Crusader

MINISTRY OF PARANORMAL RESEARCH & DEFENCE

BOOK 2

BY ANDREW CHAPMAN

Crusader

By Andrew Chapman

This is a work of fiction.

All characters and events are the products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright ©2011 by Andrew Chapman. All rights reserved.

This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, except for selected passages for the purpose of critical reviews, without the written permission of the author.

Cover photograph ©2011 by Andrew Chapman. All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1456412302

ISBN-10: 1456412302

facebook.com/chapman.andrew

twitter.com/AndyOnTheWold

JAC.143

To my mother,

who is not to blame if I can swear like a trooper.

And to my father,

who is.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My grateful thanks to everyone who helped in the writing of this book, no matter how small their contribution:

As ever, the greatest debt of gratitude goes to Judith, my darling wife, who proof-read the original manuscript, pointed out errors, and gave as much support as humanly possible.

To everyone who bought PAGAN and encouraged, and even yelled at me to write the sequel.

To the crew at EnragedBibliophiles, for their insight, support and encouragement.

To everyone who asked me to sign copies of PAGAN. Never underestimate how great that feels for a writer.

And to Loki. Meow.

Lexington, KY

2010

Crusader

PROLOGUE

Wallachia, Romania

1447 AD

Many stories have been written about that moment, but almost none managed to capture the reality. There was no storm, no ominous peals of thunder, no sudden crack of lightning, and no deluge of rain. There was no mournful howl of a lone wolf echoing across the forest. The full moon utterly failed to emerge from behind the clouds at the precise moment that a small number of bats fluttered across it.

There were no bats. The moon wasn’t full. There were very few clouds.

There wasn’t even night. It was broad daylight.

The people approaching the castle weren’t disgruntled villagers who had finally managed to build up enough courage to overcome their terror. They were professional soldiers who had finally seen too much, for whom the nightmares had finally overwhelmed their ability to turn a blind eye, for whom the atrocities had become just too heinous.

Three hundred soldiers had met in secret and planned this day. All had, at the behest of their master and commander, perpetrated horrific acts against innocent men, women and children. There wasn’t a man amongst them who hadn’t participated in the gang rapes and the orgies of blood. Every man had spent hours confessing his sins to a priest. Each had been promised aid in cleansing their soul provided they fulfilled their duty this day.

Many had vowed that, after this day they would enter a monastery and spend the rest of their life trying to atone for their sins.

The priests had provided more immediate aid as well, in the form of crucifixes, bibles, holy water and blessings. Even now, the fluttering of brave hearts was bolstered and strengthened by the words—words few of them understood—spoken over them by the priests who made the sign of the cross on their forehead.

By far the biggest boost, however, was Father Theodore, a massive bear of a man who was leading the soldiers. Disdaining armor he strode at the head of the soldiers in his monk’s habit. In one hand he clutched a heavy flanged mace of solid iron tipped with silver; in the other, a large and battered bible. Hanging from his belt was an intricately engraved bell, a leather muffler silencing the clapper. His tonsured scalp gleamed in the moonlight, his bearded face twisted in a grimace of righteous anger, and his eyes blazed with a pious zeal.

Ahead stood the infamous castle, guarded by more soldiers. The path to the castle wound up over a thousand steps, but at no point was the alarm raised. The soldiers had managed to ensure that those sympathetic to their cause would be on guard duty this day.

Father Theodore strode into the courtyard, his dark eyes glittering in the torchlight.

To his right stood Crissus, the captain of the Master’s personal honor guard. He was wearing chain mail under a brightly polished cuirass and a gold-inlaid gorget protected his shoulders and neck. His chain mail coif had been thrown back to reveal his unruly brown hair and his boyish good looks. Crissus had been taken from his family as a child, turned into a plaything for the Master and his many friends. When he was fully grown the Master had tired of abusing his body and had turned the young man over to the guard. His rise through the ranks had been staggeringly fast and, after he turned twenty, he was rarely more than a few steps from the Master’s side. Many of the Master’s friends complimented him on his choice of bodyguard, but in truth Crissus hated the Master with every bone in his body and had been planning this day for over twenty years. His fingers rhythmically clenched and unclenched on the haft of his war hammer as his blue-green eyes swept the castle.

The three hundred soldiers were mostly from the Master’s army, with only a few from his personal honor guard, but today all wore the same colors. Each had a red and a white ribbon, twisted together, wound around his upper arm to identify him to his comrades.

“Ho, Crissus, well met my brother,” boomed a voice from across the courtyard. “What transpires this morn?”

From out of the shadows stepped Johannes, Crissus’ lieutenant and long time friend. He stopped when he saw the burly priest and the soldiers the captain had at his back.

“Brother mine?” he said with puzzlement on his face.

“Johannes, my friend and brother,” said Crissus, stepping forward. “In the name of the love I bear thee, I beg thee to join us. If thee cannot, I beg thee to step aside and hinder us not.”

“Hinder thee? Reveal thy purpose, brother!”

“Brother, ‘tis our intent this night to seek out that foul creature that doth reside within, reveling in the title of ‘Master’ and, will ye, nil ye, to end it’s cursed reign o’er this land.”

Johannes’ eyes narrowed.

“Traitor,” he hissed. “I had suspected as much, but had hoped different. Thy death shall be thy reward.”

“So be it, brother mine,” said Crissus sadly. “Defend thyself, my oldest friend.”

“To arms! To arms! Kill them all!” bellowed Johannes as Crissus raised his war hammer.

Johannes turned and ran toward the castle with Crissus hot on his heels as soldiers erupted from hiding places around them. These were mostly the Master’s personal honor guard, men chosen for their good looks and uniformity of height than for their abilities. Few of them trained with as much dedication as their captain, and none had taken advantage of their Master’s travels to expand their knowledge of warfare.

Battle was joined, the two sides clashing noisily. The honor guard held their ground, pushing the soldiers back towards the walls, crying alarms to the loyal soldiers in the castle. But treachery worms deep and the soldiers that poured out of the barracks were wearing the same red-and-white as their brothers. The honor guard found themselves caught between two enemies and, back to back, prepared to sell their lives for the Master who owned their minds.

Father Theodore waded amongst the guard, his voice raised in righteous prayer, his mace crushing skulls and helmets with equal ease, rending shields and breastplates as he struck out with the wrath of his God.

Inside the castle Crissus pursued Johannes down the long hall to the throne room, their boots clattering on the polished marble floor, the rattle and clank of their armor echoing in the high ceiling.

Johannes spun and faced his Captain, placing his back to the huge oak doors that led to the throne room. Crissus understood the symbolism. As the Master’s honor guard, the throne room was their responsibility, and they were sworn to defend it with their lives.

“Brother mine,” panted Crissus, “in the name of God I pray, step aside and go in peace.”

“Nay, brother mine,” said Johannes as he drew his sword. “Thy vow might have been made in vain, but mine bindeth me stronger than steel.”

“So be it,” said Crissus and raised his hammer in salute.

Johannes returned his gesture, sweeping his sword up until the crosspiece touched his nose.

The two lunged simultaneously, weapons ringing against each other. Johannes stared in shock. Crissus had blocked his strike, not with shield or hammer, but with a sword-breaker. The foot-long, toothed dagger held his sword fast and, with a well-practiced wrench, Crissus slammed the sword-breaker to the side, tearing the weapon from his friend's grip and sending it spinning into the shadows.

“Forgive me, brother mine,” said Crissus, genuine regret in his eyes as he dropped the sword-breaker and seized his war hammer in both hands.

The head whistled through the air and hit Johannes in the temple, crushing his skull and ending his life.

Crissus stepped over his fallen friend and flung the doors wide.

The throne room was empty, just as he had expected it to be. The fact that Johannes and the honor guard had been waiting proved that the Master had been aware of their treachery. By his very nature, though, the Master must be still inside the castle. Father Theodore, bleeding from a shallow wound on his cheek, led the soldiers into the throne room.

“Disperse,” Crissus ordered. “Find the creature.”

Despite the stories there was no pitched battle, no desperate clash with the Master screaming defiance from the highest tower as the castle burned around him. He was found hiding in the cellar, trying in vain to open the hidden door to his escape passage.

When Crissus and Father Theodore came down the dank, badly lit stairs the Master was kneeling on the moldy straw that littered the stone floor. His hands were secured behind his back with heavy, thick manacles and blood ran down his face. Someone had stabbed him in both eyes with a short silver spike.

“Vlad Dracul,” intoned the priest, making the sign of the cross in front of the kneeling vampire. “Thy reign is at an end. In nomine Patris et filii et Spiritus Sancti.”

The vampire moved his head around, as if he could still see.

“Crissus? I smell thy traitorous stink,” he hissed. “I shall have my revenge on thee, and on thy descendants.”

The priest stepped forward, his voice climbing to a sonorous chant in resonant Latin.

“I will have my vengeance!” screamed the vampire.

The priest’s mace rose.

“I shall return!”

The mace came down, once, twice, thrice, spattering blood on the walls, the floor, and the soldiers, each blow given in the name of the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit as the priest invoked the grace of God for the poor, innocent soul trapped within the vampire’s body.

Sixty miles away, Vlad Dracul’s most prized treasure was being carried by his most trusted servants, to be placed in hiding until it was needed again.

CHAPTER

1

“They’re running!”

I rose to my feet at Rock Ape’s shout and took off after the three vampires. Somehow the vamps had spotted our ambush and were bolting. The surrounding residents should have hid our specific mental signatures, but somehow the leeches had picked up on us.

“They’ve got a car?” asked Knuckles from behind me as we ran. “They came south in a fucking car?”

Ahead, I heard an engine start with a throaty roar.

“Yeah, you thought they walked?” I yelled. “Get the—“

I was interrupted by the sound of a second engine coming to life. A Ministry Land Rover pulled alongside me and Marie beckoned me from the driver’s seat.

“Need a lift?” she said with a smile.

I jumped into the passenger seat as the vamp’s car shot out of a side street and careered down the road. Marie floored the accelerator and the Land Rover took off after them.

“You know we’ll never catch them in this, right?” she yelled over the wind, engine and tires.

“We don’t have to,” I yelled back. “Just keep them in sight.”

“They’re headed for the motorway, Jack.”

“I know. Take the next left.”

“What? That doesn’t lead to the motorway!”

“I know! Take it anyway!”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw another set of headlights. Knuckles’ team had made it to their own Land Rover and were following closely. I had to hope Knuckles was driving. I’d shown her the trick a few weeks back and she’d know where we were going.

“Put your foot down!”

Marie broke into a broad grin and the Land Rover surged forward. Her werewolf reflexes were fast enough—and her night vision sharp enough—that the dark road wasn’t much of a challenge for her. For me it was as scary as a penalty shootout. I had the frame of the windshield in a death grip with my left hand and the frame of my seat similarly gripped in my right. I wanted to yell at her to slow down but I knew we only had seconds if this was to work.

“Stop on the bridge,” I said as skidded around another corner.

“Okay. Boss,” she said, frowning. “You gonna tell me what this is about?”

She pulled the Land Rover up on a bridge that crossed a set of railway lines. I jumped up onto the seat and stepped into the back.

“What do you see over there? I said, pointing.

Marie stood up and looked in the direction I was pointing as Knuckles’ Land Rover pulled up behind us.

“I can see the motorway!” said Marie.

“Yep,” I replied as I swung the pintle-mounted GPMG around. “Want to kill the lights?”

In the other Land Rover Knuckles was following my lead. Rock Ape and Pogo jumped down, and set up their LSWs on the side of the bridge. Marie joined them, aiming her ‘shorty’ battle rifle towards the strip of motorway visible a little over thirty yards away. The vamp’s car would have to travel about a mile and a half of back roads to get to the motorway and then, assuming they were headed north, they would flash back past us.

Cally extended the bipod on her AWSM sniper rifle and settled down on the edge of the bridge, peering through the scope.

With the lights doused we were waiting in almost complete darkness.

“Where the hell are they?” hissed Knuckles.

I shushed her and listened. There was an engine in the distance.

“Here they come,” said Cally calmly.

We tracked the car’s headlights as they winked through the trees.

I didn’t have to say anything. As soon as the car broke into view it was greeted by a hail of silver-tipped rounds. I kept the jimpy on the vamp’s car as it swerved and skidded across the road. We kept up the pressure, hammering hundreds of rounds across the short distance. Just when I thought the car would escape it suddenly slewed across the road, slammed into the barrier and skidded to a halt facing us. We kept up the rate of fire for a few seconds, pounding the stationary vehicle.

“Cease fire!” I yelled.

The shots immediately stopped, echoes bouncing away into the distance.

“Any movement?” I said after a moment.

“No,” said Cally. “Nothing happening. Wait … yes … front passenger seat. Something’s alive.”

I couldn’t see much, not with the car’s lights still pointed our way, but if Cally said she saw movement, there was something alive. With a jerky movement the passenger door flew open and a vamp tumbled out. The figure surged to his feet and started running. I opened my mouth to give the order but Cally was way ahead of me; a single shot rang out and the vamp hit the tarmac.

“You kill him?” I asked.

“Nope, but I wouldn’t hang around if you want to ask him any questions,” she replied.

“Right,” I said, jumping down into the passenger seat. “Marie, let’s go. Knuckles, you and your team stay here. If he tries to get up, persuade him otherwise.”

The last was delivered at a yell as the Land Rover roared off into the darkness. Within a few minutes we had driven around to the motorway and were approaching the wrecked car. It was an Escort with an obnoxious body kit and a spoiler you could go surfing on. Marie had been right; any halfway competent driver would have little problem losing the Land Rover driving this thing, even if the upgrades were purely cosmetic.

I made a mental note; we needed some better vehicles for pursuit if vamps were going to start running around in boy-racermobiles.

“Check out the car,” I said. “I’ve got the runner.”

I jumped out of the Land Rover and keyed my radio.

“Okay, Knuckles. We’ve got it. Get over here.”

“Sure thing, boss,” came the reply.

I sauntered over to the prone figure, shining a flashlight ahead of me.

The vamp had managed to crawl a few feet further, but he wouldn’t be moving fast for a long while. Cally had shot the vamp in the hip, the high-powered round smashing through both joints before exiting, leaving the bloodsucker effectively hobbled. I slung my FAL on my shoulder and pulled out my SIG.

“Hey buddy,” I said conversationally, using my boot to flip the vamp onto his back. “You’re a long way from home.”

The vamp was a young man—or had been when he was turned—maybe eighteen or nineteen, with blue-black hair and dark eyes.

“Wanna tell me what you thought you were doing?” I asked. “See, this is my territory. I’ve pissed all over this place.”

“Fuck you, copper,” he gasped. “I don’t have to tell you a fucking thing.”

“No, that’s true,” I conceded.

The vamp was recently turned. His accent and attitude was pure chav; loud, obnoxious and self-important. I wouldn’t have looked twice at this guy if he’d been yelling obscenities from the stands at a football match. There was a certain way of handling these types when they were human. I was betting it wouldn’t be much different for the vampire version.

I raised my foot and stomped down on his ruined hip, grinding the shattered bones. He screamed, the veins in his neck standing out like hosepipes.

“But,” I went on in the same friendly tone of voice, “I was hoping you’d chose to talk to me.”

Something grabbed my attention as the vamp whipped his head from side to side and I moved my foot, using the toe of my boot to turn his chin. Beneath his ear was a small black tattoo, about an inch across.

“Now, what is that?” I asked.

“Go fuck yourself, narc,” he spat.

It looked like a Nordic dragon, wingless, curled into a circle, with its tail wrapped around its own neck. It also looked disturbingly familiar.

Knuckles’ Land Rover pulled up behind me and her team climbed out.

“Billy?” I called.

“Yo!”

I grinned at the response. Billy was irrepressibly cheerful.

“You got your camera?”

“Right here, bossman.”

He appeared at my elbow, pulling a digital camera from his pocket.

“Get me some pictures,” I said.

I was quietly pleased when Billy didn’t even ask what I wanted him to photograph.

“What’s the tattoo mean?” I asked as Billy started snapping.

“I ain’t fuckin’ telling the filth nothin’,” said the vamp through clenched teeth.

“Oh, wrong answer,” I replied, placing the sole of my boot against his cheek and leaning my weight forward.

“You’re gonna die, copper,” he grunted as I pressed down.

“I came to terms with that a long time ago,” I replied.

“No, you’re gonna die soon. He’s comin’.”

“Is he?” I said with heavy sarcasm. “Well, when he gets here we’ll be sure to say hi to him for you.”

“Stupid human. You think you know. You don’t know.”

“No, that’s right. I don’t know,” I said, taking the weight off of his face. “Now, what is it I don’t know?”

“You’re already dead, you just don’t know it,” he said, giving me a bloody, fang-filled grin.

Suddenly he twisted, his hand coming up with a small pistol. I reflexively squeezed the trigger. Two shots rang out and the vampire slumped backwards, dead.

“Dammit,” I said with weary resignation.

“Uh, Jack,” said Marie from behind me. “You better check this out.

I turned and walked back to the wrecked Escort.

“What is it?”

“Well, we have two more vamps in the car, and her.”

Marie shone her flashlight into the interior, illuminating a figure sat in the back seat. It was a young woman, dressed like she’d been going out for a night clubbing. My heart hit my boots.

“Human?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“Victim?”

“Not that I can tell. She has bite marks on both arms and her neck. Not all of them are fresh. No restraint marks, no defensive wounds.”

“Corpsebait, then.”

Marie reached up and gently turned the dead girl’s head to one side, exposing her ear.

“And check this out.”

Under her ear was the same tattoo that the vamp had been wearing.

“What about the others?” I asked.

“Already checked. They both have the same tattoo.”

“So, three vamps, one human, all with the same mark. What does that suggest? And pretty boy back there must have known there was no way he could get the drop with that little spud gun of his, so what’s the deal?”

“Well,” said Knuckles, “it seems like whatever it was … he was ready to die to stop us finding out.”

CHAPTER

2

The interior of the White Swan was quiet. The regulars had long since gone home and only the two vampire hunter teams—mine and Knuckles’—remained inside. My team was light a few members. John and Anna had taken some of their accrued leave and gone to visit his parents. John’s dad had suffered a mild heart attack and was resting in hospital. Interestingly, John’s parents were a lot more accepting of having a daughter-in-law who was a vampire than Anna’s own parents were. Still, it was good to know they had somewhere to call home.

The table in front of us was littered with the remains of a surprisingly good meal and several empty glasses. The sun was just beginning to rise, the first rays peeking through the grimy windows to illuminate the dingy interior of the safe house.

“Anyone figured out what that tattoo is yet?” asked Cally.

“Nope, but it is familiar,” replied Billy. “I’ve seen it before. What I don’t understand is how a vamp gets a tattoo anyway. Won’t it just heal away?”

“Not necessarily,” I replied with a shrug. “If it was important enough the vamp could get it re-applied every few months I suppose.”

I was gazing at the picture Billy had snapped of the vamp’s neck when the door opened and a group of locals came in.

“Breakfast shift’s here,” said Rock Ape quietly.

The White Swan was a shithole of epic proportions. It was a mystery how it had managed to pass health and safety for all these years. When the Ministry asked to take it over as a safe house the owner had been only too happy to agree. Despite the shabby furniture, grungy carpet and walls that looked to have last seen the application of fresh paint or wallpaper sometime around the reign of Queen Victoria, the Swan did have one thing going for it: some of the best food around. And it came in portions large enough to make it difficult to get out of the chair when you were done. The owner had heard of nouvelle cuisine and wanted no part of it. The local farmers ate here on a basis so regular it was almost religious, and the farmers did not like the Ministry.

A few months ago the government had started getting involved in the farm business, taking over and running them using labor from the prisons. Sure, some bleeding hearts whined about chain gangs and slavery, but they whined with full stomachs, which was the point. The few farmers and their help that had stayed on after Black Tuesday resented the government and, seeing as we hunters were the most visible part of that government, they hated us, too.

Most of these big and, I’m sure, otherwise pleasant men got up so early in the morning that last night was technically still going on and worked in their fields ‘till sunrise before heading to the Swan for breakfast. The last thing they wanted was to walk into their favorite watering hole and find a group of the very people they hated lounging around inside.

There were some black looks and muttered comments as the men went to prop up the bar. This was fairly normal. Both groups usually made a show of ignoring the other and the peace was kept.

We were just finishing up and getting ready to go to bed when the door opened a second time and a weary-looking group trudged in. It was Hydra and her team.

We quickly made room for them and I sent Rock Ape and Pogo to the bar for drinks. It was no accident that I’d picked those two. Pogo looked like evil personified, from his shaven scalp to the nasty scar that ran down the side of his face, and Rock Ape was as big as a house. Nobody with an ounce of sense would start anything on either of them.

“Jack, got a message for you,” said Hydra once everyone was seated.

“Oh Debbie,” I said, “and here was me thinking you came all this way because you missed me.”

She tried to give me a withering look but the blush that was coloring her cheeks undercut it. Hydra and I had been friends for a while and I felt safe flirting with her because she had absolutely no interest in me.

“Could you be serious for a moment?” she asked, exasperated.

“To what end?” I asked innocently.

“Well, you might find out what the message is,” said Billy.

“Minister wants to see you,” said Hydra. “Apparently there’s a shitstorm about to …”

She was no longer looking at me; her eyes were locked on something over my shoulder.

“Too late,” she said, pointing. “Take a look at that.”

I turned, momentarily confused, until I saw the wall-mounted television set. I gave a groan of frustration. It was tuned to the vampire-owned 24-hour news channel. A lot of hunters liked to watch the channel purely for the laugh factor, but there was nothing humorous about it now. The image on the screen was of the hunt I’d just led. Someone had been filming the whole thing.

“Turn that up, someone?” said Hydra.

“…earlier this morning,” said a female voice on the television. “The four youths, three of them hemovores, had simply become lost and, while attempting to get safely home, were the target of a brutal and violent attack. So-called ‘vampire hunters’ from the Ministry of Paranormal Research and Defence opened fire without warning, destroying their car and killing three of the occupants. The fourth was executed as he tried to escape.”

The shot changed to a fuzzy image of me shooting the vampire. The camerawork was shaky and obviously shot through a zoom lens, but it was clear enough to see the shooting. The fact that the vamp had pulled a gun on me was expertly edited out. The screen cut to a blonde woman, pretty in a cold sort of way, standing next to the burned-out remains of a completely different car from the one the vamps had been in.

“At this time it’s believed that the murderer is this man,” said the reporter over one of the Ministry’s publicity shots—actually an actor who bore a pretty close resemblance to me. “The man known only by the codename ‘Pagan’ is responsible for the deaths of numerous hemovores and is touted by the Ministry as their top hunter.”

The scene switched to the studio where a well-groomed and avuncular anchorman had plastered a concerned look over his face.

“Thank you, Janine,” he said. “Is there any information about the identity of the victims in this latest attack?”

“Nothing official, Shawn, but unconfirmed reports suggest that one of the victims was Anthony Dawson, son of the late Terry Dawson. Dawson, as you may recall, was the Member of Parliament for Salford who was killed by anti-hemovore elements after he appealed for calm following the troubles five years ago. Anthony Dawson is best known for his tireless work promoting and fighting for hemovore rights and his attempts to end the war in England.”

A picture of a clean-cut vampire in a business suit, smiling pleasantly at the camera, replaced the reporter’s image on the screen.

“Ah bullshit!” said Billy bitterly. “That prick wasn’t even in the car!”

“I know,” Cally said absently. “And they know it too. They’ll air a correction in a few hours but who’ll notice? Even if people do catch the correction they’ll still be left with the impression that the vamps were innocent young kids working for peace and equality and rainbows and cuddly kittens who were gunned down by indiscriminate killers.”

I slumped down in my chair, deep in thought.

“So what’s the big fuckin’ deal?” said Rock Ape. “So the news is spinning a story to make the leeches look good? What’s so important about that?”

“I have no idea,” said Hydra. “All they told me was that this was big and the Minister wanted to see you.”

“They say when?” I asked.

“You know how it is with the suits,” said Hydra. “ASAP if not sooner.”

“Okay,” I said, standing up. “Let’s get on the road.”

I was grateful I’d skipped on any alcohol tonight. A Ministry badge is good for a lot of things but it ain’t a Get Out Of Jail Free card. Marie stood up next to me and we grabbed our bags. We hadn’t even had time to unpack. Fortunate, as it turned out.

“Your team staying in the area?” I asked Hydra.

She nodded without saying anything.

We exchanged goodbyes with the hunters and made our way to the door. As we did so one of the farmers muttered something that set off a round of stifled laughter. I didn’t hear what it was but Marie stiffened beside me.

“What?” I said quietly. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

I cast a final wary glare at the locals and thought better of pressing the issue. I wouldn’t be endearing myself to anyone by starting a fight in here.

We stepped out into the morning sunshine and paused to look around. We hunt at night and the warmth of the sun was a rare treat. Spring was sliding into summer and the weather was warm and pleasant, the air fragrant and peaceful. I took a deep breath of the clean morning air and let it out in a satisfied sigh. We got into the Land Rover and slowly pulled away.

Beside me in the passenger seat, Marie was sitting silently.

“Okay, love,” I said finally. “Why so moody?”

“I’m not being moody,” she replied. “I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“Wondering how people know I’m a werewolf. Does it show?”

“Well, it might be the ‘Howl if you go furry’ t-shirt you’re wearing. Just a guess.”

She glanced down and laughed sheepishly.

“I’ve always hated this shirt,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey! I gave you that shirt. I thought it was funny.”

“Well, I’m glad you amuse yourself.”

“You can always take it off, you know,” I said slyly.

“Yeah, you’d like that,” she said with a smile.

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“Maybe later, stud.”

“So what brought that on?” I asked. “Wondering how people know you’re a werewolf?”

“Promise me you won’t turn around,” she asked in a soft voice.

“Why?” I asked sharply. “What happened?”

“Promise me,” she repeated.

“Okay, I promise.”

“That bloke, in the pub.”

“What about him?”

“He said ‘looks like he’s taking the doggy for a walk’.”

I stomped on the brakes and pulled the Land Rover onto the side of the road.

“He said what?” I snarled through clenched teeth.

“Jack, you promised.”

“I did, didn’t I?” I said. “Bollocks. And I didn’t have my fingers crossed or anything?”

“You can't fight the entire world, sweetheart,” she said.

I put the Land Rover in gear and pulled back out onto the road towards London.

“I don't want to fight the entire world,” I said. “Just the bits that piss me off.”

CHAPTER

3

There’s an impressive, sprawling building just south of the river Thames in London. Rumor has it that it used to be the palatial residence of a 14th Century Lord who used to throw some very lavish—and perverted—parties there. History is silent on this notion, but in its turbulent lifetime it has housed spies, saboteurs, intelligence, counter-intelligence, and at least two government departments so secret that their existence is unlikely to ever be declassified. During WWI Winston Churchill allegedly chaired meetings of the Admiralty here, and when he was Prime Minister in WWII he chose the building as the home of the Department of Propaganda. But whatever it had been, it now housed one of the world’s most advanced training and intelligence facilities. It belonged to the Ministry of Paranormal Research and Defence.

I normally liked to come in via the tunnel that led under the river, but today I’d pointed the Land Rover across Tower Bridge. I was taking the long way around. I was driving what I thought of as the ‘official’ Land Rover. It was a standard ‘Snatch’ Land Rover in olive green, but with the vampire hunters’ badge emblazoned on each door and a set of blue police lights on the front and back bumpers. People tended to get out of our way. In a country where, until recently, even the police weren’t armed, the sight of the open-topped Land Rover’s pintle-mounted machine gun was enough to raise eyebrows.

I always liked coming back to HQ; to the home of the Ministry I’d helped shape. Back in the beginning I’d been the Ministry’s one and only vampire hunter, quickly followed by my old friend and comrade, Bill. I was Pagan and Bill became Titan. The codenames were chosen randomly from an approved list, as evidenced by the fact that the third hunter had been named ‘Turpin’, after the famous highwayman. Turpin had also been the first name on the plaque outside the Minster’s office that commemorated hunters who had fallen in the line of duty.

Recently I had added sixteen names to that plaque. First there was Bill ‘Titan’ Etheridge. Then fifteen friends who had fallen at the vampires’ attack on Sheffield, not least of which was another old and trusted friend, Neil ‘Norse’ Campbell.

Now we were back at the Ministry again.

Walking into the Ministry via the front entrance was like taking a trip back in time. Everything was dark, old wood, from the floors to the furniture, and the whole place was gently scented with the same wax polish that my mother used to use. Below ground everything was steel and tile, but up here, where the public face of the Ministry lived, everything was terribly impressive, terribly restrained, and terribly British. A Union Flag hung outside and a modest portrait of Her Majesty graced the wall behind the receptionist. I unconsciously stood a little straighter beneath that stern yet benevolent gaze. The receptionist’s smile was, in contrast, warm and friendly.

“Good morning sir,” she said. “The Minister sends his apologies, he’s running a little late. He invites you to join the rest of your team in his office and he’ll be along shortly.”

“Thank you ma’am,” I replied, pleased to hear that Anna and John had made it back in time.

As ever, I paused before the plaque, seeing the latest names, the letters still raw and white against the black marble. Given enough time the letters would accumulate dust and dirt, despite the best efforts of the cleaners, and the paint that filled the engraved marks would turn a light cream color like all the rest. But for now the wounds were fresh.

I ran my fingertips over each name, whispering them, as if I needed to commit them to memory, fighting to swallow the lump in my throat.

Sixteen fresh names, in a massive slab of marble that already held two hundred and fifty-six.

I stepped back, snapped to attention, and saluted with the kind of precision that officers rarely warranted. I held the salute while my vision doubled and quadrupled, paying my respects to absent friends, treasured comrades, honored dead. I snapped my arm down and Marie put her hand on my shoulder, offering some small comfort.

“Mornin’ boss,” came a gravelly voice from down the corridor.

It was Cameron, the fifth member of my team. He was inmüt, a werewolf but, unlike Marie, he was stuck from birth in his wolf form. He was seven feet tall and built like a tank. One of the training rooms had a poster on the wall of Cam firing his modified GPMG and the caption ‘Werewolves with machine guns! We’re fucked!'. Not to be outdone I’d persuaded a group of pilots to allow me to take a picture of Cam in the cockpit of a Eurofighter, added the caption ‘Werewolves in fighter jets! Where is your God now?’ and stuck it up next to the original.

Cam, to his credit, thought both posters were hilarious.

“Morning Cam,” I replied.

“Morning ma’am,” he said, politely inclining his head towards Marie.

“Hello Cameron,” she replied.

“Sorry I’m late, boss,” he said. “I was with Father Fulton.”

Father Derek Fulton—nicknamed, with almost wearying inevitability, ‘Derek the cleric’—was the Army Catholic chaplain assigned to the Ministry. Cam was a gentle person who had been forced to participate in some truly heinous acts by a vampire Lord named Marcus Demios. He was now trying to work his way through the guilt with the aid of the priest.

“That’s okay,” I said. “The Minister is running late himself.”

“Himself?” said Cam.

“Yeah, apparently there’s been a change in command here,” I said. “We’ve got some new guy to train.”

This last had been said as I was opening the door.

“Yes, Jack,” said the Minister. “You do have some new guy to train.”

CHAPTER

4

I stood in the doorway, my mouth open. Sitting behind the desk was Colonel Tilehurst, my old C.O. from my Special Forces days. Gone, however, was his uniform and tan beret. In their place was a very sober suit.

“Boss?” I asked. “You’re our new Minister?”

“I am, indeed,” he replied gravely. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to get elected first.”

Unlike every other Minister in the government, the Minister for Paranormal Research and Defence didn’t need to be an elected MP first. The Minister was directly appointed by the Queen under advisement of the Chiefs of Staff Committee. There were those who were shrilly protesting that this violated everything back to, and including, the Magna Carta, but others felt that the Ministry was too important to be muddied by politics. The Minister wasn’t even a voting Member of Parliament, so it always seemed a little academic to me.

“So you decided to call us in to crack open the champers?” I asked as I took a seat.

“Do I look like I’m about to whip open a bottle of expensive fizzy French slop?” he asked.

“No, boss, you look like the cat that got the cream,” I replied. “Spill it, what’s up?”

Tilehurst had opened his mouth to reply when the phone rang and cut him off. He motioned us to wait and picked it up. I took advantage of the distraction and turned to John and Anna.

“How’s your dad?” I asked John quietly.

“Oh dad’s … dad,” he said with a smile. “He’s recovering. His doctor said he’ll be back on his feet in a few days and he’s already making a nuisance of himself with the nurses.”

“And your mum?” I asked.

“I think she’s more worried than she’s letting on,” said Anna. “About John and his dad.”

Tilehurst hung up the phone and sighed.

“So many things that people think require my time,” he said with a tight smile. “So, where were we?”

“You were about to tell us why we’re here,” I replied, sitting back in my chair.

“Are you aware of the saying that our colonial cousins have that goes ‘Only Nixon could go to China’?”

There followed what is generally known as a ‘pregnant pause’. Finally I gave up and broke it.

“You’re sending us to China?”

“So literal, Jack?”

I shrugged, deciding to stay silent.

“No, not China,” Tilehurst went on. “Yesterday morning the Ministry received a request from a foreign, though allied, government for, quote, the best vampire hunter available, unquote.”

“And they weren’t available?” I asked, deadpan.

“No, they’ll have to settle for your scrawny arse,” Tilehurst replied. “Given the fuss that’s building over last night, I thought it prudent to get you away for a while. Intel suggests that the vampire news channels are going to ride this incident to death. They will be reporting on how you’ll be popping up all over the country being dark and evil for the next few days so it’ll be nice to force them into an own goal. When you get back we’ll do a little press conference about how you were really away helping out an ally the entire time and grind their face in the lies. That’s not the real reason, of course. We seriously need allies like the government in question and a little bridge building never hurts.”

“Which government?” Anna asked.

“Give you three guesses,” said Tilehurst with a twitch of the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” she said. “Given what you said about Nixon and China, I’d guess either Vatican City, the USA, or France,” said Anna promptly.

“Give the lady a small prize,” said Tilehurst. “Right first time.”

“The Vatican?” I said, astounded. “What do they need a vampire hunter for?”

“To hunt vampires?” said John, one eyebrow raised.

“Officially you’ll be there in an advisory capacity, there to aid in the equipping and training of the Swiss Guard and the Vatican police. Unofficially, you’ll be there to aid the Vatican authorities in dealing with a series of attacks against various individuals. They didn’t supply us with too many of the boring details, but there was a strong smell of urgency about the request, so we’re guessing at least a few dead bodies.”

I sighed.

“We’re not going to have to meet the Pope, are we?” I asked.

“Apparently he’s quite excited to meet you, Jack,” Tilehurst said dryly. “Don’t worry, I’ve already informed them of your status as a hell-bound infidel. They won’t be expecting you to kiss his ring or call him ‘Holiness’. However, as a favor to Her Majesty we do ask that you don’t call him—” Tilehurst consulted a note, “a ‘dumb death-cultist with a Napoleon complex’ like you did the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

“Actually, the term I used was ‘imbecilic death-cultist with delusions of grandeur’ if I remember correctly.”

The incident, gleefully reported by certain newspapers, had happened a few weeks ago. The Archbishop had just given an interview in which he had claimed that only ‘good, church-going Christians’ could be vampire hunters and anyone else was doomed to failure. Someone asked me about it in a safe house one day and I’d answered, not knowing the person was a reporter.

I believe that at one point I might have shaken hands with Mr. Tact, but never got to know him very well.

“Okay,” I said, trying to turn businesslike. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, which gives you plenty of opportunity to break another bed in the guest quarters.”

I cranked one eyebrow up to maximum height and gave my most unamused stare. I was getting a little tired of my relationship with Marie being the butt of so many jokes around the Ministry. Few people had the guts to repeat those jokes to my face—fewer still to Marie’s—but Tilehurst was a comrade and as much of a friend as a superior could be.

“Oh lose the sour look, Jack,” said Marie. “We did break a bed the last time we stayed here.”

“Granted, but that must have been shoddy manufacturing,” I said. “You weren’t riding me that hard.”

Actually, Marie had been on her back, in the throes of passion; she’d grabbed the headboard and yanked it clean off. The whole bed had collapsed, which didn’t slow us down for a second. Some things are more important than a collapsing bed.

I turned back to Tilehurst, trying to drag the conversation back on topic.

“What about weapons?” I asked.

“Were you using any?” John asked, sparking a round of suppressed laughter.

“You can take whatever you need,” said Tilehurst, trying not to grin. “But it has to be boxed up.”

“Why?” asked Cam.

“We’ll be sending you on Concorde,” Tilehurst explained. “The Vatican doesn’t have a runway, so you’ll be landing at the international airport in Rome. Leonardo da Vinci something-or-other. The Italian government is having enough of a fit allowing you through their territory without you guys stepping off the ‘plane looking like escapees from an action movie. Anything you can’t wear concealed needs to be in cases.”

“Understood, boss,” I said.

“Maybe you’ll get to ask the Pope where he shits,” said Marie.

Tilehurst gave me a long-suffering look as I fought not to laugh.

“Jack, under no circumstances are you to ask the Pope if he shits in the woods. Do I make myself clear?”

I grumbled a reluctant affirmative, not that I ever would have asked that question.

“Okay,” he said with an air of finality. “Everyone get the fuck out of my office and get ready to represent your country. Someone go find Bolt and tell him he's going with you. Not you, Jack. Sit the fuck down and stay the fuck there.”

John and Anna shot me puzzled looks as they rose, Marie looked more worried. Cam looked, as ever, furry and amused.

“Okay,” said Tilehurst once the door was closed. “I’m going to broach a subject I don’t want to broach and, having broached it, never broach it again. The only reason I’m broaching it now is so I can say I’ve broached it and, you may rest assured, any wanker who tries to broach it again will get my boot up their arse, understood?”

“Broach away, boss.”

“There are those, both inside and outside the Ministry who feel that your relationship with Ms Hennessey is inappropriate and that it is incumbent upon me to tell you to end it. I’ll accept any reply in five words or less.”

“Go and fuck yourself, boss.”

“Thought so. Glad we had this little chat.”

CHAPTER

5

We made ourselves comfortable in the big leather seats as the Concorde taxied onto the runway. The delta-winged supersonic passenger jets were decommissioned a few years ago after a series of horrific accidents, but the Royal Air Force, who had intended to use them as training tools, saved four from the scrap heap. Ground crew had not only identified the flaw that had led to the accidents, but came up with a brilliant solution, allowing the birds to return to service. Even so, no airline would touch them with a big stick. The RAF decided to keep them.

Now they were VIP transports, used for high level diplomatic flights and occasionally trotted out for ceremonial purposes. Inside they boasted the kind of luxury normally associated with the better class of hotel, perfect for ferrying civilian and military nobs around or, failing that, giving us a quick ride to Italy.

Admittedly we didn’t look out of place. John, Bolt and I were suited and booted, looking like we’d just broken out of the stock market. Anna was wearing a pinstripe pantsuit that made her look stern and sexy at the same time. With a pair of leather gloves and a broad-rimmed hat she would be able to endure daylight for an hour or so.

Marie looked like a sophisticated wet dream. She was wearing a dark red suit with a black silk blouse. The skirt ended an inch below her knees, showing off her stocking-clad calves to good effect. A pair of strappy black high heels completed the outfit. Under the suit she was wearing a flimsy black garter belt, black silk panties and a matching bra. I knew this for certain because this morning, when I’d first seen what she was wearing, I had planned and executed a reconnaissance mission behind enemy lines. A case of vidi, vici, veni, if you will.

The biggest surprise was Cam. Somehow, and I don’t know how, he’d managed to find a suit that fit him. It was dark gray, complete with a waistcoat and gold pocket watch. Granted, the shirt was stretched a little around his thick neck, his shiny black shoes were a slightly odd shape due to his clawed feet, and his tail looked a little silly sticking out of a hole in the back of his trousers, but overall the effect was pretty good. When he donned the trilby that completed his outfit he looked like a prosperous, if lupine, businessman.

Each of us was wearing a shoulder holster under our jackets. John, Bolt, Anna, Marie and I all had our service pistols. Cam had a specially made shoulder holster that contained a modified H&K MP7. Given his size the compact PDW barely made a bulge in his jacket.

The jet began to accelerate down the runway, the Rolls Royce Olympus engines building to a scream. Then, smooth and refined, the sleek aircraft was climbing into the air. There was a soft whirring noise and a barely noticeable bump as the wheels and the nose came up, and we were heading towards what was probably the most bizarre mission of my career.

Marie had opened a paperback novel and was quietly reading. I reached across and lifted the book with one finger, just enough to get a look at the cover. I groaned when I saw myself or, rather, what the Ministry thought of as me. More chisel-jawed, more steely-eyed, and more aggressively spiky-haired, but me nonetheless.

“Really?” I asked in a pained voice.

“Yep,” she said primly.

“Having the real thing in your life isn’t enough?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t sleep with this guy on a bet, my love,” she said. “He’s totally incapable of keeping it in his pants. All he does is kill vampires and then shag some whore, every single book.”

She turned to me and smiled sweetly.

“I much prefer the version who kills vampires and then shags me,” she said.

