Pagan

BY ANDREW CHAPMAN

Pagan

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 ©2009 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 ©2009 by Andrew Chapman. All rights reserved.

First edition published October 2009

Kindle version published November 2009

ISBN 1449537871

EAN-13 9781449537876

myspace.com/andrewpchapman

facebook.com/chapman.andrew

JAC.143

To my wife, who is,

my life, my love, my everything,

and she knew it first.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A work like this doesn’t spring into existence fully formed. It requires many months of hard work. Some of that hard work is even done by the author, believe it or not. To everyone else, my deepest appreciation:

To Judith, my long-suffering and ever-delightful wife, who proofread the text as it was being written, pointed out where I had made mistakes, kept me from descending too far into incomprehensible slang, and offered advice on that most difficult of the author’s challenges: writing about the opposite sex.

To my brother, Peter, who answered procedural and technical questions about the British military.

To all of my friends at work, who offered encouragement, support and helpful advice.

To Wilma and everyone at EnragedBibliophiles for all the help, advice and critique.

To Justin and Mary, who read the early draft of the book and yelled at me to finish it.

To all my friends on Facebook, who put up with a myriad of often cryptic status updates as the book stuttered and stumbled along.

To Intelligent Peripheral Devices Inc. for making the AlphaSmart Pro on which most of this novel was written

And finally to Loki, who kept me from getting too full of myself by constantly reminding me that writing a novel is in no way more important than fulfilling my primary functions on this Earth, namely the feeding, care and entertainment of my feline Lord and Master.

Lexington, KY

2009

AUTHOR’S NOTE

With the exception of those items described as being fabricated by the Ministry, all weapons and equipment in this novel are real. Any errors in describing their capabilities are entirely my own fault.

The Ministry safe houses are the product of my imagination, though they are loosely based upon several pubs from my wild and untamed youth.

This book is written with the utmost respect for the men and women who serve in the military. It takes a special person to willingly place themselves between their nation’s people and their nation’s enemies, and it is incumbent upon us to ensure that their sacrifice is neither made in vain, nor begrudged by selfishness, nor cheapened by politics.

Pagan

Anchorman: We now go live to Bucharest, where Chris Thomason has news on these startling events. Chris?

Reporter: Thank you, Peter. British troops acting as part of the United Nations peacekeeping force were patrolling several miles outside of the city of Braşov when they came under attack by what appear to be vampires. Reports—

Anchorman: I’m sorry, Chris? Did you say ‘vampires’?

-BBC NEWS, BLACK TUESDAY.

PROLOGUE

FIVE YEARS AGO…

Bill and I were members of a four-man patrol. We were both fairly new; proud of the tan berets we definitely weren’t wearing. When I joined the military I went through the world’s toughest training course to earn a green beret and become a Royal Marine. Bill had joined a year later but we changed units at the same time. We removed our green berets with the globe and laurel badge and put on a different colored headgear with a different badge.

I know law and order is teetering in England but there are still a few things I can’t talk about. Officially my patrol was from the army. Bill and I were from the Royal Marines, Smoko was an Aussie from their 2nd Commando Company, and Johnny was from the Royal Gurkha Rifles, ten years older and half a foot shorter than the rest of us, but meaner than hell. Army? They must have doctored the records.

If you don’t understand what I’m trying not to say, try grabbing the nearest Englishman—I hear hundreds of thousands have fled to other countries—and asking them who the guys in the tan berets are. They’ll probably know.

We were on a mission in Hungary, six months after that little fizzle of a war ended, looking for someone—who it was and why we were looking I can’t say—when we found the vampires. There were three of them and they were draining a young girl. The oldest, a strikingly beautiful woman whose name I never did get, turned and let out a hiss when we approached. My patrol stopped, rooted to the spot. I looked around, puzzled. What the hell was going on? Bill seemed to be fighting it, but the other two were as still as statues. The woman flowed to her feet like she had no muscles to inconvenience her, and the full weight of her stare fell on me. She said something in Hungarian that I didn’t understand and then she came at me.

I had a Heckler & Koch G3 and it should have torn her in half on full auto. Instead of dying she stumbled to a halt and looked down at the holes in her torso. The holes were sluggishly leaking blood, which slowed and stopped before my eyes. Suddenly I was terrified, the same terror my ancestors must have felt when coming face to face with a saber-toothed tiger. She looked back up at me and screamed in rage. I guess I’d ruined her favorite dress or something.

My G3 had one of those nifty new H&K grenade launchers slung under the barrel and her mouth was a nice open target. Before I’d even completed the thought I’d given her something to chew on. Apparently it didn’t agree with her. The expression on her face in the instant before her head detonated will probably keep me warm on cold nights for years to come.

Killing the vampiress seemed to break the spell. The crackle of weapons fire filled the forest, overlaid with the harsher knocking sound of Smoko’s belt-fed LSW. The two other vamps weren’t as resilient. We took them apart. Vamps can heal wounds fast, but hit one with fifty or sixty shots in a few seconds and it’s the death of a thousand cuts. I reloaded my G3 twice before the last corpse stopped twitching.

It took us almost two weeks to fight our way back home and that was when we found out that this was going on all over the world. In Eastern Europe the vamps just emerged and resumed their place at the top of the food chain. Some countries went back into the dark ages overnight. In Western Europe the vampires were more discreet. Some even presented themselves as culture experts, with genuine experiences from the Renaissance or La Revolución. In England they tried to march in and take over. They found that neither Her Majesty nor Her Majesty’s Prime Minister would back down. The military were sent in, the populace was armed, and open season was declared.

It’s been like that ever since. In the north there are four or five cities that the vamps control—Manchester, Sunderland, Newcastle, Leeds—but the south is pretty safe. In Scotland the vamps found out what Hadrian and many English kings had learned to their cost—you don’t fuck with the Scots. Even a vampire needs a strong constitution if they’re not to soil themselves when confronted by six feet of kilt wearing, red-haired, blue-painted, axe wielding, frothing insanity. There are vampire hunters up there with necklaces made out of vampire fangs who drink scotch out of fanged skulls.

We didn’t know any of that at the time. All we knew was that we’d just come face-to-face with something from out of legend. The whole world was coming to grips with the same shock.

Ministry Of Paranormal Research and Defence.

Report on vampiric propaganda activities.

Classified: Eyes Only.

Committee chairman:

[deleted]

Committee members:

[deleted], [deleted], [deleted], [deleted], [deleted], [deleted], [deleted].

It is the conclusion of this committee that, in the years running up to the events of the day now known as ‘Black Tuesday’, the various vampiric groups were involved in a propaganda war of staggering proportions.

In almost all areas of popular entertainment, the vampires—or, more often, those working on their behalf—were producing products designed purely for the purpose of changing the attitudes and sympathies of the general populace.

This report will focus on several selected examples but it needs to be remembered that these are simply that: selected examples.

In general, any novel, movie or television series produced over the last five to ten years, which depicts vampires in a positive light, is most likely the product of the vampiric propaganda machine. The vampires produced many works of fiction that depict vampires as tortured victims of their own condition, as angst-ridden, misunderstood or tragic figures, as romantic, desirable or possessed of superhuman sexual skills, as lonely Romeoic characters searching for that one special human to spend eternity with, and as simple heroes. Almost all of these have entered popular culture and done untold damage to the collective consciousness.

This was, and remains, particularly noticeable in the USA. In the twelve months immediately preceding ‘Black Tuesday’ television in the USA reached near saturation point, with each network vying to air the next big thing in vampiric drama shows. Most of the vampiric romance novels were primarily aimed at the US market, as were most of the vampiric movies.

It’s estimated that the various vampiric groups spent in excess of £500million within the USA, producing and promoting vampire propaganda for domestic consumption. However, it’s important to note that, over the same time period, those movies and novels that are known to be sourced from the vampiric groups grossed well over £1billion.

The effect of this massive propaganda gap cannot be overstated. The public, by and large, is against us. It is the recommendation of this committee that the Ministry, with all due haste, immediately commence attempts to redress the balance.

CHAPTER

1

There was a bite to the air, a late-autumn announcement of the winter months to come. The wind crept up and made you wish you’d worn a jacket. I’ve always liked this kind of day. The sun was shining and the air was clear, the crisp breeze was invigorating and life felt good. It was nice to dwell on the positives, seeing as my hands were wet with blood and I was busily beheading a corpse.

No, I’m not a murderer, mass or otherwise. I’m a vampire hunter and the dead body had been my prey. He’d led me a merry chase across some really scenic areas of rural England but I’d caught up with him when he started looking for a place to hole up out of the sun.

I straightened up and wiped off my knife before sheathing it. It was a Gurkha kukri, a heavy, leaf-shaped blade with a distinctive bend that makes it ideal for chopping. The vampire was dead for sure. A 7.62mm silver-tipped round in the base of the spine followed up by decapitation will kill all but the most powerful vampires. This one had been as green as a mile-wide stretch of the National Forest and had gone easy. One thing—two things—left to do.

I grabbed his severed head by the hair and carefully placed it between his knees. I don’t, as a rule, desecrate the corpses of my prey, but this one was for effect. Glavidia, the self-styled ‘Queen du Noir’, had turned this young man because he had caught her attention and she had wanted to play with him. I wanted her to understand that I didn’t approve of this and when I don’t approve of things you get more than a strongly worded letter. The Pagan burial ritual would send a message she couldn’t ignore. The British press already referred to me as ‘The Pagan Vampire Hunter’—because ‘Pagan’ is my codename, I’m actually an Atheist—and the hint was clear. This was my handiwork.

I folded his hands on his chest and placed the empty cartridge case between his fingers. The empty shell is of a type rare enough to qualify as my trademark. Few people use the 7.62x51mm ammunition any more, especially those that carry the crown mark that shows they were made in England, not to mention a tiny ‘Ag’ that said the round was silver-tipped. Fewer still fire it from an L1A1 FAL since the British Army gave them up. The FAL may be outdated but I loved the brutish, black weapon. It could put a bullet through a brick wall, take a door off of its hinges, and had a kick like a Shire horse on crack. When you hit someone with it they go down fast and stay down. I’ve actually exploded a vampire’s head at five hundred yards with one shot.

Gruesome, huh? Well get used to it. Since the vampires came out of the crypt, life ain’t neat. They pretty much run half of England like it’s their own personal playground. I hear that there are some places on the continent and over the Atlantic where the vamps are under control, where they almost live like regular people, but here they rule. Places like Africa and Australia are almost free of them and, believe it or not, in parts of the USA they even have rights. You can’t even kill one without—I spat reflexively at the thought—reasonable cause. For some reason the wild ones liked Europe, and Eastern Europe is a no-go zone.

I picked up my FAL, cradling the bulky rifle under one arm as I looked down at the body.

“Rest in peace, Bill,” I whispered.

Yeah, the vamp had been Bill in another life. Just one more reason why Glavidia was inching closer to the day I put the world out of her misery.

I began walking down the hillside. It was just touching noon and it would take me a few hours to get back to the pickup point.

It is still held—amongst polite society—that it’s not the done thing for a gentleman to introduce himself, but there’s nobody else around to do it for me so please forgive the lack of decorum. My name is Jack Henderson. I’m in my early thirties but I look both older and younger. When I hunt my face becomes serious and I look older than my years but when I laugh I look and feel like a kid again. I’m six feet tall with the kind of body that tends to get described as ‘well-built’. I have short, brown hair that is utterly nondescript, and eyes that one ex-girlfriend described as ‘the color of the sea on a stormy day.’ I just say blue-green and leave it at that. My eyes aren’t my best feature.

I’m wearing my usual hunting outfit, olive green military issue trousers and a military issue DPM camouflage jacket. Under the jacket is a Kevlar vest. Vamps don’t tend to use guns but there are always those humans who will, willingly or otherwise, work for the bloodsuckers. Under the vest is an olive green t-shirt with the legend “MPRD—They Suck, We Blow” printed in faded dark blue ink.

The MPRD is the Ministry of Paranormal Research & Defence, the agency I work for, and the shirt had been a gift from Anna. Anna is one of my closest friends and she’s been with us almost from the beginning.

Over the jacket is army-issue PLCE webbing. I’m carrying the FAL and my Kukri hangs from the webbing belt on my left hip, the handle reversed for a quick right-handed draw. My backup weapons are strapped to either thigh. On my right sits my H&K MP7 loaded with silver-tipped rounds. On my left is a Fairburn-Sykes 2nd Pattern fighting knife with a custom-made silver-alloy blade. Next to the knife is a holstered SIG Sauer P226 in 9mm.

Yes, I realize that means I have more guns than I have hands to fire them, but the SIG is light, even with an extended twenty round magazine, and it’s nice to have. One more piece of boom-making goodness is the US-made M-203 grenade launcher under my FAL’s forestock. I was so impressed at having some extra punch with my old G3 that I never leave home without the ability to explode stuff. Sometimes we depend on it.

We? We are Anna, John, Marie, myself and, until recently, Bill. My little troop of vampire hunters.

I climbed over a low, stone wall and walked along a road that was barely a dirt track. I needed to go see Helen, Bill’s wife. Helen had made me promise that if Bill were turned I’d be the one to kill him. She had taken my hand in a grip of steel and looked at me with terrified eyes.

“Kill him, Jack,” she’d said with scary intensity. “If he gets turned into a vampire, you hunt him down and you kill him, you promise me?”

Bill had tried to laugh it off, like a big joke. He wasn’t going to be turned; none of us believed it could happen.

“No, I want a promise,” Helen’s face had produced that expression I knew all too well, the expression she’d had when she’d decided to marry Bill. It said: the world will be thus, and don’t you dare argue with me.

“If he ever gets turned, you kill him,” she spelled it out. “It has to be you. Make sure not to let anyone else. You do it, you kill him. Promise.”

I promised. I didn’t have to. It wasn’t necessary. When we joined the MPRD from the military almost everyone made the same agreement: if we ever got turned, we wanted one of our people to do the killing and we wanted it done quickly.

I’d fulfilled my promise to her, for what it’s worth.

I walked for most of the afternoon, growing more and more impressed at just how far I’d chased Bill.

That’s something people rarely get to learn about vamps. They aren’t that much faster than we are. Sure, vamps seem to move in a blur of speed or, for the most powerful ones, move from one spot to the other without being seen, but that’s all in your head. A vampire that moves from one side of the room to right in front of you without you even seeing them take a step has just played a mind game with you. They prevent you from seeing it, make you believe that they really moved that fast. It’s not true. I was able to track Bill and keep up with him all night. He never managed to get more than a few minutes ahead of me.

But then, I’m unusual.

CHAPTER

2

Headlights were coming down the road, drilling twin tunnels in the darkness. It was a day shy of full moon but the sky was dense with clouds. There wasn’t even starlight to see by. I could tell by the sound that the vehicle was a Land Rover. Once you’ve heard those tires sing on a paved road there can be no mistaking them. The Land Rover slowed and stopped, less than four feet from my hiding place.

I walked around the vehicle and opened the rear door. I climbed into the back and sat on one of the barely padded bench-seats, shutting the door as softly as possible. Anna was in the driver’s seat; John was slumped in the passenger seat. Not a good sign; John was our driver. Anna glanced back over her shoulder and gave me a worried nod. I nodded back and we moved off.

On the bench opposite me was Marie, the fourth member of our team. She was curled up, head pillowed on her arms, long legs folded up on the seat. Her eyes were open and fixed on mine. She stretched and slipped across to sit next to me, squirming under my arm and squeezing me tight. Marie is a very physical person. She’s always hugging and kissing people: which is to say, she’s always kissing and hugging me.

“How did it go?” she asked in a low voice.

“I killed him,” I said, wearily.

She nodded against my shoulder and sighed.

“Better you than someone else,” she said.

“Better him than someone else,” I said.

Marie had curly blonde hair framing an innocent, almost elfin face. It was easy to see why so many people, myself included, tended to underestimate her. She had beautiful blue eyes and fair, smooth skin, all on top of a lithe, athletic body. Many of the men in the MPRD had made the mistake of thinking she was simple eye candy. Shows what first impressions are worth.

I gave a tight smile and stroked her hair absently.

“John okay?” I asked in a voice loud enough for Anna to hear.

Anna and John had been married for twelve years and members of MPRD since the beginning. She had been a vampire for the last two of those years. They’d been undercover, posing as wealthy supporters of the vamp’s cause, when an arrogant bloodsucker had decided he wanted to use her for the night. John had taken exception to this and the vamp had turned her as punishment.

Turned out to be the vamp’s last mistake.

John had flown into a towering rage and literally torn the vamp apart. Mind tricks bounced off of his anger without stopping him and the vamp had been unprepared for a physical attack. John then locked the doors to the vamp’s chambers for the entire day. That night Anna awoke with the bloodlust and there was only one source of food. John had bared his throat willingly, giving himself to her without a second thought.

Psychiatrists and psychologists have devoted years to the study of why certain vampires become violent killing machines, others just become darkly evil, and some few retain their humanity. As far as I’m concerned it’s all rubbish. Anna’s first feeding as a vampire had been an act of love, not violence, and that’s why she kept her mind in one piece.

Okay, I’m a sentimentalist. So sue me.

“Anna?” I said, louder.

“I’m fine,” said John in a weak voice.

“Yeah, you sound just fuckin’ peachy,” I snarled. “What happened?”

“She needed it, Jack,” he said.

My expression softened.

“You daft prick,” I said. “I don’t doubt she needed it, John. I just wanna know why.”

Nobody spoke. Apart from the engine and the singing of the tires, there was silence in the Land Rover.

“Someone wanna talk to me?”

Anna was sitting, staring at the road, back straight, hands clenched on the wheel. John was staring at me like I was about to eat him or something. I looked down at Marie. Her head was on my chest and she was refusing to meet my eyes.

“Is somebody going to tell me what’s going on?”

“It was Kurt,” said John quietly.

“Kurt Schwartz?” I asked, puzzled. Kurt ran the Dog & Duck, the safe house where we’d been staying before I’d left to chase Bill down.

“Yeah, turns out he was one of Glavidia’s pets,” said John, his gaze holding mine.

“What?” I exploded, shocked at the idea. “Since when?”

John shrugged.

“Fuck!” I yelled, kicking the seat opposite me in frustration. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths.

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”

“It was around noon and we were asleep,” John explained. “Kurt just walked into the room and shot Anna at point-blank range.”

I swore again, softy, my hand gripping the barrel of my rifle until my knuckles turned white.

“Right,” said John. “It was daylight and he hit her with a silver round. Without blood …”

I nodded. At night, she might have been able to heal the wound with time and effort. During the day she had no chance.

“So what did you do to him?” I asked, acutely aware of John’s homicidal nature when it came to people who hurt his wife.

“I shot him,” John said flatly. “A lot.”

“The time is coming when we’re going to have to do something about Glavidia,” I said bleakly. “Something permanent.”

“Amen to that,” said John.

“I just wish you hadn’t given up so much. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m stuffed full of iron pills and red meat. I’ll be fighting fit in no time, right love?”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” she said affectionately. “Besides, you got paid, didn’t you?”

“Not yet,” he said with an overdone leer. “You gave me an IOU, as I recall.”

“How would you like to cash that in when we get there?” she asked in a husky voice.

Marie was looking at me with a question in her eyes. I shook my head and changed the subject.

“So if the Duck isn’t safe, where are we going?” I asked.

“We’re going to the Wheatsheaf,” said John. “Norse is already there.”

I nodded, relieved to hear the news. Norse was solid. Marie lifted her head from my shoulder and looked puzzled.

“What’s the Wheatsheaf?” she asked.

I sometimes forget that Marie has only been with us for a few months and she’s still picking things up.

“The Wheatie was a biker pub,” I explained. “Great place for a decent pint, loads of friendly faces, heavy metal band playing when they could book one. Fun. When the vamps came Taffy—that’s the owner—opened it up as a safe house. Probably the safest place in the network. Most of his regulars are hairy-arsed brawlers and most are heavily armed. Even a vamp’s gotta think twice before trying anything.”

“Why?” said Marie. “They’re ordinary humans, right?”

“Vampire mental powers,” intoned John in a dramatic voice. “Basic training.”

Marie rolled her eyes and began to recite from memory.

“There are four things known that counter a vampire’s mental powers,” she said. “Strong emotional states, inebriation, high levels of mental discipline, and being Jack Henderson.”

She gave me an impish look and I rolled my eyes.

“Are they really teaching that in basic now?” I asked, halfway between pride and embarrassment.

“Sure, you’re the only known example of natural immunity out there.”

“There’s gotta be more,” John pointed out.

I shrugged.

“Most vampires would kill them on sight,” said Anna. “Jack may simply be the first to survive long enough to become known.”

“Yeah, but some must escape,” said Marie.

I let the discussion fade from my attention as I stared out of the window. The scenery was changing; we were starting to see buildings. Every one was shuttered and boarded up. We were in the no-man’s land between the humans in the south and the vamps in the north. Ahead I could see the shape of the Wheatsheaf. Its windows were boarded up just like the other buildings and the doors were heavily reinforced. A curl of smoke from the chimney spoke eloquently of the life within.

CHAPTER

3

Anna pulled the Land Rover around the back of the solid building and into an old barn. We parked at the rear of the building, between a beat up Ford Cortina and a van painted a lurid pink. Against one wall was a row of motorcycles, against the other was a rusty tractor and a genuine ex-army Scimitar APC.

I jumped out of the rear of the Land Rover, manhandling my bergan onto my back. I wanted to take the backpack with me—nearly everything I owned was inside—but I wanted my hands free. Marie hopped down next to me, a gym bag dangling from one hand, an L128A1 combat shotgun in the other. Anna and John caught up with us as we walked toward the back door of the bar. John had another bergan and both he and his wife were carrying L22 carbines. The door to the bar opened, spilling warm yellow light and the sounds of humanity into the night. Holding the door was Picker, a shaven-headed gorilla of a man who had earned his nickname thanks to his fascination with his nostrils. A brand new tattoo graced the side of his skull, a woman’s torso with comically large breasts and the legend ‘One Thing On My Mind’ around it.

Picker nodded respectfully.

“Pagan,” he said quietly.

“Picker,” I replied as I returned the nod.

We went in. Heads turned and the conversation stopped. As we made our way through the smoky atmosphere people stood and raised their glasses to us or inclined their heads politely. Occasionally one would greet me with my codename. Apparently people knew about Bill and were waiting for news.

I reached the bar, several patrons stepping back to give us room. I slowly and deliberately placed the FAL on the scarred and pitted wooden surface. Taffy looked me in the eye and nodded solemnly. A kind of collective sigh went around the room as he lined up four shot glasses next to the weapon. He selected a bottle of vodka and filled them up.

The four of us picked up the glasses and spent a moment in silent reflection.

“Bill,” I said finally, raising my glass, saluting my friend, and tossing back the fiery liquid. John, Anna and Marie followed suit.

I picked up my rifle and hung it from my shoulder.

“Norse in?” I asked as the conversation level in the bar rose again.

Taffy nodded and jerked his head behind him, to the quieter side of the bar where groups could be seen sitting around some tables.

“Anything to eat?” I asked.

“I’ll see what I can scare up for youse, okay?” he replied. I don’t know why he was called Taffy—he wasn’t Welsh—but nobody seemed to know his real name.

“Cheers, Taf.”

The big barman shrugged, his heavy metal t-shirt straining over his considerable gut. I tried to ignore the conversations going on as we made our way toward the rear of the bar. More than once I heard people say ‘one over the gun’ as they explained the significance of the ritual to their companions. It was both remembrance and a pledge to avenge. When friends fell, you drank a last toast to them, and you drank it over a weapon.

Norse lived up to his codename. He was big, built like a Viking warrior, with long blonde hair and a scraggly beard that pretty much hid his mouth from view. In the whole world there were four people alive whom I trusted to watch my back in a fight. Three of those were standing behind me and the fourth was sitting in front of me.

“Pagan,” he said, tilting his head.

“Norse,” I replied, returning the gesture.

“I think you know everybody,” he said with a wave of his hand, encompassing the five others seated at the table.

I nodded to each in turn and then nodded over my shoulder.

“You know everyone here except Marie,” I said. “Marie, this is Norse, and his band of misfit miscreants, Coop, Happy, Hacker, Bolt and Frenchie. Gentlemen—and Coop—this is Marie.”

Coop rolled his eyes while everyone else laughed. Greetings were exchanged as we dropped our luggage in the corner behind the table. I was pleased to see that Marie didn’t leave her weapon behind. Even here, surrounded by friends, we had to be careful. There was a moment of confused shuffling as a second table was commandeered and space was made for us whilst John and Anna went to the bar for drinks. Marie ended up sitting next to me sipping a diet coke, cautiously watching the others. John plunked a pint of bitter in front of me and sat down next to Frenchie. I noticed that, by accident or design, John and I were flanking our two ladies, despite the fact that both were far more dangerous than the aspiring knights out to protect them.

“So you gonna fill us in on what you’ve been up to, Norse?” I asked once my throat had been properly lubricated.

The blonde man shrugged and lit a cigarette.

“We were tracking a leech who bled a couple of young girls down near Milton Keynes,” he said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “Caught up with him about halfway up the M1. Staked the fucker and left him to rot. Got a new ride, too. You see it out there?”

I inclined my head and gave Norse a thoughtful stare that made absolutely no difference to his wide grin.

“Either I’m about to laugh at you or be jealous as hell,” I admitted. “The pink van or the scimitar?”

Norse gave a snort of amusement.

“The van belongs to Happy,” he said with an airy wave. “The Cortina’s mine. You should see the beast we have shoehorned under the bonnet. It may look like shit but it goes like stink.”

I gave him a long, flat look, and then turned to give Happy the same stare.

“What?” he said.

“Pink?” I asked incredulously.

“Camouflage,” he said in a reasonable tone.

“Camouflage? You do much hiding in flower beds?”

“Nope, but you’d never think there’s a team of vampire hunters in it, right?”

“True,” I said. “You wouldn’t expect to see men in it either, Happy. I worry for you.”

“Hey, it works,” he said defensively. “We’ve been attacked twice by vamps who thought there was a nice, helpless meal inside. Got ‘em both.”

“He’s got a point, boss,” said Marie with a dazzling smile. “I like the idea.”

Happy gifted Marie with one of his rare smiles and nodded his thanks.

“How long you been with Pagan?” asked Coop.

“Three months,” she replied. “Still picking things up.”

“That’s good, luv,” said Coop. “Pagan’s one of the best. Stick with him and you’ll do well.”

“Yeah, you’ll learn things you never wanted to know about,” Hacker told Marie’s breasts. “Pagan’s an education allright.”

“Hacker,” said Anna, smiling sweetly. “Her eyes are a little further up her body.”

Hacker turned bright red and immediately apologized, much to everyone’s amusement.

The rest of the night passed quickly, swapping stories and catching up with recent events. Taffy produced some juicy steaks from who-knows-where and eventually, with dawn only a few hours away, we decided to call it a night.

Leaden down with our belongings we climbed the rickety stairs that led to the upper floor.

“Sorry boss,” said John. “They only had two spare rooms.”

“That’s okay,” I replied mischievously. “Guess that means I’m bunking with Anna tonight.”

Anna let out a silvery laugh and slipped her free hand around my waist.

“I’d be delighted, lover. Shame you couldn’t feed me.”

“Well, I can’t be main course, but I wouldn’t mind dessert,” I replied, heavy on the salacious looks.

“Over my rotting corpse,” said John, trying not to laugh.

“Alas, my paramour,” said Anna, drawing away from me. “Our passion is thwarted yet again.”

Anna turned to Marie.

“Sorry love,” she said with a smile. “Looks like you’re stuck with him.”

Marie took hold of my hand, entwining her fingers with mine and threw me a dazzling smile.

“That’s okay,” she said sweetly. “I think I can put up with him for the night.”

John met my eyes and winked. I let out an aggravated sigh.

“John, if you and your good lady wife have finished your matchmaking attempts I could do with getting to sleep.”

We said our goodnights and entered our room. Inside was a double bed. Typical. Taffy couldn’t have given us a room with two single beds? There wasn’t even a couch.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” I said firmly as I dumped my bergan in the corner.

“Don’t be silly, Jack,” she said. “You’ve been awake for three straight days. We’ll both take the bed.”

“Marie, that wouldn’t be right.”

“Why? Don’t you trust me?”

“Oh, I trust you. It’s me I don’t trust.”

She walked to me, stopping almost close enough to touch. Her eyes caught and held mine.

“That’s very flattering, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But look at yourself. You’re about to keel over. I think my virtue is safe for tonight. Besides, if you did try anything either I’d agree, in which case everything’s fine, or I wouldn’t, in which case you’d end up with a broken arm.”

I considered this as I unbuckled my webbing and dropped it next to my bergan. She was probably right about both points. It wasn’t that I thought I’d lose control—or that my advances would be unwelcome if I did—it was a simple case of what’s right and proper. I was nearly dead on my feet, however, and far too exhausted to argue.

“You win,” I said with a laugh.

“Good,” she said, a winsome smile touching her lips. “I’m going to have a bath, then we can get some sleep.”

She turned and went to the room’s en suite bathroom and, I admit, I watched her leave. She looks very cute from behind.

Once alone I shrugged off my jacket and vest, wrinkling my nose at the odor of my sweat. It had been a long chase. Two days of hard traveling, finding clues and asking questions, followed by that nightmarish moonlit pursuit across the countryside. During the chase I was too hopped up on adrenaline to feel weariness, but it was queuing up to kick my arse tonight.

I distributed my weapons around the room. I unbuckled the various straps that held the holsters to my thighs and unsnapped the belt. The SIG went under the pillow; the MP7 remained in its holster, hanging by the belt from the headboard. Both the PDW and the commando knife would be within easy reach even if I couldn’t get to the SIG for some reason.

I took the FAL over to the battered dressing table and removed the magazine, the round in the breech, and the incendiary round from the grenade launcher. Then I methodically stripped and cleaned the big gun. Going through the familiar motions had an almost ritualistic feel, taking me back to the earliest days of my basic training. The reassuring snap and click of freshly cleaned components coming together was like a benediction.

I loaded the FAL and leaned it against the dresser. It didn’t need to be close by. In the event that something tried to attack us here I wouldn’t be going for the rifle, I’d be grabbing a gun that wasn’t a big as a barge.

Marie came out of the bathroom, trailing a cloud of steam and wearing only a soft, pink towel. She had a dreamy look on her face and her skin shone with warmth. She looked so stunning that I felt my heart leap into my throat.

“Bathroom’s free,” she said impishly. “Need some help washing your back?”

“No, thank you all the same,” I replied gallantly.

I grabbed my bergan and made myself at home in the bathroom. I took another spare weapon from the backpack—a second SIG with an extended, threaded barrel—and put it on the edge of the bath.

The shave and shower felt like a little slice of heaven and, by the time I emerged, clad in a pair of baggy boxers, I was on the verge of sleep. I left the second SIG in the bathroom, just in case, and replaced my bergan in the corner.

Marie was lying face down on the bed, wearing a snug t-shirt and a pair of very tight, very short shorts. She had the TV remote in her hand and was channel surfing.

“Anything good on?” I asked as I slid between the sheets.

“Nope,” she said, switching the set off.

She dived under the covers and snuggled close to me.

“Tell me something,” she said. “What did Anna mean earlier about paying John for his blood?”

I chuckled and shook my head.

“That’s a long-standing joke,” I said.

She snuggled even closer and laid her head on my chest.

“You gonna explain it to me or do I have to pester you all night?”

“Anna always says that she and John have a business relationship. Every time she gets a suck, he gets a blow.”

Marie was silent for a moment, and then she started laughing.

“Think she’s serious?” she asked merrily.

“I don’t know and I don’t want to know,” I said firmly.

“So that’s what you meant when you said you wanted dessert from her?”

“Yeah, that’s also a running joke,” I said, fighting sleep. “I can’t be main course, but I can get dessert.”

“And John puts up with you flirting with his wife like that?”

“John started the joke. He thinks it’s hilarious. I guess he figures I’m safe.”

“Are you? That’s a shame. Safe is boring,” she laughed again. “So why can’t you be main course?”

“My blood,” I said drowsily. “Aren’t they teaching that in training too?”

“What about your blood?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

“Something weird in my blood chemistry. My blood burns vampires like a weak acid. Doesn’t damage the skin too much but if they try to bite me they better count on not tasting anything for a few weeks.”

Marie lay silently for a while and I started to doze. I was in that twilight world between awake and asleep when she said something else. I struggled to fight off the fatigue.

“I’m sorry?” I said muzzily.

“I asked you why you keep pushing me away. Why do you keep me at arm’s length?”

“Sweetheart, if we were any closer we’d need birth control.”

“Pretty much what I had in mind,” she said archly. “But you know what I mean. You’re single; I’m single. I like you and I’m pretty sure you like me, so why not? That business about you being my superior just doesn’t cut it.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No, Jack. Look, how long before you submit my evaluation to the Ministry?”

“It’s due in about a week. To tell the truth, it’s already gone.”

“And did I pass?”

“You know you did.”

“So, I am a hunter, right? The rest is just bullshit and formality, right? Give me my badge and I’m official.”

I really didn’t want to open this discussion again. Up until now she had seemed to accept military regs as a good reason. Shows what I know.

“Besides, we’re not military. Officially we’re police officers, right? Is there something else going on?”

“Like what?”

“Is there someone else? Someone in London?” she asked in a small voice.

“Sweetheart, there’s no-one else. It’s just …” I trailed off, unsure how to go on.

“Just what?”

“This world. Us. Our job. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Do what, Jack?”

“Getting involved with someone—you—when I could be dead tomorrow just doesn’t seem right.”

“Bullshit. That’s bullshit and you know it. Do you think it would be any easier to lose you just because we hadn’t made love?”

I lay there in silence, fighting both sleep and the logic of her words. Was she right? Was I making excuses to keep her away? All vampire hunters are, ultimately, alone. Yeah, most of us have teams, groups, whatever. But it’s always ultimately us. It’s Pagan and his team, Norse and his team. Was the lone wolf image a masculine fantasy? Were we alone because that’s the way we wanted it to be or just because that’s the way we believed it should be? Was I denying myself the comfort of a human relationship simply because it didn’t fit the image I had of myself?

Would it be any easier to lose her just because we’d never taken it further?

She lifted her head again.

“Jack?” she whispered.

“You may have a point,” I said finally.

“Well that’s a start,” she said and kissed me on the cheek. “Sleep on it, okay?”

I muttered something as the fatigue tugged at me, but I was warm, comfortable, exhausted and asleep in seconds. Yeah, it surprised me too.

CHAPTER

4

When I woke up I was alone, and that was worrying. Not that Marie had left—she slept less than me and she hadn’t been as tired—but that her leaving hadn’t awoken me. I glanced at my watch. It was one in the afternoon.

My stomach bellowed for attention; I could smell bacon. A giant bacon sandwich with lashings of brown sauce sounded like the perfect way to start the day. I hauled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and stumbled downstairs, buckling my gunbelt into place. Marie was sitting in the bar at a table with Frenchie and Norse. She leaned in close to Frenchie and gave a musical laugh. I was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy.

“Y’want some breakfast, Pagan?” said Taffy from behind the bar.

“Sure,” I said, my stomach still rumbling.

“One big boy special, comin’ up.”

Taffy knew me well. His big boy specials were legendary amongst the vampire hunters. It was a large crusty roll piled with sausages and bacon. If he had any available he would add fried eggs, mushrooms, cheese, fried onions, and anything else you could think of. I liked them plain and slathered with sauce, but I’ll eat them any way they come. The body is a machine and it needs fuel.

They were named because Taffy insisted it took a big boy to finish one. It was a heart attack on a plate, but oh so good.

I walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. Marie threw her arms around my neck and kissed me on the cheek.

“You’re awake!” she said excitedly.

“Yep,” I said, returning her kiss. “The guys been keeping you entertained?”

“Frenchie was just telling me about a certain weekend in Singapore.”

I gave Frenchie an amused look.

“And whilst our snail-eating friend was spilling his guts,” I said smoothly, “did he tell you everything?”

Marie’s eyes widened.

“Oh Frenchie, you kept something back?” she asked in mock surprise.

“Don’t do it, mon ami,” said Frenchie with a broad smile.

“Oh, I think I’m gonna,” I replied, raising my eyebrow.

“What? What happened?” asked Marie eagerly.

“Well, did he tell you about that brothel, about how we were in there when the police burst in looking for a drug dealer?”

Marie nodded.

“Did he tell you that we were so drunk that we tried to tell the cops we’d walked in by mistake and we thought it was a restaurant?”

Marie nodded again, trying not to laugh.

“And we tried to bribe the cops not to arrest us and they took our money before they told us what they were really there for?”

There were tears running down Marie’s cheeks from laughing so hard.

“Mon ami, sil vous plait,” said Frenchie, appealing for mercy. “Please do not.”

“And did he tell you,” I asked, slowly and carefully, “that when the police burst in he was shuffling through the lobby with his trousers and underpants ‘round his ankles, lipstick all over his manhood, yelling ‘Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! C’est une homme! Une homme! It was a man!’?”

Marie howled with laughter and Norse roared as he pounded the table with his fist.

“Oh, Pagan,” said Norse when he could speak again. “I’ve heard that story a dozen times but for some reason Frenchie always forgot to mention that bit.”

Frenchie was giving me a hurt look.

“But she look so beautiful,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, she did,” I conceded. “She had a great butt, lovely pair of boobs, and, apparently, a nice little dick.”

That started everyone laughing again. While we were recovering Taffy brought over my breakfast. It was everything I’d expected. There was even a fried egg sticking out of the side.

I took a bite of the greasy sandwich and chewed with enjoyment.

“Norse?” said Taffy from the bar. “Phone call for ya.”

Most of the phone lines around the country were falling apart and the vamps had been destroying wireless network towers. You couldn’t pay people enough to go repair them so communications were spotty. Most of the Ministry’s agents relied on satellite phones or simply picked up and left messages at those safe houses that had dedicated underground hard lines.

I sat and finished my breakfast while Norse took his call and Frenchie entertained Marie with an off-color account of his war experiences. His demi-brigade had worked closely with my former unit as we fought a rear-guard action in parts of Eastern Europe. He was telling the story about how a joint patrol had tracked a vamp deep into the Black Forest. The only thing we found after a night of tense searching was a young couple that was taking advantage of the seclusion to consummate their relationship. Frenchie’s retelling was entertaining and frequently hilarious.

“Pagan?” said Norse from the bar.

I took my time walking over, pausing to drop my empty plate next to the kitchen and give my thanks to Taffy.

“What’s up?” I asked as Norse slammed the phone down.

“Well, looks like we’re stuck here for the moment. The Ministry’s sending some suit up to give us a message so important that the phone can’t be trusted. He’ll be here before noon tomorrow.”

“You and your group or everyone?”

“Everyone. Apparently the head shed’s got something planned.”

‘Head shed’ is slang for the intelligence department. They gather intel on all the major vamps and their movements, and give us targets based on their information.

I hated dealing with the Ministry like this. For some reason they could never get the hang of the idea that we sleep during the day. The vamps are nocturnal and, therefore, so are the hunters. But any time a suit wants to give us a briefing it’s always eleven hundred hours or close to it. I know why: it’s so their worthless, cowardly hides are safe. An eleven a.m. meeting means they get into the danger area only once the sun is well up. They can give the briefing and skedaddle home before sunset. The rest of us either have to sleep some the night before or sleep during the briefing. After all, the suits are the ones really fighting this war, right?

The rest of the day was spent with preparations. If the head shed had a big job in the works we needed to be ready. When John woke up he gave the Land Rover a thorough check, and Norse went with me to visit a gun dealer in town to buy some more ammunition.

The town was almost deserted; most of the shops and houses boarded up, and the silence was unnerving. Even during daylight hours it was like a ghost town.

Dusk was rapidly approaching by the time we made it back to the Wheatsheaf. Anna was awake and looking serene and composed as usual. Marie was staring anxiously at the door when we walked in. Her smile lifted the gloom somewhat and the hug she gave me was enthusiastic. Anna gave us a knowing look and smiled warmly.

The door banged open again and John hurried in. He gratefully accepted a pint from Taffy and flopped down in a chair next to his wife.

“Oh, yeah,” he said with satisfaction after putting a dent in his drink.

“How’s the Land Rover?” I asked.

“Sound as a pound, mate,” he replied. “Or at least sound as a pound used to be any rate.”

I was about to reply when an ominous roll of thunder cut me off.

“Well that’s gonna be fun,” said Norse in disgust.

I agreed with him. Vamps had a flair for the dramatic and seemed to like stormy weather, so tonight would be a dangerous time for anyone out and about. Most of the bar’s patrons were hurrying home to beat both the night and the storm, so it was just the two teams left in the bar when the rain hit.

It didn’t take long before we decided to turn in for the night. Picker was left sitting by the door, cradling a shotgun and sipping from an enormous mug of coffee.

I was hanging my gunbelt from the headboard when I noticed Marie giving me a speculative look.

“Something I can do for you?” I asked with a smile.

“Oh yes,” she said as she lay down on the bed. “There’s a few things you can do for me.”

I laughed as I popped the magazine on my SIG and checked the load. Satisfied it was full I slid the mag home and placed the pistol under the pillow. I hadn’t fired the weapon since checking it last, but it always paid to be sure.

She flipped over to lie on her stomach and propped her chin in her hands.

“Still thinking?” she said teasingly.

I put my hands in my pockets and pursed my lips.

“And if I am?” I asked finally.

She slid off of the bed and stood close enough that our bodies were almost touching.

“Take your time,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere except to have a bath.”

She kissed me on the chin and walked away.

“But you are watching me walk,” she said from the bathroom door.

I jumped guiltily. She was right; I had been watching her walk. She winked and closed the door behind her.

I sat down on the bed and wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. I switched on the TV in an attempt to distract myself. Most of the channels were nonsense.

There were silly soap operas with plots and characters that just didn’t appeal to me.

There was a silly sitcom about a long-suffering woman whose husband was a vampire of the Bella Lugosi mold, who apparently had lost the ability to distinguish between a “w” and a “v” when he was turned.

There was some silly program about a bunch of teens working deep in the north as undercover vampire hunters and, it seemed, having sex with each other on a regular basis.

There was that silly movie adaptation of that silly series of novels about that silly vampire hunter who would have lasted about thirty seconds out here in the real world against real vamps.

There was a silly documentary about vampire hunters that managed not to get everything wrong.

I clicked past old movies, bad dramas, and stupid people voicing their stupid opinions.

There was the vampire channel. Oh, that one’s a treat. One long, 24-hour infomercial about how much better our lives would be if we just joined our American cousins in accepting the vamps as citizens.

There was the news. Coverage of a Ministry hit just outside of Newcastle. A nest of vamps had taken over and renovated a large industrial area, turning it into chic homes, complete with bars, clubs and restaurants. It was a showplace, we’d learned via our spies in the north, a place to show off to the world’s media, a stage-managed propaganda tool. ‘Come see how we can live together in perfect harmony,’ the vamps would say, ‘the humans are the bad guys, we just want to live and let live’. The Ministry needed to nip that in the bud and army Lynx helicopters and RAF Eurofighters had flattened the area in what the Ministry of Defence was calling ‘a tactical precision strike with minimal loss of life’.

A statement, given by some ridiculous-looking spokesman from an American vampire special interest group, followed the report. A pretty-boy vampire with silky blonde locks and way too many ruffles on his white silk shirt expressed concern over our treatment of his murderous kin and called on the US government to introduce sanctions against us. The reporters sat rapt as he went through his prepared statement and I swear I saw a woman in a business suit staring at the bloodsucker with naked lust.

That’s what happens when you let the vampires in.

Of all the vampiric myths and legends, the one about inviting a vampire into your home is one of the few that’s based in truth. A vampire cannot come into your home unless you invite them in. Once you do, you’re neck deep in blood. So what happens when the government invites vampires into the whole country? Gives them citizenship and asks them to make themselves at home?

That’s what happens. You get mass-murdering leeches expressing concerns on television and everyone just lapping it up. The blood of that pretty-boy’s last victim was probably still warm in his throat, but the women in the audience were all wondering what he was like in bed. All the guys were probably jealous, wondering where they could sign up.

It was making me sick. The news was full of sly hints and innuendo about how we were worse than the vampires we hunted. As usual, money talks. The vamps had a lot of money. A few hundred years of working behind the scenes means a lot of wealth, and that much wealth buys a lot of power and influences a lot of journalists.

I continued flicking through the channels. Some moronic talking head in an expensive suit ranted about the hunters killing indiscriminately on a channel that, I knew for a fact, was at least part owned by prominent vampires. They quickly segued into a story about an MP who was campaigning on a platform of cutting the hunters’ funding and making peace with the vampires. Several biased polls showed that public support for this idiot was large and growing. I finally gave up when the same channel started a gushing piece on a vampire in California who was taking a case to court because he wasn’t allowed to stand for election.

And then we came to the worst thing on television by a long, long way. Me. The Ministry is fighting the war on two fronts. We fight the vamps on the ground, but we’re also fighting a propaganda war. The vamps have their 24-hour suckathon channel and we have me, Pagan. I’m the poster boy for the hunters. They make Pagan movies—I think they’re up to the fourth or fifth—and there’s a TV series. Some chiseled steely-eyed hero who fights the dastardly vamps and foils their nefarious plots, all in under thirty minutes. Right now this pseudo-me was investigating some ‘orrible vampire murder and being awfully British about the whole thing.

I switched the set off in disgust and lay back on the bed. The whole world was going mad, had been for decades.

I heard the bathroom door open and felt Marie sit on the bed next to me. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” she asked.

“The whole world, that’s what’s wrong. Half of the fuckers don’t even want our protection; most of the rest just don’t want to see us. What the hell are we fighting for?”

She leaned over me, her damp hair framing her beautiful face. She was wearing only a fluffy white towel and she looked, in my opinion, simply stunning.

“You’re fighting for us,” she said softly. “You’re fighting for all of us, for all of humanity. Just because they don’t want it and don’t understand it doesn’t mean they deserve to live with the consequences. We can’t let the vamps win. If they do we’re all screwed.”

I nodded and rolled my eyes.

“That’s the trouble with being the good guys,” I said with a smile. “You have to keep on fighting even when it seems hopeless—especially when it seems hopeless.”

She leaned closer and kissed me. Marie has the softest, nicest lips I’ve even known. Her lips parted and her tongue slipped hesitantly into my mouth. I responded enthusiastically. The kiss went on for a long time. Eventually she broke it off and smiled at me.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much,” I said. “I can get behind the idea of fighting to save kisses like that.”

“Wow,” she said and laughed. “That should be the cheesiest line in the world. How did you make it sound romantic?”

“It’s a talent, I guess,” I said with a shrug.

“Ah, but remember, only use your powers for good,” she said with a wink, “Now go shower and we’ll go to sleep.”

“Sleep? You think I could sleep after you just did that to me?”

“Not tonight, honey.” She said, her face growing serious. “I’ll explain it to you in the morning. Just trust me on this.”

She leaned in and kissed me again, longer and deeper this time. Yeah, I was going to have trouble sleeping tonight.

CHAPTER

5

I awoke to moonlit darkness. The blinds were slightly open and the room was dimly lit with a silvery sheen. The bed next to me was empty again, but that wasn’t what had disturbed me. I lay there, alert and attentive, listening for the sound that had sent me hurtling from sleep. It came again, a wet snapping sound followed by a soft gurgling noise.

I knew that sound. There was a werewolf in the room and it was changing. I went for the SIG as a huge weight landed on my chest and a pair of powerful, clawed hands pinned my wrists to the bed. There was a brief flurry of hair, teeth and hot breath in my face, and a low, continuous growl came from an inch in front of my nose.

“Marie?” I whispered, trying to calm my pounding heart. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

She moved closer, her cold, wet nose touching mine, and gazed at me. Then she licked my cheek.

I laughed softly, not wanting to wake anyone else. The moonlight through the open blinds must have triggered the change. I looked left and right at my trapped wrists.

“Wanna let me up, sweetheart?”

She shook her head and bared her teeth. That was a werewolf grin. Suddenly I didn’t feel as relaxed about this situation.

“Marie?”

She straightened up, keeping my hands pinned, and wiggled downwards until she was straddling my hips. She leaned back down and licked along my jaw, then caught my ear between her teeth, gently tugging, her breath hot and passionate.

“Marie?” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Not like this, okay? Sweetheart? Not like this.”

She pressed against me, making small, urgent noises in her throat, and my body started to respond.

That was something that had taken me a while to come to terms with. In her wolf form Marie was almost as cute as she was as a human. She was as tall as I am and her lithe body was still beautiful under the fur. She still had a cute behind, even with the tail, and her breasts were just as full and firm. Her eyes were a deep, liquid brown and her blonde hair had become a thick, soft mane that curled over her shoulders and down her back. The rest of her body was covered in short, soft brown fur and her muzzle was petite and tapered, more like a fox than a wolf. Her muscles were bigger and more defined, and her shoulders broader, but she still managed to look amazingly feminine.

No, I had never had the urge to mess about in her wolf form, but she was naked, on top of me, and she was being fairly forward with her movements. My body was responding big time. She stopped and made a soft interrogative noise before raising her hips and looking between us.

“Marie? Please don’t do this.”

She gave me another wolfy grin and moved close, her face inches from mine. Her lips parted and her teeth glistened in the moonlight. Then she suddenly started licking my face in a passable imitation of a dog happy to see its owner. I did the only thing I could, screwing my face up and shaking my head from side to side in an attempt to get out of her reach. I was trying not to laugh too loudly and losing the battle.

She let go of my wrists and sat upright, her hands clamped to her stomach and her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Oh very funny,” I hissed. “Okay, you got me.”

She climbed off of me and collapsed onto the bed, still silently laughing. I sat up and reached for the cord to close the blinds. Behind me I could hear her changing back to human and gave her time to finish before turning around. In the darkness I could make out her naked body on the bed and I slid down next to her. She threw herself at me, snuggling close and burying her face in my neck.

“Oh, that was hilarious,” she said after a few minutes of uncontrollable laughter. “You should have seen your face. That was too funny.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, trying to remain stern. “Joke’s on me. So what brought that on? And what happened to the clothes you went to bed in?”

“Well, I was gonna give you a different surprise. I was going to let you wake up next to me being all naked, but when I came out of the bathroom the blinds were open and, well, I couldn’t stop it. I changed.”

I understood that part. Marie could change at will, but when exposed to the full moon the change happened automatically and there was nothing she could to about it.

“Is that something to do with earlier?” I asked, gaining a sudden insight. “Why you didn’t want to make love tonight?”

She nodded against my shoulder.

“Full moon tonight. It was taking an effort to stay human; it still is. I didn’t want to change halfway through. That might have freaked you out a little. Trust you to want it the one night I couldn’t do it.”

I opened my mouth to reply when a scream rent the air. I was halfway out of the bed before the echoes had died away, my MP7 in my hands.

“Stay here,” I hissed as I opened the door a crack.

“It came from outside,” she whispered.

I went down the stairs, feeling slightly ridiculous in just my boxers. Picker was at the door, peering nervously into the night.

“Picker?” I whispered. “What the fuck?”

He replied without even turning.

“I dunno, I can’t see shit, but there is something going on out there!”

There was another scream.

“I’m going to get dressed. Stay there!”

I went back upstairs at a run and pounded on the door to Anna’s room, then went back into ours.

Marie was sitting up in bed with the lights on. I pulled on my combat trousers and began to struggle into my boots.

“What’s going on Jack?” said John from the door.

“Didn’t you hear the screaming? Don’t tell me I woke you guys!” I said, surprised.

“No, we weren’t asleep,” he replied defensively.

“Well get Anna up and get armed. Something’s happening.”

I pulled on my body armor and turned to Marie.

“What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

Marie gave me a stunned look for a second and jumped out of bed. Whilst I buckled on my gunbelt she slipped into her fighting clothes. She had a one-piece that came down to her knees and elbows, made of lycra so it wouldn’t tear when she changed. When she was human it looked a little bulky, thanks to the armor plates that protected her kidneys, spine, stomach and chest, but when she changed it was form-fitting and sleek.

I picked up my FAL and stepped into the corridor. Anna and John were halfway downstairs. John was in full DPM and Anna was dressed much like me in olive green combat trousers and a black t-shirt. On her back was her medical pack.

Marie changed as she came down the stairs and stepped into the bar as a werewolf.

“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Frenchie.

“Okay,” I said professionally. “You all knew about Marie so let’s not act like scared children. Let’s get outside and find out what’s going on.”

We stepped cautiously out into the bar’s yard, keeping a watch for ambush. We spread out, covering all angles. I turned to watch Marie as she stalked forward, delicately sniffing the air. She turned to face me and growled softly.

“Vampires,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear.

Marie loped out of the Wheatsheaf’s yard and down the road towards town. I jogged after her, eyes intent and senses alert. I knew Marie would spot any danger before I would but the adrenaline was pumping and I was on my game.

Ahead was a crumpled body lying by the side of the road. I slowed, bringing my rifle up as Marie circled around the recumbent form. When I nodded to her she cautiously turned the body over. It was human, a young girl with twin puncture marks on her neck.

There was a commotion off to the side and a young man came boiling out of a house, a shotgun held in his trembling hands.

“Get away from her you monster!” he screamed, bringing his gun up towards Marie.

“No!” I bellowed, stepping in front of her. “She’s one of us!”

