BOOK 2 - Viktoria Ch. 02

"I don't think so." Jael bent forward, putting Viktoria on her back, already getting hard again as he thought about taking her as he wanted to. He slid his arm under her knee, draping her leg over his shoulder so he could take her hard and deep. Eager to pound into her, he reared back.

Viktoria smirked. "Bye bye, Lurky."

The air around him moved and Jael found himself on his hands and knees on hard cement. The sidewalk? He leapt to his feet. Where Viktoria's house should be there were only trees. He sensed her nearby, but the house and walls around it were gone. He took a few steps forward and the urge to back up overwhelmed him.

Wards.

That witch had used her wards to kick him out of her house and hide it from him. A breeze alerted him to his state of undress and he hurried to right his clothing. He reached over his shoulders to draw his swords. The wall reappeared in front of him, but the spell to keep away still held him back. A black spider the size of his hand sat atop the wall, big empty eyes staring down at him.

The magic in his swords was some of the strongest he'd ever felt. For Viktoria's wards to still affect him her magic had to be even stronger. What kind of witch was she? Jael paced the circumference of Viktoria's wards, not finding a single weak spot he could exploit.

He left Viktoria's house, conflicted emotions roiling. He'd forgotten about this part of having a Draga—how finding his would let him feel again. He hadn't even bonded her and she was already making him feel crazy. No wonder Stryx had gone mad. Jael at least had the benefit of having felt emotions before he became a vampire.

Did he want to bond her to him? A part of him shouted yes, but a part of him was not prepared. He wasn't ready to let go of his past. He liked to feel in control, remain detached and calm. None of that would be possible if he bonded her to him. He was relieved to know if he ever did complete the bond he wouldn't have to worry about her becoming strygoi. She was already a witch in full control of her powers, she wouldn't become one.

Jael pulled his phone from his pocket and called Zeke. "Where are you?"

"At a bar. The man I followed met some friends."

"I'll get the car and meet you."

Jael parked outside the bar and a moment later Zeke joined him. "He met with two more men. They're definitely minions."

Jael glanced sharply at Zeke. "What did you hear?"

"That's just it. I could hear them all when they were talking to others, but when they spoke to each other I couldn't hear a word they said." Zeke shrugged and tipped his chin at three men exiting the bar. "There they are."

Jael stared at the the man who'd dare touch Viktoria and his friends as they walked down the street. Each of them clasped their right wrists with their left hands, and the men flickered.

"Can you still see them?" Zeke murmured.

Jael opened the door and slid from the car, reaching over his shoulder to draw a sword. The men came back into view. He nodded at Zeke. "I'll follow them on foot and meet you back here."

Zeke nodded and got out of the car. "I'll go back in, see if I can hear anything else about them."

Jael kept to shadows as he followed the men. They made it easy for him, unlike his Draga, so sure no one could see them they took no precautions, not even to glance behind them as they strode down the sidewalk.

Ten minutes later the hilts of his swords warmed, warning him of wards. Jael stopped, but the trio kept moving straight ahead, crossed a street and entered an apartment building on the next block.

Jael circled the area, testing the wards as he had at Viktoria's home. The ten-story apartment building took up an entire block and the wards extended a block beyond it as a buffer. They weren't as strong as Viktoria's, but they were layered, one type of magic forced into proximity with another. There were obvious weak spots where two two magics didn't meld well. Jael had sensed this kind of spell work before, Mage magic, when mages stole magic from witches and wielded it as their own, twisting it for purposes it wasn't meant for.

Jael kept track of the openings but didn't try to force his way in. The amount of protections on this place, and the sheer number of people he could see moving through windows told him he could not take this place on his own. Not yet, anyway. It was possible not everyone living in the apartments was involved with mages. But he couldn't ignore the possibility every single one of them was.

A pang of worry tangled itself inside him. His Draga. One of these men had targeted her tonight. Touched her. He'd been so distracted by Viktoria and her game he hadn't asked her what that man wanted.

Those men used magic, and knew spells, that was apparent. Had he done something to Viktoria? Jael hadn't been able to put his hands on his swords while she'd had him leashed like her pet, hadn't been able to see if they'd marked her with magic in some way. These men could be part of the ring that kidnapped Ember and Musette. Was Viktoria next?