“Which one are you reading?” asked Anna.

“It’s ‘For Queen And Country’,” said Marie.

“Ah,” said Anna in a knowing voice. “Our boy has a threesome.”

“Really?” said Marie. “I haven’t got that far yet.”

“Oh yes. Our hero and another hunter spitroast a female police officer.”

Marie turned to me and lowered her voice.

“Spitroast?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to figure out how to explain it.

“Okay, the woman’s on her hands and knees, one guy taking her from behind, the other in her mouth,” I said.

“Huh,” said Marie, thinking about it for a second. “Sounds like fun.”

“It is,” said Anna quietly.

John’s head snapped up and he gave his wife a hard look.

“What?” she said. “You knew I wasn’t a virgin when we met, love of my life.”

He shook his head and sighed heavily.

“Oh put the black look away, stud,” said Anna. “You’ve done both ends—and more—since we got married, and you know you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“Ooh, TMI,” I said quietly, which set Marie off giggling.

Anna sent me a frosty look and Cam rolled his eyes.

“As the single guy in the group,” he growled. “I find this whole conversation inappropriate.”

“Oh piss off, fur face,” I said. “Single? My arse.”

Four pairs of wide eyes swiveled to stare at me.

“Oh, what?” I said. “I’m the only one who heard about it?”

Four pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at Cam.

“I’m the only one who heard that Kim had a fit because she caught you taking Siren out to dinner?”

Cam glared at me for a second and then hid behind his newspaper.

“I have no comment on that allegation,” he muttered.

“Some of the ladies at the Ministry have a thing for fur coats?” asked Anna.

Cam pointedly ignored her.

“One or two of the guys have a thing for fur coats, too,” said Marie in a quiet voice, nudging my calf with her shoe.

“One or two?” I asked.

“Well, one that I know of,” she said, nudging my leg again.

I smiled and gently stroked the back of her hand with one finger.

Anna was smiling at us; a wide grin that showed off her slightly elongated canines, and suddenly something occurred to me. Anna didn’t grin much. Oh, she smiled a lot, but very rarely did those smiles expose her fangs. When she was alone with the team or with others who knew her well she was more relaxed. I’d never really thought about how hard it must be for her, being a vampire in England. Not everyone would know she was one of the good guys.

“Something on your mind, boss?” she asked when she noticed my gaze.

“Not really,” I said. “Just thinking. How’s things with you? Everyone treating you okay?”

“Most,” she said, giving me that wide smile again. “Most in the Ministry know me.”

“Good,” I said. “How about you, Cam? Any trouble fitting in?”

The big werewolf shrugged.

“Nobody dares say anything to my face,” he said with a toothy grin.

“Well, if either of you have any problems, let me know, okay?”

“Yes, mummy,” said Cam.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m serious. Anyone gives you any crap, I wanna know.”

I thought about it for a second.

“Well, in your case, Anna, you tell John,” I said. “I’ll come along later, clean up the bodies and start the paperwork.”

“Too bloody right,” said John with a wink.

Anna leaned across and whispered something in her husband’s ear. He nodded and they both stood up.

“We’re just going to…” said Anna, before trailing off as if trying to think of the right word.

“We’re ummm,” tried John.

“Ah sod it,” declared Anna. “We’re going to go have sex in the conference room. The mile high club beckons.”

She grabbed her blushing husband’s arm and marched towards the rear of the plane. There was a space, separated from the rest of the cabin, with a large conference table and several comfortable chairs. Anna led John inside and firmly closed the door.

“I think,” I said quietly, “that we need a little noise in here. I don’t know how good the soundproofing is in that room.”

I pulled out the remote and switched on the plasma screen that dominated the far wall, selecting the satellite feed that allowed us to access certain TV channels. I switched to the BBC and turned the volume up. We were just in time to see the pilot of ‘Blood Hunters’, Auntie Beeb’s newest drama series, made in cooperation with the Ministry and featuring a lead character who was, let’s face it, me with blonde hair.

I sighed and put the remote down.

“Let’s see how bad they fuck this one up,” I said morosely.

CHAPTER

6

The jet slowed to a graceful stop and a set of steps was hurriedly wheeled into position by the cabin door. As we rose and made our way to the front of the cabin a uniformed RAF airman released the catches and swung the door open.

I pulled my jacket on, making sure it lay smoothly over my gun before stepping out.

The sky was dark and our Concorde had been directed to a quiet corner of the airport. The only life in view was the ground crew scurrying about their tasks and a pair of Italian Politzei SUVs.

As we reached the bottom of the steps a pair of airmen were already loading our luggage and crates of weapons into the police cars. Within minutes we were loaded and speeding out of the airport. Obviously the Italian police wanted us through their jurisdiction and into the Vatican as quickly as possible. Bolt, Marie and I were in the lead car, with John, Anna and Cam in the second. Our driver was stonily silent, even to the point of ignoring our greetings.

The trip through scenic Rome was near suicidal. I swear the SUV went up on two wheels at one point and at least twice our drivers forced the big vehicles through gaps that I was convinced were way too small to admit them.

Still, we made it to the impressive edifice that is the Vatican in one piece. We skirted St Peter’s Piazza and headed for the Vatican Police headquarters.

I’ve read and heard hundreds of first-time descriptions of the basilica, the massive dome that surmounts the entire city, and the piazza itself. Some, written by the faithful, speak of breathlessness, of awe, of a sense of peace, of Godliness. Others, written by skeptics, speak of anger, of offense at the amount of money spent glorifying the Church in a world stricken with poverty.

I was mildly amused. That was all I felt about it. All this money, all this architecture, all this worship, it seemed a little ridiculous to me.

Sure, it was offensive if you really thought about it, the sheer volume of money that went into keeping this massive dinosaur lumbering across the world, mostly culled from believers so poor that they could barely afford their lives even without the tithing, but I have better things to spend my energy on. The Catholic Church would be supremely indifferent to any offense I felt, so why bother?

The two SUVs pulled up in an out-of-the-way area and we climbed out. Waiting for us were several blue-uniformed officers of the Gendarme Corps of the Vatican City, the Vatican’s police force. I was grudgingly pleased to see that, although the waiting officers were unloading our luggage, they’d had the courtesy to leave our weapons untouched. I grabbed the solid case that contained my weapons, slipping the strap over my shoulder. The rest of my team followed suit and the Italian police cars sped away.

“Hauptmann Henderson?” inquired a young-looking officer.

I’d been warned about this. Because of my position within the Ministry hunters I was to be treated as the equivalent of a captain in the Pontifical Swiss Guard, which could prove useful.

“That’s me,” I said.

“If you’ll follow me, sir,” he said in lightly accented English.

The officer led us around the side of a building and down a dimly lit passageway lined with religious art. I had no interest, though. I was studying our escort. Along with the officer there were three other Gendarmes.

It took me a few moments to figure out what was bugging me: Their faces showed a mixture of fear and relief. Somehow, rather than resenting the intrusion, they were grateful for our help. And that was worrying.

We were led to a heavily reinforced door, flanked by a pair of Swiss Guard in their gaudy uniforms.

Once through the door we went down a short corridor and a long set of stone steps. We took a left, and stopped at another door, one that showed a very definite attitude concerning the notions of ‘inside’ and ‘outside’, and held strong opinions about how difficult it should be to go from the latter to the former.

“I’ve been instructed to advise you that your weapons and luggage will be safe in the armory,” said the officer.

I nodded politely and he turned to a keypad. He punched in a long code and the door unlocked with a solid-sounding thunk.

Inside was a very well stocked room of death. It was huge and vaulted, like an underground church, albeit one dedicated to the Gods of War. Along one wall were racks of SIG SG 550s in both assault and sniper rifle variants, and Remington pump-action shotguns. Down the center of the room were rows of shelving units that held body armor, helmets, SIG P225 pistols, Steyr TMP machine pistols, along with various types of grenades, respirators, and radios.

At the back of the armory were stacks of what appeared to be Stinger anti-aircraft and Panzerfaust anti-tank missiles.

The Vatican, it seemed, was prepared to defend itself.

On the wall to our left were row upon row of more traditional weapons; the shiny pikes carried by the Swiss Guard, the ceremonial swords and rapiers, several partisans and a rack of heavy two handed flamberge blades. Alongside these were shelves that held traditional armor; breast and backplates, gorgets, shoulder plates and various helmets.

There are some advantages in having dated a Swiss national who was desperately annoyed that the Pontifical Swiss Guard didn't admit women. One such advantage is that you learn things you didn’t know that you didn’t know about things you didn’t know you wanted to know about.

Our escort indicated a clear space on one shelf and we carefully stacked our weapons cases as our luggage was placed on the floor.

“Are you carrying any other weapons?” enquired our escort.

I nodded and patted the pistol through my jacket.

“You’ll have to leave those behind, too,” he said.

“No,” I said quietly. “My team goes nowhere unarmed.”

He thought about this for a few moments and then sighed.

“If you’ll wait here for a moment, I’ll be right back,” he said.

After he’d left I strolled over to the racks of halberds. Each was taller than I, tipped with a shiny, beautifully crafted blade.

I may have been supremely indifferent to the Catholic Church, but the Swiss Guard was another matter. They could, technically, lay claim to the title of the most elite military unit in the world. Every man in the Guard had to be a Catholic, serving in the Swiss military, between the ages of 19 and 30. Don’t be fooled by their clownish uniforms, they are tough, no-nonsense bastards and the Guard is harder to get into than a nun’s knickers.

With their training, faith and discipline most would make excellent vampire hunters.

“Hauptmann?” came a cultured voice behind me. “Admiring our halberds?”

“Indeed,” I said, turning around.

Standing in the doorway was a man that could have been carved from oak. He wore a dark blue suit like it was a suit of armor, proud and erect. His graying hair was smoothed back from his forehead and his lined face radiated zeal.

“They’re beautiful,” I said, indicating the pikes. “Hand made?”

“Naturally,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “If you like, I’ll see about a souvenir after you are finished.”

I inclined my head in thanks.

“Pardon me,” he said. “I am Oberst Hans von Leoni, and I am responsible for the safety of the Holy Father.”

The way he said it indicated that this was no mere job description. The Pope’s security was a deeply personal matter for him.

“No visitor is admitted to see His Holiness with a weapon,” he continued.

“Okay,” I said with a shrug. “So, what’s next? When do we find out why we just flew across the continent?”

The Oberst frowned for a second, and then burst out laughing.

“Hauptmann, of the many thing I have heard about you, your wit is the one most people dwell on.”

“I wasn’t joking,” I said mildly. “If we can’t go see the Pope without relinquishing our weapons, well, we just won’t go see the Pope.”

The Oberst's smile widened and he shook his head ruefully.

“The other thing they talk about is your lack of faith. You must understand, his Holiness has granted you an audience. To us, this is a great privilege, the—ah—request to appear is little short of a holy commandment, and the restrictions are mine to enforce.”

I wanted to shove my hands into my trouser pockets—as I usually did when trying to appear relaxed and unthreatening—but I am my father’s son and, even now, I can feel the sting of him slapping my hands whenever I looked like I was about to try it. One does not, he would say, shove one’s hands in one’s pockets when one is wearing a suit. Instead I clasped my hands behind my back.

“I understand, sir,” I said seriously. “However, it is, to me, nothing more than a personal request, no matter the source.”

“And the third thing they mention is your stubborn nature,” he replied.

“And the fourth?”

A mischievous glint came into the Oberst’s eye and he chuckled.

“Well that’s a lie,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Or rather, an exaggeration.”

Marie, John, Bolt and Anna had come around the shelves and I introduced them to the Oberst.

“A lie? Really?” he said innocently, turning to Marie. “This beautiful lady is not your lover? Or she is not a werewolf?”

“I am his mate, not his lover,” she said sweetly. “But I am a werewolf.”

The Oberst said something in a harsh, guttural language. Marie gasped, and then replied in the same fashion.

It was the werewolves’ own language that, to me, always sounded like a Russian speaking German with a sore throat.

The Oberst held up his hands and chuckled.

“My apologies lüsfra,” he said. “I’ve about exhausted my knowledge of your language.”

Lüsfra was a word I recognized, a term of respect for a female who was higher in the pack than the speaker.

“That’s okay,” said Marie. “Your accent’s terrible, though.”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. “The friend who taught me did not spend much time smoothing my words.”

He turned to Anna, snapped his heels together and gave a short, formal bow. Then he spoke, greeting her in the vampiric language.

He turned, switched back to the werewolf language to greet Cam, into some Arabic dialect that made Bolt stammer in shock, then finished in English. I was impressed.

“However, all politeness aside, your weapons still must be left behind,” he said firmly.

“Might I suggest a compromise?” said John.

“Of course,” I said.

“Well, how about, before we go in to see the Pope, we voluntarily pass our guns to the Oberst here for safekeeping? We’ll only be unarmed while we’re actually in the room and, should anything happen, our guns would be right there.”

I shrugged and turned to the Oberst.

“Is that acceptable?” I asked.

The officer thought about it for a few moments and then nodded.

“However, in the spirit of compromise and cooperation, I ask that you be honest and hand over all your weapons.”

“I, uh, can’t do that,” said Cam, holding up his paw and displaying his silver-tipped steel claws.

“I think those are okay,” said the Oberst. “As you say, it’s not like you can remove them.”

He glanced around my team and then gave a decisive nod.

“Okay, if you’d like to follow me,” he said.

He led us back out of the armory and down a corridor that led to an impressive command and control center. Banks of screens displayed CCTV footage of various areas of Vatican City and uniformed operators spoke in hushed tones. Everywhere we looked we saw a picture of cool, calm efficiency.

The Oberst picked up a sturdy-looking metal case, slightly bigger and thicker than a standard briefcase, and then he beckoned us to follow him again.

He led us through a maze of passageways and up several flights of stairs.

As we progressed the corridors grew steadily more opulent, the carpets thicker, the doors more ornate, and the artwork on the walls more expensive.

Finally we arrived at a set of doors that looked like they cost more than everything I own put together, and was flanked by a pair of Swiss Guard.

The Oberst led us through and into a plush antechamber, clearly intended as a comfortable waiting place for those wishing to see the Pope. Several mirrors graced the walls, essential for making sure that the cassock is just so.

I gave myself a cursorily check. My suit still looked sharp, even if my hair was a little ruffled. Still, it was only the Pope. It’s not like I was going to see the Queen.

Now there’s a thought to annoy most Catholics.

I turned to the Oberst, who was talking with two elderly men in black cassocks with the purple sash that identified the wearer as a bishop.

“Hauptmann Henderson,” said the Oberst. “May I present archbishop Fitzhugh, Prefect of the Papal Household.”

The shorter of the two men stepped forward. He had a round face and ruddy complexion. I was willing to bet on the Irish brogue before he even opened his mouth.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said as I shook the man’s hand.

“I wish I could say the same,” he replied glumly, and then raised his hands as my face darkened. “No, no. My apologies. It is not you; it is our situation. These are troubling times inside the Holy city.”

He indicated the second man, a tall, thin, aesthetic-looking gentleman with close-cropped gray hair.

“This is archbishop Kowalksi, the Secretary for Relations with States.”

“Charmed,” said Kowalski in a soft American accent.

“Sir,” I replied with a polite nod.

The Prefect turned to the Oberst and inclined his head.

“I shall go and see if His Holiness is ready.”

“Oberst,” I said formally. “Might I ask you a favor?”

“Certainly, Hauptmann.”

“Will you look after our guns while we’re having our audience? I realize this might be an imposition.”

The Oberst’s face remained serious.

“Well, this is highly irregular, but in the interests of friendship, I suppose I can do that. And it just so happens that I have brought a suitable case to use.”

“Remarkable foresight,” I muttered dryly.

The Oberst passed the case to me with a sly smile. I snapped it open. The inside was lined with rippled foam. I pulled out my pistol and placed it inside.

“Okay ladies and gentlemen, anyone who wants to ask the Oberst to look after their gun while we go see the Pope, cough up.”

John rolled his eyes and pulled out his pistol, quickly followed by Anna and Marie. Cam eagerly placed his MP7 inside as well. I turned to Bolt.

“Bolt?” I asked.

“I don’t see the point of this,” he said softly.

I held his eyes for a second before nodding. I snapped the case closed and handed it to him.

“Change of plan,” I announced. “Bolt will stay out here and look after our guns.”

“The Pope would like to see you all,” said the Oberst.

“The Pope can kiss my arse,” declared Bolt.

“The Pope,” I said, locking my gaze on the Oberst, one eyebrow raised, “can kiss his arse. His Moslem arse.”

To the Oberst’s credit his only sign of disapproval was a slight tensing of his jaw muscles. Archbishop Kowalski looked like he’d swallowed something that was still moving.

“I can’t do anything, I’m afraid,” I said with a shrug. “My team’s religious convictions are entirely their own business. Although, I have to say that offering the leader of the Catholic church the opportunity to kiss your backside is a little beyond the pale. We must remember we are representing more than just ourselves here.”

“Sorry, boss” said Bolt, his expression contrite.

The Oberst nodded curtly as the Prefect came back into the room.

“His Holiness is ready,” he said softly.

“Shall we go in?” I said to my team.

We formed up and followed the Prefect, the Oberst, and the Secretary into a second room. As we did so, John leaned close and whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“You’re being a pain in the arse, Jack.”

“I know,” I whispered back. “Fun ain’t it?”

CHAPTER

7

The audience chamber seemed to have been designed with two aims in mind. The first was to remind visitors, as forcefully as possible, that one of the people in the room was the Pope, the Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor to the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the State of Vatican City, Servant of the Servants of God. The second was to remind visitors, as forcefully as possible, that they were definitely not the person in the room who was the Pope, the Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor to the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the State of Vatican City, Servant of the Servants of God.

Everything from the ornate chair to the gold-inlaid copy of the Bible that you could play football on screamed that he was the Pope, and you were not.

It was something of a shame, then, that the Pope himself was decidedly unimpressive. In fact a cursorily glance around the room had a better than fifty-fifty chance of not seeing him at all. He was almost lost in the grand chair, practically buried in his robes. I remember when the previous Pope, John Paul II had died. The vampiric situation had been fairly fresh and new, and the Vatican had been faced with a crisis. What was needed was a man of iron-hard faith, a man who embodied everything good about the church.

What they got, fortunately for the rest of the world, was Cardinal Frances Loretti, now Pope Pius XIII. A short man, barely 5’7”, stocky, given to spontaneous acts of a gentle and kind nature, who smiled rather more than people were comfortable with in a Pope. He was also devastatingly intelligent, spoke four languages, and had won the gold medal for biathlon pursuit at the Winter Olympics before entering the priesthood.

Don’t get me wrong, I dislike the Vatican, but I can’t think of a more suitable candidate for his position.

“Holy Father,” said the Prefect. “May I present Jack Henderson, John and Anna Clarke, Marie Hennessey, and Cameron Baxter?”

The Pope nodded, his eyes on me.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, His Holiness Papa Pius Tredecimus,” said the Prefect, giving the Pope’s name in Latin.

The Pope stood and held out his hand to me.

“I believe this is your custom?” he said in heavily accented English.

I raised my eyebrow as we shook hands and his face creased into a broad grin.

“Oh come, now,” he said, the accent all but gone. “After all, I could have gone with ‘tell me more about this human thing called kissing’.”

I couldn’t help it; I cracked a smile.

“Very funny, sir,” I conceded.

“The coming of the vampires has taught us that our differences are not so huge after all,” he said as he shook hands down the line.

When he came to Cam, he looked up at the towering lupine face and grinned even wider.

“Even our werewolf brothers and sisters are not so different,” he said. “But where is Mr. Hasaan?”

“Bolt declined your invitation,” I said carefully.

“Ah, well, maybe some barriers will take a little longer to come down, yes? Please, sit down. Become the first atheists to take tea with this Pope, yes?”

I found myself liking this guy, despite the fact that his folksy, easygoing attitude was obviously a smokescreen.

We sat down around a low table and the Prefect poured tea from a china teapot.

“You,” said the Pope, waggling a finger at Anna, “are causing much theological discussion amongst the college of Cardinals.”

“Me?” said Anna with a guilty start.

“Indeed. A vampire fighting on the side of the humans? This is unprecedented, yes?”

“In England,” she replied. “At least, as far as we know. There may be some agents in the North but, if so, the Ministry isn't telling me.”

“There are those who believe it was the sacrament of marriage that saved you,” he said, nodding to John. “And that the grace of God keeps you on the side of the light. There are those, no small faction I'm afraid, who believe you are merely biding your time and you are no different from the other vampires. And there are those who believe you are merely an aberration, and no other vampire is like you.”

“And where do you fall?” I asked.

“I believe in love, Hauptmann Henderson,” he replied with a wink. “I believe in the love of a man and wife, in the love of friends, and in the love of our Lord. I believe that this love is responsible. I believe it is the strength of our love keeps us from straying, if we hold on strongly enough.”

“Something we agree on,” I said. “Broadly, at least.”

“Now,” said the Pope once the tea had been served. “To the reason for our request. To put it simply, we need your help. With two problems. I will speak to the second, and allow the Oberst to speak to the first.

“As an atheist, I’m sure that you’ve often felt that your aims differ from those of the Catholic Church, that our definition of a good world and your definition of a good world are many miles apart, yes?”

I nodded slowly.

“But I think that, no matter how far apart, neither definition would include a world where the vampires rule and humanity is enslaved as little better then cattle, yes?”

“No argument from me there, sir,” I said.

“Splendid,” he said. “I ask, not out of form or to influence you, but merely to point out that our ends are aligned in this matter.”

“Accepted,” I said, inclining my head.

“Now, I have a personal request to make.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Your government, we have been assured, will treat the information I am about to give you as a state secret. I ask that you agree to do the same.”

I glanced at my team. Each nodded in turn, agreeing silently.

“You have our word on that, sir.”

“Thank you, thank you all.”

The Prefect had returned bearing a large leather-bound book. At the Pope’s gesture he handed it to me.

“That volume is a copy of a fifteenth century text. It is, itself, over a hundred years old.”

I frowned as I opened the book. What was the point in this?

The first page was filled with densely packed hand-written Latin text. The next few pages were the same. I don’t read Latin beyond a few phrases, so it was completely incomprehensible to me. The first picture, however, four or five pages in, was all too clear. It was a meticulous line drawing of a vampire skull, fangs and all.

I leafed carefully through the crackling pages, seeing detailed drawings of vampire teeth, anatomical drawings of flayed vampire bodies, a crude map of Europe with various notations in red ink, and what appeared to be vampiric family trees.

Fifteenth century? Fifteenth century?

I looked up, stunned.

“Yes,” said the small man in the Papal robes. “We’ve known about the vampires for a very long time.”

CHAPTER

8

The book had been passed around my team, each greeting the sight with thunderstruck silence. Finally, a wry smile on his lips, the Pope spoke again.

“That particular tome was written, we believe, by one of your ancestors. The genealogy is somewhat sketchy but we believe it is likely.”

“One of my ancestors?” I said.

“Indeed. The man had been the commander of the personal guard of one Vlad III of Wallachia.”

“Vlad III?” I asked. “Vlad Dracul? Dracula? Oh come on. That’s ridiculous. Vlad the Impaler wasn’t a vampire, that’s just a legend started by…”

I trailed off and sighed.

“Indeed, said the Pope gently. “The vampires, I need not remind you, have been manipulating the body of vampiric lore for centuries.”

“Silver,” I said morosely.

“Again, correct. The vampiric legends say that silver is only good for killing werewolves, yet you have seen that it is equally effective at dealing with vampires. Also, wolfsbane. You might want to suggest that your Ministry looks into the properties of that particular plant.”

“Wolfsbane?” I asked.

“Werewolf catnip,” said Cameron. “It’s not harmful to us, but it does get us high.”

“Some of the earliest stories,” said Anna, “say that wolfsbane is harmful to vampires, not werewolves.”

I turned back to the two churchmen.

“Thanks. But, you knew about the vampires and you didn’t tell anyone?”

“You have to understand, in recent decades the vampires had become so good at concealing themselves that the book you hold became viewed as fiction, or as one old soldier’s attempt to rationalize all of the terrible things he did.”

“Terrible things?”

“Your ancestor protected the Impaler during the worst excesses of his life. We have another text, written at the same time by one Father Theodore. Theodore was more of a spiritual ancestor of yours, a member of the martial arm of the church, a true warrior-priest: a Catholic vampire hunter. It was Theodore who executed Vlad III in his own castle, with your blood ancestor’s aid.”

“But once the vampires came out?” I persisted.

“We did what we could,” said the Prefect. “Why do you think the Foreign Legion arrived with silver bullets when you were fighting in Europe?”

I blinked, surprised. I hadn’t thought of that.

“Frenchie once said to me that the strongest voice in support of disobeying orders was a Catholic chaplain attached to his Demi-Brigade,” I said, musing on the memory. “That was your doing?”

The prefect glanced at the Pope, receiving a nod before continuing.

“Yes, the priest was acting under orders from the Holy See.”

“Then I owe you my thanks.”

“It is not necessary.”

“So what makes you think this person was Jack’s ancestor?” asked John.

“Well, as I said, the genealogy is sketchy and merely suggestive, but the account of Father Theodore gives a tantalizing clue. The man who wrote that tome was, according to Theodore, completely immune to the vampire’s ability to control humans with their minds and that his blood was dangerous to them.”

“Well, that sounds like you, Jack,” said Marie.

“It’s not conclusive,” said the Prefect. “There are literally thousands of families out there with those traits. Our historians have found fragments within our oldest records that lead them to believe that such traits were once commonplace.”

“What happened to them?” asked Anna.

“The vampires hunted those who possessed those traits, those who, forgive me Mr. Henderson, were touched by God to be His instruments. With the Internet, and people all over the world entering genealogies online, it has become easier than ever to track down those who possess the abilities.”

The Pope hesitated before continuing.

“In fact, we believe that the reason the vampires chose to make the world aware of their presence when they did was because they had eliminated most of those who could stand against them. For years we have stood aghast at the growing violence around the world, the murders, the senseless deaths. Now we know the reason for them.”

“So, what?” I asked. “Now you’re gonna tell me I’m the last of the vampire slayers, the chosen one, the last, best hope for humanity?”

The Pope laughed for a moment, shaking his head.

“No, you’re not the last, not by a long measure. There are probably several thousand across the world who share your abilities, but they are scattered, unaware, unconnected. Many are still young children or too old to fight, or are now in areas controlled by the vampires, and are hunted and afraid. If you are the protectors of humanity, there are less of you now than ever before.”

He leaned forward, his eyes intent.

“But you are out there. You are still fighting. There is hope. And there is one thing that the vampires did not anticipate. That the werewolves would stand with us against them.”

Cam nodded, a broad smile on his face.

“But now you must forgive me, for I have pressing duties to attend to. The Oberst will see you to your rooms and organize the next shock of your day.”

He smiled and rose to his feet as we all did the same. He extended his hand to me and his face was suddenly serious. Like a mask falling away his joviality fled, revealing a face filled with great stress. I shook his hand, wondering what was troubling him so deeply.

“Pagan, if you can, help us,” he said.

Then he was gone, out a side door.

The Prefect motioned us back out into the antechamber, then pulled the Oberst aside to talk in quiet, urgent tones

Bolt opened the case he was carrying and we collected our weapons. I leaned in close to him and spoke softly.

“Thanks Bolt.”

“No problem, boss.”

John caught the exchange and gave me a slightly wild look.

“My team,” I whispered, eying the two figures on the other side of the room, “does not give up their weapons to anyone.”

John nodded slowly. Bolt and I had set up the whole thing on the plane, just in case.

“I should have known you had something up your sleeve, Jack.”

The Oberst came over to us. He looked strained and stiff. Obviously I hadn’t been the only one to notice the Pope’s expression.

“If you’ll follow me?” he said.

He led us to an opulent suite of rooms, in a part of the Vatican usually reserved for visiting dignitaries from other countries.

“I will go and check on the status of the briefing. Please, make yourselves comfortable. Your luggage and weapons cases are in the rooms and, should you need anything, simply pick up the telephone and dial the switchboard.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied.

“I shall return shortly.”

The room was spacious, comfortable and very tastefully decorated. The small pile of weapons cases and bags in the center of the thick carpet looked decidedly incongruous. Cam was nosing around, sticking his head around various doors and the rest of us went over to our luggage.

“Hey, there’s bedrooms all over the place,” said Cam.

“Cool,” I said, examining the cases.

Each was still locked and the electronic seals were intact. Not that I was worried that the Swiss Guard might tamper with them but a soldier’s guns are his responsibility.

“Okay, pick a room and get into something more comfortable,” I said, picking up my cases.

Marie followed me into one of the rooms and closed the door. The bed was huge, with a big, thick mattress and looked to be slightly older than the Pyramids. The other furniture in the room looked like it had been carefully and reverentially polished every day since the discovery of fire, and the carpet was deep enough that if I dropped my pistol I’d need a metal detector to find it again.

I dropped my cases on the floor and quickly stripped to my boxers. As I was scrabbling through my luggage Marie stroked her fingertips down my spine. I turned and she wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

“Hi!” she said.

“Hello to you too,” I replied.

I bent down and kissed her.

“See?” I said. “I told you, stick with me and I’ll show you the world.”

CHAPTER

9

I finished buckling my gunbelt into place and transferred my SIG from my shoulder rig to the drop-leg holster. The case containing my MP7 opened to the correct code and it went on my other thigh. The FAL would be left locked in its case, for now. I was freshly showered and dressed in my olive green combats, black shirt, body armor, and boots.

Marie was in a similar outfit, her P228 holstered on her thigh. That annoyed me. She used to have a beautiful P229, silver and gold, with a wolf’s head engraved on each of the black handgrips, but Lady Lucia, the most powerful vampire in the North of England, had stolen it. I’d vowed to get it back for her and if I had to kill Lucia to do it, so much the better.

“Okay, I think we look pretty enough,” I said. “Let’s go see if our friends are ready.”

“Sure you want to leave the big guns behind?” she asked.

“Yep, sidearms only until we find out what’s going on. We’re here to help, not intimidate.”

“Okay, you’re the boss,” she said.

“I’m glad you remembered that,” I said.

“Oh, the fact attends my every waking moment,” she said, her eyes wide and innocent.

“Cheeky,” I said with a smile.

“As ever.”

“It’s a good job you’re so cute,” I said, pulling her close for another quick kiss. “Come on, let’s go.”

We went out the door to find that my team was, indeed, waiting for us. Everyone was dressed roughly the same way, not quite a uniform, but close.

“Our friend come back yet?” I asked as I took a seat.

“Nope,” said Bolt.

“Okay, so we wait, I suppose,” I said. “And, Cam?”

“Yes boss?”

“Leave the jimpy behind, okay?”

Cam gave me a contrived look of hurt innocence. He was, indeed, cradling his GPMG in his massive paws.

“Aw, boss,” he protested.

“Sidearms only.”

“I could get a holster for it,” he said.

I had no doubt about that. The belt-fed machine gun had been modified to suit the werewolf’s needs, but it was still a heavy piece of kit.

“No, Cam. Leave it behind.”

“Okay, boss.”

He stumped off to place the weapon back in the case.

“Nicely done, love,” said Marie in a quiet voice.

I gave her an inquiring look.

“He was challenging your authority,” she said. “I think he’s looking for weakness in your leadership.”

“So what do I do?”

“Just do what you’ve been doing. Don’t take any shit, keep on asserting your position. Remind him that you are alpha of this team and you lead by right.”

“Can I trust him?” I asked, troubled.

“Of course you can, love,” she smiled. “As long as you retain your authority he’ll obey the big commands without question and he’ll never really challenge you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

There was a knock and the door opened. A young man in the uniform of the Swiss Guard entered.

“Hauptmann?” he said. “Herr Oberst asked me to bring you for the briefing.”

“Okay ladies and gentlemen, let’s shake a leg.”

There’s a moment that comes inevitably in any relationship. It’s the moment where the specter of the ex is raised. It might be a dusty and unremembered item of jewelry, the subject of innocent questions, that one partner suddenly recalls was a gift from a previous boyfriend. If you’re lucky it won’t have anything attached, such as the guilty memory of allowing him, in gratitude, to do that thing he’d always wanted to do but you’d been reluctant to agree to. It might be a birthday card, dug out from an old box of discarded papers by the love of your life who suddenly wants to know who ‘luvbomb’ is, why she’s calling you ‘my stud’, and why she’s hoping that you got plenty of sleep before your birthday. It might be the sudden revelation that the dog you both dote on was actually rescued from the pound by you and your ex on your first date.

These moments, each containing their own special mix of horror, embarrassment and potential for relationship-ending argument, pale to insignificance next to the nadir of ex moments; actually bumping into an ex—while you’re with your new partner.

“Jack!”

“Eva?”

The woman who had spoken was tall and slim; with blonde hair so pale it was almost white. She was wearing a Swiss Army uniform that did absolutely nothing to hide her full figure. I caught Marie’s eyes narrowing out of my peripheral vision. Eva was smiling warmly as she walked towards us.

“Anna, John, it’s been a while.”

“It certainly has,” said Anna.

I managed to recover from the shock and found my voice.

“Eva, this is Marie Hennessey, Samir Hasaan, and Cameron Baxter. Everyone, this is Eva Klinsman, who used to go by the name ‘Valkyrie’ when she worked for the Ministry.”

“That was a long time ago, Jack,” she said.

She indicated a young man in a dark blue suit at the back of the room.

“This is Max Jeurgen. We’ll be working with you in this mission.”

I nodded to the guardsman and turned to Eva.

“You’re in the Swiss Guard? I didn’t think they admitted women.”

“They don’t, yet. I’m officially here as a liaison with the Swiss military, working with the Guard on the vampire problem.”

Anna caught my eye and gave me a look. She and John had been on my team when I had been dating Eva, so they knew the history. I guess she was warning me not to appear too friendly.

“Okay, so you’re going to be telling us why were here?” I asked.

“Yeah, Max and I will be handling the briefing.”

We took our seats and Eva dimmed the lights. She activated a screen and brought up an image that showed a distinguished gentleman in a black cassock.

“This is monsignor D’Amacourt,” she said. “Three months ago his body was found in a hotel in Milan. He was visiting his home diocese and was, apparently, attacked by so-called ‘rogue’ vampires. The local vampire community made all the right noises, appealed for witnesses, promised all possible aid to the authorities and expressed hope that this wouldn’t cause a breakdown in relations with the Holy See.”

“Same old bull,” I said with a sigh.

“Absolutely. The Vatican gendarmerie believed that D’Amacourt was killed in retaliation for the Papal position on the souls of vampires. This belief, however, has recently changed.”

Another picture flicked up. This time it was a younger man in a simpler habit.

“This is brother Canidau, he was one of the curators of the Vatican archives. His body was found in an alleyway in Rome, not far from Vatican City. He had been shot in the head.”

A third picture came up, a serious-looking man in a Roman collar.

“This is Father Fitzpatrick. He was in charge of the curators of the Vatican archives. Two nights ago the archive was broken into, several artifacts were stolen, and three priests, including Father Fitzpatrick were killed.

“Monsignor D’Amacourt was in charge of the Vatican archives, Father Fitzpatrick was over the curators of the archives, and Brother Canidau was one of the curators. This appears to be a concerted effort to break into the archives and steal something. Long planned and, we’re certain, executed by vampires.”

“How are you certain?” asked Bolt.

“Mostly because of what was stolen.”

Another picture snapped up. This one was an amazingly lifelike sculpture of a human heart, all the veins and arteries carved in what appeared to be solid gold.

“This object belonged to Vlad III of Wallachia. After his death this was recovered in the possession of one of Vlad’s most trusted servants. He was attempting to escape. It is the heart of Vlad.”

“As in…?” I asked.

“As in his heart, his actual heart, cut from his chest while he was alive and encased in gold. This is literally the heart of Dracula.”

CHAPTER

10

“He cut out his heart?” I said. “This is a joke, right? You brought us here to listen to medieval fairy tales? Listen, when you cut out a vampire’s heart, they die, end of story.”

“Not according to our records. Vlad the Impaler was an extremely powerful vampire, maybe powerful enough to survive that. After all, there are documented cases of vampires surviving having their heads cut off, right Jack?”

Everyone turned to look at me and I rolled my eyes.

“Yes, that’s partly true. I did—once—meet a vampire that—briefly—survived after I cut his head off.”

“What? That’s impossible, surely?” said Bolt.

“I don’t know how he did it, but I shot him and he went down, but he wasn’t dead. So I took my kukri and decapitated him. His head just lay there mouthing words and spitting at me. Then his body started pulling itself towards the head. I didn’t wait to see if it would manage to get itself together and I drop kicked the head as far as I could.”

“So what happened to the body?” asked Marie.

“It kept on crawling for a few seconds, then it collapsed. I didn’t want to take any chances so I burned the thing with an incendiary.”

Bolt let out a low whistle and shook his head.

“So it is possible?” he asked.

“Unlikely. Even if Vlad was way more powerful than the vampire I took out he couldn’t have survived long without his heart. Not long at all. But even if he did, what’s the big deal? He is dead, right?”

“Yes,” said Eva, clicking up another image. This was an oil painting of a severe-looking priest with tonsured hair and a beard you could hide behind.

“This is Father Theodore, one of the earliest vampire hunters. He stove Vlad’s head in with a silver-edged mace and then the body was burnt.”

“So end of story, right?” said John.

“Not quite. Something else was stolen.”

Another picture, this time of an ancient leather-bound book.

“The Book of Armin-Sang,” I said as a weight hit my stomach.

Eva and Jeurgen looked stunned.

“You have seen this?” he asked.

“Yeah, we have a copy at the Ministry.”

“How? We thought ours was the only one!”

“Few years back we caught some limp-dick vampire who had unearthed a copy. We caught him in a hospital, draining twelve newborns.”

Jeurgen looked like he was going to vomit but Eva nodded firmly.

“The prophecy of Ya-To-Tek the undying,” she said.

“So it was called in the book,” I shrugged. “Drain twelve babies born on a full moon within six hours of birth and the vampire will gain immunity from the effects of the sun.”

I glanced around the room and smiled grimly.

“It didn’t work. We proved that.”

“How?” asked Anna.

“Sunbed.”

Her eyebrows shot up and she stared at me.

“We crisped the bastard.”

“So what is this book?” asked Cam. “The collected works of vampire prophets?”

“That’s a fair assessment,” I replied. “Armin-Sang was an eighth century vampire with a fondness for prophetic texts. He gathered together all of these wacky vampire prophecies and put them all in one volume. Apparently he had this dream of becoming some sort of vampire messiah. Everything in it is a complete load of bollocks, though.”

“Maybe not,” said Eva. “But regardless, the book was stolen along with the heart.”

“And there’s a prophecy in there about the heart of Dracula?” I asked.

“We believe so.”

“You believe so?” said Marie.

Uh-oh. Marie’s tone had been acidic. Maybe she didn’t like the way Eva had been looking at me, or she’d picked up on some vibe between us, but she clearly did not like the Swiss woman.

“We hadn’t had time to catalog the interior of the book. Since the Vatican archives started scanning the records and storing them digitally, the work had been slow. It’s a big job, too. The archives are huge. The curators believe that it may be twenty years or more before it’s complete.”

“Well we can solve that tiny problem for you. I’ll contact my government and get them to scan the book. We can probably get them to email us the entire thing within a few hours.”

Eva smiled warmly.

“Thanks, Jack. That would be really useful. Our records show that there is a prophecy inside that concerns itself with a vampire’s heart, but that’s all the details we have.”

“Any other nuggets of information you’d care to share?” said Marie.

“Some,” said Eva.

A series of pictures came up on the screen; grainy, low-res images taken by surveillance cameras. They were clear enough to see that the group that had raided the archives was wearing black military-style outfits, body armor and hoods. I couldn’t see clearly enough to be sure, but they looked like they were wearing British-made S10 respirators. The group used gas grenades and they moved with the speed and grace that marked them as other than human. They might have been werewolves but all of the evidence pointed towards vampires. Besides, werewolves would have been even faster.

“Any leads?” I asked.

“We have one possibility,” said Eva. “Take a look.”

The screen showed a video clip, shot from one of the CCTV cameras. The attackers were speeding through the archives and everywhere they went churchmen were standing, rooted to the spot, showing that peculiar wooden stance that spoke of humans being rendered insensible by vampiric mental powers. A group of Swiss Guard came running into the shot and was immediately dominated. All except one. One Guard raised his assault rifle and managed a long burst before a vampire slammed a fist into the side of his head. The Guardsman had hit one of the vampires, the rounds tearing his stomach apart.

The other attackers moved out of shot, abandoning their fallen comrade. After a few seconds the Guards began to stir, recovering quicker than the churchmen. The fallen vampire began to move sluggishly, dragging himself across the floor, leaving a wide smear of blood behind him. Within seconds the guards were on him, clubbing the vamp unconscious with the butts of their rifles.

“So the vampire survived?” I asked.

“Yes, we managed to get him into a penitent’s cell in the lower levels before he came to,” said Jeurgen. “Since then we haven’t tried to get near him. The first person he can possess will probably let him free.”

“True,” I said, thoughtfully. “What about the guardsman who managed to fire his gun? How’s he?”