Norse and his crew arrived along with Anna and John.

“Anna, see what you can do for her. John, stand guard.”

Anna shrugged off her pack and knelt beside the girl. The army clothes were important. If anyone noticed she was a vampire, they’d freak. In the uniform she looked just like the rest of the hunters and most people didn’t tend to look much further than that.

“Coop,” said Norse. “Stay with them. Make sure the kid with the shotgun doesn’t get enthusiastic.”

Coop nodded and went to stand over Anna and John, his Sterling 9mm SMG held ready as he glared around.

Marie again took the lead, I followed, with Norse, Bolt and Frenchie behind me. Happy took position to our left, his G3 tight against his shoulder as he scanned ahead, and Hacker took the right, his belt-fed Minimi swinging across the buildings. Norse had his Steyr AUG and Frenchie had stubbornly clung to his FAMAS, both 5.56mm bullpup rifles and good in close quarters. Bolt had his Russian SVD sniper rifle covering our rear.

I’m often of the opinion that there’s no such thing as too much firepower when it comes to vampires, and even with all those weapons around me I felt exposed.

We were moving down a narrow street, Marie sniffing the air and leading the way when we heard the noise of breaking glass ahead. As we drew near we could see why.

A pair of young vamps in matching leather jackets and with long, flowing hair stood in front of a house. One had just thrown a petrol bomb in through a broken window and flames were already licking around the frame.

“Come out and play with us, little ones!” shrieked one vamp in a high-pitched voice.

The other lit a second petrol bomb and threw it through a broken upstairs window, giggling manically. My FAL hit my shoulder and I shot him through the chest, spraying blood and tissue from the ragged exit wound. Marie was already in mid air, landing on the first vamp with teeth and claws flashing with reflected fire, tearing the bloodsucker apart and roaring her rage.

A third vamp, a lit bottle in his hand, stepped out from the side of the house, his eyes widened as his companion died. Bolt hit him with a well-placed shot, shattering the bottle and spraying burning fuel all over his body. The vamp, a barely recognizable humanoid shape in a pillar of flame, screamed pitifully until Hacker tore him in half with a long burst.

An old couple came staggering out of the house and collapsed, coughing and weeping on the road. I knelt by the man and shook his shoulder urgently.

“Is there anyone else in there?” I asked.

The man looked at me with brave eyes and shook his head before the coughing took over. His wife seemed a little better off and actually managed to speak.

“Our son and his wife took the baby out the back way,” she gasped. “They’re making for the Wheatsheaf.”

“Bolt, Hacker,” I ordered. “Go find them, make sure they get there.”

Marie came back over, her hands and face streaked with blood. The woman from the house looked the werewolf up and down before breaking into a broad grin.

“Did you do for that little bastard, dear?” she asked, nodding at the broken remains of the vampire.

Marie nodded and bared her teeth in a grin.

“Good girl,” said the woman.

I gave her a questioning look.

“Oh the werewolves were never any trouble,” she said with a dismissive wave. “Such a shame when the bloody vampires ran them off.”

I suddenly noticed that neither Bolt nor Hacker had moved. I opened my mouth to yell at them when I was interrupted by the sound of slow, sardonic clapping. A figure stepped out of the night. He had long black hair held back with a scarlet ribbon and a pale, flawless complexion. He was wearing tight leather trousers that bulged rather obviously around his crotch and a black silk shirt that was ruffled at the neck and cuffs. Vamps always seemed to like that flamboyant crap. He slowly applauded us as his lips parted in a sarcastic smile, showing pointed fangs.

“Well done,” he purred, his voice touched by a faint European accent of some description. “You managed to kill my little pets, but I am here now.”

I cursed silently. My FAL was pointing at the ground, what seemed like a mile away from the vamp. Mind tricks don’t work on Marie’s wolf side, so she and I were the only ones free to move. I bunched my muscles in anticipation. I would have to stand to shoot because the old couple was in the way.

Marie inched slowly, circling the vampire, trying to distract him.

“Oh no, my pretty little wolf,” he said seductively. “Stay where you are or I’ll have to order one of my new humans to kill you and that would be so tiresome. I’d dearly love to know how much punishment you could take in my bed. Such fun we will have together.”

Frenchie, his face shiny with sweat, his shoulders shaking with the effort of fighting the vampire, raised his assault rifle and pointed it at Marie.

“Shall I have the human kill you, little wolf?” the vampire asked.

Marie and I moved at the same moment. I stood and raised my rifle in one fluid movement as she leapt to the side. The vampire made Frenchie pull the trigger, spraying rounds on full auto.

My FAL roared its opinion—and my outrage—at the vamp, tearing a hole in his throat and blowing most of the back of his neck away. For some reason that broke his concentration, which was nice.

The vamp stood, blood soaking his shirt and a stunned expression on his face as six guns swung towards him. His hand was raised, palm out, and he seemed to be struggling to speak. Seeing as there was nothing he could say that we wanted to hear, he died in a fusillade of silver-tipped rounds.

Before the vamp had even hit the ground I was sprinting across to where Marie had landed. Her leg had a bloody wound where at least one of Frenchie’s shots had hit the mark and I went to my knees next to her. Frenchie stood anxiously, his eyes wide and frantic.

“I did not hurt her, mon ami?” he pleaded. “She is okay, no? I did not mean to, the vampire, he was too strong!”

I touched her calf, cleaning the blood off as Frenchie hopped from foot to foot.

“Sil vous plait, mon ami, will she be good?”

I peered closer and gave a snort of disgust.

“This is barely a scratch,” I said, fetching Marie a slap on the rump. “Get up and stop scaring the poor man, you’re fine.”

Marie sat up, grinning hugely as Frenchie heaved a sigh of relief.

“You are not a nice woman,” said Frenchie, laughing. “I thought that I had hurt you, ma chéri.”

Marie gave the shaking Frenchman a quick hug and then pointed at the dead vampire.

“I know,” I said shrugging. “Who the hell was that?”

“This one’s new, I don’t think he was one of The Three,” said Norse, frowning.

Marie looked at me, a question in her eyes.

“The Three,” I explained briefly. “The three vampire Lords who rule the north of England. Glavidia, who calls herself ‘Queen of the Night,’ Johann, who goes by the title of ‘The Marquis de Sang,’ and one that we only know as Lady Lucia.”

“Yeah,” said Hacker, prodding the body with his boot. “This one was powerful. Most leeches couldn’t dominate five trained vampire hunters at once. This was someone new, and he was powerful.”

Happy was watching Marie, noting how she was favoring her wounded leg.

“You sure you’re okay, luv?” he asked, giving her one of his rare smiles.

I rolled my eyes. Women tend to worry a lot about being alone with a group of men, like we’d all turn in to slavering beasts and gang rape them. In reality, however, young women tend to turn any group of guys into overprotective big brothers. Unless, that is, she’s older than they are, in which case she usually ends up mothering them mercilessly.

I had personally seen Happy go up against three vampires armed only with an ornamental silver fire poker and here he was asking solicitous questions of a werewolf?

Marie shrugged and gave Happy a toothy grin and he smiled sheepishly in return. I rolled my eyes again. It seemed that rather than freaking out about her werewolf form, the guys were happily accepting her.

CHAPTER

6

I woke up with Marie the next morning, which, I must admit, was a pleasant experience. We’d swept the town but failed to find any more vamps. Either we’d gotten them all or we’d scared the rest off. It was after oh-three-hundred before we’d returned to the Wheatsheaf. Taffy had some good news, though. The old couple from the town, their son, his wife, and their baby had made it to safety and they were all now staying at the inn. That made me feel better.

Marie’s wound had been treated and Frenchie’s repeated apologies had been firmly brushed off. Everyone knew it hadn’t been his fault so there didn’t seem to be much point in getting angry about it.

Marie stirred and muttered something in her sleep. Then she curled her arms tighter around me and let out a contented sigh.

Once again Marie had surprised me. When she shifted back to her human form her hands and face were still streaked with the dead vampire’s blood. I’d been a little tentative, expecting her to be revolted. She had simply gone for a shower, brushed her teeth, and dived under the covers to snuggle with me.

I watched her sleeping form for a while. She was beautiful, strong and intelligent. What’s more, she accepted my lifestyle without problems and shared the risks without complaint.

I think that was the time, laying warm and happy in bed, that I finally admitted it to myself. I did love her. Love is a tough word for men to choke out, but there’s none other to describe my feelings for her.

Lying there with Marie in my arms I could almost forget about the ugly world outside. Now that’s the unattainable dream. I had to get up fairly soon. The suit from the Ministry would be here by now and he was probably waiting for me.

Marie yawned delicately and turned her face toward me, her chin resting on my chest.

“Morning,” she said sleepily.

“Morning sweetheart,” I replied. “Sleep well?”

“Well, but not long enough,” she said, yawning again.

“Well go back to sleep, if you want,” I said. “I’ve got to go down and meet the guy from the Ministry.”

“No,” she said with resignation. “I’d better come too. Aren’t John and Anna going to be there, too?”

I nodded and tried to stifle my own yawn. Marie frowned.

“How’s Anna going to manage to be awake during the day?” she asked.

“Well, in the same way we were awake last night,” I said. “She’s weak during the day and some of her abilities are compromised, but as long as she doesn’t go into direct sunlight she’ll be fine.”

“Well, let’s get going,” she said as she rolled out of bed.

Yes, I watched her go. I was tired, not dead.

While I was waiting for her to finish up in the bathroom I stripped and cleaned my FAL again. Keeping the weapon clean was simply another morning ritual.

Showered, dressed, armed and ready we went downstairs. It was something of an official event so we were dressed in what passed for our uniform. DPM trousers and black tops. Marie’s was her fighting suit; mine was a black t-shirt under my body armor.

In the bar, Norse was talking with someone who was obviously from the Ministry; he was small, fussy and going bald, clad in a dark blue suit, crisp white shirt and subdued red tie.

“Pagan,” said Norse in a tightly controlled voice.

“Norse,” I replied, careful to keep my voice flat and neutral. Something was wrong here.

“This is Alfred Quigley, from the Ministry,” he said, nodding at the suit.

“Mr. Quigley,” I said, inclining my head slightly.

“Sergeant, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, extending one exquisitely manicured hand.

I shook his hand, noting the attempt at a firm grip. He was probably one of those people who believed you could tell everything about a man from his handshake and spent some time practicing it.

“I’m not a sergeant anymore,” I pointed out. “I retired from the military.”

“Technically, no,” he said pompously. “In actual fact you were merely seconded to the Ministry on long-term detachment. The discharge papers you signed were merely for public consumption.”

I shrugged and turned to Marie.

“Marie, this is Mr. Quigley, Mr. Quigley, this is Marie Hennessey.”

Marie politely nodded to the weasely little man. Okay, so I took an instant dislike to him. It wasn’t just who he was or who he represented—having desk jockeys make decisions that had an effect on real soldiers always set my teeth on edge—but the look he’d put in Norse’s eyes. He’d said something to make Norse angry and that made me wary.

Quigley led us to a private room in the rear of the bar. Anna and John were already in there, as was Norse’s crew.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Quigley said, clapping his hands together in a manner that made my trigger finger itch. “I’ll be brief. We have an unprecedented opportunity to deal a significant blow to the vampires in Manchester.”

I was sitting in a badly stuffed chair, next to Marie and almost opposite Norse, so I don’t think either of us missed the expression that flickered over my old friend’s bearded face. Norse didn’t approve of whatever was coming, that much was obvious.

“Glavidia has taken over and inhabited Havelock Manor.”

He was looking straight at me when he said that and I knew why. I’d been to Havelock Manor before, in my professional capacity in that unit I’m not allowed to talk about. The incident was fairly famous and the outcome fairly well known. For official purposes I am definitely not saying that I was one of the black-clad men in respirators and hoods who appeared as if out of nowhere, stormed the manor, killed the terrorists and freed the hostages.

The upshot of that incident—which I’m absolutely not saying I was involved in—is that I know the manor house like the back of my hand.

“We think,” the suit went on, “that an assassination might be in order here. If we can take out Glavidia in the seat of her power, the effect will be incalculable.”

“So call in the crabs,” I said, invoking the military’s nickname for the Royal Air Force. “Bomb Havelock Manor into a hole in the ground and call it a day.”

I had a nagging suspicion about where this little session was going and I didn’t like what I was thinking.

“Good idea,” said Quigley, his expression indicating that he felt it to be anything but. “There are, however, two significant problems. One, we couldn’t be sure that such an attack would kill Glavidia and two, the original owners of the manor would quite like it back in one piece.”

“Well I can’t speak to the first,” said Norse, “but that second point right there is what we call ‘tough titty’.”

Quigley smiled in an oily way as a chuckle ran around the room.

“Still, and that’s a good point, we need to ensure that she’s dead,” said Quigley smoothly.

“Get to the point,” I said quietly. “What do you have in mind?”

The look he sent me was cold. He obviously had a speech planned and wanted to air it out.

“The Ministry feels that the best chance lies in a small assassination attempt. A limited number of people could gain access to the manor and dispatch Glavidia without too much trouble.”

“How small?” rumbled Hacker, his face twisted as if he’d smelled something bad.

I knew how he felt.

“One, to be exact,” said Quigley finally.

“No, ‘me’ to be exact,” I pointed out.

“Yes, you.” Said Quigley uncomfortably. “You know the manor and anyone else would be sensed as soon as they try to get in. You stand the best chance of getting in and out alive.”

Marie was looking at me with horror in her eyes.

“You have a point there,” I said softly, maintaining eye contact with him.

“No fucking way!” said Happy suddenly. “It’s suicide! You’d never get out alive!”

I kept my eyes on Quigley. No wonder Norse wasn’t happy. There was something else going on here. Silence fell over the room as everyone looked from one to the other.

“Go on,” I said quietly. “Tell us what else you have up your sleeve.”

Quigley shifted uncomfortably.

“Glavidia won’t be the only one there,” he said finally. “There’s some big meeting with some big name vamps from out of country.”

“America, you mean?”

“Yes, and the continent. Glavidia is trying to branch out, solidify some old relationships, make some new ones. It’s the perfect opportunity.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Norse with a sour look. “What you’re looking at is a manor house full of vampire Lords, including one of the three most powerful vampires in England, and you’re going to send in Pagan, my old friend, and hope he walks out. That about right?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” said Quigley.

“So what do you need us for?” said Coop suddenly. “Norse and the rest of us, I mean.”

“We need something as a distraction, something to make a lot of noise a way away, so that Glavidia will be feeling nice and secure in her little castle. We need her to think that Jack is elsewhere.”

“I want to say something here,” said Happy. “If he does go on this mission you better hope he comes back in once piece. And if he doesn’t, you’d better be prepared to have the shit kicked out of you, you sniveling little pusbag.”

“You can’t talk to me like that!” Quigley exploded, his eyes bulging.

“He doesn’t have to,” said Marie firmly. “If Jack dies in this insane scheme you better start running because I’ll skin you alive.”

“And there’s nowhere on Earth that’s far enough away to stop us from finding you,” said Anna, her fangs flashing.

“That’s enough,” I said as I stood up. “Is this an order, Mr. Quigley?”

“The Ministry would prefer it if you volunteered,” he replied.

“Then it’s my decision. Give me some time to think about it.”

“You would need to leave first thing tomorrow morning,” he pointed out.

I kept my gaze level and said nothing. Eventually Quigley got the message and let himself out.

“You can’t be thinking about doing this!” exploded Norse as soon as the door shut behind the Ministry man.

“It might work,” said Coop reasonably. “They won’t see him coming, they won’t believe anything can touch them in their little fortress. It’s plausible at least.”

“Plausible my arse!” hissed Marie, on the verge of tears. “It’s suicide!”

Frenchie caught my eye and gave me an amused look.

“Got something to say, old boy?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Just that I have known you for a very long time, mon ami, and I have seen you walk away from places that no man could possibly have survived,” he said in his softly accented voice. “You have—how you say?—the luck of the Devil on your side. If anyone can do this, it is you.”

He looked around the suddenly silent room.

“I do not envy you this, mon ami.”

“Frenchie’s right,” said John, and the dirty look his wife threw at him indicated quite clearly that she didn’t agree with him.

“I don’t know,” said Norse. “What do you think Pagan? Can you pull it off?”

Every eye was on me. Thank you Norse.

“I don’t know. I said I need to think about it and I meant that.”

Marie gave me a pleading look. I dealt with the problem the way I deal with most problems—I ran away.

CHAPTER

7

No, I don’t mean I took to my heels and made for the tree line. I went jogging. I’ve often found that when I have a difficult decision to wrestle with, some repetitive exercise helps clear my mind. I’ve tried weightlifting, press-ups, sit-ups, and even swimming—although I don’t recommend that last one. I tried it when I was stationed in Cyprus and ended up almost out of sight of the shore before I reined myself in.

Jogging works best, I’ve found.

I went straight from the room and out of the door. I was wearing what the army refers to as ‘boots, leg, high’, my combat trousers and my body armor. I even had my gunbelt on. I didn’t care.

If you’re going to wear kit when you fight, you’re better off training in it. You walk differently in boots than you do in running shoes and your center of balance is different with a gun strapped to your thigh. The easiest way to get used to it is to work out with it.

I pounded the pavement and tried to clear my mind. Most humans manage to master the art of walking within a few years of life, and running is just an extension of that. Letting the body take care of the intricacies involved in what is, when you really think about it, an indefinitely delayed fall really frees the mind.

As far as I could tell the problem came down to two questions. Could I do it? And, more importantly, should I do it?

Something stunk about the whole plan. The notion that the former owners wanted to avoid damage didn’t wash. Any plan I could come up with would probably do significant damage. I’d set fire to the place—at the very least—even if just as a distraction to cover my escape. There was something else here.

I ran and I thought, enjoying the crisp air and the feeling of power in my limbs. I swung through the deserted High Street, down through the shopping center, past the boarded up pizza joint and video store, past the closed supermarket, through the rubbish-choked multi-story car park, and out into the park.

The park hadn’t been much, just a moderately flat expanse of grass, a few tree-lined paths, and a rubber-floored play area with swings and a roundabout, but it was already showing signs of neglect. I jogged through the ankle length grass and out towards the playground. Over the chain link fence I could see the old church that had once graced just about every official image of the town. I stopped in the middle of the park and looked up at the towering spire.

In my entire life the closest I’ve ever come to a religious experience was when I visited the ruins of St. Boltoph’s Priory in Colchester. The 11th Century building was barely more than a few broken stone walls and rubble strewn paths, but there was a feeling about the place. I had stepped through an arched doorway into what was, according to the helpful map, the nave. The sense of incredible age was amazing. There was a busy city a few hundred meters away and a busy road on the other side of a brick wall, yet there was a palpable sense of peace about the place. The sounds of the 21st century fell away and all there was to hear was the whisper of the wind and the tweeting of birds. It always seemed to me that there, right on the edge of hearing, were the echoes of those long-dead worshippers. Their songs of praise, their prayers, and their very conversations seemed to have etched themselves into the stones of the church.

Don’t worry; I’m not about to have some religious conversion. I got that same sense of agelessness when I stood under the branches of an oak tree that had been huge and centuries-old the day my great-Grandfather was born. It’s just that there are things—sights, sounds, places—that convey, more accurately than I possibly could, our place in the cosmos. The Abbey and the tree both impressed upon me the inescapable knowledge of a world far larger and far older than most realize. The spire on the church had the same quality. It had been older than living memory when Columbus set sail for the New World. It was older even than the vampires. The oldest known vamp had been centuries away from birth when that church had been built. It had survived everything time could throw at it. It had survived revolutions, earthshaking scientific advances, fires, two civil wars and two world wars. Generations had passed in the shadow of the spire and in that moment I could finally see a reason beyond justice and freedom. I was fighting for us, for all of us. I was fighting for the tiny baby down the hall from our room at the Wheatsheaf, and the baby’s parents and grandparents, and the baby’s unborn children and grandchildren. I was fighting so that the baby wouldn’t have to.

I was fighting for more than a cause, for something bigger than Queen and country, for something far more important than a flag or a religion.

And it wasn’t just me. It was all of us. The vampire hunters, our friends, the innkeepers, the Ministry, the armed forces, the people. There was nothing religious about this sudden awareness. It was no God-inspired epiphany. It was simply the understanding that just as the human race stretched thousands of years into the past, it would go on into the future, if we could but protect it.

We were fighting for everyone, for the generations before us, for the billions now alive, and for the uncountable numbers yet to come. We must not lose, we cannot lose, and we will not lose.

And if I had to put my nuts on the line one more time, well, that was what I’d signed up for.

I started to jog again. I had another problem, a problem called Marie.

Technically she’d been right when she said we weren’t soldiers. The Ministry hunters were, technically, part of the police force. Of course, even the police force had rules against fraternization between ranks, but that wasn’t important. The rank thing had just been an excuse.

The truth was that I was afraid. Not afraid of Marie, never of Marie. She’d never hurt me. I was afraid of myself.

My mind went back to a month or so ago, when Marie had quite literally offered herself to me. Scared the piss out of me. It’s a wolf thing, or so she said. It boiled down to ‘here I am, it’s yours if you want it’.

I seized on the first excuse I could think of, our rank difference, and she agreed to back off, at least until she became a full-fledged hunter.

Trouble was, I did want it. I wanted it bad.

CHAPTER

8

FIVE DAYS AGO…

I went downstairs and headed out the front door, intending to have my sunrise cigarette. I was trying to quit smoking and had managed to cut down to just a few a day. The one I rarely missed was the last one, smoked whilst watching the sun come up, a kind of celebration of making it to the end of another night. Bill was outside. He gave me a cheery grin and went back to watching the sky.

We were at the Dog & Duck, a safe house that was actually a mile or so into vamp-held territory.

I perched on the low wall and pulled out my packet of cigarettes.

“You bed that young lady yet, Jack?” asked Bill.

“Bill,” I said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “That is none of your business.”

“So, no, then?”

I sat and smoked for a while, saying nothing.

“Jack, I’ve never known you have a problem like this when it comes to a woman,” he said. “Usually you just take whatever’s offered and worry about it later.”

“That’s the problem,” I said thoughtfully, staring off into space.

“What is?”

“I’m trying to find out what I want,” I replied. “On the one hand I could just sleep with her. She’s made it clear she wants to. I could take her to bed, spend a day getting amazing sex, and just go on as normal.”

“Another notch on the headpost, yeah?”

“Right.”

“And on the other hand?”

“On the other hand, I think I want more.”

“Oh hell, Jack. Are you felling in love?”

I stopped and thought about that for a minute.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “But I do know I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Dammit, Jack, you are in love with her!”

I hesitated, trying to put it into words.

“I might be,” I said finally. “That’s what I have to figure out. In the meantime I’m not going to jeopardize the possibility by doing the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’.”

Bill wiped an imaginary tear from one eye and sniffled sarcastically.

“My little boy’s finally growing up.”

“Oh piss off, Bill.”

“No, man, I’m really pleased for you. There’s nothing like the love of a good woman. Seriously, Marie’s a catch and you’d be stupid to let go.”

I smiled and stubbed my cigarette out against the wall I was sitting on. I threw the dog end and the empty packet into the rubbish bin.

“Speaking of which,” said Bill carefully. “You’re sleeping with Scrapper today.”

“Um, no I’m not,” I said. “I thought we’d just established that.”

“I didn’t mean sex, Mr. One Track Mind. I meant sleep, as in you have to share a room with her.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, there’s only three rooms,” he replied. “Anna and John are already asleep. And as soon as it gets fully light I’m taking the ‘Rover down to Carterton to pick Helen up.”

“Robert coming with you?”

He shook his head sadly.

“My darling son is staying with his grandparents this weekend,” he said.

From the tone of his voice I didn’t have to ask which grandparents. It always struck me as weird that someone as sweet and loveable as Helen could have come from such a pair of perfect bastards.

“So Marie and I are sharing a room?” I said. “Maybe I should just sleep down in the bar.”

Bill leaned forward and gave me an intense look.

“That’s your call, brother,” he said. “But think on this: If you sleep in the room but keep your hands to yourself, that’s one thing, but if you avoid this altogether, she’ll wonder what’s wrong with her that you can’t even stand to be around her. Besides, she already took your bergan up.”

“Relationship advice?” I said, smiling slightly.

“Yep. Either shag her or tell the poor girl how you feel, but for crying out loud do one or the other.”

“Yeah,” I said, acknowledging the point but not committing.

Bill sat there in silence for a moment and then leaned forward.

“Jack Henderson,” he said softly. “Are you afraid she’s going to reject you?”

“What if she does, Bill?” I asked. “What if the one woman I’ve ever had any real feelings for doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me. My oppo doesn’t talk like that.”

“Your oppo has never met anyone like her before,” I replied.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I never thought I’d meet anyone like Helen.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, looking meaningfully at my watch.

“Yep, better go get the light of my life.”

“You gonna be okay on your own?” I asked.

“Oh please, I’m the big, bad vampire hunter,” he said and patted the H&K G36 hung over his shoulder. “Besides, I have Kate to protect me.”

“Your wife know you named your rifle after your first girlfriend?”

“My first girlfriend was called Naomi,” he said. “Kate was the first woman I ever slept with, and if you tell Helen that, I’ll solve all your problems with Marie by ripping your nuts off.”

I snorted laughter and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Get going, big man,” I said. “Give Helen my love and be careful.”

“What could possibly happen?” he scoffed.

“Bill, seriously man,” I said. “Take care. It’s dull and cloudy. Some vamps could still be out.”

His face grew serious when he caught the note in my voice.

“Jack, I’ll be fine, you know me,” he said. “But, look, just in case something happens, there’s something I’ve always wanted to tell you.”

“Anything, bro, you know that.”

He hesitated, trying to find the right words.

“Jack, I love you,” he said, staring into my eyes. “I’ve always loved you. You’re my world. And you have the body of a Greek god—”

I couldn’t help it; I cracked first, bursting into laughter.

“Get the fuck out of here you wanker,” I said

I waved him away and went back inside, still laughing. At the top of the stairs were three doors. Anna and John in the first. Bill and Helen in the second. Marie in the third. Marie and I.

I would have to be firm on this. I was sleeping on the floor and nothing she could say would change my mind.

So why didn’t I believe that?

I took a deep breath and knocked on the third door.

If you’re familiar with that style of pornography that revolves around scantily clad women holding or firing guns, you have a good idea of what greeted me as the door opened.

Marie was holding her SIG, her elbow bent, the barrel pointed at the ceiling. She was wearing a short black spaghetti-strap top that ended short of her belly-button and a matching pair of string bikini underpants. The top clung to her small, high breasts and clearly outlined her nipples.

I reached out and wrapped my hand around hers, flicking the safety on with my thumb and pulling her hand down until the gun was pointed at my stomach.

“Point the weapon before you open the door,” I said softly. “The extra second you need to bring it down might kill you.”

“I hardly think I’m in danger of vampires in here,” she said doubtfully as she pushed the door open to let me in.

“True, but it might have been some horny pervert come to force his attentions on you,” I said as I walked in.

“But that’s exactly who it was,” she said as she shut the door. “Should I have shot you?”

“Probably not.”

The room only had one bed, a king-sized four-poster with a canopy. Romantic. My bergan was sitting in the corner, my rifle leaning against it.

“It seems our friends have conspired to bring us together,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said, slowly walking towards me. “Seems like they think they know something we don’t. I think they expect something to happen.”

She was smiling and her eyes were sparkling.

“It’s not going to, though, is it?” she asked.

“No,” I said quietly.

She smiled and kissed me.

“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?” I accused.

“Not a chance.”

She lowered her chin, looking up at me with wide eyes.

“Jack,” she said in a throaty voice. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

“Marie, stop it.”

“I want you inside me, Jack.”

“Stop.”

“Tear my clothes off and take me, Jack,” she whispered.

“Marie!” I growled, a little harsher than I’d intended.

Suddenly she broke up into a fit of giggles.

“Do you have any idea how much fun I could have with you over the next few weeks?” she asked, grinning.

“You little—” I said, laughing.

“You can call me a bitch, Jack,” she said impishly. “In my case it’s true.”

I laughed again. The woman in my arms was intelligent, funny, strong, independent, sexy, and already owned a large part of my heart. Unfortunately she was also a recruit in training under my command.

But there was more. I’d admitted something to Bill that I had barely dared to admit to myself. I didn’t want a one-night-stand with Marie. I wanted more, much more, and I did not want to blow that.

I stepped back.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I said.

“Okay,” she said eagerly. “I’ll join you.”

“Marie!” I snapped, trying not to laugh.

“Ohh, it’s kind of a turn on when you say my name like that,” she purred.

“You’re impossible,” I said as I grabbed my bergan and headed for the bathroom.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said teasingly.

CHAPTER

9

A soft breeze chilled the sweat on my skin and I snapped out of my reverie. The afternoon was wearing on and the sun was making its journey down to the horizon. I judged I had a few hours until sunset, but the more powerful—or more cautious—vampires could be out and about before that.

I jogged back towards the inn, my mind made up. The only twinge I had left was how to break the news to Marie.

I didn’t really rush getting back and the sun was low on the horizon by the time I stepped through the door. Picker was already on duty and the biker gave me a cautious nod.

Quigley was waiting for me. He turned and opened his mouth to ask.

“I want operational control,” I said, cutting him off. “Full operational control. No busybodying.”

Quigley looked like he was about to argue, then shut his mouth and nodded.

“I’ll do it,” I said and turned away before he could reply. I had a far greater challenge ahead of me.

I went up the stairs and paused outside our room, taking a deep breath and trying to steady my nerves. I could face a thousand vampires but the thought of causing pain to Marie made my stomach churn.

I opened the door and went in. She was sitting on the end of the bed, watching the TV. She looked up and didn’t even ask.

“You’re going.” she said.

I nodded helplessly.

She sighed and stared at me for a long moment.

“Well,” she said finally, tears welling up in her eyes. “You wouldn’t be the man I fell in love with if you didn’t.”

She stood up and ran to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my chest.

“Damn you, Jack. I swore I wasn’t going to cry.”

I wrapped my arms around her, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head.

“You’ll come back, right?” she said, looking up at me.

“I will, I promise,” I said.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said with a brave smile.

“Oh please,” I said with a dismissive wave. “A couple of vampire Lords? A few dozen of their slaves? You think that’s gonna stop me?”

She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled my head down.

“You better come back, or I’ll come after you,” she said.

Before I could say anything she kissed me and she didn’t let go for a long time.

“Marie,” I said once our lips were apart. It didn’t last; she silenced me with another kiss.

When she finally broke the kiss I opened my mouth to speak and she shook her head.

“Don’t,” she said emphatically. “Don’t you dare reject me tonight.”

“Marie,” I started.

“Don’t. This might be the last time I see you. Don’t push me away.”

“But,” I began again.

“Jack, no buts.”

“Marie, let me—”

“No, Jack. Don’t do this to me. I’ll change and force you,” she said.

I could see the sparkle in her eyes as she said it, and I knew she wasn’t serious. I shut my mouth and looked her in the eye, one brow cocked.

“Okay,” she said with a little laugh. “I didn’t really mean that.”

“I’m all sweaty, Marie,” I said firmly. “I just want a shower before you take liberties with my body.”

Marie gave me a startled look and then laughed a little sheepishly.

“That was a little presumptuous of me, wasn’t it?” she said with a cute little smile.

“Not at all,” I said. “It’s nice to be wanted.”

“Oh, I want you,” she said archly. “And I mean to have you.”

She pulled me into another kiss, deeper and longer, and then suddenly pushed me away.

“You are all sweaty,” she laughed. “Go shower.”

I did as I was told. I had a shave and a shower, and then stood looking at myself in the mirror. What am I? Am I a hero? Am I simply a thirty-something vampire hunter lusting after a beautiful young woman? Could I justify it by saying I’m a man and I have needs?

No, that wasn’t it. Sure, Marie made every nerve in my body jangle with electricity, but it wasn’t just sexual. I did love her, I already knew that.

I looked down my body. He was awake. There’s an old joke that claims men always name their penises because they don’t want a stranger making all their decisions. Mine never got named, though. It was always simply him, and he was definitely interested. I was pleased to find out that he wasn’t alone. My heart and my head were casting their votes, too.

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and absently wished, for about the millionth time since quitting, that I had a cigarette. Marie was waiting for me, but there was something at the bottom of my bergan that I wanted to find. It had been a jokey birthday present from Anna and John last year, a pair of black silk boxers with a bright red heart embroidered on one leg. I found the shorts, still in the original box, and slipped them on.

I looked in the mirror, wondering if the shorts were too cheesy. Yeah, I was nervous, believe it or not. Finally I shrugged. She wanted me, not my clothes.

I opened the door and stepped into the room. Marie had spent the time setting the mood. The curtains were closed, the lights were out, and a pair of candles stood on the dresser. I had no idea where she’d found them, but the soft light illuminated her perfectly.

She was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, her hair tumbling beautifully over her shoulders. She was wearing a slinky camisole that barely covered the top of her thighs. It was black silk with tiny red ribbons down the front.

My heart leapt into my throat. In the entire time I had known her she had never looked more beautiful.

“Nice, very nice,” she said when she saw what I was wearing. “We match. I told you this was meant to be.”

I laughed as I walked to the side of the bed. At that moment all my doubts evaporated. If she could make me laugh and relax me, at this moment, then she was the perfect woman and I wanted her in my life. I wanted to grab on and never let go.

“You get one last chance to back out if you’re having second thoughts,” I said with a smile, confident in her answer.

“Not a chance,” she replied, crooking her finger at me. “Get over here.”

I climbed on the bed and she wrapped one arm around my neck, her other hand trailing down my chest to the waistband of my shorts.

“Leave these on,” she said in a breathy voice.

Her hand slipped inside my boxers through the slit in the front and wrapped around my erection, pulling it out into the open. She let out a contented sigh and squeezed slowly.

“Condom?” I managed to gasp.

“No need,” she whispered. “Contraceptive shot.”

I kissed her cheek, her eyelids, her jaws, her nose, her forehead, and finally, her lips. She met me hungrily, her tongue probing my mouth and soft, urgent noises coming from deep in her throat. When I tugged her earlobe with my teeth she giggled, when I kissed her neck she moaned, and when I gently bit the soft skin at her throat she growled and her hips rose up off of the bed with pleasure. I trailed my fingertips up the inside of her thigh and encountered a surprise at the top.

“Wow, someone shaves,” I said appreciatively.

She giggled and shook her head.

“What?” I asked.

“Female werewolf, Jack,” she said softly. “In human form I don’t have any body hair.”

“Okay, that’s sexy.”

She smiled and trailed her fingertips through my chest hair.

“I like to see a bit of hair on a guy,” she said with a sexy little smile.

I moved over her, between her legs, and she guided me towards her. She was wet and ready, and I was more than eager. I slid slowly inside her and she let out a strangled gasp. Her arms wrapped around my neck and her legs around my hips, pulling me deeper inside.

“No need to be gentle, big guy,” she breathed into my ear. “I can take whatever you can dish out.”

I may not have left a mark on her, but I wasn’t nearly as resilient. When we woke up the next morning I had a nice collection of parallel scratches on my back and a little bruise on my shoulder that was a perfect impression of a small set of teeth.

CHAPTER

10

I hated that damn alarm, mindlessly braying in the darkness. Marie and I were laying on the bed, our legs entwined, our arms around each other. She stirred and let out an exasperated groan as I reached out and mashed the off button with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Already?” Marie said sleepily.

“Yeah,” I replied, kissing the top of her head.

“No, don’t,” she said, hugging me tight and sighing quietly. “Stay here and we can make love all day.”

“I can’t, love,” I said. “I have to get ready.”

She groaned in frustration but rolled over and let me get out of the bed. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before heading into the bathroom.

In the shower I examined my abused body. It seemed that every bit of me I washed revealed a fresh bruise. It was something that would take a little getting used to. Marie was stronger than she looked, stronger than I was. Being a werewolf had advantages, I suppose.

I unpacked a tightly rolled bundle of clothes. A pair of black combat trousers and a black combat jacket. I unrolled them and hung them over the shower rail, letting the steam relax the creases while I shaved. I put on some unscented deodorant and gave the cologne a miss. I wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible, to all senses.

Even my boxers were black, I thought ruefully as I dressed. Black boxers, black socks, black trousers, black t-shirt. I buckled on my second gunbelt, black nylon holsters on a black nylon belt. I put on my black boots, tucking the cuffs around the black bungees that kept them off the ground. I had black face paint and black gloves. I even had a black PLCE set for the various things I’d need with me.

I studied myself in the mirror. Good enough. My kit was well-made and well-designed, nothing that would rattle, squeak or shine as I moved.

I picked up my jacket and went back into the bedroom. Marie was sitting up in bed, the sheet pooled between her legs, and I had a sudden, irrational urge to call the whole thing off and stay here. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked into the eyes of the woman who had become the center of my entire universe.

“Tell me again,” she said quietly. “Tell me you’re coming back.”

I reached out and took her hands in mine, gently stroking her palms with my thumbs.

“During medieval times,” I said quietly, “people believed that powerful sorcerers could cut out their own hearts and place them, still beating, inside a silver vessel. As long as the heart continued to beat the sorcerer could not be killed.”

I saw the puzzlement in her eyes and smiled faintly.

“I’m leaving my heart here,” I said firmly. “Will you look after it for me?”

“Always,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “I love you, Jack.”

“I love you, Marie.”

I leaned forward and kissed her. She slipped her arms around my neck and hugged me fiercely. Then she leaned back and looked at me speculatively.

“No,” she said. “You can’t leave like this, with me all weepy and soppy.”

Before I could say anything she shoved me back onto the bed. She unbuckled my gunbelt and unzipped my trousers.

“Well, now,” I said with a smile.

She shushed me and yanked my trousers down as far as the holsters would allow. He was awake and very interested in events.

She swung her leg over my hips and lowered herself with a blissful look on her face. She leaned on her hands, her face over mine as she slowly rocked back and forward.

“You’re gonna be late,” she said breathlessly. “You mind?”

“Not in the slightest,” I said, my hands moving over her hips and up to cup her breasts. “Just don’t stop.”

She smiled wickedly, her hips speeding up.

Some goodbyes have to be done properly.

When I made it downstairs the bar was empty except for John and Anna. They were seated at a table that held three steaming mugs.

“Finally,” said John. “We heard your alarm go off. You took your time.”

He reached out and slid one of the mugs toward me. I sat down and took a sip. John couldn’t make a decent cup of tea if you held a gun to his head, so I assumed this was Anna’s work.

“You about ready?” she asked me.

“Yeah, no point in putting it off.”

“You taking the Land Rover?” John asked.

“Nope,” I replied. “Norse has graciously allowed me the use of his Cortina.”

“Oh, well, that’ll be a treat,” said Anna with a broad smile.

“Less conspicuous than the ‘Rover, anyway,” I pointed out.

I finished my tea and put the mug down.

“Listen,” I said intently. “You two will look after Marie, won’t you?”

Anna smiled warmly and gripped her husband’s hand.

“Sure we will, Jack,” she said.

“You two finally get together?” asked John.

I nodded and smiled, enjoying the warm rush that the admission brought with it. I’m a hard-bitten vampire slayer with a long, bloody history of defending my country, but I suddenly felt like a schoolboy with a crush.

“And don’t think for a second that I fell for that whole ‘only two rooms, boss’ business either.”

Anna looked innocent; John wasn’t as good an actor.

“The Wheatsheaf has six rooms and they were all empty when we arrived, luv,” I said to Anna.

Anna had the good grace to blush but John looked like he was worried I was angry. I decided to head that one off before it started.

“Thank you both,” I said earnestly. “Thank you for knowing me better than I know myself.”

Schoolboy again.

“Well, time for me to go,” I said standing up.

Anna stood and hugged me fiercely.

“Come back to us, Jack,” she said.

“Oh, I will,” I said firmly. “I left something important here I’ll need to pick up.”

I shook hands with John and left my friends behind, for all I knew, it would be the last time I saw them.

Norse’s Cortina might look like rust held together with hope and spit but he was right about the engine. It purred like a kitten would if it was the size of a Bengal tiger.

I wasn’t heading north, not yet. My destination was Brize Norton. It was the largest Royal Air Force base in the country and Carterton, the surrounding town, was a human stronghold. Driving through the Home Counties was always a trip through time for me. I grew up in this area after my parents moved from London. The rolling fields and quaint towns brought simple, homey memories to the fore, and everywhere I looked I could see something that made me smile.

There did seem to be a lot more crosses and churches than I remembered. I laughed as I went past a farmhouse where somebody seemed to have gone a little overboard. The surrounding fence was made entirely of interlaced crosses. The walls and doors of the house itself were painted with various religious icons. There was even a diverted stream running moat-like around the perimeter. Because everyone knows vampires can’t cross running water.

Running water? No, vampires can cross running water with no problem.

Crosses? Crosses don’t work unless you believe in them. If you truly believe a cross will protect you, that belief will provide some protection against the vamp’s mind tricks. It will seem like the cross has weakened the vampire, but the effect is all in your mind, quite literally. Holy water is about the same. Though stripped of his mind tricks the vamp will, in all probability, still be faster and stronger than you, just not in that ‘faster than a speeding bullet’ way. You still have to kill them.

You can try a stake through the heart. That’s always nice and bloody. Just make sure you use a wooden stake, ash or oak preferably. A crossbow makes an excellent long-range staking device. The vamp is unlikely to stand still for that, though, so a gun is your best friend. Plenty of shots in the ‘T’ and your vampire will go down like a sack of spuds, even if you’re using regular rounds. The ‘T’? Draw a line from one temple, across your forehead, to the other then, from the center of your forehead draw another line down through your nose, down your neck, and to your belly button. That’s the ‘T’ and if you shoot a human anywhere on the ‘T’ they die—almost instantly. Hit a vamp there, even with a regular jacketed lead round, you’ll seriously put a crimp on their day. Hit them on the ‘T’ with a silver round and it’s all over.

Garlic? Now garlic is actually spot on. Vampires detest garlic. It’s the allicin, which is an antibiotic and a phytoncide, which burns the vampire’s skin. Allicin isn’t strong enough to use as a weapon on its own, but rubbing crushed garlic around door handles, gates, and the like is an effective, if smelly, vampire repellent. The Ministry was working on an allicin concentrate that could be delivered by a dart gun. Personally I’ve found that a silver round is smaller and just as effective. Concentrated allicin in a pepper-spray canister might be useful as a last-ditch emergency weapon. Must look into that.

Sunlight? Sunlight works, but forget the movies. Vamps are nocturnal, so they are naturally weaker during the day. Vamps do not burst into flame or crumble into dust when they are exposed to sunlight, though. Here’s a little thought experiment; imagine a fair-skinned human, on the hottest day of the year, going to the beach and laying down without shade or sun block, for ten hours a day, every day for a week. Their skin at the end of that week is how a vampire looks after about thirty minutes in bright sunshine. Boiled-lobster red, cracked, peeling, blistered, covered with open, weeping sores. Not a pretty picture, is it?

And tanning beds work just as well. We—Bill, Norse, Coop and I—once chained a vampire inside a tanning bed and turned it on for a minute at a time, full intensity.

Yes, we were torturing him and yes we were enjoying it. I never claimed to be a boy scout.

Shock you? Well bear this is mind: the vamp in question had just rampaged through a hospital and drained twelve newborn babies in accordance with an insane, rambling prophecy he’d found in some crumbling book of vampire lore. What? Suddenly not so concerned about the vamp we were slowly killing?

Thought not.

Horseshoes? Where did this one even come from? For thousands of years the English have been nailing a horseshoe above their door as a good luck charm. Somehow someone managed convince enough people that this was to keep vampires out that the ‘horseshoe iron’ charm industry was born, and is now small but thriving. I’ve even known vampire hunters that swore by special ammunition sold as ‘good English horseshoe iron coated with honest silver’. No, a horseshoe is just a horseshoe. It’s just iron.

A branch from a Wild Rose tree, rosa acicularis, or from a Hawthorne tree, crataegus monogyna, nailed above the door of a building will prevent weaker vamps from entering, even if it isn’t someone’s home. Any vamp worth talking about will barely notice it.

Fire? Now we come to the big one. Fire is the great cleanser. Wounds inflicted by fire on a vampire never fully heal; they always leave livid scars. That’s why my M203 has incendiary rounds and why we burn buildings a lot.

I drove along winding roads through the outskirts of Oxfordshire and saw the buildings of RAF Brize Norton in the distance. Here I would meet with the Ministry, hash out a plan, and leave to assault the headquarters of a vampire Lord single-handedly.

Piece of cake.

The gates to Brize are fairly impressive, guarded by tough young men and women in DPM and blue RAF berets. They are armed with L85 assault rifles and behind the gates sit a pair of vehicles, an open-top Land Rover with a pintle-mounted L7A2 GMPG, and a Sabre armored reconnaissance vehicle with its 30mm RARDEN cannon pointed straight at my car.

The guard waved me to a stop and ordered me to step out of the car. He carefully inspected my ID card while others checked under and around the car for explosive devices. Unusually, I felt no impatience with the security. The guns, the checks, the hard-eyed stares were reassuring. Security was our best weapon against the undead and the moment we relaxed our guard, the vamps would win.

“You’re Pagan?” asked the young guard with surprise in his voice.

“I know, disappointing isn’t it?” I said with a grin.

“No, sir!” he said crisply, handing my ID back. “Big fan, sir!”

“Don’t call me ‘sir’,” I said, forcing a glare. “I work for a living.”

“Sorry, Sarge, din’ mean no offense, Sarge. Sarge? Can I ask you for an autograph? For my little boy?”

The guard was holding out a pen and a spiral-bound notebook. Fame has problems, but this I didn’t mind. If I could spend a few seconds to scrawl a message for the airman’s son, it was time well spent. Kids these days learn pretty quickly that the monsters are real. It’s nice sometimes to be able to teach them that the monsters can be killed, too.

“Sure, what’s his name?”

“Well, it’s Jack,” said the airman, looking embarrassed.

I gave him a hard look.

“He wasn’t named after you, si—Sarge. Not really. His name’s John but now he wants to be called Jack because, you know … when his friends play he always wants to be you.”

I smiled and shook my head. I took the pad and pen and wrote ‘To Jack, always be the hunter, never forget you may be prey. Your friend Jack Henderson, The Pagan.’

The airman took the pad with a broad grin and thanked me profusely.

“Hang on,” I said, rooting in one pocket.

I found and pulled out a spent 7.62 cartridge.

“We went hunting night before last,” I said, handing it over. “Little souvenir for the lad. If I see that on eBay I’ll come back and introduce you to some of its friends.”

“Yes Sarge, I mean, no Sarge. I’ll give it to him.”

I got back into Norse’s car and the guard waved me through, grinning wide enough to put the top of his head in danger of falling off.

I wondered what the chances were that the rest of my day here would be as pleasant.

I checked in at Gateway House, the transit hotel that provided a place to sleep for those military personnel passing through Brize and made my way to the station’s command center. This promised to be a moderately unpleasant briefing session, despite the fact that I was promised full operational control.

CHAPTER

11

The briefing room inside the Ministry building at Brize was, we were assured, electronically isolated from the rest of the universe, soundproof, sealed and swept daily for any possible observation devices. It was also full of suits and gold braid—pompous men well aware of the importance of the meeting who wanted a chapter for their memoirs. Each, I decided, wanted to be able to boast that they had been here when the attack was planned.

Amongst the military men I was both the lowest and highest ranked. As—officially—a sergeant in the Marines I was outranked by every one of those self-important men with scrambled egg on their hats and shoulders. As the vampire hunter who would actually be putting his arse on the line, none had the authority to overrule me. It would have been easy to wave that ‘full operational control’ in their faces and order them out of the room, but you don’t get to be a sergeant in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces without learning how to gently guide officers to the point where they give you the right orders.

A sergeant in an O group—a briefing session where orders are passed from those who make decision to those who carry them out—was, according to my old friend Bill, the most dangerous animal in the world. They were just so many weak chins looking to be led; you just had to convince them that they were having the ideas. That’s why they normally keep us out.

First, I had to dispose of the notion that I should be going in at the head of a platoon-strength force. I wasn’t about to risk anyone else on this mission. Luckily I had an ally on that point. Colonel Dillon Tilehurst was from my former unit, his tan beret neatly folded on the table in front of him. He’d been in command when I was in Eastern Europe and I knew his style.

“Trust me on this, gentlemen,” said Tilehurst with quiet authority. “There are places that a small group can get into that an entire army cannot. This is one of those places.”

“So how many?” said Group Captain Iain Montgomery-Standish, the station commanding officer who was, technically, presiding over the meeting.

“Four at most,” said Tilehurst.

“Do you have three warm bodies that can keep up with our hunter here?” rumbled Colonel Phillip Kirkpatrick of the 2nd Parachute Regiment, 16th Air Assault Brigade.

“Not a chance, not close by,” said Tilehurst. “So it’s settled. Our hunter will be going in alone. The next question is: how do we get him in?”

The expressions above and below several bushy mustaches indicated that some, at least, didn’t consider anything settled at all. The discussion moved on before anyone could object, however.

“HALO,” said Kirkpatrick cryptically.

“I’m sorry, sir?” I said politely.

Kirkpatrick turned to Tilehurst and fixed him with an amused look.

“What on Earth are you teaching these boys over there, Dillon?” he demanded.

“This one must have slipped through our intelligence test, Phillip.”

“A HALO jump, young man,” said Kirkpatrick, “is a High Altitude, Low Opening jump. We kick you out of a plane at thirty thousand feet and you fall like a stone and open your ‘chute at the last minute.”

“Sounds like fun, sir,” I replied carefully. “I’m game.”

“Oh good Lord no,” the Para officer replied dismissively. “If you don’t know what you’re doing you can end up miles off target. Or splattered over the surrounding scenery.”

I nodded and tried to look disappointed. Tilehurst gave me an amused look. I’d done several HALO jumps in the Regiment and he knew it. What he didn’t know was that HALO jumps terrify me. I’m afraid of heights. There, I said it. I wanted to go in by helicopter. We’d be lower and have a lot of backup firepower.

Several other ideas were considered and rejected until Colonel Terry Peters suggested using one of his Army Air Corps helicopters.

“They’ll hear it coming, sir,” I objected mildly.

“Not a problem, young man,” said Peters expansively. “We run patrols pretty far up there, giving the vamps something to run from. Can’t use their damn tricks on a helicopter pilot they can’t even see.”

“I like it, you know,” said Tilehurst, giving his seal of approval.

“We’ll run a patrol up north, shoot up a few acres of empty forest, and drop you a few miles from your target,” Phillips continued. “They’ll never see you coming.”

“It would work, sir,” I agreed cautiously. “Can your choppers hang around in case I need their guns, sir?”

“Capital idea, young man,” said the AAC man. “We can also pack a few soldiers in the choppers and take along some gunships to use if the shit hits the fan.”

I could see mollified expressions around the table. A backup of heavily armed attack choppers plus a few squads of troops made the op seem more like regular military thinking. I was no longer the lone gun going into hostile territory; I was the point man for an armed assault.

The fact that I would never call for the backup occurred to no-one except Tilehurst, who was looking at me with barely disguised admiration.

We broke for lunch at that point.

“Tell me, Henderson,” said Tilehurst, pulling me to one side as lunch was served, “you ever baby me through an O group like that?”

“No, sir, wouldn’t do that sir,” I said.

“Don’t give me that wide-eyed innocent bollocks, Jack,” he said, cutting across the ranks and giving me permission to do the same. “I seem to remember a feisty young sergeant gently pointing out the bloody obvious before our action in Romania.”

“That wasn’t for your benefit, boss,” I said. “That was for the Rupert who believed in using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut.”

“Good point,” he said. “Okay, it’s your show, I’ll follow your lead.”

“I appreciate it, boss.”

Lunch was tedious and filled with waffling talk from all sides. I kept to myself, turning my plan over in my head while I ate some sort of bland chicken dish. I wanted to get into the manor undetected and remain under the radar until I killed Glavidia. I could see several ways this could be accomplished and chewed them over, attacking the problem from all sides, whittling down the possibilities.

“Pagan?” came a voice from behind me.

I turned and saw the trim figure of a woman in a Royal Navy uniform. She was young to be wearing a Captain’s insignia, her brown hair only slightly shot through with silver, her face barely lined. I stood quickly.

“Sorry, ma’am, was miles away.”

“Oh sit down,” she said irritably and placed her tray on the table next to mine. “I’m Carol Dent, by the way.”

I didn’t sit until she had. My father was responsible for the part that extended that courtesy for an officer, my mother for the part that did it for a woman.

“This is mind-numbing isn’t it?” she said, indicating the room full of high-powered men. “Sorry I was late, by the way. I hear from Dillon that you’ve just about manipulated our boys into ordering you to do what you were going to do all along anyway.”

She looked thoughtful for a second.

“That was a terribly constructed sentence, but you get my point.”

“I’m not sure I do, ma’am,” I said, radiating honesty and integrity.

She leaned a little away from me and gave me a critical look.

“If I were ten years younger,” she said thoughtfully, “I’d take you to bed and prove that you’re not nearly as innocent as all that.”

I could only stare, openmouthed.

“But I don’t think my husband would approve,” she said lightly, taking a bite of chicken. “And neither would your wife.”

“I’m not married, ma’am,” I said frankly, but she interrupted before I could go on.

