The NightMan (5 page)

Dorian
and
his
vampires
moved
casually
toward
the
Norse
army’s
first
line
of
berserkers.
Twelve
against
five,
the
odds
were
not
in
the
favor
of
the
invading
horde.
 
Dorian
swiftly
dodged
the
first
man’s
blade.
To
the
man’s
surprise,
Dorian
grabbed
his
neck.
His
sword
dropped
from
his
nerveless
fingers
as
his
feet
swept
off
the
ground.
His
hands
dug
into
Dorian’s
pale
fingers
in
a
futile
attempt
to
free
himself.
His
eyes
widened
with
fear
as
he
watched
Dorian’s
eyes
flame
red
with
anger
and
his
mouth
open,
revealing
his
sharp
pointed
fangs.
A
crushed
windpipe
and
throat
silenced
any
screams.
 
Final
breaths
of
air
hissed
from
the
deflating
lungs
as
the
victor
discard
the
now
lifeless
body
and
turned
to
focus
on
the
leader.

The
battle
that
night
ended
in
an
unusually
bloody
massacre,
even
by
vampire
standards.
The
Norse
warriors
fought
fiercely
until
their
deaths.
There
was
no
honor
in
retreating
from
battle,
even
if
it
was
against
vampires.

Dorian
saved
the
Norse
leader
for
last.
His
punishment
was
not
a
quick
death,
nor
would
he
have
the
opportunity
to
die
proudly
in
battle.
He
was
held
prisoner
while
he
watched
his
men
die
one
by
one
at
the
hands
of
the
blood
thirsty
vampires.

When
the
battle
ended
Dorian
turned
to
the
Norse
Chieftain.
He
did
not
struggle
against
the
hands
which
held
him.
He
watched
Dorian
approach.

Dorian
walked
toward
the
man,
his
steps
smooth
and
stealthy
like
a
cat.
No
words
were
spoken
between
the
two
men
as
he
stood
only
inches
away
from
the
Chieftain.
Casually,
the
vampire
grabbed
the
man’s
head
with
his
left
hand
and
tilted
it
to
the
side.
With
his
right
hand
gripped
tightly
around
the
collar
of
the
shirt,
he
ripped
it
from
the
unarmed
warrior’s
shoulders,
exposing
the
fleshy
neck.
Dorian
inhaled
a
quick
breath
and
plunged
his
fangs
into
the
enemy’s
neck.
The
battle
was
over.

Murtough
being
grateful
to
Dorian
for
his
help
offered
him
more
land
and
what
little
gold
he
possessed
in
place
of
his
daughter.
Dorian
desired
something
more
valuable.
He
reminded
the
stubborn
Irishman
of
his
agreement.
 
Reluctantly

Murtough
dropped
his
head
in
defeat,
but
inside
of
him
the
heart
of
a
warrior
brewed.
He
motioned
for
his
wife
to
bring
forth
their
only
daughter.
The
debt
must
be
paid,
but
not
without
a
final
fight.

“NO!”
Murtough
abruptly
stood,
his
sword
drawn.

Dorian
moved
swiftly
and
grabbed
the
sword
from
Angus’s
hand.
If
it
was
a
battle
the
old
man
wanted,
then
he
would
give
him
what
he
asked.
The
swords
sand
loudly
as
they
clashed
together.

Iron
to
iron
the
swords
collided.
Dorian
stepped
back,
giving
Murtough
the
impression
he
had
the
best
of
him.
When
the
old
man
was
clear
of
the
threshold
of
the
front
door,
Dorian
made
his
move.
With
a
hasty
motion,
Dorian
twisted
his
body
and
flipped
the
sword
from
the
old
man’s
hand.
He
plunged
his
own
sword
into
the
ribs
of
Murtough,
watching
as
the
man
fell
to
his
knees.

Murtough’s
death
was
certain
at
this
point.
Dorian
may
have
won
the
victory
tonight,
but
there
was
one
victory
he
would
never
have.

Dorian
withdrew
the
sword
and
dropped
the
sword
to
the
ground.
With
one
hand
he
picked
Murtough
up
by
his
neck.
Without
a
word,
Dorian’s
mouth
claimed
his
neck.
Before
Dorian
could
draw
the
last
ounce
of
blood
from
Murtough,
he
was
caught
off
guard
by
the
man’s
last
ragged
words.

“Not
one
of
my
bloodline
shall
be
truly
yours.
They
shall
be
your
torment
for
all
of
eternity.
The
one
who
shall
have
her
heart
shall
be
your
reaper
of
death.”

Dorian
quickly
grabbed
the
old
man’s
head,
and
with
a
quick
jerk,
he
silenced
him
forever.
The
crimson
red
blood
dripped
down
Dorian’s
chin
as
fury
flamed
in
his
eyes.
He
never
believed
in
curses
until
now.
Dorian
released
Murtough’s
lifeless
body
and
watched
it
drop
to
the
ground.
For
a
long
moment,
Dorian
stared
at
the
corpse.
The
power
in
the
old
man’s
words
burned
a
fire
through
his
soulless
body,
sending
waves
of
chills
down
his
spine.
He
wondered
curiously
about
this
man.
A
man
of
such
powerful
words,
one
would
think
of
him
as
a
witch.