“Recovering,” said Eva. “He took a nasty blow and a concussion. But he’ll be fine.”

“You might want to think about promoting him,” said Anna. “Being able to resist like that, with no special training? Impressive.”

I stared at the screen where the fallen guardsman lay still, frozen by the blow that had felled him and by the paused playback.

“We’re not police officers,” I said, “despite the official designation in the records. What can we do?”

“Three things,” said Eva. “First, we need to arrange some cross-training. If the vampires are going to start targeting the Holy See, the Swiss Guard needs training to fight them. Second, we need help securing the city against the vampires physically. Obviously our current security measures aren’t enough.”

“And third?” I asked.

“Third, we need to find out what they wanted the artifacts for, find them, recover the artifacts, and deal with those responsible.”

“Well, we know where to start,” I said with a sigh.

“Where?” asked Jeurgen.

“I’m going to have to go kick the shit out of a vampire.”

CHAPTER

11

The penitent’s cell was exactly the same as the image conjured up by the phrase. It was tiny, bare stone, and had a door that looked like it could probably have held back a charging rhino.

In the darker days of the church, confession of certain sins would buy the sinner a predetermined time in such cells, serving their penance before earning the priest’s forgiveness.

Right now only one was occupied.

The long, dank corridor was lit by harsh electric lamps that only served to better define the gloom inside the cells. I stood at the end of the corridor, at the bottom of a flight of stone steps that led down from the Vatican above. We were waiting for Cam.

“Do you really think you’ll be able to get anything from him?” asked Eva in a low voice.

I shrugged. I was willing to give it my best shot.

We turned at the sound of feet on the stairs. Jeurgen was leading Cam down. The big inmüt had been dispatched back to our rooms to pick up his machine gun and was now cradling the powerful weapon like it was a toy.

“Cam?” I asked.

“Ready, boss.”

“If he comes out…” I started.

“If he comes out, he doesn’t get two steps, boss. I understand.”

“Good.”

I slipped a silver-coated knuckle-duster onto my right hand. If the vamp got past me, I wanted him taken down quickly and without fuss. I gave my guns to John, then took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. Eva handed me a massive iron key and squeezed my forearm.

“Good luck and be careful, Jack.”

Marie shot the woman a dark look before kissing me on the cheek.

“Become Death, my love,” she said.

I nodded and started walking down the corridor. Behind me my team spread out as much as they could, their weapons ready. We had no idea how powerful this vampire was, so we weren’t about to take any chances.

I stopped in front of the locked cell and slid the key into the lock. It turned with a rusty groan and a protesting clank and the door swung inward by a few inches.

I placed the palm of my hand against the door and pushed it open. The cell was impenetrable darkness aside from the long rectangle of light thrown by the open doorway.

For a heartbeat nothing happened, then the vampire came out of the darkness, hands extended like claws, his face a mask of rage, his eyes ablaze with power. I grabbed him by the shirt and shoved backwards, slamming him against the back wall.

“Wrong move, chum,” I hissed.

I swung my fist, cracking him across the jaw with the knuckle-duster, and he went down hard.

I dropped on top of him, slamming my knees into his chest, and punched him in the face again. His scream of pain echoed down the corridor.

“I say, Pagan,” came John’s voice. “Keep it down will you?”

The vamp’s eyes widened.

“Pagan?” he whispered.

“Pagan,” I said.

I reached for my commando knife and slipped the pointed tip inside the vampire’s left nostril. The silver alloy blade was razor sharp and I felt almost no resistance as I tore the point out sideways, slicing the vamp’s nostril open. He screamed again.

I stuck the blade up his right nostril and glared down at him.

“That, shitbag, was just to get your attention. The next one goes straight inside. And then I start cutting the rest of your body.”

“No, please!”

“Fuck with me and I’ll make sure it takes you months to die, understand?”

The vamp didn’t dare nod, not with an inch of sharp metal up his nose, but he managed to whimper an affirmative sound.

“Good,” I said. “Tell me the truth and you get to walk away. Why did you steal the heart?”

“I don’t know!” he gasped.

“Oh, bad answer.”

I pushed forward with the blade, getting an extra quarter inch of metal inside.

“Please! You have to believe me! I don’t know why he wanted it!”

“He? Who?”

The vamp hesitated so I twisted the knife a little.

“No! He’ll kill me!”

“Is he here?” I asked. “Is he kneeling on your chest? Does he have a knife up your nose? Is he about to perform an amateur rhinoplasty on your ugly mug?”

The vamp looked terrified, his eyes streaming tears, his nose leaking blood and snot.

“Tell me who he is,” I said.

Suddenly the vamp started gabbling.

“I don’t know his name. He’s based in France, Paris, in a club, he… he… he’s a buh-businessman. Big vampire businessman. Owns strip clubs and escort services. People—vampires—know him as a muh-man who can get what you need. He calls himself Herr Sturmbannführer. He was supposed to be in the SS during the war, escaped from the allies, set himself up in business. He gets things for vampires.”

“Things? Like what?”

“Rare blood types, old art, virgins. Stuff. Things!”

“And the heart?”

“Someone must have paid him for it! He paid us to get it… to find out how to get in… to… to… to steal it and deliver it.”

“Deliver it where?”

“Sang du les Dieux.”

“What? 'Blood of the Gods?' What does that mean?”

“It’s the name… the nuh-name of his club in Paris. We were to meet him there and give him the… the heart and the book. And he would pay us when we got there. Please, that’s all I know.”

“Bullshit. Scabby little scumbags like you always have ways to pick things up. What else you know?”

“Just a rumor! Just a rumor!”

“What?”

“Herr Sturmbannführer’s clients are supposed to be from Romania, rich vampires with money to burn. They’ve been throwing money around for weeks, buying things.”

“Things?”

“Women, virgins,” the vampire sobbed. “Please, I wasn’t involved, I didn’t know, I was just doing the job I was paid for! Please, you have to believe me!”

I thought about it for a while before deciding that this little piece of sputum probably was telling the truth. Besides, I knew where he was if his story didn’t check out.

I withdrew the knife and stood up. The vamp’s hands flew to his face, fingering the damage as he curled into a ball. I stepped out of the cell and locked the door behind me.

At the end of the corridor my team was looking pretty relaxed, but Eva and Jeurgen were looking at me like I’d eaten a puppy in front of them. I wiped the blade of my knife clean on my trousers before sliding it back into the scabbard.

“You guys hear all that?” I asked.

“Yeah, good acoustics in here,” said John as he returned my guns.

“Anyone know the club? Or heard of this Herr Sturmbannführer?”

Eva nodded.

“I know the club. It’s a vampire fetishist’s club.”

“A club for vampires with fetishes or for people with a fetish for vampires?” I asked.

After a while in my line of work you learned to ask that kind of question.

“The latter,” she said, leading us up the stairs again. “People who get a thrill out of being fed on, people who get a thrill out of just being around vampires. People who like a little designer darkness, a little frisson of evil with their revels.”

“Maybe we should go have a word with this Herr Sturmbannführer,” I said.

“No need,” said Eva. “I think we may know someone on the inside.”

“The Vatican has spies in the vampiric organizations?” I asked.

“Yes, but this one is not a spy. She’s an … old friend.”

“Okay, she might be able to help us?” I asked.

“Yes, she might know something about these unusual characters that the vampire was talking about.”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt to check it out,” I said.

“We’ll catch a flight,” said Eva. “We’ll need to establish false identities for you and your team. It would cause trouble if the records showed The Pagan and his friends flying around Europe.”

“Already taken care of,” I said. “The Ministry had the same thought.”

“This is good,” she replied. “So, get in touch with your Ministry and ask them for the book, then we will catch the next available flight.”

“Eva?” I said, quietly, jerking my thumb over my shoulder at the occupied cell. “You know he has to die, right? As soon as we find out if his information's any good.”

“The rituals are already being prepared,” she said.

CHAPTER

12

We were back in our rooms and I was on our laptop, conversing with someone in London. The Ministry hadn’t started scanning The Book Of Armin-Sang—in fact it was sitting in some dusty storeroom, virtually forgotten—but it had now been designated high-priority. I’d passed on everything we knew so far and promised to stay in touch.

I was wondering about the situation. I’d been right when I said this wasn’t our normal gig. We were hunters, not detectives. We killed vampires for a living. Solving crimes was not, despite that TV show about me, the way I spent my days.

Marie interrupted my thoughts with a feather-light touch on my arm. She smiled and nodded towards our room. I rose and followed her, shutting the door behind us.

“Okay, who is she?” asked Marie.

“Eva?” I said.

I’d been dreading this.

“I’m not stupid, Jack,” she said. “I may not be able to read Anna, but John walked into that room looking like he’d just found half a worm in his apple.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling slightly, “John never was good at poker.”

“Jack?”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Eva and I worked together when she was in the Ministry. We had a … relationship.”

“The kind of significant-pause relationship that you and I have?”

“Not even close, sweetheart.”

She sat down on the bed, staring off into space for a few moments.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “When? What happened? How long did it last? Why did it end?”

I slumped into a chair and stared at the carpet.

“It was years ago. We worked together, fought alongside each other. I don’t even remember who made the first move, it just kind of happened. It wasn’t anything deep and meaningful, it was just … two people looking for comfort. The early years of the Ministry were … fairly dark. A scary time. Most of the time we didn't know if we'd see the end of the week, let alone the year.”

I glanced up and found Marie looking at me.

“It lasted three or four days, all told,” I said. “I wasn’t big on commitment in those days and she wanted something a little more reliable. She left a couple of months later, called to the Church, she said. Guess she was telling the truth.”

“You miss her?”

I snorted a quick, dismissive laugh.

“Not in the slightest, love. In the few months we knew each other she spent most of her time trying to get me to go to church with her. I think she took my atheism as a challenge.”

“Jack, straight answer, remember? Is she a threat to us?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

I stood up and crossed over to her, sinking to my knees and taking her hands in mine.

“Marie, that’s the second time you’ve asked that question about someone. Trust me on this, there’s only one person in the world who can take away what we have, and that’s you. It won’t be me ‘coz I’m in this for the duration. I’m yours for as long as you can stand me.”

“That’s sweet, Jack,” she said.

She took my face in her hands and kissed me.

“Just don’t hurt me, okay?” she said softly.

“I promise,” I said.

“I’m still not sure I like the idea of us visiting Paris with your ex girlfriend, though.”

“I think I can keep my hands to myself, sweetheart.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Jack? I trust you. It’s her I don’t trust.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, either.”

“It better not be. I’ll break her arm if she touches you again.”

I smiled and kissed her, lingering over her soft lips.

“Come on, let’s see if dinner’s arrived yet.”

It had been decided that, seeing as our presence here was supposed to be something of a secret, it would be a bad idea to eat in a public place. Dinner was being sent up to the room from the kitchens and we would stay in our suite as much as possible.

We went outside to find that the food had, indeed arrived. The Vatican didn’t stint on food for its visitors.

We sat down around a dining room table that looked big enough to launch fighters from and tucked in to the best meal I’d had in a long while.

It was getting dark and we passed the time swapping stories and telling jokes before we eventually went our separate ways.

Marie and I retired to our room and she disappeared to check out the bathroom. I took off my gunbelt and hung it from the headboard. My usual spot. I had just finished getting undressed when Marie grabbed my arm.

“Follow me,” she said.

“Okay.”

She was naked and had a very enticing look on her face.

“Have you seen the size of the bathtub in here?” she asked.

“No, I haven’t,” I said.

“Take a look.”

The tub was huge, old, made of porcelain, and filling up with sudsy water.

“Want to take a bath with me?”

CHAPTER

13

It was very early in the morning when Marie shook me awake.

“Jack, your phone’s ringing,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Your phone.”

“Bugger the damn phone,” I mumbled.

Now that I was awake I could hear it buzzing on the bedside table. I groaned and rolled over. The clock said it was a quarter past three.

“Bloody hell,” I said as I picked up the phone.

“Yes?” I said.

“Jack?”

It was Tilehurst.

“Boss, do you know what time it is over here?”

“This is important, Jack.”

“Of course it bloody is,” I said, sitting up.

“We have the scans you asked for. They’ve been transmitted to your laptop, but you need to look at them right now. This is not good news.”

“That was quick,” I said, trying to blink the sleep out of my eyes.

“Yeah, well, we only scanned the pages you asked about. We’ll do the rest and send them, but get your butt to the computer. If you have any questions, call me back. Oh, hang on. One more thing: that dragon tattoo on the vampires you were asking about?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“It’s the symbol of a medieval group called ‘The Order of the Dragon’ and I’m guessing I don’t have to tell you what that means.”

“No, boss. You don’t.”

“Okay, good luck.”

I stared at the phone and sighed. Beside me Marie sat up and stretched.

“We’re getting up?” she said.

“Seems that way.”

I grabbed my trousers and yanked them on.

“Where’s the bloody laptop?”

“Out in the sitting room,” she replied.

“Okay.”

Marie grabbed a pair of panties from her bag and looked around as she pulled them on. Laying on the chair was the t-shirt I’d worn yesterday. She slipped into it and it fell halfway to her knees.

“That all you’re wearing?” I asked.

“What, too sexy for you?”

I grabbed a handful of the shirt and yanked her forward, planting a kiss on her lips.

“Come on, let’s go find out what was so damn important we had to get woken up at quarter past what the fuck in the morning.”

The laptop was sitting on the coffee table, a message box blinking on the screen. I entered my ID and password and the computer thought about it for a second, then popped up a random question from the list of fifty kept in my security file.

>What was your first car?

I typed in the answer:

>Austin Metro 1.1L

and hit enter. The computer thought about it for a second. If the answer was wrong it would flash up a second question. If I got that one wrong it would flash up a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, ignoring the responses while it wiped its own hard drive. I got it right so it went to the next stage.

>Please enter verification code.

I smiled and typed:

>No verification code has been entered.

That had been John’s idea. If someone managed to hack the security file and retrieve the information, that code would confuse the hell out of them. The computer digested the response and then flicked up a download box.

“Hmm,” I said. “This is odd.”

“What is?” asked Marie.

“It says that before the download can be completed I need to be kissed.”

She shook her head and smiled.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Seriously, look,” I protested.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She leaned in and gave me a lingering kiss.

“We interrupting?”

“Yes,” I said. “But we’d probably have to get you guys up soon anyway.”

John and Anna had come out of their room, John looked mussed and half asleep, Anna looked fresh as a daisy.

“We got a phone call from the Ministry,” said Marie.

“Yeah,” said John. “So did we. A certain friend of Jack’s asking me to make sure he didn’t just go back to sleep.”

“Bastard,” I said. “It’s almost like he knows me.”

“I think he does,” said John with a smirk.

“Oh, yeah, whilst I remember,” I said. “Our revered leader had some info about that tattoo we saw the other day. It’s the emblem of the Order of the Dragon.”

“The Order of the Dragon?” said John.

“Yep. Vlad III was called Vlad Dracul because ‘dracul’ means ‘dragon’. He was called ‘the dragon’ because he was a member of the Order of the Dragon.”

“And the Order of the Dragon was? Or is?”

“Well, I’m guessing, given what we know now, that it was some sort of inner society of vampires. Or at least a front for one.”

“So those vampires in the Escort Boy Racer edition are somehow connected to this?” asked Anna doubtfully.

“Possibly,” I replied. “I’m guessing that the Order of the Dragon is still active. Maybe they wanted the heart because they revere Vlad.”

“Either that or the chavs were simply fanboys and there’s no real connection at all,” John pointed out.

“Also possible,” I conceded.

“I mean,” John clarified, “what are the chances that this ancient and noble order of dragons would allow scumbags like that in their august ranks?”

“Slim to none,” I replied.

The computer beeped to let us know that the download was complete. The computer prompted me for a decryption key at the same instant my phone beeped. John’s phone beeped a second later.

“This security is a little tight, even for us,” I said, yawning.

John checked his phone, reading the text message.

“Four two oh six,” he said.

I brought up the message on my phone. It was a long string of numbers.

“Okay, four two oh six adds up to twelve, one and two is three, three is odd so we put the code in backwards, right?”

“Yeah,” said John. “It’s way too early for this shit.”

I carefully typed the string of numbers into the laptop, checking them three times to make sure it was correct. Then I handed my phone to Anna and turned the laptop towards Marie.

“Just verify the code’s correct, will you?”

Anna smiled and read the sequence of numbers while Marie checked the screen. Satisfied, I pressed the enter key. A status bar appeared, filled, and disappeared. The computer paused for effect, then a scanned page of handwritten text popped up. It was written in a very old English dialect.

“What? Didn’t Eva say the book was written in Latin?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” said John.

Anna nodded.

“Weird. We appear to have got our hands on an English translation. Oh, wait, there’s a notation. It was translated just after the death of Vlad Dracul.”

“Coincidental,” said John.

I shrugged and started to read.

Ande thee Marster vampyre sharl be lay’d low by thee Church, yet they knowe notte that Hys heart ys long since gone.

By this means wyll He be return’d to lyfe, for He cannot be kill’d in sooth.

The Lorde sharl rise if His heart be placed yn the blud of ane virgin sacrifyc’d upon ay night when ye moon is fullest.

I shook my head and sighed.

“Barry Boy said ‘he’s coming’. Guess he was talking about Dracula.”

CHAPTER

14

“I can’t read a word of that scrawl,” John confessed.

“It says,” I replied. “Someone called ‘the Master’—Dracula, I’d guess—will be attacked by the church—true, I suppose—but they didn’t know that his heart was already gone so he can’t be killed. He can be brought back to life by putting the heart in virgin’s blood on a full moon.”

“Why is it always blood?” asked John in a weary tone.

“Why is it always a virgin?” asked Anna with a raised eyebrow.

“Why is it always the full moon?” said Marie with an impish smile.

“It’s always blood because blood is power to the vamps,” I said. “Blood is what drives them, what they thirst for. Blood is what makes us different to them, what makes us prey. It’s also what makes us alive. It’s always a virgin because purity is sacred.”

“That’s true,” said Anna fiercely. “And it’s not just the vamps. Thousands of young girls in Africa contract HIV every year because some twat started people believing that sex with a virgin cures AIDS.”

I nodded and shook my head sadly.

“Yep, purity is special,” I said. “And the desecration of purity in the name of a dark rite always has a delicious thrill to it, I suppose. And it’s always full moon because the world really wants to piss you off, Marie.”

She stuck her tongue out at me, setting everyone to laughing.

“How long ‘till the full moon?” I asked.

“Eight days,” said Marie promptly.

“So, they’re going to sacrifice a virgin and dump this heart into the blood, and … what?” I said. “Dracula’s just gonna go ‘foom’ and there he’ll be? Cloud of smoke, ominous peal of thunder sort of thing?”

“Jack, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” said Anna.

“Oh come on,” I said, pushing the laptop away. “We might as well go home right now. It’s bullshit! Nothing’s gonna happen!”

“Are you sure about that?” said Anna.

I slumped back on the couch and gave the laptop a disgusted glare.

“Yes, Anna, I’m sure. It’s a load of crap. It’s some fucking ancient vampire’s masturbatory fantasy.”

“We don’t know that,” she insisted. “Vlad Dracul was supposed to be really powerful, and really old when he died. We have no idea how much power he had.”

I sat up and fixed her with a dull glare.

“You’re actually buying into this bollocks?”

“Oh, what’s bollocks, Jack?” she said. “You’re sitting in the Vatican discussing the resurrection of Dracula with your vampire friend and your werewolf lover.”

I rolled my eyes and stood up.

“I’m sick of hearing that as an excuse,” I said, pacing around the room. “Vampires exist so who knows what else, right?”

“You can’t discount the possibility, Jack.”

“Anna, listen,” I said. “No matter how weird you may be personally,” I paused and gave her a wink, “vampires are natural creatures. There’s no magic here. If Vlad Dracul had cut his heart out he would have died. And even if he hadn’t, when that priest bashed his brains out and burned his body, Dracula died for good. Permanent. Finito. Done, dusted, over, done with, full stop. Case closed.”

“So, what?” said John. “We’re not going?”

“Well of course we’re bloody going, that’s what we’re here for. I just want it understood that this is a wild goose chase, that’s all.”

Anna suddenly laughed, shaking her head.

“Boss, you’re like a big kid sometimes. Why are we even arguing about it if your mind’s made up?”

“I dunno, I just want to be clear. We’re going because that’s what we’re here to do, not because there’s even the remotest possibility that a long dead vampire is gonna come back and start rampaging around.”

“Who is being loud at this ungodly hour?”

We all turned around and stopped. There was dead silence for a few heartbeats.

“Hey, Cam,” I said, finally. “If you were thinking of going outside at all today, might I suggest … clothes?”

The big werewolf scoffed and tossed his head.

“What do I need clothes for?” he growled. “I’m wearing a fur coat.”

“Yes, yes you are,” I conceded. “And yet you are still spectacularly naked.”

Cam shook his head and turned to go back into his room.

“Get dressed,” I yelled after him.

“You’re just jealous,” he said over his shoulder.

“Dude,” I said to the closed door. “Horses would be jealous.”

I turned back to the others, seeing their amused looks.

“What?” I said. “He’s a big old boy, our Cam. Somebody wanna wake Bolt up?”

“I’m awake!” said Bolt, coming out of his room, fully dressed. “What’s happening?”

“Cam just came out here with his family jewels on display,” said John. “Jack got jealous.”

“Of Cam?” said Bolt, fixing me with a sarcastic smile. “I didn’t think that the boss had any worries in that department.”

“Okay, let’s not start that again,” I said.

“It's time for an answer, boss,” said Bolt, taking a seat. “Why do you care what people think of you? In that way, I mean?”

I smiled and shrugged.

“Read your badge, Bolt.”

He frowned and pulled out his leather case, opening it.

“I never could figure out what that meant,” he said.

“They didn’t tell you in basic training?”

He looked at me, thinking for a second.

“Boss, I spent four years in the Afghan army. I slept through most of the basic training here.”

“Maybe you should have checked in once in a while,” I said. “The motto is Greek for ‘Know Thyself’, which is the hunter’s motto.”

“I always wondered about that,” said John.

“Vampires prey on our insecurities and our illusions,” I said. “The strongest, safest defense against vampire mind powers is to be utterly sure of who and what you are. Know Thyself.”

“But what difference does it make?” asked Bolt. “You’re immune to them anyway.”

“Well, I just like to practice what I preach, I guess.”

Bolt thought about that for a second or two and then shrugged.

“They’ll be up in a few minutes,” said Marie, coming back from the phone.

“Then I’d better finish getting dressed,” I said with a yawn.

“Yes,” she replied, eyeing my naked chest. “You’d better. We wouldn’t want anyone getting any ideas.”

“Oh, you told her?” said Anna.

“Of course I told her,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Did I ever apologize for that?” she asked.

I waved a hand dismissively.

“You don’t have to apologize. You meant well, I knew that.”

Marie was giving the two of us a suspicious look.

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t tell Marie that part. Anna was the one who set us up.”

“Not my finest moment,” she said ruefully. “Matchmaking a militant atheist and a devout Catholic.”

Marie’s eyes narrowed.

“We can talk about it while I dress, if you like, love,” I suggested.

“Yes, I think we will.”

CHAPTER

15

We went back into the bedroom and Marie closed the door behind us.

“Well it’s no wonder you resisted Anna’s attempts to get us together,” she declared, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Anna’s not very good at the matchmaking thing. I think she decided early on that I was too dangerous to be left alone for long and she pretty much set me up with every female that wandered into view.”

Marie smiled and shook her head.

“Bad?”

“Bad. Remember Hydra?”

“Yeah. What about her?”

“Anna even tried to get me a date with her.”

“Isn’t she married?”

“Yep. And her wife is the nicest woman you could ever hope to meet.”

“Anna tried to set you up with a woman who is married … to another woman?” said Marie, her eyes widening. “And that’s why you told me I didn’t have to worry about her, right?”

“Yep,” I said, tugging a t-shirt on. “That little conversation went well. I knew, but Anna didn’t. It was all I could do not to laugh in her face.”

“I really shouldn’t say this because she’s my friend, I love her, and I’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her,” said Marie, “but it’s actually nice to know she’s not good at everything.”

“I don’t know about that. She did match us up, right?”

“I’d decided on you before Anna stepped in,” she said with a mysterious smile. “Does that bother you?”

“Does what bother me?” I asked.

I was hunting for my body armor. It was here somewhere.

“That I came after you? That I decided we were going to be together and hunted you like a good meal?”

“Is that a werewolf saying?” I asked.

Ah, my body armor had been kicked under the bed. I pulled it out and slipped it over my head.

“Answer the question, Jack,” she said. “Does it bother you? Do you feel like I was too aggressive?”

“Not in the slightest,” I said, tightening my armor with the Velcro straps.

“Sure?”

I stopped and met her eyes. She looked small and vulnerable. There was even a touch of fear in her eyes. I placed my hands on her shoulders and smiled.

“No regrets, Marie.”

“None?”

I laughed and shoved her backwards and straddled her hips, my hands on either side of her shoulders.

“None whatsoever. I’ve never been happier. And if it seemed like I wasn’t taking the question seriously, it’s just because I’m so sure of you—of us—that the question doesn’t even make sense for me.”

Her smile was radiant and the kiss she planted on my lips made me regret being dressed.

“You know, you really have no reason to be jealous of Cam,” she said eventually.

“Oh, please love. I know that. The guy’s nearly two feet taller than me and built like a Challenger tank. I’d be worried if he wasn’t bigger than me.”

“So you’re okay?”

I sat up and placed my hands on her stomach, lightly drumming my fingers.

“Marie, most guys aren’t as obsessed with dick size as women think they are. Guys compete over everything, but that’s just alpha male chest thumping.”

I trailed my fingers over her stomach.

“Now you need to finish getting dressed, too.”

I climbed off of her and picked up my gunbelt.

Still laying on the bed she unbuttoned her shirt—my shirt—and let it fall open.

“Sure you wouldn’t prefer less clothes rather than more?”

She sat up and let the shirt fall from her shoulders.

“Marie, you are insatiable. You’re going to wear me out, you know.”

“It’s going to get worse,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I thought you knew.”

I shook my head.

“Knew what?”

“Jack, we’re into spring, and that means I’m coming into heat. If you think I want it all the time right now, wait a month or two.”

I was stunned. I had never heard of this.

“I’m gonna be more or less permanently turned on, and I’m going to want to jump you pretty much all the time.”

Speechless, I could only look at her and gape.

“You’re going to need to get plenty of sleep, love. I’ll need sex three or four times a day.”

“Are you serious?” I said, finally finding my voice.

She covered he mouth with her hand and giggled.

“Oh, funny. Very, very funny.”

“Jack,” she said, laughing. “You should have seen your face. You looked like you’d just fallen into a vat of beer and you didn’t know whether to swim for it or die trying to drink your way out.”

“You are an evil, devil woman,” I said.

“So you keep saying,” she said.

“In my defense, you are standing there pretty much naked and that always makes it a little difficult for me to think straight.”

She put her hands on her hips and pushed her shoulders back, aggressively thrusting her breasts at me.

“So you can still be distracted by a pair of breasts,” she said.

“Only yours, love.”

“Liar,” she said softly.

“Yeah, maybe, but yours are the only ones I want to touch.”

“I’m getting dressed before you dig yourself in any deeper. We have time for a shower?”

“We can grab one later,” I said. “I doubt we’re going to be rushing off anywhere just yet.”

“You really don’t believe there’s anything to this prophecy?” she asked as she finished dressing.

“Nope,” I said. “But it doesn’t matter. If the Prince of Darkness does appear in a cloud of smoke I’ll be there to kill him just like any other leech. The first thing the king bloodsucker will see after six hundred years laying dead will be the wrong end of a seven six-two round determined to give him permanent sinus trouble.”

“Glad you’re so blasé about it.”

“I’m the Pagan,” I said loftily. “Don’t you read the books? I always win and I always get the girl.”

“Yes you do,” she replied.

“Just don’t expect me to go sharing you with another guy.”

“Actually I’m glad to hear you say that.”

“You are?”

“Yeah, sharing me with another guy, allowing another guy to dominate me, that would be insulting. It would mean you have absolutely no respect for me and that would be bad for us.”

She was looking at me with a defiant look in her eyes. I slipped my arms around her waist and held her tight.

“Then it’s a good job I’m so possessive,” I said. “You’re mine. Nobody else gets to touch you.”

“What about the other way? You, me and another woman?”

“Nope. Quite apart from the fact that you’re almost too much for me to handle all by yourself, I don’t want another woman touching me.”

“Good. I’m glad we think so alike. I keep telling you: we were meant for each other.”

“Yes, so you keep saying,” I said with a smile. “Come on, let’s go see if our guests have arrived.”

CHAPTER

16

We went outside to find that Eva and Jeurgen had, indeed, turned up and, to my delight, they’d brought breakfast with them. Two trolleys stood by the dining room table, leaden down with various enticing items. Cam was leaning against the sofa, the plate in his hand piled high with food, his jaw working industriously. Cam eats more than any person I’ve ever met.

He gave me a nod and a wink as he shoveled another gigantic forkful of bacon into his mouth.

“You leave anything for us?” said Marie.

He shrugged and swallowed.

“You snooze, you lose,” he said.

Eva and Jeurgen were sitting on the couch, studying the text we’d been sent. They glanced up and greeted us briefly before turning back to the screen.

“Food?” I suggested to Marie.

“Certainly. I’m starving.”

We went over and took a look. There was a large dish of bacon—it looked like Cam had taken about half of it—eggs, fried bread, sausages, a big tureen of baked beans, fried tomatoes, mushrooms; basically everything one would need to construct a hearty and artery-clanging full English breakfast. The second trolley held more traditional Continental fare: lightly browned croissants, toast, crusty rolls, and fruit.

I looked from one trolley to the other, trying to decide between cholesterol and fiber. Finally I decided it was going to be a long day. Two minutes saw me with a plate almost as big as Cam’s, heavy with fried goodness, with a crusty roll bulging with bacon in a fair attempt at a big boy special.

I sat down and began to tuck in. Marie sat down next to me, her own heart attack on a plate in her hands. It was nice, I reflected, to be with a woman who didn’t have to worry about her diet. Her high metabolism would burn that lot off within a few hours. There was something off-putting about trying to tuck into a nice steak when your date’s picking at rabbit food.

John was on his cell phone, by the window that looked out over St. Peter’s square, and Anna was nowhere to be seen.

“What are these sausages made of?” said Bolt suspiciously.

“The ones on top are pork, I’m afraid, but if you lift the plate the ones underneath are beef,” said Eva. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first Muslim we’ve entertained, so our chef knows halal. There’s also some chicken in the covered dish and some turkey bacon somewhere.”

“Yeah, I got it thanks,” he said, and then hesitated again.

“It’s okay, the Holy Father gave specific instructions, and none of the food has been blessed in any way,” said Jeurgen. “We didn’t even say grace.”

Bolt smiled and began to help himself.

John finished his call and wandered back over.

“Okay, we’re booked on a flight to Charles de Gaulle Airport this evening and we’re booked into the poshest hotel I could find, under Jack’s rich bastard alias,” he said. “Congratulations Jack, you just became one of the richest vampire supporters in England. We’re booked in as ‘associated staff and assistants’.”

I laughed.

“Nice to be wealthy, I suppose,” I said.

“Yeah, but I don’t think our dear Minister’s gonna be too happy if you melt the credit card.”

“Dammit, I was just thinking how cool I’d look in a Ferrari.”

“Okay,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Roles. Jack is our boss and we all work for him. No change there I suppose. Bolt is in charge of overall security. I’m the driver, Anna’s your personal assistant, Cam is your bodyguard. Eva, think you can handle legal advisor?”

She nodded.

“Jeurgen, I thought you could be Jack’s weapons specialist.”

“Why does he need a weapons specialist?” asked the young Guardsman.

“Sorry, should have mentioned that. Jack’s cover is a weapons dealer. Very successful, very wealthy, makes obscene amounts of money selling everything lethal to anyone buying. He’s also a vocal—and generous—supporter of the vampire’s cause in England.”

“Okay, I can be weapons specialist,” said Jeurgen.

“And what about me?” asked Marie.

“You are the hot piece of ass I keep around for when I get the urge to play,” I said. “Arm candy.”

Marie fixed me with a pointed look.

“And will I be expected to play that role to the letter?” she asked.

“Yes, absolutely. I expect nothing less than full artistic commitment.”

“Ah well, it’s a difficult role but I’ll do my best.”

“Actually,” said John, “it conceals a useful agenda. Everywhere Jack goes, no matter where, he’ll have Rolling Thunder the Werewolf Wrecking Ball with him, plus his innocent little fuck buddy, which means all three will be immune to the vamp’s mental abilities. A rather useful coincidence, n’est pas?”

“Fuck buddy?” said Marie.

“Sorry, would you prefer ‘piece of fluff’? ‘Bit of spare’? ‘Tottie’?”

“Wow, John,” said Anna, coming back into the room. “You really know how to woo a girl.”

“I’m a fuck buddy, Anna,” said Marie, giving John a dark look.

“Congratulations, dear,” said Anna. “The hours are easy and most of the work is on your back. Jack shouldn’t be too demanding in that area. Half an hour of faking orgasms and the rest of the day’s yours.”

“Great job, John,” I said. “You don’t get to talk anymore.”

There were several laughs from around the room. Marie leaned against my shoulder and shook her head.

“Fuck buddy,” she said in a disgusted tone.

Anna sat down and took a sip from a cup of tea.

“So,” I said. “We hop the flight to Gay Paris, go check out this club and find out what we can about the vamps, right?”

“Right,” said Anna.

“What does a personal assistant do, exactly?” said Marie.

“Well, the last time we used this identity it combined secretary and—ahem—fuck buddy.”

Marie gasped and turned to me.

“Anna posed as my girlfriend,” I said quickly.

“Did his reputation no end of good, having a vampire as arm candy,” said Anna. “I’d imagine that having a werewolf isn’t going to do it any harm either. Sir John Winstanleigh is known as a man with unusual, expensive and perverted tastes.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a fake identity?” said Marie.

“Ha,” I said. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Funny.”

“I thought so.”

“Okay, we go to Paris, check out the club, and set off on our little wild goose chase.”

“You still riding that horse, Jack?” said Anna.

“Yep, apparently I’m not allowed to get off until it reaches its destination.”

“What is this?” said Jeurgen.

“Jack’s skeptical about the chances of Dracula being resurrected,” said Anna.

“Not skeptical,” I corrected. “Completely dismissive.”

“You don’t think it’s going to work?” asked Jeurgen.

“I don’t think it can work,” I corrected. “Vampires just don’t come back from the dead like that.”

“Actually, every vampire has come back from the dead, that’s how it works,” said Anna.

“Yeah, but being killed after being bitten and then waking up a vampire is different from having your body burned and coming back six hundred years later. It’s physically impossible.”

“But you’re an atheist,” said Eva. “You don’t think God is possible.”

“I’ve asked you before, Eva,” I said. “Show me one proof of your God and we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” she said and pointed at Marie. “You’re sitting next to a woman who changes into a wolf.”

“I am?” I said. “I’d like to see that trick, sweetheart.”

Marie gave me a startled look.

“Jack, are you taking any heavy medication?” said Anna. “You’ve seen Marie change.”

“Not into a wolf.”

There was dead silence in the room. Marie finally broke it.

“Jack, are you okay?”

“Sure I am. Look, sweetheart, you don’t change into a wolf. Cam is not a wolf.”

“Sure he is,” said Eva.

“Really? You’ve seen many wolves that look like that? Because I’ve seen wolves. Wolves don’t have to bend down to get through doors. Wolves have four legs, not two. Wolves don’t wear clothes, or use a fork to eat bacon.”

“Okay, so he’s not your actual wolf,” said Eva.

“My point exactly. Marie isn’t a woman who turns into a wolf. She’s a werewolf, which means that sometimes she’s a werewolf that looks like a very cute woman, and sometimes she’s a werewolf that looks like a very cute woman with fur, claws, a tail, and a wolf-like head.”

“Sophistry,” said Anna with a smile.

“Nope, pure fact. Granted, if werewolves really were biologically human, who changed into a something that was biologically wolf, you’d have a point. But calling werewolves proof of God would be like finding a human with wings and declaring it proof of God because you’d found an angel. It’s just not the same thing.”

“Okay, so what about vampires?” asked Eva.

“Biological processes. Just because we don’t understand yet, doesn’t mean we’ll never understand. And, more importantly, just because we don’t understand doesn’t mean God did it.”

“Actually,” said Jeurgen, “I was thinking more of Satan. I mean no offense, ma’am.”

“None taken,” said Anna demurely.

“Okay, whatever,” I said. “You can’t just claim it’s the work of the supernatural and call it quits. People used to think that babies came by an act of some fertility god.

“Goddess,” Anna corrected with a small smile.

“Goddess, then.” I went on, warming to the subject. “We used to think that thunderstorms were the gods making war. We used to think a goddess made crops grow. Now we know better. One day we’ll understand vampires and werewolves better, too.”

“And women?” quipped John.

“Oh we’ll never understand women,” I said. “Some mysteries are too deep to fathom. I’ll tell you this, though: they understand us, buddy. They’ve got us figured out.”

“Yes we do,” said Anna. “That’s why woman will inherit the Earth.”

I looked at John and shrugged theatrically.

“I can’t argue with that. We’re close to obsolete, brother.”

“Naah,” said Marie, patting my arm. “We can think of one or two uses for you.”

“Killing spiders,” said John. “Opening jars. Getting things off of tall shelves. Fixing leaky things.”

“Don’t forget giving us a warm place to stick our feet at night,” said Anna.

“True, there is that. See, Jack? We’re still vital and contributing members of society.”

CHAPTER

17

I placed my empty plate on the coffee table and sat back on the couch.

“Sorry Eva, we wandered a bit away from the point there.”

“That’s okay, Jack,” she replied. “It’s only your soul we’re talking about.”

“I don’t have a soul,” I said. “I’m English, remember?”

I leaned back on the couch and shut my eyes.

“I could use a cigarette, though,” I said.

“Oh, sweetheart, you quit,” said Marie.

“Yep, doesn’t mean I don’t crave them now and again. And I could probably do with going back to sleep some time today.”

In my pocket my phone buzzed.

“Fat chance of that,” I said.

I pulled it out. It was a text message from the Ministry. The rest of the book was ready for download. We went through the security procedure again and the pages started to appear on the laptop.

Jeurgen was fascinated, reading the text through as quickly as possible.

I noticed an ornate carved box on the table and frowned.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Oh, I thought you might like to see this,” said Eva.

She opened the box. Inside was a golden human heart.

“I thought they stole that,” I said carefully.

“They did,” she replied. “This is a copy.”

“Why did someone make a copy?” asked Bolt.

“Three hundred years ago there was an attempt to steal the original. The then Pope was so worried about it that he had this copy made and placed in the archives. The original was, under strictest secrecy, hidden away in the Pope’s chambers, under the floor.”

I lifted the object out, marveling at the detail.

“So how do we know this isn’t the original?” I asked.

“Two reasons: First, the original was placed back in the archives over fifty years ago, and second, we x-rayed this one, just in case. It’s wood, covered in a layer of gold.”

“And the original?” I asked. “What did the x-ray show that to be?”

“We don’t know. We never tested that one.”

I gave her an exasperated look.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. Nobody ever thought it was important enough to bother with.”

I was idly turning the object around in my hands, admiring the craftsmanship. What about the original? Was it stone? Wood? Was it solid gold? Clay? Was it, despite probability, a real human heart encased in gold?

I carefully put the heart back in the box.

“Well, seeing as we’re awake, and it’s stupid o’clock in the morning, what are we going to do to waste time?”

“Well, I need to get this down to the archives. The archivists have been salivating about the book since it got stolen.”

“Sure, there’s some blank CDs in the case, if I remember correctly. Burn a copy and go give the archivists a late Christmas present.”

The Guardsman extracted a CD and ran off a copy.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon,” he said. “Do try not to start a crusade while I’m gone.”

He left to the sound of appreciative laughter.

“Okay, so this club,” I said. “I’m going with John’s idea. Me, Cam and Marie. Sound good?”

“I think I should go with you,” said Eva, doubtfully. “I don’t know if my friend will talk to you if I’m not with you.”

“Well, not to disparage your skills, but if I’m going to be walking into vamp perv central I’d rather be with people who can’t be played like a guitar.”

“Then we’ve got a problem,” said Marie. “If I’m going to be playing your girlfriend, that is.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Well, I’m only immune in my not-quite-a-wolf form.”

I reached out and tweaked her nose.

“Sweetheart, I meant no offense by that.”

“I know that,” she said. “But it’s true, in my cute human form I’m vulnerable.”

“Go as a wolf,” said Cam, finally setting his empty plate aside.

“What?” I protested. “She can’t do that.”

“Why not?” he said, covering a belch. “Par’n me. Look, Anna said it did your reputation good to be seen partying with a vampire. Why not a werewolf? I’ll go as hired muscle, to glare at people and make them go away. Marie can go as your ‘I’m so much of a bloody stud I’m fucking a werewolf’ trophy.”

“Feel like upgrading from fuck buddy to trophy, love?” I asked.

“Is that really an upgrade?” she asked archly.