“You may not wear a ring, young man, but you might as well have ‘taken’ written on your forehead,” she said with a smile. “Any woman could tell you that.”

I raised my eyebrows and said nothing.

“So,” she said with a sly smile. “How are we going to get all these Ruperts and Rodneys to approve of your plan? Dillon says he’s going to follow your lead, but I don’t know you that well. Give me some hints.”

My mental gearbox screamed as I tried to change gear.

“Uh, there’s two ways in that I can see, ma’am. There’s a tunnel that leads from the manor to the servant’s quarters. They used to use it for deliveries and stuff. It leads right to the kitchens. Or I can go in via the roof. The roof will be more exposed but from there it’ll be simple getting into the attic.”

“Whereas you’ll have no idea who or what’s in the tunnel or the kitchens,” she pointed out. “Okay, you suggest the tunnel and Dillon will shoot you down, then I’ll suggest the roof and you object a little.”

I raised an eyebrow. Clearly this was a woman to be reckoned with.

“What about once you’re inside?”

“That depends on where the target is, ma’am. If she’s in the main hall it’s a short step to the maintenance balcony that runs around it. From there I can make a shot with ease.”

“If she’s somewhere else?”

“I don’t think she will be ma’am. This is some big event with important people. She’ll want to be in the center of things.”

“For the look of things,” she said, nodding.

“Not quite, ma’am,” I said. “Vamps live on power, power over others. She’ll need to be in the center of things because these other vamps will be watching for weakness. If they’re gonna throw their weight behind some vamp to be their front, they’ll want to make sure it’s the right one. She’ll need to show them she’s got the power and the strength to rule. It’s not just giving the impression of being in control, it’s actually being in control.”

The Captain nodded soberly as she ate.

“I think we can take care of that,” she said finally.

With two allies the afternoon was easy. Kirkpatrick was gently prodded into asserting that only a ‘damn fool’ would think of going in any way except the roof. Montgomery-Standish eventually insisted that ‘any idiot could see’ Glavidia would be in the main hall. From there Kirkpatrick came back and deftly pointed out that, given my experience with the FAL, only a ‘blithering simpleton’ would suggest anything other than a sniper shot from the maintenance balcony that ran around the roof of the hall.

Yes, I know. It’s amazing that these diverse and, I’m sure, experienced gentlemen could come up with the exact same plan I had.

As the meeting broke up Captain Dent cornered me.

“I brought a little package up with me when I came,” she said with a grin. “I’m afraid I had the advantage of you earlier.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, genuinely puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry, young man,” she said. “You will.”

And with that cryptic comment she left me alone in the room.

CHAPTER

12

It was getting late. My helicopter was going to leave late tomorrow afternoon and I wanted a good night’s sleep. I managed to collar a young airman to drive me to Gateway House. Somehow he was able to drive and stare at me at the same time. Probably surprised at the lack of horns or something. Still, I got my lift and I only had to pay with another autograph.

Gateway House is exactly what you’d expect from a hotel run by the military for the military. Most rooms had a bed, a shower, a mirror for shaving, a place to hang your clothes up and that’s about it. Rumor has it that some rooms have televisions, but I’ve never seen one. There’s also supposed to be a ghost on one of the upper stories but I’ve never seen that either. It was a place to sleep and nothing more, which suited me just fine.

I rode the lift up to the third floor and wandered down to my room, trying not to think about tomorrow. I had the key in my hand when my senses suddenly jangled. Something was off, some sensory clue out of place, like a flat note in the world. It wasn’t wrong, per se, but just off. Something was not where it was supposed to be. I had left my FAL locked up in the room, but had both of my sidearms. I slipped my SIG from its holster and eased the slide back, cocking the weapon with barely a sound before quietly unlocking the door to my room. As I eased inside the sense of something being off increased until suddenly my nose managed to communicate with my conscious brain. I could smell Marie. Not perfume, but the complex combination of subtle scents unique to her. It was Marie, but that was impossible. She was miles away.

I closed the door behind me. The room was dark, a narrow shaft of light spilling out from the bathroom through the slightly open door. It was enough to pick out the shape of someone on the bed. I put the SIG back in the holster and shook my head. The Captain’s ‘package’, apparently. I crossed to the bed, moving as silently as possible, and my eyes confirmed it. Marie was here, asleep, beautiful and sensual.

She was lying on her side, her face peaceful and serene, her blonde hair flowing over the pillow in a golden halo, her legs drawn up slightly. One hand was under her head; the other was palm down on the mattress in front of her. She was wearing one of my green army-issue shirts and, judging by the amount of smooth skin that was visible where the fabric had ridden up in her sleep, nothing else.

I removed my gunbelt, trying hard not to disturb the picture of beauty before me, and knelt to unlace my boots. I straightened and kicked them off, causing her to stir in her sleep.

“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed,” I said softly, “and they’re still there!”

Marie’s face creased as she fought to keep from smiling.

“No, that’s the Three Bears,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m the Big Bad Wolf, remember?”

She rolled over, laying flat on the bed, and gave me a smile that headed straight for my groin.

“You took your time,” she said quietly.

“And you’re not where I left you,” I responded.

She shrugged and then jumped up, kneeling on the bed, bringing her head level with mine. I pulled her into my arms and brushed her lips with mine.

“Nice outfit,” I murmured. And kissed her again, more firmly this time.

“I had to see you again,” she said quietly.

“I’m glad you did,” I replied.

Some goodbyes, apparently, need to be done more than once.

It was almost midnight, the sounds of the airfield muted in consideration of the surrounding town. The only military sounds audible were a pair of Apache helicopters patrolling in the distance. In the room were the contented murmurs and loving whispers of a couple in love, basking in the afterglow. I noticed that we were unconsciously touching each other, fingertips brushing faces, arms, shoulders, hips in a wordless expression of our desire for reassurance.

“Why can’t it be like this more often?” asked Marie.

“It will be, love,” I replied.

“It will?”

“Of course. We’ll win the war, drive out the vampires, and we’ll be able to retire.”

She slid her arms around me, snuggling against my chest.

“I like the sound of that,” she whispered.

“So do I.”

“We can get a little place somewhere.”

“Yeah, we can.”

“Going for long walks after it rains.”

“Mmmmmm. Sounds nice.”

“Making lazy love on Sunday mornings.”

“Mmmm-hmmmm.”

“You holding me tight when it thunders.”

“Mmmm-hmm.”

“Me going shopping for lingerie to wear on our anniversary.”

“Mmmmmmmm … Mmm-hmmmmm.”

“Pulling meteorites out of the sky to dine on.”

“Mmmmm … wait … what?”

She laughed and sat up, slapping me lightly on the shoulder.

“I knew you were falling asleep on me,” she said.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m just shattered.”

“And what could you be doing that would make you so tired?”

“Long day,” I said, blinking and sitting up next to her. “Started and ended with me doing energetic things with the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Well tell her to leave you alone,” she said impishly. “You need to save some for me.”

“Hardy har har,” I said affectionately. “Funny.”

Her face grew serious.

“You really think we’ll win? Really? Beat the vampires and take back the country?”

“Of course we will,” I said. “We’re the good guys. Don’t you watch the movies? The good guys always win.”

She broke up into delighted laughter and hugged me tight.

“Thank you,” she said. “I love you, you know that don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “And I love you.”

She kissed me deeply, her hands running through my hair.

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you,” she whispered against my lips.

“Liar,” I whispered back. “You must have hated me, the way I treated you.”

“At first, maybe. But I ended up impressing you, didn’t I?”

My memory floated back to that day, three months ago.

CHAPTER

13

THREE MONTHS AGO…

I was angry as I stalked down the corridors of the Ministry training facility. I was angry because I was here to pick up three new recruits. Recruits always fuck things up. You end up watching them when you should be watching your back.

It hadn’t helped that the Minister had been dismissive of my concerns. Okay, so ‘concerns’ is a quiet word for the shouting match we’d just had, but I’d like to think I managed to retain at least a modicum of respect and dignity.

I stomped down a highly polished hallway and into the main reception area. My three FNGs were there. Fucking New Guys. Okay, so one Fucking New Guy and two Fucking New Girls. I’d glanced through their files.

The guy was RAF Regiment, the crab’s version of a ground-pounder. ‘Rock Apes’ they were called and this guy fit the name. If he had a neck I couldn’t see it. Before I even saw him he was named. ‘Rock Ape’ it is.

The taller of the two girls was Army, an unarmed combat instructor. She became ‘Knuckles’.

The other girl was a civilian. I threw out her file the moment I read that. No military experience. She became ‘Washout’.

So I had Rock Ape, Knuckles and Washout. Great. As soon as I walked through the door I started to reevaluate things in respect of Washout. The other two were standing rigidly to attention. Rock Ape was pure, unrestrained fire support material: I knew his type. You gave him an SSW and pointed him in the right direction. He pulled the trigger and held on, pouring lead onto your target until he ran out or you told him to stop. Useful, just not particularly desirable. He was built like a bull and had a peach fuzz of dark hair over big ears that stuck out like open doors on a car.

Knuckles was a little woman with a big chip on her shoulder, which was clear from her file. She’d spent her career taking delight in kicking the stuffing out of male recruits in symbolic revenge for some insult, real or imagined. She had short black hair and cold blue eyes. She might have been attractive if she ever got that stick out of her arse. More importantly, she would be a great asset if she would only let go.

Washout was a stunner. She was slim and beautiful—and she wasn’t standing at attention. She wasn’t slouching, she was simply relaxed, respectful but not subordinate. And whilst the other two were staring fixedly at a spot on the wall behind me, she was looking at me in frank and open appraisal. I met her eyes and she didn’t look away. Intriguing.

I did a slow circuit of the three of them, looking at each in turn, evaluating with my gaze. I noticed, only in passing of course, that Washout had a very shapely behind.

I stopped in front of Rock Ape.

“Where is your weapon?” I snapped suddenly.

“In the armory, sir!”

My eyes narrowed. Parade ground bull has its place. My squad is not that place.

“Yours?” I snapped at Knuckles.

“In the armory, sir!”

I transferred my gaze to Washout, looking into those deep, intelligent blue eyes.

“They won’t let us carry weapons unless under orders, Sarge,” she said calmly.

Sarge. Not Sir; Sarge. She’d done some research on me. Inside my head the judges grudgingly awarded her another point.

I held her eyes for a heartbeat, and then turned around.

“That changes now. Rule number one in my squad is that you do not, under any circumstances, go unarmed, into any situation whatsoever. You take a shit, you take it armed. Is that clear?”

Two voices responded in the affirmative. I turned just in time to see Washout’s cute butt disappear through the doors.

I turned back to the other two and waited.

“Well?” I roared once I judged that the silence had become uncomfortable.

“Sir?” said Rock Ape, his forehead creased with confusion.

“Go. And. Get. Your. Weapons,” I bellowed. “Meet me at my vehicle. Go!”

They ran for it.

I slid out of a different door and ambled comfortably down a little used corridor. I knew I probably had a good ten or fifteen minutes before any of the three found me. I had told them to meet me at my vehicle. I had simply neglected to tell them where my vehicle was. It wasn’t in the main car park. It was around the back of the building, in a covered area accessible only via a tunnel that ran under the River Thames.

I went through the heavy steel door and out onto the loading dock. The Land Rover was there, Bill leaning nonchalantly against the side, John in the driving seat and Anna in the passenger seat.

“Any show promise, Jack?” asked Bill.

“One’s not bad, I guess,” I replied.

I braced my foot on the front bumper of the vehicle and swung up onto the bonnet, taking a seat on the huge spare tire strapped there. Bill started a stopwatch.

“What’s our record, Billy?” I asked.

“Four minutes twenty-five seconds and if you call me Billy again I’ll shoot you.”

“Wanna place some bets?” I said grinning easily.

“I say nobody beats it today,” said Bill, looking back into the cab with his eyebrows raised.

“Five says someone does,” said Anna.

“I’ll take that action,” I said over my shoulder.

“And I’ve got twenty says someone’s out here in under two minutes,” she said confidently.

“Oh, I’m in on that,” said Bill.

“John?” I asked.

“I’m with my wife,” he replied.

“Of course,” said Bill, imitating the sound of a whip cracking. “We’ll see what happens when—“

The door opened and Washout stepped through, a gym bag in one hand and a semi-automatic shotgun in the other. Strapped to her thigh was a pistol, a SIG Sauer P-228, a smaller version of my own. I approved. She walked demurely down the steps and stood in front of the ‘Rover, looking up at me.

“Time?” I asked.

“One forty six,” said Bill disgustedly.

“Hah! Pay up!” yelled Anna.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out some cash. I handed two twenties and a ten to Bill who added his own and passed them back.

“Thank you gentlemen, always a pleasure.”

I rolled my eyes.

“That was a test, wasn’t it?” asked Washout calmly.

“Of course it was a test,” I replied. “If you couldn’t find me how the fuck you gonna find a vampire?”

She nodded and treated me to a dazzling smile.

“I passed then?”

“Sure, but don’t let it go to your head,” I said, trying to conceal my own smile. “Put your stuff in the back and we’ll wait for your classmates.”

This was the next test and she passed it. She dumped her bag but came back with the shotgun. Maybe Washout wasn’t the right name for her.

We waited, Bill whistling tunelessly as he watched the time.

“We’ll give ‘em a few minutes more,” I said eventually. “If they can’t find us we’ll leave ‘em behind. Fuck it, I’m not babying the bastards.”

Washout, who was about thirty seconds away from being renamed Scrapper, turned and gave me a speculative look. Then she took off back inside.

“Well, she’s a one, ain’t she?” said Bill.

“Wonder how she found us so fast,” I mused.

“If you read files, oh revered boss man,” said Anna sweetly, “you’d know the answer to that one.”

“That so?” I said. “Prithee, oh keeper of the sacred knowledge, pray enlighten our poor befuddled male minds.”

“She followed your scent,” said Anna. “She’s a werewolf. Parents killed by vamps, brother went missing, pack driven off. She joined us out of desperation because she had nothing else.”

Washout was definitely not appropriate. Scrapper it is.

I was about to reply when she came back, a shamefaced Rock Ape and Knuckles in tow. Rock Ape had a Minimi SSW—big surprise—and Knuckles had an SA80.

“All right kiddiwinks!” I yelled as I jumped down from my seat. “Get in the vehicle and learn from your mistakes!”

Bill was already climbing in the back of the ‘Rover and I followed him. Rock Ape and Knuckles went in the rear doors, them, their baggage and their weapons taking up the second row of seats. Scrapper climbed in the back and sat next to me, her legs stretched out comfortably, her shotgun cradled in her lap.

“Okay Johnny, lets see how far we get,” I said.

The ride out of London was always something of a relief. England’s capital looked almost the same as it always did. It was a fundamental part of the English mindset that one did not allow the bad guys to change one’s lifestyle. The stiff upper lip of the Blitz was still there. Londoners were carrying on, living their lives, being resilient. But the notes were a little false. The laughter a little too forced, the fun a little too desperate, the playtime a little too strident. What was worse was that people were starting to buy into the vamp propaganda, starting to wonder whether some accommodation might be made, as it had been in Western Europe and the USA. All told it was a place far removed from the fighting, far removed from the ugliness, and it was nice to get back to reality.

Roaring up the Motorway, the lights of London dwindling behind us, we made good time. Speed limits were all but forgotten, rarely enforced especially at night, and John pushed the ‘Rover hard.

I stretched out my legs to rest my boots on the seat opposite.

“Okay people,” I said. “If anyone has any questions now would be the time to ask.”

“Yeah, I got a question, boss” said Anna, half turning in the seat and folding her arms on the back. “If a toucan can, can you?”

“John?” I said. “When we get where we’re going, spank your wife for me, will you?”

“Well I was going to anyway,” said John with a perfectly straight face. “She’s about due and it doesn’t do to let these disciplinary issues slide.”

“Good man,” said Bill, grinning hugely.

“I heard that, Bill,” said Anna. “I’ll tell Helen you said that.”

“My wife knows her place,” said Bill. “Admittedly that place is in the right, and she knows it.”

The three of us laughed at that. Helen was a sweet, gentle soul who nevertheless managed to exhibit amazing steel when the situation called for it. We all loved her dearly.

“So, we stay at the Coach tonight, tomorrow we swing by and spend some time annoying the hell out of Mrs. Bill, then we’ll take our FNGs and get them into some trouble,” I said. “Any real questions?”

“Yeah,” said Rock Ape. “When do we get to kill some vamps, boss?”

Rock Ape had been smart enough to pick up on the mode of address at least.

“You can kill vamps when you grow up, Rock Ape,” I said flatly.

“Rock Ape?” snorted Anna.

“Rock Ape was in the RAF Regiment, weren’t you, Rock Ape?” I explained.

“Yes, boss,” he replied. “But I have a name.”

“I’m sure you do, even if only so your fellow Rock Apes know what to yell at you when they want you to join them in the nightly headbutting contests, but right now I can’t be bothered to learn it. You are Rock Ape until you earn the privilege of that kind of effort.”

Knuckles was glowering at me.

“And you are Knuckles, Miss black belt,” I said and turned to Scrapper. “And before you ask, you’re Scrapper.”

“Scrapper?” she said mildly.

“Well you were Washout, but then you fought just to get in here, so you got promoted.”

She shrugged.

“I wondered when we were gonna get around to the nicknames,” said Anna.

“Yeah, sorry, I got distracted by Scrapper’s tits,” I said, watching her out of the corner of my eye, wondering how she would react to the blatant breach of protocol, regulations and plain good manners.

“I think I picked the wrong unit,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “If our hunter can be distracted by a pair of breasts, he can’t be much good at the vampire killing stuff.”

Bill laughed delightedly.

“She got you there, Jack. Admit it.”

I grinned and gave her a slight nod.

“Good comeback, Scrapper,” I said, my internal judges giving another point.

I turned back towards the front of the vehicle just in time to see Knuckles rolling her eyes and shaking her head. This one would need a different tactic.

“You got a problem Knuckles?” I asked mildly.

“Yes, boss. I do. That was inappropriate.”

“Why?”

“It’s sexual harassment,” she said.

“And were you offended, Scrapper?” I asked. “No threat, no pressure, if I said something wrong, speak up for yourself.”

“I thought it was hilarious,” she said, shrugging and smiling.

“Yeah, I wonder what you’d say if he wasn’t here,” Knuckles sneered.

“Not much,” said Scrapper. “If he wasn’t here he couldn’t have said it to me so it would be a moot question. Besides, I said I wasn’t offended and I meant it. What gives you the right to be offended on my behalf?”

“Passive aggressive bullshit,” said Knuckles with a sneer before turning back to me. “And you should know better. You’re in charge of this unit and you’re not supposed to be flirting with that bimbo.”

And now was the time for that different tactic.

“John?” I said pleasantly. “Soon as you get a chance, pull over will you?”

Anna stared at me from the front seat and Bill drew in his breath slowly. I sat, my eyes fixed on Knuckles’.

“Boss?” she said, giving me a puzzled look.

“You obviously have a problem, so we’re going to sort it out, okay?”

“Jack?” said Anna. “What’s going on?”

“Oh nothing much. We’re gonna find a place to stop and the Knuckles is going to teach me a lesson about respecting women, right Knuckles?”

“I can’t hit a superior officer,” she said, glowering at me.

John was slowing, pulling into an overgrown lay-by.

“Then you’re going to get the shit kicked out of you,” I said casually. “I’m not a superior officer so feel free to try to land at least a punch or two.”

John pulled to a stop and put the engine into neutral.

“Okay, everybody out!” I barked.

I stepped from the back of the ‘Rover behind Bill and Scrapper, then strode out into the middle of the three-lane highway. I turned a full 360, taking in the pitch-black night. The road was deserted; most of the streetlamps dark, and the silence was unnerving.

“Jack?” said Bill, his voice holding a note of worry. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just taking some air,” I replied flippantly.

I strolled back to the ‘Rover, my hands in my pockets. I’d left my FAL in the back of the vehicle, but I took off my gunbelt and handed it to Bill.

“Okay Knuckles,” I said, spreading my arms wide. “No weapons, no rank. Just take your best shot.”

“Are you fucking mad?” she spat. “You want us to fight out here?”

“Ah, so your stupidity does have a limit,” I said. “Good to know.”

I could see Scrapper on the edge of my vision, giving me an amused look. Werewolf, my mind supplied. She could smell vampires and she knows as well as I do that there’s none for miles around.

Anna was leaning casually on the side of the Land Rover, John standing next to her with his hands in his pockets. Bill was swinging my gunbelt from one hand, his posture relaxed. Rock Ape was looking from face to face, his features deep in thought.

“You gonna take a swing at me or not, Knuckles?” I asked, keeping my face straight.

“You’re a fucking bastard, boss,” she hissed.

“I never denied that,” I replied blandly. “One more chance. Hit me or shut up.”

Suddenly she smiled.

“Arsehole,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Point taken.”

“Is it?”

“Yes boss, it is.”

“Good,” I said as I turned to our other two FNGs. “We can’t afford to be fighting each other when we should be fighting the vampires. If you have a problem with another member of the team, clear the air or get the fuck out.”

I turned back to Knuckles.

“I apologize for offending you,” I said sincerely.

“Oh, I wasn’t offended,” she said airily. “I was pissed off because you didn’t say it was my tits that distracted you.”

We locked eyes for a long heartbeat, my jaw hanging open, and then I burst out laughing. Bill and John followed suit and Anna gave an appreciative round of applause.

“Nicely done, Knuckles,” said Anna. “I haven’t seen Jack rendered speechless in a very long time.”

“There aren’t any vampires around here,” said Rock Ape suddenly.

Everyone stopped laughing and turned to the new guy.

“I beg your pardon?” I said quietly.

“There’s no vampires around here,” he repeated.

“What makes you say that?” said Knuckles, her eyes narrowing.

“Everything,” he replied. “The boss isn’t worried in the slightest. John and his wife—sorry, I didn’t catch your name—aren’t worried. Bill looks like he’s bored. They’d be tense as all hell if we were in any real danger.”

“Oh, good acting guys,” I said sarcastically. “The Oscar’s in the bag.”

“It’s not their fault. I’m not the smartest guy, I know that, but I figured that if your team weren’t worried it was for a reason.”

“Well, this night’s just top full of surprises, isn’t it?” I said, accepting my gunbelt back from Bill. “Rock Ape’s right. We’re still too far south to be worrying about any but the dumbest vamps, and even the dumbest vamps aren’t dumb enough to attack a group of heavily armed soldiers. And any that tried would be rendered insensible by the sight of Knuckle’s magnificent tits.”

Knuckles rolled her eyes and turned to Anna.

“How on Earth do you work with this Neanderthal?” she asked.

“Give as good as you get,” said Anna with a shrug. “I shut him up a long time ago by telling him he could play with my breasts if he let me play with his dick.”

“Hey, now,” said John mildly.

“Oh honey, it’s okay,” she said. “You’re the only man for me.”

John smiled warmly.

“Although,” said Anna wickedly, “rumor has it that he’s packing a pretty large caliber weapon down there.”

“Yeah, a rumor you started!” I shot back, laughing.

“I heard that rumor!” said Bill, joining in the laughter. “I remember thinking that I’ve seen it and it didn’t look that big. Pretty small in fact.”

“Yeah, that’s not what your wife says,” I said slyly.

“Oh please,” he said dismissively. “You couldn’t keep up with my wife. She’d bury you inside of a minute.”

“See what I mean?” said Anna. “Just slap him back when he pisses you off.”

“Thanks, Anna,” I said. “And now it’s time to get moving again. I want to have you in bed by dawn.”

“You wish,” she said, sticking out her tongue.

Isn’t it great when your friends back you up like that?

We got back into the ‘Rover and John pulled us out onto the road, our interrupted journey resumed.

“So,” said Bill, drawing the word out in way that told me a witticism was coming. “Turns out that Rock Ape had a brain all along, and under that Ice Queen exterior, Knuckles actually has a heart.”

He turned and gave Scrapper a big grin.

“And Jack was worried about your courage, which you had all along.”

A few laughs greeted that.

“So what does that make you, Jack?” asked Anna. “Dorothy?”

“Sure, that’s me,” I said. “I’m just trying to get home.”

“Where’s home, boss?” asked Rock Ape. “You got any family? And how’d you get involved in this in the first place?”

There was dead silence in the ‘Rover. I was staring at my boots on the seat opposite, lost in thought.

“Uh, Rock Ape?” said Anna quietly. “Those are not good questions to ask. Jack’s past is very unfriendly territory.”

“No, that’s okay,” I said. “Fair questions.”

I stared out of the window, barely seeing the flickering trees speeding past in the darkness.

CHAPTER

14

THREE MONTHS AGO…

“I was born in South London,” I said finally. “My dad was in the Army, helicopter pilot, real hard arse. When I was fifteen we were posted up North. At seventeen I joined the Marines, which pissed my dad off no end. I think he had dreams of me following in his footsteps.”

I sat silently for a few moments, lost in my memories.

“That’s where I met Bill. We hung out for a few years, learned everything we could, and then went for Selection together. We both passed though it damn near killed me.”

I looked up, seeing the understanding in the eyes of Knuckles and Rock Ape. I doubt Scrapper got it but the forces guys did.

“We were in Hungary, on some shitty behind-the-scenes op to bring a war criminal out when the shit hit the fan on Black Tuesday.”

“Scariest day of my life,” commented Bill soberly.

I acknowledge the comment with a nod, silently agreeing with him.

“We pulled back through Europe, fighting a rearguard action against the vamps. We lost a lot of good people there. Johnny Gurkha, Sixes, Pete Long, ‘Captain’ Kirk, Strangely Brown.”

“Smoko barely made it out alive,” said Bill, his eyes staring into the distance. “Doc died of his wounds on the way back to the UK. Topper, Kinky, Stone, Chubby, Banger.”

I nodded with each name on the list of fallen friends.

“Porker was turned,” I said morosely. “Had to kill him myself.”

“Remember the day the Foreign Legion came out of the sky?” asked Bill. “Frenchie was there, just dropping in the middle of us under a parachute.”

Bill suddenly grinned.

“Those guys may look pretty in their képis but they sure can fight.”

“We made it out. Thanks to la Légion, and that relief column from the Bundeswehr. We made it out. Left a trail of bodies behind us a mile wide.”

“You know that the Foreign Legion were disobeying orders?” said Bill, grudging admiration in his voice. “The French government had been penetrated by so many pro-vampire scumbags that the Legion were ordered to stand down?”

“Yeah,” I said. “The Yanks were the same. Their government actually ordered them out of Germany. We gave a lot of them sanctuary afterwards because the bastards wanted to court martial them all for coming to help us.

“I never heard any of this before,” said Rock Ape. “I mean, I knew about the fight across Europe, but none of the details. How can it have been that bad?”

“No silver at the start,” said Bill. “And the vamps took control of the military and threw them at us.”

“Not just the military either. We had farmers and housewives, screaming and frothing, coming at us. It was a nightmare. The hate in their eyes.”

“The kids were the worst.”

“Oh God,” whispered Knuckles. “Jesus. Kids?”

I nodded and sighed heavily.

“We moved during the day and fought all night, grabbing sleep when we could. By the tenth day we were all on our way out. People were shooting at shadows, scaring themselves silly. The Black Forest is no place for the mentally unbalanced.”

“And then came the choppers,” said Bill. “Big, ugly American Blackhawks, dozens of them. Apaches, Chinooks. Tearing up the sky and picking us up by the fistful. Never been so happy to see Yanks in my life.”

“Fuck happy,” I snorted. “If one of those pilots had asked me I’d’ve married him on the spot.”

The laughter eased the tension a little.

“They dropped us in Düsseldorf and we held long enough to get all the refugees out before pulling back to France, then back to England. It was fucking Dunkirk all over again.”

“’Cept the Yanks were already with us this time,” said Bill in a weak attempt at humor.

“It wasn’t until we made it back that I found out what was happening over here. My parents retired just outside Newcastle.”

“Jack,” said Anna kindly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Dammit, I do have to,” I said fiercely, looking at her though my tears. “Someone has to know, it can’t just be me. There’s no official fucking record, no monuments to the fallen, nobody talks about this shit! People sit around and wonder if we’re right to kill vampires! Yes! We fucking are! We’re damn well right because it’s us or them! No compromise! No mercy!”

“Jack,” said Anna softly. “I think you’re scaring the new guys.”

“Fuck the new guys,” said Bill, “he’s scaring me.”

I shut my eyes and grit my teeth, trying to regain control of myself. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned. It was Scrapper. She’d moved to sit next to me, offering her hand in wordless sympathy.

“My dad was one of the first to join the Home Guard,” I said quietly, lowering my head. “Like I said, he was a real hard arse. He was coming home early one morning when he found a group of vamps had somehow gotten my mum to come out of their house. My dad’s hard but he’s a kitten compared to my mum. She took dad’s shotgun and blew two of the fuckers away before they got her.”

Scrapper’s hand tightened on my shoulder.

“Dad killed three more but there were just too many. My kid brother was inside, shooting from the doorway with my dad’s hi-power but, by the time the sun came up, mum and dad were both dead. He ran for it, got pretty far before nightfall. He holed up and went on the next day. He managed to get out a message for me. Gave it to a Marine who was part of the relief force heading north.”

“What happened to him?” asked Scrapper softly.

“No idea. Haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

“I’m sorry, boss,” said Rock Ape. “Shit, that’s bad.”

I shrugged.

“Just another story,” I said. “Most people lost someone in the attacks.”

“I lost an old school friend,” said Rock Ape, shaking his head, “but nothing that bad.”

“Nobody,” said Knuckles. “Nobody I knew was anywhere near the North when the leeches invaded.”

I turned to Scrapper and gave her a sympathetic look. I’d remembered what Anna had said about her family.

“Sorry, Scrapper, this must be hard on you.”

She nodded and then wrapped her arms around me, laying her head on my shoulder. I slipped my arm around her and gave her a hug. I couldn’t figure out who was comforting whom and I don’t think it mattered.

“You lose people, Scrapper?” asked Knuckles.

She nodded and said nothing.

“So,” I said with a note of finality. “Anna and John have each other, and that’s a beautiful thing, long may it continue.”

Anna beamed at her husband and reached over to stroke his arm.

“Home for them, I suppose, is wherever they’re together,” I went on. “Bill has a wife who is way too good for him and a kid who obviously sprung from the loins of the milkman because he’s smart and good-looking.”

Bill grinned at me and stuck two fingers up in the traditional British ‘fuck you’ gesture. I rolled my eyes and turned to Rock Ape.

“To answer your question: home, for me, is nothing more than the next dead vampire. That’s where I live.”

CHAPTER

15

“You weren’t mean to me,” whispered Marie, snuggled warm and tight against me. “Especially once you found out how hard I was going to fight to pass your training course.”

“That’s right,” I replied, tickling her ribs and making her squirm and laugh. “My little Scrapper.”

“Bill was wrong about you, you know?” she said, nuzzling my cheek with her nose.

“He was? In what way?”

“In this way,” she said, sliding her hand down my chest, over my stomach and down, wrapping around me and gently stroking.

“You’re not small. You’re the perfect size. Big enough to make me gasp, even make me a little sore the next day, but not so big we can’t do anything.”

I was blushing furiously. Strange, but there you go. I can handle just about anything except that kind of compliment.

She took my earlobe between her teeth and tugged gently, her breath hot and harsh in my ear.

“For crying out loud, woman,” I laughed. “You’re insatiable!”

“When the sex is this good, you better believe I’m insatiable.”

I turned over and wrapped her in my arms, passionately kissing her.

“Stop that,” I said breathlessly.

“Stop what?” she said, her hand moving even faster.

“Stop that or this’ll be over pretty quick.”

“Ah, this?” she said, gripping me tighter.

I groaned and nodded.

“Well, the solution seems obvious,” she said, grinning wickedly. “Hide it somewhere I can’t get at it.”

“Oh, you’re an evil devil woman,” I said, sliding between her legs.

“Yes I am,” she said, and now she had both hands on my shoulders.

I slid inside, watching her eyes close and her mouth open as she gasped. Then I grit my teeth as her hands clenched on my shoulders. Marie really didn’t know her strength.

“Put your hands on the pillow,” I growled through my teeth.

Her eyes opened wide and she stared at me. She hesitantly obeyed, laying the back of her hands against the pillow. I wrapped my hands around her wrists and pushed down firmly. I knew she’d be able to shrug me off if she wanted to, but I had to try.

“Oh, wow,” she whispered. “What’s this?”

I moved against her, finding a slow rhythm whilst holding her down. She moaned, her hips rising to meet me.

“You like that?” I asked softly.

“This is amazing,” she whispered. “Please Jack, faster. Harder.”

“You are a wild little thing, my love,” I whispered back.

“Think you can tame me?”

Well, to be fair, I did try.

Dawn was lightening the sky, a pale line visible through the gap in the curtains, and I woke up to find I was in bed with a werewolf.

Okay, so I did go to sleep with a werewolf but she had been human when I closed my eyes. Now she was hot, furry, big and strong. Her eyes were screwed shut, her muzzle wrinkling in a snarl, tiny whimpers alternating with growls coming from her throat, and she was twitching against me, her legs and arms making tiny motions.

“Marie?” I said, trying to wake her. “Sweetheart?”

Her upper lip curled back completely and she gave vent to a full-throated growl. Fuck.

“Marie?” I said louder.

Her eyes snapped open and she drew in a great, shuddering breath before sitting up suddenly. She was trembling and breathing heavily. I sat up next to her and wrapped my arms around her, stroking her head with my fingertips. Her arms circled my torso, holding me tight enough to make breathing difficult.

Slowly she calmed down, her breathing slowing and her arms relaxing. Then she changed, still holding me. I could feel her body rearranging against me, her fur receding and her skin writhing as things moved beneath the surface. None of this repulsed me in the slightest. Wolf or woman, Marie was my love, my other half, and my world.

“Sorry if I scared you, love,” she said eventually.

“It’s okay darlin’,” I replied. “Nightmare?”

“No thanks,” she said, laughing shakily. “Just had one.”

I touched her cheek gently, brushing tears away.

“What was it?” I asked softly.

“It was you, I was trying to find you,” she said. “I was in a corridor, one of those like in a fancy hotel, carpets and plants and paintings on the wall, and it went on forever. There were doors, hundreds of them, and identical rooms, and I could hear you screaming, screaming my name, screaming for help, and I changed and started tearing doors open, empty room after empty room, and no you.”

She sighed and held me tighter. I couldn’t help myself, I kissed the top of the head and squeezed her.

“You were trying to save me?” I said, amazed at how warm that made me feel.

“Yeah, you’re my guy and you were in trouble,” she said.

“Traditionally,” I said with a laugh, “that’s the other way around.”

“Screw tradition,” she said, lifting her head to kiss me. “We’re a werewolf and a human in love who hunt vampires for a living. Tradition left the building a long time ago.”

“So true, my love,” I said, laughing.

“So you don’t mind me feeling this way?” she asked. “Protective of you?”

“Why would I?”

“Male ego,” she said, giving me a flat look.

“My ego,” I said seriously, “can take the fact that my love wants to protect me.”

She smiled shyly.

“I just want you to be around for a while, that’s all,” she suddenly frowned and reached for my hand, holding it tentatively. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” I replied.

“Does it bother you, me being a werewolf?”

“No, why would you think it would?” I asked, puzzled.

She seemed to be searching for the right words.

“Let me put it like this,” she said finally.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then she changed again. She raised her head, looking into my eyes. Her wolf eyes were so different from her human eyes, right down to the color, but I could see her in them as easily as I ever did. She cautiously leaned forward and brushed the tip of her nose against my lips. She nuzzled against my cheek and tenderly licked my ear. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and buried my face in the thick fur of her neck, breathing deeply, taking in her scent.

I trailed my hand across her back, down to her waist, running my fingertips through her fur. Her body was warmer as a wolf, absolutely wonderful to sleep with. I kissed along her neck, up to the pointed ears perched on either side of her head.

She gave a soft growl, a gentle warning to slow down or stop altogether. I didn’t know which.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” I whispered in her ear, trying not to laugh.

Her hands pushed against my chest, breaking my embrace and forcing me back on the bed. She was grinning and shaking her head.

“What? Didn’t think that was funny?” I asked.

She leaned over me for a moment, her eyes intent, and then she changed.

“We can’t,” she said finally. “Not like that. Not when I’m like that.”

“Why not?” I asked, frowning.

“Dammit Jack, I’m scared I’d tear you apart. I’m stronger like that and I have less control over myself. Instead of scratches on your back and bruises on your sides we could be looking at gouges and broken bones.”

“Well, we don’t want that. We don’t want that at all.”

I wrapped her in my arms again and we kissed for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence.

“We really need to get some more sleep,” I said finally.

Marie groaned and snuggled against me.

“Why do you have to leave?” she asked petulantly.

“I’m coming back,” I pointed out reasonably.

“I know, it’s just … I’m worried. What if … what if you don’t?”

I kissed her, as much because I wanted to as to stop that line of talk.

“I’m coming back, I really am,” I said softly. “There aren’t enough vampires in the world to keep me away from you.”

“You know what’s really weird?” she asked suddenly.

“What’s that?”

“I believe you. I really do. I don’t know how, but I really believe you. You are going to come back, aren’t you?”

She studied me for a second, her eyes narrowed.

“What is it, love?” I asked.

“You change, you know that?”

“Change?”

“Like I do, like a werewolf.”

“Uh, no I don’t,” I said, laughing.

“Yes, yes you do,” she said, sitting up again. “It may not be physical, but you do change. Usually you’re Jack, the guy with the kooky sense of humor, who makes inappropriate jokes and thumbs his nose at people.”

“I have never thumbed my nose—or anything else—in my entire life,” I protested.

“Oh hush. You know what I mean. But when you go into a fight, you change, you become different.”

I propped myself up on my elbows, studying her in return. I was puzzled, but part of me acknowledged what she was saying and, more importantly, agreed with her.

“It’s like—you know that quote from the Hindu scripture that Oppenheimer supposedly used about the Manhattan project, the one that goes ‘I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds’?”

I nodded, wondering where she was going with that.

“That’s you, when you go into combat—into battle—it’s like you become something else, something other. You become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”

“Oh, that,” I said with some relief. “That’s just the training. You put your emotions on hold, bury everything deep down, and you become a machine. You analyze, you compute, you calculate, you think instead of feel. It makes the job easier, but it has its disadvantages. Sometimes all that repressed emotion can smack you straight in the face after the battle is over. It’s a major factor in post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“No,” she said emphatically. “It’s more than just your emotions. It’s as if … as if you keep this killer inside you and you only let him out when you need him.”

“What, now I’m Jekyl and Hyde?” I said lightly. “The schizophrenic with the deadly warrior buried under the nice guy? Trust me, sweetheart, I’m the same guy, it’s just different circumstances.”

“I know that,” she said. “That’s why I said it’s like how I change. You’re still you, you’re still in charge, it’s just like a … like something changes.”

She rolled her eyes in frustration and let out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, let me put it like this, if I bent over in front of you what would you do?”

I smiled wide, giving her a lascivious look.

“Okay, you don’t need to answer that, I already know. But if I bent over in front of you in a combat situation you wouldn’t even give me a second look, would you?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said, somehow sure I was lying.

“I do. In combat I’m not your girlfriend, I’m not your lover, I’m not even a woman, am I? I’m a colleague, a comrade-in-arms, aren’t I?”

“I doubt that,” I said quietly.

“I don’t. Think about it, those little endearing names have been creeping in over the last few months. And you do it with Anna and John, too. When we’re together it’s ‘dear’, ‘sweetheart’, and ‘my love’. When we’re in combat it’s just ‘Marie’. And Anna’s not ‘luv’ or ‘babe’, John’s not ‘mate’ or ‘bud’.”

I said nothing, quietly staring at her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said after a few moments. “Maybe you’re right and it’s just the training. But remember the first time you saw me change? Remember that night? That morning?”

“Outside the Coach and Horses?” I asked.

“Yeah, that first night we met.”

“Of course I remember. That was the day you went from Scrapper to Marie. Took you less than twelve hours to go from FNG to nickname to name. That’s a record with me.”

She smiled warmly and snuggled against me again.

“That’s nice,” she said, kissing my shoulder and running her fingers across my chest. “But do you remember how you were then?”

CHAPTER

16

THREE MONTHS AGO…

The Coach and Horses had only two rooms available, so the guys had taken one, the girls the other. We let Rock Ape take the bed and the three of us broke out our ‘green maggot’ sleeping bags and commandeered portions of the floor. It wasn’t the first time on the floor for any of us, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

I had staked out my claim and went for my nightly ritual, my sunrise smoke. I went outside and sat on the low wall that surrounded the inn, watching the horizon and smoking. The sky would be lightening soon and I was giving consideration to having a second cigarette whilst I watched the sunrise when the door behind me opened. Scrapper slipped out.

“Morning,” I said quietly. “Can’t sleep?”

“I just heard someone moving about downstairs,” she said by way of explanation.

“Sorry, I said, pitching the dog-end of my cigarette into a rain-filled flower pot that looked like it hadn’t seen vegetation in many a year.

“That’s okay,” she said, then wrinkled her nose. “You know, you really shouldn’t do that. It smells awful.”

“Yeah, I know. Been trying to quit for a while now.”

She leaned against the wall, eyes constantly moving as she scanned the darkness. Score another point for the civilian.

“You smoke after sex?” she asked.

“Nope, not since I bought that bottle of lubricant.”

She gave me a flat, unamused look,

“What?” I said innocently. “You lob me a straight line like that and then get upset when I smash it back?”

She shook her head and laughed.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “On the understanding that I reserve the right not to answer, or to lie, stretch, bend or otherwise twist the truth, as my sense of humor dictates.”

“What’s with Anna and John?” she asked pointedly.

I shrugged, wondering how to answer and finally settling on the truth.

“They’re married, they’re in love, she’s a vampire,” I said. “What more’s to know?”

“Does she feed on him?”

“What they do is their own business,” I replied curtly. Across the road a movement had caught my attention. Something was hiding in the long grass by the bridge.

“Oh, I was just curious,” she said a little defensively. “I wondered how it worked is all.”

I shrugged again.

“I find it best not to ask,” I replied, trying to appear offhand as I watched the movement.

“By the bridge?” said Scrapper lightly.

“Yeah, you spotted him too?” I replied, lowering my voice.

She turned to me and smiled, nodding slightly.

“It’s a little late to be out hunting,” she pointed out quietly.

“Yeah, that’s why we have to get him, he may have a nest around here somewhere. There may be others.”

“We need to draw him out. Think you can hit him from here?”

“Hit him? Easily. Killing him with one shot could be more difficult.”

“Okay, let’s give him something to look at.”

She lifted each leg in turn and slipped off her boots. That was honestly the first and only time I’ve seen anyone remove army boots in a seductive manner, but somehow she managed it. In her bare feet she hopped off of the wall and slinked over to me, her hips swinging seductively. She leaned forward and brushed my lips with hers.

“He watching the show?” she whispered.

I looked over her shoulder.

“Yes he is. He’s leaned a little further out.”

Scrapper pantomimed passionate kissing, moving against me.

“Let’s take it up a notch,” she said.

I grunted my assent, watching out of one eye as the vampire moved forwards another inch. Scrapper stepped back and unbuckled her belt, then undid her trousers and let them fall to the ground.

The vampire’s jaw dropped open and he inched forward a little more. Come on you randy bastard, just a little further.

Scrapper turned, kicking her trousers over to her boots and leaned back against me. I nuzzled against her neck and whispered in her ear.

“He’s almost out of cover, keep it up.”

She reached for the zipper at her throat and slowly slid it down. The vamp almost fell over trying to get a better view.

“That should do it,” I whispered.

She turned and took a step to the side, waggling her finger at me as though I’d tried to grope her. She laughed convincingly and worked her combat outfit open at the front, exposing the soft curves of the inside of her breasts.

Suddenly I whipped my FAL up and fired. The shot was wide, but only just, hitting the vamp in the shoulder. I leaped off of the wall, swearing profusely.

“You get him?” said Scrapper, zipping herself up again.

“Winged the bastard,” I said, taking to my heels. “Come on!”

Behind me I heard the sound of her changing and a furry figure caught up with me, fangs and claws flashing.

The vamp was ahead, clutching his wounded shoulder with his good hand, staggering along the road. The sky was starting to pale, so wherever the vamp was running to had to be close.

He ran onto a side road, barely more than a dirt track, and took off like the devil was behind him. I guess that’s me.

I put on a burst of speed, Marie matching me exactly, and then I skidded to a stop. My rifle hit my shoulder and I took a deep, steadying breath as I aimed. I squeezed the trigger slowly and the FAL bucked in my hands, sending a lethal message to the vamp’s spine. He fell face down, deader than ever.

“There’s only one place he could be going down here,” I said, controlling my breathing. “There’s an old, abandoned farm.”

Scrapper nodded and then spread her arms.

“We’re going to head that way slowly, wait ‘till sunup, and go poke around.”

She nodded briefly. We slipped off of the road, moving through the long grass, slipping from tree to tree as we worked our way towards the farmhouse. The sun was just peeking over the horizon when we made it to the stone wall that surrounded the buildings. Scrapper sniffed the air and turned to me, growling softly.

“Vamp?”

She nodded and pointed down the lane at the dead body.

“Just that one?”

She nodded again.

“Okay, let’s take a look around anyway.”

It took us less than five minutes to check around inside the tiny, three-room farmhouse. Even I was wrinkling my nose at the musky odor as we went in. There was a dead body on the kitchen table, green and rotting, crawling with maggots. A second body, fresher but not by much, lay on the floor by the back door.

The place was empty. I calmly walked around, checking everywhere before motioning Scrapper outside. We backed out and stood on the porch, taking deep breaths in an attempt to clear the stench from our lungs.

“Mind if I smoke?” I asked softly.

Scrapper shook her head emphatically so I extracted a cigarette from a battered pack and walked down the path to light it. The smoke helped, the distance from the house more so. I climbed onto the wall and sat down. Scrapper leaned her elbows against the wall and let out a very human sigh.

Now, in my defence here, I don’t know if it was the sunrise, which was beautiful, or Scrapper, who was even more beautiful, or if it was the events, but suddenly I had an urgent need for physical contact. Without really realizing what I was doing I reached out and started scratching Scrapper behind her ears.

For a few minutes we remained like that until Scrapper gave out a contented growl. That brought me to my senses and I snatched my hand away.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “That was wildly inappropriate. Sorry.”

Scrapper bared her teeth in a grin. I ground my cigarette out and jumped off the wall, trying not to think about how warm and soft her fur was. She vaulted the wall and walked next to me down the lane, back towards the inn.

I actually enjoyed that walk, and there’s no pun intended there. We were walking together; I was not walking her.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She was a stunner, there’s no doubt about that, even in her wolf form. More importantly, she was strong, fast, and very competent. She had good instincts and seemed to be almost fearless. She’d make a good hunter if the Ministry would let her.

Scrapper barked softly and grinned again. Outside the inn stood Bill and Rock Ape. The FNG was covering who-knew-what with his gun and Bill was giving me a knowing look. On the wall next to him were Scrapper’s boots and, neatly folded, her trousers.

“Boss,” he said evenly.

“Took the FNG hunting, Bill,” I said with a wide grin.

“Catch anything?”

“One little vamp. We need to get some of the locals to go up to the old Johnstone farm. It’ll need cleaning up. The vamp was staying there.”

Bill looked at Scrapper quizzically, taking in her size and general furriness. Rock Ape was staring with open-mouthed shock.

“Never seen a werewolf before, gentlemen?” I asked.

Rock Ape shook his head.

“Just a bit of a shock, that’s all,” said Bill. “Wasn’t expecting to see her like that so soon.”

“Well, I’m knackered and I’m pretty sure Scrapper is too, so we’re going to bed. You gents can gawp later.”

I picked up her boots and trousers and went inside. Scrapper followed me into the bar.

“Goodnight, gentlemen,” I said pointedly as Rock Ape and Bill came in.

I put Scrapper’s things on a table and waited until the guys had gone upstairs.

“You need me to turn around?” I asked Scrapper.

She looked at me quizzically for a second and then nodded. When she was done I turned back. She was pulling on her trousers.

“You have fun on your first hunt?” I asked lightly.

“Oh yeah, it was a blast,” she said sarcastically.

“Well, you earned the right,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“Marie,” she replied. “Marie Hennessy.”

“Marie,” I said, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you Marie. I’m Jack Henderson.”

She shook my hand and grinned.

“Nice to meet you Jack.”

“Come on, let’s get to bed.”

I caught her amused look and hastily amended.

“To sleep, Marie, to sleep.”

“Shame.”

At the foot of the stairs she stopped and turned around. She leaned in close and kissed me on the lips.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

“Which explains nothing.”

“Exactly.”

CHAPTER

17

I walked Marie over the tarmac towards the helicopter that was going to take her away from me.

Ahead was Captain Dent. She would be flying back with Marie, and one of those AgustaWestland VIP taxis was already warming up.

“Pagan,” said Dent, speaking over the increasing noise from the chopper.

“Ma’am,” I replied politely.

“Ms. Hennessy,” she said, greeting Marie. “I see you found what you were looking for.”

“Yes Captain, and thank you for bringing me here.”

Dent beamed and gestured at the waiting chopper.

“I’ll see you inside,” she said. “Good luck, Pagan.”

“Thank you, ma’am, for everything.”

Dent climbed aboard and I turned to Marie. We were determined not to drag this out and make it harder for both of us. Marie kissed me, holding my face in her small, soft hands, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Become Death,” she said. “The destroyer of worlds.”

She kissed me again and then she was in the helicopter. I stepped back as the rotor wound up and the wheels left the ground. I caught one last glimpse of Marie’s face through the window and she was gone.

I allowed myself five seconds of pain as the chopper rose into the air and moved away, then I ruthlessly clamped down on my emotions. I tried to believe that there was no point in wasting time with silly feelings. It’s just that the chopper had raised so much dust that my eyes were streaming.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I had a few hours to kill before nightfall and I wanted to visit the armory, so I ‘liberated’ a Land Rover and went for a drive. If there’s one pain in the arse about Brize it’s that everything is a long slog from everything, and the armory was no exception.

Inside it was almost deserted. There was a long counter with a woman standing behind it looking bored as she read a newspaper. She looked up as I walked in. She was wearing a corporal’s stripes on her neat RAF blue uniform.

“Mornin’ whoever you are,” she said cheerily.

“Morning corp,” I said.

“Do somethin’ for ya?”

“Yeah, need some ammunition and maybe another weapon.”

I put the FAL gently on the polished surface of the counter.

“Well no bloody wonder, that thing’s probably an antique by now,” she said dismissively. “Want an ’80?”

“Not if you paid me to,” I replied. “What I’m looking for is a para FAL.”

She gave me a blank look.

“Shorter barrel?” I explained. “Folding stock? No bayonet lug? FN FAL fifty-point-six-three?”

Realization dawned.

“Oh, a shorty SLR. We got a few of those left, thanks to old timers like you, and even some new ones they’re bringing in. You got orders?”

I didn’t have any paperwork authorizing me to draw from stores, but I did have something better. I pulled out my Ministry ID that charged, amongst other things, that all military personnel should extend every courtesy and aid in order that I might complete such missions as I was on.

“Pagan!” she exclaimed after peering at the card.

“That’s me.”

“Cor! Wait ‘till I tell my Jimmy! And our boy, he’ll never believe it!”

Her hand was already inching towards a pad of paper for the inevitable autograph, and I was happy to oblige if it meant getting what I needed.

It took me twenty minutes but I came out with a hundred and twenty rounds for the MP7, eighty each for the SIG and the new ‘shorty’ under my arm, plus a hundred rounds of ‘regular’—rounds without the silver tips. I wanted to try out my new toy down at the range before committing to leaving my FAL behind. I also had a modified SUIT scope that would fit onto the picatinny rail that ran along the top of the rifle.

It took me the better part of a half-hour to load up my magazines. I had, in total, six mags for the FAL, five for the MP7 and six for the SIG. Overkill? Maybe. I put the silver-tipped rounds aside for now and loaded the shorty with the regular rounds.

I pulled a target from the rack. At first glance it appeared to be the standard NATO Figure 8, a representation of a vaguely Russian-looking soldier charging straight at the shooter, bayonet fixed. NATO soldiers had been ‘killing’ this poor unfortunate for decades, but on closer inspection the new version was a little different. Protruding from his mouth was a pair of cartoonish fangs. I wondered if the US army still used these. I affixed the charging vampire downrange and went back to my new weapon.

The SUIT scope only has 4x magnification—it’s no sniper’s scope—but it would be enough to make the shot considerably easier.

I fired off the first magazine, taking my time and periodically peering at the target through a pair of binoculars. The scope was off, the shots landing a little to the right. A few adjustments later I was going through the second mag, checking and fine-tuning as I went.

Eventually I was satisfied that the shorty was as accurate as I could make it.

I set up another target and started shooting in pairs: one to the heart, one to the head. When I took my shot at Glavidia, I wanted to make sure that the bitch died.

Ten pairs later I reloaded and took a look at my target. Nine of the shots to the heart would have been instantly fatal, but only seven to the head hit the target where I wanted. Sure, all ten pairs would probably have killed Glavidia, but probably wasn’t good enough.

I shot off another mag, getting the feel for the weapon, hitting my mark with each shot.

I went through the final mag at high speed, paring down the time between shots, shooting at another fresh target. Better. Not only could I make the shot, I could make it very quickly.

