“Those refined senses of yours too delicate for a little blood?”
“Not as long as it’s yours.” An instant later the defensive shields he’d created from the power of his blood alone sizzled to life, as he deflected the spear of pure energy aimed at his chest. But it hadn’t come from Dênis. He swung his gaze to the right and caught a flash of blond hair. Sending a focused rope of his power to wrap about the fleeing vampire’s throat, he dragged the attacker back into sight.
The vampire emitted a high-pitched whine, struggling to grip the invisible rope around his neck, his eyes rolling white with terror as he silently begged Dênis for aid. Xavier could have told him no help would be coming. Dênis had never cared for those who looked to him for protection. Not even when the one seeking help had risked his life to help Dênis.
“It was a foolish move,” Xavier told the whining vampire. “Did Dênis tell you it would work? That your pitiful attack would be the distraction that gave him the kill? That you’d earn his favor and reward after he was made vampire lord?”
The pathetic vamp had pink tears running down his cheeks, when his gaze switched to Xavier, pleading for his life.
“Will you save him, Dênis? Please, proceed. I’ll wait.”
Dênis’s gaze filled with furious hatred for Xavier. Without so much as a glance, he flicked a hand at the begging vampire. A moment later the pleading vamp fell to the floor, blood soaking his shirt an instant before he collapsed into a greasy pile of skin and bone that betrayed his youth.
“And that,” Xavier said, pointing at what was left of a vampire who’d been loyal enough to risk his life for his master, “is why you will never be Lord of Spain.”
Dênis’s grin was a vicious baring of teeth. “No. That is why I will wade through your dust to the throne.” A crackling sword of flame shot from his hand as he moved with vampire speed, appearing so close that when he swung the blade, it would have taken Xavier’s head had he not snapped his shields up.
“You never did have a sense of honor,” Xavier said almost cheerfully as he formed his own blade, this one burning blue and gleaming like the finest carbon steel. “Don’t worry. You’ll be too dead to crawl.”
They fought blade to blade at first, fire against steel, heat against ice. Xavier could have taken his opponent in the first few minutes, but it had been a long ride to get there, and his muscles needed warming. And so he fought until he saw sweat beginning to roll down Dênis’s face, until he noted the strikes coming a little slower, carrying a little less force. Until he saw the knowledge in the other vampire’s eyes. Death was imminent, and so unnecessary.
“You should have fled in shame after permitting our Sire to die,” Xavier said.
“O diabo te leva,” Dênis snarled.
Xavier laughed. “The devil? It’s not me he’s after.” In an instant, he’d shifted from the almost comfortable strike, parry, strike they’d been exchanging. Knocking Dênis’s fiery blade aside with a casual blow, he spun the length of his own gleaming weapon in midair, sliced through his enemy’s neck, and stepped back to watch as the vampire’s gaze recognized his own death, then disintegrated into dust.
“Sire.”
Xavier took the wet cloth Chuy offered him. Dênis had been old enough that his death was fairly tidy. But he’d been a big man—not tall, but thickly built—and Josep’s mansion had always been drafty. The dust that had been Dênis floated through the air.
“What now?” Chuy asked, taking the cloth and throwing it aside. This room . . . hell, the entire mansion, was so wrecked that one more piece of debris would hardly matter.
Xavier sighed. He’d hoped to rest in Josep’s basement quarters, but though he hadn’t yet made it downstairs, he doubted it was safe for anyone—human or vampire. “We’ll try my townhouse. It’s been some time since I was in this city. It may have escaped notice. The others?” he added, referring to the two vampires and one human who’d accompanied him to the city.
“Waiting outside, my lord. They have your horse.”
“Good. Let’s go. There’s nothing here for anyone.” It made him sad to realize that was true. He hadn’t cared anything for Josep’s riches. But seeing all this destruction somehow brought the loss home to him, made it real. His Sire was forever gone. And he would miss him.
The trip across the city to the townhouse where Xavier had lived for years, before his growing power had forced him to leave Josep’s city, was mostly uneventful. One misguided vampire chose to confront him, stepping out from a narrow and dark alley to issue his challenge. Xavier was tired and more than a little sad, but he stepped off his horse, handed the reins to Chuy, then confronted the foolish vamp. Without ceremony, and certainly without any resort to his vampire magic, he took two steps, pulled the excellent, but very ordinary, sword from the tooled, leather sheath at his hip and ran it through the challenger’s heart. The vampire’s eyes went wide in surprise, and a little betrayal, Xavier thought. Had he expected a magical battle, rather than cold steel? And had he believed he could win?
He sighed, took back the reins from his lieutenant, and mounted his horse. He wondered sometimes at the foolish arrogance of so many vampires, the ones whose Sires seemed to have taught them nothing of the world. Vampirism gave them a bounty of gifts—greater strength, enhanced senses, virtual immortality. But it bestowed those same gifts on every vampire. And as with every creature in nature, the strong would always triumph over the weak.
He was relieved, when they arrived at the townhouse, to see it undisturbed and intact. He paid a local retainer to see to it, but when one was absent for months at a time, all manner of destruction could occur.
As the sun rose and he drifted into his much needed daytime rest, he thought about the future, and knew two things. He would face more challenges in the coming days, but in the end, he would triumph and become the new Lord of Spain.
HE WOKE THE next night to a thundering voice that had invaded his sleep and now destroyed the peace of his waking.
“Fill de puta.” His own curse filled his thoughts and crashed against the brain of this fresh challenger. He didn’t recognize the new vamp’s mind and didn’t think they’d ever met. Word must have travelled of his battle with Dênis, bringing out fools like the one he’d killed so easily just before dawn. And now this one, though this new challenger was obviously a more serious contender. It would take power to disturb his thoughts during sleep. This vampire had possibly been sitting back and watching the carnage, waiting while the weaker challengers butchered each other and winnowed the field, thinking he would then step up, destroy whoever remained, and claim the territory.