I shrugged.

“Okay, I like the idea,” she said. “That way when we need to save you from whatever trouble you get into, I’ll be ready to go. No need to change.”

“Yeah, I hear finding a phone booth in Paris is near impossible these days,” I quipped.

She smiled and shook her head.

“Yeah, Superwolf, that’s me,” she said. “But then we have another problem. What will I wear? It’s not like I can wear my combat suit. And don’t even think about taking me in there naked. I know you were, but just don’t.”

Actually the thought hadn’t even occurred to me.

“Okay,” I said and turned to Eva. “What can we expect from this place? What should she be wearing?”

“I’m sorry, hun, I really am,” she said to Marie, “but we’re talking about leather and not a whole lot of it. And …”

We waited.

“And …?” I prompted.

“And a collar. And leash.”

Marie was giving me a look best described as ‘flinty’. In fact it went past flinty and had reached granite, with magnificently marbled sides and reinforced steel supports. I knew her well, though. I could see that at least some of the look was fake. Her voice confirmed it. She was going for a growl, but I could tell she was on board. The look was to let me know that I should not be commenting in my usual irreverent way.

“Why would we need a collar and leash?” she asked.

“It’s a fetish club,” said Eva. “And not even a blind person’s going to buy Jack as a submissive.”

“I don’t know,” said Marie. “I’d buy him. If he wasn’t too expensive.”

I gave her a flat look and raised one eyebrow.

“Why does either of us have to be the submissive?” I asked.

“It’s that kind of club, Jack.”

“Well, isn’t this cliché? What is it about vampires and BDSM?” I asked sourly.

“Well, I have a theory about that,” she said. “It’s part of my duties here working with the Swiss Guard, studying vampires and trying to better understand them. Vampires like power; they live on being in charge. Think about the way a vampire uses their mental abilities. A vampire could, if they wanted, sneak in and plant suggestions, get you to do their bidding without you even being aware of it. Instead, they dominate, they take over utterly and force you against your will.”

“I suppose a BDSM club would be their style,” I said. “I just never did get into that whole Tabloid Dom scene.”

A thought occurred. I let out a heartfelt groan and put my head in my hands.

“And I guess I’m going to end up dressing like a pirate who just raided the kind of store that doesn’t have a front window display, right?”

“Indeed,” said Eva with a perfectly straight face.

“Now that sounds like fun,” said Marie. “And I’m going to be doing a little kneeling at your feet, looking up at you with adoring eyes, aren’t I?”

“You,” I said, leaning close, “are having way too much fun with this.”

“Oh come on, Jack,” she whispered. “You want to practice a little?”

The eyebrow went up again.

“Where are we going to get our Master and slave Hallowe’en costumes from?” I asked Eva.

“I don’t think you’ll be a problem, boss,” said Anna. “We’re going to Paris, the fashion capital of the world. I’m sure there’s going to be at least one shop that’ll be able to accommodate you.”

“And for Marie there’s actually a few werewolf boutiques around,” said Eva.

“Really?” said Marie.

“Yeah, there’s a large pack on the outskirts of the city and fashion for werewolves is quite a business.”

“Uh oh,” said Marie quietly.

“What?” I asked.

“If Paris is a pack territory we might have a problem. Do you know if they claim the whole city or just their part of it?”

“I have no idea,” said Eva. “Is that important?”

“Well, we, Cam and me, aren't strictly speaking part of a pack. We can’t claim membership of Liam’s pack, since I left and Cam never joined, and the pack in Paris would be justified in treating us as loners, and that’s bad.”

“Why?” asked Eva.

“Because if we infringe on their territory they have the right to challenge us, run us off, or even ... kill us.”

CHAPTER

18

We sat there for a moment, trying to digest the news.

“And if you really did belong to Liam’s pack?” I asked.

“Then we would be treated as emissaries. We would be under the protection of the pack whose territory we were in as long as we obeyed their boundaries.”

“So why can’t you just tell them you’re part of Liam’s pack?” asked Bolt.

“We do not lie about things like that,” said Cam gravely.

“Okay, so how would you become part of Liam’s pack?”

“Dump you.”

Dead silence greeted that comment.

“I’m sorry?” I ventured. “I thought Liam approved of me?”

“He does. As my brother, he does. As alpha male, he can’t. The alpha’s siblings are an important part of the pack, and, by rights, the males of the pack would be vying for the right to court me. But I’m with you, so they’d have to fight you, which Liam wouldn’t allow. Some of the more traditional members of the pack wouldn't like that and his position would be threatened.”

She sat back on the couch and crossed her legs.

“Liam is trying to gently guide the pack into the twenty-first century,” she said. “There’s no more fights to the death, no more dictated mating, no more pack executions. But old habits die hard and that’s why I’m not a member. I’m doing it to protect him. Him and you both.”

I reached out and took her hand, squeezing tight.

“There's also the whole Dannor issue,” she went on.

“Why is he an issue?” I asked.

“Because wolves mate for life, Jack. I told you that. And as far as some of the more vocal members of the pack are concerned, I'm still his mate and what you and I are doing is cheating.”

“That's ridiculous!” said Anna hotly. “After what he did to you?”

“What he did is irrelevant,” said Marie, her eyes downcast. “Our old Alpha picked him as my mate.”

“And you had no say in the matter?” said Anna.

“No,” said Marie.

“I didn’t realize,” I said softly.

“It’s okay, I’d rather be with you than with the pack, but as I said, it’s a problem.”

“What about you, Cam?”

He shook his head.

“I’d have to go before the pack and ask for membership,” he said. “Nothing I can do from here.”

“So we’re up the creek without a paddle, then?”

“Not necessarily,” said Marie. “The pack may not claim all of Paris. Or they may not be hostile to outsiders so long as they obey the boundaries.”

“Obey the boundaries?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

“It’s to do with pack hierarchy. Places you don’t hunt, places you don’t even go. People you can’t talk to, certain clothes you can’t wear. Then there’s the stuff you do. It’s considered polite to pay a visit to certain members of the pack in a specific order. Always the alpha first, then usually the mother, then usually to each of the alpha’s seconds. If none of them object you pass. Sometimes they want you to meet the pack as a whole, or a certain part of it. Most of the time it’s highly ritualized and the worst that would normally happen is you get asked to leave. Sometimes, though…”

I thought about it.

“You mentioned the mother? What’s that?”

“Oh come on, Jack,” she replied. “You’ve met mother Jennifer.”

“Oh, I thought that was just a nickname.”

She shook her head and laughed.

“The mother's an important position in the pack. She’s sort of like the wise woman. She handles everything from birth to death. She’s like a midwife, doctor, herbalist, confessor, bonesetter, wise woman, counselor and adviser all rolled into one.”

I sat silently; remembering the strange, fey woman Liam had introduced me to just after we’d met. Mother Jennifer had been warm and friendly, with a ready smile, and she’d taken to me almost immediately. She’d told me to come back and see her when I was ready to take my place and she’d do everything in her power to prepare me. I had no idea what she’d been talking about and she’d refused to elaborate. I’d left with the uneasy feeling that mother Jennifer knew me far better than I knew myself, that she’d read my entire life with that first, penetrating glance.

“I like mother Jennifer,” I said finally. “She made me feel like a little child, but I like her.”

“She makes everyone feel like a little child, love,” said Marie. “And she liked you.”

“She tell you that?”

“Nope, she told Liam that if he opposed you taking me as a mate she would personally see to it that the rest of his life would be completely awful.”

“She can challenge the alpha like that?” asked John.

“It’s … complicated,” said Marie. “The alpha rules the pack. Nobody challenges that without challenging Liam directly, and that always ends in bloodshed. But the mother is … special. For one thing all the females are loyal to her.”

“So she’s like, the alpha female?” said Eva.

Cam broke into raucous laughter. Marie simply smiled and shook her head.

“What? What did I say?” asked Eva.

“Alpha female?” she said. “That’s very funny. To werewolves, I mean.”

“Why is it funny?”

“It’s a contradiction in terms,” Marie explained. “The alpha can’t be female. Alpha means ‘dominant male’ and the very idea of an alpha female is … hilarious.”

Eva looked hurt and Marie’s expression softened.

“Look, Liam’s trying to bring the pack up to date but females will never be able to be alpha. Any jerkoff male would be able to take them out and take over the pack. Of course, they wouldn’t last long after they did it, but they could do it anyway.”

“Sounds sexist,” said Eva.

“Not really. It's just nature. Besides, just because the alpha's always a male doesn't mean the females have no power. When I was a cub our alpha was a brave, strong, dear male, but really as thick as a whale omelet. We all loved him so we pretended we didn't know his mate was actually running the pack. And, trust me, females can be a lot more vicious than males.”

“So,” said John, “we need to find out what the protocol is for this pack. And hope there's not females in charge.”

“Yeah,” said Marie, nodding. “The airport and the center of the city will be neutral territory, so we can wait till we get there to contact the pack. But if we can’t move around to go shopping it’ll be a problem.”

“We are in Rome,” said Eva. “I’m sure that if we can get some measurements we can locate appropriate costumes for everyone.”

“I think I’m okay,” said John. “If all you want is for me to be the driver, a simple suit will do it.”

“Same for me,” said Anna.

Bolt nodded and shrugged.

Cam looked thoughtful for a second.

“We’re really talking about body armor and a pair of black trousers, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Then I’m ready.”

“Okay, so really it’s just Marie and I then.”

Eva nodded.

“Okay, so we’ll give you our sizes if you really think you can get something here, or we can wait and go shopping in Paris.”

“Or,” said Anna, “we can see what we can get in Rome and go shopping in Paris when we get there.”

“What was that about not melting the credit card?” I said. “Okay, if we can load up here, fine, if not, everyone can go on a shopping spree in Paris. I get the impression that Marie and I will be busy working things out with this werewolf pack, so you’ll need to shop without us anyway.”

“Okay boss, sounds like a plan,” said Anna.

I gave her a significant look.

“What?”

“Try to restrain your creativity when it comes to my outfit,” I said.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you could mean, boss,” she said with exaggerated innocence.

“I mean that, if I find myself going to this club in a fishnet vest and a pair of arse-less leather chaps, you are going to be in trouble.”

“Oh, but if you do find a pair of arse-less leather chaps in his size,” said Marie, “go ahead and buy them. I think I’d like to see that.”

“Yes,” I said without enthusiasm. “That’ll go down just fine on patrol, me with my great hairy arse hanging out.”

“Oh, you have a cute behind, Jack,” said Marie, laughing.

“I’ve always thought so,” said John, perfectly straight-faced.

“Like two boiled eggs in a hanky,” said Anna.

I rolled my eyes.

“Well, at least you’ve stopped talking about my dick,” I said sourly.

Eva looked up and laughed softly.

“It’s never a dull moment with this group, is it?” she said. “Is this some sort of private joke?”

“In a very real sense, yes it is,” said Bolt. “Rumor around the Ministry is that Jack’s a very lucky man.”

Eva gave him a blank look.

“He’s supposed to be a bit on the large size, penis-wise,” he explained.

“Oh,” said Eva quietly.

She looked back down at the computer, a faint blush coloring her cheeks and the ghost of a smile touching her lips. Marie directed a dark look towards her as Anna shot a similar expression at Bolt.

And just like that the feeling of camaraderie in the room died.

CHAPTER

19

The AirFrance Airbus broke through the low cloud cover and descended towards Charles de Gaulle Airport. It wouldn’t be long before dark and it was gloomy enough that Anna was safe. Now I was worried about Eva. Marie definitely had the look of a woman about to commit justifiable ex-girlfriendicide. The fact that Eva was sitting three rows in front of us and I had Marie’s hand firmly gripped in mine seemed to be helping.

The first-class cabin—as if Sir Winstanleigh would travel any other way—was luxurious and spacious. We’d actually booked the entire cabin and spread out. Again, the shadowy weapons dealer would demand nothing less.

“You okay love?” I said, leaning close and whispering.

“Yeah, just jealous that’s all.”

“Of what?”

“Did you see the look on her face?” she hissed. “She was thinking about you, Jack, she was reminiscing about your penis. How dare she? That’s my penis, only I’m allowed to reminisce about that!”

“You don’t have to,” I pointed out. “You’re the one getting it, love.”

“I know, it just makes me growl is all.”

I used the tip of one finger to turn her face towards me and kissed her. She responded, pushing against me, her lips parting as my tongue went exploring. I slid my hand up over her stomach and cupped her breast. She was wearing a fairly conservative suit and skirt, with a white silk blouse. She wasn’t wearing a bra, a fact that was all too apparent when her nipple hardened against my palm. She gave a little groan of arousal and I leaned into her, pushing her back against her seat, possessively massaging her breast. Throughout the flight I had been doing the same thing, kissing and groping her right there in the cabin. At one point I had undone a few buttons and spent an enjoyable five minutes with my hand inside her blouse.

One of the flight attendants had been giving me disapproving looks for the entire short flight, but my adoptive persona wouldn’t worry about that. To him women were toys to be played with.

“I think that one’s jealous,” whispered Marie, her lips still against mine.

“Who?”

“That flight attendant with the face like a wet weekend. I think she’s jealous that you’re pawing me like you own me.”

I smiled, flicking the pad of my thumb back and forth across her nipple.

“Think so?”

“Yeah, what woman wouldn’t want you treating her like a whore in public?”

I laughed softly and kissed her again before sitting back.

“Just the act, my love. It’s just the act.”

“Bull. You’re loving this.”

“Granted. I do enjoy my work.”

She giggled and fanned her face with the in-flight magazine.

“You got me all hot and bothered,” she said in a vapid voice.

“I can tell,” I said, eyeing the clearly visible dents she was making in her blouse.

The pilot announced that we were less than three minutes from landing as the plane gently lost altitude. I took Marie’s hand and squeezed it again.

Anyone who started asking around about the flight we’d come in on would be told the story of the lecherous man, his outrageously large tips and his indecently wandering fingers.

The flight came in for a very smooth landing and we began to taxi towards the gate. The pilot came on the intercom and thanked us for flying AirFrance, reminded us to stay seated until told otherwise, and to be sure to take everything with us when we left.

Of course, as the first-class passengers we were disembarked first, spared the indignity of collecting our own luggage, and shown to a pair of stretch limousines.

I could really get used to this.

Marie, her modesty once again restored under her buttoned-up jacket, walked beside me. She had adopted a self-confident strut, her hips swinging, her shoulders back and her head held high. She was the perfect trophy for a wealthy if somewhat shady man to parade.

The limousines were luxurious. In accordance with our roles Cam and Bolt joined us in the second limo; John, Anna, Eva and Jeurgen took the first. They would arrive a few minutes before us and sweep into the hotel with the kind of arrogance only available to those who work for the terminally rich. By the time we arrived things would be perfect or heads would roll.

Cam looked terrifying. Some bodyguards strive to be invisible, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. These tend towards business suits, sunglasses and light, easily concealed weaponry. Others prefer deterrence, standing out and being obvious. These tend towards the realms of bullet heads, cropped hair, and muscles like a sack of melons.

Cam would have made the latter group run away and hide. He was probably intimidating people living in nearby countries. A form-fitting suit of Kevlar armor protected his broad torso and he was wearing a pair of loose black combat trousers and military-style boots. Hanging from his webbing belt was a large mace canister, an extendable baton, a stun-gun, and two pairs of handcuffs. He looked, in short, like the kind of person who could pick up the entire limo and run with it.

Bolt, though, had somehow managed to look even more evil. His long, curly hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his immaculate suit, shirt and tie were all deep black, and black sunglasses hid his dark eyes. In one hand he had a slim briefcase that shouted ‘concealed weapons’ in a voice as subtle as a house brick to the back of the head. He’d also adopted a wary glare, reminiscent of an ever-watchful hawk as his head moved ceaselessly around.

Ask about the man who rode this limo today and you’d hear about his terrifying companions, two men you wouldn’t want to meet in a crowded supermarket at midday, let alone in a dark alley.

I was just making impressions all over the city.

CHAPTER

20

Our limo moved through the streets like a galleon under sail, all quiet dignity and discreetly obvious wealth. We arrived at the hotel to see John standing by the curb.

Once the limo had coasted to a stop he opened the door. Cam stepped out first, moving towards the rear of the car, glaring around. There were few people outside the hotel and all of them stopped to stare at the huge werewolf. Almost in unison they started to back away.

Bolt got out next. He took a long, slow look around and then turned back towards the limo and nodded.

I stepped out, turning to offer my hand to Marie. She took it and stepped out into the dim afternoon light with a dazzling smile. She slipped her arm through mine and kissed me on the cheek.

John pushed the door shut and the five of us walked towards the doors of the hotel. Anna was waiting there, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses. Standing beside her was a small man in a very expensive suit. The few remaining hairs on top of his head were teased across his bald spot in a way that spoke eloquently of a man fighting a desperate—and unsuccessful—rearguard action against the ravages of time.

We probably made an impressive group, bearing down on the unfortunate man.

“Sir John,” said the Manager warmly. “So good to see you again.”

The manager had never set eyes on me before in his life, but wild horses couldn’t have dragged that admission out of him.

“Good to be back,” I said smoothly. “Is my usual suite available?”

“But of course, Sir John. Your staff are simply making some final arrangements.”

“Arrangements?”

“Yes, my apologies, there was a slight mix-up,” he stammered. “It has all been fixed now and your suite will be ready momentarily.”

Yes, there had been a mix-up. We hadn’t actually booked a room. John had called the Ministry, who had obligingly hacked into the hotel’s computers and planted a canceled reservation. It would have been just as easy for the Ministry to plant a confirmed reservation, but this way we made another impression.

Anna would have marched into the lobby of the hotel to confirm ‘Sir John’s’ reservation and, finding it canceled would have started to raise merry hell. Of course the management regrets the mistake, she would have been told. Of course the management would be happy to accommodate such a valued guest. Anna would have, with perfect timing, casually mentioned that Sir John is a close friend of the hotel’s owners and suddenly all sorts of doors would start flying open.

Sir John, of course, had never met the owners, but I knew them. Most were former members of le Légion étrangère, one of the few that weren’t French was sometimes known as Pagan. I owned a five percent share in the hotel. It was a nice little source of income, not to mention a carefully maintained safe house, useful whenever the Ministry sent people over the channel. The ownership was deeply buried beneath dummy corporations and front companies.

The manager, who had just been browbeaten into freeing up one entire floor of the hotel, had never met me.

All of this might seem like a lot of trouble to book a room in a hotel I was actually part-owner of, but if there’s one thing we’ve learned through dealing with the vampires is this: they are very well connected.

The moment Anna contacted the Sang du les Dieux and informed them that Sir John Winstanleigh would be gracing their establishment tomorrow evening information would start flying. Questions would be asked, money would flow, and answers would appear. Stories would circulate about the rich man with the expensive tastes who flew in from Rome, groping his girlfriend the entire way, traveling with some very serious personal protection, who marched into a very expensive hotel and commandeered an entire floor. Background checks would confirm identities, records would reveal details, and rumors would raise eyebrows.

Take Jeurgen, for example. A check on his false identity would reveal some tenuous, though suggestive, links to a group of mercenaries who were wanted men in twenty-seven countries.

The Ministry has an entire office dedicated to fabricating and maintaining these false identities and fake histories—actually it was a holdover from the cold war. But, like all lies, we’d found that they work best when subtly spiced with the truth.

In fact, that group of mercenaries that Jeurgen allegedly belonged to actually did have at least one Swiss national in their number.

There never really was an arms dealer by the name of John Winstanleigh. There was, however, an arms dealer by the name of Trevor Beckham. Beckham had been killed ten years ago, but not before a Ministry of Defence undercover operative had fooled him long enough to be introduced to a few of his more shady chums. In fact, Beckham had been killed because he discovered that ‘John Winstanleigh’ was a fake.

Using his contacts acquired through Beckham, the Ministry agent had managed to penetrate an organization that was supplying arms and ammunition to various terrorist and paramilitary groups. Over the years Winstanleigh had popped up in various places, usually on the outskirts of some war or other, always selling stuff, always collecting information for the MoD. He had started referring to himself as ‘Sir John’ around the time he was acting as a go-between for a very lucrative deal that would have netted over ₤15billion for one side and some spiffy technology off of the Yank’s newest aircraft projects for the other. Sir John, of course, would have walked away with his broker’s fee—actually, he did walk away with that fee, and the Forces’ Benevolent Funds received a massive donation that year—but, unfortunately for all concerned, a joint operation between Interpol and the CIA just ‘happened’ to receive an anonymous tip about the deal. Sir John slipped the net; his reputation enhanced by his miraculous escape and subsequent appearance on several countries’ most wanted lists, and went into hiding.

Since then he would pop up here and there around the globe, always best described as ‘ish’—six footish, longish or shortish brownish hair, blueish or greenish eyes—and stories were starting to circulate that he had plastic surgery every six months to avoid the contracts on his head.

It was all crap, of course. It was just different people playing the role. As long as you looked close enough, you could do it. The briefing sessions were pure torture, though. The agent couldn’t risk a memory gap so playing Sir John was preceded by months of rote learning and coaching.

John had actually been playing the role of Sir John on the mission that had ended with Anna being turned.

The manager of the hotel was still oiling our way inside, keeping up some inane chatter about the wonderful sights that could be seen in the French capitol city. I ignored him.

I continued to ignore him as he personally and attentively led us to the floor we’d taken over. He was beaming, quite probably at the prospect of getting a magnificent gratuity for his efforts. Well, I’d let Anna deal with that. Time to plant another story.

CHAPTER

21

As soon as we were in the main suite I led Marie over to the bedroom and firmly shut the doors behind us.

“Time for a show, Sir John?” she whispered.

“Want to get vocal?” I whispered back.

She giggled and nodded.

I turned and slammed the palms of my hands into the doors, making them boom and rattle.

Marie giggled loudly and then shrieked.

“Oh, is that for me?” she trilled. “Yes, please. God, yes, that’s good!”

I was having trouble keeping from laughing. Marie kept up a chorus of screams and moans as I rhythmically pounded the doors. The volume and intensity increased until she launched into what was, to my way of thinking, a faked orgasm that was just a touch too perfect. She trailed off into a panting, moaning finale.

Anna banged on the doors from the other side.

“Okay, you two can drop the act. He’s gone.”

I met Marie’s eyes and shushed her with a finger to my lips.

“What makes you think it was an act?” I said through the door, panting.

“Oh, God,” I heard her say. “I did not need to know that.”

Marie wrenched the door open and strode out, pretending to straighten her skirt.

“You’re just jealous,” she said.

Anna laughed and stuck out her tongue.

“Of what? Mr. Hair Trigger here? I’ve had sneezes last longer than that.”

“Well, you know how it is,” I said. “Anal sex is always a little more intense.”

“Maybe for you,” said John. “I always manage to last …”

He trailed off and blushed as we all stared at him in silence.

“Nice one John,” I said. “You hound!”

“Thank you, dear heart,” said Anna in disgust. “Anything else you’d like to share?”

Marie was laughing so hard she had to sit down. I took my jacket off and slung it over a chair, then flopped down on the couch next to her. I lay back and nestled my head in her lap.

“Hello, love,” she said, smiling down at me.

“Just in case anyone comes up,” I said and winked.

“Oh, of course. We must keep up appearances.”

“Okay, so tonight we go see the werewolf pack, that’s me, Marie and Cam. Anna seems determined to go shopping, provided she’s not to busy discussing certain matters with her husband.”

Anna gave me a frosty look and I winked.

“But if she does manage to get away I want plenty of protection. John, you stick with her, of course, and Bolt, you too.”

“I don’t need bodyguards, boss.”

“Tough shit,” I said. “You’re getting them. We’re flashing enough wealth around here, I don’t need some idiot getting ideas about kidnapping you for ransom.”

“Fine, boss,” she said with a sigh. “Isn’t it sweet how he worries about us?”

“It certainly is,” said Marie, stroking my hair.

“So, how are we going to contact this pack?” I asked.

“Already done,” said Cam, putting his cell phone away.

“What, you call directory enquiries and ask for the nearest werewolf?” I asked.

“Nope, I called Liam.”

“He knows the pack?” said Marie.

“Yeah, apparently he met the alpha earlier this year. All part of his plan to civilize the world’s werewolves.”

I laughed softly. Liam had a plan, that’s true. Thanks to centuries of vampire propaganda the average person still thought of werewolves as ravening, uncontrollable beasts. Thanks to Liam, this was changing. Sheffield, once a city on the front lines, had rapidly become one of the safest cities in England thanks to the presence of the pack, and werewolves from across the country were cautiously coming out of the closet.

Still, that Liam had ambitions across the Channel was news to me.

“So you spoke to someone in the Paris pack?” I asked.

“Yep, we’ve got to go see the alpha tonight. Almost the whole pack will be there.”

“Any of these boundaries Marie mentioned?”

“Yeah, some, but one that’s weird.”

“What?”

“You have to be armed.”

“I do? Why?”

“Apparently they consider it a point of honor,” he said, scratching his chin with one silver-sheathed claw. “Another werewolf is one thing, but they don’t want a human to feel like they were intimidated into anything, so they request that humans either come armed, or they allow them to nominate a member of the pack to stand with them. I told them you’d be bringing your own wolves and you’d be coming armed.”

“Okay, but why is this about me?” I asked. “You two are the wolves.”

“Not according to the pack. Apparently you’re causing a lot of debate. Liam acknowledges you as Marie’s mate and his pack is willing to treat you as his brother.”

Marie drew in a startled breath and my eyes snapped to her.

“What is it love?”

“It means you’re … I don’t know if there’s even an English word for it. There isn’t really a werewolf word for it. It means you’ve proved yourself worthy of being in the pack, even though you’re not a werewolf. The idea hasn’t been used in decades.”

She covered her mouth and giggled.

“What’s so funny?” I said.

“Um, you’ll like this, the last time any pack in England did this for a human was during the Second World War. The pack was living in London at the time and their alpha was killed during the Blitz. The pack voted and agreed to go to the War Department to offer their services. They also voted to accept a human into the pack and then elected that human as alpha. It was the first time—ever—that a human led a pack. That human was Winston Churchill.”

I sat up, stunned.

“The government knew about werewolves sixty years ago?”

“They certainly did,” said Cam. “It was classified way above top secret. You’ve heard of Operation Foxley, right?”

“The mission to assassinate Hitler with a sniper?”

“That’s the bunny. Very few people know, even now, that there was a second plan. A group of werewolves were training to go in and kill him. And anyone else who was nearby.”

I stood up and paced the room, shaking my head.

“That’s amazing,” I said. “Just when you thought you had a handle on the world it comes and knocks you on your arse.”

“Jack,” said Marie. “One of Oliver Cromwell’s most trusted lieutenants was a werewolf.”

“Oh, now you’re just taking the piss.”

“No, straight up,” said Cam. “And two of those who made it out of the Charge of the Light Brigade were wolves.”

“What, ‘Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, into the valley of death, rode the six hundred’?” said Bolt from across the room.

“I’m serious,” he replied. “One was my great-great-something grandfather.”

Bolt and I stared at each other.

“Naah, pull the other one,” I said.

Cam laughed.

“Believe what you want, boss,” he said. “It’ll still be true whether you believe it or not.”

“Next you’ll be telling me Boudicca was a werewolf,” I said.

“You wouldn’t believe that?” said Cam, straight-faced.

I thought about it for a moment.

“Yeah, actually, that I’d buy. That Boudicca was a lot of woman all in one place.”

“Remind you of anyone?” said Cam, definitely not looking at Marie.

I shrugged noncommittally. Actually, I could just imagine Marie in a shiny breastplate and helmet, commanding the armies of the Iceni from a chariot with scythes on the wheels.

Anna and Marie were giving us a pair of very dangerous looks. We met them with innocence.

“Shall we have some lunch?” I said.

The bathtub in our en-suite bathroom was sunken into the floor and was more like a miniature swimming pool. It was brimming with sudsy water.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s a big-arsed bathtub.”

“Care to join me?” Marie asked.

“Try and stop me,” I said.

Once we were settled Marie straddled my hips and began washing my chest with a sponge. I slid my hands along her thighs and up her hips, leaning back against the edge of the tub and allowing the water to relax my muscles.

Marie’s hands traveled over my chest and down, under the water, over my stomach. After a few moments she was playing with my erection.

“I thought we were supposed to be getting clean, not dirty,” I said.

“Well, I have to clean you everywhere,” she replied, her voice low and husky. “Stand up so I can do this properly.”

I climbed to my feet while Marie worked a bar of soap into a thick lather. She wrapped her hands around me, spreading the suds along my length, pulling back the foreskin and rolling the head in her slippery palms.

“Careful,” I said breathlessly. “That’s a little sensitive.”

“I’ll be careful,” she whispered.

She grabbed the soap and went back to what she was doing, glancing up at me with a cute little smile every so often.

After a few minutes she put the soap aside. Good timing. Too much more of that and it would have been all over. She cupped water in her hands and used it to rinse the soap off, leaving me glistening and clean. She leaned forward and planted as soft kiss on the very tip, then looked up at me. With her eyes locked to mine she flicked her tongue out, gently circling the head.

“Don’t, not yet,” I gasped.

I had her sit on the edge of the bath and I knelt between her legs. I took the soap and returned the favor, my fingers slipping and sliding over her, finding and caressing her clit. I quickly settled into a rhythm, my hand working her sensitive nub, watching the rise and fall of her chest increasing as I stroked.

“Oh Jack,” she whispered. “Don’t stop. Like that, yes, don’t stop.”

Abruptly she threw back her head, her body trembling and tensing. Through clenched teeth she drew in a sharp, hissing breath and then let it out in a rush. My fingers kept up the rhythm as her body responded more and more strongly. Suddenly she let out a soft whimper, her back arched, her body went rigid, and her eyes screwed shut. She clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. The orgasm seemed to go on for a very long time, her body clenching around my questing fingers, soft, muffled screams coming from behind her hand.

Finally she collapsed backwards, landing on the tiled floor, panting for breath. I busied myself rinsing the soap off of her skin as though it was the most usual thing in the world.

“Jack,” she said weakly. “That was amazing, but—”

“Way ahead of you, love,” I said.

I got to my knees, which put me at the perfect height.

“If, that is, you were going to ask me what I think you were going to ask me.”

She giggled and shook her head.

“Jack, just make love to me and stop being such a smartarse.”

I gently took her hips in my hands and pulled her towards me a little, then shuffled forward until we were touching.

“No teasing, Jack, that’s not fair,” she said.

“Who’s teasing?” I replied.

With one slow thrust I pushed inside her. She groaned in pleasure and wrapped her legs around my waist.

“Gently,” she whispered. “Please. Make love to me.”

CHAPTER

22

Even in plain clothes there is something uniquely recognizable about a seven and a half foot tall werewolf, so we took the back stairs and left via the employee car park. I didn’t hold out much hope that we’d leave unnoticed, but I did hope that people would assume we were simply going slumming somewhere. Marie had her hair pulled back into a ponytail that was sticking out of the back of the baseball cap pulled low over her forehead. I thought she looked especially cute.

The car was a Range Rover registered to the hotel, available for rent by guests. The records would show that we’d taken it to drive around the football stadiums in the area. That’s why I was wearing an England shirt, the three lions proud on my chest.

This particular Range Rover had a nice feature—it lacked the GPS system that all of the hotel’s other cars had. We didn’t want any records of this trip, anywhere. Well, the real destination, anyway.

We pulled out of the car park and out onto the streets of Paris. Unlike many of my countrymen I don’t have much of a problem with the French. Ever since Frenchie and his friends came floating down out of the sky all those years ago I’ve had a different perspective. Still, having said that, I hate driving in Paris. Everything you’ve ever heard about the insanity of French drivers is perfectly true.

Luckily I wasn’t driving. Cam was. He’d taken to driving like a fish to water back in England, and the Range Rover was big enough to accommodate his massive frame—if only just.

He swung out into the rapidly darkening evening and drove down the road like a native, eliciting honks and obscene gestures from his fellow road-users.

Marie and I were sitting in the back.

“So how unpleasant is this likely to be?” I asked.

She pursed her lips and thought about it for a second.

“That depends on what we’re dealing with,” she said.

“Worst case scenario.”

“Worst case scenario is that this pack is almost totally feral. Cam will be overpowered, you’ll be killed, and I’ll be forced to be somebody’s mate.”

“Oh, so nothing bad, then?”

“Not really, no,” she said and smiled. “But the fact that they were willing to meet with us, the fact that they have protocols for dealing with humans, suggests they aren’t feral at all, or at least not completely.”

“So no death-slash-mating thing?”

“Probably not. There may be some macho bullshit, me-big-man chest thumping.”

She turned to me and studied my face.

“What?” I asked.

“You have to be strong, Jack,” she said. “If they decide to test you, you’ll have to be strong, but not stubborn. You need to stand up for yourself, but not be too aggressive.”

“So, just be my usual charming self, then?”

“We are going to die,” said Cam in a quiet voice.

“I’ll be diplomatic,” I promised.

“Actually, your brand of diplomacy might just win them over,” she said. “Just try to become Death, okay?”

“The Destroyer of Worlds,” I said.

“Exactly,” she said, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek. “I know you have a problem with that where I’m concerned, but please, keep your emotions in check. Don’t go all …” she trailed off.

“Don’t go all John on us,” said Cam.

“John? Like how?” I asked.

“John gets all homicidal when Anna is threatened.” He explained. “You do the same for Marie.”

“Aren’t I supposed to?” I asked.

“Well, yeah.”

“Okay, then.”

Marie smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Just try to be careful, love. They might try to provoke you into a reaction.”

“Okay, I can deal with that,” I said.

I found myself clamping down on my emotions, analyzing the situation and making strategies. I was dealing with a pack of werewolves. That meant certain things, regardless of the nationality. I just wish I could really be sure what.

We were driving out of Paris, into one of the less fashionable suburbs, the buildings getting shabbier and the roads becoming less well maintained.

Cam pulled off of the road into the car park of what looked like an abandoned factory. Lounging outside were a group of guards, looking sleepy and disinterested until we pulled up. I carefully unzipped my jacket to free up my weapons.

“Tell me you guys came armed,” I said quietly.

“Yep,” said Marie, opening her jacket to show the pistol holstered under her arm.

“Cam?”

“Got my MP7,” he said.

Only on someone his size could the little PDW be considered a concealed weapon.

“Good,” I said. Then let’s go meet our hosts.”

We stepped out of the Range Rover and walked towards the guards. Damn, these boys were huge.

One of the guards stepped forward, a hulking, scar-faced bruiser who looked like he’d been built in a shipyard under a defense contract.

“Are you the Pagan?” he asked in broken English.

“Yes, I am,” I replied in French. “We’re here to see your alpha.”

The guard grunted and motioned us to follow him. The factory’s interior was something of a surprise. It was clean, well lit, and in good repair. Evidently the run-down exterior was just a cover.

Our guide led us down a corridor to a large pair of doors. The guard stopped.

“Did you come armed?” he said.

I opened my jacket. I was wearing a double shoulder holster, a SIG under each arm. A small pouch on my left hip held a pair of spare magazines and a scabbard on the right hip held my commando knife. I neglected to mention my two holdout weapons: the slim SIG P229 in the concealed holster at the small of my back and the dirk in the top of my right boot.

The guard nodded and opened the door.

Inside was a large, open-plan room. A huge fire blazed in an open fireplace and several furry figures could be seen lounging in chairs around it and, in at least one case, curled up in front of it. Off to the left was a long wooden table with chairs arranged around it. A large map was spread on the surface which also held mugs and half-eaten plates of food. A group of figures were bent over the table, talking in low voices. To the right was a small group of wolves, sitting on chairs and couches, their eyes glittering in the firelight as they stared at us.

The guard led us over to the table.

“Ah, this would be our new friend, Pagan,” said a small man.

“This is our alpha,” said the guard. “Alpha, this is the Pagan.”

I studied the man for a second. For a werewolf he wasn’t very impressive. He had the sharp-featured face that usually puts people in mind of a ferret or a weasel and his frame was slight and spare. I was studied in return. He had quick, intelligent eyes and a shrewd look. This looked like the kind of werewolf who had risen to the top of the pack by guile rather than brute strength. I found that thought oddly comforting. His handshake was firm and straightforward.

“My companions,” I said. “Marie Hennessey, my mate, and Cameron Baxter, a member of my team.”

“Indeed, you are all welcome,” said the alpha. “In fact, I need to make a point here. Your companions have offered their guarantee as to your good behavior.”

I was about to say something when I noticed a subtle change in the werewolves. Suddenly they seemed less relaxed, more attentive, and definitely more threatening. Marie didn’t speak much French so I switched back to English.

“What did he mean by you’ve offered your guarantees for my good behavior?” I asked.

Marie drew in a startled breath and Cam looked uncomfortable.

“It means,” said Cam, “that if you cross the line, we pay the price.”

“No, not happening,” I said, switching back to French. “I stand on my own.”

“But this is the way it must be,” said the alpha smoothly. “You are human, you must have wolves to speak for you, to stand for you.”

“No,” I said emphatically. “You will not hold my companions responsible for my behavior. I won’t allow it.”

“Jack,” said Marie quietly.

She may not have understood the words but she knew that look in my eye.

“No,” I said firmly.

This was not the way werewolves behaved, ergo it was a test.

“It is not your choice,” said the alpha.

“Then we’ll leave,” I said.

“If you do so, you will be considered prey. You wolves will be denied the city of Paris, your life will be forfeit.”

“I won’t have the consequences of my actions forced upon others,” I said firmly.

The alpha spread his hands and smiled.

“There is nothing you can do about it,” he said softly.

“Yeah, right,” I said.

My hands darted under my jacket and came out full. I whipped the commando knife around in my left hand and dug the point of blade against the throat of the guard. My right hand came out with a SIG and covered the alpha. I was pleased to see that Marie and Cam reacted with the same speed, her pistol and his PDW coming out of their holsters as they spun to put their backs to mine. Werewolves across the room surged to their feet.

“Wait,” growled the alpha quietly. “Think about what you’re doing, human.”

“I have,” I replied. “What kind of man would need his mate to stand for him?”

“Now do you see what I mean?” said a strangely familiar voice from the shadows behind the table. “He’s more wolf than man in many respects.”

“Liam?” cried Marie. “What the fuck is going on?”

Marie’s brother walked slowly around the table and smiled.

“It was a test, little sister,” he said.

“And one he passed,” said the alpha in flawless English. “What kind of man would need his mate to stand for him? Our thoughts exactly, Pagan.”

We stood frozen for a long moment.

“Please, put up your weapons. We mean you no harm. And, I assure you, only you will be held accountable for your actions here.”

I slowly relaxed and lowered my weapons. Everyone seemed to breathe a little easier.

“You cut me!” said the guard, examining a smear of blood on his fingers.

“Sorry,” I said absently.

The guard shrugged and walked away, dabbing at his throat.

Around us the werewolves were going back to whatever they were doing before the tension had started and the alpha was smiling. I wiped the few specks of blood off of my blade against the leg of my jeans and put both weapons away. Liam was absolutely unflinching under my glowering look.

“Oh don't look at me like that, brother,” he said. “Nobody was in any danger. Besides, you did pass.”

“Yeah, thanks, and how would that have helped if we’d opened fire?”

“You weren’t going to shoot without further provocation, Jack,” he said. “I know you better than that.”

“So you hopped over the channel just to set us up?” said Marie.

“Not just that,” he said. “I was negotiating with Pierre about joining forces against the vampires. Your call just moved up my visit a little.”

Liam turned to the French alpha and nodded toward me..

“If you want help fighting the vampires there’s none better than Jack,” he said.

“We have one thing to do first.”

Liam nodded and stepped back.

“Pack!” yelled Pierre.

Every French werewolf was instantly on his or her feet, facing us and attentive.

“Does any member see any reason why this wolf shouldn’t be counted as a comrade?”

“What, you mean apart from the fact that he’s not a wolf?” said a voice over by the fire.

A few appreciative titters ran around the room.

“Yes, apart from that,” said Pierre, grinning.

The pack was silent.

“Then as your alpha I decide,” he said. “And I decide that he shall be treated as a packmate and comrade in arms.”

Several members of the pack, in ones and twos, came forward. Every one, even the males, seized me by the shoulders and kissed me on each cheek in the traditional French greeting. I stoically endured the familiarity, a little cautious about Marie’s reaction. Some of the women were very beautiful in a sort of feral way.

Eventually the greetings were done and we were invited to sit by the fire. I wasn’t sure about this but I got the impression that it was a ritual event. A space was cleared and we sank into an overstuffed couch as various members of the pack dropped into chairs or simply flopped down on the thick carpet. Marie pointedly claimed the seat next to me and took possession of my right hand.

“Congratulations, Jack,” she said. “You’ve just been made an honorary werewolf.”

CHAPTER

23

“I have a gift for you, my new brother,” said Pierre.

We’d spent a long evening at the pack’s home, eating and drinking, meeting my new packmates and telling stories. They had asked me to tell the story of how I’d met Marie, and from there, how I’d killed Glavidia and then Marcus.