I wouldn’t want to try making these shots at anything over a hundred meters, but at the relatively short range I was dealing with I was comfortable with my skills.

But just in case I called in at the Ministry building to see what they had for me in the Paranormal Weapons department.

I was not disappointed.

Back in my room I showered, shaved, and donned a fresh set of black combats. Yesterday I had worn them for effect—to impress upon the officers that I was the vampire hunter, not they—but today my life depended upon it. The set I put on were faded from washing and wearing, especially at the knees and elbows. Pure, dark black clothing shows up almost as well as bright clothing in a forest at night. Letting it fade a little to a dark, dark grey matched the color of the night instead of showing up.

I buckled on my PLCE and distributed my weapons and ammunition, plus a few assorted items I’d need. Finally I had nothing to do but sit staring at the wall, trying to achieve that mythical, zen-like state of mind that would allow me to complete my mission.

The sky grew darker and, I knew, all across the north, vampires would be emerging from their crypts or coffins or wherever vamps slept during the day. They would be feeling the thirst and people—human beings—would soon find themselves becoming food. Some people who had been human yesterday would be awakening tonight as vampires, subservient to the vamp that turned them and slaves to the thirst.

The sun went away and darkness descended.

I applied my camo cream and pulled on a black woolen commando hat. I was as ready as I ever would be.

CHAPTER

18

Twelve helicopters waited on the tarmac. Six were Westland AH1’s—British made versions of the Boeing Apache Longbow—and the others were Westland Lynx troop carriers. All twelve were heavily armed, carrying missiles, rockets and heavy-caliber chain guns.

Never enough firepower. My mantra.

Standing by the nearest Lynx was a familiar figure, holding a familiar weapon. I broke into a broad grin.

“Rock Ape, you ol’ bastard,” I greeted my former trainee. “You still alive?”

“Sure, boss,” he replied, his teeth white against his camo cream. “Take more’n a few months of fighting sissy vamps to kill me off.”

“You a hunter now?”

“Yep, in a team, too.”

“Whose?”

Rock Ape pointed into the Lynx and I turned in time to see a short, lithe figure jump out.

“Knuckles” I said, laughing. “Well fuck me.”

“I don’t think we have time, Pagan,” said Knuckles with a stern look. “How you been?”

“Fair to middling,” I said.

She was looking me up and down, peering around me.

“Oh crap,” she said. “The world is coming to an end. It’s in the book of Revelations.”

“What is?” asked Rock Ape.

“Signs of the apocalypse,” she said. “Seven seals, four horsemen riding out, the Pagan loses his SLR”

“Naah,” I said, yanking the shorty around on its sling. “This is just a version more suited for evening wear. I do so hate being improperly dressed for these social engagements.”

“Heard about you and Scrapper,” said Rock Ape. “Finally.”

“News travels fast,” I said, clamping down on the rush of pleasure.

“Well, when the poster boy for the Ministry gets a VIP’s joyride to chopper his girlfriend in for the night, people notice.”

“Hey, I had nothing to do with that,” I protested mildly.

“But I bet you didn’t pass up the opportunity,” said Knuckles, a little sourly.

I sighed and gave her a long-suffering look.

“You still not gotten that stick out your arse yet?” I teased, and then turned to Rock Ape. “You need to get this girl laid, might chill her out a bit.”

I was grinning, waiting for the inevitable response, when I noticed Rock Ape and Knuckles looking at each other. Even in the dim light and under the camo cream I could tell they were both blushing.

“You two?” I said as realization crept in.

“Okay, keep it quiet,” said Knuckles softly. “We’re still military and this kind of thing’s frowned upon.”

I mimed zipping my lips shut and grinned at the pair.

“Here comes the rest of my team,” said Knuckles quietly.

I turned and saw a young man with an automatic shotgun, a scar faced, bald man with an LSW, and a pleasant-faced woman with a huge sniper rifle.

“Billy, Pogo and Cally,” said Knuckles, identifying the trio. “This is Pagan.”

Billy gaped, Pogo gave me a respectful nod, and Cally simply raised an eyebrow.

A pair of trucks rolled up and heavily armed soldiers jumped out of the canvas-covered backs almost before they had stopped.

Looks like my backup had arrived.

I turned back to Knuckles, my mouth open to speak, when I caught the look on her face.

“Not really your style, is it Pagan?” she asked. “How much shit you gonna be in before you yell for help?”

“Way too much,” I said.

“Well,” she said. “If you call, we’ll be waiting. You have my word on that.”

“If I call,” I said, emphasizing the ‘if’, “come in guns blazing and shoot anything that moves. Don’t even look for me.”

“Sure, boss, whatever you say,” she answered, her tone telling me she’d ignore that last order no matter what.

Loyalty is a fine thing, but not if it gets people needlessly killed.

“Time to shake a leg,” I said.

We, Knuckles’ team and I, climbed aboard our Lynx as the other teams did the same. We settled into the uncomfortable seats and Knuckles passed me a headset.

“Pagan to Goose flight, come in,” I said into the microphone.

Goose 1 through to Goose 5, plus Mother Goose—our chopper—acknowledged one by one. Then I went through the same procedure with Hawk flight. Hawk 1 through to Hawk 6, our Apache escorts, signaled their readiness.

“Okay Goose flight, let’s get this show on the road. Hawk flight, if I could prevail upon you to take point, we’ll follow you in.”

“Roger Pagan,” said Hawk leader.

We all grabbed for handholds as the Lynx choppers rose gracefully into the air.

It was midnight and we were making our way north, into the darkness and, quite possibly, towards the end of my life.

I felt like a switch had been flicked inside me and, now that Marie had pointed it out, I could sense the change she was talking about.

I am become Death.

My emotions receded, my perceptions sharpened, and my body went into fight mode.

I am become Death.

I was staring at the floor, running my plan through my mind at high speed, looking for flaws, considering the angles, attacking the weak spots. I made contingency plans, discarding some, keeping others.

I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

“Pagan, Mother Goose, we are three from drop, over,” said the pilot over my earphones.

“Mother Goose, Pagan, roger,” I replied.

“Mother Goose, Hawk 1, we are beginning our attack run, over.”

Ahead, through the windshield, I could see the night explode as our six escorts opened up with everything they had, spraying an utterly innocent stretch of parkland with deadly ordnance.

Mother Goose flew in low, slowing as we approached a clearing.

“Good hunting, Pagan,” said the pilot.

I gave him the thumbs up, pulled my headset off, and slipped out of my seat. Rock Ape had already thrown a line out and was holding it steady.

I took the line from him. I didn’t want to waste time with a descender, so I was doing this the old-fashioned way, by slowing my fall with nothing but friction.

I swung out onto the Lynx’s skid, watching as the helicopter centered itself over the clearing. I raised a hand in a final farewell and stepped off the skid. I plummeted twenty feet like a stone, using my hands to slow myself only slightly. As the ground rushed up I gripped the line harder, the friction tearing into my gloves, and landed with barely a bump. I took off running towards the trees, not even looking back as the Lynx powered away into the night. At the treeline I paused to strip off my shredded gloves and replace them. Then I unslung the shorty, snapped the stock into place, and concentrated on slowing my breathing. After a few moments I took a bearing on my compass and moved on.

I had three miles to make and not a lot of time to make it.

Once I was a safe distance from the clearing I stopped and sank to one knee against a gnarled tree trunk. I pulled a cellphone from my pocket and an eyepiece from the other, and snapped the two together. Screwing the eyepiece into my eye socket like a jewelers loupe allowed me to use the device without any tell-tale light escaping. I cycled through the options and sent a millisecond burst of code. Two seconds later the phone received a series of five satellite images, the most recent less that thirty seconds old. The forest, for a mile in every direction, was empty of any large heat signature other than mine.

Vamps are colder than humans, but still warmer than their surroundings, so they show up just fine on our IR satellite images, especially when the weather’s chilly.

I tucked the phone away and set off running.

I covered the distance in a respectable time. No records were in danger, but I did okay, and it wasn’t long before I crested a slight hill and saw Havelock Manor ahead. Once again I checked the satellite images. There were vampires patrolling the grounds of the manor, as well as a few pet humans, but outside the walled-in area was nothing.

Better and better.

I was still cautious. I am become Death, not Stupid. I made my way to a nice, quiet area of the wall and checked my phone again before pulling myself over. Crouching in the darkness I slung the shorty and pulled out my MP7.

With the stock extended and the forward grip folded out the weapon went from a machine pistol to a respectable substitute for an assault rifle. With the suppressor attached it became a very quiet, very deadly weapon. I pulled out a second suppressor and screwed it onto the extended barrel of my SIG before replacing it in the holster.

I crept through the grounds, skirting the immaculate lawns and keeping to the undergrowth, stopping periodically to check where the guards were by requesting a new set of satellite images.

I was crouched in the shadow of an overgrown tree when I saw the first vamps. There were two, wearing body armor and carrying H&K MP5’s. I watched them walk along the path, barely ten feet from me, and around the corner. There was something new about these. Vamps with guns were rare. Vamps with body armor—even if that body armor wouldn’t stop a round from the MP7—were rarer still. The vamps were, apparently, learning.

There was definitely a party going on inside. Even from out here I could hear the sound of music playing. Something classical with lots of strings. Don’t ask me what it was, hardcore German metal is more my style.

I rose from the ground, slipped across the path to the wall and scampered up the drainpipe. Halfway up was a stone balcony that provided a place to pause and allow the next patrol to pass.

I checked the area again. There were no vamps on the roof. Apparently the vampires weren’t learning all that well.

I went up the second half of the drainpipe and pulled myself onto the roof. This was easy. Too easy. The situation screamed trap.

I cautiously made my way across the roof, senses alert, the MP7 hard against my shoulder. The door that led inside was locked, as expected, and it took me all of thirty seconds with my lock picks to get in. Sloppy. Too sloppy. It was only a storeroom, but it had another door that led into the manor proper. Security should have been tighter.

I stopped, feeling like a total idiot. Vampires, not humans, were running the show. A human would have put guards on the roof, guards in the storeroom, guards patrolling the actual grounds rather than just around the manor, but vampires didn’t need to, not when they could sense the presence of a human at fifty yards.

Any human attempting to get into the manor would be sensed long before they were a threat.

Or so the vamps thought.

I reached into a pouch and pulled out one of the toys that the Ministry R&D had given me. They were calling it a Firebug. It was a cylinder about the size of a D-cell battery with a nozzle on top that made it look like a travel-sized deodorant can. I placed the Firebug on the ground near a stack of boxes and went over to the door, listening carefully before cracking it open an inch. The corridor thus revealed was the servant’s quarters. It was dark, with the exception of a single open door that threw a square of flickering yellow light onto the carpet.

I moved soundlessly down the corridor until I could just see into the lit room. What was inside made my lips draw back in a silent snarl. There was a young woman, twenty years old at most, naked and spread-eagled on the bed. A vamp knelt between her legs, his hips moving as he thrust into her. On each side of the woman was another vamp, also nude and aroused, their lips fastened to her forearms. I’d seen that feeding method before, when a vamp wanted the victim to last longer than they would if their wrists were opened. Obviously the threesome wanted the woman to last long enough for each to take a turn with her.

I was about to move on, resigned to leaving the girl to her fate when she raised her head and gave a weak plea. Her pathetic cries for mercy elicited mocking laughter from the leeches.

I stepped back into the shadows and fought with my emotions. No matter how important the mission I simply could not leave her like that. I wanted to move on, I knew I should move on, but Marie’s eyes gazed at me from across the miles that separated us.

Let’s see how long you last in my bed, little wolf.

I felt my control slipping, my emotionless mental state shattering. I swiftly collapsed the stock to the MP7 and drew my SIG. With one weapon in each hand I walked softly into the bedroom. The feeders died when I double-tapped each in the chest. The rapist died a second later as I pulled the guns together and walked a line of shots up his spine. Even as the dead vamps were toppling onto the mattress I dropped the MP7 on the end of the bed and leapt on the woman, my hand clamping over her mouth, my nose less than an inch from hers.

“Don’t scream,” I whispered. “Don’t say a word. Don’t make a sound. Just get dressed, get out and never, ever come back. Understand?”

The woman nodded, her eyes wide with terror.

I let her rise to a seated position, my hand still clamped to her jaw. I slid the SIG back into its holster and pressed my finger against my lips as I removed my hand.

“Thank you,” she mouthed silently.

I jerked my thumb towards the door. She slid off the bed and struggled into a purple ball gown. Then she grabbed a pair of shoes and, with one last glance at the dead vamps, hurried out of the room.

I looked around. The light had been coming from a pair of altar candles on the sideboard. I blew them out and dropped a Firebug on the bed, closing the door as I left.

The music had covered the brief sounds but I still needed to know if the girl would raise the alarm. At the end of the corridor was a window that looked out over the entrance. I stood to one side and waited. Within a minute the woman ran out, still holding her shoes with one hand and clutching the bodice of her dress to her with the other. She was sobbing loudly as she ran down the path towards the driveway.

“Come back and see us some time, little girl,” yelled one of the vampire guards, eliciting cruel laughter from his companions.

Satisfied, I turned back to the corridor, counting doors until I reached the one I wanted. With the MP7 ready I inched the door open and saw another dark storeroom. Piles of boxes and cleaning supplies weren’t important, but the door on the other side of the room was. It led out onto the balcony around the main hall. I placed a Firebug on the ground next to the door, and another on a shelf of bottles covered with ‘flammable’ stickers.

The last Firebug went on top of a bin of used cleaning cloths marked ‘laundry’ that gave off the sharp smell of chemicals.

I cautiously opened the door, looking out onto the balcony. It ran along three sides of the main hall, initially built so that servants could replenish the candles on the massive, suspended candelabra. Now, with the huge crystal chandelier in place, it was barely used. Tonight it was dark and deserted. Perfect.

CHAPTER

19

It was time to make my move. I collapsed the MP7 and slid it back into the holster, then took off the shorty and flipped out the stock. I snapped out the magazine and checked the loads. Silver-tipped 7.62mm rounds gleamed briefly in the dim light before I slid the mag home again. It always pays to check, even if you loaded the magazines yourself and this is the fifth time you’ve checked since doing so.

The hinges were well oiled and made no noise as I slipped through the door. I moved around the balcony until I reached the stairway at the back. This, I knew, came out in the middle of an access corridor that led from the kitchens to a discreet door in the side of the main hall. Havelock manor had been designed by an architect who had definite ideas about servants being neither seen nor heard.

I moved past the stairway and took a glance down into the hall. The reception was in full swing. What looked like about half of an orchestra sat off to one side, playing a light waltzy air, but they were merely window dressing.

Foppishly dressed vamps circulated around the hall, eating expensive-looking finger food from bone china plates and drinking from crystal glasses. There was a buzz of conversation broken by occasional laughter. A leech in a midnight blue crushed velvet suit waltzed with a dark-haired human woman wearing a black cocktail dress.

The woman was either slave, sacrifice or willing slut. It didn’t matter much which. The chances were that, by the end of the night, she would be penetrated—with fang, penis or both—by at least the vamp she was dancing with.

At the focus of the hall was a raised dais with an ornate throne. Seated there, absently fondling the hair of a half-naked male bloodslave, was Glavidia, the Queen du Noir, head vampire, One of Three, mistress of the leeches, and my target for tonight.

I tucked the shorty against my shoulder and looked through the scope. The vampiress sprung into focus. She was, I had to admit, quite beautiful in a cold way. She was wearing a black gown that left her shoulders bare and revealed a large amount of milky-white cleavage. Both the full skirt and the bodice were delicately embroidered with gold thread and edged with glittering diamonds. Her hair was pale gold, almost white, and spread out over her shoulders in an artfully designed wave.

The bloodslave, with his embroidered black jeans, diamond-studded collar, and bleached blonde hair, matched his owner exactly and was gazing up at her with adoring eyes.

I crouched down again, getting out of sight, to make my final preparations. I had three more toys, gifts from the Ministry. They were grenades; their fragmentation surfaces flecked with silver, with cores formed of something called ‘silver azide C12’, a powerful silver-based explosive. Two were held in place on one yoke of my PLCE by webbing loops; the third was in a pouch on my left. I wanted to be able to throw the first two quickly to add to the confusion after I took my shot, so I did something incredibly dangerous. I eased the pins from both grenades, the levers held in place by the webbing. When I needed to throw them, I would yank them out, the levers would flip off, and I would have five seconds to get rid of them.

Satisfied, I rose to my feet, found my balance, and raised the shorty. I placed the sighting reticule directly over Glavidia’s heart and took in a deep breath. I let half of the breath out and stopped, steadying myself for the shot. I carefully squeezed the trigger, applying constant, even pressure, and the shorty roared.

Several things happened at once. A hole appeared in Glavidia’s chest and she slammed back into her seat, a look of astonishment on her face. The sound echoed around the room and the orchestra stopped, startled by the sudden noise. The shorty bucked in my hands, the working parts slamming backwards, ejecting the spent cartridge and stripping a fresh round from the magazine. The shorty’s barrel had climbed with the recoil and it took only a minor adjustment to bring it back down to Glavidia’s head.

As the first shell was tinkling on the stone balcony, the second shot rang out, punching through the vamp’s forehead and blowing a huge chunk out of the back of her head. Blood, hair, brains and fragments of bone splattered the wall behind her.

I pulled and threw both grenades and stepped back towards the stairway. Then, as if in slow motion, I saw the vamp in the velvet tux. He had reacted to the second shot by performing a prodigious standing jump, aiming for the balcony I stood on. He would have made it but the shorty found him first, blowing through the left side of his chest at point-blank range. Instead of landing gracefully on the balcony he slammed into the stone.

Strong hands grabbed on and he started to pull himself over as I backed away. Screams and shouts came from the hall as people unfroze.

Then the grenades detonated. When grenades go off it’s not like in the movies. People aren’t thrown into the air in a cloud of smoke: people die in a hail of shrapnel. Some must have hit the vamp because he arched his spine, screamed in pain, and fell backwards into the hall.

I turned and ran down the stairs. I fumbled for a remote, like the one you’d use to activate your car alarm, and pressed a button.

The five Firebugs I’d scattered around received the signal and their tiny nozzles started to rotate, spraying a mist of inflammable liquid in a wide circle around them. Five seconds later a pair of electrodes sparked and fireballs blossomed, quickly spreading and setting off the manor’s fire alarms.

A human servant ran past the bottom of the stairs, a fire extinguisher clutched in his hands. He was shouldered aside by a pair of burly guards who started up the steps towards me.

The shorty was deafening in the confined area, and both guards died swiftly.

I paused to sling the shorty and pull the MP7. What I needed now was speed, not punch. I pulled out the stock and flipped the handgrip down, keeping the weapon aimed as I looked both ways down the corridor. The human servant gaped at me in shock, a black clad apparition emerging from the chaos.

“Run away,” I hissed menacingly.

He did.

I went in the other direction, towards the kitchens, remembering the layout and recognizing the walls. Ahead was a T-junction where the corridor met another. To the left were the kitchens, to the right were the stables, and coming around the corner from the right were vamps. Quite a lot of vamps.

I sprayed them with the MP7 in short, economical bursts, the armor-piercing rounds making short work of their protection, the silver tips making a mess of their bodies. At the end of the corridor I paused to change the nearly-empty magazine. With a fresh mag halfway to the weapon a vamp stepped around the corner and stopped, staring at me.

She was no fop. She had made a minimum amount of effort with her outfit, but she still looked like a fighter. Her body armor vaguely resembled a leather corset, accentuating her small breasts, and her skirt looked more like a leather kilt. Practical knee-high boots and a waist-length leather jacket completed her outfit. Her hair, so dark it was almost pure black, was pulled back into a severe ponytail and hung down her back. Startling green eyes peered out of a pale, beautiful face innocent of make-up.

We stood, staring at each other for a heartbeat. I had one round in the breech of the MP7, which was pointed at the ceiling. She had a pistol, which was pointed at the ground. I could hear booted feet approaching.

“He went this way!” she yelled, pointing behind her towards the stables. “Move, you bastards!”

Then she stepped aside, putting her back to me as a half-dozen armed guards clattered past her.

The vampiress looked over her shoulder and winked at me before taking off after the guards.

I was so stunned I almost forgot to reload.

Thanks to my unexpected ally, most of the guards had been drawn away from the kitchen. I cautiously peeked around the corner. There were three figures inside. A human chef in a white apron, a single vampire guard, and the ponce in the velvet suit. His ruffled shirt was red with blood and his jacket was torn across the back.

The three were talking urgently. I didn’t have time for this. I took out my final grenade and pulled the pin. I held the weapon for a quick count of two and hurled it into the room. The detonation sent a wall of smoke down the corridor and blew out the windows.

I stepped into the kitchen and hurried across to the far wall. The cook and the guard were dead, their shredded flesh peppered with shrapnel. The fop had survived, somehow, one leg ruined, blood leaking from dozens of wounds.

I kicked him solidly in the temple, sending him rolling over into unconsciousness.

A short flight of stairs led down to the cellar door. Inside was a massive collection of rare wines, and hundreds of dusty bottles were lined up on antique racks.

The rest of the cellar was open and stacked with boxed provisions. I knew where I was going. Through the door ahead was a massive walk-in freezer and, through the freezer was a large room with one final door that led into the passageway. From there it would be either a very long or very short fight.

It didn’t really matter which, in the balance of things. I had completed my mission and now I was expendable. I had proved that the vamps were vulnerable, even in their seats of power. Important vamps had died, been injured, or scared shitless during the attack. The vamps overseas would have to think twice about throwing any money into this situation.

If I died, the biggest problem for the Ministry would be the propaganda victory the vamps would get from having killed the Pagan.

I stepped out of the freezer and my attention was caught by a long, low cage that was set against one wall. Inside was easily the biggest werewolf I had ever seen. It—he, I could see that much—had pure black fur with a white, diamond-shaped patch in the center of his forehead. At the sight of me he sprang up onto hands and knees, snarling and growling.

“Hey,” I said softly, holding up a hand. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“He iss tryink to varn you,” said someone behind me.

Something slammed into the back of my head, really hard.

“Oh bollocks,” I managed to say before the world went black.

CHAPTER

20

I swam back to consciousness with a pounding headache. I was lying on the cellar floor and I was stripped to the waist.

Across the room stood a huge, muscular vampire. He was examining my kukri, turning the blade over in his hands. He was wearing tight leather trousers, heavy boots, and some sort of studded leather harness that crisscrossed his powerful chest. He looked like an escapee from a catalog of fetish wear for the discerning pervert.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said with a groan, “but I don’t swing that way.”

The vamp turned and fixed me with an amused look.

“It pleases you to joke,” he said in heavily accented English, German would be my guess.

I rose unsteadily, taking stock and overacting, trying to appear weaker than I was. Both holsters were empty, the guns sitting on a table along with my other kit, but my commando knife was still in its scabbard.

“I vill record your pain,” said the vamp, gesturing to a video camera in the corner of the room.

“Look, Fritz ol’ buddy, if you want to make gay porn that’s your business. Just count me out.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Ze famous English zense of humor!”

“Absolutely. Any minute now a score of half-naked women will come running in and we’ll all chase each other around to zany music.”

“No, you vill die,” said the vamp, brandishing the kukri. “I haf left you your little blade undt ve shall fight, ja? Iff you can kill me, you go free! Very funny joke, ja?”

“Ja,” I agreed. “Very funny. You know the place is on fire, right?”

“Ja!” he said with relish. “Only a fool fights in ze burning house. Ve shall be fools togezher, ja?”

“Okay, Fritz, let’s be fools.”

“Hans, my name ist Hans. You should know ze name off ze man who vill kill you.”

“Jack,” I said. “And wouldn’t it be easier just to drop our trousers and see who has the bigger dick?”

“Ze time for jokes has passed, Herr Jack.”

“Whatever you say Hans,” I muttered, drawing my commando knife.

The slim, tapered blade was double-edged, razor sharp and perfectly balanced. Hans circled, waving the kukri in the air in front of him and grinning broadly. I took a deep breath, my knife loose in my hand, and waited for him to make the first move.

He lunged forward, the heavy blade whistling through the air, missing me by inches as I blocked the stroke with my forearm and slashed him across the shoulder.

He stumbled back, shocked.

“For zis,” he snarled, “you die zlowly.”

I said nothing, measuring the distance and advancing with small steps, keeping my weight centered. Talk or fight. Don’t try to do both.

He lunged again. This time I blocked with both hands and slammed my boot into the side of his knee, following up with pummeling blows to his stomach and a slash across the face that missed puncturing his eyeball by a fraction of an inch. Blood poured down the side of his face. His eyes flashed with power as he came at me, trying to overwhelm my mind.

I blocked easily, spinning out of reach of his swipe and stabbing my blade to the hilt through one meaty thigh. My head felt like I had a concussion and the blood pounding in my temples sounded like a thrash metal band were performing in my skull. I had to end this fast.

He was a step faster than I. As I yanked my knife from his thigh the kukri slid across my side, biting deep.

I stumbled back, my left hand clamped to the wound, blood flowing down my side.

“Now,” said Hans, limping toward me, “zis ends.”

It did. I held my cupped hand under the wound, letting my palm fill with blood. As he neared I flung the liquid at his face, a few drops hitting his eyes. He flinched at the burn and stumbled backwards.

I took the opportunity and slashed across his abdomen, opening a deep wound. A solid kick to the chest sent him tumbling backwards, causing the wound to tear and gape, allowing all sorts of slimy things to fall out.

A wave of pain and nausea washed over me and I bent to dry heave until I thought I would pass out again.

When I straightened up the vamp was screaming incoherently, trying to stuff his slippery intestines back inside his body.

I ignored him and went over to my kit. I held a field dressing against the wound in my side and tied it as tight as I could, then pulled on my body armor and tightened that as much as I could stand. Hopefully it would stop the bleeding. Once I had everything I stepped around the feebly struggling vampire and up to the cage. The werewolf was grinning as he watched the vampire squirm, then he turned his broad head towards me and intently sniffed my scent.

“I’m gonna let you out, okay?” I said carefully.

The werewolf nodded. I took a ring of keys from a nail on the wall and fumbled through them until I found the one that fit the lock.

“No!” whimpered Hans, then he started gabbling in German.

The cage door creaked open and the werewolf crawled out. Once standing he towered over me by a clear foot. I looked up into his intelligent eyes, then reached and unlocked the collar.

“Thank you,” growled the werewolf.

I blinked. I didn’t know any werewolf that could speak in its wolf form. He stepped around me and stood over the vampire, growling continuously.

“The place is on fire, okay?” I said.

The wolf nodded without taking his eyes from the terrified leech.

I shrugged, sending a bolt of pain through my body that staggered me for a second. I had to get out. As I opened the door the vampire began to scream again. Now I was in the tunnel, possibly concussed, definitely suffering from loss of blood.

But whatever shape I was in, Hans was having a worse day.

CHAPTER

21

I stumbled down the tunnel, hugging one wall, the shorty pointing the way. Ahead was a square of darkness where the tunnel gave out and the night sky was visible. It seemed like I had been in the manor for hours and the sun should have been rising already, but a glance at the radium dial of my wristwatch told me it was still before 2am.

Standing at the entrance to the tunnel were four vamp guards. I crouched behind a crate and considered my options. My trousers and shirt were soaked with blood and I was feeling dizzy and nauseous. I wasn’t even sure if I could take out the vamps, let alone make it back to the rendezvous.

I glanced around the tunnel, looking for any inspiration. My eyes were drawn to the electricity meter on the wall a few yards behind me. Must have been a pain for the guy to have to come down here to read it every month, but it did give me a small idea.

I fished a block of PE4 and a radio detonator out of a pouch, estimating how much I would need. The meter was a large gray box with thick cables coming out of the top and bottom. Fuck it, never enough firepower. I used the entire block, setting the detonator and returning to the crate.

One of the four vamps cocked his head, as if listening to something. He spoke to one of his companions and the pair started walking cautiously down the tunnel towards me.

I had to make a decision, fast. The shorty came up and I had placed the reticule on the first vamp’s chest when the door behind me burst open with a blood-curdling howl.

The werewolf went past me at a dead run, rounds from the vamps’ guns hitting him repeatedly. He made quick work of the pair, disemboweling the first and slamming the second into the wall, leaving a bloody smear behind.

At the end of the passage the guards were struggling to switch the magazines on their weapons. Suddenly it became clear. The vamps had been expecting human targets and didn’t have their weapons loaded with silver rounds. Jacketed lead doesn’t bother a werewolf much.

I drew a bead on the left-hand guard and dropped him with a shot to the chest as the werewolf took out the one on the right. He stopped and beckoned to me. I stood and staggered forward. As I reached him I saw vampire guards hurrying towards us, and the wolf gave me a shove, pushing me in the direction of the perimeter wall.

“Go,” he rumbled. “Go!”

I took off running or, at least, the best impression of running I could manage, and slipped through a line of huge pine trees. Across an immaculate lawn was the high brick wall. There was no way I would be able to climb that, but luckily there was a gated opening. It was the manor’s delivery entrance. A single guard stood to one side of the open gates. The shorty would echo around the landscape, giving my position to every leech and human pet in the area, so it went on my back and the SIG came out.

I paused and pulled out the radio transmitter for the PE4. The explosion rocked the ground, sent debris flying out of the tunnel, and plunged the entire area into darkness. Nice.

I crept along the pine trees, staying out of sight until I was within spitting distance of the guard. He was young, no more than 18, probably the kind of kid who threw in with the vamps because he thought it would help with the girls that were scared away by the world-class case of acne that littered his face. He was clutching an M-16 like his life depended upon it.

Too bad the weapon wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference.

I carefully picked up a few pieces of gravel and tossed them over the wall. At the sound the guard spun, pointing his weapon into the darkness.

“Halt!” he called out, trying to make his voice sound gruff. “Who goes there?”

That’s when I put the barrel of the SIG against the back of his neck.

“Put the gun down really slowly, young man,” I said quietly.

He complied and I crashed the butt against the back of his head, sending him to la-la land for a while. I was suspicious of just how easy this was becoming. If it hadn’t been for the Kraut in the cellar I’d be back at Brize by now drinking tea in the mess hall. There had to be more.

I slid close to the gates and took a look outside. Then I took a second look. I don’t have any kind of unusual night vision but I did know the trick. In near darkness the bit of your eye that works best during the day—the bit right in the center of your vision—barely works at all. You have to unfocus and use the edges of what you can see. It’s something to do with rods and cones and optic nerves. I didn’t care. It worked and that was all I needed to know.

I spotted movement and cursed under my breath as instinct made me try to focus on it. Again I looked and this time managed to see what was moving. There were three or four vamps, armed by the look of it, moving around and searching the area. It looked like someone had been bright enough to figure out that their psychic powers weren’t working, so they were reduced to eyes and ears. The manor was dark, thanks to the PE4, but it would only be a matter of time before someone managed to get some lights on, even if it was just an emergency generator. I had to move. Then I almost slapped myself in the forehead. Less than a hundred yards along the wall was another gate. This one led into a walled-in cemetery. The designer had included it so that loyal servants could be buried in the manor grounds without doing anything as crass as letting the oiks sleep with the masters. It hadn’t been used in over a century but the gate was kept in use because part of the housecarl’s responsibilities was keeping fresh flowers on the graves. More importantly, there was another entrance on the far side of the cemetery, so that families could visit without going through the grounds. I’d forgotten all about it.

I skirted the inside of the wall, moving slowly and as casually as I could, until I saw the tree-lined path I was looking for. The gate was hidden from view by the screen of trees and I went through, gratified that it had been maintained well enough that it didn’t even squeak. Inside were two rows of dilapidated headstones and a single low mausoleum. I’m normally immune to spooky, but this place was ladling it on thick.

Suddenly the lights came back around the manor and I jumped away from the gate. I hurried through and examined the rear gate. It was rusty and looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. If I tried to open it the scream of metal would be audible for miles. I sighed and came to a decision. I would call for backup. No ground troops but if I could get the Apaches to cause a distraction I could get the hell out.

I pulled my cellphone out and groaned at what I saw. There was a boot print on the shattered screen and the casing was cracked. It was useless. Hans, that fucking bastard, had stomped on it.

I had one more option. I had a tiny bottle of gun oil in one of my pouches. I liberally oiled the hinges and the latch, and then leaned against the wall, trying to give the lubricant time to penetrate the rust. I was tired and in desperate need of a cigarette, not that I could have lit one if I wanted to stay hidden.

I jerked my head up and swore softly. I’d almost fallen asleep. I was fading fast. I had to risk it.

I carefully lifted the latch. So far, so good. Then I took hold of the gate and yanked it back as fast as I could. The gate came open with a single, high pitched squeak and I was through and running, almost colliding with a vamp who was walking the perimeter. I barely broke stride as the SIG came up and spat death at him.

I made it to the trees but the exertion had triggered a fresh flow of blood from my wound, making my vision double and my legs turn to jelly.

I kept moving; I had no choice. Eventually, dizzy and disoriented, unsure of where I was running, I collapsed against a tree and slid to the ground. The SIG slipped from nerveless fingers and I closed my eyes. I just needed a minute, just a minute to catch my breath, just get my bearings and I would be okay.

I opened my eyes and there was a pair of boots in front of me. I fumbled for the SIG as a pale hand came down and picked it up.

My eyes tracked up the boots to a slim pair of legs beneath a short leather skirt. Above those were a leather corset and a pretty face. Her lips parted to reveal sharp fangs.

“Looks like you need some help, Pagan,” she said.

She reached down and helped me to my feet and pulled my arm around her shoulders. She started walking, supporting most of my weight.

“My car’s just ahead,” she said from a long way away.

She might have said more. I don’t know. I passed out.

CHAPTER

22

I woke up in a soft bed, various parts of my body yelling for attention. I blinked, staring at the silk canopy above me and the bag of blood hanging from one bedpost. I traced the line with my eyes until it ended on my left arm. Apparently, someone had set up a drip. Why did I need IV blood?

Someone moved in the room and I raised my head off of the pillow. There was a dark-haired head moving around in the vicinity of my abdomen and an insistent, sharp pain in my side.

“Relax,” came a soft voice. “I’m almost done.”

“Done what?” I said, slurring.

“Stitching you back together.”

Why did I need stitching together? What had happened?

Memory hit me like a slap in the face.

“You’re the vampire from the manor,” I said. “The one that sent the guards the wrong way.”

“That’s me,” she replied.

She moved slightly to reach for something and I could see the wound in my side, now neatly stitched shut. She snipped the thread with a tiny pair of scissors.

“Quite a neat job,” I said admiringly.

“Thank you, now lay back down, this bit’s really gonna hurt.”

She placed a hand on my chest. She was wearing latex gloves. She must have noticed me looking because she rolled her eyes and stripped one glove off, displaying an angry, pink patch of skin.

“I don’t know what’s in your blood, Pagan, but it burned me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, laying back and staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t realize surgery was in the cards for tonight.”

Her face moved into view above me, a faint smile on her lips.

“Brace yourself,” she whispered, and wiped something cold and wet over my wound.

For a brief moment it felt good and then suddenly it erupted into intense pain. My back arched and my hands gripped the bed sheets. She firmly pressed me back down onto the bed.

“It’ll pass, just ride it out,” she said softly.

“What the fuck was that?” I said through clenched teeth, tears streaming from my eyes.

“Antiseptic.”

I nodded and concentrated on breathing, trying to ignore the pain. It slowly subsided to a dull burning.

“Better?”

“A little,” I said, nodding.

“Good,” she replied, standing up. “Let me change your drip.”

While she busied herself putting up a fresh bag of blood I studied her.

“Who are you?” I asked. “And why are you helping me?”

“My name is Marguerite,” she replied. “And not all vampires agree with what’s going on around here. I’ve been working with your Ministry for a few years now.”

“Well, I’m glad to meet you,” I said. “And even more glad you met me.”

Something was clamoring for my attention and it took me a second to figure it out.

“Of course, one burning question remains, as yet, unasked,” I said in my best ‘this isn’t important but I’d like to know’ voice.

“What’s that?” she said, finishing with the blood and sitting back down.

“Well, and I realize I may not want to know the answer to this question, but why am I naked?”

“You’re not naked,” she said with wide eyed and fake innocence as she placed a dressing on my wound. “Your modestly is protected by a fine French sheet.”

“But I am, so to speak, naked, as it were, under said fine French sheet,” I said, one eyebrow sarcastically raised.

“Well, yes, if you want to be pedantic, you are naked under the sheet,” she said. “Your clothes were soaked in most of your blood, so I thought I’d wash them for you.”

I frowned and then chuckled, finishing off with a wince at the pain.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

“Sorry, interesting image,” I replied. “I just never thought of a vampire having a washing machine before.”

“Well that’s just silly,” she said, taping the dressing in place. “How do you think I keep my clothes clean? As far as I’m concerned, the washer/dryer unit is the greatest invention of the 20th century.”

She stopped and looked at the wall for a second.

“Well, that and the battery powered dildo,” she finished primly.

I raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

“What? If it’s a choice between getting it on with some dickhead vampire who thinks that being three hundred years old somehow makes him the goddess’s gift to woman and getting my jollies from Bob, I’ll reach for the rubber any day.”

“Bob?” I said woozily, too spaced out to dwell on the surreal conversation.

“Battery Operated Boyfriend, a girl’s best buddy,” she said, leaning back to examine the dressing. “Yep, that should hold you.”

“Wait, wait,” I said, marshalling my thoughts with difficulty. “Who undressed me?”

“I did,” she said and winked at me. “But don’t worry, stud, I kept my eyes closed and didn’t peek. Much. Hardly at all in fact.”

She was giving me another wide-eyed look. I guess you get plenty of time to practice looks like that when you’re immortal. I let my head fall back onto the pillow, my eyelids feeling like they were made of lead.

“I’m finding it difficult to care,” I said, my voice sounding thick, even to me.

“Yeah, get some sleep,” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “Sun’ll be up soon.”

I would have replied but I was out like a light.

My watch said it was seven in the morning by the time I awoke. Three hour’s sleep had taken the edge off of my fatigue, the pain, and the drugs, but it had provided me with a burning, pressing need. I needed a bathroom. The blood bag was gone and there was a neat dressing on the inside of my arm, so at least I didn’t have to fight with that. I gingerly slid out from under the sheet and managed to pull myself to my feet. I needed clothes. Not only was I naked but I was sporting a ‘morning glory’ I could have hung my gunbelt on. I was surprised I had enough blood in my body to manage that. Luckily enough my hostess had been back while I slept and my clothes sat in a neat pile on a chair by the door. I shuffled over and managed to get into my boxers. Now, bathroom. If I were a bathroom, where would I be?

There were no other doors in the bedroom so an en suite was out. Outside the door was a hallway that looked out over a large entryway. I drew in an appreciative breath. Everywhere I looked was dark, polished wood and gleaming metal. It wasn’t as big as Havelock Manor, but it was big enough.

“Oh, you’re up,” said a voice to my left. I turned and waited for a second while the house finished whirling around me.

“Oh. Hi. Um,” I said, dazzling in my repartee.

“Morning,” she replied.

My eyes dropped involuntarily. She was wearing a silk robe, open at the front, and a short silk negligee, both in a deep crimson that looked rather nice on her. I bounced my eyes back up to her face as quick as I could.

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling seductively. “It took me fifty years to get my body how I like it, and it takes a lot of effort to keep it that way. Go ahead and look.”

Her eyes traveled over my body and stopped at my crotch.

“Wow,” she said, licking her lips. “That for me?”

I looked down. My boxers were definitely under pressure.

“Bathroom?” I said, trying to sound cool.

“Two doors down,” she said, suppressing a laugh.

“Thank you,” I replied.

I shuffled in the direction she’d pointed, wincing at every step.

“Hurry back,” she called out. “Or do you need a hand?”

“I think I can manage,” I grunted.

I went and used the facilities and, feeling much relieved, shuffled back out. All the muscles down my right-hand side felt stiff and sore, so I deliberately swung my shoulders in an attempt to loosen them. The vamp—Marguerite I mentally corrected myself—was busily changing the sheets in my bed when I got back.

“Get back into bed,” she ordered. “You need more sleep.”

“No,” I said wearily, leaning on the doorframe. “I have to get out of here. I have ‘till noon to get to Havelock Park. My friends are waiting there.”

“You’re about to fall over,” she said reasonably. “Get back into bed.”

I shook my head and went over to my clothes.

“What if I give you another reason to stay?” she said as something hit the floor with a soft, slithery noise.

I turned. She had dropped the robe and stood with her hands on her hips, the skimpy negligee pulled tight across her breasts, her hard nipples clearly outlined.

I shook my head and turned back to my clothes.

“Dent lied to me,” I muttered.

“What was that?” she said, coming to stand next to me.

“Friend of mine. She told me any woman could tell I was taken.”

“Taken? By the werewolf, you mean?”

I gave her a thoughtful look as I struggled with my trousers.

“Her scent is all over you,” she explained. “That’s serious? You and the werewolf?”

“Marie,” I corrected firmly. “And yes, it’s serious.”

“Typical,” she sighed. “All the good ones are taken.”

I finally managed to get my trousers on. I searched through the pile and frowned.

“I had a t-shirt, didn’t I?” I said.

“Not when you got here,” she replied.

Right. I hadn’t bothered putting it back on after my run in with Hans the Hun.

“Hang on,” she said as she swept out the door.

It shouldn’t be possible to sweep dramatically if you’re not wearing a dress that touches the floor, but somehow she managed it. She also managed to sweep back in. She was holding a faded black t-shirt.

“You can wear this if you like. It’s baggy as hell on me so it should fit you.”

I reached for the shirt as she slid it behind her.

“After you lay down and let me change the dressing on that cut,” she said firmly.

I rolled my eyes.

“Anything to get me into bed, huh?”

“Lay down,” she said quietly.

I gave her a flat look and saw faint flickers of power in her eyes.

“That,” I snarled, “is not friendly. Don’t try that again.”

Her eyes widened.

“How?”

I shrugged with one shoulder.

“Wait, are you serious? Look into my eyes.”

I did, and saw the power building there as she concentrated her will. I, as usual, felt nothing at all.

“Shit!” she said, breathing heavily, her breasts moving enticingly beneath the thin material. “It’s like wrestling with fog!”

“I’m an airhead?” I asked, amused.

“I don’t know what you are, but that’s amazing. Even the strongest human has something I can fight against. With you it’s just like there’s nothing to get hold of.”

“So, not only is it downright unfriendly to try to force me against my will, it doesn’t work. Okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. You just need to let me check the wound and you’re being such a guy about it.”

I laughed, feeling better the more I moved around.

“Okay, you win,” I said.

I lay back down on the bed and let her work. I kept my eyes fixed on the canopy and didn’t even try to look at her breasts as she bent over me. Either I was worse off than I felt or Marie was having a positive effect on me. Place your bets.

When she was done I struggled back to my feet and took the shirt. It was a Rolling Stones tour shirt that was almost as old as I was.

“It’s an original,” she said with a grin.

“You were there?” I asked.

“You bet. Woodstock too.”

I pulled the shirt on. It was a little snug but it did fit.

Marguerite had to help me with the boots, gunbelt and body armor, but eventually I was ready to leave.

“Thank you for everything,” I said seriously.

“You’re welcome,” she replied doubtfully. “Look, I’d feel better if you rested some more.”

“I would, too, but I don’t have the time. I have to get moving.”

We were walking down the stairs when she put her hand on my arm.

“At least let me make you something to eat. Some food will help your body recuperate.”

I peered through the window at a dreary, rainy day and shook my head.

“I don’t have time. It’s going to be tight making it as it is.”

“Well don’t be stupid. You can take my car. It’ll take you less than an half an hour.”

I turned and gave her a thoughtful look. Something was nagging at me.

“Come on,” she said hopefully. “I have a couple of thick, juicy steaks that’ll taste wonderful.”

The shorty came up again as a connection was made in my head. Her eyes widened as she stared at the barrel of the rifle.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded in an incredulous voice.

“I’m leaving,” I said coldly. “What, were you trying to delay me long enough for your friends to get here?”

“You bastard,” she hissed, tears filling her eyes. “How could you? After everything I’ve done for you? How could you think that?”

And then something else snapped into place and I let out a frustrated groan. The shorty dipped and my head went with it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, too ashamed to meet her eyes.

I can be such a guy sometimes. When she didn’t reply I risked a look. She was angrily dashing tears away and giving me a hurt look.

“How long has it been?” I asked gently.

“I hardly think that’s any of your business!” she snapped tartly.

My eyes widened as I realized what I said. Suddenly I broke into laughter, which hurt like hell but felt very good.

“I didn’t mean that,” I gasped.

She stared at me for a moment before smiling and rolling her eyes.

“Then you should have phrased the question a little better,” she said, trying to hide her own laughter.

“I’m sorry,” I said, regaining some of my composure.

“Ask again, and this time: engage brain before mouth.”

“Okay,” I stopped laughing, feeling anything but funny. “How long have you been alone here? How long has it been since you last talked to someone who actually knew you?”

She nodded sadly. I hadn’t even thought about how terribly lonely she must have been here, having to pretend to be something she was not, being surrounded by people who thought she was one of them. It must have been torture.

“It’s been over a year,” she said quietly.

I sighed, shaking my head in sympathy. I snapped on the shorty’s safety catch and slung the weapon on my shoulder.

“Did you mention steaks? Is the offer still open?” I asked hopefully.

“Sure,” she said with a smile.

“And maybe you could go put a few more clothes on?” I said.

She looked down at the skimpy lingerie she was wearing and twirled.

“Making you uncomfortable, Pagan?”

“A little,” I confessed.

“Okay, seeing as you asked nicely,” she winked and pointed behind her. “Kitchen’s that way. I’ll be back in a second.”

The steaks were delicious, the conversation lively and sparkling, and my hostess, now wearing a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt that read “Happy Birthday Keith”, was an excellent chef. By 10 o’clock I felt considerably better. Marguerite gave me the keys to her Jaguar and walked me to the door.

“Listen, if you want, come south, get out of this place,” I said. “We’ll protect you.”

She shrugged.

“I might take you up on that, Pagan.”

“Jack,” I said. “It’s Jack.”

She nodded and smiled. I wanted to thank her, so I leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. At the last instant she turned her head and caught the kiss with her lips.

I stepped back and raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said cheekily.

CHAPTER

23

Marguerite’s car was lovingly maintained and I had hoped to return it to her in good condition. The three cop cars behind me had other ideas. I’d picked them up not far from her house and now they were chasing me like I’d murdered someone or something. The local police force worked for Glavidia, so I guess they had an axe to grind. I just didn’t want them to grind it against my neck.

The cops in the cars weren’t real cops, most of those had either come south or had been killed trying to defend the people against the vampires. These were hired thugs, little better than bruisers seduced by money and the opportunity to beat up those weaker than themselves.

I skidded out onto the A34 dual carriageway on the wrong side of the road, slid sideways around a roundabout and got on the correct side. Luckily the road was deserted—the vamps encouraged people not to travel—and I floored the accelerator. Over five liters of Coventry’s best engineering roared as I shifted through the gearbox like a madman. The cops were still on my tail, although I had a little lead thanks to my manic driving.

Being thrown around had reopened my wound at least partially, and my lap was, once again, soaked in blood. I was feeling sick and lightheaded, so driving was low on the list of things I should have been doing.

Ahead was Havelock Park, my backup, and salvation.

I dropped a gear, hauled on the handbrake, and skidded around the corner into the park’s entryway in a cloud of smoke and shower of gravel. I slammed down another gear and the Jag shot forward into the car park. From there I could see out over the entire area, unbroken, gently undulating hills, completely free of helicopters.

I skidded to a halt and stared at my watch. 11:15. I had forty-five minutes. Where the fuck was Knuckles? I surged out of the Jag, staring at the unblemished grass in disbelief.

Behind me the lead cop car squealed into the parking lot. I spun around and tore my MP7 from its holster, spraying the entire thirty-round clip into the car, the armor-piercing rounds making short work of the windshield and the occupants.

I dropped the empty PDW and lunged back into the car, emerging again with the shorty. When the second car came into view I fired round after round at it, the heavy 7.62mm rounds puncturing tires, doors, engine block, windshield and occupants with ease. The gun clicked empty. The car slewed in a wide circle and crashed into the first vehicle.

I fumbled to reload the shorty, a full magazine slipping from my blood-slick fingers. I needn’t have worried. The third cop obviously thought better of coming after me, skidded around in a full 180, and screeched off back the way he had come.

I stepped forward, yelling at the top of my voice.

“Yeah! How you like that? Run, you fuckers! Run the fuck away! Who’s your daddy?!”

I waved the shorty and whooped, dancing on the spot.

“Who’s your daddy?!”

Then I felt the wind behind me. I spun and collapsed to my knees as my legs gave out. In the air, floating gently towards me, was a black-robed Angel of Death, with a skull for a head and wielding a scythe. I gaped for a second and shook my head weakly. The apparition just kept coming.

“Oh no, you fucker,” I slurred. “Not without a fight.”

I raised the shorty and pulled the trigger. Nothing. It was fucking empty. I let the rifle fall to the ground and tried to draw my SIG with fingers that felt like they belonged to somebody else.

Death settled to the ground, his voice roaring in my head, his breath washing over me. Two figures came out of his robes and ran towards me. I fell backwards, all my energy gone, leaking out of me like my precious blood.

An anxious face entered my line of sight. I thought I should recognize her. I knew the guy who joined her. It was Rock Ape. Was the other Knuckles? I thought it was. They were talking but I couldn’t hear them over the roar of Death. My vision narrowed, tunneling down to a point, and I felt myself rising upwards.

Shouldn’t I be heading down?

As last thoughts go, that wasn’t a very good one, but I didn’t exactly have time to rehearse.

CHAPTER

24

I awoke to crisp sheets, cold air and the thrash metal band playing an enthusiastic fifth encore in my head to thunderous applause. I was getting tired of waking up with a headache. At least this time I was in a hospital. Not only that, I was in a hospital I recognized. I was at Brize Norton. I had died and gone to Brize Norton.

And I could smell Marie. I raised my head—which caused an extended drum solo followed by some meaty power chords from the band—and saw her. She was sitting in a chair, asleep, her head pillowed on her arms next to my hip. Once again her beauty stunned me. What had I ever done to deserve the love of such a wonderful woman? I reached out and gently stroked her hair, twining a single golden lock around my fingers, glorying in the sense of her. She opened her eyes and looked at me, a smile growing on her lips.

“Hi, welcome back,” she said sleepily.

“Told you I’d make it back,” I said.

She stood up and bent over me.

“I seem to remember something about coming back in one piece,” she said.

“I am in one piece,” I replied. “It may not be a very good-looking piece, but it’s all there.”

“Oh shut up and kiss me.”

She leaned down and I met her halfway. It was the kind of kiss that makes some parts of your body curl and others straighten. My head fell back to the pillow but she followed me down, my hand buried in her hair, my every nerve tingling at being with her again.

“Well that’s not quite what I had in mind when I said he needed bed rest,” said someone who was standing by the door.

“Hello Anna,” I said when Marie let me go.

“Welcome back, boss,” she said with a smile. “I guess asking you if you feel better would be a waste of time?”

I chuckled softly and then kissed Marie on the tip of her nose before letting her go.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Anna. “Did our little Scrapper tell you she passed?”

“Well of course she did,” I said proudly. “Full hunter now, huh?”

Marie beamed at me as she nodded.

“So now you two can start having sex and it won’t be against regulations,” said Anna innocently.

Marie and I gave her twin dark looks.

“Wait,” I said. “What happened with the diversion? Is everyone okay?”

Anna nodded.

“Went like clockwork,” she said. “We took them by surprise, made a hell of a lot of noise, and gave them plenty of time to get a message off. They had a radio, we found it afterwards.”

“Anyone hurt?” I asked.

“Just one,” said Marie, breaking into a broad grin.

I looked from one to the other, wondering what was funny.

“What?” asked Anna, smiling.

“Who?” I said incredulously.

“Frenchie,” said Marie, breaking into a giggling fit.

“Okay, enough. What’s so funny?”

“We were done, finished,” explained Anna. “Killed thirty, forty bad guys. We were on way out, job done, and Frenchie slipped while he was running for the chopper.”

“He was showing off,” said Marie. “He missed his footing on the helicopter, tried to leap in and slammed his face into the door.”

I tried not to smile. It was impossible.

“He broke his nose,” said Anna.

“No!” I said, laughing.

“Yep, didn’t do anything for his looks, though,” said Anna. “Two lovely shiners.”

“He looks like a panda,” said Marie, losing it completely.

I joined in with the laughter. It was pretty funny. Frenchie was a good friend, a great fighter, a steadfast comrade and, sometimes, a bit of a dick.

We were still laughing when the door opened and Group Captain Montgomery-Standish walked in. He did not look happy.

“Pagan,” he said by way of a terse greeting. “Glad to see you’re awake. Ladies, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to speak with Pagan alone.”

“I don’t think so,” said Anna with quiet menace.

Marie was glaring at the officer, her arms folded. I knew how they felt. I didn’t like the man’s tone either.

“What’s this about, Group Captain?” I asked, deliberately omitting the ‘sir’.

“I rather think you’d prefer to hear this in private, sergeant.”

“I trust my team, Group Captain,” I shot back, emphasizing the use of his rank.

“As you wish,” he replied.

