altering changes that had been thrown at him over the last few
nights. Barely seventy-two hours ago, he hadn’t even believed in
vampires or werewolves. Now he was some sort of a vampire/werewolf
hybrid and caught in the middle of a life-and-death struggle he was only
just beginning to comprehend, in the company of a lethal woman he barely
knew. He had been shot, bitten, abducted, drugged, and nearly devoured
since stumbling into that firefight in the subway station three nights
ago.

How did this happen to me?
he wondered.
I just want to be a doctor, that’s
all.

A pang struck him as he thought longingly of his dinky
apartment in the city, and of his residency back at the hospital. Both
were less than an hour away by car, but they might as well have been on
another planet. His old life was over now. There was no turning back.

It’s just me and Selene now.

A high-tech lock protected the mine from intruders.
Selene entered the key code, then pressed her thumb against a biometric
sensor. The rusty metal door squealed loudly as she threw it open,
exposing the interior of the mine. It was pitch-black inside, obscuring
Michael’s view of what lay beyond. It had been Selene’s idea to seek out
this so-called safe house, after they’d fled the lycans’ underground
lair beneath the city. He assumed she knew what she was doing.

I have to trust her,
he thought.
She’s all I have left in the world.

A power box was mounted on the wall just inside the
mountain. Selene flipped the switch, but nothing happened. The safe
house remained as dark as before. She scowled in annoyance.

Power must be out,
Michael
guessed. He wondered when was the last time anyone had visited this
location. From outside, the mine looked as if it had been deserted for
years.
Appearances can be deceiving,
he
reminded himself,
as I’m starting to learn all too
well.

Take, for instance, the leather-clad woman standing by
the power box. Michael recalled the first time he had laid eyes on her,
at that subway station downtown. He had been attracted to her
immediately, but had thought that she was just another hot-looking
European chick. How was he to know that she was really a kick-ass
vampire assassin?

I didn’t have a clue,
he thought.

She drew an automatic pistol from beneath the folds of
her voluminous black trench coat. A light mount was attached to the
stock of the gun. She pressed a switch and a thin beam of light
penetrated the darkness. The search-beam fell upon… the face of an
enraged werewolf!

Oh, fuck!
Michael thought.
His brown eyes turned into molten jet-black orbs as he instinctively
started to change into his hybrid form. Sharpened talons extended from
his fingertips…

But Selene was way ahead of him. She squeezed the
trigger of her handgun and fired repeatedly at the monster. Gunshots
echoed inside the mine, and the muzzle of the pistol flashed in the
darkness as she emptied an entire clip of silver bullets into the
creature.

Would that be enough to kill the beast? Michael watched
anxiously, waiting for the werewolf to either fall over dead or come
charging at them. But the monster seemed to have no reaction to the
barrage of silver bullets. Its savage face remained exactly where it
was, its open jaws frozen in the same fixed expression. Ivory fangs
glinted in the beam of the searchlight. Cobalt eyes stared glassily into
space.

Wait a sec,
Michael thought.
Something’s not right here.

Selene appeared to have reached the same conclusion. She
let up on the trigger and swept the beam over the unmoving creature
before them. Michael saw now that the werewolf was hanging lifelessly in
a cagelike apparatus at the far end of the chamber. Thick lengths of
chain were looped beneath the monster’s underarms, suspending the body
from the ceiling. A metallic harness was fastened around the werewolf’s
neck and snout. Old wounds could be glimpsed through its shaggy black
pelt. Its jaws were locked in a rictus of agony, not attack.

No blood flowed from the multiple bullet holes Selene
had just inflicted on the beast. She lowered her gun and glanced at
Michael.

“I may have overreacted,” she said, with just a trace of
embarrassment in her voice.

No shit,
Michael thought.
The werewolf was obviously long dead. Michael’s talons retracted back
into his fingers and his eyes turned human once more. His heartbeat
slowed to a less frenetic pace. Obviously, the dead creature posed no
threat to them.
Talk about a shock, though!

He couldn’t help noticing how quickly he had started to
transform at the sight of a potential enemy. He had changed without
thinking, just as he had during that final battle with Viktor back in
the underworld. Was his bizarre new existence already becoming second
nature to him? The change had felt as natural as breathing, which scared
him more than a little.

Get used to it,
he told
himself harshly.
This is who you are now.

Easier said than done,
another part of his mind answered back.

Tucking her pistol back beneath her coat, Selene located
a fuse box on the opposite wall. She opened the box and reset the
tripped switches. A generator hummed somewhere deeper inside the mine.
Fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead. The sudden illumination
hurt Michael’s eyes and he blinked against the glare.

The dead werewolf could be seen more easily now. Looking
closer, Michael saw that the body had been hooked up to various pieces
of sophisticated medical technology, including an electrocardiogram,
intracranial-pressure monitor, Swan-Ganz catheter, a mobile X-ray unit,
and your basic physiologic monitor, all top-of-the-line. Electrodes were
connected to shaved portions of the werewolf’s anatomy. A crash cart
held an emergency defibrillator, just in case the Death Dealers had
needed to revive one of their lycan guinea pigs. A metal tray rested on
a stainless-steel counter next to the open cage. Scalpels, scissors,
forceps, retractors, hemostats, and other surgical tools were scattered
atop the tray. He scowled at the obvious bloodstains on the instruments;
maintaining a sterile environment was obviously not a priority.
Anesthetics were conspicuously absent.

Michael recalled the safe house he and Selene had
briefly stayed at in the city, after their escape from the vampires’
mansion. Selene had mentioned that lycan prisoners were sometimes
interrogated at such locations. From the looks of things here, those
prisoners also got turned into guinea pigs on occasion—by vampire
scientists looking for newer and better ways to exterminate their
ancient foes?

He felt a stab of sympathy for the poor, dead beast.
Only a few hours ago, Michael had been strapped to an examination table
himself, while Lucian extracted Michael’s blood for his own arcane
experiments. The lycan leader had intended to use a unique enzyme in
Michael’s blood to transform himself into an unstoppable
werewolf/vampire hybrid, but his master plan had gone awry. In the end,
Lucian had perished, and Michael had become the hybrid.