In return I’d learned about the pack, about how they were almost second-class citizens in France, thanks to the vampire propaganda. I’d learned that there had always been a pack in Paris, that they had fought against the Nazis in the Second World War, that close to a dozen had been killed between the Somme and Ypres during the First World War. Bullets may not have much of an effect on werewolves but mustard and chlorine gas will incapacitate them almost as fast as a human.

The alpha was holding a bolt-action rifle, recognizable even in the dim light.

“That's a Lee-Enfield,” I said.

“Indeed,” he replied. “It is called a Short Magazine Lee-Enfield Mark 2.”

He sat down, cradling the rifle on his lap.

“This rifle has a history, if you will indulge me,” he went on. “It was made in nineteen hundred and nine, at the Royal Small Arms Factory in Enfield. It was issued to a member of the King's Royal Rifle Corps who was killed fighting the Boche in the first battle of Flanders, what you English call the first battle of Ypres. In death, this soldier saved a life, because a young French soldier, separated from his regiment and without his weapon, found his body. This Frenchman took the fallen Englishman's weapon and his ammunition, reasoning that one soldier would not deny the use of this to another who fought for the same cause.

“He made his way back to his own regiment and used his new rifle to kill three Boche on the way. For the rest of the war he carried this rifle, bartering and buying ammunition from any English soldiers he encountered, because he saw it as his good luck charm.

“That man was my great-grandfather.”

The alpha was staring into the fireplace, lost in his memories.

“When the Boche came again, this time calling themselves Nazis, his son, my grandfather, took up this rifle and joined la Résistance. He became an accomplished sniper, scoring many kills against the occupiers.

“It was then that my grandfather was bitten by a werewolf, one who was with the Boche, hunting down those who opposed the occupation. His life was saved, and the Boche wolf killed, by this pack, which he joined.

“After the war, my grandfather used this same rifle when he took my father hunting, and my father did the same for me.”

Pierre stood and faced me. I rose to my feet as well. Between us the antique rifle gleamed in the firelight as he handed it to me.

“And now it has returned to the hands of another English soldier, where it belongs.”

By the time we left and made our way back to the hotel the sky was getting light. Almost everyone was asleep. Anna was sitting up waiting for us, with John asleep on the couch next to her, his head pillowed on her lap.

“Morning Anna,” I said softly.

“Morning guys,” she replied. “Do I want to know why you’ve got that?”

“This?” I said, holding up the rifle. “Gift from the pack.”

“They gave you permission?” she asked, absently stroking her husband’s hair.

“They did more than that,” said Marie. “Jack’s one of the pack, now.”

“Nicely done, Jack. Wowed ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah, a little too much if you ask me,” Marie replied. “About half of the females were looking at him like they’d love to grab hold of him, and the other half were looking at me like they wouldn’t think twice about going through me to get him.”

“Sweetheart,” I said, draping my arm around her shoulders. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, half the males were looking at you like they’d cheerfully rip out my throat to take you as a mate.”

“Really?” she said, looking thoughtful.

I kissed her on the forehead.

“We did learn some useful information, though,” I said. “We’ll get some sleep and get together when everyone’s awake.”

“Okay,” said Anna. “I’d better get Sleeping Beauty here to bed.”

She gently tickled John’s ear. He snuffled and brushed her hand away. She stroked her fingers through his hair, a strange, contented smile on her lips.

“John, darling,” she said softly. “Time to wake up.”

He grumbled and shifted, burying his face in her lap. She shook her head and pinched his earlobe.

“Come on, baby, time to go to bed.”

“What’s the point in waking me up to go to sleep?” he asked, his voice muffled.

My chuckle must have penetrated his sleep-addled brain and he turned over, blinking in the light.

“Sorry, boss,” he said. “Didn’t realize you were back.”

He frowned and struggled to focus.

“Is that a Lee Enfield three-oh-three?” he said, sitting up.

“Yeah, gift from the pack.”

“Cool,” he said.

“We’ll tell you all about it later,” I said. “Get some sleep.”

“I was getting some sleep before someone woke me up to get me to go back to the sleep I was already getting.”

“Sweetheart,” said Anna. “I didn’t say time to go to sleep. I said time to go to bed.”

“Oh,” said John, blinking rapidly. “Oh. Okay, g’night everyone.”

He jumped up, grabbed his wife by the hand, and practically dragged her to the bedroom.

“Hey, Cam,” I said once the door was closed. “Thanks for backing us up tonight.”

“No problem, boss,” he replied. “Good night.”

“’Night Cam,” said Marie.

“G’night, Cam,” I said.

Marie slipped her arms around my waist, rested her chin on my chest, and looked up at me.

“And then there were two,” I said.

“Yes, indeed,” she said. “And one of them has a really big weapon.”

I bent and our lips met in a soft and lingering kiss.

“You’re getting ideas, aren’t you?” she whispered.

“About you? Always.”

“Want to join me in the shower before bed?”

“Are bears Catholic?”

“Yes, lover, bears are Catholic,” she said, slipping her fingers inside the waistband of my jeans and tugging me towards our bedroom.

“Hang on,” I said once we were inside. “I need to put the rifle away.”

I reached under the bed and pulled out the case that held my FAL. The SMLE wasn’t that much longer than my regular rifle so they both fit nicely inside the long case. I gently brushed my fingers over the breech of the FAL.

“Look after her, okay?” I whispered.

“Are you talking to your gun?” said Marie.

“Yep,” I said. “I’m insane. You hadn’t spotted that yet?”

I closed and locked the case, then slid it back under the bed.

“You’re crazy?” she said as I stood up.

“Sure am. Who else but a crazy person would be over here chasing after a myth at the behest of the Vatican?”

“This is true,” she said.

I turned and my smile widened into a grin as I saw she was already naked.

“When did that happen?” I asked.

“Well, you have to keep an eye on me,” she said. “I’m sneaky.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” I said, pulling my shirt off.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure,” I said, taking off my jeans. “Anything.”

“Okay,” she said, lowering her eyes.

“What is it sweetheart?”

“Well, I was just wondering if, maybe, one day, if you don’t mind …”

She trailed off and I noticed she was blushing. I used the tip of my forefinger to tilt her face up to look at me.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“It’s just … I just want to try …”

“Anything, love, just ask.”

“Can I be in charge one night?”

“You mean, like in bed?”

“Yeah.”

I studied her eyes, a little confused.

“Of course,” I said.

Her face lit up with her smile.

“Really?”

I cupped her cheeks in my hands and gently touched her lips with mine.

“Sure, love. It sounds like fun. One question, though. Why was that so hard?”

She wrapped her small hands around my wrists, turned her head and kissed me on first one palm and then the other. Then she suddenly gave a soft laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just keep forgetting you’re not a wolf.”

“That’s not what your brother said.”

“Well, he’s right, in a way, but I think he’s seeing more what he wants to see than anything else.”

“He wants me to be wolf-like because I’m your mate?”

She nodded and kissed me on the inside of my wrist. The contact sent shivers up my spine.

“So, tonight?”

“No, not tonight,” she replied. “But one night. Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Of course, love,” I said.

I pulled her closer and kissed her on the forehead.

“You smell fantastic,” I whispered.

She lifted her head and I kissed her on the nose. That always made her giggle. It was one of the most intriguing things about my mate: that she could be so assertive and aggressive in combat, so dangerous and powerful, yet in bed she was soft and sweet, submissive and kittenish.

I lowered my head, our lips met, and there was no more need for words. I led her into the bathroom and pulled her into the shower. Under the cascade of hot water we washed each other, hands sliding over soapy skin. I cupped her breasts, slippery with lather, and gently tugged on her nipples as she massaged my erection and gently rolled my balls in her hands. I trailed my fingers across her stomach and between her legs, finding unbelievable heat.

“Jack, please,” she whimpered.

I was fighting against my instincts, desperately trying to let the tension build until I could stand it no more.

I slid my hands over her firm behind and gripped the back of her thighs, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around my hips and I pressed her against the wall as I slid inside her. Her strangled gasp met my groan of satisfaction, her arms tightening on my shoulders, her fingernails digging into my back.

“Jack.”

I was asleep, warm and cocooned against the world, my mate in my arms. That same mate was trying to wake me up.

“Jack? Are you awake?”

“I am now,” I said in a surly voice.

“I’m sorry, Jack, it’s just—”

She was interrupted by a flash of lightning and, a few seconds later, a huge clap of thunder. I came fully awake when I noticed she was trembling.

“Marie, what—”

“Don’t you dare laugh at me!”

“I wasn’t going to laugh, honey,” I said, hugging her tight. “What’s the matter?”

“Thunder just scares me, okay?” she said, nestling against me. “I know it’s irrational but I can’t help it.”

“Okay,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”

I held her and stroked her hair as the skies raged outside. I have to admit that, although I don’t have a problem with thunderstorms, this one was impressive—and loud. Every few seconds the room would be briefly illuminated, the window clearly visible through the curtains as a rectangle of bright blue light. Inevitably, within a few seconds, the room reverberated with the sound of thunder.

“You want to get up honey?” I said.

“No,” she said. “I want to stay here, warm and safe.”

“Okay, love. We can—”

A flash of lightning threw the room into sharp relief and projected a human form onto the curtains. Someone was standing on the balcony outside the window!

I shoved Marie away from me, probably harder than necessary, and rolled out of bed, groping for my trousers and cursing the afterimages on my retinas.

“Jack?” she whispered. “What th—”

I hissed at her and held a finger to my lips as I picked up my pistol. With the SIG pointed at the window I started edging around the bed. Marie didn’t bother with her pistol; she simply changed and slipped out of the bed.

The lightning flashed again, showing the figure out on the balcony.

“On three,” I whispered once the thunder had faded. “One.”

Marie reached out for the curtain.

“Two.”

I steadied my aim, my sights fixed over the spot where the figure had been.

“Three!”

Marie whipped the curtain aside and I tensed, looking out at a completely empty balcony.

I laughed a little sheepishly and lowered my gun.

“Guess my eyes were playing tricks on me,” I said.

Marie shook her head and pointed. I followed her finger and there, in the dry area where part of the balcony was sheltered by the overhang above, was a pair of wet shoe prints.

CHAPTER

24

“So there was nobody there, but there was these footprints?” asked John.

He was looking at a series of pictures I’d taken of the footprints while Marie had been waking our friends up.

“You know,” said Eva, yawning, “I just remembered why I didn’t like dating you, Jack. Nobody around you ever gets a good night’s sleep.”

Marie was glowering at the Swiss woman. Eva was eliciting frosty looks from Anna, too, probably because she had turned up to our room wearing a pair of tight shorts and a low-cut vest that displayed plenty of cleavage.

John and I were in the bedroom, looking out at the balcony. The footprints were drying but they were still obvious if you knew what you were looking for.

The storm had passed and it had stopped raining, but we could still hear rumbles off in the distance.

John slid the door aside and stepped out onto the balcony. He compared the remaining wet smudges to the photo on the laptop and took a rough measurement with a spread hand.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “from the size it’s either a man with tiny feet or a woman. We’re in France so I wouldn’t rule out the former.”

“Funny,” I said.

“But,” he said, looking up and around, “To climb up here, and get away that quickly, we have to be talking vampire. Or possibly werewolf.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Thinking something, boss?” he said.

“I occasionally do that with my brain,” I said. “It was a vampire. Marie could smell them out here. But why would a vampire be watching us?”

“Well, Anna did contact the club while you were with the werewolf pack. Told them that Sir John was in town and was interested in a little distraction. Maybe they were checking you out?”

“Nah, that doesn’t wash,” I said as John closed the door and we went back into the sitting room where everyone else was.

“Why not, boss?” said Cam.

“Because the vamps around here have ways of doing that without physically coming here. And what could a vamp learn standing out on the balcony in a thunderstorm? Not a bloody thing.”

“So what’s your theory?” said Eva.

“I dunno. Maybe it was a rogue, some vamp unconnected to the main groups, looking for a feed, decided to check out the hotel to see if a window was unlocked?”

“Not in Paris,” said Eva. “Trust me, any vamp who wanted to feed around here could drink themselves sick for years and not have to suck from the same willing donor twice.”

I leaned against the back of the couch, deep in thought.

“Boss?” said Bolt. “You have a ‘yeah, but’ on your face.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, but what if some vamp got tired of the willing? I mean, vamps like to boast that fear spices the blood, makes it taste better.”

“Adrenaline,” said Anna, nodding. “It does make the blood a little more heady.”

“So I'm told,” I said. “Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s psychological. Maybe the blood is more satisfying if the victim is hunted rather than willing.”

“I dunno, boss,” said John. “Doesn’t sound likely.”

“Okay, well, How about this?” I said. “Take America; The richest, most consumer-driven society in the world and yet a segment of the population still hunts for the dinner table and—remember—consider themselves more American for doing it. Maybe there’s vamps that are the same way, they look down on those who feed from the willing, like they’re wimps who don’t understand what it means to be a true vampire.”

“We don’t even know if the vamp was here to feed,” Jeurgen pointed out.

“True,” I said. “They could have been here just for us.”

There was silence in the room as we all mulled it over.

“Oh well,” said Anna. “It’s not like we can do anything about it.”

“True,” I said again. “We might as well get back to bed.”

I didn’t need to add that everyone should keep their weapons close. The fact that everyone should check their windows was obvious. Nobody needed to be told to be on their guard.

I went ahead and said it anyway.

“And our next contestant on Mastermind,” said John, imitating the old TV trivia show, “is Jack Henderson. His specialist subject: The bloody obvious.”

I spoke over the laughter.

“Actually I specialize in giving a swift backhander to the incorrigibly cheeky.”

“Sorry, boss,” he said, his grin fading not a jot.

“Okay, if it’s so obvious there shouldn’t be a problem, right?” I said. “Do what you do. Let’s hit the sack.”

CHAPTER

25

I woke up again. It was still dark. I was beginning to agree with Eva; a decent night’s sleep was something that seemed to happen to other people.

For a second I couldn’t figure out what had awoken me. Marie wasn’t in the bed, but the light was on in the bathroom, so she must have felt the call of nature. I was wary and alert, but this didn’t feel like danger. Still, I picked up my gun and slipped around to the window, peering out between the curtains.

Nothing. So what the hell?

Then I heard a strange noise from the bathroom: a soft clang and a strange, low giggle.

I strode over to the bathroom door and knocked softly.

“Marie?” I said. “You okay, love?”

That same giggle sounded.

“Marie?”

“Come on in, sexy,” she said.

Only it didn’t sound like her.

I cautiously cracked the door open and followed my SIG inside. Marie was alone, which was something of a relief.

She was sitting on the floor, stark naked, her feet inside the sunken bathtub. Her eyes were half closed and she had a stupid grin on her face.

“Hey, sexy alpha man,” she giggled. “You come to fuck your wolf?”

“Marie? What’s going on?”

“Oh, I have an idea,” she said, turning her head and trying to give me a sly look. “Why don’t I change and you can really fuck your wolf? You want to fuck your wolf, my Lord?”

“Marie? Are you stoned?”

“Poor ole me,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “Poor ole me, can’t find a wolf to love me. No wolf wants Marie.”

I frowned.

“Marie?” I said, squatting down and trying to get on eye level with her.

“Poor ole me had to find a human instead.”

Ouch. That hurt.

Suddenly, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, she broke into an innocent, honest smile.

“But my human’s the nicest man in the world. Love him, love him, wanna make him happy. Lucky me found a man, found a man to make me happy. Found a man better than a wolf.”

“Sweetheart?” I said softly.

“Hey!” she said. “There he is, there’s my human!”

I smiled and reached out to take her hand.

“What have you been taking, love?” I asked.

She opened her right hand. Clutched there was a twist of what looked like old-fashioned hemp rope. It looked to be woven out of dried fibers. She took a bite out of the end and chewed.

“Wolfsbane,” I said with a sigh. “Where the hell did you get wolfsbane from?”

“Cam gave it to me,” she said, chewing with relish. “Got it from someone in the pack.”

I sighed and shook my head.

“Aw, poor Jack. What’s the matter?” she slurred.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed, and then I think I need to go have a word with our friend Cam.”

I gathered her into my arms and stood up.

“Oh Jack, my perfect man,” she said, laying her head on my shoulder. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” I said with a soft sigh.

“No, Jack,” she said, pouting. “Say it like you mean it.”

“Okay, okay. I love you.”

“Better,” she said.

I carried her over to the bed, trying to ignore the way she was kissing my neck. I lay her down on the bed and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“You and I are going to talk about this in the morning,” I said.

She rolled over onto her side and made a contented noise. I took the twist of wolfsbane from her unresisting hand. Fucking hell, this was all I needed. Laying by the sink was the baggie that the drug had, presumably, come in. I slipped it back inside and sealed the top. I tapped the drug against my hand. Unfortunately I knew what I had to do.

I slipped out of the bedroom and closed the door quietly. Cam’s room was next to ours, as befits a bodyguard. I knocked on the connecting door.

There was no response, so I knocked louder. There was a muffled voice from inside so I stepped back. The door opened and Cam ducked under the doorway.

“What’s up boss?” he said.

I punched him across the face as hard as I could. Luckily I caught him off balance. He stumbled backwards and slammed into the door frame. He spun towards me, his lips drawn back from his teeth, death in his eyes.

I held the baggie up between us and locked eyes with him, daring him to try something.

He took one step towards me and then focused on the twist of dried vegetation in the bag.

“You know my rule, Cam,” I said, low menace in my voice. “If there’s a problem, we clear the air or someone leaves. I have a problem with you. I don’t like drugs. Do what the fuck you want when you’re off duty, but when you’re on duty, leave it behind.”

“It’s not addictive, boss,” he said.

“That’s no fucking excuse. If we had to go into a combat situation right now we’d be going in two men down.”

“Two? Why—”

“Marie and whoever we’d have to leave behind to look after her.”

He said probably the only thing he could have to diffuse the situation.

“You’re right, boss. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

I stared at him for a long moment.

“Okay, make sure it doesn’t.”

“Honest, boss. I had no idea she was going to take so much.”

“That’s between me and her,” I said. “Just … just go back to bed and we’ll call this matter settled. Agreed?”

He nodded and turned back towards the door.

“And sorry about your nose.”

He turned and licked the blood from his top lip.

“That’s okay. Good hit, boss.”

I shook my head and walked away.

Back in our room I closed the door and leaned against it before my legs gave out. My whole body was shaking with the adrenaline rush. Had I really just punched a werewolf in the face? And walked away? I scrubbed my face with trembling hands as my heart rate wound down towards normal. Holy shit. Just … holy shit. There was a long, shallow cut across my knuckles, presumably from one of Cam’s huge canines, that was sluggishly oozing blood. I licked the blood off of the wound and flexed my hand. Yeah, it wasn’t too bad.

Marie seemed to be asleep, which was a relief. I would let her sleep it off and give her the lecture in the morning. The last thing I needed right now was a stoned werewolf on my case. I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the little baggie of wolfsbane, wondering why she’d been taking it.

“Hey sexy alpha,” said Marie, running her hand down my back. “Wanna play?”

“No, Marie,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I want to play.”

Suddenly she grabbed my arm and yanked me back onto the bed. With startling speed she was straddling me, pinning my hands above my bed.

“Hi sexy alpha man,” she whispered.

“Marie, let me up,” I said in as calm a voice as I could manage.

“Nope,” she said and giggled.

“Marie, don’t do this.”

“Why not? You want me. I’m your little wolf. Little wolf to fuck. Little fucking wolf to fuck and have fun with.”

“Marie,” I said, letting some authority slide into my voice. “Get off of me.”

Hey eyes were drifting in and out of focus and she seemed to be swallowing a lot.

“Ah, Marie, if you’re going to puke, can you at least let me get clear?”

“’m not gonna puke,” she slurred, then she toppled off of me and landed on the bed.

I sat up quickly and turned to her.

“Jack,” she said as her eyelids fluttered closed. “’m sorry.”

I shook my head sadly. I was uncertain about the effects of wolfsbane. Could she overdose? The thought terrified me.

I leaned over her. Should I wake her up? Keep her conscious? Maybe keep her walking around? Some drugs you were supposed to do that. With others it was better to let the person sleep it off. I didn’t know and I hated not knowing.

For a few seconds I was lost in indecision, then I let my instincts take over. Using as gentle a touch as I could I rolled her over onto her side, moving her hands and legs into the recovery position I’d learned all those years ago as a snotty little kid in shorts and a cub scout neckerchief. I smiled at that image as I sat back on my heels and watched her. I wondered how many of my peers—and how many of the vampires I hunted—would feel their respect for me ratcheting down if they found out that the scrap of braided leather on my keyring was actually the woggle I’d made at camp. Worse, I thought, if they found out that the reason our Akela—our pack leader if you can stand the irony—had shown me how to make the woggle was because she was desperately trying to find a way to stop me crying about how much I missed my mum. I wondered how many would even know what a woggle is.

Okay, I was deflecting; trying to think of anything other than the situation I was in. Bad habit. I did have an idea, though.

I quietly left the room and stood in the sitting room. I had, I calculated, three options. I could wake Cam up and ask him what I should do, but that seemed like it would smack of weakness. I’d do it, but not as a first option. I could call Liam and ask his advice, but that would involve Marie’s brother in Marie’s problem. Again, not as my first choice.

So, first option: I sat down at the laptop, booted it up, brought up the Ministry database access page, and typed ‘WOLFSBANE OVERDOSE’.

CHAPTER

26

Marie rolled over onto her back and started snoring; a light, almost cute buzz. As I had done four times during the night I gently rolled her back onto her side and put her back into the recovery position.

“Jack,” she said softly. “I wish you’d stop doing that.”

“I will, as soon as I’m sure you’re not going to die.”

She blinked sleepily, and then her eyes opened wide.

“Oh, Jack,” she gasped. “Last night, did I …”

“Yes,” I said. “You did. How are you feeling?”

“Um, I feel okay.”

Yeah, that was one of the things the Ministry database had noted: wolfsbane had no long-term effect on werewolves. They got high, they came back down, and they didn’t even get a hangover. Life just isn’t fair.

“Good, get up and put some clothes on.”

“Jack? Have you been awake all night?”

“Get up and put some clothes on,” I repeated firmly.

“Okay, Jack,” she said, looking puzzled.

While she was dressing I pulled on a t-shirt. I was still wearing my trousers from last night.

“Okay, Jack,” she said in a subdued voice.

“We’re calling this your official bollocking,” I said firmly. “Don’t ever take drugs on duty. I don’t give a fuck how harmless they may be, how natural, how non-addictive. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Cam: if we’d had to go fight, we’d have been two bodies light. You could have hurt the team. You could have gotten people killed.”

She stared at me for a second before lowering her eyes.

“Yes, boss,” she said, fighting tears. “I’m sorry boss.”

“It does not happen again, you understand?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Now, nothing bad actually happened beyond me losing a night’s sleep, so we’ll leave it at that, okay?”

“Okay, boss,” she said, still not meeting my eyes.

I controlled my temper with difficulty. I wanted to rant and rave, to wave my hands around and demand answers, but I was pretty sure that approach would be counterproductive at best.

“Come here,” I said.

Marie looked up at me, hope shining through the tears in her eyes. She practically ran into my arms. I enfolded her in a tight embrace and kissed the top of her head.

“I’m really pissed off at you,” I said and kissed her on the forehead.

“You scared the shit out of me last night,” I said and kissed her cheek.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I said and kissed her lips.

“Are you ever going to forgive me?” she said.

“Well, Pagan has already forgiven you,” I said.

“Pagan has?”

“Yeah. You screwed up, you know you screwed up, you understand why it was a screw up, so Pagan’s okay.”

“And Jack?”

“I may take a little while longer, sweetheart.”

“Anything I can do to make it better?” she asked, looking up at me.

“You can tell me why you were taking wolfsbane in the first place.”

She blushed but said nothing.

“Marie?”

“Jack, it’s … it’s embarrassing.”

“Tell me anyway,” I said.

“I’m trying to keep up with you.”

“Keep up with me? Keep up with me how?”

She lay her head against my chest, her cheeks flaming.

“God, Jack, do I have to spell it out for you?”

“I think you’d better,” I said.

“In bed, Jack. No, please don’t get mad. I love you and I love sex with you. It’s wonderful, but you want it all the time.”

I was thunderstruck. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She took a deep breath and went on.

“Wolfsbane is supposed to … boost a werewolf’s sex drive. Make sex better. I took too much.”

“You’re trying to keep up with me?” I said, unable to believe it.

“You’re wearing me out, Jack!” she said, her voice almost a wail.

“You’re trying to keep up with me?” I repeated, unable to swallow the idea.

“Stop saying it like that!”

“It’s just so hard to believe, honey,” I said.

“Why? Why is it so hard to believe? It’s every time we’re alone! Don’t get me wrong, I love it. I love that you want me. I love that you want me. I love that you find me attractive. I love that.”

“But I’ve been trying to keep up with you!” I said.

There was an awkward silence. Then, softly at first, she started to laugh.

“Oh wow,” she said, giggling. “Are we perfect for each other or what?”

“Oh yeah,” I said.

“Oh, Jack,” she said, snuggling close. “I want you. I want to be in your life. I want to be in your bed. I want you to look at me with that look in your eye like—what’s that wonderful phrase Bill used to use?—‘I wouldn’t mind a piece of that’?”

I laughed at the memory. Bill had an eye for the ladies, it’s true. He never strayed from his wife, was never anything other than absolutely faithful, but he did like to look.

“I like that, Jack. I like the way you growl at me. I like the way you make me feel like the sexiest woman on Earth.”

“But you want us to calm down a little bit?”

“No, well, yes, but not in the way you mean.”

“Okay, so how do you mean?”

“I love the way you fuck, Jack,” she shivered against me, suddenly breathless. “I love the way you throw me on the bed and leap on me like some crazed animal. I love that. I love that you lose control around me.”

She swallowed and took a deep breath.

“But I also love the way you make love to me. I love it when you’re slow, when you’re gentle.”

“I thought you could take anything I could dish out?” I said.

“So did I, Jack. I’m not asking you to stop, I just need …”

“A little less of the sweaty, steaming beast and a little more of the gentle, considerate lover?” I finished.

“Thank you, Jack,” she whispered.

“Oh, good. That’s good to hear.”

She laughed and looked up at me.

“There’s times that I need the beast, Jack. Times that I need the pounding, the screaming, the difficulty walking the next day. But I also need the kissing and cuddling, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “And no more wolfsbane, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And the next time you have a problem, talk to me first, okay?”

“Jack, I’m not supposed to, I mean, you’re the male—”

“Marie,” I said, cutting her off. “I’ve tried my best to adapt to some of these wolf things, but now I need you to accept this as a human thing. I’m not a mind reader. If there’s a problem, I need to know about it. Okay?”

She nodded slowly.

“And I think I owe Cam an apology. Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Why?”

I showed her my knuckles.

“I punched him in the face last night when I found out where you’d gotten the drug from,” I said.

“Uh-oh.”

“Um, yeah,” I said, smiling sheepishly.

“Did you punch him as my boss or my mate?”

“A little of both.”

“Okay then, to be on the safe side you’d better not apologize. In fact, he owes me an apology for getting you mad.”

“Is this one of those wolf things?”

“Yeah, really,” she replied. “I'll trade you this wolf thing for that human thing, okay?”

“Okay, you know best about that. Meanwhile, I need to get some sleep.”

“Did you really stay up all night?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I was worried about you. I thought you were going to choke on your own vomit or something.”

“Okay, that’s sweet and kinda gross at the same time.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

I scrubbed my face with my hands, fighting fatigue.

“Okay, I need to sleep if I’m going to be any good at that club tonight.”

“Okay, honey,” she said, kissing me lightly on the lips. “I’m really sorry about what happened, love. Really.”

“It’s okay, just another step along the road,” I replied.

She smiled and kissed me again.

“One thing, though,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve stood against some of the most powerful vampires in the world without flinching, so how come you can scare the crap out of me?”

“Because I’m a woman, Jack,” she replied with a cute smile. “Women are far more dangerous than vampires. Vamps only suck blood. We women go for the heart.”

“So bloody true.”

CHAPTER

27

I lay in bed for a while, looking at the ceiling. Last night had been a textbook example of why Marie and I shouldn’t be together. As her boss I needed a clear head. I needed emotional distance. As her mate I needed to be close. I could be hurting my team if I let my emotions cloud my judgment.

Anna and John were a special case, because she needed him to live, but emotional attachments in combat situations rarely work out well.

I turned over the possible answers in my head. One or the other of us could quit the Ministry. But that was stupid. The Ministry wasn’t about to let me walk away so long as the vamps held the North. And Marie was just too good a hunter to lose. We could break up, but just the thought of that sent a bolt of pain through my stomach and made me want to curl up into a ball.

The solution, when it came, was so simple and stupid that I actually laughed out loud. All we had to do was win. If the vampires were kicked out of the North and England was safe again, our relationship wouldn’t be a problem. There, it was simple when you really thought about it.

I rolled over and wrapped my arms around the pillow. See? Problem solved, now I could sleep.

And I did.

Marie woke me up a little later with a cup of tea and a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Hey Jack, there’s a guy here to see you,” she said.

The guy turned out to be Neil. Neil was gayer than a Pink Power parade, loud, funny, and a great guy. He’d moved to France from the USA and worked in a lovely little exclusive boutique on the Champs Elysees. He sold clothes and accessories to the fashionable corpsebait crowd. What was useful was that he often picked up little tidbits of information that he passed on to the Ministry. When a vamp suddenly started flashing money around, holding big expensive parties and playing the big man about town, it almost always meant that the vamp in question was rising through the ranks of his clan. And we liked to know things like that. It helped to know who to watch.

“Hello Sir John!” boomed Neil in his usual greeting when I emerged from the bedroom.

“Hello Neil!” I boomed back in a passable imitation.

“How're you doing?” he said in his normal voice.

“Not so bad, you?”

“Keeping busy. I understand you need an outfit for a little soiree tonight.”

“Yeah, got to dress appropriately,” I said.

“Well, I have some outfits that’ll just look spiffy on you,” he said, waving one hand at a pile of garment bags on the table.

“Okay, we’ll go in here,” I said, indicating the bedroom.

We gathered everything up and Neil, Marie and I went back into the bedroom.

“Well now,” said Neil as Marie closed the door. “This is the pretty lady I’ve been hearing so much about.”

“Is everybody talking about us?” said Marie.

“Well, everybody who is in the know,” said Neil, winking at me. “Around here that’s a very select group if you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, okay, what’ve you got for me?”

“Honey,” he said, giving me a look, “what I’d like to give you would make your eyes cross.”

Marie gasped, her eyes wide.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. Me an’ Jack are old friends. He knows I’m only kidding. He’s not my type.”

Marie smiled a little hesitantly.

“Okie dokie,” he said, unzipping the first garment bag. “These are all the rage in the bloodlover’s circle.”

He handed me a pair of black leather trousers.

“Really?” I said, dryly.

“Yes, Jack, really,” he replied. “Just try them on and stop being a pain in the ass about it.”

He turned to Marie and rolled his eyes theatrically.

“Honestly, men!”

Marie giggled and winked at me.

I pulled off my trousers and struggled into the leather.

“Shit, Neil, you couldn’t have found a tighter pair?”

Neil and Marie were trying not to laugh as I sucked in my stomach and tried to button the fly.

“Now, when you wear them for real you’ll want to leave the underwear off,” said Neil professionally. “Otherwise it’ll spoil the lines.”

“You kidding me?” I said, turning to look at myself in the mirror. “I’m getting a decent sweat on already.”

“They do show off what you’ve got, Jack,” said Marie with a little grin.

“They’re showing off things I didn’t know I had!” I replied.

“No, you’re right Jack,” said Neil, looking at me critically. “They look stupid on you. You don’t have the right legs to carry them off.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

I peeled the leather back down my legs as he opened the next bag.

“Okay, try these.”

I pulled on the next pair. They were deep black denim jeans, cut a little tighter than I liked, and accented with little glittering gems where ordinary jeans just had the rivets.

“I kinda like those,” said Marie.

“Yep, those are definitely your look.”

“You sure?” I asked doubtfully.

“Trust me, Jack,” he said. “Guys can sparkle these days, too.”

“Okay.”

“And the legs are a little flared for these,” he said, producing a box.

He took the top off to reveal a pair of black leather cowboy boots complete with little fake spurs.

“Really?” I asked again.

“Sure! Cowboy boots are big at the moment. Try them on.”

I sat down and pulled the boots on. When I stood up and walked around the spurs jingled.

“Mmm,” I said. “That’s not going to get annoying at all, is it?”

“Oh hush, Jack,” said Neil. “You look good and you sound good. The silver spurs are a little courtesy warning to vampires. It says you don’t belong to one and you’re not looking to belong to one.”

“If you say so,” I said with a shrug.

“Now, shirt,” he said, eying my bare chest. “Dear lady, what do you think? Shall we look at showing off his chest?”

“Sure, why not?” Marie replied, ignoring my glare.

Neil produced a leather waistcoat.

“Not if you held a gun to my head,” I said firmly.

“Okay,” said Neil, laughing. “Just thought I’d ask.”

The next item was a flouncy white linen shirt with big cuffs and wooden toggles instead of buttons.

I shook my head as I pulled it on and tucked it in. I studied myself in the mirror. The shirt was loose and gaped open, showing off my chest and a lot of my stomach. My big scar stood out like a red flag and I was having trouble seeing my hands under the lacy cuffs.

“I look,” I said quietly, “like a confused fucking pirate.”

“I don’t know,” said Neil, standing back and looking at the effect. “I kinda like it. It looks a little dangerous on you.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I don’t think so at all.”

I yanked the flouncy shirt off over my head.

“What else you got?” I asked.

“Well, I do have this,” he said, opening another bag.

It was a plain black shirt, but the stitching was all done in silver thread. I thought it looked pretty cool once I’d got it on. I turned and looked in the mirror, actually admiring myself.

“I have to admit,” said Neil to Marie, “he does look pretty yummy.”

“Yeah, he does,” said Marie, an intense look on her face.

“Okay, put the tongues away,” I said. “Is this the one that we’re going with?”

“Yes, definitely,” said Marie.

“And I have the perfect jacket for you with that,” said Neil.

He opened another bag and handed me a jacket. It was a deep black frock coat, severely tailored and generously cut around the shoulders.

“Yeah, there’s this stupid fashion in Paris for cell phone and wallet holders that you wear like shoulder holsters, so, of course, there’s a fashion for jackets that can conceal them.”

“Useful,” I said.

I turned and looked at myself. All in black, so that wasn’t too bad. Just ostentatious enough to look rich, subdued enough to look tasteful. Kind of a dangerous playboy look. Would Sir John dress like this? Yes, I decided. Sir John would like the image.

“Okay, that’s me then?” I said. “I look like Satan’s pimp.”

“I don’t know,” said Marie. “You look good.”

“Oh, I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I just said I looked like the kind of guy who would bitch-slap Satan and send him out on the game.”

Marie giggled and Neil gave me an admiring look.

“You’re still not my type but I know a couple of cute little guys who would just fall at your feet if you ever decided to switch sides,” he said.

“Piss off,” I said. “I’m taken.”

“Yes he is,” said Marie proudly.

“Okay, what about your outfit?” I said.

“Oh, Anna picked mine out,” she said.

“Cool, where is it?”

“I’ll put it on as soon as you guys leave and send Anna in.”

“Okay, let’s give the lady some privacy,” said Neil, gathering up his bags.

I grabbed my weapons bag. I wanted to make sure everything I had would be concealable. I kissed Marie on the cheek and we left.

“Wow boss,” said Anna. “You look like …”

“Satan’s pimp?” I suggested.

“Funny,” she said.

“Marie’s ready for you.”

“Okay.”

Once she left I stripped off the coat and pulled on my shoulder rig. My SIG went into the holster under my left arm. Two spare magazines and my commando knife went under my right. I hesitated for a second then slid my smaller back-up SIG into its slim holster and tucked it into the jeans at the small of my back.

“Okay,” I said once I’d put the jacket back on. “Concealed?”

John gave me a critical look.

“Yeah, that coat’s nicely cut,” he said. “You can barely see a thing.”

“Got enough weapons, Jack?” said Eva slyly.

“Never enough firepower,” said John, quoting my favorite truism.

“Spot on,” I said.

Cam came out of his room through the connecting door. He was back in his bodyguard outfit. Now, though, he was wearing his MP7 on his thigh.

“Neil, what’s the law on automatic weapons here in France?”

“Well, the law is pretty clear. Just owning that thing is a crime. And carrying around that arsenal violates about nine different laws. Keep but not bear arms is the way the law reads at the moment.”

“Okay, so what happens when we go to the club?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“Sir John isn’t likely to care much, is he?” he asked.

“Actually,” said Jeurgen thoughtfully. “Technically you’re pursuing criminals on behalf of the Pontifical Swiss Guard. That means you’re working for Interpol in a roundabout way. Going armed is barely legal, but legal nonetheless.”

“The Swiss Guard’s part of Interpol?” asked John.

“Yep, for a couple of years now,” said Eva.

“Okay, so, technically, if we get arrested we can walk?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“I wouldn’t like to test it, but yes, essentially that is true.”

“Okay, something to think about, I suppose.”

At that point Anna came out of the bedroom.

“She’s ready,” she said.

“She is?”

“And she’s waiting for you. You have to help her finish the outfit.”

“Okay,” I said, confused.

CHAPTER

28

I walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind me. The sight that greeted me made me catch my breath.

Marie was kneeling on the floor, her paws on her thighs, her lupine head slightly lowered, her eyes fixed on mine. She was practically naked. She was wearing what looked like a black leather bikini. A brassiere lifted her breasts into a beautiful cleavage and a tiny leather thong was almost invisible between her thighs. I walked slowly around her. From behind the thong was a series of straps that went around her tail and disappeared between her buttocks. Studded leather cuffs encircled her wrists and ankles and a pair of gold hoop earrings glinted in her ears.

“Wow,” I said.

She turned to look at me and smiled.

“You look … you look … I’m speechless.”

Her smile widened and she tilted her head to one side as she spread her arms. I understood the question without words.

“Yes, you pass. Any man would love to have you kneel at his feet.”

She lowered her eyes and, I knew, if she had been in her human form she would have been blushing. I crouched down next to her and took her paws in my hands.

“Sweetheart, you sure you want to do this?” I asked.

She nodded emphatically.

“Let me guess,” I said. “If you’re not with me I’ll only get into trouble, right?”

She gave a soft barking noise that I’d learned to interpret as laughter. I took her face in my hands and gently kissed her on the nose.

“Anna said you needed some help with something,” I said.

She nodded and leaned forward to lick my face. Then she pointed at the bed and a bag sitting there. I stood up and checked inside. There was a black leather collar with fine silver embroidery. It matched, I noticed, the shoulder holster I’d given her last year. There was also a braided leather leash, coiled into a loop.

I turned and met her eyes.

“You're serious about the leash?” I said.

She nodded firmly.

“Okay,” I said.

I took the collar out of the bag and crouched down. I was about to put it on her when I caught the strange, intense look in her eyes. Something clicked in my mind. Marie could have put the collar on herself, or had Anna do it, but she’d wanted me to, for some reason, and now she was looking at me like I was holding an engagement ring instead of a collar.

“This is important, isn’t it?” I asked.

She nodded.

“This means something a little more than just part of your costume?”

Nod.

“So is this …” I hesitated. “Is this a gift from me to you?”

She shook her head. No.

“A commitment from you to me?”

No.

I thought about it, looking into her eyes.

“Is this like an engagement ring? A symbol of both of us? Our commitment to each other?”

She nodded and smiled.

“Okay, so you’ll explain it to me later?” I said with a smile.

She shook her head and smiled.

“So, I just put it on?”

Nod.

I reached around her neck and buckled the collar in place. The effect was startling—and arousing. Suddenly I had all sorts of urges I’d never had before. I swallowed, trying to clear my throat.

“And the leash?”

She smiled and nodded again, so I clipped the leash to the D-ring on the front of the collar. She leaned forward and tenderly licked my hand. I hesitantly reached out and stroked her head, causing her to close her eyes and push against my hand. I was starting to get a little uncomfortable with this, mainly because it was turning me on. Putting a collar and leash on my mate, no matter how canine she currently looked, was both the most disturbing and arousing thing I had ever done. It spoke to something deep inside me that I hadn’t known was there.

I scratched behind her ears and down to her neck, eliciting deep, sensual growls from her. She bent forward and nudged at my crotch with her nose.

“Hey, now,” I laughed, pulling my hand back. “Enough of that.”

She glanced up at me and smiled before nudging again.

“No,” I said firmly, giving the leash a gentle tug. “Bad girl.”

She sat back on her heels and gave me a toothy grin, and then she nodded slowly.

“Yes?” I asked. “Yes you’re a bad girl or yes that’s the response you were looking for?”

She nodded again.

“Both?” I laughed. “Okay sweetheart. So you’re not going to be offended if I treat you that way at the club, right?”

Nod, smile.

“We really should have discussed this before you changed,” I said.

Nod, shrug.

“Hang on,” I said. “I’ve met werewolves who can talk in wolf form. How come you can’t?”

She gave me an embarrassed look.

“Wait, you can?”

She lowered her head, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Marie?”

Her velvet muzzle wrinkled back in a tiny snarl. She obviously didn’t like this line of questioning, but taking hints has never been my strong suit.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hate … voice,” she growled in a deep, gravelly tone. “Sound … male.”