He pulled a clear plastic envelope out of his pocket, something white and gold laying in the bottom.

“Corporal Westmore found this around your neck. Thanks to his discretion you’re facing me rather than a firing squad. I thought it in the best interests of the Ministry and the Country that you be given a chance to explain.”

“Corporal Westmore?” said Marie.

“Rock Ape,” I replied.

“Indeed,” said the officer. “He brought the matter to me directly, as ranking officer.”

“What is it?” I asked, already sure of the answer.

“I think you know,” he sneered. “I’d say you forgot to take it off when you came back from that so-called mission.”

Anna reached out and snatched the bag, tossing it to Marie before the officer could react. When he did react there was nowhere to go. Anna was giving him the kind of steely-eyed glare that pins you to the spot. I transferred my attention to Marie.

“What is it?” I asked softly.

She shook her head, shrugged, and handed the envelope to me. Inside were a beautifully made gold chain and an odd pendant. It was about three inches long, the thickness of a pencil, and made out of intricately carved bone.

“It’s a collar,” I said with a sigh.

“A what?” she asked.

“A collar,” I explained. “Vamps use them to mark their human bloodslaves, servants, and lackeys.”

“So why were you wearing it?” asked Marie quietly as Anna took the bag and started closely examining the contents.

“That, young lady, is the question we need answered. Fraternizing with the enemy is punishable by death.”

“Oh shut up you pompous twat,” said Anna absently, ignoring the way the officer’s face turned purple. “Jack doesn’t fraternize with vampires. He occasionally flirts with them but fraternization is something he only does with werewolves.”

“What’s wrong, Anna?” I asked.

“What, apart from the fact that this office boy is in here throwing wild accusations around? This thing’s a fake.”

I had been looking straight at Montgomery-Standish whilst Anna was speaking and saw the surprise on his face. He wasn’t trying to set me up, which meant he genuinely believed I was working for the vampires. Asshole.

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“I saw lots of these when John and I were up north. They’re made by a little old lady in the Isle Of Wight.”

“It’s a fake?” said the officer sharply.

She tossed the bag back to me and raised an eyebrow. I examined the pendant. My mastery of the vampiric language isn’t as good as Anna’s—she’s been studying it for years—but I managed to read most of the curly writing.

“These marks say that the person wearing the collar belongs to Glavidia,” I said with a frown. “But it says she became One of Three in 1847.”

“Is that significant?” asked Montgomery-Standish.

“Yeah, she took her place in the Three in 1874, not 1847,” I replied. “It’s a tiny difference, not something you’d notice if you weren’t looking for it, but it’s wrong.”

“It’s like a pass code,” said Anna. “We used to use these to identify each other. If you saw someone wearing a collar with that specific error on it, it meant they were working for the Ministry.”

I frowned and tore the bag open. Montgomery-Standish looked like he was about to have an aneurysm but wisely kept silent.

“There’s something else,” I said, looking closely. “There’s a break here.”

I took the pendant and twisted it. After a brief effort the two halves came apart, revealing a narrow tube with a rolled piece of extremely thin plastic hidden inside.

“It’s a message tube,” I said, pulling the plastic out.

When I unrolled it and held it up to the light it was covered in tiny writing. It looked like an old-fashioned microfiche slide.

“It’s too small, I can’t read it,” I said.

Anna took it from me and held it out to the officer.

“I think this might interest our tech boys,” she said with a fake smile.

“And I think you owe Jack an apology, too,” said Marie, a determined look on her face.

“Absolutely right,” said the officer. “My apologies Pagan. I’m glad I came to you before filing anything official.”

Everyone in the room relaxed a little. I had been expecting a blustery ego battle. I’ve never been happier to be wrong. Except with Marie, that is.

Montgomery-Standish suddenly looked older, as if the weight of the world had just landed on that ramrod-straight back.

“This damned war, making us doubt each other,” he muttered, then straightened up and focused. “I’ll get this down to the lab, see what the tech-heads make of it. Ladies, Pagan.”

With a nod he left the room and, I noticed, took the guards with him.

“Idiot,” said Anna. “Okay, Jack, ‘fess up. Where d’you get the collar?”

“I have no idea,” I said, genuinely confused.

“Well it must have come from somewhere, she said. “Rock Ape wouldn’t make that up.”

“Marguerite,” I said, my thoughts finally getting up to speed.

“Who is Marguerite?” said Marie sharply.

“Vampire, works for the Ministry deep undercover in Glavidia’s court,” I said, and proceeded to give them an abbreviated account of our meeting.

I underplayed her seduction attempt as much as possible and glossed over the kiss she’d stolen. I felt guilty as hell about that.

“Is she pretty?” asked Marie quietly.

“Okay, on that note I think I’ll leave you two alone,” said Anna, getting up and heading for the door. “Get better quickly, Jack. The brass want to debrief you.”

After she had left Marie fixed me with a glare.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“Don’t play with me Jack,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Is she pretty?”

“Marguerite? I dunno. She’s cold, arrogant, like she’s beautiful and she knew it.”

“You think she’s hot?” said Marie with a dangerous look in her eye.

“Not my type,” I said with a shrug.

“And what’s your type?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh, I’m thinking blonde, blue eyes, about five foot six, strong, smart, occasionally furry.”

She tilted her head slightly and gave me a cold look.

“Name of Marie?” I finished hopefully.

She sighed softly and leaned over me.

“Just be honest. Do I have anything to worry about? Is she someone I should feel threatened by?”

I reached out and touched her cheek.

“Don’t you trust me, love?”

“Oh, please. You, I trust. It’s all the women in the world I don’t trust.”

“Then trust me on this, Marie,” I said seriously. “You don’t have to feel threatened by anyone, ever. I have never in my life felt about anyone the way I feel about you.”

“You didn’t sleep with her?”

“Of course not! Marie? What kind of question is that?”

“Did you kiss her?”

“No! Well, yeah,” I said, catching the look in her eye and hurrying on. “I wanted to thank her so I went to kiss her on the cheek.”

“ ‘Went to’?”

“She turned her head and …” I trailed off.

“And what did you do?”

“I jerked away and made it clear that I didn’t appreciate that.”

“Jack,” she said quietly. “You scare the crap out of me.”

I sat there, eyes wide, trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. She sat up and scrubbed her face with her hands.

“Jack, I’m a wolf. Do you know what that means for us? For our relationship?”

“I’m not sure,” I said hesitantly.

“Well, maybe once you’re better I’ll explain it to you.”

She bent down and kissed me on the forehead.

“Get some sleep. They’ll want to debrief you tomorrow morning.”

She looked into my eyes and smiled slightly.

“I love you, Jack Henderson.”

“I love you too, Marie Hennessey.”

CHAPTER

25

The debriefing proved to be moderately unpleasant. There were way too many officers in room trying to dip their oars in the water. I must have answered the same questions about a dozen times, reiterating point after point, until I did the only thing I could to take control of the situation—I walked out. Colonel Tilehurst caught up with me in the corridor.

“Fucking hell, Jack,” he exclaimed. “You don’t get better with age, do you?”

“My side feels like it’s on fire and those pricks were getting on my nerves, boss.”

“You shouldn’t talk about very senior officers like that, Jack,” he said. “Even if they are pricks.”

I shrugged with one shoulder, something I’d been getting used to doing recently.

“I gave them everything they needed to hear, boss,” I said, a little defensively.

“But you didn’t hear everything they had to say, Jack.”

“What does that mean?”

Tilehurst looked around and then nodded toward an empty office. When the door was closed he sat on the edge of the desk and stared at me.

Without even thinking I found myself in the ‘at-ease’ position. Tilehurst gave me a wry smile, and then his face turned serious.

“We examined the microfilm you brought back with you in that necklace thing,” he said.

“What was on it?” I asked.

“You were on it, Jack.”

“Me?” I thoroughly confused.

“You,” he repeated.

“What about me?”

“Everything about you. Your complete record.”

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Some vampire has my record, and I take it we’re not talking about sanitized versions?” I asked.

“Nope. Full, unedited, unsanitized records, no black marker censorship, nothing. The agent you met was trying to tell us that we’ve been penetrated at the highest level. Those records are hard enough for me to get hold of. How the vampires managed it is beyond me.”

“So what’s being done about it?”

“There’s a lot of low-key activity going on,” he replied, gazing out of the window. “A lot of people are having their security clearances examined. Luckily there’s only a very tiny number of people who have access to those files.”

This was bad news. I spent a few minutes staring out of the window, thinking.

“Not a lot we can do about it right now,” I said eventually.

“Nope, I suppose not,” said Tilehurst.

“Then I won’t worry about it. I have things to do.”

We went outside where John was waiting with my Land Rover. Marie was nowhere to be seen.

“Boss, Colonel,” said John.

“Hey bud,” I replied. “Where’s Marie?”

“She took your para FAL down to the range,” he said with a grin.

“Why?”

“It might have something to do with the fact that I told her that the regular FAL doesn’t have a full auto setting because it’s pretty much uncontrollable on auto.”

“Might have?” I asked.

“Yeah, might have,” he said with an innocent look on his face.

I shook my head and laughed.

“You can be an arsehole, John.”

“Am I missing something?” asked Tilehurst.

“Marie’s mad at me,” I explained. “I think she’s blowing off some steam.”

“How?”

“Probably by taking my shorty and running through every mag she can get her hands on.”

Tilehurst gave a low whistle and shook his head.

“Now I have to meet this woman,” he said with a grin. “From what I’ve heard she’s a bombshell but if she can fire a shorty SLR on full auto I’m gonna steal her away from you Jack.”

I jerked my head towards the ‘Rover.

“Let’s go.”

“Why’s Marie pissed at you Jack?” asked Tilehurst once we were moving.

“Apparently I didn’t answer correctly when she asked me if that vampire who sewed me up was attractive.”

“What did you say?” asked John.

“I told her the truth; that she was attractive but not my type.”

Both guys let out exasperated groans.

“What?” I said, puzzled.

“Jack, that was definitely the wrong answer,” said the Colonel.

“Why?” I asked incredulously.

“Because, Jack, women know us way better than we know them,” said John. “That ‘not my type’ bollocks never works. Never has done, never will do.”

“What? Why?” I asked.

“Because you, boss, are guilty of the greatest crime known to woman. To wit; being in possession of a penis whilst unsupervised by a qualified woman.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” said Tilehurst gravely, “that you lied to her when you said Marguerite wasn’t your type.”

“I didn’t lie,” I pointed out.

“Yeah you did,” said John. “If she’s remotely attractive, she’s your type.”

“But she’s not. She’s a vampire,” I said. “No offense, John.”

“None taken, boss. But you’re a guy, and we members of the male population only have one type, defined as anything above butt ugly and of the female persuasion. You told Marie that she was an attractive vampire. There’s three parts to that description, female, attractive, vampire. That’s one in your favor and two against.”

“But Marie trusts me,” I protested.

“Yes, but right now she’s entertaining a tiny, nagging doubt that she’s not right to trust you,” said Tilehurst, grinning hugely.

“You’re loving this, ain’t you boss?” I said sourly.

“Yep, it’s always fun for us old married men when the young buck stumbles.”

“I’m hardly a young buck,” I pointed out.

“You’re younger than me and, if what I’m hearing is any indication, that young lady of yours has been putting one hell of a spring in your step.”

“Life was so much easier when I just had to worry about killing things,” I said, leaning back in my seat and staring out of the window. “Are relationships always this hard?”

“Thirty-three years old and never had a serious relationship?” asked Tilehurst in a surprised voice.

“I’m thirty-one and the only long-term relationship I’ve ever had was with the Army. Until I met Marie the longest I’d spent with a woman was three nights.”

“Awww,” said John sarcastically. “Our little boy’s growing into a strong man.”

Before I could reply John pulled up outside the Ministry building.

“I thought we were going to the range?” asked Tilehurst.

“We are, but I need to pick something up first.”

I was in and out of the Ministry offices in less than five minutes, a small plastic case under one arm and a larger case in each hand.

“New toys?” said John enthusiastically as I climbed back in.

“Yeah,” I said, opening one of the cases.

Inside was a matte black weapon along with a dozen slim, foot-long magazines. It looked like something from a sci-fi movie.

“This is the 21st century version of the crossbow,” I said. “It uses a series of magnets to accelerate a bolt almost silently, then reloads automatically.”

“A semi-automatic, bowless crossbow?” asked John. “Whatever next?”

I closed the first case and opened the second. This one contained what looked like bulky flashlights of various sizes. I pulled out my SIG and snapped one of the smallest to the rail under the barrel, running the pressure pad around to the handgrip so it would be under my thumb when I pointed the weapon. It would still fit in the holster with the new addition, which was nice.

Pointing the pistol at the dashboard and resting my thumb on the pressure pad produced a dim, purple spot.

“I think you need new batteries, boss,” said John, frowning.

“UVC,” I said, returning the pistol to its holster.

“UV what now?” asked Tilehurst. “I’ve heard of UVA and UVB, what’s UVC?”

“The shorter wavelength, high energy end of the ultraviolet spectrum,” said John. “UVC is what gives you sunburn. Should cook vamps nicely.”

He peered into the case. There had been four pistol-sized flashlights, four that were slightly bigger, and four that were obviously meant to be hand-held.

“You gonna share, boss?”

“Sure,” I said, closing the case. “I brought enough for everyone.”

“And what’s in box number three?” asked Tilehurst eagerly.

I opened the case to reveal row upon row of silver-tipped 7.62mm and 5.56mm rounds.

“Bo-ring!” sang John.

“These are not your regular rounds. These are silver-tipped tracer rounds.”

“Oh, nasty,” said Tilehurst.

John was giving me a blank look. Sometimes I forget that he never joined the military.

“Tracer rounds have a hollow space in the rear, filled with a mix of strontium and magnesium, which ignites on firing and burns a pretty red color.”

John gave a low whistle.

“Fire and silver?” he said. “Sounds like some vamps are in for a bad day.”

“Yep, we’re supposed to test them out, see how well they work.”

I closed the case and stowed it away.

“Okay, lets get to the range,” I said. “I get the feeling I have an apology to make.”

“Well don’t give it up too quick, Jack,” said Tilehurst, laughing.

“What? Why?”

“Because if you walk in there and just apologize you’ll ruin her opportunity to rant and rave at you and really make you feel like crap.”

My body hurt too much for mind games. I just wanted Marie to be not mad at me any more.

We stopped at the range and walked in, Tilehurst collecting salutes and even bothering to return them. Inside, a small group was gathered, watching something. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what. Suddenly there was the deafening sound of a battle rifle on full automatic, almost painful in the enclosed space. It seemed to go on for a very long time. Marie was standing, my shorty at her shoulder, emptying what looked like an extended thirty round clip down range.

She must have seen me as she paused to reload because she gave me a flat look that made my heart sink. Oh yeah, I had some legwork to do here.

CHAPTER

26

Marie effortlessly fired the shortened FAL, throwing thirty rounds at a paper target in ten-round bursts. Most of the vampiric ‘charging figure’ drawing’s chest and head were riddled with holes already. I took a scope and had a closer look. She was good. Every round was hitting and, had the target been a real vampire, each shot would have seriously ruined his day.

“Damn, Marie,” I said when she lowered the weapon. “Why were you toting a shotgun around all these months?”

“Because nobody told me I couldn’t fire one of these,” she replied, giving me a slightly sheepish smile.

I placed the two large cases on the reloading desk and cracked one open.

“Here, I have a present for you.”

“It better be diamonds,” she said darkly.

“Better,” I said. “It’s something that’ll help keep you alive, so it’s as much a gift for me as it is for you.”

She was staring at me, appraising me like she couldn’t make up her mind about something. Probably wondering whether it was time to forgive me or not. I pulled out one of the medium sized UV lamps and fitted it to the rail underneath the shorty’s forestock.

“May I have your pistol for a moment, sweetheart?” I asked.

I could see curiosity warring with anger on her face. Curiosity won. She handed the weapon over. I fitted the smallest lamp to her SIG and handed it back. She examined it carefully, hitting the pressure switch and blinking at the weird, purplish light.

“Ultraviolet?” she asked.

“UVC,” I confirmed. “At the very least it’ll make vamps flinch. At close range it should burn pretty nicely.”

“What’s in the other box?”

“New weapon. I’m supposed to test it out.”

“Not now,” she said firmly. “We need to talk.”

“Okay. Not here, though. We still have a room?”

She nodded and we gathered our things together. The crowd had dispersed—the presence of a senior officer will make even the dumbest squaddie suddenly remember all the important things he has to do—so only John and Col. Tilehurst were left. The officer was staring at Marie with an awestruck look on his face.

“Marie,” I said, making the introduction, “this is Colonel Tilehurst, my former CO. Boss, this is Marie Hennessey.”

“Ms Hennessey,” said Tilehurst smoothly as they shook hands. “Please accept my apologies for delaying Jack. We had some bad news to discuss, but had I known I was keeping him from getting a well-deserved carpeting I would have wrapped things up earlier.”

“Carpeting?” asked Marie.

“Military slang, my dear,” said a suddenly avuncular Tilehurst. “I understand our boy is in a little bit of trouble.”

“He certainly is, even more now I know he’s been discussing our private life with other people.”

I lowered my head and groaned while the two men tried to hide their grins.

“So, what bad news?” asked Marie when she was done glaring at me.

“We found out what was on that microfilm Jack brought back with him,” said Tilehurst. “It was Jack’s service record.”

John drew in a sharp breath and Marie looked puzzled.

“Why is that so bad?”

“Let me put it like this, sweetheart,” I said carefully. “Not everything I did before the war was—strictly speaking—legal.”

“And most of the things that were legal could prove—ah—embarrassing for Her Majesty’s government,” said Tilehurst.

Marie turned on me, glaring.

“Illegal? What kinds of illegal?”

I did my one-armed shrug again.

“Some things I couldn’t talk about even under oath in court,” I said evasively. “The vampire propaganda machine could have a field-day with my past.”

Marie was looking from face to face, searching for a clue. Finally she sighed and gave up.

“Okay,” she said. “Nice meeting you Colonel, but now Jack and I need to have that talk.”

“Of course, dear lady, I only ask that you don’t leave any visible bruises or break any bones,” said the officer glibly.

“I make no promises,” replied Marie.

Tilehurst commandeered a driver and John took us to Gateway House in an uncomfortable silence. Marie and I stayed that way until we were in our room, the same room we’d stayed in before the mission. I carefully placed the cases on the dresser and turned to the love of my life.

“Shut up,” she said softly.

I opened my mouth to protest and she silenced me with the palm of her hand.

“Don’t say anything,” she warned.

I nodded and she removed her hand. Then she grabbed my by the front of my jacket and pulled me in for a deep, long kiss. I wrapped my arms around her, molding my body to hers, grabbing on like a drowning man grabs a life preserver.

“Don’t get any big ideas,” she said when we broke apart. “I haven’t decided if I forgive you yet.”

“Too late,” I said and kissed her again.

“Jack, we can’t,” she gasped. “You’ll split your stitches.”

“I don’t care,” I said, moving us both towards the bed.

We fell onto the mattress and a bolt of pain slammed through my body. I yelped and rolled onto my back, grimacing.

“Told you,” said Marie. “Hold on, let me check you.”

She straddled my thighs and opened my jacket and then my shirt. She pulled up my t-shirt and gently ran her fingertips over the dressing on my side.

“I think you’re okay,” she said finally. “I don’t see any blood soaking through, but that pain was your body’s way of telling you I was right.”

I laughed weakly. She leaned forward, resting her weight on her hands, looking down at me.

“We need to talk, Jack,” she said. “About you and me, about us, and about what it means that I’m not human. You feel up to that?”

I nodded. Talking was a huge step up from glaring.

“But first, I think you do deserve a little welcome home something or other.”

She leaned down and kissed me, softly and sensuously. I was confused as hell. Was she mad at me or not?

She kissed me again, deeper this time, then trailed kisses down my neck and along my chest. At my stomach she paused long enough to unbutton my trousers before continuing, inching my boxers down as she went. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching her progress, hardly believing what was happening.

She lifted my boxers and yanked them down, freeing my erection. Her eyes lifted to mine and she licked her lips. When I opened my mouth she shook her head.

“This is the first time I’ve ever done this,” she said softly. “So lay back, shut up, and enjoy it.”

Then she lowered her head, taking me into her mouth.

Never let it be said I don’t obey orders.

Marie was naked, sitting cross-legged on the bed. I was also naked, flat on my back, wondering if I would ever move again.

“Enjoy that?” said Marie with an innocent smile.

I opened my mouth but had to settle on nodding. Apparently vocal chords were going to be an issue too.

“Confused?” she asked.

“Yeah, a little,” I said, finally finding my voice. “Does this mean I’m forgiven or not?”

“It’s not that simple,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I want to tell you something and I need you to promise you won’t get freaked out.”

“Okay,” I said.

“What I’m about to tell you is not something we share with outsiders—non werewolves—but you need to know about this if we’re going to mate.”

“Going to?” I asked. “What have we been doing up ‘till now?”

“Don’t confuse sex with mating, love. Now be quiet and listen, okay?”

“Okay.”

“The first thing you need to understand is that there are two different kinds of werewolf. The traditional kind, the one everyone thinks of when you say werewolf, are ones that were bitten on a full moon by another werewolf.”

I nodded. That’s what I had thought.

“We call those halfbreeds. Most of the time the human gets lost in the wolf. Those are the wild ones. I’m a purebreed. My parents were werewolves, so were my grandparents. In fact, I have a pedigree that goes back over two thousand years.”

She gave me a wry smile.

“Pedigree is our word, so it’s not an insult. Purebreeds are stronger and faster than halfbreeds and, of course, we retain our intelligence when we change. A lot of halfbreeds don’t.”

I was stunned. This was all news to me.

“The vamps hate purebreeds because they can’t influence us in wolf form. There’s been a low-key war going on for centuries. They’ve slowly been pushing us out in favor of the halfbreeds, who they can control. There’s only a handful of purebreed packs left. There’s my old pack, one up in Scotland, two in Ireland, one small pack in the Falkland Islands, a couple in Europe and a couple more in Asia. That’s it. We’re an endangered species.”

I shook my head slowly and sat up. I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

“What about halfbreed packs?” I asked.

“There aren’t any around here. When a halfbreed surfaces we take them in and look after them, try to prevent them from hurting people. Ultimately, after all, they are our responsibility.”

She stopped and stared off into the distance, seeing something that was not there.

“When I was growing up there was a halfbreed in our pack. A halfbreed named Dannor. Dannor was … almost okay. He was one who could think as a wolf, almost as well as a purebreed.”

I could see tears forming in her eyes. I reached out and took her hands in mine. I could see that the memories were causing her pain.

“You need to understand. Werewolves don’t bother with political correctness or equality. Male and female wolves aren’t equals, they could never be. When my parents died, Liam, my brother, took over responsibility for me. I was still a juvenile when Liam disappeared, but Dannor made it clear that he wanted me for his mate.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks and tore a hole in my heart. I pulled her against my chest and wrapped her in my arms. I had a feeling that I knew what was coming.

“When I reached puberty, Dannor claimed me. I was a lone female, not yet strong enough to fight him off. Our Alpha male approved, saying that Dannor would be a good male for me. No other male wanted to fight Dannor for me, not even my childhood friends.”

I tightened my arms around her and stroked her hair.

“Dannor had a particular perversion. He liked to take me when I was in human form and he was wolf. And there was nothing I could do to stop him.”

“He raped you?” I whispered, shocked.

“No, it wasn’t rape,” she said with a choked sob. “You really need to understand that. It wasn’t rape because I didn’t have the right to say ‘no’ to him. I was his female and he had the right to use my body how he saw fit.”

“Oh sweetheart, that’s terrible.”

“No!” she said passionately. “It’s not. That was terrible, but the way werewolves mate is wonderful if the male respects the female.”

She looked at me through her tears and spoke earnestly.

“You’re my male, I’m your female. You should dominate me, you do dominate me, and that’s the only way I want it. Do you have any idea how incredible it is to be a female who has a man like you? You’re strong and honest, you love me and you’d die to defend me. You’re everything Dannor was not and you’d never ask me to do something I wouldn’t want to do. That’s important because, if you asked, I would do it just because it’s you asking.”

“And that’s why me kissing the vampire hurt you so much,” I said softly. “It was disrespectful to you.”

She nodded and smiled.

“Your kisses belong to me, just as I belong to you. If you want to cheat on me there’s nothing I can do to stop you any more than I could stop Dannor sleeping around. I need you to be trustworthy and you are trustworthy, it’s one of the things I love about you.”

Suddenly she hung her head and sighed.

“Oh shit,” she said quietly. “I’m not expressing this very well. I want to trust you not because I’m strong enough to rip your leg off and hit you with it but because you can be trusted, you understand?”

I nodded slowly.

“Yes, love. I know what you mean.”

“Good, because I’m getting tired of being a girlfriend. I want to be your mate.”

“Do we need to exchange rings or something?”

“No, wolves exchange commitments, not rings. And it’s for life, you understand that, right?”

I nodded and ignored the tiny, barely audible voice telling me to run like hell. That idiot was in the minority and he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“There’s a couple of things we need to get straight. You know I’m not comfortable with that wolf-on-human stuff, right? Let’s keep it completely human, okay?”

I nodded and smiled.

“Anything you say, love.”

“And please don’t ask me to do it doggy-style, it’s degrading,” she said with a cheeky grin.

“Oh, now, I don’t think I can agree to that. That’s my favorite position.”

“Really?” she said, one eyebrow raised. “Well maybe when you get better you can try to persuade me to change my mind. I’m not promising anything, though.”

“And when can I expect this dominant/submissive thing to kick in?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t confuse submissive with weak. You have to dominate me, there’s nothing that says I have to give up without a fight.”

I laughed softly. I had the feeling my life was going to be very interesting from now on.

CHAPTER

27

I stood and faced the door, wondering if I had the courage to ring the bell. The last time I had stood here had been very different. I’d rung the bell and Bill had answered. He’d hustled me inside and I’d spend the afternoon celebrating his son’s seventh birthday. Robert—never Bob, Bobby or Rob, always just Robert—was a serious, studious kid with dancing, intelligent eyes and the clear stamp of his father’s features who had one blind spot. He persisted in thinking of me as a loveable, roguish uncle, and I wanted to play that role.

He’d even told his friends that ‘uncle Pagan’ was coming to his party, so I’d had a room full of kids waiting to meet me. I’d brought gifts: small plastic toy versions of the MP7 and the SIG, plus a small pair of canvas holsters so he could wear them like I did. Not long after that the Ministry had started selling the same toys as a ‘vampire hunter play set’ aimed at boys aged 5-11. Helen had simply rolled her eyes at me and smiled indulgently.

Today would be different. Like last time I’d left the FAL with the armory, but this time I had my other weapons with me. I was still wearing my black outfit whereas last time I had come in camouflage because that’s how Pagan is in the movies and TV series. Last time I had come bearing gifts, this time it was news.

I took a deep breath and rung the bell. The door was opened by a gray-haired man with piercing blue eyes. It took me a second to place him and when I did a bowling ball hit my stomach. It was Derek, Helen’s father. Derek disliked the hunters in general and Bill in particular, feeling that the father of his grandson should be an accountant or lawyer instead of chasing and gunning down people ‘just because they’re different’.

If Derek was here, then Angie, his wife, would also be here, and her hatred for the Ministry was matched only by her hatred for me personally. She saw me as the bad influence that had drawn Bill from the Marines to the Regiment, and from there to the Ministry. I was, in her mind, responsible for robbing her grandson of his father. It was amazing, given how much contempt she’d had for Bill when he was alive, how fast he’d been transformed into the perfect son-in-law once I’d ‘let him get taken by that vampire woman’.

Still, I was here and I had a duty to perform.

“Hello Mr. Turner,” I said politely. “Is Helen in?”

He stared at me, his mustache writhing on his top lip as his face went red with rage.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” he burst out in a harsh whisper. “You have to come here and rub it in?”

So many retorts rolled up my throat. So many nasty remarks and barbed comments. How dare you judge me? I was the best man at their wedding, remember? The one that you refused to attend because you felt she was marrying beneath her? And where were you the day Helen miscarried their first child? I was here, holding her hand and comforting her while we waited for Bill to fly back from Belize on compassionate leave. Where were you when Bill was taken and Helen almost collapsed with grief? You and that bitch of a wife were on the phone because your work in imports and exports—which were being threatened by the sanctions our so-called allies were constantly blustering about—was too important to rush away from and, by the way honey, that nice Kevin, you remember him, his family used to live just down the road from us, he’s now something in publishing, and he asked how you were when I saw him in the supermarket the other day. Yeah, I’ve done enough, I did the things you were supposed to be doing, you sorry excuse for a father.

I clamped down on my emotions, swallowing the bile and indignation.

“I just need to talk to her,” I said softly.

“Well she doesn’t need to talk to you,” he said and started to close the door.

“Dad?” came Helen’s voice from inside. “Who is it?”

I resisted the urge to shout out to her.

“Is that Jack?” she said.

I heard quick footsteps coming along the tiled hallway and saw Helen peer around her father’s shoulder.

“Oh, Jack,” she whispered as she pushed past him.

She threw her arms around my ribs and buried her face in my chest. I suppressed a grunt of pain and I hugged her tight, laying my cheek against her hair.

“Did you kill it, Jack?” she whispered.

I guessed she’d cried herself out before this, and now she just wanted closure.

“Yes, Helen, I found it and killed it.”

“Good,” she said. “Come on in. Dad, you know better than to leave Jack standing on the doorstep.

Helen took my hand and Derek reluctantly stepped aside. Inside the house was airy and clean, reflecting Helen’s organized personality and attention to detail. Framed pictured lined the hall. I saw Bill in his uniform, a fresh-faced Bootneck, taken at the end of the training at Lympstone. There was Bill, proudly displaying his single stripe, and then showing off his second when he made corporal. Bill and Helen, her looking tired but radiant, him looking tired but proud enough to burst, tiny baby Robert in her arms, just looking tired.

The last picture made me stop. Derek almost ran into me, then backed off a step and muttered something under his breath. The picture was of our unit, taken somewhere in South America, a group of grinning, gun-toting, sunburned troopers posing in front of a battered Bell “Huey” UH-1 helicopter. Bill was standing in the second row, I was crouched down in front of him and he was making bunny ears behind my head. It had been six months before Black Tuesday.

Helen touched my arm and sighed.

“He kept promising to get you a copy of that, didn’t he?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, and the laughed. “He had a mind like a sieve, didn’t he?”

“Well, he did get the print made, he just kept forgetting to give it to you. It’s around here somewhere, I’ll dig it out for you.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

She led me into the living room. The first thing I saw was Angie, directing a look of unalloyed disgust toward me. But there were smiles, too. Paul and Barbara, Bill’s parents were there to. Paul shook my hand firmly and Barb gave me a hug. Then there was the thundercloud that was Dougal, Helen’s brother. Dougal was a wastrel, a piggy little man who, in my opinion, wasn’t worth a pimple on Bill’s arse. Of course, Derek and Angie doted on him, going on at length about his poetry and his sensitive soul. I strongly suspected that the vamps financed his alleged art, going on as it did in tortured, endless prose about the tragedy of the vampiric life.

Sitting next to Dougal and looking at me like I was a dog turd someone had tracked in the door was Portia, Dougal’s overbearing and shrill wife.

“Where’s Robert?” I asked, looking around.

“He’s at school, thank God,” said Angie sharply. “I don’t think he needs to hear that you killed his father, do you?”

“Oh come on,” said Paul. “Jack didn’t kill him, he set him free.”

I was familiar with this belief. The Catholic Church had recently decreed that when a human was turned into a vampire, their soul was trapped in the body until the vampire was slain. Frankly I believed in the soul about as much as I believed in the tooth fairy, but it did give a lot of Catholics a reason to join the hunters.

Angie sniffed and heaved her bosom in a way that spoke eloquently of what she, a Protestant, thought of Catholic dogma.

“Did you at least bring his body home?” asked Derek.

“Of course he didn’t, Derek,” said Paul. “Bill had it in his will that he didn’t want a funeral if he was turned.”

“Well if you hadn’t been so trigger-happy it wouldn’t have been an issue,” said Dougal darkly. “He could have come back and been treated.”

“Treated?” I said, my voice climbing. “He didn’t have the flu! He was turned into a vampire! There’s no treatment for that, no cure!”

“Yeah, that’s a convenient fiction, isn’t it?” snapped Portia. “I think you people are just worried you’ll be out of a job if the public learns the truth about hemovores.”

“Hemovores?” I said. “Is that what the politically correct are calling them these days?”

“These people need our help,” said Dougal.

“These creatures deserve nothing more than a bullet,” I snapped. “How about I take you out the next time I go on patrol? Get you some actual experiences rather than swallowing everything the vampire news network serves up?”

“How dare you?” she screeched at me.

“I stand toe to toe with the vampires every night, that’s how I dare.”

“Only because that’s what the government wants! We could make peace with the hemovores if we wanted, like they do in America.”

“You mean we could surrender control to them, like they do in America,” I replied mockingly.

“Huh! Fat chance of us being as enlightened as the US with your friends in the Ministry of Paranoid Raving Delusions in charge! I suppose you had something to do with that unprovoked attack on Havelock Manor!”

“Jack!” said Helen quietly

And just like that another woman in my life was able to shut me up with a single word. My mouth snapped closed.

“Portia, Jack is a guest in my house,” said Helen. “If you can’t be civil to him I’m going to ask you to leave.”

Portia looked stunned for a second and then swept out, her nose in the air and her husband trailing in her wake. Angie stood up.

“We’ll come back when you’re feeling better, dear,” she said snootily before she, too, left.

Derek gave me a dirty look and followed his wife.

We waited in silence until we heard the sound of car doors slamming and a car screeching out of the driveway.

“Jack, I’m sorry,” said Helen.

“Don’t be, sweetheart,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder.

“Can you stay for dinner?” she asked.

I thought about it for a second.

“Robert will be home soon, he’d love to see you,” she said.

I was going to agree anyway, but once she’d brought out the heavy artillery there was no way I could say no.

“Sure, I’d love to,” I said.

“Good, then you can tell us all about your new girl.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“Is there a tattoo on my forehead or something?” I asked indignantly.

“No, but unless you’ve started using a new shampoo, you’re sleeping with someone,” she said with a smile. “I could smell her when I hugged you. Was it that Marie I met before?”

“Yeah,” I said, unable to keep a broad grin off of my face.

“Isn’t she a werewolf?” Helen asked.

I nodded, suddenly feeling worried about their reaction to that piece of news.

“Is she nice?” asked Barbara.

“One of the nicest women I’ve ever met,” I said. “And she’s great in a fight. Skillful. Strong. Good shot.”

“Jesus, Jack,” said Helen, rolling her eyes. “She’s your girlfriend, not one of your recruits.”

“Actually, she was one of my recruits,” I said.

“Oh, hell no,” said Paul, ex-Navy to the core. “You’re sleeping with a subordinate?”

“She’s a hunter,” I said firmly.

“Is she forces?” asked Paul.

“You know,” said Barbara, “before I married you that question wouldn’t have made any sense.”

Paul laughed and nodded. The military has its own language.

“No,” I said. “She wasn’t a member of the armed forces. She joined as a civilian.”

Helen was rummaging in a drawer. Suddenly she gave a triumphant “ah-ha!” and turned around.

“Here she is,” she said, holding up a photograph.

Paul took it and pulled out his reading glasses.

“Okay, she’s cute as a button,” he said.

I looked over his shoulder. The picture had been taken a month ago, the five of us standing by a farmhouse, muddy, wet, but grinning at the camera like we were having the time of our lives.

“Bill always had a camera,” I said softly. “I think he wanted to record it all for posterity. He managed to cajole some farmer into taking the picture for us.”

“Hey, where is Marie right now?” asked Helen

“She’s at Gateway House,” I replied offhand.

I glanced up from the picture when the silence started to stretch.

“What?” I said to the three stares. “This wasn’t supposed to be a social call, you know!”

“You left the poor girl behind?” asked Helen. “Get on the phone and get her over here!”

“Jack, sometimes I wonder about you,” said Barbara, shaking her head and grinning.

CHAPTER

28

We were lying in bed, warm, comfortable and happy, watching the sun go down through the open curtains. We were trying to maintain our nocturnal body rhythms so we would be ready when I was declared fit to go back into the field. The head shed were keeping us updated and so far the vamps hadn’t done a thing with my records, but we did get a lead on Hans.

From my description he was one Hans Kohler, a little over two hundred years old and sadistic like you wouldn’t believe. According to the intel we had he liked to film himself cutting people up and then gave little performances for his vampire cronies. I’d been lucky to survive, all things considered. Reports claimed that Hans hadn’t walked away from his encounter with me and the big, black werewolf and the head shed had him filed under ‘missing presumed dead.’

I wasn’t entirely mollified. My own file had been marked the same way once, back in the day, when I’d needed to go deep undercover to escape an obscenely large price on my head. Apparently certain South American drug barons get antsy when you burn a couple of thousand acres of primo crop and kill several members of their families. I wasn’t going to believe Hans was truly dead until I saw a body.

It had been two weeks since I’d made it back to Brize and I was healing nicely. I was spending a few hours at the gym, building up the muscle tone I’d lost laying around the place, and spending more time in bed with Marie getting a much more enjoyable workout.

I think the thing that surprised me the most was that we weren’t living on base anymore. We were renting a house in Carterton under the name of a random Airman and Col. Tilehurst assured me that there was no record anywhere of the address. Still, the place was a fortress with guns in every room and motion-triggered UVC lights on every exterior wall.

The only thing that hadn’t been straightened out was the doggy sex. Marie was holding out on me with that one. Sure, I could have just told her it was going to happen, but I think that’s the point, isn’t it? Being the dominant partner in a good relationship means always thinking about what the other person wants to do and making sure you never cross the line.

I stretched, happy that I could do it without pain, and went back to holding my mate in my arms. She sighed contentedly. She was lying with her head on my chest and I could feel her eyelashes brush my skin every time she blinked.

The sun was barely a slice over the horizon and night would be here soon. We had plans for the night.

Muffled sounds from the next room announced that at least one of our houseguests was awake. It was probably John; he usually woke up before Anna. Marie sat up and stretched slowly.

“Will you be joining me in the shower tonight?” she asked softly.

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“No, I don’t believe he does,” said Marie, trying not to laugh.

“Oh,” I said. “Are you sure? So where does he shit then?”

“I have no idea,” she said, laughing harder. “There’s probably a Papal toilet in the Vatican somewhere with Papal toilet paper and Papal soap on the Papal sink.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t scan, does it? ‘Does the Pope shit in the Papal toilet with the Papal toilet paper and the Papal soap on the Papal sink?’ doesn’t sound right.”

“You are a silly, sexy man,” she said, leaning over me and giving me a kiss that made my spine tingle.

“And you are an evil, devil woman who better be in the shower in the next five seconds.”

She rolled off of the bed and walked to the bathroom, swinging her hips and wiggling her behind. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I followed her. The scar on my side was an ugly purple slash that ran from just above my right hip almost all the way up to the center of my chest. Every time I saw it I was stunned I’d managed to survive. Just another scar to add to my modest collection. Some of the Ministry’s hunters liked to show off their scars. I preferred to be proud of the fact that I had so few. Lots of scars showed you’d been in lots of combat. Few scars showed that you were good at combat. This was my first vampire-related scar. Apart from some chicken-pox scars and an inoculation mark on my left arm my only scar was a gouge on my left shoulder caused by a .50 caliber round. If it had been an inch lower it would have blown through the joint and I would probably have lost the entire arm. Now I had another scar. Big, bad me.

I was snapped out of the moment of reflection by the sound of the shower coming on and I broke into a grin. Marie was naked, wet and soapy. What the hell was I doing standing here?

I paced around the living room, trying not to feel uncomfortable in a suit and tie. Granted, it was all black, from the suit to the silk shirt and even the silk tie, and I was wearing boots, not dress shoes, not to mention the comforting weight of the SIG tucked into a shoulder holster, but I still felt naked.

John was responsible for my outfit. When we’d arranged this night Anna had declared that neither Marie nor I had anything suitable to wear and our wardrobe choices had been summarily claimed. John had privately confided to me that Anna had shopped for everything Marie would be wearing, right down to the underwear. At least I was wearing my own boxers. There are some places men just don’t go, even for close friends, and picking out skivvies is one of those places.

John was lounging on the couch, wearing a blue suit so dark it might as well have been black, a dark red shirt and a tie that matched the suit. He looked suave, comfortable and—it takes a great effort for a guy to say this about another guy—very, very handsome, whereas I felt like a kid wearing his dad’s old suit for a wedding or funeral. John had even remembered to take his jacket off so it wouldn’t crease when he sat down.

We were going out. Hallowe’en was actually a fairly quiet night, vampire-wise. I guess there are some days that are too tacky even for the leeches.

“Shit, Jack,” said John. “Stop pacing, you’re making me nervous.”

“Like I care,” I said, not breaking stride.

“Why so jittery, boss?” he asked.

I stopped pacing and stared out of the window at the darkness.

“First date,” I said. “We never really went out together, what with our jobs and the vamps and everything.”

“Well I don’t think you need to worry about impressing her, boss. She seems pretty impressed already.”

“I know, but it’s not just that. I joined the Marines right out of school. Went for Selection five years after that. Then all this shit happened. Dating’s not really been a big feature of my life.”

“Not even in school?”

I turned and gave John a long stare.

“I was a nerd in school, John.”

“What, you?” John scoffed. “Fuck off. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It’s true. Braces on my teeth, a world-beating case of acne, horrible, horrible haircut.”

Before John could say anything we heard our ladies coming down the stairs. I turned and John stood up.

Anna looked beautiful. Her raven hair was artfully arranged around her pale face and she was wearing a tight blood-red dress that hugged everything in sight and a pair of strappy black high-heels.

But if Anna was beautiful, Marie was simply stunning. Her hair was pulled into a complicated French braid and she was wearing, for the first time since I’d known her, eye shadow, mascara and lipstick. A subdued pair of diamond earrings glinted in her lobes. Her dress was deep black, a corset-like bodice that hugged her torso and lifted her breasts sat above a loose skirt that came down to just below her knees. A pair of calf-length boots completed the outfit. She looked strong but somehow vulnerable at the same time. Hell, she looked mouthwatering.

Both Marie and Anna were carrying tiny, impractical looking purses that matched their outfits. I have no idea why.

I realized that Marie was looking at me expectantly and I was standing there with my mouth open. She walked towards me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“If you look that stunned at the dress,” she whispered as she brushed her lips against mine, “I can’t wait to see how you’ll react when you find out what I’m wearing underneath.”

“Wow,” I breathed.

I stood there stupidly for a second, trying to get my mental train back on its tracks. I shook myself and blinked.

“You okay, my love?” asked Marie. “You look a little flustered.”

“Um,” I said, the last word in witty repartee. “I got you a gift. Two actually.”

I managed to pull myself together enough to find the two packages. Now if I could only get rid of the erection I’d be set.

I handed the larger package to her, an engraved wooden box. She opened it and looked inside with a gasp of delight. Inside was a custom SIG Sauer P229, a slim, cut-down version of the P226. It was nickel plated with gold accents. The black handgrips each bore an engraved etching of a wolf’s head. There was also a finely made black leather shoulder holster.

She took the pistol out and turned it over in her hands, smiling and shaking her head.

“It’s beautiful, Jack,” she said.

“I’m jealous,” said Anna. “John never buys me guns.”

John shot me a dark look and shook his head slowly.

I helped Marie with the shoulder holster and gave her the two spare magazines that had been in the box.

“There’s one more thing,” I said.

I handed her a jewelry box. Inside was a slim silver chain with a heart-shaped diamond pendant. I took the chain and put it around her neck. The chain was just long enough that the pendant nestled right at the top of her cleavage.

“Okay, that’s beautiful, too,” she said, beaming at me.

“Wait, there’s a jacket for her outfit,” said Anna, striding over to the dining room table.

The jacket was soft black leather, waist length, that was tailored just enough to make it look formal. It concealed the pistol nicely.

I stood there with Marie in my arms, drinking in the sight and scent of her until Anna cleared her throat.

“Are we about ready to go?” she asked pointedly.

“I’m about ready to go back to bed,” I said softly, then raised my voice as Marie giggled. “Yes, Mien Führer. We’re ready.”

“Then lets go,” said Anna. “It took a lot to get a table at that swanky restaurant.”

“Rubbish,” I said. “One of Frenchie’s many, many cousins owns the place. We had an open invitation.”

“That’s what I mean,” she said. “To get this table we had to be friends with Frenchie. That’s a lot in my book.”

CHAPTER

29

The restaurant was fantastic. When I saw the name over the door I laughed so hard I almost reopened the slice in my side. La Petit Mort. I wondered how many of the stuffed shirts who were eating inside knew what it meant. The literal translation is ‘The Little Death’ but the phrase is a French euphemism for orgasm. It took me a few minutes to regain my composure. Now I had to meet Frenchie’s cousin.

There was another moment of fun—for me at least—when the maître d’ insisted on taking the ladies’ jackets. Anna graciously allowed the cadaverous Frenchman to take her ankle-length red coat and Marie reluctantly parted company with her leather jacket. To his credit, the maître d’ signaled his disapproval of the gun simply by raising one carefully trimmed eyebrow by about an eighth of an inch. The embroidered leather shoulder rig matched her dress and the silver and black gun was showy enough that it almost looked like a fashion statement rather than a weapon, but the eyebrow went up.

I wondered if Anna was armed. I soon had an answer and the eyebrow crept up again. Anna’s dress was ankle length, but slit almost to the hip over her right leg. Around her thigh was a soft-looking canvas holster that held a Browning Hi Power and a spare magazine. The Browning was brushed steel with polished wood grips. John and I were carrying our service pistols and I, for one, was suffering from gun envy.

“Keep your eyes where they belong, mister,” said Marie an inch from my ear.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” I said with a grin. “I was admiring the gun.”

“Well, if you want to look at guns you can look at mine.”

“Any time,” I breathed, looking down at her breasts.

“That’s better.”

“If Mademoiselles and Monsieurs would be kind enough to follow me?” said the Maître d’. “Monsieur Françios wishes me to assure you that you are his honored guests.”

I thought that was a nice touch. He led us to a small circular table in a quiet corner of the dining room and imperiously clapped his hands together. No less than four waiters appeared from nowhere and went into a frenzy of dignified motion. Water glasses were filled, menus secured, napkins dramatically shaken out, the ‘réservé’ card was whisked away and one waiter held Marie’s chair out for her. At least he tried to, but then he caught the look I was directing at him and bowed as he stepped back. I seated Marie and she looked up at me, smiling.

“Jealous,” she said coyly.

“Possessive,” I replied and bent to kiss her lips.

“Good.”

We were seated and a waiter materialized with two menus, one for me and one for John. Anna’s eyes narrowed a little.

“Why don’t we get a menu?” asked Marie in a whisper.

I smiled and scooted my chair closer to Marie’s.

“Because this is a French restaurant and we’re obviously two couples, so it’s more romantic if we get close and share menus.”

Marie’s smile widened as she leaned in against me. I slipped an arm around her shoulders and tried to concentrate on the food.

“Y’know, Jack?” said Anna. “I’m very upset with you.”

“You are?” I said without looking up. “Why’s that then?”

“I’ve got about a mile and a half of leg on display but all you can ogle is my gun.”

I inwardly cursed Anna’s pin-sharp hearing.

“Hey, you keep your eyes off of my wife’s gun,” said John with a grin. “That gun is for me only.”

“Well, it is a very sexy gun. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on a gun like that. It’s not a sexy as Marie’s gun. Now, Marie’s gun is smoking hot. I may have to squeeze off a few rounds myself later on.”

“Do you and the gun need some time alone, darling?” said Marie.

“We could do that, but I’d rather have a foursome. You, me, your gun, my gun. Whadya say?”

“I dunno, is your gun sexy?”

She opened my jacket and took a look.

“Ooh, sexy. Strong, powerful, dependable. I bet that gun is good in a tight spot. Good, long barrel, big magazine. A girl could shoot that thing all night long.”

“Are we still talking about guns? Because this is getting me hot,” said Anna, somehow maintaining a straight face.

The waiter found us all fighting hard not to burst out laughing. Another eyebrow was raised another fraction of an inch.

“Um, is anyone ready to order?” I asked through the snickering.

Everyone shook their heads.

“Ah, bon,” said the waiter. “Shall I send for the wine waiter?”

“Yes, please,” said John and the waiter melted away, replaced almost instantly by a waiter indistinguishable from the first.

John didn’t even look at the wine list but ordered a bottle of something that had a lot of French words and ended with ’76. I’m better with beer than I am with wine.

“You know a lot about wine, John?” asked Marie.

He shrugged.

“John’s parents own a tiny little vineyard in the south of France,” said Anna proudly.

“Really?” said Marie.

“Yeah, we make a couple of thousand bottles in a good year,” he replied modestly. “It’s a family operation, nothing big.”

“And his name’s not really ‘John’,” said Anna wickedly.

“It’s not?” asked Marie, her eyes wide.

“No,” said John with an eye roll. “I was christened ‘Jean-Pierre’ but I prefer John. Just John. Always just John.”

The wine waiter returned and the bottle was presented to John and then opened with some ceremony. John was offered the cork and he waved it under his nose for a second before setting it aside and nodding. The waiter poured a tiny amount into John’s glass and he went through the whole wine tasting display, sampling the bouquet and swishing a sip around his mouth. Finally he seemed satisfied and nodded again. The waiter poured an inch into our glasses and stood back.

“To friendship,” said John.

“To friendship,” we all repeated and drained our glasses.

The wine waiter reappeared and filled our glasses properly this time, and then he faded away. This stealth waiter business was starting to get creepy.

When the next waiter materialized from thin air John ordered for himself and Anna in near-flawless French. Marie tapped her finger on the menu and I gave everyone a surprise. My French is, if anything, better than John’s.

Bread appeared on the table and, after a while, appetizers were beamed down from a ship in orbit over the planet. The empty plates were spirited away by invisible elves and ghosts brought entrées and set them on our table.

It was all very disconcerting.

John had a steak that looked like someone had waved it in the direction of a candle before bringing it out, and Anna, to my surprise, was tucking into a giant stuffed mushroom that involved truffles in some hard-to-define way. Marie had asked for filet mignon and I was enjoying the best bœuf bourguignon I’d ever had. I wouldn’t admit it under pain of death but even John’s mother didn’t make it better.

We ate and chatted, talking about nothing important, grateful for the chance to relax and, by the time butterflies trained in black-ops brought out dessert I was a little buzzed from the wine.

I had some light pastry thing with strawberries but Marie had ordered a bowl of something that looked like the chef had taken a tiny chocolate cake, filled it with molten chocolate, covered it in chocolate icing, put a blob of chocolate ice cream on top and then drizzled the whole thing in chocolate sauce. There was even grated and powdered chocolate sprinkled on top—I was getting a sugar rush just by being in the same room. The chef must have worn protective clothing or something. Marie sampled a spoonful and I suddenly had a good idea why the restaurant was named for orgasms. I’d seen that look on her face before, but it had always been my doing. Anna took one look and ordered the same thing for herself.

I’d taken two bites of my dessert before Marie was scraping the dish and licking the spoon clean. I checked the ceiling to see if any was stuck there. When I looked back down her dish was gone and she was leaning against my shoulder with a dreamy look on her face.

“That,” she said happily, “was amazing.”

“You know chocolate stimulates the same receptors in the brain that sex does, right?” said Anna, cleaning her dish.

“Yeah, but you can’t snuggle with chocolate when you’re done and sex burns calories instead of piling them on your thighs,” said Marie.

“So you’d take sex instead of chocolate?” asked Anna slyly.

“I’ll take sex and chocolate, if it’s going.”

“Okay,” I said quickly. “We need to find somewhere open to get some chocolate.”

Marie kissed me and I could taste the dessert on her tongue. Anna and John were exchanging amused looks.

I placed a credit card on the table. Within seconds it was mysteriously removed and then returned, along with receipt that, once signed, wafted away. I’m pretty sure I caught a glimpse of the waiter that last time.

We left a generous tip and made our way outside.

“It’s only eleven,” said Anna. “Think we can find a club and dance the night away?”

I groaned and John shook his head.

“I’ve seen Jack dance,” he said. “People on fire move with more rhythm than he does.”

Marie looked crestfallen.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll take one for the team if you guys promise not to laugh too hard.”

Everyone gave unconvincing assurances and we set off towards the town center. It was chilly and Marie’s coat didn’t look all that warm so I slipped off my jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She cuddled close as we walked, following the sound of thumping music.

“Looks promising,” said John as we turned a corner and saw a sign that read “Club Lurid” over a doorway guarded by a pair of bouncers that looked like strategically shaved gorillas in badly fitted suits.

We were walking in when one of the gorillas put his hand on my chest.

“No guns inside,” he grunted.

“Get your hand off me,” I said through clenched teeth.

I do not like to be touched like that. I put my life on the line every day and there was no way I was taking shit from some muscleheaded steroid freak who stayed home safe.

“Or you’ll do what, old man?”

“I’ll break your arm,” I said. “How many places do you want me to try for?”

The gorilla laughed nastily.

“Back the fuck up and maybe you’ll get to walk home,” the second bouncer sneered. “Don’t worry, me an’ my friend will show the whores what it’s like to be with a real man.”