Rage like he hadn't felt in three thousand years surged and his fists tightened around his sword hilts. He would kill them all. He took a step forward, ready to tear the wards apart. A pulse of magic from each blade responded, converting his rage into a cold fury that turned blind instinct to kill into calculated thought to hunt. He fought back the rage and made himself think. To hunt he needed to know more about his prey.

He sprinted back to the bar. He needed information, and he knew a mage he could get it from... slowly.

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Memories fought to surface as Inedel lay in the dark. After two decades of servitude and learning how to harvest magic, he'd killed his Mage master to reap his spells and become a Mage himself. But his master refused to stay dead.

It took a constant influx of new magic to power the counter to the resurrection spell his master had carried. His best guess was he'd been locked up for five days. If he didn't escape from this place and find a witch to drain soon, his old master could kill him from the inside out and take over his body. He'd thought the old man trusted him, but his master hadn't trusted Inedel with that particular secret.

He'd been so close to breaking the red-haired witch. He'd been pleased it responded to pain. He was done fucking witches to get his power. They didn't deserve the pleasure that gave them. The red-haired witch had a type of magic he wasn't familiar with, but his dead master had recognized it, and fought hard to resurface when they'd tasted it in the witch's blood. Hard enough to distract him long enough for that vampire to get sneak up behind him and ruin everything.

Dmitri had done well finding the pair of witches. So well Inedel wouldn't be telling Dmitri about the resurrection spell. Dmitri was ambitious, maybe even more than he'd been himself at the same age. He wanted to become a Mage but there was limited Mage magic in the world. Mages begrudgingly would share small parts of their power with their acolytes, but the only way to become a full Mage was to kill one and take his power. And, apparently, the chance of the dead Mage overpowering a less experienced magic user to gain a younger body.

Dmitri wasn't the only one looking for witches, though. Vampires. In Port Storm. There was only one reason vampires would be interested in witches. The were looking for women to make into their soul mates. He couldn't tell the other mages, and that one vampire kept interrogating him.

At the thought of the vampire with the dual swords a sharp pain lanced through his head. He flinched, doing his best to limit his movements as he fought to keep his mind his own. A memory surged, stronger than before. It broke through the shield he'd put up and played like a movie.

A man with two swords turned into a vampire with two swords. He showed up in the memories of mage after mage, all killed, their spells and memories passed on to the next vessel over thousands of years.

A shudder and sense of dread washed over Inedel. He was in the hands of the Scourge.

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Jael walked into the dungeon. It wasn't much of a dungeon—a few rooms carved deep in the cliff under the compound, where magic and sound could be easily blocked. There were no windows and a single tunnel in and out. Until Stryx and Ciaran brought home the mage who had hurt Ember the space hadn't been used much.

Jael unlocked the door to the Inedel's cell and let himself inside. He grinned when there was a clinking sound as the mage stirred on his cot. "Ember wanted me to see how you like her gift."

Inedel sneered as he turned his face to Jael, his cupped hands overflowing with the chain linking the cuffs around his wrists. He lay on his back, the chain piled on his chest so it didn't stick to anything around him. "Just kill me."

Selene and Ember had made the chain long, and somehow enhanced the magic so the faster whoever wore the manacles moved, the longer and heavier the chain connecting them became.

Jael tsked. "Mages don't kill their guests quickly. In fact, you insist they remain with you for years. Why would we do any less for you? We wouldn't want the world to think vampires were inhospitable hosts." He unsheathed his swords and spun then in his hands as he paced.

Smirking, he eyed the mage's cut and bruised face, wounds Ember had given him when she'd beaten him with the whip he'd been using on her. Stryx had healed her skin without a single reminder of the damage done, but no vampire would be doing that for the mage. "Although when I am ready for you to die, Ember wants to fight me for which of us gets to kill you."

"I can't say anything, Scourge. I'm spelled against speaking of the others, because of you."

"So, you've figured out who I am." Jael stopped and faced the mage.

Inedel shuddered. "All this time I thought you were a phantom. A stupid ghost story."