“Sweetheart,” I said, leering at her beautiful, furry cleavage, “there’s nobody could mistake you for male. Trust me.”

She cocked her head to one side and rolled her eyes.

“Okay, sweetheart, you don’t have to talk if it makes you uncomfortable.”

She smiled and touched my cheek with one soft paw.

“I love you, too, honey,” I said.

She laughed and threw her arms around my neck, holding me against her. I wrapped my arms around her, loving the warmth of her skin, the softness of her fur, and the firmness of the body beneath. I buried my face in her neck, smelling the scent of her, subtly different in wolf form than human, now mixed with the rich smell of the leather collar.

“You ready?” I said softly.

She nodded. I stood up and watched her rise to her feet next to me.

“Wow,” I said, openly admiring her figure in the scanty outfit. “What a pity you won’t let me do you like that.”

She rolled her eyes and lightly slapped me on the arm.

“I know; I’m a silly, sexy man.”

CHAPTER

29

We walked out of the bedroom to stunned looks. I couldn’t decide if the shock was at Marie’s outfit or at the leash, but everyone sat for a few seconds with their mouths open.

“You okay with that, Marie?” growled Cam.

“She’s fine,” I said as Marie nodded and grinned.

“Seems a bit disrespectful to me,” he said.

“That’s for her to decide, Cam,” I said firmly. “We ready to go?”

“Yep,” said John, coming to his feet. “Bolt’s gonna come with us and stay with me in the limo.”

“Good call,” I said.

“I thought so,” he said. “I’ll go bring the limo ‘round. See you downstairs.”

With that he gave his wife a goodbye kiss and he and Bolt left the room.

Jeurgen was looking at Marie like he wanted to crawl under the couch and hide—not too many werewolves in the Vatican, I suppose—but Eva seemed to be having trouble keeping her eyes off of me.

“I’ll call in when we get there and, if possible every hour afterwards,” I said. “Hopefully it won’t take too long. If I miss a check in, call the guys and find out if everything looks okay from the outside. If we miss two in a row we’re probably screwed.”

“Take care, boss,” said Anna. “You’re walking into a nest of vamps. I’d hate to lose you and have to spend all that time training the next guy who thinks he can run this team.”

“We’ll be okay,” I replied. “These vamps aren’t like the ones back home. These vamps are civilized.”

I said the last word with a perceptible sneer in my voice. I hated the idea of vampires—present company excepted, of course—trying to pretend to be ordinary members of society.

“Well, still, be careful.”

“Okay, Anna, we will,” I said. “Don’t wait up.”

“Fat chance.”

We left the suite and traveled down to the underground parking lot in the elevator. Marie was stood very close to me so I reached out and gripped her paw in my hand. She gave me a reassuring squeeze. When the doors parted, John had the limo less than ten feet from the doors with Bolt standing by the side. He gave a smart salute as he opened the door for us, then closed it and went around to sit in the front.

John pulled the limo out and smoothly entered the light evening traffic.

Marie and I were sitting next to each other and she hadn’t relinquished my hand.

We rode in silence to the club, located in what was, according to their website, an old mental hospital on the outskirts of Paris. The little suburb had been fairly nondescript until the vampires moved in. Suddenly it had become the place to live for the fashion and status conscious French elite. As we neared our destination the cars on the road grew more and more expensive until, eventually, even the sleek black stretch limo didn’t look out of place.

John pulled the limo through a pair of open gates and along a gravel path. We topped a slight rise and I caught my first glimpse of the club. It looked like something out of a Victorian gothic nightmare and I found myself wondering how much was original and how much the vamps had added. There were heavy iron bars on all of the windows and the lawn had been carefully manicured around a pile of rusting gurneys and wheelchairs. The driveway curved around and headed back towards the gate. Parked on the grass were a half-dozen limousines and expensive cars. I spotted a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost in immaculate condition parked between what looked like the latest offering from BMW and a Mercedes that was unmistakably armored. On the other side of the road were a few taxis, all in the same livery. Obviously this was a taxi company run for or by the vamps themselves. A useful tidbit of information.

I glanced towards the front seat where Bolt was just hanging up his cell phone.

“Okay, boss, I let the team know we’ve arrived,” he said.

I nodded and went back to studying the club. Ahead of us a stretch limo that had been made out of some garish SUV was disgorging a party of giggling young women—corpsebait college kids out for that frisson of danger probably—and pulled away to the parking lot. John smoothly drew us up to the door.

There was a small crowd outside the doors, swollen by the new arrivals, kept back by the traditional velvet rope and the glaring, over-muscled bouncers.

John opened the door and Cam stepped out. Instantly the crowd went quiet. Even the bouncers, who looked like they regularly bench-pressed each other, lost some of their swagger at the sight of the huge werewolf. Bolt was standing next to the passenger seat, one foot inside the vehicle, scanning the area.

Apparently satisfied he closed his door and joined Cam. It all seemed way over the top to me but I wanted the impression clear: something important this way comes.

I stepped out of the car and turned to offer Marie my hand. The crowd that had gone silent for Cam broke out into astonished whispers as the scantily clad—and obviously female—werewolf followed behind the man who was clearly her owner.

Cam strode ahead of us and bent down to have a quiet word with the bouncers as we strolled toward the doors, bypassing the roped-in crowd completely. I heard someone identify me as some Italian porn star, another confidently claimed I was a big Hollywood movie star who was, apparently, laying low in Europe to avoid the press because of some drug scandal, and a third insisted I was the son of the current German Chancellor.

By the time we’d made it to the door—and through the gauntlet of lies and speculation—the bouncers were beaming at us and holding the rope aside. They were, from what I could tell, all human. Black t-shirts strained over muscles like a collection of turtles in a bag, and shaven heads gleamed in the spotlights. Cliché. Almost laughable.

I went in without stopping, not even acknowledging the bouncers, Marie and Cam behind me.

I had been expecting a dark interior with pounding music and flashing strobes. I was pleasantly surprised. Inside the club resembled the better class of gentleman’s club—and that’s the bushy-mustaches and quiet afternoons behind the Financial Times kind of gentleman’s club, not the sweaty, shabby euphemism for strip club type of gentleman’s club.

Sumptuous leather furniture and highly polished wood were abundant. Employees, both human and vampiric, moved through the lobby with the grave, thoughtful step of those about business too important to do anything as crass as hurry.

A buxom human woman with copper red hair and a clingy black dress flowed over to greet us.

“Sir John,” she said with a toothy smile. “How delightful to finally see you at our humble establishment.”

I recognized her from the pictures Eva had shown me, her soft, German accent simply confirming her identity.

“Frauline Khol,” I said, inclining my head. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You flatter a poor hostess, sir,” she said.

Of course I didn’t, and she was no mere hostess. Frauline Khol was discreetly famous in certain circles, the human front for this club and Herr Sturmbannführer’s other enterprises, not to mention his current consort.

“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed, spotting Marie. “Sir John, I wasn’t aware you were bringing such a delightful companion! Will she be dancing for us this evening?”

“No,” I said. “She needs more training before I’ll allow her to dance in public. I wouldn’t want to be embarrassed.”

Besides, I wouldn’t allow my mate to dance for a bunch of suckheads to lust over, I thought.

Marie lowered her head as though ashamed of my assessment of her abilities while Khol gave a knowing nod. She looked up the slopes of Mount Cameron and drew in her breath.

“And such a handsome bodyguard!”

Cam reacted with supreme indifference to the look of naked lust the vampire lover was directing at him.

“I fear I am being overshadowed,” I said.

“Nonsense, Sir John,” she said, slipping her arm through mine. “Please, you are our guest, be assured of my personal attention at all times.”

She led us through the restrained dignity of the lobby and into a huge hall.

“Would you care for something with some privacy?” she asked, squeezing my arm possessively against her expansive chest.

“Absolutely,” I replied. “With a view of the stage.”

The rear of the room was dominated by a large stage. A pale, skinny woman in nothing but black stockings and a bright steel collar was slowly dancing to the subdued music. A vampire—presumably her owner—was watching appreciatively and swapping comments with his cronies. On the other end of the stage a muscular young man peeled off tight leather trousers to reveal a tight leather thong that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

The hostess led me by the arm to a pair of staircases that spiraled up from the floor and led to a pair of balconies; private areas from which special guests could watch the proceedings. She took us up the left-hand staircase. At the top was a pair of overstuffed leather armchairs with a low table between them.

“If you need anything, Sir John,” purred Kohl, “anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

She signaled to the rear of the balconies, where a private bar sat. A waitress in a traditional black dress and white apron hurried forward. Kohl gave her some instructions in a low voice and, with one final lingering smile at me, walked regally down the stairs.

I took a seat in the left hand chair, Cam taking up position behind me, his powerful arms folded over his massive chest. Marie took her place to my left, sinking to her knees on the thick carpet.

“Good evening, sir,” said the waitress in a soft French accent. “Can I get you anything?”

I ordered a glass of expensive Scotch whiskey and the waitress hurried away. I settled back and watched the stage. The woman had left the stage and was kneeling, still mostly naked, beside her owner. On the other side admiring female vampires surrounded the now-completely naked man. His owner seemed to be taking bids on him. Money changed hands and one vampiress reached out to stroke his erection before getting a firm grip and leading him away, quite literally, by the short and curlies.

The waitress returned with my drink and set it on the table. I smiled and thanked her. Must remember to leave an obscenely large tip when I go, I thought. I have an image to maintain.

I glanced around the room. The dance floor was largely empty except for the gaggle of girls who, it seemed, had made it past the bouncer. No surprise there. Around the room was where the real action was. Tables sat in gloomy corners and small groups of vampires were sitting around discussing things of great import, apparently. These vampires had no slaves with them, no hangers-on. These were the really dangerous ones. The ones that came here because they had serious things to deal with.

I could almost see the ripple of conversation chase around the room, causing a discreet stir. Several vamps casually looked up at the balcony. I could almost hear the conversations—Who’s that human? Sir John, apparently. Sir John Winstanleigh? The arms dealer? He has a werewolf slave? What about that werewolf bodyguard?

Several vamps nodded or raised their glasses cordially. I returned each gesture, trying not to let my disgust show on my face.

Back on the stage a young woman with long, dark hair was stripping, slipping off a perfectly ordinary cocktail dress to reveal a rubber fetishist’s dream set of lingerie. As she peeled off item after item my hands began to clench on the arms of the chair. The sight of these slaves stripping for the pleasure of vampires was sickening me. The fact that they were probably too clueless or too mindbroken to realize what they were doing was irrelevant. How dare these vampires turn humans into toys?

Marie saved me. She could see my white knuckles and knew that I was losing my cool. So she gently touched the side of my hand with her cold, wet nose. I glanced down sharply. She gave me a soulful look that snapped me back to reality. Then she whimpered softly and nudged my hand again. I smiled, feeling the tension drain from my shoulders, and placed my hand on top of her head. I slowly stroked her fur as I picked up my drink and took a sip.

There was nothing I could do for the poor woman, or the guy now spending time with the vampire who had rented him. Any action here and now would be disastrous and ultimately self-defeating. All I could do was to make every effort to fight the vamps, every day, every way I could. And now it wasn’t just England. We could kick them out there but humans would still be enslaved elsewhere.

On the stage the now naked woman was being auctioned off, and one of the corpsebait girls had approached the vampiric Master of Ceremonies. He gave her an oily smile and an expansive ‘be my guest’ gesture. She giggled and, cheered on by her friends and several vamps, climbed drunkenly onto the stage to perform her own dance. The girl had no owner at the club, as far as I could tell, and would, therefore, be fair game for any vampire that wanted her.

I turned my attention back to Marie so I didn’t have to watch. She gave me another look and laid her head on the arm of the chair. I smiled and scratched her behind the ears.

“Can I get another for you sir?” asked the waitress.

With a start I realized that my glass was empty. The next one needed to go down a little slower.

I ordered a refill and something to soak up the alcohol and fill my empty stomach. The chef here, according to Eva, was a world-renowned pastry chef. His pain au chocolate was, from what I was told, to die for. I asked for a couple.

Back on the stage something was happening. The giggling drunk—and now naked—girl was being led away by three male vamps and the stage was clear. The center section began to rise up, hinged at the rear. Under the section was a woman, kneeling on the floor, one leg stretched out in front of her, her body stretched out along her leg. She was dressed as a ballerina, complete with tutu and those satin shoes with the hard toes.

The girl got to her feet and began to dance. No tawdry strip show was this, but a beautiful, graceful display that somehow managed to be sexier than anything else that had happened on that stage tonight. No clothes came off, nothing was on display, no transparent clothes, no leather, no rubber. But still, nevertheless, she looked alluring.

A vampire obviously agreed with me. He walked to the edge of the stage which, I now saw, was made up like a giant old-fashioned wind-up music box, right down to the mirror in the ‘lid’. The vamp beckoned her over and she paused in her dance to kneel at the edge. The pair exchanged words and the girl stood back up, waving her finger at the vamp and smiling. Then she went back to her dancing.

This was Eva’s friend. And I knew how to get her.

I gave Marie one last pat and stood up. The look she gave me spoke eloquently of the vengeance she would exact if I were dumb enough to tell her to ‘stay’.

Of course I was dumb enough. Seriously. The look on her face was priceless.

I trotted down the stairs and made my way across the dance floor, nodding and smiling to various leeches and dodging drunken victims who wanted to dance with me. I made it to the stage and politely nodded to the dancer. She was even more beautiful up close. She knelt at the edge of the stage.

“Good evening, sir,” she said in flawless French.

“Good evening, my lady,” I replied.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“You can give me your name, my lady.”

She gave me a sultry look and lowered her voice.

“My name is whatever you want it to be, sir.”

I inclined my head and pursed my lips, apparently overcome with disappointment.

“My apologies for taking up your time, my lady.”

I gave her a half bow and turned to negotiate the minefield of the dance floor. I made it back to my seat unscathed.

I had responded correctly to her sign, so now the ball was in her court. I had to admire the elegant simplicity. I had identified myself and now she had the choice. She could respond, if she felt safe enough, or, if she felt she was being watched or if she felt I was dodgy, she could ignore me for the night. Nice.

Sitting on the table was a fresh glass of whiskey and a fine china plate with two delicately browned pastries. I turned to the bar and thanked the waitress with a smile and a nod before sitting down.

I picked up the plate and carefully tore one of the pastries in half. Under the layers of perfectly cooked pastry was a delicate river of soft chocolate. I bit off a portion and chewed. It was everything I’d been promised.

I watched the ballerina as I ate and, it seemed to me, she was glancing up at the balcony a lot as she danced. I wondered if that was a good sign or not.

Marie let out a soft bark, barely audible. I looked down. Her eyes were locked onto mine until she was sure she had my undivided attention. Then she deliberately transferred her gaze to the plate and the pastry and a half there.

I smiled and shook my head. Where had she learned that little trick?

I picked up the piece of pastry and held it in my hand.

“You want this?” I asked.

She nodded.

“And what are you prepared to do to get it?” I asked.

Marie may not speak in her wolf form but her eyes conveyed the message with ease. ‘How about,’ her eyes said, ‘I don’t rip off your arm and shove it up your arse?’

I laughed and held out the pastry to her. She leaned forward, delicately taking it from my fingers with her teeth and, with a few quick movements of her jaws, was licking her lips and looking at the plate again.

“Enjoy that?” I asked.

She nodded.

I laughed and gave her head an affectionate stroke, and then leaned down to kiss her on top of the muzzle.

“You might want to turn it down a little bit,’ I whispered. “I think you’re overacting.”

In response she licked my face with enthusiasm and, unfortunately, quite a lot of saliva.

“On the other hand,” I said, “what do I know?”

She smiled and lay her head on the arm of the chair again. I tore the second pastry into quarters and fed them to her one by one.

We’d agreed beforehand that Cam would neither eat nor drink in the club. If we were spotted and someone put something in our drinks, someone needed to have a clear head.

“Want something to drink?” I asked.

Her eyes swiveled up to mine.

“Yes, puppy, that means a bowl on the floor.”

She smiled a little at the name and nodded.

I beckoned the waitress over.

“A Perrier for me and one in a bowl for my little puppy, here.”

The waitress took my empty whisky glass and backed away.

I really didn’t like Perrier, but I knew that two drinks was my limit when playing a role. It was all too easy to get carried away in the character and get drunk. Things slip when you do that. Sir John was a roisterer, a shagger, a gorger and a hard drinker, a party boy of legendary proportions, but he always remained sober when on business.

The waitress came back with my glass, an opened bottle, and a large silver bowl with ‘la chienne’ engraved on the side in curly script. I supposed that the club was no stranger to slaves who had to drink out of a dog bowl. Suddenly I felt sick at the thought of treating Marie like the vamps treated their property, but before I could think of anything to do, the bowl was on the floor and Marie was lapping up the expensive water. I sighed and took a sip from my own drink. Around the room several vamps were watching the balcony. I could see their expressions clearly as they watched us and, I have to admit, their jealousy felt good. Vamps almost always have it all their own way when dealing with humans, so it was nice to be the object of envy from them.

“Sir?” said the waitress. “Frauline Kohl sent you this with her compliments.”

On her tray was an expensive cigar. My mind raced. Did Sir John smoke cigars? Would he refuse? No, the last time I had played Sir John he’d—I’d—accepted a handsome Cuban from the vamp we were going after.

I nodded and the waitress expertly trimmed the cigar, handing it to me and flicking an expensive table lighter. While I was puffing the cigar into life the waitress spoke in a soft voice.

“Sir? The ballerina on the stage begs to inform you that her name is Suzette.”

I took the cigar out of my mouth and checked to make sure the tip was properly lit.

“Thank you,” I said, placing a small bundle of Euros on her tray, “for everything.”

I relaxed a little, crossing my legs and taking care not to snag my jeans with those ridiculous spurs. I blew out a cloud of blueish, very expensive smoke while I considered my options. She’d made the next move and the ball was now mine. I was supposed to, according to Eva, take the girl—Suzette—away to a private room where we could talk. Everyone would think I was banging the beautiful girl, which would enhance my reputation. Still, something was creeping up on me. There was something in the place that didn’t add up. I had no idea what it was but I’ve learned never to ignore such instincts.

Some of the tables were emptying and, for the first time since coming in here, the humans outnumbered the vampires. What was going on?

I placed the half-smoked cigar in the ashtray and stood up. Cam’s eyes met mine and I knew he’d felt it, too. Marie was kneeling, her ears pricked and her nose twitching. Whatever was about to happen, I would feel better with Suzette up here where I could protect her. I turned to descend the stairs.

Before I could move a familiar voice came from the shadows at the back of the balcony.

“Going somewhere, Jack?” said Lady Lucia. “Or should I say Sir John?”

CHAPTER

30

“Oh sit down, Sir John,” she said, walking demurely over to the second chair and lowering herself gracefully.

Marie was growling, a quiet, continuous threat.

“And make the dog be quiet,” said Lucia. “I’m not going to hurt anyone. I just want to talk.”

I bent down and kissed Marie just below her left ear, a pretense so I could whisper.

“Stay alert. Don’t concentrate on her.”

She licked my cheek and nodded. I didn’t want Marie focused on Lucia and possibly missing a threat from another direction.

I beckoned the waitress over and handed her a second wad of notes.

“Please give this to Suzette with my sincerest regrets. I have made other arrangements for this evening, but I do hope that, if time permits later I might enjoy her company.”

The waitress nodded and beamed when I gave her another huge tip for her trouble.

Only then did I go back to my chair and sit down.

“So, the cigar was from you, to cover your scent when you came out of the hidden door back there, right?” I asked.

The vampiress nodded and smiled brightly.

“And the most important leeches—for that, read richest—have been warned and taken away just in case I start shooting the place up, right?”

Again she nodded.

“But the humans are still being let in because, if I do start shooting the place up I’ll kill more corpsebait than corpses.”

“Really, Jack,” she said with a tight smile. “You are almost too smart for your own good.”

“Not smart enough, apparently,” I said, focusing my attention on Marie.

She’d stopped growling but her canines were still bared.

“Your little doggie doesn’t seem pleased to see me,” said Lucia.

“Whereas I’m just turning cartwheels,” I said sarcastically.

She ignored the comment, turning to look up at Cam.

“And this is just the most handsome werewolf I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Who is it?”

“This is Cam,” I said. “He’s one of the inmüt who was going to gang rape you to death when you escaped from Marcus.”

“You work with him?” she said incredulously.

“Sure, everyone deserves a second chance.”

I’ll admit it; I was enjoying seeing her squirm at the sight of the massive wolf that had been mere minutes away from inflicting that horrific punishment on her body.

Then she regained her composure.

“And I?” she said smoothly. “Do I deserve a second chance?”

I regarded her in silence, my hand on Marie’s head. I was acutely aware that we were in a nest of vampires and, while we were undoubtedly the most dangerous things in the area, it would be a bloodbath if we had to fight our way out.

“That depends,” I said, “on what you want a second chance to do.”

“Form an alliance,” she said. “With my rule the North of England is now a much nicer place to live.”

“You’re buying into your own propaganda, I see.”

“No, Jack,” she said, leaning forward, her low-cut ball gown showing off a modest cleavage. “It’s the truth. You and I could get peace declared in England. The war could end.”

“I think not.”

“Ah well,” she said. “And it’s too late to invite you into my bedroom, I suppose.”

Marie growled softly.

“Your puppy is very beautiful,” said Lucia. “Would you allow her to dance for us?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in Hell,” I said. “She’s mine, and I don’t share.”

“A pity. Does she?”

Marie’s growl climbed in volume.

“I’d take that as a ‘no’, if I were you,” I said, my fingertips stroking through Marie’s fur.

I felt along the edge of her collar without taking my eyes off of the vamp. When I found the D-ring I unclipped the leash, allowing it to fall to the floor.

“Oops, butterfingers,” I said.

“Jack,” said Lucia. “One of my operatives has her in his sights as we speak. What would you do, I wonder, if I had her killed?”

I leaned forward, my face made of stone.

“If any harm comes to her my revenge will cause such pain and misery that you’ll wish Cam and his friends had caught up to you. I will devote my life to the cause of inflicting pain on you. Your death will last decades. By the time I’m finished with you, you will be begging for an end, and end that will only come after I had wrung every last tear, every last scream, every last pitiful whimper from your broken body.”

There was dead silence on the balcony for five long seconds. Lucia was scared of me, I suddenly realized. She was terrified of the threat I represented. She tried to laugh.

“Oh Jack, learn how to take a joke.”

“I don’t find threats funny,” I said, sitting back. “Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we? You want to know why I’m here.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You mean you didn’t come here just to chat with me?” she said.

I could actually see a way through this. A sneaky idea was starting to form in my mind. I stared at the vamp in silence as I refined the idea into something resembling a plan.

“Okay Jack, why are you here?”

“A deal?” I said. “I tell you why we’re here, you tell me what you know about what we’re looking for?”

“Intriguing,” she said, giving me a speculative look. “How about a show of good faith? Answer one question for me?”

“If you answer one in return.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“What are you doing here in France?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“That’s easy,” she said. “I had a meeting with Herr Sturmbannführer. I simply happened to see you on a security camera.”

Not a complete answer, but at least she wasn’t here for any reason connected to us.

“What’s your question?” I asked.

“What did you want with the dancer? I thought your puppy didn’t share?”

That was a jolt. Did she suspect Suzette of passing information?

I shrugged, forcing my voice to sound casual.

“I watched leeches taking humans away all night. I felt sorry for her and thought she might like a night off.”

“A night off?”

“Yeah, a night not having to playact beneath some sweaty dickhead vampire.”

Lucia smiled and stared off into space.

“Always the boy scout, eh Jack?” she said. “Actually she’s very well treated.”

“For a whore,” I finished. “And cattle.”

“Oh, Jack,” she said, looking back at me. “She gets better treatment than many humans find at the hands of other humans. She only has to go with the ones she decides to go with, and guests are forbidden to enchant her.”

“Yes, because vamps are so very good at obeying the rules.”

She smiled indulgently.

“Okay, Jack, you have a deal. In exchange for telling me why you’re here, I’ll help you with whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Okay, what do you know about a group of Romanian vampires who have been hanging around here flashing flipping great wodges of cash?”

“No, answer first. What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for a group of Romanian vampires who have been hanging around here flashing flipping great wodges of cash.”

She sat in silence, staring at me.

“Okay,” I said eventually. “A group of vampires raided the Vatican archives.”

Lucia had a good poker face, but I could still read the tension around her eyes. No vampire wanted trouble with the Vatican. With over a billion Christians in the world, a Holy War would be disastrous.

“And?” she asked.

“They stole an artifact, apparently at the behest of Herr Sturmbannführer, who was hired to procure said artifact by said Romanian vampires with said wodges of cash.”

And now it was time to test my idea.

“They stole the Heart of Dracula,” I said.

Lucia’s mask shattered for half a second before she was able to regain control. Bull’s-eye.

“What do you know about them?” I asked.

“I know who you mean. They are members of Dracula’s bloodline, who seek to resurrect him. It’s like a religion to them. They really plan to try?”

“As far as we know,” I said carefully, feeling like a man playing a 30lb fish on a 25lb line. “Where did they go?”

She hesitated.

“Lucia,” I said firmly, “you don’t want him back any more than we do. He’d take over the world. You’d lose as much as we would. He’d turn all the world’s vampires into nothing more than his servants. You wouldn’t rule shit.”

“They went home,” she said simply. “Poenari Castle—Vlad the Impaler’s castle in Romania. That’s where they are going to perform the ritual to resurrect him.”

“Good,” I said, standing up. “Now, one more thing. Where’s the gun you stole from Marie?”

“Still sore about that? How about another deal, Jack?”

I tilted my head and said nothing.

“Have dinner with me,” she said. “I’ll guarantee your safe passage in and out of the North. Have a meal, spend some time with me, and you can have the gun back.”

Marie had gone completely silent beside me.

“Not a chance.”

“Jack,” she said, rising to her feet and facing me. “Just dinner. Let me show you I’m not the evil you think I am.”

“I’d rather scrape all of the skin off my body with a rusty cheese grater and jump in a vat of salt.”

“Then the gun stays where it is.”

“For now.”

I turned to Cam and Marie.

“Shall we shake a leg? Looks like we have some distance to cover.”

Marie stood up, managing to look demure despite the scanty outfit. She had her leash coiled into a loop, hanging from one paw and she was looking me confidently in the eye, a slight smile on her face. Cam nodded and moved towards the stairs.

“Jack?” said Lucia.

“What?” I said, not turning around.

“Think about it, please,” she said, sounding sincere. “We could be powerful friends and great allies. Come north. Just come see me.”

Marie’s eyes were still locked on mine, so I gave her a sly wink.

“Oh, I’ll be coming north,” I said. “I just don’t think you’ll like it when I get there.”

Cam started down the stairs, followed by Marie and myself. As we skirted the edge of the dance floor I noticed an unusual number of vamps giving us very hard looks. If I had rattled a few by walking into the lair of the beast and—so far, at least—walking out, so much the better. Someone needed to put the wind up the bloodsuckers; remind them that, despite their feelings on the matter, even the monsters had reason to be afraid of the dark.

We made it to the door unmolested and, just before we left, I glanced up at the balcony. Lucia was standing, hands on the rail, looking down at me with a wistful look on her face.

Okay, I’m pretty good-looking, I’m told, but what the hell would cause her to start behaving like that towards me?

I mentally shrugged and followed the cute butt of my mate out the door. Cam was putting his cell phone away when we walked through the lobby and out of the main door. Apparently he had been contacting John and Bolt, because the limo pulled up as we crossed the gravel driveway.

Bolt leaped out and trotted around the vehicle to open the door. Once we were all inside, the limo pulled smoothly away. I blew out a breath.

“Tense,” said Cam calmly.

“A little,” I replied.

Marie had, once again, taken possession of my hand and was gently stroking the palm with her fingertips.

“What happened?” asked Bolt from the front seat.

“We bumped into an old friend.”

CHAPTER

31

Back at the hotel everyone was waiting for us.

“Boss?” said Anna as we entered. “How’d it go?”

I shook my head.

“Give us a second, will you? I feel a sudden urge for a shower and a change of clothes.”

My team exchanged looks as I led Marie into our bedroom. Once the door closed I dropped my control and let a shudder run down my spine.

“Shit, that woman creeps me the fuck out,” I said, taking off my jacket. “The fact that she actually thinks we could … ugh.”

I closed my eyes, pulling my emotions back into check. When I opened them Marie was standing close to me, a concerned look on her face.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said as I threw my shoulder rig onto the bed. “It was just a shock. On top of which she’s propositioning me.”

I took a deep breath.

“You need help?” I asked.

She shook her head and just stood there, watching me. As soon as my shirt was off she gently took my hand.

“What is it, love?”

She led me over to the stiff-backed chair that sat in front of the room’s writing desk and beckoned me to sit down.

“Okay, sweetheart,” I said.

Marie went over and started fiddling with the clock radio. Abruptly the room was filled with tinny music, some French pop song.

Then she started to dance and my jaw dropped. She moved gracefully around the room in a sensual glide, ending up in front of me. She straddled my legs and ran her claws through my hair, the touch so gentle it was barely there. She nuzzled along my face, her breath hot against my skin, and licked my earlobe. I slid my hands up her thighs and she sat back, shaking her head.

“Oh, no touching?” I said.

She smiled and wagged a finger at me.

“Okay,” I said, dropping my hands and gripping the seat.

She delicately unbuckled the wrist cuffs, throwing them over her shoulder, and then did the same with her ankle cuffs. Her paws trailed across my naked chest, the claws lightly grazing my skin.

“Wow,” I whispered.

She started gyrating to the music, rubbing her crotch against mine. She leaned forward, pushing her breasts against my face. The soft, downy fur felt wonderful against my skin. She reached behind her back and deftly unsnapped the leather bra, then held the cups against her breasts, lifting them slowly, teasingly, before throwing it aside. She moved her shoulders, brushing first one nipple and then the other over my lips.

I was going out of my mind with lust, having to fight just to keep my hands to myself.

She unsnapped the thong, peeling the material away, and dropped it on my lap. Then she bent her head and licked my chest.

“Holy shit, puppy,” I managed to croak.

She rested her forearms on my shoulders and gave me a smug look.

“Okay,” I said. “You don’t need any more practice.”

She giggled and rubbed her nose against my lips, so I kissed her. She wrinkled her nose.

“I smell bad?” I asked. “The cigar?”

She nodded.

“Shall we take a shower?”

She nodded again.

“Okay,” I said, suddenly curious. “Will we need to wash your fur to get rid of the smell or can you just take a shower as a human and be done?”

She shook her head glumly. Oh well. She’d need to clean her fur before changing. That would be fun.

“We have to move, sweetheart,” I said. “If we stay like this much longer I won’t be able to control myself.”

A wicked glint came into her eyes and she started to grind her crotch against mine.

“Marie,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You’ve got about three seconds before I decide to break your first rule.”

She smiled and nuzzled my cheek before standing up.

Marie’s first rule: no sex with the wolf form. The trouble is she kept doing sexy things in her wolf form and I was starting to want her more and more. I’d often found myself wondering what it would be like, making love to her, all that fur against my naked skin. The scary thing was that I knew she would let me, if I did but ask. She would be upset and hurt by it, but she would allow it.

Her second rule—no doggie style—was much more flexible. I’d persuaded her to break it once or twice.

“What about the collar?” I asked.

She shook her head. Another wolf thing, I suppose.

I followed her into the bathroom, kicking off the jingling boots and shedding the rest of my clothes. She pulled me into the shower cubicle and turned on the spray.

Having a shower with a wolf is a difficult process. I went through all the silly little bottles of shampoo, plus several squirts from the bottle Marie had in her luggage, before her fur was completely thick with suds. I was working the lather into her back and she was bent forward slightly, her paws on the wall of the shower, her eyes closed, tiny contented sounds coming from her slightly parted jaws. The biggest problem was that I had to work with an almost painfully hard erection and Marie seemed to be taking great delight in ‘accidentally’ brushing up against it as we washed each other.

When I started to massage her tail, she arched her back, pushing her hips back against me. Suddenly I felt soft skin pressing against the very tip of my erection. She pushed back again and I slid inside her by an inch. She let out a strangled whimper and thrust hard, taking me all the way inside.

“Marie?” I gasped.

She shook her head, her paws digging into the wall hard enough to crack a few tiles.

Then she stood up and I slid out of her, shoulders trembling and breasts heaving as she fought for control.

I took a shaky breath.

She turned and looked at me.

“Sorry,” she said, half whisper, half growl.

“Don’t be,” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “My fault.”

She smiled and shook her head.

“Well, whatever,” I said. “Let’s get this finished so you can slip into something more comfortable.”

She smiled and nodded.

I helped her rinse the foam off of her until she was standing; sparkling clean but looking like a drowned rat.

“Towels?” I said as I shut off the water.

She held up a dripping paw.

“What?” I said.

Then she shook herself. It was an impressive shake that started at her shoulders and worked its way down her entire body, setting her breasts dancing, sending water flying all over the cubicle and all over me. I was wetter than I had been under the shower.

“Effective,” I said, wiping my face.

I opened the cubicle and grabbed a towel, quickly rubbing myself dry before swapping it for a fresh one. I wrapped her in the soft fabric and began to massage her fur. The problem was that her fur was fairly long in some places and it was starting to get tangled.

“Do you have a brush?” I asked.

She nodded. She led me out to the bedroom and handed me a brush thick with fine bristles. Alternating the brush and the towel, I worked on her fur. Around us, the room filled with the not-unpleasant smell of wet fur. She was obviously enjoying the attention, her body responding to my touch with little shivers and soft growls.

Eventually she was dry and groomed. She looked soft and beautiful in the dim light of the lamp. She turned around, reached out with one paw, and lightly tapped the top of my erection with one claw, causing me to jump and draw in a startled breath.

She giggled as she changed. When she was fully human she stepped into my arms and snuggled against my chest.

“That was wonderful,” she said. “We should do that more often.”

“You like being groomed?” I said, stroking her back.

She sighed contentedly. I guess if she’d been a cat, she would have been purring.

“Now your puppy owes you one,” she said, looking up at me.

I smiled, acutely aware of the collar that now hung loosely around her throat. The scent of wet leather was surprisingly arousing.

“You look sleepy, sweetheart,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.

She lay her head back against my chest and gave another sigh.

“I am. My body’s turned to jelly.”

“Well, looks like it’s time I tried to exercise some of that restraint we talked about.”

CHAPTER

32

“Oh my God, Jack,” said Anna, clasping her hands to her bosom and fluttering her eyelids. “You have your very own stalker!”

Everyone laughed appreciatively. We were all lounging around the sitting room. Cam was at the table, cutting chunks off of a steak that looked like it had been carved off of a brontosaur and shoving them into his mouth. I had a nicely cooked beef Wellington and Marie was busily dissecting several pieces of chicken in a creamy sauce. Dinner was frequently interrupted as everyone asked questions.

“She’s decided that she wants Jack,” said Cam, chewing a massive mouthful.

“She can’t have him,” said Marie. “He’s taken.”

“You know,” said Bolt, looking up from something spicy and creamy, “when I joined the Ministry I had no idea that it would involve five star hotels and gourmet chefs.”

“Yeah,” said John, pushing his plate away and smiling. “We try to keep that quiet in case there’s a rush to join up.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” I said over the laughter. “We’re going to be away early. John, you got anything for us?”

“Nothing good, Boss. We’re going to be flying into the sun, so it’s gonna be tight no matter how we slice it.”

“Okay, executive decision time,” I said. “John and Anna will be catching a flight back to London.”

“Boss!” said the pair simultaneously.

“No argument. This is one of those moments where the guy in charge actually gets to be in charge.”

Anna was giving me an appraising look but John was staring daggers at me.

“Get her safely home,” I said to him. “And set a fire under Tilehurst. I don’t care what strings he has to pull, what favors he has to call in, or whose back he has to scratch, if we scream for help I want a world of shit to hit Romania within the hour. I don’t want to hear about borders or jurisdiction, I want to look up and see big, ugly fucking Brits and lots of them, parachuting down on top of me, you understand? This will not be a clusterfuck like that fucking farce in Sheffield. If that leech does show his face it’ll either be me blowing it off or some other hairy-arsed bastard from Hereford, we clear?”

“Crystal,” said John.

“Good. Get us on the first available flight as far east as possible and find someone—anyone—who can get us the rest of the way. You know how I play, so get it done.”

“Yes, boss,” he said, standing up and moving over to the laptop.

“Bastard,” said Anna softly enough that John couldn’t hear.

“Fuck you, Anna,” I said, just as quietly.

“I don’t need an escort, Jack,” she whispered. “You could take John with you.”

I leaned close, spearing her with my eyes.

“With Lucia out there? Bugger that.”

“Okay, boss, but you better come home safe.”

“Hey, it’s me,” I said affectionately. “Ever known me not to walk away?”

She shook her head and smiled.

“Look after him,” she said to Marie. “The world’s just more fun with him in it.”

“I know,” said Marie. “And I will.”

Anna stood and went to join her husband.

“Okay, we’ll leave here under cover of darkness, not that it’ll mean much,” I said to the rest of the group. “I want it quiet and efficient. I want us to be in the air before anyone knows we’re gone and I want to be on the ground ready for anything.”

It was much later. We’d be lucky to get four hours of sleep. Marie was in bed, watching me as I went through a check of my weapons, a paperback novel open on her lap.

“Jack,” she said once I was done. “We need to talk.”

“Sure,” I said, stacking our cases by the door. “What’s up?”

“About earlier, in the shower.”

I nodded as I slipped into bed next to her.

“I’m sorry about that, sweetheart,” I said. “I really am.”

“Don’t be, it was my fault and …”

She trailed off, looking at her hands.

“What is it, love?”

“I’ve never … in my wolf form … never had sex.”

“Never?”

“No. And I didn’t realize how strong the impulse was until then. I … I just couldn’t help myself. I wanted you. I was terrified I’d freaked you out or something.”

I reached out and took her hand.

“I was worried about the same thing,” I said. “But I thought I’d freaked you out.”

She smiled sadly, remaining silent for a time.

“Jack, can we?” she asked finally.

“Can we what?” I asked gently. “I thought it was too dangerous in your wolf form.”

“So did I, but like that, from behind, it was like I couldn’t … it was like … I can’t …”

She stopped again, took a deep breath, and plunged on.

“It was like the most submissive I’ve ever felt. I think … I think it might be safe if we do it like that. I could barely move. There’s no way I could hurt you if we did it like that.”

“Are you sure, love? I mean, that’s breaking both of your rules, right?”

She smiled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“I want you to love me. Both of me.”

“I do, love. I really do.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to be afraid of my wolf. I want you to be comfortable with both.”

“Okay,” I said with a shrug.

Suddenly she laughed and threw her arms around me.

“What?” I asked. “What did I do?”

“I just asked you to … to do something with me that’s completely taboo and unbelievably perverted amongst werewolves, and you react like I asked to have sex with the lights on.”

I kissed the top of her head.

“Anything that makes you happy, sweetheart,” I said. “You really want to try it?”

“Yeah, but not ‘til later,” she replied. “If anything goes wrong I want to have plenty of time for you to heal.”

“Good point.”

“Can we have a new rule, seeing as we’re breaking the other two?”

“Sure, love, just name it.”

“Not up the bum. Never up the bum, okay?”

I gave her a hug and kissed the top of her head again.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem, babe,” I said. “Where did you get that idea from?”

She picked up the novel and handed it to me. It was another of my fantastic adventures in the world of badly-written supernatural porn. It was called Above And Beyond: Book Fourteen in the adventures of Pagan the Vampire Hunter. The hero was, indeed, having anal sex with some poor unfortunate woman. Given the legendary size of the character’s trouser snake the girl would be lucky to sit down for a month. He was being none too gentle about it, either. Words like ‘pounding’ and ‘slamming’ were marching across the page with gay abandon.

“It’s a werewolf?” I said with surprise. “He’s doing that to a werewolf? No wonder you were worried.”

She laughed.

“I think somebody decided that art should imitate life,” she said. “Once rumors starting getting around that you had a werewolf fuck buddy, the novel was going to be written one way or another.”

“You’re not a fuck buddy, sweetheart,” I said. “You’re my mate.”

“I know, but I think people are having a hard time getting that. I think people believe we’re just having sex.”

“Let ‘em,” I said. “I don’t care.”

“I love that about you,” she said, kissing my cheek.

I handed the book back to her and kissed her forehead.

“Come on, we need to get what little sleep we can,” I said.

“Okay, boss.”

“Boss?” I snorted as I launched myself at her, bearing her to the mattress and covering her face in kisses. She squirmed and giggled, pretending to fend me off, until our lips met. She slipped her arms around my neck, pulling me close as the kiss deepened.

“I thought we had to go to sleep,” she whispered.

“We do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to kiss my puppy.”

I kissed her some more before snuggling close and pulling the covers up over us.

“Goodnight, puppy,” I said softly.

She squirmed around in my arms until we were face to face and kissed me again.

“Goodnight, my master.”