“Oh fuck,” said John. “Oh fuck, man. You’re in a world of shit now. Nobody talks about my woman like that.”

I grabbed the gorilla’s hand and twisted, slamming my free hand into his shoulder and forcing him down to his knees. John hit the second gorilla with a punch that they probably felt inside the club and he went down like a sack of potatoes. John may not look like much but if you insult his wife in a dream you’d better wake up and duck.

“Apologize to the ladies,” I growled at the helpless bouncer.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Oh God, I’m sorry!”

The club’s door slammed open and a wiry little man with a worried little mustache came running out, two more bouncers on his heels. This could get nasty real quick.

“What you doing?” he screeched in a middle-eastern accent. “You fucking stupid man!”

I suddenly realized he was yelling at the bouncer I had in a death grip.

“You fucking stupid no-good bouncer! You try to stop the Pagan from coming in my club? You fired! You hear me you man who fornicates with goats? You fired!”

I released the bouncer—his face was turning purple and it wasn’t a good color on him—and straightened up. I got a good look at the owner of the club.

“Samir?” I said, grinning broadly.

“Aiee! My good friend Pagan comes to my club and this offspring of a dog tries to fight him? Please, come in my friends, you are always welcome here!”

“Well fucking hell, Jack,” said John quietly. “You just know everybody, dontcha?”

“Samir works for the Ministry during the day. He develops weapons and he’s damn good at it.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Samir, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “How does the firebugs work for you? Is good?”

“They’re beautiful, Samir, just perfect. Worked like a charm. I didn’t know you owned this place.”

We were going down a set of steps into a huge room. The music was loud and pounding and I swear I could feel my teeth shake. Samir leaned close and yelled about two inches from my ear.

“Is too loud to talk! We talk later, yes?”

I nodded and Samir gave me a thumbs-up just as Marie grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out onto the dance floor.

It was bad. I don’t think there were any casualties except for my pride, but it was a disaster. I just can’t dance. I was making a complete fool of myself—and loving every second—until Samir had the DJ put some slow songs on ‘for the lovers in the house.’

Slow dancing I can do. I’m really good at slow dancing.

CHAPTER

30

We finally made it home around 2am, more than a little worse for alcohol and in high spirits. John and Anna giggled off towards their bedroom and firmly shut the door.

“Goodnight, guys!” I yelled at the door.

“G’night!” came Anna’s muffled voice.

I pulled Marie into my arms and grinned.

“Well look what I found,” I said.

“And what are you going to do with me?” she asked slyly.

“Oh I think it’s probably going to involve considerably less clothes than you’re currently wearing.”

I bent and kissed her, holding her tighter. Then I took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom.

“I do believe I was promised a peek beneath the dress,” I said.

Marie giggled as I took a seat on the bed and took off my boots and socks. She slipped her jacket off of her shoulders and dropped it on a chair. Her shoulder rig quickly followed it. Then she walked towards me, her hips swinging and her eyes hooded. She reached behind her back and I heard the sound of a zipper before the dress hit the floor. She was wearing a skimpy black push-up bra embroidered with tiny red roses, along with a matching thong that was so tiny it barely covered a thing. The contrast between the soft, sexy lingerie and the leather boots was incredible.

“You keeping all those clothes on?” she asked with a cute smile.

I stood up and slid my hands over her hips, up to her sides and around to her back.

“No, I think I need to lose some or I’ll overheat.”

She giggled again, tugging my tie down and unbuttoning my shirt. She pushed my jacket and shirt off and licked my chest as she unzipped my trousers. She kissed along my collarbone and up to my ear.

“You smell incredible,” she growled.

I placed the flat of my hand on her abdomen, just below her breasts, and pushed her back towards the bed. When her legs hit the mattress I kept pushing until she fell backwards with a yelp. She looked up at me and gave a soft growl. I leaned over her, one hand trailing over her stomach, my fingertips lightly brushing her skin.

“You look good enough to eat,” I said softly.

I knelt by the side of the bed and kissed the inside of her thigh, eliciting an aroused moan. I kissed higher as I pulled her thong to one side, inching my way up, closer to my goal. Her moans grew more passionate as I slid my tongue into warmth and wetness.

And that’s when my pager gave a shrill screech. Marie’s, sitting next to mine on the bedside table, joined in, followed quickly by similar screeches from the next room. There was muffled thumping, bumping and swearing, too.

I lay my forehead against Marie’s thigh and groaned.

“Why now?” I said softly.

“Do we have to answer them?” said Marie, twirling her fingers through my hair.

I nodded. All hunters were required to carry pagers when away from the front lines and they were rarely used except for genuine emergencies.

“Don’t move,” I said. “Let me check. It might be a mistake or a false alarm.”

Yeah, fat chance. I picked up my pager and read the display, then did the same for Marie’s. Both read “AA**42:@1”. I swore.

“AA” was the code for all-agents. Every hunter in the area was getting the call. Double star meant that the call was priority one, and “42” was the code for the Ministry building on base. “@1” just meant ‘at once’.

Suddenly I was stone cold sober and sex was the furthest thing from my mind. Okay, so Marie was still lying on the bed wearing leather boots and barely enough material to make a small hat, so maybe it wasn’t quite the furthest thing, but I did feel like an ice-cold bucket of water had been thrown on my libido.

“We gotta go, sweetheart. That was big-time urgent. Get dressed.”

I strode over to the dresser and started yanking on my work uniform while Marie did the same. I did notice that she pulled her fighting outfit on over the lingerie. She caught me looking and blushed.

“Just in case we can pick up where we left off any time soon,” she explained.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I promised.

We finished dressing and grabbed our guns as we ran out the door. John and Anna were already on their way downstairs. We all piled into the Land Rover and set off towards the base.

“Any idea what it is, boss?” said John from the driver’s seat.

“Not a clue, but we don’t get double-starred very often, so it must be big.”

We drove the rest of the way to the base in silence. The guards had been expecting us and waved the ‘Rover through without stopping us. Now that was really worrying. The area around the Ministry building was thick with cars. I spotted Norse’s clapped-out old Cortina and Happy’s eyesore of a van, as well as about half a dozen others I recognized.

We wasted no time getting inside. The big briefing room was like a miniature amphitheater, with a semi-circle of tiered rows of seats. It was about half-full and people were still streaming in. We commandeered a corner and I took a look around. The room was pretty dark but I spotted Norse and his crew and we exchanged nods. I knew that a lot of the hunters were taking advantage of the lull in vampiric activities to catch some time away from the front. I just hadn’t realized how many of us there were in and around Brize. I gave nods to quite a few of those around, those I could see, as the room filled up.

Marie’s hand crept into mine and I gave her a reassuring squeeze.

The lights in the briefing room went down further, leaving only the stage lit. Captain Dent walked out and stood behind the podium. Apparently she was more deeply involved with the Ministry than I’d first thought.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, bringing the briefing to order. “I’m sorry to be cutting short what was, I’m sure, some long delayed time off.”

There was some laughter around the room.

“However, as I’m sure you’re all aware, we don’t do an all-agents to discuss the weather,” she said, to more laughter. “I think it’s safe to say that the shit has hit the fan in no uncertain manner.”

She used a remote to activate the screen at the focus of the auditorium seats. Up came a regal-looking portrait of a coldly beautiful woman staring imperiously at the viewer. I knew the face. I’d last seen it through a SUIT scope.

“This is Glavidia, four hundred year old vampire, member of the Three, the self-named ‘Queen of the Night’ and, thanks to Pagan, very, very dead.”

There was some applause, some scattered cheers and cat-calls.

“Yes, we’re all extremely grateful to Pagan for getting rid of this parasite,” said Dent. “And for the last few weeks the contenders have been fighting it out, jockeying for the open seat on The Three.

“According to our intel, this gentleman,” she went on, clicking to the next slide, “one Hans Kohler, was number 2 in Glavidia’s organization. But he ran into Pagan, too.”

More laughter and cheers.

“So, for the last few weeks the vampires in her former organization have been fighting amongst themselves for dominance. Two days ago the contenders were down to two, and most of the lower vampire ranks were consolidating into factions behind them.”

Another picture came up. This was of a haughty-looking man with cold eyes. He was unfamiliar to me.

“This is Anders Borzhensky,” said Dent. “He is two hundred years old and extraordinarily powerful. Not powerful enough, though, because yesterday his body was found, seated in the remains of Glavidia’s throne in the main hall of Havelock Manor.”

She turned, looking for me and meeting my eyes.

“A Royal Marine combat knife was embedded in his throat, a 7.62mm round had been fired into his heart, and an SAS beret had been placed on his head.”

The only sound in the room was a few whispered conversations as those who knew my history explained things to those who didn’t.

“It was a message for me,” I said clearly enough to be heard across the room.

Dent nodded.

“That’s our belief,” she said.

“From whom?” I asked.

She turned and used the remote again. The next picture was of the vampire that had taken a flying leap at me as Glavidia was letting out her death rattle. I sat up straighter.

“This is Marcus Demios, no known place or date of birth, but intel suggests he’s exceptionally powerful and, unlike most vampires, he allows his followers to grow in power too. He has a taste for human women and I’m not talking about blood. It’s his proud boast that he can … pleasure a woman to death in a single day.”

“Then he’s a poof,” came Norse’s voice. “I can do that in an hour and a half.”

There was coarse laughter and jeering at the comment.

“I heard you were having trouble getting it up, Norse,” came a female voice from near the back of the room.

“Naah,” said Norse with a dismissive wave. “Since I got those little blue pills I’m a stallion again.”

There was more laughter and Dent gave Norse a frosty look.

“It’s not just human women he likes, he also has a thing for vampire hunters,” she said, clicking her remote again.

The picture was an ID card style picture of the woman Demios had been dancing with at the manor.

“Demios’ date at the little party Pagan crashed has been identified as this woman, one Mary Sue Carrington, a freelance vampire hunter who operated out of Sheffield and who disappeared three weeks ago. Demios apparently likes appearing at these vampire gatherings with a vampire hunter date. Whether she was there voluntarily or was under mental domination is unknown, as is her fate. But she was in the vicinity of two grenades, so we can presume she’s dead.”

“Which means,” came the female voice from the back again, “that he’s looking for a new piece of arm candy. Especially now he’s king dick.”

“If you’re scared, love, you can stay home,” said a male voice on the other side of the auditorium.

“I thought you’d be the worried one. At least he’d let me live.”

“Settle down,” said Dent. “There’s worse. We received a report that Demios has decided to secure his place on The Three by pushing the front southwards as far as possible. He will be formally taking his seat in seven days and, according to our intel, he wants to present them with a gift. Probably Sheffield.”

“So we’re to be the Thin Red Line then?” I asked. “What about the military?”

“Officially the military’s hands are tied until the vamps actually make a move,” she replied. “I don’t know how many of you saw the news this morning but the French and Italian governments are filing formal protests with the European Parliament over the assassination of Glavidia.”

There was a chorus of boos and jeers.

“Not only that,” Dent went on when it was quiet again, “but the US ambassador in London today informed the Home Office that his government intends to ask the UN to impose sanctions.”

The jeers were louder this time and somebody yelled something about puppet governments.

“And unofficially?” I asked. “What are the military unofficially doing?”

“Unofficially, there will be a few units running exercises in the area and everything is on maximum alert. If anything happens we should be able to get support to you in less than thirty minutes.”

“I do have one more piece of news to cheer you all up,” said Dent loudly.

The room went quiet again.

“Demios has quite an unusual little clan,” she said. “Not only are a lot of his bloodline unusually powerful vampires in their own right, but we received some very disturbing pictures.”

Dent clicked through a series of images. All the vampires shown were horrific. They looked more like zombies than vampires, their skin covered in sores and open wounds. Their fangs were easily two inches long, more like yellow tusks, and their hair was sparse, filthy and unkempt. But worse were their eyes. I’d once, on a bet, gone diving in a shark cage and fed a great white. The vamps had the same eyes as the shark did: black, dead and soulless. Picture after picture, taken with a good quality digital camera, through the barred windows of wooden doors. Each vampire was wearing a heavy metal collar and was chained to the wall of the tiny cell each was in.

Marie’s hand tightened on mine like a death grip. I turned and saw her staring at the screen, her eyes wide and shiny with tears.

“What is it, sweetheart?” I asked softly.

Dent must have heard me because she turned and raised her eyebrows.

“Ms. Hennessey?” she asked. “Have you seen these before?”

“The vampires call them indominati. We just called them ‘the beasts’. Some vampires lose their minds completely when they’re turned, becoming wild beasts: mindless, savage killers. Even the vampires hate the indominati. They usually kill them on sight. If this Marcus has kept some alive he’s very dangerous.”

“I thought the indominati were a myth,” said Norse.

“I’m sorry?” I said in the silence. “What is it you do for a living?”

There were a few chuckles.

“Thank you, Pagan,” said Dent. “Anyway, the intel suggests that Demios has at least two hundred of these indominati, maybe more. If he unleashes them, we’ll be up that famous creek without any means of propulsion.”

I leaned close to Marie.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I asked.

“It was a group of indominati that killed my parents,” she replied.

I put my arm around her shoulders and held her close.

“We’ll be deploying you to the front,” Dent was saying. “Each team will be getting individual briefings but we need to hurry this along if we’re going to get Pagan’s team to their destination by dawn. Are you fit, Pagan?”

“Well of course he’s fit,” came the female voice again. “Meee-ow!”

“Shut up, Knuckles,” I said over the laughter, finally identifying the owner of the voice. “Can’t somebody gag her?”

“You think you’re big enough to make me gag, Pagan?”

When the laughter had subsided I rolled my eyes.

“I think I’ve created a monster,” I said.

“Yes, so do I,” said Dent. “I meant fit as in ‘healthy’, not fit as in ‘sexy’.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m fit as in ‘healthy’ and ready to go.”

“Good,” said Dent. “There’s a chopper waiting outside for you—and that’s chopper as in ‘helicopter’ not chopper as in ‘penis’, Knuckles.”

That got the biggest laugh of the night.

CHAPTER

31

We were racing the dawn, traveling in a Lynx, hurtling northwards. We were headed towards Sheffield, for a safe house called The Falcon. I’d managed to lay my hands on one of those shiny silver-colored fire blankets but I’d prefer to get us on the ground and under cover before the sun rose.

I could see the lights of Sheffield passing beneath us as the sky began to lighten. I was starting to get a little worried. The helicopter dipped as we lost altitude and began to circle. I could see The Falcon below us as the sun broke the horizon. Anna gasped and turned her face away from the window but the helicopter performed a gut-wrenching drop and we descended into shadow again.

“Sorry about that folks,” came the pilot’s voice over our headsets. “We’ll be on the ground in five seconds.”

The helicopter’s skids touched down and John wrenched the door open. He and Anna jumped out and reached for their kit.

“Go!” I yelled. “We’ll bring everything!”

Marie was nodding next to me, making little shooing gestures with her hands. John and Anna took off running for the door. I breathed a sigh of relief when they were safely inside.

I swung out of the helicopter and started manhandling our bergans out with Marie’s help. When we were clear I reached in through the pilot’s window and slapped him on the shoulder. Then I gave him a thumbs up and mouthed “Thanks buddy!”

He grinned, his white teeth in sharp contrast to his dark skin. He mouthed back “Any time, brother!”

I stepped back as the helicopter rose from the ground and climbed into the air. Marie and I grabbed our bags and started towards the inn. One of the few benefits that the vamps had brought was a virtual end to racism in the country. Nobody cared what color your skin was as long as you were human. We were all, finally, brothers and sisters. There were those who would probably think I was betraying humanity by sleeping with a werewolf. They could take a long walk off of a short pier for all I cared.

We were almost to the door when Marie dropped the bags she was carrying and went for her gun. I didn’t even question. My bergan hit the ground along with John’s and the MP7 came out.

Marie was sniffing the air. Her sense of smell was better in wolf form, but at any time she had a sensitive nose.

“Vamps,” she whispered. “Inside.”

I didn’t need to ask her if it was Anna. This was obviously something else. I motioned her to go around the back as I slipped off the safety on my holstered SIG and then pulled out the MP7’s stock and front grip. With the weapon at my shoulder I slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open, smelling the rusty odor of fresh blood. Shit.

“Come inside, vampire hunter,” came a voice from the public bar. It was a ridiculous looking vampire with bright purple hair arranged into greasy spikes. She was wearing a battered leather jacket over a black push-up bra and leather miniskirt. This was one of the newly turned. She had probably been a vampire for no more than a couple of years. She looked like the kind of idiot who used to read vapid vampire romances and thought it would be ‘like, wicked awesome’ if she could meet a real vampire. Black Tuesday must have been like Christmas for her. There were five other vamps in the room, all fashion victims, all trying their best to look cool and in control. Two male vamps were leaning against a wall, negligently holding knives, and three females were doing variations on a self-superior sneer. Chrome and leather were much in evidence, except one mousy, pouty poster-child for teen angst that had obviously decided that a black ball gown and heavy goth makeup was the look for the undead.

I could see, over by the bar, the crumpled figures of the husband and wife that ran the inn. They looked dead.

John and Anna were kneeling on the floor, disarmed and looking surprisingly calm about their predicament. Purple hair had my attention, though, because she had a knife to Anna’s throat. I glanced to Anna’s face and she gave me a tiny wink that made me feel better. The knife wasn’t even silver so the vamps didn’t know who she was. The knife at John’s throat was enough of a threat, though. I had to pick my moment.

“What do you want?” I asked purple hair, looking at her through the sights of my weapon.

“The Master is in need of a new whore to fuck to death,” said purple hair. “He likes vampire hunter pussy, so I think I’ll deliver this slut to him.”

I saw John stiffen at the insults and mentally implored him to stay put. He was the only one in danger in the room and he needed to swallow his instincts for a second. From where I was standing I could see Marie behind the bar. She was hidden behind a section of wall that held a threadbare dartboard and the vamps, I hoped, couldn’t see her.

“The Master will reward us greatly for this service to him,” said purple hair.

Anna had her eyes closed, her brow creased in a tiny furrow of concentration as she tried to dominate someone in the room. The vamps may be young and inexperienced, but they weren’t of her bloodline. Dominating one would be difficult.

“So,” said purple hair. “Put the gun down and maybe we’ll only take the whore.”

This was Darwinian evolution in action. Some things are just too dumb to survive.

The vamp standing behind John—little Miss ball gown—suddenly went still, her eyes glazing over and the knife inching away from his throat.

I lowered my gun and spread my left hand open in a placating gesture.

“It’s okay,” I said in my most reasonable tone of voice. “There’s no need to get violent.”

“Shut up, fag!” the vampire snapped. “We’re taking the bitch and we’re taking the weapons.”

“No,” I said softly, “you’re not.”

I whipped my SIG out of its holster and threw it to John as he dived forward. Marie stepped smoothly around the wall, firing a three-round burst from the shorty that flung one of the male vampires backwards. I dropped one of the females with a burst from the MP7 as John completed his roll and brought the SIG up. With a double-tap he hit Miss ball gown in the heart. Anna was on her feet, wrestling purple hair to the ground, so I spun and pinned one of the females with a long burst. Marie’s shorty roared again and the other two female vamps died. The last male was standing with his mouth open, his acne-littered face clearly registering his shock. Marie and I fired simultaneously, tearing him apart.

Anna spun, throwing purple hair across the room and John emptied the SIG’s magazine into her as she hit the ground.

“Fucking bitch,” yelled Anna as she turned around.

The hilt of purple hair’s knife protruded from her chest and her throat was sluggishly leaking blood.

“Do these idiots have any idea how much blood stains?” she asked in an exasperated voice.

She wrenched the knife from her chest with a wet, sucking noise and threw it away. Her brow furrowed again as she concentrated, turning her attention inwards.

I was covering the bodies with the MP7 in case any were playing possum but my eyes were drawn to Anna. The long slash along her throat closed, the flesh knitting together until even the scar faded and disappeared. Once again I was reminded just how much my old friend had changed. Then she gave me a cheeky smile that reminded me of how much was the same. It also caused a slight pang in my stomach, a distant echo of the pain I’d felt when I’d realized, a month after I’d met her, that I was falling in love with a happily married woman. Would John, I often wondered, be as comfortable with my flirting if he knew how deeply my feelings had run?

No, I didn’t consider Marie to be some sort of second prize. I’d long since gotten over my infatuation for Anna, and it had matured into a close and abiding friendship, but every so often something happened that made me remember how I used to feel.

“You okay, love?” asked John as he got to his feet.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly.

“You sure, love?” he asked, stepping towards her.

“Yeah, we may need to move up my next feeding by a couple of days, but I should be okay.”

“Glad to hear it, Anna,” I said.

John passed the SIG back to me with a nod of thanks, and then gathered up their weapons. I reloaded both of my handguns and returned them to their holsters.

“Okay, so what the hell happened?”

“They were waiting for us,” said Anna. “Well, not for us specifically, but they were waiting for some hunters to turn up. When John and I came in they hit him with a taser and the bitch with the hair put a knife to my throat.”

“Well, in that case, are you okay John?” I asked.

He nodded and stretched.

“Yeah, I’m feeling a little groggy, but better,” he said eventually.

Marie and I dragged the bodies outside and threw them in a pile next to the rubbish bins, then went back into the bar. John had covered the human bodies with a sheet.

“Okay, break out our new toys and get me the Ministry.”

Before leaving we’d been equipped with a new satellite phone and a laptop computer no bigger than a hardback novel. With the two linked together we could access the Ministry’s computer network. It was an innovation the tech boys had been working on for a while. Anna pecked at keys for a second and then nodded.

“I’m in,” she said.

“We’re going to need the local police for the owners,” I said. “If they can be trusted, that is. And file a report with the Ministry. Apparently this new guy’s reach is already further than we thought.”

“We don’t know that,” said John. “They might have just been looking for a way into his good books.”

“No,” said Anna absently as she typed. “They called him ‘The Master’ which means he owns them. They were probably looking for promotion.”

I shrugged. I didn’t care about the vamps anymore. I just didn’t want any other hunters walking into an ambush. If the safe houses were compromised, we needed to know about it.

“How did they get in?” asked Marie when she came back into the bar. “I checked upstairs. The couple—Phil and Edna Perkins, by the way—lived right upstairs. How did the vamps get into someone’s home?”

That had been bothering me, too.

“Maybe they got invited in?” asked John.

“Possibly,” I said cautiously. “I’d certainly feel a lot better when we find out.”

“Wait,” said Marie. “How does Anna get into these places?”

“I work for the Ministry,” she said. “The safe houses are run for the Ministry, so I have an open invitation to all of them, so does any vampire who works for us.”

“Wait,” said John. “You don’t think one of those was with the Ministry?”

“I dunno, let’s find out shall we?”

CHAPTER

32

Back in the early days of the Ministry there was one pompous idiot in charge of a lot of things who managed to push a few of his most ridiculous notions through the committee procedure. Some of them have been quietly shelved since, but some stuck around. About the only useful thing this idiot did was passing a regulation giving each Ministry hunter a badge. Personally I believe he was enamored of those American cop dramas where people wander around flashing their shields at everyone. Still, I had a badge. I’ll admit it was pretty. It had the obligatory little crown on top, was shiny silver, had a motto around the edge—γνώθι σεαυτόν—and was made of silver so it looked great. The center was an enameled image of the Ministry crest, a sword against the St. George’s Flag.

It was an impressive little piece of kit and people tended to pay attention when you showed it off. I had one, Anna and John had one each, and Marie’s was new enough that the leather still had the creak.

Currently I had no idea where mine was. The third or fourth time I’d lost it Anna forcibly took it from me and took responsibility for it. Now, if I wanted my badge I had to get it from Anna. The problem was that Anna was asleep and I didn’t want to wake her. With the local cops coming in I might have to stamp my authority, so I might need the badge.

Marie came up behind me and slipped her arm around my waist.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she said.

I shrugged and smiled.

“Just wondering what Anna did with my badge,” I said.

“Oh, this?” said Marie, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a slim leather wallet.

“Where did you find that?” I asked.

“Anna gave it to me a few weeks ago. Apparently I’m supposed to be your keeper now.”

I tucked the badge away and smiled as I took her in my arms.

“Oh, you’re a keeper, that’s for sure,” I said.

“Wow, how do you take those cheesy lines and make them sound romantic?” she asked with an affectionate smile.

I pulled her close and kissed her.

“I know I shouldn’t feel like this right after a firefight but I feel like locking the doors, taking you upstairs and seeing how loud I can make you scream.”

“Well,” she said, playing with the zipper on my jacket. “We do have some unfinished business.”

I kissed her again, taking my time and enjoying every moment, her tongue darting into my mouth and sending electricity down my spine.

Someone cleared their throat and I suppressed a groan.

“Are you Pagan, sir?” asked a young woman in a WPC’s uniform.

“Yes,” I sighed. “That’s me.”

“No offence sir, but do you have any identification?” said the hulking constable who was standing at the WPC’s back with his beefy arms folded across his barrel chest.

I winked at Marie and pulled out my badge. The constable spent, in my opinion, an insultingly long time studying both it and the accompanying ID card before handing it back.

“I’m PC Jackson, this is WPC Birkenstock,” said the man.

“Pagan,” I said. “And this is Marie Hennessey from my team.”

“Your report said there were four hunters here, where are the other two?”

“Well one’s here,” said John, stepping out into the bar. “And the other’s upstairs, asleep.”

“Officers, this is John Clarke,” I said. “John, this is WPC Birkenstock and PC Jackson. John’s wife is our fourth and she was wounded, so she’s resting.”

“We’ll need to speak to her, too,” said Jackson.

“Funny,” said John, his arms crossed over his chest. “Doesn’t feel like my body is dead.”

PC Jackson looked like he was about to explode.

“Leave it alone, you two,” I said, holding up my hand. “We’re on the same side. Anna will be up and about later on and we’ll see about a statement then, okay?”

“We need to ask your entire team some questions,” said Jackson stubbornly.

I took a few slow steps forward, placing myself square in front of him.

“We are not suspects here, constable, and this is a crime involving vampires,” I said with quiet menace. “By law this case belongs to us and we only called you in as a courtesy.”

WPC Birkenstock held her hands up.

“Hey, we’re not looking to tread on any toes,” she said firmly. “And we understand that this is your area of expertise. We need to cooperate here.”

I nodded and stepped back.

“We have a SOCO team outside,” she said. “We need them to come in.”

I nodded again. The Scenes Of Crime Officer would need to photograph the bodies of the old couple and make a report.

“Where are the vampires?” asked Jackson.

“We took them out and threw them by the bins with all the rest of the rubbish,” I replied.

“Why?” he said, his voice rising. “You just walk into our city, have a shoot up in a bar and then disturb the crime scene? I’m fed up with you hunters walking around like you own the place!”

“Actually, if you want to get technical, I do own the place,” I said. “This is a Ministry-run inn and safe house and, as the Ministry’s representative on the scene if the owners are killed, it belongs to me. That’s the law. I chose to remove the vampires because we needed to get them out into the sun so they couldn’t heal; on the off chance that one was still alive. SOP.”

Birkenstock nodded but Jackson looked unhappy.

“Why is the ownership of the bar transferred?” asked Jackson sharply.

“Because that way somebody legally owns the place. As long as I’m staying here this place is, technically, my home, and vampires can’t get in. Trust me. We’ve tried it with some of the vampires that work for us and it works. I guess technicalities are the soul of the vamp as well as the law.”

“Wouldn’t it be Anna?” asked Marie. “She was first in here, right?”

“No, it doesn’t work for other vampires,” I replied, always alert for a chance to add to her training. “A vamp has no problem entering the home of another vampire. It’s only humans that cause problems.”

“Anna?” asked Jackson suspiciously.

“John’s wife,” I said, nodding to my friend who was talking to one of the SOCOs.

“He married a vampire?” asked Jackson incredulously.

“No,” I said firmly. “He married Anna. Anna was turned a few years ago and he was lucky not to have to kill her. And I was lucky because if he hadn’t been able to, it would have been my job.”

I looked from one officer to the other.

“Make no mistake, I trust Anna with my life. I’d rather have her watch my back than any ten constables you could offer me.”

John walked over to us, a slight frown on his face.

“Well,” he said, “I think we have an answer to how the leeches got in here.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I was talking to the officer and he knew the family.” John went on. “Apparently the vamp who was holding the blade to my throat was Mr. & Mrs. Perkins’ daughter, Emily. She went missing two months ago. This was her home too.”

“I want you on that computer, John,” I said. “Get the word out. Any other safe houses had family members gone missing, we need to know about it.”

“I already checked.”

I caught the look in his eye.

“How many?” I asked.

“Thirty six, all within fifty miles from here. Almost every safe house between here and that Marcus guy.”

CHAPTER

33

My eyes snapped open to slowly fading sunlight. It was a little before dusk and almost time to get out of bed. We’d been at the Falcon for a few days and it had been almost eerily quiet every night.

Marie was cuddled close to me, her head on my chest, our legs entwined. Let me just go on record as saying that I don’t really like sleeping naked. It’s not aesthetics—although the male form isn’t exactly the most attractive thing on the planet, especially the genitals—but more a case of practicality. If I have to leap out of bed to fight something, I’d rather not do it ‘tackle out’. Being the big, bad vampire hunter is difficult when the family jewels are swinging in the breeze. Marie, however, liked the naked thing and, if it came to that, I liked her doing the naked thing, so we slept naked. I just made sure there was a pair of trousers close at hand.

Today, though, I could see the advantages. There was a lot of naked skin pressed up against me, which is always a nice way to wake up. Marie stirred and yawned.

“Time to get up?” she said sleepily.

“Not yet,” I said, glancing at the clock. “I think we can lay in for an hour or so.”

“Good,” she said and hugged me tight.

I stroked her hair and kissed her on the forehead.

“That’s nice,” she said softly. “Let’s have more of that.”

I laughed softly and kissed her again. Suddenly she sat up. I gave her a puzzled look.

“Oh!” she cried. “Hold on, hold on. Be right back.”

She ran into the bathroom and I heard the sound of her rummaging in her bag. When she came back in she was holding one hand behind her back.

“What are you up to?” I said.

She brought out a brightly wrapped package and smiled shyly.

“Happy birthday, Jack,” she said.

“It’s my birthday?” I said with some shock. “No, my birthday’s not ‘till the third.”

“Today is the third, love,” she said and pointed at my watch. “Third of November.”

“You’re right,” I said, laughing. “With everything I completely forgot.”

“Open it,” she said eagerly.

I tore open the wrapping paper to find a box made of cream-colored cardboard. I opened the box and inside was a tiny pile of black and blue lace-edged silk. I picked up the first piece, a skimpy thong with a blue bow on the front, and held it up.

“Well, I don’t think this is going to fit me, sweetheart,” I said doubtfully.

“Silly, sexy man,” she said with an indulgent smile.

I pulled out more slinky pieces, a corset with blue ribbons woven into the front and garters attached, a pair of black, lace-topped stockings. I was breathing a little heavily and was finding it hard to sit still.

“So,” I said, trying to sound casual. “You gonna go put this all on?”

“How about later?” she asked with wide-eyed innocence. “We need to get downstairs, okay?”

I let out a groan.

“You didn’t invite everyone, did you?” I said. “I don’t want a fuss made. It’s just a birthday.”

“No,” she said. “John and Anna are waiting, but that’s all.”

“Okay,” I said. “But later, you owe me and I owe you.”

She crawled across the bed to me on all fours, and then planted a soft, sensuous kiss on my lips.

“I can hardly wait, my love,” she breathed.

John and Anna were sitting in the bar when we got downstairs.

“Happy birthday, Jack,” said John and Anna in unison.

“Hi guys, thanks a lot.” I replied.

“Hey boss,” he said. “Whatdya think?”

He held my rifle up and handed it to me.

“I took it to a local gunsmith and had a few changes made in honor of your birthday.”

He’d had a picatinny rail fitted to either side of the forestock, one of which now held one of the big UVC lamps. The weapon had been expertly cleaned and there was a new addition to the buttstock. The bottom corner was sheathed in a silver cap that came out to a short, horn-like point. I liked it. I could probably crack a vamp’s skull right open with it. “Wow,” I said quietly. “When did you find time to do this?”

“Er … When you were sleeping?” said John.

“Well, you must have had an accomplice to get the rifle out of our room,” I said, giving Marie my best ‘you’re in trouble’ look. “Thank you, both of you. This is amazing.”

“Oh, that’s from John,” said Anna, sliding a box across the table to me. “This is from me.”

I put the FAL aside and opened the box. Inside was a cut-down pump-action shotgun, but without either a stock or a pistol grip. It also appeared to have a strange rail attached to the top. For a second I didn’t know what it was for and then realization hit.

I picked up my FAL and unsnapped the M203 from under the barrel, sliding it off of the rail that secured it to the forestock. The shotgun slid into place with a satisfying snap and my rifle now had an underslung backup weapon. Nice.

“There’s plenty of shells in the box, too,” said Anna.

I was almost speechless. Okay, I’ll admit it: I like guns. It goes with the job. The big, brutal FAL, with the underslung shotgun, the UVC lamp and the silver-capped buttstock was very nearly the perfect vampire hunter’s weapon. I loved it.

“Anna, this is great, thank you,” I said. “I mean really, really fantastic.”

“That’s okay, boss,” she said, giving me a hug. “Use it in good health and happy birthday.”

“Oh, wait,” said John, “we found something for Marie while we were at the gunsmith.”

He pulled up a pair of large webbing pouches and put them on the table. Opening one revealed a pair of black objects that looked like a standard FAL magazine with a large soup tin welded on each side.

“Drum mags?” I asked. “What capacity?”

“They’re C-Mags, a hundred rounds each,” said John.

“Nice.”

John zipped the pouch back up and pushed them across the table to Marie, then produced another magazine and added it to the gift.

“Just to get you started, hun,” he said.

Marie picked up her shorty and ejected the thirty round magazine, replacing it with the C-Mag.

“I like,” she said. “I like a lot.”

So did I. With a hundred round drum magazine and an operator who could control it on full auto, the FAL was like an LSW with bigger teeth. Very nice.

I was disappointed I didn’t have one of the C-Mags for my rifle. But then, I wouldn’t be able to fire the shotgun with the bulky magazine getting in the way. Of course, with a hundred round magazine I wouldn’t need the shotgun, supplied a sarcastic part of my mind.

Marie had another package in her hands.

“This is from me, Jack,” she said.

“Another?” I asked, taking the package.

“Another?” asked John quietly. “What was the first?”

“Oh hush,” said Anna. “It was something private.”

“Private?” asked John. “Private, but you know?”

Anna didn’t reply.

John shrugged and watched as I opened the second package, a felt-lined box that held a hunting knife. It had a long, curved, single-edged silver alloy blade, a polished wooden handle and a silver pommel in the shape of a wolf’s head. I was stunned. The knife was a work of art. It was truly beautiful. The blade was well over a foot long and razor-sharp.

“Do you like it?” asked Marie softly.

“Sweetheart, I love it, it’s incredible. It’s beautiful.”

John and Anna were craning to see so I showed them the knife and both gave little ‘ah’ sounds. I pulled Marie into my arms and kissed her.

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s wonderful.”

The scabbard was nicely tooled leather with a matching wolf’s head emblem branded into the front.

“I think I might have found a replacement for my kukri,” I said.

Marie was beaming.

“There’s one more gift,” said Anna. “In the lounge.”

“Okay,” I said, placing the knife back in its box.

I was leading the way into the lounge, still looking at the knife, when easily thirty voices yelled “Happy birthday!” and one that I recognized as belonging to Norse yelled “It’s about fucking time!”

I almost jumped out of my skin. I wheeled on Marie, laughing fit to burst.

“You set me up!” I said. “And you lied to me!”

She kissed me and gave me a hug.

“I’ll just have to make it up to you later, sweetheart.”

I grinned and was surrounded by my friends and the closest people I have to family. They were holding gifts, slapping me on the back, offering their best wishes. I was getting handshakes from the men, hugs and kisses on the cheek from the women.

“You should have seen your face,” said Knuckles after she’d hugged me. “It was a picture.”

“It certainly was,” said Bolt, holding up a digital camera. “I think this one’s going on our website.”

“Do it and die,” I said ominously, setting off a round of raucous laughter.

We were out on patrol, sweeping the surrounding areas, checking for any activity. The Ministry man had turned up and taken ownership of the inn, which suited me just fine.

Every hunter was wearing their badge. With so many armed teams in the area the potential for accidents was huge and we all wanted to be easily identified to each other. Radio communications were being kept to a minimum in case the vamps were listening in. This new guy seemed way too clever for comfort.

Ahead, in the glow of a streetlamp, I could see Norse and his crew. I’d instantly felt better with the big hunter around.

“Anything happening?” I asked as we approached.

“Not a fucking thing,” replied Norse. “Shit, there’s not even a rat running around.”

We all started glancing around. Another team was approaching us.

“The first person,” said Happy quietly “who says anything to the effect of ‘I don’t like it; it’s too quiet’ is looking at a face full of knuckles.”

“Someone say my name?”

It was Knuckles and her team. We exchanged quiet greetings and did the first thing that British soldiers always do when they meet up—we swapped edibles. Knuckles had gotten hold of some of the Compo ration packs and had a pocketful of the boiled sweets, which I firmly believe should be a food group by themselves. I traded some for a bag of Rolo chocolates. Norse had some US issue MREs and traded the biscuits to Rock Ape for a bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk. It could only be mere moments before someone suggested we do the other thing British soldiers always do when they meet up—have a cup of tea.

“Anyone fancy a brew up?” asked Hacker.

Told you so.

We moved back towards the Falcon and sent two of Knuckles’ team in for the traditional elixir of life. I looked around at the eerily quiet night.

“Okay, I don’t give a fuck, I’m saying it,” I said softly. “I do not like this, and it is too quiet. Is anyone else just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

CHAPTER

34

I hate insomnia. I slept for four hours and then spent an hour lying around wide-awake before finally giving up. I slipped out of the bed as quietly as possible and paid a quick visit to the bathroom. When I was finished I indulged myself for a long moment, leaning against the bathroom door and watching Marie as she slept. Yeah, there was that schoolboy in love again. Of course, it wasn’t all schoolboy: Marie’s new corset was hanging from the headboard, her thong from the footboard, and one of her stockings had been thrown on the dresser. We may have to organize a search party to find the other. Looks like the man license was secure again.

I got dressed, quietly picked up my PLCE and gunbelt, and went downstairs in search of a cup of tea or, failing that, something that involved bacon. The bar was empty, unusual at this time of day. Apparently the new owner was running the place as a simple safe house, not bothering with opening the premises to anyone else. That suited me just fine.

I raided the kitchen and made a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich, reflecting on how much I missed Taffy’s big boy specials.

I sat down at a table that held a pile of gifts from my party. Vampire hunters often have a strange sense of humor and my friends are no exception. I had enough novelty boxers and funny t-shirts to keep me supplied for weeks. Norse had given me a glass-fronted red box that contained a wooden mallet and a sharpened stake, marked ‘in case of vampire: break glass’ on the front. Knuckles had given me a book called Sex for Dummies. Marie loudly declared that I didn’t need it, then wondered if there was an ‘advanced’ section in the back.

One of the more touching gifts had come from Rock Ape. It was a deactivated silver-tipped 9mm round on a necklace, the shell casing engraved with ‘Jack “Pagan” Henderson’. It was, he explained, a good luck charm. Superstition said that somewhere out there was a bullet with your name on it. Well, now I owned the bullet with my name on it and I wasn’t in the habit of shooting myself. It was a thoughtful gesture. He’d also given me a t-shirt that read ‘I’ve reached the age where a stick-up becomes a hold-up’, so it wasn’t all bad news.

I laughed at the shirts, slipped the ‘bullet with your name on it’ around my neck, and decided that I needed a house to attach to the back of the emergency vampire stake. I wondered if Marie and I could buy the house we were renting.

I pulled out my FAL magazines and methodically unloaded them all. When we went out tonight I wanted to try the tracer rounds to see how they worked against vampires. The advantage was that I knew they would be at least as effective as my usual rounds. I decided to go with a mix of one tracer round in five. Something was nagging at me and I wanted to think my way through it. Loading magazines is almost as therapeutic as stripping and cleaning a weapon for me. Each round made a satisfying double click as it slid home.

So, what was troubling me, nagging at my hindbrain like an idiot on the subway with an mp3 player just a little too loud?

Click-click.

It was the missing people: so many missing people, all from Ministry safe houses.

Click-click

No, that’s a false assumption. I’d be willing to bet that there were, in that same geographical area, hundreds of missing people who had nothing to do with the safe houses.

Click-click.

However, thirty-odd people who were connected to the safe houses were missing. The one from the Falcon had been turned into a vampire. But to what end?

Click-click.

Yes, the vampire could enter the safe house and invite others to do so, but so what? Purple hair and her minions had been armed with knives; they’d stood no chance against fully armed vampire hunters.

Click-click.

What good would it do the vampires to be able to get into the safe houses? Vampires could safely move about after dark, but most safe houses were empty after dark because the hunters went on patrol.

Click-click.

Conceivably the vampires could enter after dark and then wait for the hunters to come back, but still, they would be heavily armed and alert. Not a smart idea.

Click-click.

They could lie low and wait until the hunters went to bed, but you’re running the risk of getting discovered, and most safe houses were open during the day so sneaking around wouldn’t work.

Click-click.

Besides, vampires were weaker during the day, even when they were inside.

Click—

I stopped; a round held against the top of the magazine and stared into space. What if the base assumption was wrong?

—click.

The assumption was based on the incident here, at the Falcon. The couple’s missing daughter had been turned, but all that meant was that the couple’s missing daughter had been turned, nothing more.

Click-click.

I’m a great believer in coincidence. Where other people see divine providence or fate, I see unconnected events.

Click-click.

What if the incident at the Falcon was unconnected with the other missing persons?

Click-click.

I had no evidence to support the assumption that the other missing people would be turned.

Click-click.

Suddenly I was thinking of Kurt at the Dog & Duck. He had been a staunch and steadfast supporter of the hunters, a friend to many, respected by all.

Click-click.

No way was he willingly one of Glavidia’s pets.

Click-click.

My mind went back further. Almost a year ago I’d known a hunter codenamed Saxon. He’d been a rising star in the Ministry, passionate about the war and brave almost to a fault—until he went missing for a few weeks.

Click-click.

When he reappeared, apparently dazed and confused, he was picked up by his team and taken to a safe house. An hour later Saxon had detonated a bag full of semtex, destroying the inn, killing seventeen people, including himself.

Click-click.

The vamps had mindbroken him, we found out later from undercover agents. Weeks of domination by powerful vampires had left him with no will of his own, completely and utterly owned by Lady Lucia.

Click-click.

What if the missing people weren’t going to be turned?

Click-click.

What if they were going to be mindbroken and returned as assassins?

Click-click.

I put the full magazine aside and started on another.

Click-click.

If we go with the assumption that Miss Evening Wear was nothing more than dumb corpsebait—a vampire groupie—who was turned rather than drained …

Click-click.

… and purple hair had nothing to do with the missing people from the other safe houses …

Click-click.

… and if the other missing people were going to be mindbroken and returned to wreak havoc …

Click-click.

… then …

Click-click.

… the first sign that we would have that Marcus’ plans were about to go into action would be when those missing people were returned to their homes.

Click-click.

I heard someone coming down the stairs. By the sound of the footsteps it was John.

Click-click.

Click-click.

Click-click.

Click-click.

“Afternoon, boss,” said John as he entered the bar.

Click-click.

“Afternoon, John,” I replied, standing up and stretching. “How’s things going?”

“Not bad,” he replied. “What’s up, can’t sleep?”

“No, it’s not that. I just had something on my mind. I think I may have just about figured it out. Where’s the computer?”

He reached over the bar and pulled out a black canvas computer case.

“You need me to get it up and running, boss?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “I’m an old man now so all this modern technology frightens me.”

He laughed and tossed me the bag.

“I’ll be back in a second if you get out your depth,” he said. “Did I hear the kettle?”

“Yep,” I said, opening the case and turning the computer on. “It should still be hot.”

“Thanks boss,” he said as he disappeared into the kitchen.

I logged onto the Ministry network and checked on the missing people. None had shown up. I paused and pondered the situation briefly, then sent an email to the Ministry intelligence command, requesting a phone call when—if—any of the missing turned up. While I was waiting for a reply I finished my breakfast and went back to reloading my magazines.

John came back out with a tray that contained two cups of tea, a spray can of whipped cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup.

“Everything up and running, boss?” he asked.

“Yeah, fine,” I replied with a shrug.

I turned and looked at the tray, then up to John.

“Okay,” he said brightly. “I’m going upstairs before you ask why I’m taking these with me.”

“I know why you’re taking those with you,” I said with a raised eyebrow. “Have fun.”

I turned back to the computer. There was a message from the Ministry confirming my request and promising to call if or when anything happened.

I sent off my thanks and disconnected the computer. Once everything was tidied away I made another cup of tea and went back upstairs. I was thinking I could probably sleep now that I’d figured out what was on my mind.

The desire to sleep lasted until I opened the door to our room. Marie was lying on her back, the sheet and blankets pushed down to her waist, her beautiful breasts bared.

I closed and locked the door, put down my mug and stripped off my clothes. I walked slowly around the bed until I was standing over her and, as I watched, her nipples hardened. I laughed softly.

“You’re awake,” I said in a quiet voice.

“No I’m not,” she said, trying to hide a smile.

“Oh, then you won’t mind if I do this,” I said as I pushed the covers off of her body.

She was shaking with suppressed laughter, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

“Or this,” I said, trailing my fingertips over her abdomen.

She shook her head, her eyes still tightly shut.

“Or this,” I said, my hand moving lower.

“Why would I ever mind you doing that?” she asked softly.

“I dunno,” I said, leaning down to kiss her. “I guess if you’re asleep you might be offended.”

“You are a sex maniac, you know that?”

“Hey, it’s okay for you, you only have to wake up next to me,” I replied slyly. “I have to wake up next to you, and it’s difficult to think of much else when that happens.”

I kissed her again, passionately and deeply. She gave an aroused moan as she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back.

“Stay right where you are,” I said.

I kissed along her jaw and down her neck, then trailed tiny kisses randomly over her body, pausing at each nipple to do a more thorough job, and then down to her stomach. I squirmed around until I was facing down the bed, and kissed her just below the navel. I kissed over each hip and thigh, and then brushed my lips over her pubis.

I felt her hand wrap around my erection and start to rhythmically squeeze. I lifted my head and fixed her with a stern look.

“Stop that,” I said.

“Why?” she said cheekily.

“Two reasons,” I said. “First, I can’t concentrate when you do that, and second, this morning is about you and not me.”

She smiled and took her hand away, beaming an innocent smile.

“Behave yourself,” I said. “Lay back, shut up, and enjoy it.”

“Revenge is it?” she said, laughing.

“Paying off a debt,” I replied.

“And what if I don’t want you to?”

“Do I look like I’m asking for your permission?” I asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Oh, help, help,” she cried softly, her eyes sparkling. “I’m at the mercy of a sex-crazed stud who wants to do kinky stuff to me!”

I shook my head and laughed. I turned to find her legs were bent, the knees firmly pressed together.

“Oh no,” I said. “You don’t get out of it that easily.”

I pushed my hands between her knees and forced her legs apart. She was easily strong enough that I would have needed a crowbar if she’d been serious. I kissed her at the top of her thigh, working my way inward, one kiss at a time, until my mouth filled with the taste of her and she let out a soft gasp of delight.

For the first time in my life I was focused on giving pleasure, unconcerned for receiving it. To my surprise, it was the most pleasurable act I could ever remember performing.

CHAPTER

35

We patrolled around the town, finding a whole lot of nothing. Around midnight we met up with Knuckles and her team. It was a cold, miserable night, with an annoying drizzle and what my granddad used to describe as a ‘lazy wind’—a wind that was too lazy to go around you so it blew straight through you instead. We were sheltering in the lea of a couple of tall buildings.

“Anything?” I asked, popping a boiled sweet in my mouth.

“Not a bloody thing, boss,” said Pogo, shouldering his shotgun and pulling out a packet of cigarettes.

He took one and offered the pack around. Billy took one with a grateful nod and the pack was pointed at me. I stared at the cigarettes for a second, my mouth suddenly dry.

“No, thank you,” I said in a hoarse voice. “I quit.”

Marie gave me a warm smile and kissed me on the cheek.

“For the first time in years,” said Pogo as he lit his cigarette, “this place is vampire free.”

“Yeah,” said Rock Ape, disgustedly. “We’re wandering around here totally surrounded by no vampires.”

“I know what you mean,” said John. “It’s like we won the war and nobody bothered to tell us.”

Cally lowered a satphone and deactivated it with a snort.

“It’s the same all over,” she said. “Nothing. Not a bite.”

Marie sniffed the air.

“No, there’s vampires around here, they just seem to be lying low,” she said.

“Well I’m getting sick of it,” grumbled Rock Ape. “I could do with some action.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” said Knuckles affectionately.

“Why?” said Pogo.

“Uh, what?” said Knuckles.

“I said, why? Why should he be careful what he wishes for?”

Knuckles was looking puzzled and we were all exchanging looks.

“Surely you know how that saying ends, right?” said Anna.

“No, how does it end?” said Pogo.

“Are you shitting me?” said Anna, her hands on her hips and a shocked look on her face.

“Nope, never heard of it,” he replied.

Oh, this was good. This was very good. I looked around. John had figured out that Pogo was winding us up. I could tell that Rock Ape had caught it and Knuckles was trying not to laugh. Everyone else seemed to be taking him seriously. I caught John’s eye and held up my hand, fingers spread. He nodded and I wandered a little away from the group. I could do with a pee and I thought I saw a little area with some trees a little way back. John would know where I was going, I’d given him the ‘I’m taking 5’ signal, so that was cool. Not that I really needed anyone looking over my shoulder. Speaking of which, when I looked back John was whispering in Marie’s ear. She nodded and gave me a little wave.

To tell the truth I was actually hoping I’d get attacked. Anything to relieve the boredom of the night. Be careful what you wish for, eh?

I found a tiny green area, about a hundred yards wide, with a half dozen trees dotting the grass. The mist was getting thick and the rain wasn’t helping visibility so I picked a likely tree, leaned my FAL against the trunk, shuffled around to the side and began, in the slang of my youth, to ‘siphon the python’.

“Well look at this,” came a voice from behind me and to my left. “There’s a man with his dick in his hands.”

I groaned silently. The voice was recognizable, from the overdone faux eastern European accent to the slight speech impediment of the newly turned unused to fangs.

“Anyone ever feed from you down there?” asked a second female voice.

“Nope,” I said, staring at the bark in front of my eyes.

Typical. You could take a one-man shuttle to the moon, hop behind a boulder to take a slash, and somebody would wander past. I swear, if I were the last human on Earth, the day I got caught short outside would be the day that aliens would land right behind me.

“It’s supposed to be good,” said the first voice. “Makes a blow job feel like a kiss from your maiden aunt.”

I sighed. At least I wasn’t getting stage fright. On the contrary, I wondered if I’d ever stop peeing.

“And when it’s erect,” came a third voice that was trying for sophisticated and missing by a mile, “all that blood just comes gushing out. A girl can hardly swallow fast enough.”

That comment made me pause. Had Anna and John ever…? No, I didn’t know and I didn’t want to know. Finally the stream was slowing. I finished, shook off, and put it away, carefully zipping up. I turned to look at my audience. There were four young women, all of the ‘former corpsebait’ variety. Sheffield really had a large collection of dumb young female vampires. This usually indicated that the area contained at least one fairly powerful—but not too powerful—older female vampire. The older vamp would turn a few young men to play with and they, being younger, dumber and, let’s face it, young men, would use their new dashing romantic status to get young women, usually a different victim each night.

If the older vamp was unable to completely control her male subordinates the area would sprout young female vamps with surprising speed.

Three of the four were displaying considerable confusion over what constitutes a cool look for the vampire about town. One was in fetish wear, all leather straps, zippers, buckles and studs. One was in a miniskirt, tube top and six inch spike heels—vampire hooker chic. The third was wearing something out of an early ‘80s music video, a look that must have gone out of fashion at almost a decade before she was even born. She had the full New Romantic look, from the top of her big hair to the soles of her red velvet pixie boots.

The fourth was dangerous. She’d opted for a one-piece catsuit, Doc Marten boots, and a waist-length leather jacket. Whilst the others were trying, with varying success, to maintain a pose of artful disdain, she was simply standing, casual and relaxed, observing and saying nothing. Under other circumstances she was the only one I’d bet on making it to the end of the year. Right now I wouldn’t wager a single penny on any of them making it to the end of the night.

“So do we get to play or are you going to try to resist us?” said the hooker, the first voice I’d heard.

“Oh please resist,” said the New Romantic, a new voice. “It’s so much tastier when the blood is spiced with fear.”

I sighed and reached around the tree, coming back with my FAL.

“Shit,” said the one in the catsuit. “I told you he was a hunter.”

I could see, behind the vamps, figures emerging from the fog. It was Knuckles and our teams and, off to my right, Norse and his crew were hurrying over.

I flicked the safety off and raised the rifle as the four vamps started to run. I drew a bead on the one in the catsuit and squeezed the trigger. The round left the FAL’s barrel and traced a bright red line to the vamp’s spine, sending her falling forward with a bloodcurdling scream, then I swung the FAL around and shot the New Romantic.