Jael grinned. "I've killed thousands of your kind. And if you know why you're spelled against me, then you know I have a lot of experience judging for myself how much a mage has to say. You never have enough faith in your own knowledge. I find it's not so much you don't know anything more, as I just haven't asked the right questions yet. You and I have reminisced about the past, and so far what you say has checked out, but now I want to talk about the future."

The mage let his head fall back to the pillow. "I have no future."

"It's not much of one, I'll give you that." Jael leapt, spinning in the air as he brought his swords down at the mage.

The mage screamed and tried to dodge out of the way, throwing his hands up to shield his face. The chain slipped out of his grip, part of it attaching to the wall behind and above his head, and another part of it to the floor, pulling taut and stopping him mid-motion. With his arms stuck, he was contorted in a half-risen position, unable to sit, lay down or stand, with one arm stretched towards the floor and the other pinned over his head.

"Well, that's going to make sleeping awkward." Jael cocked his head. "You know what to do if you want me to move that chain." He leaned against a wall and watched, amused, as the mage scrambled to get his knees under him, trying to find a comfortable position. "Tell me, mage, of things that have not happened yet. When is the next auction to take place and where?"

"I can't!"

Jael sighed. "I did try asking nicely." The hilts of his swords warmed in his hands as he stepped close. He pointed the blades at the mage, moving one over the mage's torso, the other over his left arm. "Where is it?" Jael murmured. "Where is it?"

The hilt of the blade over the mage's chest burned hot and Jael lunged, opening a slice across the mages ribs.

The mage screamed, but stuck as he was, couldn't avoid the slash.

"Was that the right one?"

Inedel closed his eyes, refusing to answer.

Jael's second blade hilt burned hot, and he opened another slice on the mage's left arm.

The mage writhed and his eyes bulged as the magic of a second spell snapped.

"Anything you feel like saying now?"

"I can't! Please! You'll kill me if you keep doing this."

"I have questions. I want answers. Tell me about the other mages."

Inedel's head sagged. "I can't."

"Well, feel free to let me know when you can."

Jael let his blades track spells over the mage's skin, prepared to strike and slice every spell the mage wore. As he worked, he shut out the mage's screams and cast his mind back, reminding himself of what had started it all for him 3,500 years ago.

Burning. Everything was burning. His horse reared nearly throwing him. Jael didn't try to force him through the flames. He dismounted and ran through the village towards his home, hoping against hope it had been spared.

It hadn't. His home burned along with everything else in the razed village with an unnaturally hot, blue-colored flame.

He should have been here, not off trying to negotiate with their attackers. The false promise of peace had lured him and most of the other men away, leaving their homes unprotected and vulnerable to this betrayal.

Uncaring of the heat, Jael sank to his knees in front the conflagration of his home. The same flames that burned down his world around him forged his soul into something cold and molten, and when the flames burned out, his soul cooled to steel.

When he could, Jael sifted through the ashes, all that was left of his life before, and found two silver medallions. The cords that once held them had burned away, but the medallions had somehow survived. The woman and the girl who had worn them hadn't. They, like all the other women with black hair and light-colored eyes, had been targeted and killed.

Jael found his horse and after checking to make sure the animal didn't have any burns or injuries, mounted. Guiding the horse north, in the direction of Alamut, he did not look back.

Three years later, Jael turned from the window and faced The Old Man of the Mountain as he sat sipping apple tea. "They will never stop coming."

"Of course they will always come. It is not in man's nature to be content with what he has."

"You trained me as an assassin, not a border guard."

The old man set his teacup down. "I trained you to kill. You turned yourself into an assassin."

"These men I kill are nothing but puppets!" Jael raged and paced away from the window. "There's a much more efficient way to get rid of them. Free me from your service. I can start at the top and take the snake's head."

The Old Man sipped his tea. "Legend says Ninurta killed a snake once, Bashmu, a great horned snake with wings."

Jael sighed. When the Old Man started a story nothing stopped him finishing it. "And?"

"And his next battle was with Musmhhu, a horned serpent with seven heads." He shifted uncomfortably.

Jael bit back words of frustration and helped the Old Man shift his cushions around until he was comfortable.