CHAPTER

33

John and Anna’s plane left the ground and flew into the Paris night, taking with them the last-minute instructions I’d given them. I was glad that we’d managed to get them away first. John had booked us on a charter flight that would take us to a barely-there airstrip a few miles west of Poenari Castle.

The plane was a small two-propeller civilian job that I didn’t recognize. An older model, definitely, but it looked well maintained. It had been chartered through another friend, loosely affiliated with the Ministry.

We piled on board and the plane taxied down the runway and climbed into the air. Once we were airborne and well clear of Paris I started to rummage through my things.

“Okay, let’s get into something more appropriate,” I said.

The plane’s tiny toilet was useless for anything other than its intended function, and the cabin lacked anything even remotely approaching privacy, so I was treated to a view of Eva as she pulled off her t-shirt to reveal a lacy red bra that barely contained the pale globes of her breasts. I deliberately turned my back on her, focusing instead on Marie. She had, I was pleased to see, decided to forgo the lingerie and was wearing a simple black sports bra and matching panties. The soft, clingy material hugged her skin, clearly showing off every curve. She smiled when she saw me watching and winked at me. I winked back and dropped my trousers. She licked her lips and winked again, to my silent laughter.

I stood in front of her, giving her what privacy I could as she stripped off her underwear and climbed into her fighting suit.

We were headed for a private airstrip, so we didn’t need to avoid attention. On went my black combats and my gunbelt, body armor and boots. Bolt had changed into a Russian tiger-stripe outfit and I was pleased to see that both of our Swiss companions had donned unmarked combats. Eva was wearing Australian-style ‘jellybean’ DPM and Jeurgen was in a knock-off of the US ‘digital’ camouflage.

Cam was the only one who hadn’t needed to change. He was sitting staring out of the window and I had a sudden image of him leaning out, the wind rushing through his fur, mouth open, tongue lolling out. That gave me a little smile.

We started on our weapons. I swore softy when I opened my case to find that I’d brought the SMLE with me. I really should have sent it home with John and Anna, or arranged to have it transported through the British embassy. Oh well, too late to do anything about it now.

Eva and Jeurgen had unpacked a pair of compact SIG SG553 machine pistols with impressive-looking hundred round double-drum magazines. The little weapons were only 5.56mm, but the extra firepower might be telling if it came to a shootout.

Within very short order we no longer resembled the amoral Sir John and his retinue: now we looked like hunters again.

I gave Marie my full attention as she checked over her weapon. For someone who joined the Ministry off of civvie street she had picked up the military attitude very quickly. Her movements were quick, economical, but thorough as she unloaded her rifle, cycled the working parts, and reloaded.

I finished checking my FAL, running my hands over the old, worn weapon and checking every aspect of the action. This beast had brought me through more trouble than I cared to remember.

Yeah, okay. So I was getting nostalgic over my weapon. Sue me. In my line of work you need to be close to your weapons. Tech nerds have their computers. Petrolheads have cars. Trainspotters have… trains.

Soldiers have weapons.

Bolt was busily doing important things to his Dragunov sniper rifle. The Russian made weapon was accurate, in my experience, most of the way to the moon and Bolt was the best at what he did. Just having him around made me feel better about our chances.

I don’t deal well with religion, seeing as I have a tendency to start arguments, but Bolt’s devotion to the Islamic faith didn’t bother me one whit. Cam’s a Christian, so is Marie, at least nominally, so with our Swiss friends I was decidedly in the minority on this mission.

“Penny for your thoughts, boss?” said Marie.

“Hmm?” I said, coming out of my reverie. “Oh, just meditating on the meaning of life.”

“Any insights?”

“We are born, we die. The bit in between is called life. Enjoy,” I quoted.

She smiled warmly.

“You enjoying your life?”

“Yeah, I think I am,” I said. “I spend my time battling an enemy way stronger than I am, an enemy that’s cunning and dangerous and insidious.”

I gave her a sly look.

“Then I go out and fight vampires,” I finished.

“Think you’ll ever win against your enemy?”

“Ah, she had me beaten the first day we met. All I had to do was figure it out and surrender gracefully.”

She reached out and lay her hand over mine, gently squeezing.

“I love you, Jack,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, Marie.”

We sat like that as the plane made its way east and the sky steadily lightened. We were going to be dropped off just inside the border. Our contact had promised us transportation to our ultimate destination, which was nice.

I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. One of the earliest lessons that my instructors pounded into me had been this: get rest whenever you can. Once the battle starts you won’t have time.

Within a few moments I was asleep.

CHAPTER

34

I was in the vampire club. Lucia was sitting next to me. Marie was dancing on the stage, displaying her lupine body for a group of vamps. As I stood up, a cry of dismay on my lips, she unbuckled her leather thong and threw it into the audience. Feeling like I was moving through treacle I struggled to walk to the edge of the balcony. Marie, naked except for her collar, was being led off of the stage by her leash, where the vamps were bidding on her.

A slow motion cry of rage escaped me as one vamp possessively fondled her breast. I gripped the railing and threw myself over. I landed heavily, with a boom that reverberated around the club, shattering several of the polished floorboards. The vamps applauded and whistled.

The rage boiled up my throat and escaped in a bloodthirsty roar. My anger fizzled along my skin like electricity, lashing from head to foot and back again.

And then I changed.

My muscles swelled, my bones cracking and rearranging themselves, my body growing taller, broader, heavier. My clothes split and fur sprouted over my skin. My jaw exploded in pain as the mandibles lengthened, the teeth growing sharp points, my vision changing, my hearing sharpening. I am become Death. I am become Wolf.

I strode forward into the suddenly terrified vampires, claws slashing left and right, eviscerating, decapitating, dismembering. And then there were none, just dead bodies, just severed limbs, blood and guts.

Marie was kneeling on the floor, looking up at me in awe. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the stage. I had iron gray fur and bright yellow eyes, a look of intense savagery on my face.

When I looked back to Marie she was staring at my crotch. I followed her gaze. My erection was big, thick and engorged, bigger than as a human, I was ready to fuck and I wanted my mate. She whimpered softly and I growled in response, in warning.

Still whimpering she turned around, going to all fours, looking back at me with fear in her eyes. I growled again, lower, longer, and she lifted her tail, presenting herself to me, her male, her mate, her alpha, her master, her owner.

I sank to my knees and gripped her hips. I slammed into her with every ounce of my strength and she screamed. I dug my claws in, pounding her body in a vicious, brutal assault, her yelps and whimpers lost in my roar of triumph as I raped her. No, not rape. The female belonged to me, her body mine to do with as I pleased.

“Boss?”

My eyes flicked open instantly. My heart was pounding in my chest and my hands were trembling.

“We’re nearly there boss,” said Bolt, looking out of the window.

I took a deep breath, feeling my heart slow down, and stretched. Marie giggled. I turned to look at her and she glanced downwards.

“Nice dream, Jack?” she asked quietly.

I realized that I was aroused, and my stretch had made that fact very obvious. I sat up quickly, my face burning.

“You better have been dreaming about me,” she said with a wink.

“I was,” I managed to say.

She caught the tone and frowned.

“Everything okay, Jack?” she asked.

I shook my head and picked up my gun.

“It’s not important. How long till we land?”

“About five minutes,” she replied.

I could see she still wanted to know more and I mentally implored her to let it go.

The dream had been disturbing enough for me; I had no idea how she would take it. I wondered what it meant. Did it mean that I thought I wasn’t man enough to satisfy her? She hadn’t seemed particularly happy with what I was doing, so was I unconsciously afraid I was putting her in danger? What was more disturbing was that I had been turned on by the dream. Violent rape—no matter what the wolves said, Marie’s body wasn’t mine to do with as I pleased—was not my particular fetish, and now I felt slightly sick. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Jack?” she asked.

I managed what I hoped was a reassuring smile. I knew I could never hurt her like that, so why was my subconscious throwing that up as a fantasy?

“I'll tell you about it later,” I said.

She seemed to be mollified by the answer, so I tried to put the image out of my mind and regain control of my emotions.

“Just tell me one thing,” she said quietly. “Tell me it was me that put that tent in your pants.”

I hadn’t missed the way her eyes had flicked towards Eva. Damn, I was dreaming about brutally assaulting her and she was worried I was dreaming about other women.

“Yes it was you, love,” I said, smiling. “It’s always you, every day. I promise.”

“Good.”

The plane lost altitude with a lurch and we all scrambled to get sat down.

“Sheesh, smooth flying,” muttered Bolt as he climbed past me.

The plane lurched again, and then seemed to drop like a stone. I could see out of the window, though, and knew we were just coming in to land. The trees rushed up towards us and then we were over a badly maintained, barely paved runway. The wheels hit with a shudder that shook the entire cabin and we were on the ground. Any landing you can walk away from, right?

The plane taxied, bumping over the rough ground, and came to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, folks,” said the pilot, leaning back and looking out of the cockpit into the cabin. “This thing handles like a stoned cow with three legs.”

I was a little surprised to hear the drawl of an American accent. I usually have trouble telling the many US accents apart, but thanks to knowing Siren I knew this one. Our pilot was a Texan.

I stood up and walked to the cockpit.

“You’re a long way from home, Captain,” I said.

“So’re you, buddy,” he replied.

“True. We’re supposed to be meeting someone out here.”

“Yup, that’s him over there by the Huey,” he said, pointing out of the windscreen. “And, hey, just in case you were thinkin’ of askin’, I din’t see nothin’, din’t go nowhere, din’t fly nobody.”

“Thanks, bud,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder.

I pulled a thick wad of Euros out of my pocket and handed them to him.

“I’d appreciate it,” I said, “if you could see your way clear to spreading these around. For the sake of the economy, of course.”

Hell, I wouldn’t need the cash where I was going, and we had plenty more anyway.

“Well thanks, buddy. I know just the place that could use some financial stimulus.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Bolt had opened the door by then and my team was starting to ferry our equipment outside. I was grateful that Anna and John had taken most of our luggage with them back to England, so we were lightly burdened.

I shook the pilot’s hand and bid him farewell.

CHAPTER

35

Outside we stood back and watched as the plane turned, taxied to the end of the runway, and accelerated away. I gave the Huey a once over. Certainly it was a sight to behold. At some point in its life it had been painted a bright red, but now the paint was flaking and scratched, and what was visible was covered in a layer of dirt, grime and oil. The Bell UH-1 was still the most reliable helicopter I’d ever seen, so I wasn’t worried about the exterior.

“Does anyone know how to fly one of those things?” I asked.

There was dead silence for a few moments, and then Jeurgen gave an embarrassed cough.

“I’m learning, but I’m not much good,” he said.

“Okay, fair enough, you can be my copilot then,” I replied.

“I thought you were about to say we’d sent our only pilot home with his wife,” said Marie with a smile.

Bolt let out an explosive breath.

“And I thought I was going to have to fly it for a minute there,” he said with a smile. “I hate helicopters.”

“Trust me, Bolt,” I said airily. “I can do anything.”

“Yeah, right.”

We grabbed our bags and crossed the dilapidated airfield to the helicopter and the waiting man.

“Hello?” I said.

The man rattled something off in a language I didn’t understand.

“I’m pretty sure that was ‘I don’t speak English’,” said Bolt.

“Crap,” I said. “Okay, parlez-vous Français? Sprekenze Deutsch?”

The man was shaking his head.

“Fuck,” I said sourly.

Bolt said something that I guessed was in Farsi and the man gave him a blank look.

Jeurgen started speaking and the man’s face lit up around his massive mustache. A brief conversation later and the man was beckoning us towards the helicopter.

“You speak Romanian?” I asked.

“Of course,” said the guardsman. “Doesn’t everybody?”

I couldn’t come up with a response to that so we started loading the chopper. The owner was beckoning me towards the open maintenance hatch. I took a look at the engine and was pleasantly surprised. The engine was in good repair, all the hoses were supple and intact, and the oil was both fairly clean and to the right level.

“Ask him how much he wants for it,” I said to Jeurgen.

There was another conversation.

“Ah, he was under the impression that all you needed was to rent the helicopter. He needs it for the tourists, see?”

“Whatever price he wants, pay the man,” I said. “Bolt’s got the money.”

I went around to the pilot’s seat and climbed in. The controls had been translated into Romanian but it didn’t matter. I knew what each meant and reading wouldn’t be high on my list once we were airborne.

With the headphones on and the pre-flight checklist finished I was ready to leave. Everyone was in the passenger compartment apart from Bolt and Jeurgen, who were arguing with the owner, despite the fact that only two of them understood each other. Finally a thick wad of notes changed hands and Bolt climbed into the chopper.

“We own this rust bucket,” he said. “I hope you’re happy. Tilehurst is going to throw a fit when he finds out how much I just paid for it.”

“Tilehurst doesn’t have to know,” I said. “We can just bill it to the Vatican. It’s their show, right?”

Jeurgen climbed into the co-pilot’s seat and sighed.

“That is one happy man,” he said. “I just gave him enough money to by ten of these helicopters.”

“As long as he’s happy, that’s the main thing,” I said, waving through the cloudy windshield.

The engine started with an ease that was reassuring and the big rotors started to turn.

I craned over my shoulder and gave a thumbs up to my passengers, getting several variations on an ‘okay’ in return.

“Okay,” I said to myself. “Let’s get cracking.”

The Huey rose into the air, blowing dirt, dust and trash around in it wake. I guided the chopper up, over the trees, pointed the nose in the right direction and felt it leap beneath me as I let it have a full head of steam. Hueys may look like a modern helicopter’s fatter, older, drunker brother but they’ve got some poke to them. Soon we were skimming along above the trees at a respectable speed.

“Jeurgen,” I said into the intercom. “How far to the castle?”

“At the speed you’re going, about ten minutes.”

“Good.”

I suddenly yanked on the collective and pulled the chopper higher into the air.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Do I want to know what that was?” he asked.

“Telephone wires.”

“And do I want to know how close we came to hitting them?”

“No. No you do not.”

Bolt’s voice came over the intercom.

“Speaking on behalf of your passengers I’d like to request that, whatever you just did, you do not do it again.”

“I promise nothing,” I replied.

We sped on for a few minutes, watching the beautiful, rugged Romanian scenery unfolding below us, until, perched on a rocky mountainside like something out of a black and white horror movie was our destination: Dracula’s castle.

I veered us in a wide circle around the massive stone building, taking in as many details as possible from a distance. There didn’t seem to be anyone around. The castle had become something of a sacred site since the vamps came out and tourism was forbidden. I took the chopper lower, looking for anywhere to land. We spotted and discarded several sites until we saw a clearing with a few ruined log buildings. It was easily big enough to accommodate the chopper so I flew us down for a closer look. One of the buildings was burned out completely, the others were falling apart. It had been, by the look of things, some sort of low-tech mining camp. I wondered whether the vamps had run off the humans who had worked here. I thought it likely.

CHAPTER

36

“The area looks clear,” said Bolt as he returned to the chopper.

We were standing in the clearing at the mining camp, spread out in a loose perimeter. It was early afternoon and, unusual for an op like this, we actually appeared to have time to spare.

Still, that was no excuse for wasting time.

“Let’s shake a leg, people,” I said.

We moved out along a narrow, mostly overgrown trail that wound through the forest. Cam was up ahead, walking point, with Bolt bringing up the rear. Marie, now in her wolf form, was stalking along beside me.

It was annoyingly pleasant out here in the forest. I always felt better going somewhere dangerous if I was doing so in foul weather or, at least in darkness. Going off to face possible death in beautiful sunshine seemed like a denial of every action movie I’d ever seen.

The trail wound to the left and widened slightly. Cam was crouched to one side, as if taking cover behind a tree. I raised my hand, bringing the rest of the team to a halt, then motioned them to take defensive positions. Nothing seemed to be amiss as far as I could tell but I wasn’t about to let that fool me.

Birds sang in the trees and shafts of sunlight slanted down through the branches as I crept forward. Cam suddenly stood up and turned.

“We gotta problem, boss,” he said quietly. “This tree is scent marked. And it’s not just one scent, either.”

“I’m guessing we’re not talking deer scent,” I replied.

He shook his head.

“So what does it mean?”

“Pack boundary,” he growled. “We should be safe if we stick to the path.”

“And after nightfall?”

“After the sun goes down we could be in trouble.”

“So we should be moving along rather sharpish, then?”

“I would advise changing this dance into a quickstep,” he replied dryly.

We set off again, eager to cover the distance and get inside before dark. Technically I—and, by extension, Marie—could claim the protection of the Paris pack if need be. I wouldn’t want to test it if I didn’t have to, especially as we both had unresolved issues with the Sheffield pack. Things could get complicated very quickly.

I briefly reflected on how much simpler my life had been before the vamps had come out of the crypt. I glanced at Marie’s lupine form. Simpler? Yep. Better? Not a chance.

We came to a break in the trees where we could see the imposing walls of Poenari Castle.

“And just how are we going to get in there?” asked Jeurgen.

“Well,” I replied, “we could climb the fifteen hundred steps that lead up to the front door.”

“Or?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Maybe we could find a church and pray for a revelation?”

CHAPTER

37

We had to climb a steep, winding path in order to find the church, but it was worth it. The church was actually very picturesque. Well, it had been picturesque before it had fallen into ruin. Ivy had climbed and pulled down several walls and knee-high grass hid most of the fallen masonry. I had no idea how long it had been abandoned, but the Vatican records said the feature I was looking for had still been accessible four years ago, the last time a Catholic priest had passed through the area.

Inside the church was dingy and musty, with great swathes of moss covering almost every surface and the rotted remains of several pews scattered around the floor. A broken stump of stone that might once have been a font stood by the door and the sunlight slanted in through glassless windows. We cautiously made our way towards the altar, probing the darkness with our torches.

“Over here,” said Bolt quietly.

He was standing by the remains of a door set into an alcove. Behind the door was a stone staircase that led down under the church.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I said in a low voice.

We descended into the gloomy crypt, the beams of our torches the only illumination until we reached the bottom. Once down the steps we could see a small hole in the ceiling that let in a shaft of dim, grainy light.

I motioned everybody to stay where they were and crept over to the far wall. At the base was an obviously man-made hole. It had been covered by a metal grate, as if it was a simple drain. The grate had been torn away, twisted and thrown to one side and through the hole I could see down into a dank tunnel.

I reached to the back of my PLCE and pulled out my Kevlar helmet. On the front I clipped my IR scope. With the darkness in the tunnel an NVG would be near useless—even the best night vision scope needs at least some light to work with—but the IR scope would immediately reveal anyone inside. I carefully placed my FAL on the floor and drew my SIG. I had deliberately chosen the pistol with the extended, threaded barrel so I could use a suppressor.

Once I was ready I flipped the IR scope down and buckled the helmet in place. Through the scope I could see the blue of the cold stone and a ghostly blob where I had rested my hand, now quickly fading.

I took a moment to deal with the weird, primary colored view I now had through one eye and leaned my hands on either side of the hole.

With a deep breath inside me I swung out and dropped into the hole, deliberately throwing my legs forward so my heels skidded over the damp floor and I was dumped unceremoniously on my backside with my pistol already up and pointing into the blackness.

I stayed there for a few breaths, my left eye closed, staring through the scope. Nothing. There was nothing in the tunnel with any sort of heat signature except me.

I let out my breath and lowered the pistol.

“Clear,” I said under my breath.

I stood up again. Standing on the floor of the tunnel I was shoulder deep in the hole, which is why I'd needed the sore arse. I put the pistol on the floor and boosted myself out of the hole.

“Okay,” I said in a low voice. “Getting in will be a little tight for Cam, but everyone else should be okay. Once you get past the wall the tunnel's low, but not too bad. We'll have to be careful. Everyone ready?”

There were nods all round, except for Eva and Jeurgen, who were giving me puzzled looks.

“Tunnel?” he said.

“Vlad’s escape tunnel,” said Cam, smiling.

“His escape tunnel came out in a church?” Eva hissed incredulously.

Another myth busted. Vampires have no problem with consecrated ground.

“Sure, it was on the plans for Poenari Castle that were in the Vatican archive,” I said. “You never looked at them?”

Eva gave me a dirty look that made absolutely no difference to my grin.

“We're going in there?” asked Jeurgen.

“Absolutely.”

“Mind if I pray?” he asked in a challenging tone.

“You do whatever you want, buddy,” I said with a smile.

I picked up my FAL and dropped back into the hole. Crouching down allowed me to duckwalk under the wall and into the tunnel, where I could stand upright. I slung the FAL, barrel down, over my back and pulled my MP7. Small and compact, the PDW was infinitely better than the battle rifle for confined spaces. I pulled out the stock, flipped down the front handgrip and took a moment to attach the suppressor.

Behind me I could just make out the soft murmur of several voices praying in Latin.

“Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.”

I knew that one. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Too pessimistic for me. I didn't intend to die in here.

Bolt was already in the tunnel by the time I heard the quiet amen. I snapped a fresh lightstick, swapped the IR goggles for a set of NVGs, and stepped further down the tunnel as each person came down the hole. With the lightstick and NVGs, I could see the inside of the tunnel like it was some weird green daylight. Behind me I could hear the scrape and clatter of Cam trying to fit through the narrow, low gap.

“Okay, let's go. No talking from here on out. We don't know what's waiting for us.”

Then we set off towards the castle.

CHAPTER

38

The tunnel was bad. At least it was high enough for everyone to walk upright with the exception of Cam. I didn't like this. I hate walking into a situation where anything is unknown. How many vampires were in the castle? How many humans? Was the end of the tunnel even open anymore? The Vatican's records said it was and, if there was a problem, there was a second exit about halfway down, but still, it was an unknown. Would there be guards at the end? If it were me I would have set tripwires and explosives, but I wasn't facing me. Vamps, for some reason, have a deep distrust of modern technology, especially the oldest ones. That's why so many were starting to gather human security forces, or hire recently-turned vamps to handle technology.

I kept a wary eye forward and we rotated who was on point every few minutes to keep fresh eyes on guard, but the journey stretched on and nerves were wound tight.

The gloomy tunnel began to slope gently downwards. Personally I thought it a bad idea, because any person using the tunnel to escape the castle would be working uphill, but they hadn't bothered to ask my opinion when they'd built it. The trouble was that, as the tunnel descended the walls got damper and damper until, finally, we were moving through ankle-deep water. That slowed us down as we tried to avoid noisy splashing. I really felt for Marie. My boots were waterproof all the way up to the calf, but she was barefoot—barepaw?—and couldn't have been comfortable. Not that any of us were comfortable. Despite the chill, the air was close and clammy, and sweat was running down my face and soaking my back. I was worried that the tunnel would keep on dipping but, after a few dozen yards it leveled out and started to gently rise again.

Ahead I could see the end of the tunnel, a massive spiral staircase cut out of the rock. I held up a hand to stop my team before creeping forward to take a peek up the stairs. A lot of the individual steps were cracked and crumbled, but the way was clear. I padded silently to the top. There was a doorway with the rotted remains of a heavy, ironbound door lying on the floor. The floor around the doorway had a few pieces of rubble scattered around but was otherwise clear. I took a quick look through the doorway into what looked like a set of deserted dungeons. This, according to Father Theodore's accounts, was the actual place where Vlad Dracul had been run to ground and executed, trying to get to the very tunnel we'd just come down.

I could see why the dungeons were deserted. A large piece of masonry had fallen, blocking the stairs and pinning the door shut. From the other side it would be near impossible to shift. From this side, with Rolling Thunder the Werewolf Wrecking Ball? Yeah, We could move that.

I prowled around the dungeon level for a moment, checking things out, before heading back through the doorway and down the stairs. I hadn't just been wandering; I'd needed to see if there was anyway our voices would carry up into the castle proper. There were no chimneys, no windows, nothing I could see. We would still be keeping the noise down but at least we wouldn't need strict silence. I checked my watch: less than four hours 'til sunset.

I crept back down the stairs and sat down at the bottom, pulling off my backpack. I beckoned Marie over, indicating that she should sit on a step a few above the one I was perched on. Her feet were still soaked from wading through the water, so I took a small towel out of my pack and began to dry her fur. The first rule of soldiering is to look after your feet. It's more important, believe it or not, than looking after your weapon. You can be the biggest, nastiest, most heavily-armed bastard in the world but if your feet are fucked, you're fucked. If you're weapon's fucked but your feet are good, at least you can run somewhere safe, but the other way around never ends well.

“Okay,” I said quietly, “the door out of the dungeons is blocked by some rubble which, I'd bet my bollocks, we can shift easily. We'll hold here for a few hours then make our way into the castle.”

I finished drying Marie's feet and gave her claws a jokey buff with the cloth before shoving it back into the pack.

“So,” I said. “Keep the noise down and this'll be a piece of piss.”

CHAPTER

39

Compo rations are designed to be eaten hot or cold. Most flavors taste like crap either way, but the body needs fuel so I got the stuff down my neck anyway. Bolt had some American-made MREs, complete with self-heating pouches of fairly palatable food, but as few things carry like the smell of hot food, he'd reluctantly put them aside. Now that I thought about it, we should have eaten on the 'plane ride, but I'd been too busy sleeping. Food or rest? The eternal question. In the field it was rare you got enough of either.

I popped a boiled sweet into my mouth and checked my weapons. All were loaded, clean, cocked, locked and ready, just as they should be, but I went ahead and checked them anyway.

I noticed that everyone was doing the same thing, checking the tools of our violent trade. Bolt was absently fine-tuning the settings on his Dragunov's scope, peering back down the tunnel as he did so. I checked my watch; thirty minutes 'till sunset.

Marie was using a glowstick to read one of those ridiculous pornographic me-novels. This one I recognized. It was one of the earliest, book two or three, called Defend Our Island, and it was the first time Our Hero had ever done the nasty with a vampire.

Fairly solid rumor said the vamp was based on Anna—although the author denied it—and John had asked me to sign a copy for her. The sex scenes in that one—three, if memory serves—were long, energetic and very inventive. I wasn't even sure if some of the positions were physically possible. Strangely, it was actually one of the more romantic novels in the series. The vampire was one of Pagan's colleagues. They'd teamed up to hunt down a coven of vamps in south Wales and she was badly wounded in the fight. The only way to save her life was to allow her to feed from him. Once they'd done so they'd been 'bonded' and discovered a hidden attraction for each other. Hit by a sudden storm and forced to take shelter in a remote, abandoned farmhouse, there really was only one way to pass the time.

I wasn't sure how the book fit into the anti-vampire propaganda campaign, but it was one of the most popular novels.

It was strange but the early books were actually quite readable, provided one didn't expect much. Pagan was something of a rogue but he did, apparently, genuinely care for the women he took into his bed. He rarely slept with the same woman for more than one book—the vampire being the one exception when she returned for a rematch up around book eleven or twelve—but he wasn't a bad guy. There was never more than one woman in his life at once and there was usually some compelling reason why, at the end of each book, he had to bid his latest beau goodbye.

Marie didn't seem to be reading the books in any particular order, but she'd definitely taken a shine to them.

They were woefully inaccurate when it came to military procedures and weapons specs, but they were popular and sold like the proverbial hotcakes. And the fact that a vampire couldn’t feed from me must be something of a State secret, because the author certainly didn’t mention the vamp rolling around on the floor screaming.

Marie must have noticed me watching because she looked up and gave me a wink. I smiled and winked back.

Time wore on and the anticipation started to build. I could feel myself approaching that ideal combat mindset: cold, emotionless and calculating. I was turning the map of the castle around in my mind, looking at approaches and escape routes, assessing cover and firing positions. There was little doubt that the ritual—the resurrection—would be performed in the main hall. I suddenly realised that the main hall had a pair of staircases that led up to a pair of balconies, overlooking the main dais. The ballroom at Le Sang de Dieux was a direct copy of the main hall in Vlad’s castle. That might be something worth remembering.

Where the vamps would get the blood was something I was trying not to think about, but I hoped we'd arrive in time to prevent innocent deaths.

I was trying not to second-guess myself. It had to be night before we started moving, else the vamps would just run and find somewhere else for the ritual.

Finally I packed everything, including the empty cans from the vile meal, into my backpack.

“Let's go,” I said.

We climbed the stairs and went through the doorway into the dungeons. I pointed up the shallow steps to the fallen chunk of stone. Marie and Cam, their weapons slung, nodded dismissively. I glanced around and then nodded back.

The two werewolves climbed the stairs, got a firm grip on the stone, and hauled it from the ground. There was a brief shower of dust and a single, pebble-sized piece of stone clattered down the steps. Grimacing and shuffling under the weight they brought it down the stairs and set it down on the floor with barely a bump. I gave them the okay sign with my finger and thumb and climbed the stairs. The door had swung open slightly now that it was free, but I cautiously used one finger to pull it towards me. I could tell by the resistance that it was going to give an impressive creak when it opened. The lock had been smashed, the strike plate forcibly removed from the frame, so I just had to pull it to get it open.

I paused long enough to squirt a few drops of oil onto the hinges, gave it a few moments to penetrate, and yanked the door backwards. It gave one, tiny, high-pitched squeak and swung open. Moving the door slowly would have announced our presence like a brass band. There was one moment of uncertainty when I thought the door was going to hit the wall with a resounding boom, but I managed to catch it. I was through the door in a second, my FAL raised, covering the large room. It was a cellar, and the rusted remains of iron cages lined both walls. Dracula had kept victims down here like a collection of fine wines. There were signs that the cellar had been recently used, though. A pile of clothes and cardboard boxes sat in one corner, a table that held several rifles, pistols and SMGs in another.

We quickly moved through the cellar to the stone steps that led up into the main castle. At the top I could see out into a long corridor that had been recently cleaned and even carpeted. Someone was making sure that Vlad's castle was ready for his return. Through one window I could see the full moon, low in the sky. Time to move.

CHAPTER

40

The castle was eerily deserted. I led the team through the moonlit rooms until we reached the throne room. The huge double doors were flung wide open so we kept to the shadows as we crept closer until we could see inside.

Two vampires stood beside a large, shallow bowl. From where I was standing I could see the bowl was about half full of a liquid that looked black through the NVGs. Blood. As we watched, a human in a brightly polished breastplate walked calmly to the bowl and knelt beside it. A third vampire appeared behind the man and slit his throat with an ornate knife.

Suddenly I understood. Even today when someone says 'virgin' most people think female. But if the human guards of the castle were celibate, they would fulfill the prophecy just as well, male or not.

The vampire with the knife held the unresisting guard over the bowl while his blood spurted out. Mindbroken? or simply indoctrinated from birth? I had no idea and it didn't matter. I turned slowly and nodded to each of my team in turn. Each nodded back. We'd gone over the plan and everyone knew where they were supposed to be. Bolt gave me a nod and disappeared back down the hallway.

I turned back towards the tableau inside the throne room. The guardsman's body had been dragged away and the two vamps beside the bowl had begun a sonorous chant that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The vamp with the knife had a golden object in his hand—the Heart of Dracula.

I heard a double click in my earpiece from Bolt's radio, letting me know he was in position, which made me feel better. We couldn't be sure, when we'd laid the plans, if the concealed passageway was still clear or would be guarded. It was good to know he'd made it through. I extended my fingers, one at a time, counting down until my hand was open. Five, four, three, two, one. Then I clenched my hand into a fist. We were up and running. Marie and Cam close behind me, Eva and Jeurgen splitting off at the door and moving to the corners of the room to provide covering fire. It was a few seconds before the one of the two acolytes spotted us and yelled a warning.

“Hold!” yelled the vamp with the knife in a booming voice that echoed off of the roof. “Hold and kneel before your Master!”

The vamp was speaking French, albeit with a horrifically bad accent.

I skidded to a stop and raised my rifle, putting the vamp square in my sights. He held the heart out over the blood-filled bowl.

“Go ahead and drop it,” I said indifferently. “Like I give a fuck.”

“That,” he said, in heavily accented English, “is a failure of imagination on your part.”

He opened his hand and let the heart fall.

CHAPTER

41

The golden object fell the short distance to the bowl and hit with an entirely inappropriate and unimpressive 'plop' followed by a dull 'tink' as it hit the bottom. For a second the world seemed to hold its breath, and then I broke the silence with a sarcastic laugh.

“That's it?” I said. “No 'foom-vampire'? That's crap. That's crap. We came all this way. We were supposed to see 'foom-vampire'. I think we should ask for our money back if we don't get 'foom-vampire'.”

The head vampire stopped staring at the surface of the blood and looked up at me, his face, quite literally, purple with rage. The power flickered in his eyes and I didn't need to look around to know that our Swiss friends would be frozen in place. Bolt, in his place of concealment, might have been overlooked but I couldn't count on it.

“You did this,” he hissed.

“Yeah, possibly,” I said. “Or, and follow me here, that whole prophecy was just an unfeasibly huge pile of bullshit.”

I had to give the vamp credit. The fact that I was still in command of my faculties barely slowed him at all.

“Kill them!” he screamed.

Vamps and human guards poured out of the shadows at the rear of the throne room.

“Open fire!” I yelled.

I shot the head vamp through the forehead. I didn't even wait to see him drop as I swung the rifle to his right, reaching for the underslung shotgun and pulling the trigger. I worked the pump like a madman, firing shot after shot as the room exploded. Finally released, Eva and Jeurgen opened up from either side of the room, the crackle of their cut-down assault rifles barely audible over Cam and Marie's heavier weapons. Above it all came the sharp 'crack' of Bolt's Dragunov as he picked off targets at will from the balcony above us.

Firefight wasn't the right word for what was happening. ‘Firefight’ implies two groups exchanging fire. This was a slaughter, pure and simple. A short, bloody, violent slaughter. The only advantages the vamps had was speed and strength, and that's when the UVC lamps on our weapons made the difference. Every vamp flinched as that purple light flashed into their eyes, and the extra half-second gave us all the time we needed. Their human servants only had strength of numbers, but an automatic weapon is a great leveler.

When the final echo finished bouncing off of the walls only my team was left standing. No matter how brightly polished a metal breastplate is, no matter how evil a hooded black robe looks, they can't stop bullets.

I looked around, reloading both the shotgun and the FAL itself, absently noting that Cam and Marie were covering the room as Eva and Jeurgen reloaded. Nothing worse than getting hit by a second wave while everyone was busily changing mags. They looked a little pale and shocked from contact with the vampire's mind, but both gave me reassuring nods.

I carefully stepped forward, my FAL against my shoulder should anyone be dumb enough to twitch, until I reached the bowl of blood. I stared with some distaste at the liquid.

“I don't suppose,” I said carefully, “that anyone is about to volunteer to reach in there and get it out, are they?”

The rest of my team suddenly found interesting and absorbing things to stare at around the room.

“Thought not,” I sighed.

I placed my rifle on the floor and rolled up my sleeve. I thought about it for a second and dropped my backpack, opening it to pull out the towel I had there. With a grimace I reached into the warm liquid.

“Uck,” I said, feeling around in the bottom. “This is definitely above and beyond.”

“You know,” said Bolt from up on the balcony. “You could have just tipped it over and picked the heart up from the floor.”

“Cunt,” I said under my breath.

I found a hard lump and pulled it out. Blood slowly dripped off of my hand. I shook as much off as possible before wiping my arm and hand off with the towel. Suddenly I stopped, holding my arm out in front of me and drew in a sharp breath.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelled, turning to my team. “It's beating! The heart's beating!”

Five guns snapped up and five pairs of eyes widened in shock as I stood there, my hand vibrating.

“You guys are too easy,” I said with a laugh. “You should have seen your faces.”

“That wasn't funny!” said Cam. “I nearly shit myself!”

Bolt's laugh was the only one that joined mine.

“Nice one, boss,” he said.

I finished cleaning the heart and carefully wrapped it in a second towel before placing it in my backpack. Then I went back to trying to clean my hand.

“Crap, I need some water,” I said.

“There's a bucket over here,” said Jeurgen.

“What's in it?” I asked. “I ain't washing my hands in vampire piss.”

“Looks like water,” he replied.

“Taste it and find out.”

“With all due respect, boss,” he said carefully, “you can go jump in a hole.”

I shrugged as I walked over.

“Okay, where is it?”

He indicated the bucket and I knelt down and took a look. It was clear and, once I'd taken and carefully sniffed a cupped handful, smelled okay. I quickly washed my hand and forearm, drying myself carefully. I left the now bloodstained towel on the floor.

“Okay, let's get on the move,” I said after retrieving my rifle and pack. “Bolt, do me a favor, next time speak up before I do the stupid bastard thing.”

“Oh, that wouldn't be any fun,” he said as he descended the stairs.

“Yeah, true.”

We decided we were going to go out the front door. No point in sneaking around now. We followed the long corridor down to the massive doors, which were wide open to the night.

I caught movement outside and held up a hand, bringing my team to a halt. The hallway was dark but the moonwashed courtyard was clearly visible. The gates in the outer wall were also open and I could definitely see figures moving. I flipped down my NVGs to take a better look. Yes, there were figures out there, at least five or six. I flipped my goggles up again and pulled my binoculars. The figures sprang into focus. They were vampires, but they weren't religious fanatics like the ones we'd met inside. There were wearing body armor, helmets, military-style fatigues and carrying Steyr AUGs. Some sort of vampire paramilitary organization. And I was willing to bet that they knew about the tunnel, too.

Fine. Balls to the wall is the way I play best.

CHAPTER

42

I handed the binoculars around, making sure everyone knew what I was looking at. I pulled two stun grenades out of a belt pouch and held them up. Using gestures I told my team to wait for the explosions and then run full tilt out into the courtyard and find whatever cover they could. Everyone nodded.

I pulled both pins, holding the spoons in place as I glanced back at my team and nodded firmly. The two grenades made tinny bouncing noises as I hurled them down the corridor and out of the doors. They clattered down the stone steps and rolled to a stop in the middle of the courtyard.

Even with my hand over my eyes I could see the twin explosions as they lit the night. Then I was up and running, aiming to get into decent cover before the vamps could react. As I came through the doors I saw a low wall off to my left. I leaped down the steps in a single massive step, hit the ground and rolled in one motion. I hit the wall with a bone-jarring thud, but spun up onto one knee, bringing my rifle up and opening fire. My shots were soon joined by the other members of my team, all of which had made it to cover. The vamps quickly started to return fire, hesitantly at first, then in greater volume.

“Fuck!” I yelled as I ducked behind the wall. “Leeches ain't supposed to shoot back!”

I popped back up and squeezed off a shot that dropped one vamp who was leaning out to get a better angle.

The firefight rose in intensity until a voice rang out.

“Hold! Hold! Stop firing!”

The volume of incoming fire tapered off to nothing, the shots from our side went on for a little longer.

“Okay, pack it in,” I yelled. “Stay sharp.”

“Is that the one called 'Pagan'?” came the voice again.

“Who's asking?” I said.

“I am,” said a horribly familiar voice.

Lady Lucia stepped forward until she stood between the open gates. She was wearing a black trenchcoat trimmed with black fur over a low-cut white blouse, tight black trousers and knee-high black boots. Her black hair fell around her shoulders, stirred faintly by the breeze. I let out a heartfelt groan.

“Bitch,” I said under my breath before continuing louder. “Yes? What can we do for you?”

I glanced over at Marie who had the vampire in her sights and nodded approvingly.

“Just to talk, Jack,” Lucia replied. “There's no need for this unpleasantness. We can talk this out like civilized people.”

“We seem to be doing okay with the free and frank exchange of ammunition so far.”

“Oh, Jack,” she replied with a smile. “That's true, but I have a very large group of soldiers who came into the castle via the same tunnel you did. On my command they'll take you from behind.”

“Not while I have my strength they won't,” I muttered, provoking a burst of tension relieving laughter.

“Jack, must you?” she said. “What have you got to lose? Let's talk this out. I don't think you'll find my requests unreasonable.”

I thought about it for a moment.

“Jack?”

“Okay,” I said.

I placed my weapon on the ground and shrugged off my backpack before carefully making sure my backup weapons were nice and loose in their holsters. I slid sideways to Marie and whispered in her ear.

“If she tries anything, shoot her.”

Marie nodded firmly.

“And if she asks me out to dinner again, shoot me.”

Marie snorted laughter and winked at me.

I stood up and brushed off my knees.

“Okay, here I am.”

CHAPTER

43

“Hi Jack, good to see you again.”

“Wish I could say the same,” I replied. “What do you want?”

“Are you going to shout this conversation across the courtyard? I thought you had better manners than that.”

Vampires seem to have a way of making me feel like a little kid and it pisses me off.

“Meet me halfway?” I suggested.

She nodded and stepped forward.

“Cover me,” I said to my team as I walked around the low wall.

We met in, as far as I could tell, the exact center of the courtyard.

“You're looking well, Jack,” she said.

“Yeah, and here I was worried that the last twenty-four hours had aged me terribly,” I said.

“Always so sarcastic, Jack, so hostile?”

“Always and forever,” I said. “Count on it.”

“Oh, Jack,” she said wistfully. “We could be so good together.”

“You're kidding. I'd break you inside a week. I prefer my women to be a little more robust. And a little less murderous.”

“You'll come around,” she predicted.

“Not in this lifetime,” I said. “Enough guff. What do you want?”

“Short term? I'll take the Heart of Dracula.”

“Oh? And why should I give it to you?”

“Because you were right, Jack. Nobody wants to see Dracula return, least of all me. In my hands the Heart will be safe. I'll make sure it never falls into the wrong hands.”