“Wait!” yelled Bolt, bringing his Dragunov sniper rifle into firing position.

“Ten quid says you crack first,” said Cally, her Accuracy International AWSM already pointed.

“Twenty,” said Bolt without hesitation, his dark eyes intent in his dusky face.

I’d seen this game played before; it was the sniper’s version of chicken. The two targets ran and the two snipers waited. Whichever sniper ‘flinched’ and fired first lost the bet. Of course, the bet only counts if the winner actually takes down their target too. Cally’s British-made AWSM had the edge in range over Bolt’s Russian Dragunov SVD, but neither shot would be made at anywhere near either weapon’s maximum. The danger here was that the targets would disappear into the gloomy night. The Dragunov was semi-automatic versus the AWSM’s bolt-action, but the bet only counted if the target was killed with a single shot, so there was no edge there. Both were using the same night vision scopes: no edge there.

I pulled out my own night vision goggles and took a look. The two girls were still running like the taxman was after them and, with the fog and rain they’d be out of sight in seconds. As I was watching I heard a loud report behind me. The vampire that was dressed like a hooker went down. A second shot went off, deeper and louder, and the vamp in the bondage gear fell in an ungainly heap.

“Nice shot,” I heard Bolt say as I turned around.

He smiled and handed Cally a rumpled £20 note.

“Maybe I’ll take you out to dinner,” she said as she pocketed the money. “That was a pretty sweet shot yourself.”

The two of them started to compare rifles and were quickly lost in a world of muzzle velocities and effective ranges. I thought I heard the beating of tiny cherub’s wings. Some romances are made on chance encounters in bars or meetings at work. I wondered how many were based around a pair of sniper rifles.

Marie slid her arm through mine and bumped shoulders with me.

“What exactly were you thinking?” she asked softly.

“Call of nature,” I said. “Besides, it wasn’t like they were any problem.”

“Hey, boss?” yelled John, over by the dead vamp in the catsuit, beckoning to us. “What the hell did you hit this one with?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked as we walked over.

“Well, take a look, boss.”

I looked down at the corpse and shuddered. The vamp’s back was split wide open, from waist to neck, and wisps of greasy smoke were drifting out of the charred flesh.

“Holy crap!” I said, shocked. “It was the tracer round!”

“Fire and sliver,” said John quietly. “That’s nasty.”

“Fuck,” said Norse, wrinkling his nose at the smell of burning flesh. “You have any more of those?”

“Not for that popgun,” I said, eyeing his AUG. “I got ammunition for man-sized guns only.”

Norse laughed and turned to Hacker.

“You call this in?” he asked.

Hacker was talking rapidly into a satphone and waving Norse away.

“Okay, so we call this one and go back to the Falcon for a cuppa, right?” asked Norse.

We were almost back to the safe house when a pair of headlights appeared ahead of us. We scattered and brought our guns up. Now, yes, technically speaking there was a chance that the car headed our way, which was traveling at night and coming from the north, had a nice, friendly human inside it, but is never hurts to be ready, right?

The car was weaving slowly from one side of the road to the other, doing no more than twenty miles per hour. When it reached the Falcon’s car park it wobbled across the road, mounted the curb and shuddered to a stop. I started running. I knew that car. It was the silver Jaguar I’d borrowed from Marguerite.

I reached the driver’s door and wrenched it open. Marguerite was inside, slumped over the steering wheel. I gently pushed her back into her seat and lifted her head. Her shirt was torn open, shredded by what looked like claws, and her stomach was in even worse shape. Long, ragged slashes had spilled blood into her lap, her skin was paler than normal—even for a vampire—and her breathing was shallow and ragged.

“Marguerite?” I said, laying my hand on her shoulder.

“Jack?” she said weakly. “I had to warn you. He knows, Jack. He knows.”

She slumped against my shoulder, only her seatbelt preventing her from falling out of the seat. I reached past her and pressed the seatbelt release, catching her as she fell, then lifted her in my arms.

“Let’s get her inside,” I said. “Anna, we need her conscious, we have to find out what’s going on. John, get the car out of sight. Marie, could you—“

“I got it, Jack,” said Marie, holding up my FAL. “Come on! Lets get moving.”

The look on Marie’s face was one of worry. Was she worried about the vampire or the message she’d brought? Marie held the Falcon’s door open for me and caught my eyes as I went in. I did the only thing I could think of.

“It’s always some sort of fuckin’ drama with these vampires, isn’t it?” I said quietly.

I smiled with relief when she covered a giggle with her hand.

CHAPTER

36

“She’s going to need some blood,” said Anna after I’d carefully placed Marguerite on an empty table.

“Is this the vampire that saved you, Pagan?” asked Norse, putting down his weapon and removing his jacket.

“Yeah, that’s her,” I said.

“Okay, then she can have some of mine, right?” he said as he rolled up his sleeve.

“Sure,” said Anna. “John, can you take care of that?”

John led Norse to a chair and started working whilst Anna cleaned the wounds. We sometimes joked about John being a nurse, but he was a fully trained paramedic and he was good at it.

“These were made with silver,” said Anna quietly. “That’s why they aren’t healing.”

“They look like claw marks,” said Marie.

Anna nodded absently.

“Okay people,” I said quietly. “Anyone not doing something medical get out. We still have half the night and patrols aren’t going to do themselves.”

“We’re probably gonna need more than one donor,” said John.

I looked at Norse’s crew and raised my eyebrows.

“Volunteer?” I asked.

“I’ve got it,” said Coop.

“Okay, everyone else, with me.”

“We’ll call if we need anything,” John yelled after me.

Once we were outside Pogo lit another cigarette.

“Where now?” he said through a cloud of smoke.

“Well,” I said, “we’re going to head back up the road. See if anything followed her. Knuckles?”

“Something tells me we might need to stick close,” she said, looking around. “If the lady is being chased we’ll need to dig in.”

“Okay, in that case Bolt can stay here, Happy, Hacker and Frenchie come with us,” I said.

“We gonna ride?” asked Happy.

“In what?” I replied.

“Follow me,” he said with a glint in his eye.

Around the side of the inn was a big garage and inside was a sight for sore eyes; a Fox 4x4 Armored Reconnaissance Vehicle. Further back was a Saxon Armored Personnel Carrier. I gave a low whistle. The Fox was about the size of a Land Rover, with a turret-mounted RARDEN cannon and a 7.62mm coaxial machine gun. The Saxon was little more than a heavily armored truck, though there was a 7.62mm General Purpose Machine Gun on the roof.

“You familiar with either of these?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Happy. “I used to work on these things before Black Tuesday.”

“Are they fueled?”

“Full to the brim.”

“Ammo for the cannon?”

“Full load of 30mm,” he said smugly. “Plus a ton of seven six-two for the co-ax. There’s plenty in the Saxon, too.”

“Okay,” I said. “So, you stay here with the Fox. Provide some heavy support for Knuckles. We’ll take the Saxon and go check things out.”

Happy nodded and climbed up onto the front of the ARV and dropped into the driver’s seat. The engine started with a roar and the little armored vehicle shot out fast enough to make the tires squeal as Happy hauled it around the corner and into the car park.

I laughed and shook my head.

“Okay everyone,” I said. “All aboard. Who wants to drive?”

“I will,” said Marie eagerly. “I used to drive army trucks around when I was younger.”

Marie settled herself into the driver’s seat and I climbed into the cupola. I busied myself loading the machine gun as Frenchie and Hacker climbed into the crew compartment in the rear of the big vehicle. I cracked open an ammo case and took a look at the belt of 7.62mm rounds. They were silver tipped and—beautiful to behold in the dim light—every fifth round had the red tip of a tracer round.

Marie started the truck and pulled us out into the car park, forcing me to duck under the garage’s doorway. We swung wide and I raised my hand as we went past the others. By the time we got onto the road the machine gun was loaded and ready and I was doing something I really didn’t want to do. I hate night vision glasses. They restrict your field of view way too much, robbing you of your peripheral vision, but tonight I would probably need a pair. I pulled out my Kevlar helmet—I carried it at night for just this reason but I hated wearing it—and clipped my NVGs to the holder on the front. With the helmet buckled in place all I had to do was flip the NVGs down and I could see, both better and worse.

We accelerated along the road, going back the way the Jaguar had come, a course that would, eventually, lead us to Manchester and the seat of the vamps’ power. We had no intention of going that far, of course. I hoped.

The street was lined with boarded up—and in a couple of cases burned out—houses. I briefly wondered how many people were still living here, so close to the vamps, then dismissed the thought from my mind. It didn’t matter right now.

Ahead I saw that the houses stopped and the areas on each side of the road became open farmland. On the left of the road was a gentle hill that would give us a good view of the surrounding area. I ducked back into the cab and tapped Marie on the shoulder.

“Pull off up here,” I said, pointing.

She nodded and the Saxon slowed to a stop. I turned to the back.

“Frenchie, with us, Hacker, get on the GPMG. If we come back at high speed I want it made clear to whatever’s chasing us that we’re not in the mood, okay?”

Hacker nodded and patted his radio.

“Stay in touch, boss.”

The streetlights—what few of them still worked this far from the city center—had stopped quite a way back along the road and, with the Saxon’s lights extinguished the night was black, barely lit by the almost full moon that peeped through the heavy cloud cover. At least it had stopped raining. We trudged through the wet undergrowth to the top of the hill, NVGs in place, scanning the area ahead. At the top a dirt track ran from the road to the dilapidated farmhouse, lined on either side with trees and a low stone wall.

I jumped the first wall and crouched behind the second, scanning the countryside spread out ahead of me. Nothing was moving along the road at all, which was hardly surprising. I slowly panned over the fields, now mostly unharvested. It was hard enough to get help in farms and with the vamps breathing down your neck it was near impossible. If this went on for long England would be looking at a massive food shortage, especially if our so-called allies managed to enforce sanctions against us. There was a law being bandied about the House Of Commons authorizing emergency powers that would allow the government, next year, to seize these farms and use work crews from the prison system to plant and harvest them. More power to them, I thought.

We watched and waited for almost an hour before something happened. Something moved out of a line of trees in the distance. I zoomed in as much as possible and focused on the figure. It was a werewolf and it was huge. It—he—was almost seven feet tall judging by the height of the fence he was standing near. He had massive shoulders, a broad chest and long, powerful limbs. He was scenting the air carefully, almost delicately. I knew he couldn’t smell us, we were downwind from him, but he was definitely tracking something.

As he turned the moonlight glinted off of his claws in a way that it definitely shouldn’t have. I flipped up my NVGs and put my binoculars to my eyes. The werewolf was a lot closer but less distinct through the unenhanced optics. But as the moon broke through again I could see his claws clearly enough. They were silver. Whether they were sheathed in silver or had been replaced with silver I didn’t know, but suddenly I had a good idea what had attacked Marguerite.

Marie, meanwhile, was growling softly. I had to glance her way to make sure she hadn’t changed into her wolf form. I reached out with my left hand and gently burrowed my fingers through her hair, brushing the skin on the back of her neck. Instantly she went silent, though I could feel the tension in her body. It was almost as if she were vibrating with the need to charge the interloper.

“Calm down,” I said in a barely audible whisper.

“Dannor,” she said in a tightly controlled voice. “That’s Dannor.”

I turned back to look at the werewolf, not through my NVGs but through the night-sight on my FAL. Without even realizing what I was doing I began to squeeze the trigger. Abruptly I released it. The first round in the magazine—and thus, the round in the breech—was a tracer round. Tracers were unreliable at the distance I was looking at.

“Frenchie,” I said softly. “Catch.”

I slowly eased back the cocking handle until the tracer was ejected and Frenchie caught the spinning round in midair. The ping seemed unbelievably loud in the silence and I froze. After a second or two I carefully finished cocking the weapon. Dannor seemed oblivious when I looked again, as if he hadn’t even heard the noise. Now I had a standard silver-tipped round and I settled again to take the shot. I compensated for the distance, the drop, the downhill shot and the now almost nonexistent wind, and began to squeeze the trigger.

Dannor abruptly turned and walked back into the tree line. I let out a breath and released the trigger. Dannor had been a fraction of an inch from death. I swore under my breath.

“Well, at least we know what was chasing the mademoiselle vampire,” said Frenchie softly. “N’est pas?”

“But why?” asked Marie.

“Willingly or otherwise, he’s working for Marcus,” I said.

Just another reason for him to die, I silently vowed. For some reason I was having trouble reaching the cold, calculating soldier where Dannor was concerned. He’d hurt my mate and I was burning with a fierce, barely controllable rage.

“Come on,” I said tightly. “Let’s get back. I think I need to ask our guest some questions.”

We picked our way back to the Saxon and returned to the inn in silence.

CHAPTER

37

“She’s awake,” said Anna. “She wants to see you.”

Dawn was less than two hours away and we’d just finished preparations at the inn. The Fox was sitting on the other side of the car park where it had a good view of the road and the fields beyond. The Saxon was at the back where its machine gun could cover the side of the inn. A low, thick brick wall surrounded the inn’s car park, and Rock Ape had set up a machine gun nest where the wall met the corner of the inn. Bolt had commandeered an upstairs room which afforded him a great view of the area, and Cally had a similar set-up on the other side of the inn. Frenchie had produced a half-dozen claymore mines from only-he-knew-where and strategically placed them around the inn.

We were about as ready as we could be.

I stood up and motioned Marie to follow me as I left the bar. As we reached the top of the stairs Marie grabbed my arm and pulled me to her.

“Why do you need me to go with you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because it’s easier than me having to repeat every word for you later,” I said and kissed her on the nose.

“Smartarse,” she said and kissed me back.

Marguerite was sitting up in bed, looking a little better. She was wearing a t-shirt with the MPRD logo on the front—one of Anna’s I presumed—and her hair was pulled back from her weary face in a ponytail.

“Jack,” she said with a smile. “And this must be Marie.”

I nodded. Marguerite looked at Marie for a few seconds and then let out a small sigh.

“I need to warn you about Marcus,” she said softly, transferring her focus to me.

“We’ve heard a few things about our new neighbor,” I said. “Is he as big a bastard as he seems?”

“Bigger,” she said. “The dossier I sent doesn’t do justice to him.”

“Was it a werewolf that tore you up?” asked Marie.

Marguerite nodded.

“Marcus has a bodyguard of loyal werewolves. The leader, the biggest—“

“Dannor,” Marie interrupted.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“We’ve met before,” said Marie, her voice a growl.

I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

“What about the others?” I asked. “And those silver claws, what’s that about?”

“It’s their trademark,” sad Marguerite. “Marcus has their claws surgically replaced with silver, to intimidate his subordinates and peers.”

“What about when they change?” I asked. “What happens to the silver then?”

“Well, apart from Dannor, that’s not a problem. Marcus’ bodyguards are all inmüt.”

Marie gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.

“Inmüt?” I asked. “What’s that?”

“It’s a werewolf that can’t change,” Marie explained. “They’re born human or wolf and are stuck that way. They’re seen as blessed or cursed, depending on the era. For a while a wolf-form inmüt was thought of as bringing us closer to the wolf and they were revered. Later it was the human-form inmüt that seemed to be leading us away from the curse of the werewolf. It’s just an accident of birth and it’s very rare. Where did he find them?”

“Well, the rumor is that he’s been tracking inmüt wolves for hundreds of years,” said Margeurite. “It seems he believes that the blood of the inmüt makes him stronger.”

“He feeds from them?” asked Marie, aghast at the idea.

“Yes, it keeps them subservient to him. When he found out I was working for the Ministry he sent one of them after me. I was lucky to get away with my life. If I hadn’t been armed I don’t know what might have happened. The standard punishment for females that betray Marcus is he allows his wolves to play with them.”

Marguerite stared out of the window, tears in her eyes.

“Which is a civilized euphemism for gang rape,” she said after a few seconds. “And they’ve been getting more and more vicious since Marcus put Dannor in charge.”

“How did he find out about you?” I asked.

“I have no idea. He must have at least one spy working for the Ministry. It was after I sent that report in, a friend got word to me that Marcus was coming for me.”

“A friend?” Marie asked. “Will they be okay?”

Marguerite laughed bitterly.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” she said. “Friend wasn’t the right word. The bitch called to gloat. It gave me enough time to grab a gun before one of the inmüt kicked my door in.”

“You said ‘he knows’ before you passed out in the car,” I said. “He knows what?”

“He knows about you killing Lord Vómaire,” she replied.

“Who?” I asked.

“Lord Vómaire was Marcus’ sire, the vampire who turned him.

I must have looked as blank as I felt because she explained.

“Lord Vómaire was an incredibly powerful vampire, at least a thousand years old. He rules—ruled—all of Romania and a large slice of Germany. A month ago he came to England to meet with The Three, where he arrogantly dismissed the notion that The Pagan was anything to be worried about and came after you. He tracked you down and you killed him.”

“A month ago?” I said, puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean. Unless you mean that bastard with all that ‘come share my bed little wolf’ business.”

“That would be him,” said Marguerite. “Marcus inherited some of his sire’s appetites. The whole business about expanding south is a smokescreen. He’s vowed to kill you in revenge for his sire, and to bring Marie and Anna back as his sex slaves.”

“He can try,” growled Marie in a voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Well, speaking as the one target out of the three that isn’t immune to this bastard’s mental abilities,” said Anna, “I’d rather he didn’t try.”

“You have one advantage,” said Marguerite. “His ego.”

“How so?” asked Anna.

“Marcus refuses to believe that you are truly immune to his will,” she said, looking at me. “He believes that your invulnerability is a myth, created by weak-willed vampires to excuse their inability to dominate you. He believes that, whilst you are strong, you will fall to him.”

“Faghag syndrome,” I said, laughing.

Marguerite gave me a puzzled look.

“I beg your pardon?”

Suddenly Anna laughed too.

“Jack, that’s a vile accuracy,” she said. “What our abrasive friend means is that there’s a small number of human women who chase homosexual men. People without manners call them ‘faghags’. The belief is that, yes, the guy may be homosexual now, but that’s just because he hasn’t met me.”

Marguerite considered it for a second and then sighed.

“Yes, that’s an apt, if uncouth, comparison,” she said. “But make no mistake, he will not be relying solely on his mental arsenal. He will be bringing his indominati or his inmüt, most likely both.”

“And he knows I’m here, right?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Spies in the Ministry again?” I said bitterly.

“Yes, it’s how I found out where to come.”

“So we can’t even ask for backup or Marcus will know we’re expecting him,” I pointed out. “How many of these indominati does he have?”

“Close to a thousand,” said Marguerite gravely.

The revelation was greeted by a thunderous silence as we tried to swallow the sudden shift in odds. Not only were there far more of these creatures coming, they weren’t attacking on a broad front: they were all coming here.

“Okay,” I said, thinking fast. “Okay, correct me if I’m wrong but these indominati are mindless, right?”

Marguerite nodded.

“So they won’t be dominating anyone, and they won’t be anything more than regular vampire fast and strong, right?”

She nodded again. I paced the width of the room, gently tugging at my bottom lip, thinking hard.

“And they won’t be able to heal,” I said finally. “Even regular rounds will stop them cold.”

“Why won’t they be able to heal?” asked Marie.

“Because it takes a conscious effort to heal quickly,” said Anna, nodding thoughtfully.

“Okay, so that’s two things in our favor,” I said. “As soon as the sun’s up I’ll need to go speak with someone. Several someones, actually.”

“Okay,” said Marie. “Need some company?”

“Always,” I said with a smile.

CHAPTER

38

Marie pulled the Saxon into a car park behind an unimpressive brick building that had once housed a hardware store. Now the windows were boarded up, the main shop was full of debris, but the cellar contained a weapons dealer and gunsmith.

I jumped down from the Saxon and hammered on the back door. After a second there was high-pitched squeal as a peephole was uncovered.

“Whatcha want?” came a petulant voice from inside.

“I want a dozen red roses, what do you think I want?” I snapped. “I want guns you crotchety old fart.”

There was silence from the other side of the door.

“How d’you know I’m old?” came the voice again.

I leaned close to the door and peered into the peephole.

“Albert Thatcher, you need your eyes testing,” I said.

“What’s the password?”

This one I was ready for. I held up a bottle of whiskey that I’d ‘liberated’ from the inn’s stock.

“Famous Grouse,” I said brightly.

There came the noise of several heavy bolts being slammed back and the door creaked open. A white-haired man with a neat little white mustache looked out, peering over half-moon spectacles.

“Close enough, Pagan,” said Albert. “My word, you just get uglier each time I see you.”

“Back atcha, Albert,” I said, handing over the bottle and beckoning Marie to follow me inside.

“And who is this lovely lady, your daughter?” said Albert, twinkling in the manner of chipper old men everywhere.

“Now you know I don’t have any kids, Albert,” I said.

“Yet,” said Marie with a strange little smile.

“Oh-ho!” said Albert. “She’s the reason for the mail run, eh?”

He caught Marie’s questioning look.

“Don’t worry, miss,” he said. “No insult at all. It’s just that when I was in the army, the men with the prettiest sweethearts back home were always the ones who ran fastest when the mail arrived. I don’t suppose much has changed in that respect.”

“Not in the slightest,” I replied.

“Well, follow me, Sir and Ma’am, let us see what we can provide you with.”

Albert led the way to the rear of the shop where a freight elevator stood open. We rode down to the cellar and stepped into a room that was far too big to be under the building above.

“Like it?” said Albert proudly. “I had the Ministry knock through into the cellars on either side. We blocked up the stairwells with concrete and installed the elevator. Now it’s the only way in or out and I control it. I have air and water filtration, large food stockpile and, obviously, enough weapons to take over a small country. I could survive a nuclear war down here.”

“Impressive,” I said, taking in the racks of rifles, machine guns, SMGs, pistols, assault rifles and box upon box of ammunition that lined the walls and formed piles in the center of the room.

“So, can I get you a cup of tea?” he asked.

“Please,” I replied.

“I don’t know what we have in the way of biscuits,” he said as he shuffled towards the back of the cellar. “I’m sure we shall be able to scare something up, though.”

Once the tea had been made and Albert had discovered an unopened pack of digestives, talk turned to weapons.

“So, what can I get for you?” he said sipping tea from an old tin mug.

“First, we need M203s and the pistol grip attachments,” I said.

“Ah, M203s,” he said, walking along the rows of military hardware. “M203s are hard to come by these days, but I do have a crate of those HK69 grenade launchers the Army’s using. They come with a pistol grip so they’re ready as a stand-alone.”

He peered closely at olive green weapons cases and then tapped one meaningfully.

“Hike this one up onto the bench, will you?”

I picked the heavy case up and carried it to the pitted and scarred workbench in the corner.

“Well, it says twenty on the case, but lets see if any are missing,” he said as he opened the case. “No, you’re in luck, they’re all here. What else do you need?”

“Grenades for the launchers?”

Albert gave me a dirty look.

“You wouldn’t insult me by suggesting I’d let you leave here with guns but no ammunition, would you?” he said.

“No sir, I would not.”

“Good,” he said, peering at another stack of cases. “What do you need? Incendiary?”

“Fragmentation,” I replied.

“Good. Incendiary rounds are in short supply. Apparently all you hunters are screaming for them. Fragmentation I have.”

He tapped another case and I lifted it onto the bench. He opened it and row upon row of 40mm grenades were revealed.

“Anything else?”

“Tracer rounds, both seven six-two and five five-six.”

“Well, seven six-two might be a problem. Five five-six tracer we have by the box load.”

He tapped a pair of small plastic cases and I carried them to the bench.

“Well, I tell a lie, I do have some seven six-two. Only a hundred rounds, but I do have some.”

He came back with a small case and put it on the bench.

“Anything else?”

“I need a couple of assault rifles. AUGs maybe, or M16s?”

“Something a little more reliable than an SA80, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, the latest versions—the L85s that were redesigned and repaired by Heckler & Koch—are damn fine weapons.”

“Do you have any of those?”

“A couple.”

“Spare mags?”

“By the ton.”

“I’ll take them and, say, a dozen mags for each. And enough ammo to fill them, plus a hundred rounds more.”

“Got something big going down, Pagan?”

“Yeah, you might say that,” I said. “I’ll also need rounds for a Dragunov SVD and an Accuracy International AWSM.”

“The AWSM rounds I have but nobody uses the Dragunov so they don’t issue them.”

“Okay, got any shotgun shells?”

“For that?” he said, gesturing at my FAL’s underslung shotgun.

“And the L128A1.”

“I have enough to throw a party,” he said.

“Anti-personnel mines?” I asked.

There was a thoughtful pause.

“They’re illegal, against international treaties and human rights commission regulations,” he said carefully.

“I didn’t ask you whether they were legal,” I said, just as carefully. “I asked you if you had any.”

“Let me see what I can find.”

CHAPTER

39

“So we’re just going to leave this side of the city completely unprotected?” said the lean, scar-faced man angrily.

“Yes, Spartan,” I replied with what was, for me, inhuman patience. “Because this wanker is coming for my team and I. He’s not coming to take the city.”

“And for that we have only the word of a vampire, right?” replied Spartan coldly.

“No,” I said firmly. “For that you have my word.”

“We have our orders,” he said stubbornly. “We patrol the city and that means the whole city.”

“Fuck your orders!” I hissed. “Those orders were given by people who weren’t in full possession of the facts!”

“Orders are orders Pagan,” said a voice from the back of the bar. “We are soldiers.”

I stepped back and looked around. There were five teams staying at The Rising Sun. Spartan was an old friend from the Marines, but I always got the impression that he resented my decision to go for Selection. Behind my back he was supposed to be calling me ‘the glory hound’ and making jokes about my relationship with Marie being tantamount to bestiality. Frankly, I didn’t give a fuck what he thought of me as long as he killed vampires, and he killed vampires very well.

“You’re wrong,” I said, raising my voice. “We’re not soldiers. We’re vampire hunters and if you want to hunt vampires, you know where the Falcon is. Come by before dark and we’ll have plenty to pass around. If you wanna stand around pulling your puds, be my guest. You can watch the pretty fireworks from a safe spot. I’m done. I have things to do.”

I turned and walked out.

“Nice exit, boss,” said Marie, hurrying to keep up with me as I strode angrily towards the Saxon.

“Ah, fuck ‘em,” I said sourly. “I don’t have time to mess about.”

We’d visited seven safe houses this morning and I was, despite appearances, pleased with the result. I knew six of the teams I’d spoken with would be coming no matter what, and another three were likely to turn up. If this Marcus was bluffing and actually intended to take the city, I was pulling our forces out of his way in no uncertain manner. But my instincts said he was coming for me, and I had a surprise planned for him.

“Where to now, boss?” said Marie, breaking my reverie.

“Back to the Falcon,” I said. “We’ll get the stuff unloaded and go to bed.”

“Yum,” she said, grinning.

I laughed and trailed my fingers over her firm butt as she climbed into the truck. I didn’t feel the need to climb into the cupola but, instead, grabbed a handhold and stood behind her. The Saxon pulled out of the Rising Sun’s car park and accelerated down the road.

It took us the best part of an hour to get back to the Falcon and unload all of the guns and ammunition. By the time we were finished it was nearing midday and we trooped wearily into our room. I started pulling my clothes off. Marie was leaning against the wall beside the bathroom door, watching me intently.

“Enjoying the view?” I said as I placed my body armor on the back of a chair.

“Certainly am,” she replied.

I laughed and sat down to take off my boots and socks.

“Are you likely to be getting naked any time soon?” I asked as I stood up again.

“I might,” she said with her cheeky smile.

“Oh, well, then let me rephrase that,” I said as I took off my gunbelt. “Take your clothes off. Now.”

She made an appreciative noise as she unzipped her jacket.

“You’re getting better at that,” she breathed.

She pulled off her t-shirt and, underneath she was wearing a plain white bra. It had no lace, no push-up, and no pattern. It was just plain white cotton that fastened in the front. And it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

My trousers hit the floor and I walked over to her as she took off her boots.

She looked up at me and smiled.

“Look, I match,” she said lightly as she dropped her trousers.

Underneath she was wearing a pair of plain white string bikini panties. Normally, white cotton underwear on a woman looks cutesy, like she’s trying for the schoolgirl look. On Marie it looked incredibly erotic. Of course, Marie would have turned me on if she were wearing a full NBC suit complete with overshoes, respirator and hood, but still, wow.

“Anna told me about making sure my underwear matches,” she said softly. “Apparently it drives men crazy.”

“Let’s not talk about Anna,” I said, trailing my fingertips over the flat plane of her stomach. “Or anyone else for that matter.”

“You love her, don’t you?”

“Of course I love her,” I said. “She’s one of my closest friends.”

“No, I mean you really love her.”

I looked into her eyes, expecting pain or even tears, but there was just an intense interest. There really wasn’t much of a choice here. I had to answer her honestly.

“I think I used to,” I said. “It was more than a crush, more than just an infatuation with a beautiful woman.”

I trailed off, struggling with the difficulty of what I was thinking.

“What is it, Jack?”

“Once—just once—I wished that John would die on a mission so I could have Anna to myself,” I said in a whisper.

I sighed inwardly. How had we arrived here? Two minutes ago we were on the fast train to sexville. Now we were taking a detour through the dark underground of my deepest secrets.

“So what changed for you?”

“She had a birthday.”

“A birthday?”

“Yeah, we had a big party. It was a lot of fun and a lot of hunters were there, along with her family and his. I’d bought her a bracelet, a gold bracelet with her name engraved on it.”

“The one she was wearing the other night at the restaurant?”

“That’s the one. I don’t think she knows why I gave it to her, how I felt about her.”

“She knows. How do you think I knew?”

“She told you?” I asked sharply.

“Tell me what happened,” she said.

“She loved the bracelet, put it on immediately. Gave me a hug. I was doing the typical guy thing, thinking that flashy, expensive gifts could win over any woman worth having and being totally wrong about it. John gave her a gift he’d picked up when he was helping to set up the training camp near Hunstanton. It was a seashell with all these tiny pebbles glued to it, all painted bright colors with little eyes. And in front of all these pebbles were five other pebbles with little wooden guitars and a drum set. It was badly made, there were blobs of glue everywhere and most of the little pebbles were cross-eyed. There was a little sign on the front that read ‘rock concert’.”

Marie laughed. I knew how she felt. The scene was so endearing you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Anna just loved that thing,” I said. “Still does. I know she still has it. When she unwrapped it she let out this earsplitting shriek and hugged him and kissed him. I mean, she was wearing hundreds of pounds worth of gold on her wrist and yet she was losing it over a badly-made seaside souvenir that probably cost him three quid.”

“And that hurt you?”

“No! Not at all, it was like a bucket of water in the face. It was like—it was a realization. I suddenly saw that I didn’t know her at all. That I didn’t get what made her tick. So I decided to get to know her better, her and John.”

“And?”

“And after a few months I suddenly realized that I didn’t think about her that way anymore. She—they—had become my close friends. The me that I am now would kick the crap out of the me that I was back then for wishing harm to John.”

“That was a nice story, Jack and, even if you didn’t get to play the good guy, it had a happy ending. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being honest with me.”

“Any time,” I said and kissed her gently.

“Any time?” she asked. “So if I ask you a question, I get an honest answer? No matter how difficult?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Are we going to be able to stop this Marcus character?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I honestly don’t know. But I’m going to throw everything I can at him and I’ll die before I let him take you.”

“Don’t,” she said sharply. “Don’t say that. If he does take me you need to be alive to come find me.”

“It won’t come to that. He’s going to die and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Promise?” she said, lowering her chin and looking up at me.

“I promise.”

It suddenly occurred to me that Marie might be less afraid of what Marcus might do to her than what might happen if she fell into Dannor’s hands.

“I’ll kill Dannor for you, too,” I said, touching her cheek.

“Oh, that would be very nice darling, but don’t set your heart on the idea. I intend to kill Dannor myself. I owe him more than you can possibly imagine and I’m going to pay it all back in blood. His blood.”

CHAPTER

40

As the sun started to dip towards the horizon vampire hunter teams started to arrive. I worked each one into the battle plan, placing each where I thought they would be most useful. John and Anna hadn’t emerged yet and wouldn’t until after dark. Knuckles had, some thirty minutes ago, firmly taken Rock Ape upstairs, finally blowing the worst kept secret in military history. Bolt and Callie had similarly disappeared. Couples were spending time together, getting and giving what comfort they could.

Everyone accepted that Marcus would be coming tonight, that once the sun set we would be face to face with a thousand mindless killers. They had nothing to go on but my word, and I had nothing to go on but my gut. I knew that he only had a few days if he wanted to have Anna and Marie as his consorts when he went to claim his seat as One Of Three, but tonight felt right.

It came down to the vamps’ legendary sense of drama. Marcus wouldn’t come to claim his prize on the sixth of November if he could possibly come on the fifth.

Remember, remember,

The fifth of November,

Gunpowder, treason and plot.

I see no reason,

Why gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.

The fifth—Guy Fawke’s Day—was when we celebrated the foiling of the Gunpowder Plot. Guido Fawkes had been a minor player in the group of Catholics who had tried to blow up the Houses Of Parliament by loading the cellars with kegs of gunpowder, but it was he whom we remembered when we ‘burned the Guy’ every year. The sense of drama would appeal to the vamp’s ego. The Three would play the part of the government and I would get to be Guy. Marcus would return, triumphant, three trophies to prove his worthiness—Marie and Anna as his consorts and my head on a plate. Well, he was in for a disappointment if I had anything to say in the matter.

The light had really started to fade and it wouldn’t be long before I ordered our floodlights lit.

“Anyone else notice that most of the hunters who answered Pagan’s call are female?” said a voice behind me.

I didn’t have to look to know the speaker was Anna. Marie smiled at me and turned around.

“Think that says something about him?” she asked.

“Maybe it’s just the size of his manhood,” Anna replied with a laugh.

“Anna!” I said sharply, fighting not to laugh.

“Okay, okay,” she said petulantly. “I’ll admit it. I started that rumor and it’s not true.”

“The hell it isn’t,” said Marie quietly, causing Anna to stop and blink as she turned a speculative look towards me.

“Never mind,” I said firmly.

“Hung like a bloody horse, I tell you,” said Marie, giggling uncontrollably.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. It was time I took a stroll around the defenses.

“I shall leave you ladies to your lies,” I said airily.

“Lies?” said Marie as I walked away. “You think I choose to walk funny?”

I tried to ignore the ripple of feminine laughter. I had to admit that Anna did have a point. Of the nine teams that had so far answered my plea for support, female hunters led eight. Strange. Still, with everything I had over fifty warm bodies to defend with. Fifty against a thousand.

“It’s like bloody Rorke’s Drift, isn’t it?” said Spartan.

I’d been as surprised as anyone when he’d turned up. The vote of confidence was a heck of a boost.

“Yeah, but the first person who suggests a round of ‘Men of Harlech’ gets a smack in the mouth,” I replied.

Spartan laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. It felt good to have the rangy hunter on board. I didn’t like him much but I did respect his abilities.

I moved on, patting backs, shaking hands, giving words of support and encouragement to the soon to be outnumbered defenders. I liked our chances. We were arranged in a tight ring around the Falcon, our three vehicles—the Fox, the Saxon, and Spartan’s ‘Snatch’ Land Rover that carried a pair of 7.62mm GPMGs—were in the center where they could bring their firepower to bear wherever it was needed. Whichever direction the vamps came from could hold for the few seconds it would take to bring everything down on them. I also had a few hidden surprises. If the vamps made it over the outer wall I had an inner wall made of sandbags and furniture. There we would make our last stand.

I walked the perimeter and ended up back at the oil drum full of burning wood that was my command post. Marie and Anna were chatting with Knuckles, Rock Ape and two other female hunters. The taller of the pair I recognized. She was a lanky, middle-aged woman who hailed from the USA, the state of Texas to be precise. Like many of her fellow Americans she disagreed with her government’s stance on the vamps and had come over to join the fight. She was cradling an old US Army issue M14 under one arm, a 7.62mm battle rifle I had a great deal of respect for.

“Evening, Siren,” I said pleasantly.

“Pagan,” she said, nodding.

The second woman was a powerful young hunter who combined a punch that could floor any man, any time, with a startlingly girlish laugh and a tendency to blush at racy jokes.

“Hydra, good to have you with us,” I said, meaning every word.

“Nice to see you again, big man,” she replied. “How’s it hanging?”

The greeting raised the kind of suppressed laughter that makes men nervous when it comes from women—mainly because they secretly believe that the joke’s on them.

“Okay, time for an answer. What it is about people obsessing over the size of my genitals?” I asked sourly, helping myself to a cup of tea from the huge urn.

“We just want to know if the books are accurate, Pagan,” said Siren.

“Books?” I asked, sipping the strong, stewed liquid.

“Yeah, the Pagan novels,” said Knuckles.

I lowered my mug and stared at her.

“The what now?” I asked.

She rooted in one of her pouches and produced a battered, much-read novel that looked like one of those cheap romance books, the kind that usually deal with the bodice-ripping exploits of lady something or other and her bad boy suitor. She passed it to me.

It had a picture of a chisel-jawed, steely-eyed man in combat gear who had clearly been in the act of being extremely heroic when the portrait painter had interrupted him. It was called In Defence Of The Crown: Book 4 of The Adventures of Pagan, The Vampire Hunter.

I flicked through the book, my eyebrows raised.

“What the fuck is this?” I asked.

“The Ministry has been printing these for a few months now,” explained Knuckles. “It’s supposed to be about, well, you.”

“The Ministry figures it’s a good way to counter all those soppy vampire romances that are so popular,” said Anna. “They sell like hotcakes in the US.”

“But it’s bullshit,” I protested. “I don’t use an M-16. And I don’t have ‘clear, topaz eyes’.”

“It’s propaganda,” said Anna. “It doesn’t have to be accurate.”

“Check the last few chapters,” said Knuckles mischievously.

I flicked to the back of the book and scanned the pages.

“What? What the fuck? This guy offs a few vampires and makes it back in time to romp around the bedroom with a random woman?”

Marie was leaning against my shoulder, reading the text and stifling her giggles with difficulty.

“Oh, this is so corny,” I said. “ ‘ “Impale me, Pagan,” she cried, lost in her passion.’ Impale me? What the hell? Why did nobody mention this to me?”

“Well, we thought you knew,” said Knuckles.

I turned the page and started to laugh.

“ ‘He spilled her to the floor and slid inside her with one hard thrust, his manhood filling her, stretching her to the very limit of pleasure.’ Crap, what do you see in this rubbish?”

“I think Knuckles likes it because he’s doing the nasty with a female vampire hunter,” said Anna.

I gave Knuckles an amused look.

“You able to do foreplay like this girl, Knuckles?” I said teasingly.

Knuckles blushed but stared defiantly at me.

“I could do it, but if you’re as big as that guy, you might get puke all over your crotch.”

Marie leaned in closer.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

I flicked back a few pages and pointed at the passage.

“I believe the correct term is ‘deep throat’,” I said.

“Hey!” said Rock Ape, grinning. “I’m only just hearing you can do that?”

“I was saving that for a special occasion, stud,” Knuckles said sweetly.

I was flicking through the pages and shaking my head.

“This guy has the stamina of a draft horse,” I said. “This banging goes on for three chapters.”

“Wait, go back,” said Marie, taking the book from me. “This deep throat stuff, guys like that?”

“Honey,” said Siren, “if you can get your nose in his crotch and his balls on your chin, he’ll love you forever.”

“Wow,” said Marie with wide-eyed innocence. “I gotta learn how to do that for you, Jack.”

I gave her a long, thoughtful look.

“Okay, you’re getting better at that, you almost convinced me that time,” I said.

Marie laughed and gave me a shoulder bump as I took the novel back from her. Knuckles produced a pen.

“Sign it for me, Jack?” she asked Knuckles.

I took the pen and scrawled on the inside cover before handing the book back.

“I’m going to check the defenses again,” I said and walked away.

Laughter erupted behind me as they read the message I’d left. I’d written ‘To Knuckles: Don’t believe everything you read. Pagan.”

It was nearing midnight and it was getting colder. I was sipping my three hundredth cup of tea of the night and watching Marie. She was crouched against the wall of the inn, reading one of the Pagan novels. It wasn’t ‘In Defence Of The Crown’ but the hero who was supposed to be me glared out from the cover anyway.

“Looks like you’ll be in for a good celebration come tomorrow,” said Knuckles from beside me.

“Well, I’d already planned on something like that,” I said absently. “Wait. What? Why? What’s in that one?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she said in a teasing, sing-song voice.

I groaned and looked back. Marie was no longer reading. She’d lowered the book and was staring out into the darkness, her nostrils flaring. Suddenly she stood up, her body tense. I dropped my tea, the clang of the tin mug against the ground shattering the quiet night.

“Stand to!” I yelled as I brought my FAL up.

A myriad of weapons came up and suddenly alert eyes scanned the darkness.

And that was when the vampire stepped out of thin air.

CHAPTER

41

Okay, so he didn’t actually appear like that. It probably looked that way to many people, but I had seen him walking briskly across the field and stepping smoothly into the area illuminated by the Falcon’s lights.

“Hold your fire!” I roared at the top of my lungs.

Silence reigned over the compound. I turned and nodded to Siren who was stood just inside the Falcon’s door. She said something to someone inside and the main bank of floodlights came on.

The vampire stood revealed in the lights; it was the one from Havelock Manor. He was wearing black leather trousers so tight that in better light I could have told you something about his religion. Tucked into the trousers was a blouse-like white shirt, open to the waist, revealing a smooth, boyish chest. Over the whole outfit he was wearing black trench coat elaborately decorated with silver accents and embroidery. And, just to complete the image of a complete and utter ponce, he had long, carefully curled hair that lay in chestnut waves over his narrow shoulders.

This was Marcus, this effeminate, mincing nancyboy, picking his way fastidiously across the grass? This was the vampire who was going to be One Of Three? I know appearances could be deceptive but this was ridiculous. Behind him stood five figures who were much more imposing. Four werewolves, huge and powerfully built—the inmüt, I presumed—and a raggedly dressed human. He was wearing a filthy pair of torn jeans and a crusty leather jacket. His fingers ended in three-inch silver claws. Dannor, in human form no less.

“That was a very stupid thing you did, sir,” I said as soon as the vamp was close enough. “You almost died in a hail of silver. An inauspicious start to your career as head scum-sucker, don’t you think?”

“You, sir, absolutely must be the one they call ‘Pagan’,” he replied with a condescending smirk.

“Must I? Can’t I be someone else?” I replied, sending a ripple of laughter through the hunters.

The vampire smiled indulgently, like a parent confronted with an endearing but disobedient child.

“But to answer your so eloquently stated point, I was never in any danger from your men,” he said dismissively.

“Really?” I said, surprised.

I raised my right hand, my first two fingers extended. After a heartbeat I clenched the fingers into my fist. Behind me there came a sound like a twenty-ton bag of flour hitting the ground as Hacker fired the Fox’s RARDEN cannon. The 30mm shell hit the ground two feet in front of the vampire’s left foot, sending a fountain of dirt into the air. I know it’s childish but I felt a surge of satisfaction when he flinched and stumbled back a step. Hacker was inside the Fox, Bolt and Callie were in the Falcon, looking at the leech through their scopes. I had a squad of men crouched down, out of sight behind the wall, and another in the back of the Saxon.

“Just in case you thought we would all be just bowled over by your glamour,” I said once the echoes had died away.

“I come here to talk peace and this is the reception I receive?” he said, brushing dirt and grass off of his sleeves and shoulders.

“Peace?” I asked. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes, I do,” he said, regaining his composure. “I can imagine all the horrible rumors you’ve been hearing about me, but I truly only desire peace.”

I said nothing; I simply stared. Every minute I could drag out this stupid, pointless conversation was a minute people weren’t dying.

“What do you want?” I said eventually.

“Nothing that should tax you,” he said smoothly. “I merely want the woman, in return for which I promise to remain content with my environs as they are presently set. I also ask that you refrain from interfering in any—ah—internal shifts in power where my colleagues and I are concerned.”

I pretended to consider this for a few seconds, trying to spin it out some more.

“Which woman?” I asked. “Because there’s one or two around here that we’re a little fond of and we’d rather not go giving away.”

Again came the little ripple of laughter. Again the vamp smiled like he was dealing with a simpleton.

“The traitoress,” he said. “The vampire woman who so recently came running to you after evading my bodyguard.”

Ah, Marguerite. That made sense. That was a shame, I felt, because there was no way I would hand over an ally to our mutual enemy.

I took a deep breath through my nose, still making like I was considering it. Deep inside my right ear a radio earpiece crackled into life. It was Happy. He was in the upper floor of the Falcon.

“Movement two hundred yards on your twelve. Large numbers. Vamps.”

Okay, so Marcus had offered the carrot but he’d brought the stick, too.

“Just out of interest, what happens if I say no?” I asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t advise that, Pagan,” replied the vampire, the first licks of power flashing in his eyes. “That might be the worst decision you could possibly make.”

The sad thing was that he was probably right.

“Okay,” I said. “How about we get some time to think about it?”

“You have one hour,” he said sharply. “No more.”

Something about that arrogant tone of command raised my hackles. Still, I had an ace left. I wanted to unsettle this bastard.

I glanced over at Dannor. He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Marie, off to my right. I turned and looked at Marie. She had stripped down to her combat suit and was standing, glaring at Dannor with a level of hatred that made my skin break out with goosebumps.

She turned to me and nodded slowly. I had to swallow my heart before I could speak.

“In the meantime, why don’t we enjoy some entertainment?” I said, turning back to the vamp.

“What kind of entertainment did you have in mind?” he replied.

“Oh, something along the lines of a gladiatorial match. See, your bodyguard over there has a history with my wolf. And I would very much like to see her settle the score.”

The vampire looked at Marie and then turned to Dannor. When he turned back he had a grin on his face.

“You wish to match her against him?” he said, clearly thinking I was insane.

“Well, apparently there’s a protocol in these things,” I replied in an offhand manner. “It’s a wolf thing.”

Marie had walked over to me and was standing, her arms folded over her breasts.

“Well, if you insist,” said the vamp finally. “It could be trés amusant.”

Marie turned towards me and looked me straight in the eye. I studied her for a second, looking for any hint that she didn’t want to do this. I found only resolve. I leaned forward until my nose was an inch from hers.

“Make him pay,” I whispered. “But you don’t necessarily have to hurry, understand?”

She gave me her cutest smile.

“For letting me do this,” she whispered, “you’re getting doggy later.”

I bent further and kissed her lightly.

“Now it’s your turn, love,” I said. “Become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”

Her expression went hard, her jaw firm and her eyes cold.

CHAPTER

42

Marie climbed gracefully over the wall and jumped down onto the grass. Dannor was glowering at her as he took off his jacket, revealing a heavily scarred torso that fairly bulged with muscles. Marcus’ smile widened as the two circled each other.

“I will bend you to my will, my mate,” said Dannor in a low voice.

“I doubt that, Dannor,” she replied. “I’m no longer your mate, and I never was by choice. My mate now is more male than you’ll ever be. I don’t have to fake the orgasms with him.”

I winced. I’m a vigorous proponent of the ‘talk or fight—don’t try to do both’ philosophy but I could see what Marie was trying to do. Dannor had the edge in size and reach, not to mention those silver claws. Marie was trying to goad him into rash action.

“I don’t care about your orgasms, female,” Dannor growled.

“I know, and that’s why you were so boring in bed.”

Dannor roared. Given the manner in which he liked to rape females, ‘boring’ was a massive insult. He’d probably been aiming for terrifying. ‘Boring’? Ouch.

The roar lowered in pitch as Dannor changed. It wasn’t a pretty sight. It looked and sounded like the change was causing him incredible pain. Thick, wiry fur sprouted from his skin as his body rearranged itself. His shoulders broadened, his chest deepened, his arms became long and powerful, corded with thick muscle.

Marie, by comparison, changed effortlessly and without drama. Fur seemed to flow from her shoulders to cover her body as it grew to fill out the combat suit. Where Dannor seemed to vibrate with badly suppressed rage, Marie exuded power like a sniper rifle: quiet, controlled, benign, but flick a switch and she could destroy anyone in her sights.

Dannor bellowed a challenge and leapt forward, claws outstretched, but Marie wasn’t there when he landed. She’d neatly side-stepped, her arm in motion, her claws raking Dannor’s back in a long diagonal slash as he tried to stop his rush. He whirled and dropped into a crouch before catapulting forward again. Marie slid to the side and stuck again, her claws shredding Dannor’s ear and leaving bloody tracks down his face.

Dannor backed up and the pair circled each other. He was panting like a marathon runner, she was silent and composed. I glanced at Marcus, seeing the shock on his face mixing with something else. It took me a second but I identified it. It was avarice. He was looking at Marie like a possession he burned to own.

Marie sidestepped another clumsy rush, backhanding Dannor almost casually across the face, sending him tumbling. The four inmüt shifted uneasily. Dannor was their leader and he was being pummeled to death before their eyes.

Dannor whirled upward in a fury of movement, coming low and rearing up at the last second. Marie spun but Dannor was ready for it, his silver claws flashing, raking across her back, slicing through her combat suit and screeching over the armor plates. Marie completed her spin, dropped to a crouch and lashed out with one leg, delivering a punishing blow to the side of Dannor’s knee. She pressed her advantage as he stumbled; punching him in the kidney and laying his snout open with her claws before dancing out of his reach.

Dannor stumbled upright again, favoring his wounded knee, blood and mucus pouring from his ruined mouth and nose.

My earpiece crackled again.

“Pagan,” said Happy. “The vamps are on the move, closing on our position. One hundred and fifty yards.”

Marcus had obviously summoned his army.

“Marie,” I said. “End it.”

Marie stepped forward and slashed Dannor across the chest again and again, her claws tearing chunks from his flesh. She slammed the heel of her paw into his face, sending him flying backwards. In a second she was on him, still eerily silent. Dannor was big and strong, but Marie was a purebreed werewolf, powerful and unstoppable. As a halfbreed Dannor had never stood a chance. There was a sound like tearing cloth and Dannor screamed, a howl of unbearable pain that echoed around the countryside.

When Marie straightened and stepped back there was a bloody gobbet of flesh hanging from her claws and Dannor was curled into a ball, whimpering and sobbing.

The silence stretched until Norse broke it.

“Holy shit!” he cried in a strangled voice. “Did she just rip his nuts off?”

Marie casually flung the grisly handful of tissue away. Mercifully it landed out of sight in the long grass.

Dannor struggled to rise, both hands clamped to his crotch where the remains of his jeans could be seen around a ragged, bloodstained tear.

“Fuck, Pagan,” said Norse. “You’re a braver man than I am!”

No, I thought. Not braver. Luckier maybe. I wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Dannor deserved what had been done, and Marie deserved to be the one to do it. The female hunters seemed to agree with me. Their cheers and whistles indicated that they heartily approved. The guys had mostly turned green and one, over to my left, was being noisily sick over the wall.

Marcus looked like he’d just dropped a Faberge egg and found the hope diamond in the shattered remains, sick and delighted at the same time.

“Trés magnifiqué,” he breathed.

Dannor finally managed to get both legs under him and broke into a shambling, crouched-over run, fleeing as fast as possible. Marie, meanwhile, was staring at each of the inmüt in turn. She turned her head and made a soft, inquisitive noise in the back of her throat.

“Pagan,” said Happy over the radio. “The vamps have stopped, one hundred twenty yards out.”

I could make out the mass of figures in the darkness, the occasional glint of light reflecting off of eyes or fangs.

The inmüt were looking nervously at each other. Something was happening here and I was lost. Suddenly one took a hesitant step forward. Thirty rifles swung to point at him but Marie held up one paw. The inmüt took another step, prompting Marie to growl softly. His shoulders and head dropped and he walked to her side quietly. The other three quickly followed. One by one they sank to their knees, their heads down, acknowledging her as their new leader.

She turned towards Marcus, her claws flexing, a low growl coming from her wrinkled muzzle.

“Marie,” I said flatly.

She stopped and straightened, then turned around. She sank to one knee, acknowledging my authority. Unlike the inmüt, her head was up, her eyes locked on mine. In the pack, I remembered, the alpha male’s mate is second only to he.

“Magnifiqué!” said Marcus. “Such obedience!”

No, not obedience, you dimwitted wanker, I thought. That’s love, something you couldn’t comprehend.

Marie rose to her feet and walked back to the wall, the inmüt following her. The four moved around me and formed a line behind me, while Marie took her place to my right.

“It seems you have stolen my bodyguard, Pagan,” said Marcus. “But now we’ve had our entertainment, what is your answer?”

“Pagan, the vamps are moving again,” came Bolt’s voice. “Slowly, but they are coming.”

“My answer?” I said. “My answer is no. We don’t give our friends to the monsters.”

“You would do well not to cross me, Pagan,” he hissed.

“Or you’ll do what? Stand there being gay at me some more?”

His face darkened and his lips drew back in a snarl.

“I am Marcus Demios!” he thundered. “I am the Lord Nightbringer!”

“So what?” I said, shrugging. “So now you’ve got a poncy title to go with that poncy outfit?”

His eyes blazed with power, far brighter than any I’d ever seen before. This vamp was off the scale and he was pouring everything he had into dominating me.

“Missed me,” I said as I brought my FAL up and fired.

CHAPTER

43

The 7.62mm round left the barrel of my rifle, the strontium-magnesium compound igniting as it did so, and covered the distance between Marcus and I faster than the sound of the shot. The round entered his chest and blew about half of his spine out of the back of his body. Greasy smoke curled out of the wounds as his body toppled backwards.