"Thank you, my boy. It is harder and harder to make this old body of mine content."

Jael snorted. The Old Man acted infirm, playing it up as a weakness. Jael knew better. "I know you too well, Old Man. You are trying to teach me patience. I have learned many things from you, but even you have not managed to teach me to be patient."

The Old Man's eyes sparkled. "And yet here you are, still waiting for the end of my story."

Jael held up his hands. "Fine. I'm still here. Finish your story."

"Ninurta slew that monster, and his next foe was Usumgallu, a horned, four-legged winged dragon-demon created by Tiamat herself."

Jael sighed. "What are you saying? I should let a monster live because the one that replaces it could be worse?"

"I am saying there will always be a monster. Maybe it will be worse, maybe it won't, but there will always be another. Are you prepared to fight a war you can win but never end?"

"If I can't kill of them, I will kill them as long as I can, and my war will end with my death."

An agonized scream brought Jael back to the present. The mage was a quivering mess, his upper body and arms covered in cuts that bled in a rainbow of colors. As Jael watched, silver magic flowed from the mage's body, circled the medallions set into the hilts of his swords, and flew out the door. Jael smirked. Strygoi magic was never unsure of where it wanted to go. With two of the strongest strygoi upstairs it would happily add itself to their power. Magics of other colors swirled around his blades, as if confused and seeking direction.

The mage's skin hadn't been broken, just the spells he carried bound to his soul, and the stolen magic freed. Breaking those spells hurt worse than anything Jael could do to the man physically.

"That spell must have been important. What did it do?" Jael squinted at the mage. "Oh, that was an important one. You'll be looking your age soon. Feeling it, too, if that spell worked liked I think it did." Jael backed away. "But you won't die, will you? That will be a different spell, powered with lives and hidden deep.

"You want this to end for today, mage, tell me something I can use. How do your minions find witches? How many of you are there in Port Storm?"

"Blood," the mage whispered, his voice hoarse from screams Jael hadn't heard. "They find the pretty ones and test their blood. There are—" He screamed as the spell preventing him from speaking of other mages kicked in.

"Do you know of other cities where the same thing is happening? When and where is the next auction?" Jael raised his swords over the mage's stomach and right leg.

"No!" The mage shrieked. "Please, no more." In the few moments since Jael broke the spell, the mage's hair had thinned, faint wrinkles appeared around his eyes and mouth, and his muscular stature seemed to shrink in on itself a bit. "What day is it?"

"It's December 10th."

"There's an auction in two days in Ashana." The mage tried a smirk, but it looked more like a grimace of pain. "But you'll never get in, vampire. It takes place during the day."

"What is going to be auctioned? More witches?"

The mage sagged in his chains. His body weakening by the second. "No. This one is for books, relics, and spells."

Not ready to let the mage die yet, there were still spells to break and things to learn, Jael held both swords in one hand, detached the chain from the wall and floor, and shoved it into the whimpering mage's arms. He left the dungeon, locking the door behind him.

A sword in each hand again, he climbed the stairs as the newly freed magics twirled around the medallions. The magics would stay with the swords until they could get outside. Sometimes they stayed longer. He couldn't see them unless he held his swords in his hands though, and sometimes they seemed to need some encouragement to go free after being captured for so long. "I can't open the door to let you out until it gets dark," he said to the magic. He was never sure how much of the witches were left in the magic he freed, but he knew magic was part of someone's soul. "Come on, we'll look for Ciaran. He can let all of you outside."

The living space was oddly deserted. Vampires tended to be nocturnal since that's when they could go outside and not die, but they weren't biologically required to sleep during the day. Someone should be around. Jael headed for the kitchen, sure he would find Ciaran there. The man was forever eating sandwiches. Empty bread wrappers, jars of peanut butter, and discarded sandwich meat packages littered the counter tops, but Ciaran was not here.

"Ciaran?" Jael called as he went out into the living room. "Anybody?"

Melchior's heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs.

"Where is everyone?" Jael asked the pale giant. "I need to talk to Stryx."

"Ciaran disappeared to wherever he goes to during the day now, and that lunatic strygoi has Stryx on the roof."