I stared at her for a few seconds. What she said was probably true. Nobody would guard the Heart like she would. Strange as it may seem, the person best qualified to keep the relic out of the hands of Dracula's fanatical followers would probably be a vampire. The Heart itself wasn't important, I had no worries about a resurrection—especially as the ritual had failed so definitively—but the fanatics would keep trying. As long as the fanatics understood that the Heart was no longer in the archives, the Vatican would be safe from further attack.

“Okay,” I said. “And you guarantee that it'll be secure?”

“Absolutely, Jack, you have my word on that.”

I decided not to comment on exactly how little faith I had in her word. I popped open one of the pouches on my PLCE and pulled out the cloth-wrapped bundle inside.

“That's the Heart?” she asked.

I nodded as I unwrapped the bundle, showing her the golden object.

“It's beautiful,” she said. “And disgusting at the same time.”

I smiled and stepped forward, placing the bundle in her hands.

She looked up at me, her eyes pale and her lips almost black in the moonlight.

“Thank you, Jack.”

As she tucked the bundle away in a pocket I glanced over her shoulder at the armed vampires.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“My personal guard,” she said. “Specially selected and trained to protect me.”

“Bit shit, aren't they?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” I said, reaching out and using the index finger on my left hand to brush a lock of hair away from her forehead, “if I were in charge of your guard...”

I tucked the lock of hair behind her ear, running my fingertip down her neck.

“...there's no way I would let...”

I lightly rested my fingers on the back of her neck. Her lips parted as I bent forward slightly and she let out a trembling breath.

“...anyone as dangerous as me...”

I slipped my right hand under her jacket and trailed my fingers over her hip to her stomach.

“Oh, Jack,” she whispered, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.

“...anywhere near this close to you.”

Her eyes widened as I stabbed the point of my commando knife through her blouse, just far enough to prick the skin.

“See? They're shit. I could gut you right now.”

She swallowed, barely moving.

“You wouldn't survive,” she whispered.

“Neither would you,” I pointed out. “Maybe I might think it's worth the trade. What do you think? Care to find out?”

“No.”

“Don't worry about the Heart. You can keep it. It's bollocks anyway. I want the gun back.”

She seemed to be struggling to control herself.

“Jack, I don't have it with me—”

“Bullshit,” I said, pressing the knife harder. “Don't lie to me. I'll slit you open and deal with the consequences.”

She looked into my eyes and found whatever was there to be convincing. She slowly pulled the coat back. Strapped to her thigh was a drop-leg holster and, I could see, Marie's SIG.

“Fingertips only,” I said. “We're getting along so well I'd hate to have a misunderstanding.”

She plucked the pistol out and held it up. I released her neck and took it from her unresisting hand, then stepped back, making the blade disappear as I did so.

“Jack,” she said, giving me a look caught between lust and fear. “We could be unstoppable together. We could rule all the vampires, keep them in line. Think about it.”

“I have. I call those 'nightmares'.”

“I can make them pleasant dreams, Jack.”

“You just don't give up, do you?”

“I get what I want, Jack.”

“Not this time.”

“We'll see.”

She turned to leave and then stopped, a smile on her lips.

“You know,” she said, “I really have a lot to thank you for.”

I felt a twinge of suspicion.

“Like what?”

“The Cult of Dracula,” she said. “They were stupid and backward. Annoyingly conservative. They wouldn't change their underwear if they didn't have to and, if they had their way, we'd be back to living in dank castles and sleeping in coffins. They certainly didn't hold with women having any form of real power. They did not like me.”

“And we just wiped them out?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice in check.

“Nearly. You killed enough of them that they’ll not be a political force for a long time. Every time you and I meet you wade through my political opponents with an endearing and bloodthirsty efficiency. If I didn't know better I'd say that your hatred for me was nothing more than an artful pose.”

Her smile was wide, displaying her pearly white fangs.

“This went so well for me it’s almost like I planned it myself.”

And with that parting shot she turned on her heel and marched haughtily away. Her guards appeared from the shadows, keeping their eyes and weapons on us as they followed after their mistress. I turned around.

“There’s more vamps inside the castle,” I said loudly. “Come on out, boys.”

Eighteen more vamps, dressed identically to the ones outside, came cautiously through the doors and into the courtyard. They hurriedly joined their colleagues, moving through my team, each group covering the other with their guns. Finally we were alone.

CHAPTER

44

I ambled slowly back towards my team, thinking on the conversation I'd had with Lucia. Maybe I had, inadvertently, helped her out a little, but the Cult of Dracula seemed like a danger that the world could do without.

I looked up and noticed that Marie was giving me an expectant look.

“Told you I’d get it back,” I said, showing her the gun.

She broke into an excited grin and threw her arms around my neck, giving me an enthusiastic hug.

“Don't lose it again,” I said, handing the pistol over.

She grinned hugely and licked my cheek. I shouldered my pack again and Marie handed me my rifle.

“Well, all-in-all, not too bad.”

“Not too bad?” exploded Eva. “You gave her the Heart of Dracula!”

“Did I?”

“Yes! That belongs to the Vatican! You were supposed to retrieve it, not just give it away!”

“Wow. Well spank my botty and call me a bad boy.”

“Jack!” she said, exasperated. “This is serious!”

“Is it?”

She stared at me, speechless. Then Bolt started laughing.

“You know, I was wondering how you managed that,” he said.

“Managed what?” I said innocently.

“Managed to put the Heart in your backpack, but then pull it out of your belt pouch.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well silly me. I seem to have accidentally given Lucia the copy that I accidentally picked up in the Vatican instead of the original. I really am a bad boy, aren’t I?”

Eva stared at me, her jaw working, her eyes wide, and her fists clenched.

“Don't worry, ma'am,” said Bolt. “There isn't one of us who hasn't looked at him like that at least once. He has a way of stoking your anger until it's red hot and then cutting your feet out from under you.”

Marie gave the Swiss woman a consoling pat on the back.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” I said. “You can yell at me later.”

We started down the path that led out of the castle. All fifteen hundred steps. I don’t know who built the castle but I did know he’d been a bloody sadist.

We'd given the vamps enough of a lead and had reached the forest without incident when suddenly a howl rent the night air. I spun around, thinking it was Cam or Marie. Both were looking around, furiously sniffing the air.

“Werewolf pack!” said Cam. “They're hunting.”

“Us?” I asked.

“No, a group of vampires.”

“You can get that from the howl?” asked Jeurgen.

“Lot of information in a howl,” he said.

Suddenly the big inmüt threw back his head and let out a long, ululating howl of his own.

“Shit!” said Bolt. “Don't do that.”

“What?” said Cam. “I just wished them a fruitful hunt and asked their forbearance for crossing their territory without permission.”

“Okay, enough,” I said, “let's move before they decide to hunt something other than vamps.”

We made our way back to the helicopter. In the dark woods it was tough going but the miner's track was smooth enough, From time to time I thought I saw shadowy figures flitting through the trees on either side of us, but when I turned to look there was nothing. There was a brief flurry of gunfire off towards the south, then silence again. I felt a lot better when we reached the clearing.

Everyone piled in and I started the engines.

“Sancta Maria!” said Jeurgen in a shocked whisper.

I glanced over at him, and then followed his wide-eyed stare out of the windshield. Reflected in the chopper's running lights were dozens of pairs of glittering eyes, staring at us, not moving.

“Holy shit,” I said. “What are they doing?”

“Making sure we leave,” rumbled Cam.

“No problem there,” I said. “I am in no way inclined to stay.”

I carefully inched the chopper into the air. As we cleared the top of the trees we could see another chopper taking off towards the west. It was bigger than the Huey. I couldn't make out much in the way of details but it did look like a Blackhawk. Lucia wasn't short of funds, that's for sure. I pointed the chopper's nose northwards and we accelerated away.

“Where we going, boss?” said Jeurgen via the intercom.

“Anywhere that's the fuck away from here,” I said.

“You don't have an exit route planned?” he said, some shock in his voice.

“Nah, I’m making this shit up as I go along.”

We rode in silence for a while. I kept the chopper low, but not so low we were in danger of hitting anything. I wanted us to be lost in the ground clutter, not lost by smashing into another telephone wire.

“You really don't know where we're going?” asked Jeurgen.

I nodded toward the front of the chopper.

“Thataway.”

He gave me a frosty look.

“Okay, okay,” I sighed. “You haven’t learned yet that I always know what I’m doing?”

The look didn't change.

“You were the kind of kid who crept downstairs on Christmas morning to peek at your gifts, right? Always want to spoil the surprise?”

He said nothing.

“Put your faith in the Lord?” I suggested.

“Blasphemy,” he said.

“Not really, I’m an atheist.”

“Even so.”

“Okay, take a squint at that GPS locator on the console.”

He glanced down at the suspiciously new-looking box that was clipped to the instrument panel. On the front a four-inch square screen glowed faintly. He reached out and pulled the locator off and stared at the screen. At the top was a red dot. At the bottom was a green dot. In between were range and bearing information. The numbers were steadily ticking down.

“What's the red dot?”

“Our destination.”

“And what’s there?”

“Wait and see,” I said with a smile. “Patience is a virtue, after all.”

CHAPTER

45

It was a near thing. By the time the range had ticked down to almost zero we were practically flying on fumes. I reached out and clicked the radio on.

“Lancelot, this is Galahad, come in Lancelot.”

The radio crackled for a second.

“Galahad, this is Lancelot. We have you on visual. Authenticate nineteen fifty-four.”

I thought about it for a second.

“I authenticate twelve. I repeat, one-two, twelve.”

“Roger, Galahad, we are illuminating the landing field now.”

A little off to our left a clearing was suddenly lit with red flares. I brought the Huey around and circled. The perimeter of the clearing had been marked with red flares and, on one side, a pair of green flares burned, far enough apart that I'd easily be able to land between them.

“I see two—repeat, two—green flares.”

“Come on in, Galahad, you must be thirsty.”

“Roger.”

I circled, losing altitude and brought the Huey in for a gentle landing. In the dim light of the flares we could see the hulking shape of a Royal Air Force Chinook. A Land Rover swung towards us, towing a fuel bowser, and figures climbed out. One ran over and wrenched the door open.

“Fucking hell, you made it out!”

I turned and grinned.

“Rock Ape, you muscleheaded wanker. What you doing out here?”

“Someone’s got to look after your scrawny arse,” he replied. “What did you say to Anna? She was fit to be tied when she got back to the Ministry!”

“Later, bud. How long before we can get back up in the air?”

“'Bout ten minutes, all told.”

“Good, get out of the way. I need to bloody pee.”

Rock Ape laughed and backed off. I did need to pee, but I also needed to stretch my legs. I ran out past the line of flares and into the forest. I knew I was still safely inside the outermost defensive ring that my colleagues would have set up, so I selected a likely looking tree and got to work. The night sky had turned cloudy and the full moon was feeling bashful, hiding behind a cloudbank. There was nothing wrong with my ears, though, so I heard the careful tread of someone approaching.

“So there's the famous Pagan penis,” said a voice to my left.

“Look all you want, Knuckles,” I said, laughing. “It doesn't bother me.”

“It's not that big,” she said.

“It's cold,” I said. “It shrinks when it's cold.”

The banter was just joking. With me stood in the shadow thrown by the flares I would have been all but invisible.

I finished up and zipped myself decent.

“I’d shake hands,” I said. “But, you know...”

“Put your hands away from your body,” she said.

I was puzzled, but complied anyway. She took three steps and threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my ribs and laying her head on my chest.

“I'm glad you made it back,” she said.

Then she stepped back away from me.

“And if you tell anyone I did that I'll stab you in the balls with a rusty fork.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” I replied with a wink.

We walked back out to the chopper in time to see the Land Rover pull away and roll up into the back of the Chinook.

“See you back in Blighty,” I said.

Knuckles and Rock Ape waved, then turned and ran back to the Chinook. A shrill whistle rang out and dark figures emerged from the trees, converging on the helicopters. Our protection. I felt so much better for seeing all of this. We were no longer a small team on a dangerous mission. Once again we were part of a massive and powerful military machine. It was a good feeling.

I climbed into the Huey and buckled myself in. I glanced back into the cabin, noting that Marie was back in her human form, and exchanged thumbs-ups with everyone.

“Galahad, this is Lancelot. You may take off when ready.”

“Roger, Lancelot. Thanks for the drink. See you in the air.”

“Roger.”

The two helicopters took off and disappeared noisily into the night. Behind us the flares would burn for a little while longer, then, one by one they would sputter and die, leaving the clearing dark and deserted.

CHAPTER

46

We finally saw water in the distance after too many hours in the air. We'd doglegged and flew into German airspace. With one last fuel stop in Belgium we were easily within range of home. Throughout the flight Eva and Jeurgen had been doing some fast talking on the radio, throwing the weight of the Vatican around, trying to convince several governments that they should let us cross their airspace.

It turned out that one last spanner was about to be thrown in the works.

“Galahad this is Lancelot. Eyes in the sky is advising that interceptors have been scrambled and are heading our way from the southeast. IFF says Mirage 2000s.”

I swore. We were on the screens of a distant RAF Sentry AWACS and we were being chased. The French Armée de l’Air had sent up some planes to come after us. We were only just passing over the European side of the English Channel, so there was no way we'd get home before the jets caught up with us.

“Roger, Lancelot. Get the fuck out of here, we’ll hit the deck and see if we can stay clear.”

The Chinook was faster than the Huey by a long way. It could, at least, get far enough ahead to get away.

“Negative, Galahad. We'll stick together. Give them something else to shoot at.”

“Lancelot, fuck off. That is an order.”

“Sorry, Galahad, seem to be having coms trouble. Didn't copy your last transmission.”

“Bastard.”

“Copy that.”

“Okay, let's dance.”

Both choppers swooped down. We were not quite skimming the waves but a big sailboat would have been in for a nasty surprise and, once we got out into the main shipping lanes we'd have to watch out for container ships.

“They can't shoot us down, can they?” asked Jeurgen in a horrified voice.

“Of course they can,” I replied.

“But we're over the busiest shipping lane in the world!”

“It doesn't matter,” I said. “The vamps control the media in Europe. They can say whatever they want.”

“But it would be murder!”

“It doesn't matter,” I growled. “The French would never admit it.”

The seconds ticked by, nervous, tense moments as we closed the distance between us and home. I was feeling like I'd eaten a lump of wet concrete, and I calculated the chances of us surviving a firefight. They were not good. We'd come this far only to be shot down by some very human pilots? Bugger that.

“Galahad, our eyes in the sky reports we have incoming friendlies.”

“Roger.”

I breathed a little easier. It was nice to have friends in fast, heavily armed chunks of metal.

The sky started to lighten as dawn approached. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a pair of Royal Navy BAE Harriers appeared in front of us. They were in full hover mode, waiting for us. As we blew past them at over a hundred and twenty miles an hour they bought their jet exhausts up and accelerated to match our speed. It was a beautiful sight. No jet aircraft should be able to move like a Harrier does, but the tiny V/STOL aircraft makes it look graceful and easy.

The pilot of the Harrier to our left waved and came on the radio.

“This is Echo Flight leader. Someone call for a chaperone?”

“Echo leader, this is Galahad. Good to see you.”

“Roger, Galahad, good to see you too. We’re almost home. Lancelot, put your foot down. It'll be easier for us to only protect one target.”

“Roger Echo leader. Galahad, make it home safe.”

“Roger Lancelot. Get the beers in.”

The big Chinook may look cumbersome and slow but it's actually faster than many attack helicopters in the air today. The distinctive slap of the Chinook's twin rotors, audible even over our own engines, sped up and the big chopper pulled away from us. It was quickly a shrinking dot in the distance. The pair of Harriers moved in a little closer. I felt new appreciation for the pilots. The little jets must have been hard to control at what was, for them, such a low speed, but the pilots were managing well.

“Echo leader, this is Galahad,” I said over the radio. “Any chance we can land on your carrier?”

“Negative, Galahad.”

I wondered why not but was smart enough not to ask over an open radio channel. Why the Navy pilots' aircraft carrier was unavailable wasn't nearly as important as the simple fact that it was unavailable.

“Just to keep you up to date,” said Echo leader, “the incoming Frog Airline flights have been cordially invited to go the fuck away or be on the receiving end of a really big headache. So far there's no response from them.”

“Roger Echo leader. How far are we from land?”

“Less than two minutes,” he replied. “Worry not, Galahad. Here come the Crabs. Better late than never.”

I looked forward eagerly. Four dots appeared on the horizon, quickly growing until I could see what they were. Big, ugly, beautiful, delta-winged bastards. Eurofighter Typhoons from the Royal Air Force. They were on us in a matter of seconds, flashing overhead at supersonic speed.

The French pilots were screwed, I decided. They might have fancied their chances with the little Harriers, but Typhoons were better than their Mirages in just about every category.

“This is your captain speaking,” came the smooth voice of Echo leader. “I’m pleased to announce that Frog Airlines will not be completing their scheduled landing today. The little fuckers are now heading home just as fast as their little planes can carry them. And just to make sure they don't try anything silly, our friends from Crab Air are providing a nice little escort for them.”

“Echo leader, if I had a sister, you could marry her.”

“Thanks, Galahad, but my wife and daughter might object.”

“Well, if you can make it to Brize, Echo flight, I'd be honored to buy you both a skinful.”

“Careful, sir, we might just take you up on that.”

Ahead I could see the most incredible sight, a scene that had been greeting sailors and welcoming them home as long as there had been an England: the magnificent, towering, unmistakable white cliffs of Dover.

Our escorts gave us a final wave before peeling off to return to their ship.

I don't know who started singing—it was probably Cam, but I heard Marie join in—and I raised my voice along with the others, belting out the famous wartime song that went with the cliffs.

CHAPTER

47

I brought the Huey in for a gentle landing at RAF Brize Norton. On the runway in front of us I could see a Concorde, the same one that had taken us to Rome, now waiting to take our guests back. I'd probably feel a little better to get Marie and Eva apart. I was a little worried about the way they seemed to be bonding. There was way too much potential for embarrassment there.

The engines wound down as I stretched in the seat. A familiar feeling of loss crept over me. I’d—we’d—set out on a mission, succeeded and made it home safe. And conscious this time. Now I felt deflated. We had done the job we'd been sent to do and now it was over. The moment was gone. Oh, there would be other jobs, other moments, other adrenaline rushes, and other hills to get over. I sighed, feeling drained and exhausted. Almost everyone else was off of the chopper, so I shrugged out of the harness and stepped down to the tarmac. I gave the side of the helicopter an affectionate pat.

“Good job, old girl,” I said. “Thanks for getting us home.”

“Talking to helicopters, now?” said Marie as she slid her arms around my waist and laid her head against my back.

“Yeah, I talk to a lot of inanimate objects. Probably a sign of dementia.”

“Too many blows to the head,” she said. “That would explain why you like me.”

“Nah, that’s the cute way you wrinkle your nose just before you sneeze. It drives me wild.”

She hugged me tighter for a moment and then ducked under my arm to hug me from the front.

“How you feeling?” she asked.

“Tired.”

“Just tired?”

“Tired and a little horny.”

“Just a little?”

“Oh, I'm sure you can remedy that. Make me very horny.”

“I try my best,” she said, kissing me on the chin.

The rest of the group was loading the kit on to the back of a pair of Land Rovers. I let out a sigh.

“Come on, love of my life,” I said. “We'd better hustle. No doubt there'll be debriefings and questions and more questions, and then, just when we thought we were safe, even more questions.”

“Yeah?” she said as we grabbed our things. “But just remember something.”

“What's that?”

“Every time you get angry, or frustrated, or pissed off, remember that I still have that little leather number and the collar that goes with it. That should put a smile on your face.”

I broke into a broad grin.

“See? Told ya.”

“Marie, my love, my mate, my woman, my life?”

“Yes?”

“You are an evil devil woman. And I love you.”

CHAPTER

46

The debriefing was predictably boring. Going over the same information a dozen times and answering the same question phrased a dozen different ways is not the way I like spending my evenings. John and Anna were there, the latter giving me a selection of cold looks.

Things were just closing up when Eva stood up and turned to face Minister Tilehurst.

“Sir, if I may,” she said with unexpected diffidence.

“Yes ma’am?” he replied.

“I wanted to extend, on behalf of the Holy Father, a thank you to Hauptmann Henderson and his team. And a personal thank you to Hauptmann Henderson himself, for taking this with good grace and civility.”

There was total silence in the briefing room.

“Taking what with good grace?” asked Tilehurst eventually.

“Oh,” I said, “she means that she appreciates me not being an insufferable bore about this whole business. I never once pointed out, for example, the inherent stupidity in bringing an expert in to advise on an important matter and then completely ignoring everything that the expert advises. I never once, though sorely tempted, said ‘told you so’ nor did I remark upon how everything I said about this whole business was proven totally correct. I haven't even pointed out that nobody has apologized for their complete lack of faith in me and my knowledge.”

“You sure you want to thank him for his good grace?” asked Marie with a smile on her face.

“Well, until he spoke I did,” said Eva, returning the smile.

“Hey, I wasn’t saying any of that, I was merely pointing out that I hadn’t said it,” I said, trying to sound offended.

“Actually,” said Tilehurst, “Jack does raise a good point.”

“Thank you, boss.”

“Although not the one he thought he was raising,” he went on, sparing me a glare. “Almost everything humanity knows about the vampires is based upon several centuries of disinformation on the part of the vampires themselves. Now, we’ve been working on this for a number of years, but if we are to really start building bridges with our allies,” he nodded at the two Vatican agents, “we need to start sharing information freely. We are in danger of overestimating the enemy, which can be as big a mistake as underestimating them.

“So much of our time has been spent fighting the vampires that we seem to have missed the research part of our mission. Well, to be fair, we have researched a number of weapons to use against them, but we haven’t really looked too hard at the vampires themselves beyond what kills them. We don’t even know exactly how a human becomes a vampire. Not many of the details, anyway.”

“So what’re you saying, boss?” I asked. “We’re going all David Attenborough?”

“David who?” asked Jeurgen.

“Famous TV presenter? Does lots of educational nature shows? ‘Big cats of the Serengeti’ style of thing?”

Jeurgen shrugged.

“Well, that joke fell flat,” I muttered. “What I meant was, we’re going to be devoting some resources and time on finding out what makes vampires tick?”

“Exactly,” he replied. “Now, what about this line Lucia tried to feed you? Do you think she was behind the whole thing so you’d wipe out her opponents?”

“I dunno,” I said after a moment. “She could have just been taking advantage, I suppose. When’re you going to order me to go kill her, boss?”

“She pissing you off that much, Jack?” asked Bolt.

“She’s unfinished business.”

“And at the moment she's off limits,” said Tilehurst.

I stared across the table at him, feeling disbelief.

“Don't do it, boss,” I said. “Don't say it. Please don't say ‘better the devil you know’.”

“Well, we’re not quite there yet,” he said. “But we are getting sketchy reports that she’s keeping things in check up north. Until we get some intelligence from teams on the ground up there the status quo will be maintained.”

“And, I’m guessing, she has some absolute bastard in her number two spot, just to add incentive.”

“Spot on,” he said, tossing a file onto the table. “Meet a vampire who goes by the name ‘Mörder’. By all accounts not a very nice gentleman at all.”

“I'm hardly surprised,” said Eva.

The file contained pictures of a vampire who was, if anything, trying a little too hard to look evil. Dark, sunken eyes glared out from under bushy brows and a hairstyle with that ‘been in a straightjacket for ten years’ look surmounted a head that wasn't much more than a skull with pale skin stretched over it. Long yellow fangs poked out from a cruel, thin-lipped mouth. A prominent chin and thickly veined neck led down to a cadaverous torso. This was no pretty-boy vamp. One of the pictures had been taken whilst the vamp was feeding, although such a benign word did not do justice to the violence of the act. Mörder had a man, easily fifteen stone, held off the ground in one hand as he lapped at the blood running from a torn-out throat.

“Why are you not surprised?” asked Marie.

“Our friend there calls himself ‘Mörder’. It's German.”

“Murder?” I hazarded.

“Murderer,” she corrected.

“Well, no points for originality,” I muttered. “Still, it's better than ‘Dark Lord of the Dark Darkness’ I suppose. Any read on who this guy really is or where he came from?”

“Nothing concrete,” said Tilehurst. “He apparently came out of either Russia or one of the satellites. He's supposed to be something of a famous painter in the vampire world. His works sell for much more than I'll ever earn.”

“Blood and death and defilement of virgins style of thing?” I asked.

“No, surprisingly. Landscapes. Pretty, sun-dappled meadows and rolling vistas style of thing. Views of the Black Forest by dawn and pink sunsets over the Alps.”

“Stuff vamps miss,” said John quietly.

“Probably,” said Tilehurst, straightening in his seat. “No matter. Lucia is, at the moment, off limits. Don't worry, Jack. One day we'll put an end to her and I promise you'll be the one I send to pull the trigger.

“For now, you get some well-earned rest. Take a week off, all of you. Things are quiet and, with the aid of the Holy See, we'll get to rub the collective noses of the vampire propaganda machine in the lies they've been telling the last few days.”

“Indeed,” said Jeurgen with a smile. “The Holy Father himself will be delivering a very personal and very public thank you to the British government for allowing Pagan to come to aid of the Church in this matter.”

“Oh, that's gonna tweak a few noses,” said John with an evil smile.

EPILOGUE

Many miles to the north, inside Havelock Manor, Lady Lucia was finishing a long-overdue shower. The trip back from Wallachia had been long and exhausting, but at least she could draw some small comfort from the fact that it had been shorter than the one Jack and his friends had been forced to make.

She stepped into her bedroom, toweling herself dry, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed and go to sleep. The sun was coming up and it was the end of a very long day. She slipped into a short, silk robe and wrapped her hair in the towel. No sooner had she picked up her wine glass when the phone by her bed rang. Without even bothering to glance at the caller ID she switched on the speaker. Few people had this number, and only one of them would disturb her this late.

“Well, child,” said a female voice. “I understand now what you see in him.”

Lucia stifled a sigh.

“So you had a good view in the castle?” she asked.

“In the castle, and in the club, child.”

“And what do you think?” asked Lucia, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.

“I think he may be the one,” came the reply. “And he is very handsome, isn’t he? Are the rumors true?”

“Oh, Mother,” Lucia said in an exasperated tone.

There was a dry chuckle from the phone.

“Oh, my dear child. Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed? You have seen him naked, haven’t you?”

“Mother!”

“Lucia, I may be over four hundred years old, but I was only twenty when I was released from my mortal prison. I’m still a young woman and he is a robust young man.”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of Lucia’s mouth.

“Four hundred? You told me you were three hundred the day you turned me.”

“Well, maybe I’m closer to five hundred years old,” said the caller.

“Five hundred?”

“Have I taught you nothing, child? A lady never reveals her true age.”

Lucia took a gulp of her wine and tried to calm down. Conversations with her sire were always so frustrating.

“Do you think he is suitable?” she asked, her voice level.

“He is a huntsman, child. That much is obvious. He’s strong. Good stock. He appears suitable.”

“Are you sure he’s a huntsman?”

“Of course. His immunity, his blood, his eyes. He is a huntsman. Does he know of his nature?”

“No. He knows nothing.”

“Good. Bring him to see me.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” asked Lucia incredulously. “We’re not exactly on friendly terms, you know.”

“You’ll think of something. I have confidence in you. How long before he is yours, do you think?”

“He’d be mine already if it wasn’t for that werewolf. Two centuries of planning went kaput the day she got her claws into him.”

“Not entirely. She can be dealt with, if necessary. And there are ways and means of achieving our ends with or without his consent.”

“I’d rather do it the other way, mother.”

“We may no have any choice, child. I’ll expect you to bring him to the council when we meet next month. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I’ll find a way, mother.”

“Good. Sleep well, child.”

“Thank you, mother. You too.”

Lucia disconnected the call as she drained her glass, wondering how she was supposed to persuade a man who hated her to take a little trip to Eastern Europe with her. More importantly, how was she supposed to do it without being eviscerated by that damn werewolf?

She set her glass aside and sat quietly for a few moments, staring into space, thinking about Jack. If her people had waited only another century, Jack would have died, ignorant of his nature. If they had chosen to inform the world of their existence only forty years earlier, he would likely never have been born. In either case another man—another huntsman—would be about to…

She took a breath and faced the thought head on. What she was considering—what her sire had decreed was going to happen—was anathema to vampires the world over. A human and vampire pairing would produce a Dhampir, a sun walker, a vampire resistant to silver, to sunlight, to garlic. But a pairing of vampire and huntsman would produce … a creature not seen on Earth for almost a millennia.

And the thought of what a pairing between huntsman and purebreed werewolf would result in made her blood run cold.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Don’t bother looking on a map for the Ministry’s headquarters. The building in question is entirely fictional. There are, however, several buildings in that general area that do look the part.

Poenari Castle is real and was once one of the major castles used by Vlad III. The ruins can still be seen from the “Transfăgărăşan” road in Romania. It is not the towering, Bavarian style castle of which most people think when they hear the name Dracula. To the best of the author's knowledge there is no underground escape tunnel leading out of the castle and the interior descriptions are entirely the product of the author's imagination.

Whilst this book was being written the British government announced the retirement of the Harrier. The story that started in 1969 with the Hawker Siddeley Harrier GR.1 came to a tearful end with the BAE Systems Harrier II GR9. No other aircraft looks like it or flies like it. A wonderful piece of innovative British engineering will be consigned to the history books and they will be sorely missed. It seemed only fitting that these magnificent aircraft were there to welcome our heroes home one last time.

Of course, now nobody is using them, it should be fairly easy for the Ministry to grab them and make a run for it before anyone notices.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrew Chapman is an English immigrant who lives in Kentucky with his wife and a startlingly insane cat.

Crusader is his second novel, sequel to Pagan. Since his first novel Chapman has broken a life-long vow and eaten sushi. This is a fact of which he is not proud.

facebook.com/chapman.andrew

twitter.com/AndyOnTheWold

AVAILABLE NOW

Pagan

MINISTRY OF PARANORMAL RESEARCH & DEFENCE

BOOK 1

They stand between us and the darkness.

They patrol the streets of our cities every night.

They hold back the tide of hate and violence

that threatens to engulf us.

They fight and bleed and die to protect us.

We pour scorn on their efforts.

We mock their sacrifices.

We seek to sap their strength.

We make pacts with the enemy.

They are the vampire hunters.

And they are our only hope.

They will save us.

Whether we deserve it or not.

Introducing Jack Henderson, England's top vampire hunter. He and his fellow hunters are fighting a war against an ancient and implacable foe and a population increasingly unwilling to support their efforts. He’s tired, jaded and disheartened, but now he has a chance to take the fight to the vampires and challenge them in the very seat of their power.

COMING SOON

Renegade

MINISTRY OF PARANORMAL RESEARCH & DEFENCE

BOOK 3

Jack Henderson is enjoying some well-earned rest with the love of his life, his mate, Marie Hennessey. When Marie is kidnapped by a group of vampires, Jack's world is shattered.

Tracking her kidnappers and destroying everything in his way, the Pagan is out for blood. This time he’s not fighting for Queen and Country.

And the vampires won’t know what’s hit them.

* * * * *

Read on for a sneak preview of

Renegade

The next Ministry of Paranormal Research & Defence novel.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

RENEGADE, unlike PAGAN and CRUSADER, features a split POV, changing from Jack's to Marie's. I decided against insulting the reader's intelligence by labeling each chapter according to who is narrating. I trust you to figure it out.

RENEGADE

I groaned my way awake. The bath had been fantastic, falling into bed with the love of my life had been the true crown of the evening. Then the phone rang. It was the one in my room but with the door open it was loud enough to wake me.

I lay there, debating whether to answer. Then it stopped. Ah well, if it was important they would—

The phone next to the bed started to ring. I groaned louder as I reached across to answer it. Marie turned over and cuddled against my back.

“Hello?” I said.

“Mr. Henderson?”

“Speaking.”

“Sorry to disturb you at this hour, sir, but this is James at the front desk. There is a gentleman here who insisted I contact you. He said to tell you that he's from the Ministry and he needs to talk to you face to face.”

I suppressed a groan. The bloody Ministry and their bloody timing never did get any better.

“Okay, tell him I'll be right down.”

“Yes sir, I'll tell him. And sorry again for disturbing you.”

I hung up the phone and turned to Marie.

“Come back to sleep,” she said. “Leave the little bastard standing there.”

Of course, Marie had heard both sides of the conversation.

“I wish I could, puppy. It's got to be important to disturb us like this.”

“Okay,” she said. “I'll wait for you.”

I shook my head, yawning hugely.

“Get dressed. We may have to leave in a hurry. You always take so long to get ready.”

She blew a raspberry at me so I dived under the covers to tickle her. She gave a shriek and squirmed against me. The tickling quickly led to kissing.

“Stay, love,” she said, covering my face in tiny kisses. “Forget the Ministry man and stay here, just you, me, and the kiss monster.”

“I'll be right back,” I said. “Get dressed.”

“And what if we're not going anywhere? What if he's just here with a message?”

“Then I get all the fun of undressing you again.”

She made interested noises, snuggling close and kissing me repeatedly.

“I gotta go, love. Stuffed shirt waiting.”

She reluctantly allowed me to climb out of bed.

“Their timing's off,” she said.

“Yep. Could have waited a few days.”

“No, I meant that if they really wanted to piss us off they should have called a few hours ago.”

I laughed at that and kissed the tip of her nose. I was fully dressed and went back to hunting for my shoes.

“You getting up, puppy?”

“Yeah, running all the way,” she said, still firmly ensconced in the bed.

I'd located my shoes and stood up to pull on my shoulder holster. I drew my trusty SIG and eased the slide back to check the round in the chamber before replacing it.

“You don't think there's going to be trouble, do you?”

“Naw,” I said. “But if this wanker's coming here for anything less than life or death I want to be ready to kneecap the bastard.”

I stood and stared at her.

“You getting up?” I asked again.

“I am up, Jack,” she said sweetly. “I'm just moving so fast you think I'm still in bed.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yes it is. It's a quantum relativistic thing.”

I grabbed the covers and threw them off of her.

“Funny, looks like you're still there.”

She posed on the bed, displaying herself to me. Then she lifted her legs, pointing her toes at the ceiling, before spreading them until her calves were almost touching the covers. It always amazed me how flexible she was.

“Just so you make sure to hurry back,” she whispered, trailing her fingers over herself.

“Never worry about that, puppy,” I said, my voice hoarse.

She flipped herself upright and kissed me quickly.

“Hurry back, stud.”

“Get dressed.”

I gave her a pat on the bottom. My room key was in my jacket and I needed to cover the gun so I grabbed it on the way out.

The corridor was deserted and silent. I shrugged my jacket on and punched the elevator button. Damn the fucking Ministry and their stupid timing.

* * * * *

Jack left the room as I was rooting around for my combat suit. Might as well be ready in case this was some sort of emergency. I pulled the stretchy garment on and zipped it up, shrugging my shoulders to settle the armor plates into a comfortable position.

I looked around the room. Hell, where was my gun? Jack would kill me if I'd lost it. I suddenly remembered, I'd taken off the holster and dropped it on the chair. The gun was the lovely nickel and gold pistol Jack had given me as a gift on our first real date. Just remembering that night gave me a warm glow, followed by a rush of bitterness. The Ministry had interrupted that night too.

Well that's not fair. Marcus Demios, pretender to the throne vacated by the death of Glavida had actually been the reason we'd been recalled. Demios was dead now, killed by my man, so he could rot and we were alive.

I like that kind of revenge.

I checked the weapon, making sure it was loaded and a round was in the chamber. 'Check and test. Check and test,' was Jack's mantra. Always check, always test.

I dropped the gun and holster on the bed. I suppose I could start packing.

* * * * *

I leaned against the back wall of the elevator, thinking black thoughts at the Ministry man. If this wasn't important someone was about to get into more trouble than he could possibly handle.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid smoothly open. The lobby was practically empty. There was a brightly-smiling woman behind the front desk talking to an elderly lady, and a married couple just coming in the front doors. I stepped out and looked around, my instincts clamoring for attention.

* * * * *

I tossed a suitcase on the bed and started to load it with the clothes we'd worn today. Even if we weren't leaving we might as well get them off of the floor.

I flushed, feeling a warm thrill trickle through my body when I picked up the little g-string Jack had been wearing. Lingerie for men is difficult to find and mostly looked ridiculous. This, though, had looked so hot on him. I packed it away in the case. I had to get him back into that thing.

I was turning towards the bedside table when I heard a quiet click from behind me. A faint breeze ruffled my hair, bringing with it a scent that raised my hackles.

* * * * *

“Hi,” I said to the woman behind the desk as soon she was finished dealing with her customer. “Is James around?”

She plastered a fake smile on her plum red lips.

“I'm sorry sir, James isn't working today.”

* * * * *

The scent was immediately recognizable. Vampire.

I spun around, changing into my wolf form with a growl of challenge. There were two black-clad vamps in the room already, with two more behind them. They were wearing military-style clothing with body armor and they were all armed with strange guns.

Thought ceased. I leap, jaws wide, claws outstretched. The first vampire, the closest, goes down with a single swipe, his throat torn out. The second gets punched in the stomach, shattering the Kevlar plate in his body armor. The heel of my paw slams into his chin, breaking his neck. I spin, lashing out again, tearing the face of the third down to the bone. Two more vamps are climbing onto the balcony. I grab the fourth, pulling him close, my jaws closing on his neck with a crunch as blood runs down my chest.

“Fucking hell!” yells one vamp. “Shoot the bitch!”

His strange gun spits at me, wide, the shot whistling over my shoulder.

* * * * *

“I'm sorry?” I said. “James just called up to my room. He said there was someone waiting for me down in the lobby. Room 401”

The receptionist shook her head, the fake smile staying in place.

“I'm afraid not, sir. In fact,” she said, tapping a few keys on a computer, “the call to your room five minutes ago was from an outside line.”

She looked up from the computer to turn that fake smile on me again but I wasn't there. I was halfway across the lobby at a full run.

One of the elevators was opening, a businessman coming out. I dodged him and dived inside.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I hammered the button for the fourth floor.

“Hold the lift please!”

I turned to see the young couple hurrying towards the open doors.

I drew my pistol and bared my teeth.

“Wait for the next one,” I growled as the door closed on their startled faces.

* * * * *

The vamp pumps his weapon and fires again. This one barely misses my ear. I step forward, yanking the gun away and raking his shoulder with my claws.

The other vamp fires and I feel a sting on my arm. I look down. There is a dart sticking in the muscle. I snarl and brush it out.

I whirl, taking a step forward and a wave of nausea crashes over me. I stumble, falling to my knees. I roar in rage, struggling to get back to my feet.

“Hit it again!”

“Don't. That'll kill it.”

These are new voices, more vamps on the balcony. The vamp that shot me strides forward and crashes his weapon into the back of my head. I collapse, seeing stars.

“Fucking bitch!” yells the vamp with the ruined arm.

I roll over, using the last of my strength, and grab the vamp's ankle. Before anyone can react I slam my paw into his knee, bending the leg the wrong way and shattering his kneecap.

The vamp screams, falling on top of me, knocking the wind out of my lungs. The drug from the dart is in my system, pulling me down into blackness.

My last thought is for my man. My Jack. Vamps are here to kill my man and I failed to stop them.

* * * * *

As the lift climbed I checked my weapon again before flicking the safety catch off.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Someone had wanted me out of the room, and I had been too sleepy to notice the origin of the call.

The elevator dinged and I was through the doors before they were halfway open. The corridor was still quiet, only now it seemed an unnatural quiet. I cautiously made my way down the corridor and listened at the door of my room.

Nothing. Dead silence.

I used the stupid plastic card key and shoved the door open, following the business end of my gun inside.

My room was empty, exactly as I had left it. The connecting door was cracked open an inch, throwing a narrow strip of light across the carpet. I pushed the door open and stepped into my worst nightmare.

Furniture was overturned, curtains were torn, and blood was splattered over the walls and carpet. Marie was nowhere to be seen.

But there was the vamp. He was wearing a sober business suit with a subdued red tie. His thinning blonde hair was combed straight back from a patrician face that I hated on sight.

“Where's my mate?” I snarled.

“She is safe, Pagan,” the vamp replied. “Though it killed several of my agents to bring her down.”

I moved away from the door, putting my back to the wall, keeping the pistol trained on the vamp's chest.

“Where is she?”

“She is safe,” he repeated. “And she will remain that way as long as you cooperate with us. Now, the first thing—”

“Oh, fuck you,” I growled and then I shot him.

I leaped the broken chair and ran out onto the balcony. There was blood out here, too. Outside were the normal sights and sounds of late-night London. There was a van pulling around the corner at the end of the road but no way of knowing if Marie was inside. I did, however, have a way of finding out.

The vamp was slumped in the chair, a ragged hole in his chest. Not a fatal wound for a vampire. Well, not immediately fatal.

I backhanded the vamp across the face as hard as I could. His eyes fluttered open and he drew in a startled breath. I grabbed him by the lapels, yanking him to his feet.

“You and me are gonna have a nice, long chat, sonny Jim,” I growled.

...to be continued.