A group howl went up from the vampiric army still almost invisible in the darkness.

“That’s torn it,” said Bolt. “About a third of the vamps are moving towards us.”

A third? Better than all of them I supposed. I decided that this qualified as a good reason to get the regular military here.

“Happy,” I said into my radio. “Give our friends a call and get them moving. I want backup here right now.”

“I’m trying boss,” Happy replied. “I’m getting some junior prick of an officer telling me they’ve been ordered to hold their positions.”

I groaned. Murphy’s fucking Law. I didn’t have time to persuade some wet behind the ears Lieutenant that I had the authority to summon him.

“Happy, get a hold of Colonel Tilehurst or Captain Dent. Fuck it, get anyone with a big rank and tell them we’d be interested in finding out why our backup is sitting around playing with themselves rather than backing us up.”

“I’m on it, boss.”

I bit back my anger. I had defenses to run.

“Present arms!” I yelled. “Targets to the front!”

I spoke into my radio.

“Hacker, Siren, Spartan, full suppressive fire!”

Siren had climbed into the cupola of the Saxon APC, the GPMG already aimed into the darkness. Spartan’s Land Rover surged forward until it was against the wall. He slid over until he was sitting behind the GPMG that was fixed in front of the passenger seat. One of his team was standing in the back, aiming the pintle-mounted GPMG. All three machine guns roared into life and, a second later, Hacker started firing the RARDEN. The 30mm autocannon was slow—it sounded like a steam locomotive chugging up a difficult hill—and it only had a six round magazine; forcing Hacker to pause to reload often, but the effects could be devastating. When a 30mm shell hits a body it just keeps going. Normally the RARDEN is useless for anti-personnel work—it’s intended to be used against light to medium armor—but when the target is a gang of tightly-packed indominati, it plows through at least three or four with every shot.

It wasn’t enough, though. Their shambling, uncoordinated lope was bringing them closer. Unlike intelligent creatures these wouldn’t turn and run once they’d taken enough casualties. They’d keep on coming until the last one fell.

“Company, fire!” I shouted.

All guns opened up, the sounds from different caliber weapons merged together into one loud cacophony of sound as the indominati died. They fell and their fellows behind simply climbed over the bodies and kept coming. Had Marcus been in control of these creatures we would have been overrun. He could have thrown the entire force at us in one, unstoppable wave.

Happy was reporting that some individuals were breaking away from the main group and coming towards us, but the bulk was still milling around. Some fighting seemed to have broken out between individuals.

Cheery news in one respect, but I had no desire to go out there to track them down in the night. Dawn was hours away but when the sun rose the indominati would go to ground. Even the dumbest animal knows to get away from what’s hurting it.

The rate of fire dropped off for lack of targets, only to rise again as bloodied vamps rose from the ground to be riddled with shots. Eventually there was no more movement and silence reigned again.

“Stand fast,” I said as I activated my radio. “Happy, report.”

“They’re still waiting, boss,” he replied.

I swore softly. As long as they were prepared to mill around I was prepared to leave them be. But if they started to move off I would have to go after them. Six hundred feral vampires could do a lot of damage before dawn.

“What about that backup?” I asked Happy.

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this, boss. I’m getting the run around. No fucker seems to know where any senior officer is, nobody’s in charge, nobody’s giving orders.”

I turned to the four inmüt behind me. I wondered if any of these had participated in the gang rapes that Marguerite had mentioned and, if so, how much of it had been willing. Each had a shaved patch on their neck, revealing scarred skin where this Marcus had fed from them to keep them under his thrall.

“Can any of you speak?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” said the biggest in a gutteral voice. “Inmüt learn speech as wolfcub. All speak.”

“Good,” I said and nodded. “First, I’m your boss, not your Master. Your days of being slaves are over.”

The inmüt glanced at each other uncertainly but eventually the big one nodded.

“Yes … boss,” he said.

“Okay, now, I need to know if I can trust you.”

The inmüt looked even more confused.

Marie laid her hand on my shoulder.

“The question doesn’t make sense to a wolf, Jack,” she said quietly. She turned to the inmüt and said, “He wants to know if you’ll fight for him.”

“You are alpha male,” said the big one. “Our lives are yours. We die to protect you.”

I nodded. For now, until I had reason otherwise, I would trust them. If I needed to take the hunters out after the indominati, leading from the front with five werewolves at my back would make the job infinitely easier.

“Pagan,” came Happy’s voice. “The main group is advancing.”

“How many?” I said into my radio.

“All of them except maybe a dozen that seem to be dead.”

Crap. Okay, back to the original plan.

“What are your names?” I asked.

“David,” rumbled the biggest.

“Phil.”

“Erik.”

“Cameron.”

“Okay, Erik and Cameron, if we get overrun, your responsibility is to get my mate to safety, understand?”

“Jack—” said Marie.

“Yes boss,” said Cameron, rather more clearly than David. “She’ll come to no harm.”

“Jack, I don’t need—”

I silenced her with a look.

“My decision, my love,” I said. “I don’t need to be worrying about you if the shit hits the fan.”

She stared at me defiantly for a second before dropping her eyes. I thought I’d hurt her feelings—and I didn’t care as long as she survived—until I saw a small smile tug at the corners of her lips.

I trusted the most precious thing in my life to a pair of werewolves I’d only just met, but I didn’t see that I had much choice. What I knew of the wolf pack structure left me inclined to trust them. They’d accepted me as alpha without question and that counted for a lot.

I turned back to the wall. The incoming hoard was barely visible.

“Company present arms! We’re about to receive visitors! Grenadiers form up!”

Twenty hunters left the wall and sprinted to the center of the compound. Each was armed with one of the H&K grenade launchers and a bag of grenades. Spartan had compared this to Rorke’s Drift. Well, I was going to borrow a tactic used to good effect by the defenders of the beleaguered mission station more than a century ago in Africa. The hunters formed two lines and loaded their launchers.

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,” said Norse.

“I never liked that speech,” I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “The next line goes ‘or close the wall up with our English dead’ and that’s too pessimistic by half.”

There was a burst of tension relieving laughter.

“You got something better, Pagan?”

I turned to look around, taking in the hunters and the inmüt.

“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother, be he ne’er so vile this day shall gentle his condition,” I said, my voice rising and falling in the cadence I’d learned as a kid in the school play. “And gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not here and hold their manhoods cheap whilst any speaks that fought with us upon this Guy Fawke’s day!”

The defenders cheered and I hoped nobody would point out that the original speech was given on St. Crispin’s day. Nobody did and I allowed the cheering to continue for a few moments.

“Face to the front.” I yelled. “Conserve your ammunition. Aimed shots. Hold your fire until the command.”

Norse and Spartan were on either flank. As my most experienced hunters, they would act as my sergeants. Even now they were repeating my orders on the off chance anyone hadn’t heard them.

The indominati were getting closer.

“Grenadiers. Volley by ranks—present arms!”

Both ranks raised their launchers.

“At one hundred yards!” my voice had climbed to that special volume only available to sergeants and jet aircraft, the orders bouncing off of the walls.

“Front rank … fire!”

Ten launchers coughed, sending their deadly explosive projectiles arcing towards the enemy.

“Reload!”

The front rank knelt and cracked open their launchers, extracting the spent shells and loading fresh ammunition as the grenades landed. The explosions scattered bodies around, tearing the closest indominati limb from limb.

“Rear rank … fire!”

Ten more grenades sailed into the air.

“Reload!”

The rear rank knelt and the front rank stood as more vamps died.

“Front rank … fire!”

Again and again I sent out loads of high-explosive death, my voice growing hoarse as each rank fired, knelt, reloaded, stood and fired again. The few vamps that made it past the curtain of grenades were easily picked off by teams under the direction of Norse or Spartan, or by Bolt and Callie in their elevated sniper’s nests.

But each grenadier only had ten rounds and, all too quickly the last grenades were fired.

“To the wall!”

The grenadiers dropped their launchers and scrambled forward, their rifles ready. I kept up with them, raising my FAL.

“Independent! Fire at will!”

The hunters opened up. So far they were obeying orders and the fire was calm and directed. Vamps died by the score but for every one we dropped it seemed two took its place. The vamps were within fifty yards when I yelled my next order.

“Frenchie! Claymores!”

“Stand by!” yelled the former legionnaire from under the cover of Rock Ape’s machine-gun nest. “Firing!”

Frenchie had spread the claymores around the perimeter, so only three were facing the vamps, but anyone who has seen a claymore go off knows how devastating they are. The three shaped explosives detonated, spraying hundreds of steel ball bearings at lethal speed towards the enemy. The closest vamps were shredded; the ones behind them were only slightly luckier.

I fired and fired, finding and embracing that inner calm Marie had talked about. Everywhere I pointed my rifle there was a vamp in my sights and that vamp died. I changed magazines smoothly and resumed firing. I caught a glimpse of Marie; now back in her wolf form, spraying the approaching vamps with her shorty. Anna and John stood off to my left. Anna was taking cool, unhurried aim with her L22, hitting vamps with every shot while John blazed away with a pump action shotgun.

Finally, this was it. No sneaking around, no plots, no plans, no maps, no computers, no suits. This was a situation I could seize by the throat.

CHAPTER

44

There were less than a hundred indominati left by the time they reached the wall and suddenly rifles were useless. I understood the benefits of a bullpup, like Frenchie’s FAMAS or Norse’s AUG. I hadn’t had to give the order to fix bayonets as most of the hunters had already done so and were using them to good effect.

Events fell into a rhythm, with the indominati trying to get over the wall and the hunters trying to hold them off long enough to kill them. Even without their accelerated healing abilities, vampires are very tough and it could take several shots to put one down for good.

A vamp leaped into the air, clearing the wall and landing in front of me. Without thinking I swung the butt of my rifle, John’s little gift connecting solidly with the vamp’s temple, shattering his skull. I quickly reversed the rifle and fired into the stricken figure’s back.

As I brought the gun back up another vamp landed. In a split second decision I dropped the FAL and wrenched my MP7 from its holster. I never got the chance to fire because Phil stepped forward and decapitated the vamp with a single swipe of one massive paw.

I looked at the melee and came to a decision. I had one final trick to play.

“Fall back!”

Everyone who was able turned and ran across the car park to the sandbag wall we’d built halfway back. The vamps came inexorably forward, slowed by the wall but not by much. Not by much, but by just enough. I raised my hand and brought it down in a quick chopping motion. Two more floodlights came on, but these were large UVC lamps. They’d been salvaged from an old viral research lab where they’d been used to sterilize the room in the event of a spill. The vamps stopped, shading their eyes from the weird purple light, screeching in pain. The lamps wouldn’t last longer than a few minutes but, again, it was enough.

“Open fire! Give them everything!” I bellowed.

There was no finesse, no short, controlled bursts, no conserving ammo, just pure, violent, desperate slaughter.

I fired until the FAL was empty and then moved my hand to the underslung shotgun’s trigger. I fired and fired until the shotgun clicked empty. I dropped the FAL and pulled my MP7, emptying the magazine in one long burst.

One of the lamps burned out with an audible pop but the vamps were falling fast. I fired again, short bursts, picking targets. The last vamp fell and silence returned, broken by the second lamp going out. I stood there, my chest heaving, listening to the echoes bouncing around us.

There was some cheering, but not much. Out there, amongst the dead vamps, bodies were visible that were wearing army green. Too many bodies. I remember once being told that the only thing worse than defeat was victory. At least if we had lost we would be dead, spared the sight of fallen comrades.

I walked across the car park, seeing faces I knew, now empty of life. This is when being an atheist bites hard. John and I were both members of BFAF—the British Forces Atheists in Foxholes—but I’d always figured that the hardest place to find an atheist would be in the aftermath. It would be nice to believe that these fallen brothers and sisters were in a better place; that they were with their loved ones. I’d seen that faith in other people since my first combat and I envied it. There was no comfort here, just dead bags of flesh that had once been brothers in arms.

And then I saw a body by the wall, and the sight almost drove me to my knees. I staggered over and looked down.

“Oh shit,” said John’s voice behind me.

I turned slowly. He was standing a little way off, bloodied and bruised, looking at me with sympathy.

I knelt beside the body, brushing aside the blonde hair, seeing the throat that was torn out, the multiple puncture wounds on the neck and shoulders, the face locked into a grimace of pain and terror.

A hand touched my shoulder gently as tears threatened to fall. John held something out to me. It was his silver hip flask, engraved with the vampire hunter’s badge, a gift from Anna. I knew he always kept it full of the best whiskey, usually stolen from whatever safe house we were in. My MP7 was still in my hand. It was time for one over the gun.

I raised flask, my vision doubling, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

My voice wavered and cracked over the single word.

“Norse.”

CHAPTER

45

The ritual had been repeated for each body, the toast drunk by whichever comrade knew the deceased best, and we started to clear up.

We started by removing all of our fallen, placing them in a row and covering them with blankets from the Falcon. I was standing to one side, Norse’s AUG in my hands, his badge and dog tags in my pocket along with his wedding ring. I’d do my best to get them to his family. I knew his wife had died several years ago but he had a brother and two daughters.

We were going to give the fallen a warrior’s burial, cremating them on a pile of their dead enemies. It was what Norse had wanted, that much I knew, and we were about to start piling up the dead indominati when my earpiece clicked on.

“Pagan, we have a situation,” said Happy. “I have multiple heat signatures in a mass, at least three hundred, marching on the compound. Same direction as the last lot came from.”

I thumbed my radio, too drained to get excited about this yet.

“Any idea what they are?”

“From the way they’re moving and the speed they’re coming, I’d say they’re these illuminati creatures.”

“Indominati,” I corrected.

I stood wearily. Marcus, the bastard, had kept back a second wave and now they were coming at us.

“Company! Defensive positions,” I said, my voice loud enough to carry over the area.

Everyone grabbed their weapons and headed back to the wall.

“We have at least three hundred more of those fuckers coming. I want an ammo check.”

The only thing that was keeping the hunters from turning and running was the training and discipline. I hoped it would last. It looked bleak. We were down to the dregs of our ammo. Even reduced in number we barely had a full magazine for each weapon.

Suddenly a car could be heard coming down the road behind us. It hit the curb and bounced into the car park, an old and rusting Austin Princess. Almost before it had chugged to a stop Albert stepped out, an H&K G36 in one hand and a grim look on his face.

“Not too late am I?”

“Al,” I said wearily, “If you’ve brought ammo you’re just in time.”

“Boot’s full of five five-six, just got a fresh shipment. And I managed to scare up a few more grenades.”

I started giving orders, feeling energized. We had improved from no chance to almost no chance, but I’ll take those odds.

“Oh, and I found five of these, too,” said Albert, ducking into the car and coming back out with a Russian-made RPG-7 launcher.

“Al, if you weren’t so damned ugly I’d kiss you.”

I quickly organized my troops. With the exception of myself and five grenadiers, everyone was crouched down by the wall. I’d given Rock Ape my last two FAL mags, and Marie had handed over her last c-mag. He’d taken the GPMG from the top of the Saxon and was busily linking the rounds together with the few that were left in the vehicles to make a belt.

Marie had her shotgun in place of the shorty, standing off to my right. John had retrieved a fallen hunter’s M-16 Colt Commando and, standing next to him, Anna was carrying the new bolt thrower I’d picked up from the Ministry. I’d hoped to test it under better circumstances but, if it worked, she had over a hundred arrows to use. I still had Norse’s AUG, with two full mags, one in the weapon and one in reserve.

Two hunters were at the boot of Albert’s car, frantically loading loose rounds into NATO standard magazines and passing them out as fast at they could.

Out in the darkness we could see them coming, a wall of mindless savagery. It had started to rain, a soft, insistent drizzle accompanied by ominous rolls of thunder in the distance.

“Time for ‘once more unto the breach’ yet, boss?” said John, still finding humor in the bleak situation.

I laughed, I couldn’t help it.

“How about ‘we who are about to die salute you’?” said a different voice.

“No,” I said. “This time we’ll go with ‘England expects that every man will do his duty’.”

The indominati crossed the line I had drawn in my mind and I gave the orders.

“Grenadiers, present arms.”

Five RPGs were shouldered. Albert had found the RPGs in cases, each with two rockets. I had one shot and one reload to work with.

“Fire!”

The conical rockets left their launchers with a roar, accelerating across the intervening space and slamming into packed ranks of feral vampires. The explosions lit the night, reflecting off of the low cloud cover.

The grenadiers had already reloaded and were standing ready.

“Fire!”

The second set of rockets sped towards the enemy as the grenadiers dropped the empty tubes and grabbed their grenade launchers. Albert had come up with a box of ten high explosive rounds and six incendiary rounds.

It wasn’t much, but every indominati we could kill was one less to reach the wall.

“Grenadiers, volley fire … fire!”

The launchers coughed and high explosive death rained down on the vamps. Without needing the command the five grenadiers were quickly reloading.

“Fire!”

Dozens more vamps died. Now we went for the incendiary rounds. The launchers that contained our last rounds came up, mine adding a sixth to the salvo.

“Fire!”

The grenades arced through the night and burst at the feet of the closest vamps, turning them into burning pillars that ran blindly, giving horrific screams that only stopped when the vamp tried to hitch in a breath and flames poured down its throat. The flames spread, engulfing several nearby, but still more than two hundred were coming at us.

“Independent, fire at will!”

We opened up, trying to conserve ammo as much as possible. Norse’s AUG felt right in my hands, the lower recoil of the smaller round allowed me to acquire the next target far quicker than with the FAL, and the bullpup design was compact and easy to handle. I wouldn’t give up my battle rifle for a big clock, but I could understand why some preferred the assault rifles.

We took out as many vampires as we could but, again, the maddened wave of hate kept coming. Anna was coolly firing the bolt thrower, the electric weapon near silent, especially in the cacophony of shots. She was aiming for heart or head, and hitting nearly every time, sending vamps to the ground with feathered shafts protruding from their bodies.

The rain was getting heavier and lightning flashes lit the sky. Dammit, wet and dead didn’t sound like the way I wanted to spend my night.

The first vamps reached the walls. I allowed the melee to go on for only a few seconds before issuing the next order.

“Fall back to the inner redoubt!” I yelled.

The withdrawal was disciplined and orderly, back to the inner wall. I was never as proud of the hunters than I was at that moment. Faced with an implacable, unreasonable foe, outnumbered and facing certain death, they did not flinch, they did not run. We stood and fought. The inner wall was our last refuge, our line in the sand. This far, and no further. Victory or death.

Callie, Bolt and Happy leaned out of the upstairs windows and threw bottles down into the car park. The bottles were filled with anything that would burn: alcohol, fuel from our vehicles, even an old bottle of lamp oil Happy had found in the cellar.

I knelt behind the inner wall, a bottle filled with petrol in my hand, struggling to light the piece of torn sheet that was stuffed into the neck. The cheap disposable lighter I’d picked up from the bar wouldn’t hold a flame long enough to do the job. I snarled in frustration as I spun the wheel again and again. I took a look over the inner wall. The vamps were already over the main wall and were almost halfway across the car park. When I smoked I carried a zippo windproof that would have lit with ease. Why did I have to quit? I thought smoking was going to kill me; now quitting was going to do me in?

“Jack!” yelled a voice.

I looked up in time to catch a brass-colored object that Albert had thrown to me. I opened my hand. He’d thrown me an old soldier’s lighter, hand made in WWI from a .303 shell. Crude, basic, but windproof and reliable as the tides. I opened the cover and spun the wheel. The wick caught first time and burned with a smoky orange flame that transferred to the spirit-soaked cotton with ease. I closed the lighter and quickly pocketed it, making a mental note to return it if we survived. I stood, hefted the bottle, and threw it at the ground as hard as I could. The bottle shattered on impact, spraying burning spirit everywhere and, more importantly, igniting the liquid that was all over the concrete and all over the vampire’s feet. The rain dampened the response but a sheet of flame roared across the car park, toasting the vampires in the lead and giving us precious breathing room. A vampire came stumbling out of the blaze, a man-shaped creature of fire, and collapsed against the wall. Hacker and Siren carefully kicked the body back before it could set the sandbags alight.

“Anyone got any bread? I could do with some toast,” said Hacker as he ducked back behind the wall.

The three in the upstairs windows were still throwing bottles down, trying to keep the fire going, but the rainstorm had become a downpour. Slowly, inexorably, the flames started to die and vampires could be seen advancing again.

I placed the AUG against the inner wall and drew my MP7. This is it, I thought. We’re almost out of ammunition. It’s down to hand-to-hand with a bunch of savage vampires.

“Happy!” I yelled into my radio. “Where’s our fucking reinforcements?”

“I’m trying boss! I’m trying!”

I looked down the line at the hunters that were left. The two who had been pillaging Albert’s boot for ammunition were back. At most each hunter had two mags apiece. Anna met my eyes and smiled sadly. I saw the same quiet resolve in each eye I met, the same desperate courage.

“Alright my lads!” I roared at the top of my lungs. “Once more unto the breach!”

We stood and opened fire, for some of us emptying our last magazines. When they were done we would be down to pistols, bayonets and knives. The fire in the car park was almost completely out and the indominati were coming at us, hooting and screaming, some of them still on fire.

We cut them down by the dozen, firing until our weapons emptied. Along the wall pistols were drawn, the smaller, single pops slowly replacing the crackle of rifle rounds. I had my hunting knife in one hand and my SIG in the other, squeezing off carefully aimed shots, trying to make each count.

The vamps hit the wall and tried to climb over, only to be met with everything we could muster in the way of rifle butts and bayonets. I holstered my SIG as a vamp took a running leap at me. I grabbed it around the throat and pulled it to the floor, my hunting knife slamming through its eye socket and into the brain behind. I was pulling the blade free when a weight hit my back and fangs stabbed into the base of my neck. I gave an inarticulate roar of rage and pain as I reached behind me and grabbed a handful of greasy hair.

As I twisted I caught a glimpse of Marie. Erik had grabbed her from behind and Cameron was wrenching her shotgun from her grasp. Hey eyes were fixed on mine, a look of betrayal and pain that I knew would haunt my final moments. Erik picked her up and turned to run as another vamp pulled my arm around in a grip of steel, wrenched my knife away from me and bit my wrist.

CHAPTER

46

I bucked off of the floor; rage and fear lending strength to already overtaxed muscles. I yanked hard on the hair in my grip, the indominati releasing me as it finally made the connection between the intense burning in its throat and the blood flowing from my wounds.

Suddenly the weight was lifted. Phil stood behind me, holding the struggling vamp aloft before hurling it back into the hoard behind the wall. I kicked out at the one feeding from my wrist and heard the satisfying sound of ribs cracking. It howled in pain, releasing my wrist, and I kicked again. Then David grabbed it by the head and swung it around, slamming its body into the ground and breaking its neck.

I rolled over and struggled to my feet, my commando knife clenched in my uninjured left hand.

A howl split the night. Sorry, Marie, I said silently, but I don’t think I’m walking away from this one. The vamps were climbing over the wall; the hunters were scrambling to stay out of their reach. Anna, the bolt thrower laying some yards away, danced back, her fists raised like a boxer. With quick, snakelike blows she pummeled one indominati to the ground, then spun and planted a kick on another that must have snapped his spine. I saw Siren facing off against two vamps at once, her M14 flicking out, the bayonet keeping the vamps at bay, but for how long? I lashed out with my knife, taking a vamp in the throat as it tried to rush me, sidestepping the dead body as it fell, but it was only a matter of time.

With a start I realized that the howl hadn’t stopped. In fact, other lupine voices had joined in. The howl grew in volume, seeming to come from everywhere at once. Marie was beside me, holding my arm and urgently pointing upwards. I looked in the direction she indicated and saw a werewolf standing on the roof of the Falcon, his head thrown back, his powerful body tense. The howl coming from his throat was being answered by dozens of others. Even the indominati froze, staring upwards.

I knew the wolf. It was the one that had been held captive in the cellar of Havelock Manor. He simply stepped off the edge of the roof and landed on the ground, lashing out with his claws to tear a nearby vamp’s head off.

Suddenly the car park was overrun with wolves, coming at us from behind and leaping over the surrounding buildings. They flowed over the wall and fell on the vamps, tearing them apart with a savagery that left me breathless.

John appeared at my side, a struggling Anna held tight in his arms.

“Let me go, John!” she yelled. “I have to help with the wounded!”

“Not until we get a chance to introduce you, love of my life,” he replied calmly. “I don’t want one of our new friends to kill you just because you’re a vampire. If you want to help the wounded, fix the boss here.”

Anna broke free and rushed over to me.

“I’m okay,” I said weakly.

“Bullshit,” she said, turning my wrist over and wincing at the ragged wound.

“Okay, lads,” yelled John, doing a passable imitation of me. “We don’t want to let our new friends have all the fun, do we? Up and at ‘em!”

“John!” I yelled, pulling my SIG and the single remaining full magazine and tossing them to him.

He slid the mag into the pistol and nodded to me, then turned and hurdled the sandbag wall.

“Sit down,” said Anna firmly, pulling on a pair of latex gloves from her medical pack. “Shit, you always have to go the hard way, don’t ya?”

She bandaged my wrist, staunching the flow of blood and moved on to my neck.

My earpiece crackled as Happy reported in.

“Boss, I finally got word,” he said. “Backup’s on the way.”

I started laughing, ignoring the pain in my throat.

“Well it’s about fucking time,” I said. “Late as fucking usual.”

“I got a message for you from the good Colonel. He says he’s sorry but he’s breaking skulls and trying to find out if it was human stupidity or vampire interference. He’ll let you know.”

“Okay, pass on my thanks and warn him about our new friends. I don’t want anyone to start shooting unless they’re sure what their targets are.”

“Will do, boss.”

A werewolf strode up to us and changed into his human form. The fact that this left him stark naked didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

“Are you in charge here?” he asked in a booming voice.

“For the moment,” I said with a grin.

“Our alpha wanted me to tell you to rest. The Pack will take care of the vampires. We’ll make sure none get away.”

“Tell your alpha I said thanks. And also that we’re expecting company. Some soldiers in helicopters. Our relief force.”

The werewolf nodded, resumed his wolf form, and strode away. Marie was watching him with a strange look on her face and I couldn’t resist. I slapped her on the calf with the back of my left hand.

“Hey, keep your eyes were they belong,” I said jokingly.

She turned and gave me a curious look. I felt the tension rippling through her fur as she shifted her weight.

“Marie? You okay?”

She blinked a few times and then shrugged.

I frowned. Anna kept working on me, patching me up and damming the leaks.

The rain had slackened to a light mist and eventually stopped altogether. Hunters started to drift back towards the inner wall. Most were injured in some way, from scratches across the face to blood soaked clothes speaking of the wounds beneath. Anna patted me on the shoulder and went to help the others. She worked efficiently from person to person and anyone who wasn’t too badly injured was pressed into service as a nurse to help the others. It had been so very close this time. If there was one lesson that tonight was trying to teach, it was that we couldn’t continue hunting the vamps one-by-one. We had to be ready to meet them in force.

The lines from the beginning of the St. Crispin’s day speech came to mind.

He that outlives this day and live t’old age,

will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

and say “To-morrow is Saint Crispian”:

then he will strip his sleeve and show his scars

and say “These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.”

There would be plenty of scars to show off in the years to come. I foresaw many drinks being hoisted to those who made it through tonight, and many to those that didn’t.

“Eyes down for a full house,” said John, leaning against the wall like he was enjoying the view instead of recovering from a battle. “Looks like the king wolf’s on his way over.”

John was right, there. The big black-furred werewolf was coming towards us with several others surrounding him. He was wearing a pair of raggedy cut-off jeans that ended at his knees and there was the gleam of a necklace around his throat.

“I think it’s appropriate that I meet him on my feet,” I said.

John and Anna helped me up and I climbed over the wall, managing not to fall. The four inmüt formed up around me. Great, my own entourage.

“I’ll be speaking to you two later,” I said to Erik and Cameron.

They exchanged guilty looks. I took a deep breath and had started to walk when Marie came rocketing past me like her tail was on fire. She hit the big werewolf in the chest, bowling him over.

“Marie! No!” I yelled.

The wolves were rolling on the ground, fighting for the upper hand, their snarls and growls echoing around. Nobody moved, human or werewolf, as the two fought. The alpha male was almost twice Marie’s size but every time it looked like he was gaining the upper hand she would squirm out of his grip and tip him over.

I wondered why I wasn’t worried. It suddenly occurred to me. They were both grinning and neither was using claws.

I looked to David, who shrugged.

“They are old friends, it seems,” he said.

Marie spun free and leapt on the big wolf’s back, pinning one arm behind him and working on the other. The wolf let out a guttural laugh and stopped moving. Marie held on for a second and then released him, still grinning hugely. The big werewolf changed into human form as he stood. Black fur receded to reveal a tall, rugged-looking man with a shaved head and bright, intelligent eyes. His body was corded with the kind of tough, ropey muscle that comes from hard work rather than working out and his grin was easy and relaxed. Marie changed and ran into his arms, the two hugging fiercely, the alpha’s hand stroking her hair as he whispered into her ear.

I felt a surge of jealousy. Old friends? Or old lovers? I grit my teeth. Would this wolf save my life only to take my love away from me? Not without a fight, he wouldn’t.

Marie pushed away from him and grabbed his hand, almost towing him towards me.

“Jack!” she yelled, giggling. “Jack, this is Liam, my brother. Liam, this is Jack, he’s my mate.”

The resemblance was there for anyone to see. I was, apparently, an idiot. I covered my embarrassment by sticking my hand out and grinning.

“We’ve met,” I said brightly.

He shook my hand carefully, eyeing the bandage around the wrist.

“Indeed we have,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Thank you for releasing me.”

Marie was giving us a shocked look.

“The werewolf in the cage in the cellar at Havelock Manor?” I reminded her. “I told you about that, right?”

“That was you?” she asked her brother, incredulously.

“I guess so,” he said. “Your man here came in, sliced Hans up good and proper, then let yours truly out. And here I come to repay the favor.”

“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I owe you now. We were already even, the way you drew off those guards so I could escape.”

Liam shrugged and his grin widened.

“Well, apparently we’re family now, so don’t worry about it,” he said. “How’s the stomach? From what I saw that looked like a nasty wound.”

“Yeah, left a nice scar but it’s not giving me any trouble.”

Marie suddenly gave a squeal of delight and ran off to leap on a female werewolf she’d spotted.

“She’ll be doing that for a while,” said Liam affectionately. “There’s lots of old friends out there. When you let me out I went to find our pack. We were broken and scattered by the suckheads a few years back but I managed to track most down.”

He gave me a speculative look.

“Did Marie tell you about Dannor?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, she did,” I said darkly.

“I hear from our inmüt friends that she got her revenge on him.”

“Not nearly enough revenge for me,” I said. “I want that little bastard to die.”

“No,” said Liam with a grim smile. “She emasculated him and sent him running. That defeat will burn inside him the rest of his life. We wolves fight to win, not to kill, and Marie beat him so badly he’ll never be able to forget it.”

“Somehow,” I said, looking out into the night, seeing the helicopters that were bringing our much-delayed relief force, “I find that a cheery thought.”

CHAPTER

47

We’d made a big pile of indominati and wood, and reverently laid our fallen on top. There wasn’t much to say but I said it anyway. I read their names, said they were good soldiers, praised their courage and thanked them for their sacrifice. I looked around at the faces, old friends and new, and saw the pain and grief there.

“I don’t pray, I think most of you know that,” I said to the gathering. “But you also know I don’t object, so if anyone wants to say something, go ahead.”

Siren stepped forward and nodded to me.

“Almighty God,” she said, her words carrying over the silent group, “our Father in Heaven, receive our fallen comrades into the courts of your heavenly dwelling place. Let their hearts and souls now ring out in joy and peace, O Lord. This we ask through Jesus Christ, our Lord, amen.”

Several voices echoed the close. I kept my eyes on the pyre, seeing my old friend’s blonde hair stirring in the breeze. I blinked tears back as I picked up a torch—a three foot length of tree limb, one end wrapped in oil-soaked cloth—and pulled Albert’s lighter out of my pocket. I spun the wheel and touched the flame to the torch. With the spitting, crackling flame held high I walked to the pyre and stood there, lost in thought for a few moments before pushing the burning brand in between the bodies.

They had been liberally sprinkled with spirits from the inn, a gesture we felt Norse would have appreciated, and the flames spread easily. I stepped back and tossed the torch on top of the burning piles.

“Company,” said John, his voice strained. “Ten-hut.”

All the hunters came to attention as one, boots striking the concrete in unison.

“Company, present … arms!”

With well-drilled moves we brought our weapons into position, holding them in salute while one of Spartan’s hunters—a young woman named Helen—played ‘Last Post’ on a bugle. The haunting melody never failed to bring a lump to my throat, but this time it spilled tears down my cheeks.

When the last note had died away John’s orders rang out again.

“Company, shoulder … arms.”

The fire had burned brightly for a while, and was now flickering low. We threw more wood on, building up the blaze. We also threw more indominati on. With over a thousand bodies around it would take a long while to work through them. Happy had raided the inn’s cellar and produced large mugs of mulled wine, spicy and warming in the cold night.

Marie had wrapped her right arm around my back and settled under my arm like it would take a crowbar to part us. That was fine by me. People were drifting by us, saying hi to Marie, being introduced to me. Long lost friends, relatives and childhood playmates, a long list of names that I wouldn’t have been able to remember if I was fit and healthy. With my injuries and several glasses of booze floating around in my bloodstream I didn’t stand a chance.

John and Anna had wandered over. John had an arm casually draped over his wife’s shoulders, but the tightness of his eyes indicated how nervous he was. The werewolf pack and the relief force barely knew Anna, and either group might kill her without thinking. Her badge was prominent on her chest and John was never more than a few feet away.

Albert was having the time of his life. He was working the crowd, shaking hands and making friends.

“John?” I asked as a thought occurred to me. “Did we ever get any update on those people missing from the safe houses?”

“Yeah, there was a message on the ‘net about twenty minutes ago. Still no change, people still missing. Each of the safe houses has a hunter team or two stationed there, just in case, but so far, nothing.”

“Damn, I wish I knew what that was about,” I said softly.

“Might I venture an opinion?” asked Albert, who had been walking past, going from one group to another.

“Sure,” I said.

“Well, think about this, if that Marcus character had lived, how long would you have held out against his little army?”

I shrugged, giving it some thought.

“Maybe ten minutes,” I hazarded. “If the indominati had been organized, controlled, they’d have overrun us easily.”

“So, tonight owes much to the fact that you killed the leader. You cut the head off, so to speak.”

“Right.”

“So, think on this: how certain would Marcus’ victory had been if all of those hunter teams had been here instead of waiting at those various safe houses?”

I closed my eyes and groaned.

“The bastard divided our forces,” said John, halfway between disgust and admiration.

“And did a masterful job of it, if I might say so,” said Albert. “If anyone except our friend here had been in charge, Marcus Demios would have returned to the North with trophies to display and a victory to boast of.”

I turned my head, looking at the funeral pyre. Suddenly I swore and shook my head.

“What is it, love?” asked Marie.

“I knew there was something bothering me,” I said. “I knew there was something.”

Everyone was giving me blank looks.

“All of the dead and wounded were men. Marcus must have given his indominati orders to avoid harming the women.”

“Ah,” said Albert philosophically. “One of the oldest themes in warfare; kill the men and capture the women.”

Then Liam came back. He was chatting amiably with everyone he passed, werewolf or hunter, shaking hands and patting backs. Someone had found him a combat jacket and a pair of boots from somewhere. He spotted us and came over with a smile.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” he said. “Will you be coming with us, little sister?”

“No,” she said, squeezing me. “I’ve found my alpha male and I’m staying here.”

Liam nodded and smiled at me.

“He is worthy of you, Marie,” he said.

“Excuse me,” said Albert. “Did you say you were leaving?”

“Yes, sir,” said Liam politely. “The pack needs a place to live.”

“Well, what’s wrong with right here?” asked Albert. “We have plenty of empty houses and farms, plenty of space to live in. Frankly, we’d appreciate you being around here.”

“As guard dogs?” asked Liam softly.

“As friends,” replied Albert firmly.

Liam looked around. Some of the pack had been close enough to overhear the conversation. They were looking at each other and talking it over. Some were nodding, at each other and at Liam.

“I’ll discuss it with the pack, although I can tell you that I think I know which way they’ll decide. Will we be accepted?” Liam asked.

“I’ll see to that,” Albert promised.

Liam looked at me. Albert looked at me. Marie looked at me. The werewolves who had gathered around looked at me. The hunters that had gathered looked at me. Everyone looked at me.

“Well, it’ll make you easy to find for birthdays and Christmas,” I said.

Liam laughed and turned to the waiting wolves.

“Okay, tomorrow at dusk we’ll meet and everyone’s opinion will be heard before I make a decision,” he said.

The wolves seemed satisfied at this and started to break up. I noticed that some were already making friends amongst the hunters. I saw Hacker trading Rolo chocolates with a werewolf who had a tin of peppermints in her pocket and there are few things more indicative of progress in this world than the free and frank exchange of confectionary.

“Albert and Jack,” said Liam. “As the alpha I invite you to participate in the discussion at dusk, to speak for the humans and answer any questions the pack may have. Is that okay?”

“But of course,” said Albert instantly. “I’d be honored.”

“As would I,” I said with a smile.

“Thank you,” said Liam. “Thank you both. Oh, and the inmüt want to stay with us. Well, three of them do. They want to join the pack and they asked me to speak to you.”

I shrugged and smiled.

“Their decision,” I said. “What about the fourth?”

“Cameron wants to become a vampire hunter,” said Liam. “Think you can help him with that?”

“Sure, he’ll be an asset,” I replied.

“Okay, thank you, I’ll tell them.”

He and Albert walked away a little to speak to a group of wolves and hunters who were—it had only been a matter of time—busily pouring tea from a huge urn.

Marie slipped both arms around me and hugged me tight.

“You’re looking pretty pleased with yourself, my love,” she said.

“Well, in a month we’ve killed four of the most powerful vamps in the country, broken Glavidia’s organization beyond repair, made some great allies, and I found a soul mate.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in soul mates?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t,” I replied. “But I am beginning to wonder.

She laughed and reached up to stroke her fingers through my hair. I bent to kiss her and she responded eagerly, her tongue darting into my mouth, her hands on the back of my head, pulling me against her.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly, a wicked glint in her eye. “You wanna go upstairs and see about that deep-throat thing?”

There was a sudden explosion of coughing off to one side and I looked up to see Liam, twenty feet away, choking and wiping tea off of his jacket.

“Just how sharp is your brother’s hearing, love?” I asked.

“Sharp enough!” said Liam, laughing.

“Well that’s what you get for eavesdropping, brother,” said Marie tartly.

He shook his head and, laughing ruefully, moved further away.

“Don’t worry about him,” she said. “It’ll just take him a while to get used to the fact that his little sister has a sex life.”

She kissed me again and smiled.

“Especially a sex life that involves so many screaming orgasms and inventive positions.”

“Oh come on!” said Liam from even further away. “I can still hear you, y’know.”

“Well quit listening then,” she snapped.

“You just love winding your brother up, don’t you?” I said and grinned.

“I have a lot of catching up to do,” she said innocently.

“Hey Pagan,” yelled Siren from the other side of the fire. “You have a speech for this moment too?”

I thought about it for a moment.

“Okay, yeah,” I said and cleared my throat.

“We shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight them in the hills; we shall never surrender!”

The hunters cheered and I noticed a lot of the wolves joining in.

“Shame you didn’t finish it, Jack,” said Albert somberly as he came back over.

“Yeah, but even the bit I edited out is appropriate, isn’t it?”

Albert nodded sagely and then winked at me.

CHAPTER

48

The temperature had taken a dip, falling to near freezing. The forecasts were calling for snow by the end of the week. It had been two days since the battle with the indominati. Wounds were healing; people were getting back on their feet. Patrols were being sent out again.

Reports were coming in that the vamps were being unusually quiet. Winter, with its longer nights, usually brought an increase in vamp activity, not a decrease.

Marguerite said that, with one third of the Three effectively taken out, there would be a massive power struggle until someone else rose to fill the vacuum. That would take a while. Vamps gain power slowly and the nearest contenders would be fighting amongst themselves, building power and jockeying for position for months to come.

Meanwhile, the Ministry was sending a chopper for Marguerite.

We were sitting in the lounge bar of the Falcon, watching out of the back windows, waiting for the Ministry chopper to arrive. Marie was in the kitchen cooking dinner. She claimed that she just wanted to do something romantic but I get the impression she was actually preparing the meal as a way to celebrate the vampire’s departure and, once she was gone, Marie and I would sit down to a nice meal with delicious hints about things to come. I had no idea what she was making but the smell was about to drive me crazy.

John and Anna were upstairs in their room. Anna had needed to feed this morning and John was resting and recuperating. Everyone else had moved out, back to wherever they were when this mess started.

We still didn’t know if the relief force had been delayed by ordinary human stupidity or by enemy action. My money’s on the latter. During the Crimean War, a Russian officer allegedly said that the British Army were “lions led by donkeys”, but even we couldn’t foul up something that bad on our own.

The silence was broken by a soft beeping. I searched around for a moment and found the source: the little satellite notebook the Ministry had given us.

I opened it up and acknowledged the ‘message waiting’ signal. When the text started to scroll across the screen I gasped in shock.

“What is it?” asked Marguerite.

I started to laugh as I put the notebook down on the table and turned it so she could read:

Pagan, Sketchy reports coming in concerning three (3) dead vampires found in upstairs bedroom of Havelock Manor after mission. Despite efforts to cover up, one body identified as ‘Johann’ (aka ‘The Marquis de Sang’). Other bodies identified as Tiberius Dollomayor, his second, and Abraham Corlea (aka ‘The Butcher’), high ranking in his organization. Reports indicate Johann was there at invitation of Glavidia to discuss territorial disputes. Congrats, now you just need one more for the complete collection. MPRD I&O. 7NOV 2230hrs

Marguerite was looking stunned. I knew how she felt. I hadn’t given the three vamps a second look. The idea that one might have been important enough to examine had never occurred to me. Shame.

“Wow,” she said. “So you killed Glavidia and the Marquis de Sang in the same night? Impressive.”

“Yeah, I think Lady Lucia must be my biggest fan right now.”

She gave me a startled look.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I did bump off her rivals for power. I’m expecting a Christmas card at least.”

I grinned and looked up as a helicopter roared overhead and started circling.

“I think that’s your chariot, good lady,” I said as I peered out of the window.

The chopper settled on the grass behind the car park, its rotors blowing leaves and litter everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s my ride,” said Marguerite as she picked up her bag.

“I’ll walk you out,” I said, grabbing my jacket.

Outside the cold air bit deep and turned our breath into clouds that the stinging wind whipped away.

“Listen,” I said as we walked around the outside of the car park and down the alley that led to the rear, “thanks for all your help.”

“You’re welcome, Jack,” said Marguerite.

“And don’t let those suits at the Ministry push you around, either.”

“I won’t. Say goodbye to everyone for me, will you?. And thank Anna for all her help.”

We were about to step out from between the car park and the backyard of the house next door when something struck me as wrong. I grabbed Marguerite’s arm and stopped her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

I shook my head and looked around. Then I knew. My MP7 was in the Falcon, empty until I could get more ammo, so I pulled my SIG.

“That’s not a Ministry chopper,” I said.

“What are you talking about?”

“The RAF uses AW109s, that’s an AS365. Oh, it’s painted like an RAF helicopter, but it’s not one.”

I looked into the night sky, searching.

“And where’s the escort?” I went on. “You’re important enough that they would have sent at least a flight of Apaches to bring you back.”

I felt something cold touch the back of my neck and heard the sound of a pistol being cocked.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I really wish you hadn’t been so observant.”

It was Marguerite’s voice, but gone were the honeyed, seductive undertones. Now she just sounded cold. I sighed and raised my hands.

“Throw the gun away,” she ordered.

I tossed the SIG back along the alley, hearing it thump into the grass.

“Now turn around.”

I did so, keeping my hands raised, as the vampire stepped back. I could see the pistol she was aiming at me, the bore looking about as big as the channel tunnel.

“How long have you been playing both sides?” I asked.

“From the beginning,” she replied. “You know, it really is a shame you spotted the helicopter. I could have been halfway home by the time the real one turned up. You’d have just thought I’d been kidnapped, right?”

I shrugged noncommittally.

“Strong, silent type,” she said sarcastically. “You know, it would have been nice to bed a guy I couldn’t dominate. You may be unique in the whole world, a guy I would actually have to work to please.”

“Never gonna happen.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said, and there was a wistful edge to her voice that almost made me feel sympathetic. “Even if I wasn’t a vampire, one look at you and the werewolf told me I didn’t stand a chance. Be careful, Jack. Love like that never lasts. It’s too hot to be sustained for long, it burns too fiercely.”

“Wow, you say that like you expect me to give a flying fuck about your opinion.”

She smiled thinly and raised the gun again.

“Lace your fingers behind your head and step back against the wall.”

I did as I was told, staring at the gun, getting angrier by the minute.

“Oh, nice gun, thank you,” she said.

She’d stolen Marie’s P229, the one I’d given her less than a week ago.

“See, that was where Marcus made his mistake,” she said. “He liked using the hunters as trophies and came after your woman. I prefer something a little easier to handle. I think this’ll look so fetching when I take over the entire north.”

Again I said nothing.

“Oh, come on Jack,” she chided. “No hard feelings, okay? I saved you from Glavidia’s followers and you saved me from Marcus. Let’s call it even, okay?”

“Even?” I growled. “That fight the other day cost me fifteen good friends!”

“Ah well, I tried,” she said. “I’m not going to kill you, Jack, unless you do something stupid.”

“You know I’ll come for the gun. And when I do I’ll kill you,” I said.

“That would be a shame, Jack,” she replied. “But, you were right, I do still owe you for killing Glavidia and Marcus and everyone else. So, you get to live. Don’t waste it.”

She lunged forward and I felt something bite into my thigh through the cloth of my trousers. My mind had a split second to register the stun gun she had in her hand before the electricity crackled and every muscle in my body went rigid.

She stepped away and I fought to remain upright on legs that felt like cooked spaghetti while my mind blurred and my vision tunneled. I collapsed to the ground, my body refusing to cooperate with me on any level.

The last thing I saw as the darkness took me was Lady Lucia bending down to steal another kiss before leaving.

EPILOGUE

“Uncle Jack! Aunt Marie!”

The little girl who was standing in the doorway waving was a window into the past. From her laughing blue eyes to her wavy blonde air she looked exactly how I imagined Marie must have at that age. She was grinning hugely and jumping up and down. In the military we call that a diversion. I spun just in time to see a gray blur come skidding around the side of the farmhouse and leap at me.

It hit me in the chest and I staggered back a step. If my feet hadn’t hit the edge of the path and slipped on the snow I would have stayed on my feet. As it was I landed on my back in an ungainly heap, my breath exploding from my lungs. The little werewolf cub was sitting on my chest and enthusiastically licking my face. I looked up at Marie who was laughing so hard I thought she was going to pee herself. The little girl came running out, her hair flying behind her, and leapt on my stomach. The breath I was just managing to catch was forced out of me with a whoosh.

Marie doubled over, laughing and trying to breathe.

I grabbed the pair and hugged them.

“Hi Uncle Jack!” said the girl.

“Hi Kelly,” I said and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

The boy changed in my other arm, fur giving way to a mischievous-looking kid with the same hair and eyes as his sister. He was wearing a miniature version of Marie’s fighting suit, a fashion that had been catching on with the pack.

“Hi Darryl,” I said.

“Hi Uncle Jack. Merry Christmas!”

Yeah, I know. A family of werewolves celebrating Christmas seemed a little odd to me when we were first invited, but it all seems natural now.

Marie finally recovered and pulled Kelly off me, giving her a bear hug. I managed to get to my feet and, each of us carrying a cub we finished the journey on our feet.

Inside the door I put Darryl down and he ran into the kitchen, past a beautiful woman who had her hand in front of her face, trying unsuccessfully to hide her laughter. Charlotte was Liam’s wife and, as such, had joined in the family sport of giving me a hard time whenever they could. Everyone called her Charlie.

“Hi Jack, see they got you this time,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound grumpy and failing. “Stupid snow everywhere.”

I peeled off my wet jacket as Marie and Charlie exchanged hugs.

“Come on in, I’ve a fresh pot made,” she said.

We kicked off our shoes and went into the kitchen. The smell of turkey cooking made my mouth water.

“How’s dinner coming?” I asked.

“Better now I’ve got some help,” said Helen.

“Okay,” I said, no stranger to being press-ganged into kitchen duty. “What do you need?”

She passed me a mug of tea and smiled.

“From you?” she asked. “The only thing I need you to do is get out from underfoot. Liam’s in his workshop. Shoo.”

There was little point in arguing so I winked at Marie and went down the steps into the basement. There was Liam, bent over a workbench, working on something with some sandpaper.

“Mornin’ Jack,” he said cheerfully. “They kick you out too?”

“Yeah, somehow they have the idea that we’re useless in the kitchen,” I said.

Liam looked pointedly at the damp patches on my jeans.

“And you’ve been entertaining the little ones again,” he said with a chuckle. “Did they get you down this time?”

“Oh yes, but only because I slipped on the snow.”

“Ah, sounds like an excuse to me,” he said.

“Well, the rate Darryl’s growing he’ll soon be able to knock me on my arse without a run up. Hard to believe I’ve only known him since November.”

“Yeah, and speaking of which,” he said, ignoring my groan. “When are you and my sister going to start thinking about children?”

“Don’t start on me, Liam,” I said with a rueful smile. “I’m sure Marie is telling Charlie the same thing upstairs, but we’ll think about children when we’re ready, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

“What are you working on?” I asked, changing the subject.

He held out a tiny carved piece of wood. It was a chess piece, a knight, but the traditional horse-shaped figure had a distinctly lupine look. It was beautifully carved and I could see a chessboard with about a third of the pieces already finished.

“Nice work,” I said, genuinely impressed.

“There are rich people out there who pay through the nose for anything made by a werewolf,” he said with a grin.

“So you’re taking advantage of their stupidity?” I asked with a laugh.

“Call it an idiot tax,” he said with a shrug. “Takes me about three weeks to knock out a chess set I can sell for enough money to keep the pack in food for two months. And I’m not the only one. One of our females is able to do things with silver you wouldn’t believe. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He took me upstairs, into the living room. Darryl was sitting in front of the TV, which was showing the 24-hour vampire channel where some smug scumbag was trying to work vampires into the Christmas spirit, claiming that ‘all God’s creatures were blessed on this day’. The scene switched to a church, where vampires were putting on a show of attending Christmas services with ‘their good friends amongst the human population’. Liam turned the set off in disgust.

“Darryl, you know I don’t like you watching that rubbish, now run and play,” he said, shooing his son out the door.

“Yes, dad,” came the reply, dripping in resignation.

He went to a bookcase and showed me a tiny silver sculpture of a werewolf’s head, no bigger than a thimble, mounted on a tiny wooden plinth. It was exquisite, and so lifelike I caught myself waiting for it to blink.

“How much do these go for?” I asked.

“Well, she recently had one about that size go for ten thousand pounds at auction.”

I whistled and carefully placed the sculpture back on the shelf.

“Oh, wait, here,” said Liam, taking an envelope down from the mantelpiece above the roaring wood fire. “Someone dropped this off at the Falcon for you a few days back so they brought it up here.”

I took the envelope and turned it in my hands. The word ‘Jack’ was written in a neat copperplate hand.

I tore open the flap and pulled out a Christmas card that showed a cheery, snow-covered scene where carol singers were caught in the act of bringing Christmas Cheer And Goodwill To All Men. I opened the card and read the message.

“Bitch,” I said, under my breath.

“Who’s a bitch?” said Marie from the door.

I smiled tightly.

“Our good friend Lady Lucia,” I said. “She sent me a card. Says ‘No hard feelings, Jack. Have a good Christmas and come play next year.’ And it’s signed ‘Marguerite’.”

Marie and Liam looked at each other for a long moment.

“Bitch,” they said in unison.

I laughed and threw the card on the fire. As the flames curled around the picture, my new family and I sat down to enjoy dinner together.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrew Chapman is an English immigrant who lives in Kentucky with his wife and a startlingly insane cat.

He has wanted to write this novel for over twenty years, ever since he read a so-called young adult novel in which a teenage vampire saved the heroine from some terminal disease or other. His book report asked the question “since when did the vampires get to be the good guys?”

A few weeks earlier his history class had learned about Lord Haw Haw (ask your grandparents or look it up) and suddenly the idea for a novel was planted.

The sex scenes came later. He was in primary school, after all.

Pagan is his first novel. It won’t be his last. You have been warned.

COMING SOON

Crusader

PAGAN VAMPIRE HUNTER

BOOK TWO

HOW DOES AN ATHEIST MAKE A LEAP OF FAITH?

When a series of vampire attacks target the very center of the Catholic faith, the Vatican contacts the British Government. Their request: the best vampire hunter in the country.

Unfortunately he’s an Atheist.

Jack Henderson returns as Pagan, the Ministry’s top hunter He’s on a mission he’s not sure about. He’s in a country he doesn’t know. He’s working for a government he doesn’t trust. And he’s looking for an artifact he doesn’t believe exists.

Should be a piece of cake.

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