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Everyone looks at everyone else for several moments while the helicopter flies on in silence. And then Abaddon lets out a single, abrupt “Fuck.”
Chapter Twenty-One
REMUS
I stare at Lo-Ren seated beside me on the helicopter, which is finally flying calmly now. Layden even managed to get the back ramp up, though it squealed something awful on the way.
My chest hums with the buzzing adrenaline of the recent conflict and from whatever waits ahead of us. But on the other. . . I frown.
For the first time in my life, I actually want to run in the opposite direction of the fight. I want to grab Lo-Ren and flee whatever dangers lay behind these startling developments that have chased us out of our fortress home.
I’m disturbed by the impulse even as I have it.
I’m War. I meet fury with fury and fire with fire.
I do not have pacifist thoughts and have never fled a fight in my life. I should be delighted that we’re flying toward a nest of vampires.
I should be planning on how fun it will be to fight an unkillable foe should they get out of line.
Father briefly took an interest in the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II as he fought to retake Constantinople, a pet city of our father’s. He enjoyed backing leaders over the centuries as one after another wrestled the city from each other’s control. He once told me that the humans were toddlers fighting over cities like toys.
I’d wondered only very briefly what that made him, whispering in warlords’ ears and dispatching his sons to do his deadly bidding on behalf of his whims. He played with the humans like pawns in a game, relishing their destruction over and over again. And when a game piece was crushed, he felt nothing. Certainly not remorse.
I didn’t question too deeply, though, for I knew it was in his nature, as it was in mine. We couldn’t help ourselves. And heaven pity the poor humans caught in our endless bloody ‘game,’ for we certainly did not. Allowing cities to be built up, knowing that a hundred or two years later, we’d be back to raze them again.
Mehmed II was conquering the world, for Father had not yet turned on him and soured things as he inevitably always did.
But at the Battle of Vaslui in what is now known as Romania, we met a surprise. We had far superior numbers, one hundred and twenty thousand to their forty thousand. With Romulus helming our strategy, we foresaw their planned ambushes. We were confident of our victory, and my brothers and I went in amongst the armies with the usual confidence, strengthening our number and weakening the opponents.
Then, our troops began falling at alarming speed. Romulus and I kept swapping back and forth—him trying to strategize our way out of the suddenly losing battle and me fighting with all the bloodlust in my heart.
It was Layden who first alerted us to an inhuman being fighting among their ranks—one with an unending thirst. It was no angel, though, and soon Thing was able to give us more detailed reports of those he was carrying to the plane of the dead. They’d all died the same way, not by crossbow, halberd, or sword. Instead, they’d been taken from this plane by brutal gashes at their necks. The neater ones showed two fang marks. Other times, throats were simply ripped out.
I had clenched my two scimitars, one in each hand, and raced into the fighting throng, eager to encounter the thirsty being. The battle was already lost, but I didn’t care. I wanted to find it and capture its head. Finally, a battle worth fighting.
When I found it, though, I was surprised to discover it looked just like a man. It moved so quickly it was difficult to see at first, flying through the ranks and ripping out throats, occasionally pausing to gulp the bright red blood before dropping the body of its latest victim.
Then it whirled toward me, its face cocking sideways as if it had sniffed out something different.
Blood gushed like a fountain from its mouth down its neck and chest. It didn’t wear the uniform of our opponents; instead, it was dressed like a peasant.
I lowered my scimitars. It looked directly at me, obviously seeing past my rune shield of invisibility. “What are you?” I asked.
I’d barely finished my words before it launched itself in attack.
I easily brought up my scimitars, but my blades clashed against flesh as hard as stone. Harder because I’d cracked stone before with my blows.
It flew at me, fangs bared, and I laughed. I felt the tickle of its fangs against my neck, but that was all. It roared in frustration, and I placed my hand on its chest, pouring runes at it to blast it back from me.
The white-blue light knocked it halfway across the battlefield, scattering troops from both armies as it landed. Then it stood up, shaking its head blearily. It took one last look at me and fled in the opposite direction.
I was about to give chase when Romulus stole my body back, his focus entirely back on the battle at hand instead of the fascinating prize that was slipping through our fingers.
It was little comfort that Father had later agreed with me, beating Romulus with hell-metal chains for not realizing that long-term gains were more important than short-term goals. Especially since we lost the battle anyway. And when I next woke, I had to pay with a body sore from the harsh beating.
But then, I was constantly paying for his bad decisions. I close my eyes as the helicopter blades whir overhead, trying to access our shared memory to see what had happened when Lo-Ren had awoken since I obviously wasn’t there to see it. But still, there’s nothing. I swallow a growl. I didn’t intend for my gambit with the potions to work in both directions. I’d only wanted to hide my actions from him, not his from me.
My eyes pop back open, and I look at Lo-Ren, whose eyes have dropped closed as if napping or perhaps just trying to regain some equilibrium after the insanity of the escape. I did not mind the chaos of battle—I even enjoyed it a little, if I’m being honest—but these humans have more fragile constitutions.
