Tribes Of The Vampire - The Jaded Hunter Part 9

"What did the doctor say?" Rick queried in a soft voice, mindful of eavesdroppers. "Did you talk to them?"

"They don't know what to think," the man admitted. "At first they thought it a suicide attempt or internal bleeding, but they didn't find any wounds. They said you lost a lot of blood and was given a transfusion."

"How long have I been out?" Rick wondered aloud, moving as if to sit up.

"Two days," Mack answered. "They gave you something to sleep at Tom's request. He signed you in. He would've taken you to our personal facility but there was no time. Don't worry. I'll take care of the doctors. They won't be asking you anymore questions."

"Two days?" Rick groaned in exasperation. He tried to push himself up only to fall back again with a s.h.i.+ver. "We have to go. I can't stay here."

"What happened, Rick? Where's Jaden?" Mack's watched the man carefully, hating to see him in such a sorry state. Inside, his stomach knotted.

"She wasn't found?" Rick said sharply. His head began to clear. "He must have taken her. He said he was coming to take her." "Who said?" Mack asked, though he was scared he already knew.

"Some vampire," Rick mumbled. Mack lowered the railing on the bed as Rick tried to sit up. The sick man swung his legs over the edge. Grimacing at the annoying needle stuck in his arm, he pulled it out with a hard yank. "He was strong, Mack. Unlike any I've seen before."

Rick's arm trickled with blood. Mack handed him his handkerchief.

"I tried to fight him. I couldn't. His mind was like a black hole that sucks you in. I have never seen anything like this creature. I doubt a hundred men could've stopped him." Rick absently blotted his small wound. Silently, he added, let alone one lone woman.

"Tyr," Mack whispered.

"What is this Tyr?" Rick glanced up. "I heard Jaden mention it."

"It is the demon you fought and lived, son," Mack said with a pat to the man's shoulder. "You're very lucky. He is not known for his mercy."

"The devil," Rick muttered, shaking his head. "I should have listened to her. Jade tried to warn me. G.o.d help me, Mack, I drugged her like you ordered. She was planning on running away. I should have just let her go. Instead, I left her helpless at that monster's mercy."

"It's not your fault. None of us could've known what was coming." Mack stood, turning at the sound of an entering nurse. The woman pulled back the curtain.

"Mr. Fletcher?" The woman stopped cold, gasping in dismay to see her patient sitting up in bed, his discarded IV hanging to the floor. The light blue scrubs she wore shook and swished as she rushed forward. "You're not to be out of bed."

Rick grimaced, ignoring the woman. Looking pointedly at Mack, he said, "Get me discharged."

Mack nodded as he gathered his briefcase in hand. Throwing his jacket over his arm, he strode from the room.

The nurse placed her hands on her hips. Her wide brown eyes tried not to laugh as she kept her face dutiful. "You are not going anywhere for a couple days, Mr. Fletcher. The doctor will never allow it."

"Hum," Rick answered. He laid back at her insistence, feeling a little weak and not completely averse to the pampering. "My friend is very persuasive."

"So am I," she challenged. Rick smiled at her, his eyes roaming naturally over her small frame. She placed her hands on her hips.

c.o.c.king her head to the side, she asked coyly, "Finished?"

Rick chuckled to be caught staring like a fool. With a groan, he closed his eyes. "I need to get out of here. I've been in bed too long."

Island of Delos, Cyclades The carved stone chamber of the council was imbedded far beneath the surface of the small island, hidden away from human eyes and the ferocity of the Aegean sun. A large stone table, circular in shape with a large hollow center, graced the middle of the council hall. In the middle of the unbroken circle, in the hollow, the floor was sunken a few feet below the table's legs with a short pedestal in the direct center holding a lighted torch for illumination. It was not a place that immortals and mortals alike would be fond of finding themselves. Once someone entered the circle to be judged, it was rare that they were allowed back out alive.

High-backed chairs surround the table in eight spots, all but one occupied by leaders of the tribes. The Moroi chair stood empty.

It was well known and pitied that Vladamir, tribal leader of the Moroi, was in a sopor. He did not partake of human blood, only rested in his unnatural sleep. It was not known why the Moroi leader had chosen such a life only that it had been so for a long time. Another vampire of the same tribe, Jiri, ruled in his place. Jiri was a loyal tribesman, but not fully trusted by the other council leaders. They often omitted him, without his knowledge, from talks of old things.

Colorful mosaics decorated the walls depicting the bites of vampires, legendary and real. Around the doors, dark red draperies hung, framing the thick old wood. The round table dominated the rectangular room, its legs and edges hand carved with old designs. The floors were formed with gray marble slats, a black impression of the tribal symbols carved into the stone behind each of the eight chairs. In front of each chair was again imprinted the symbol of the tribe within the wood tabletop.

The firelight from the center torch cast its ghoulish contrast on the seven faces of the attending leaders. Every tribe originated from different regions across Europe and Asia, each leader officially in charge of their region of descent. Though, in the old days, before the time of an organized council, there had been more of them. Warring and petty jealousy had driven tribes to conquer tribes-- much like the human forces conquered other weaker nations. It had been a glorious time for the vampire--the bloodshed and anguish of the old days.

The remaining eight formed the council, each possessing their own unique abilities. They all excelled in certain powers, pa.s.sing on the strong force to their benighted children. But for all their differences, they were ultimately descendent from the same true bloodline.

Theophania of the Vrykolatios was keeper of the island and of all vampiric secrets. She lounged lazily in her high-backed chair, her legs and arms draped with the seductive allure of an ancient queen, her straight black hair flowing over her shoulders to her waist. She had a face that could lure men to their deaths, even without her vampiric powers. Often servants would crowd her, fanning her body with large palms. They would bring her mortals to eat upon like grapes. Theophania found herself above the hunt for food, not liking to waste the energy it took to capture her prey. Her place was acknowledged as the head of the circle though in truth it was the same. She lived an isolated existence, away from the influence of modern life, thriving on the old ways. Because of her isolation, she was respected and looked to preside over the gathering.

Her sister, Chara of the Vrykolakas tribe, was at her side. Both sisters were dark and beautiful, and although they were not twins, they could easily pa.s.s as such with little effort. Whereas Theophania dressed as an ancient, showing a large amount of her skin beneath her metal bodice, Chara was more contemporary in her tastes with a revealing dress of thin black and lips painted the color of blood. She'd often slick back her black hair, wearing large amounts of dark eye makeup. When she smiled, she exposed the tips of her fangs with the practiced ease of endless centuries.

Andrei of the Myertovjec was placed alongside Chara. His flirtatious eyes and l.u.s.t for living, though he was dead, made him a charming companion but highly unreliable. He, too, had dark hair and a face so beautiful women ached to look at him. The Myertovjec's appet.i.te for s.e.x was only to be outdone by their craving for drink. His kind often threw compulsive parties, feasting on whole families in a single night with the vigor of an all out orgy.

Ragnhild of the Drauger clan made his place at the left side of Theophania. He too had a taste for the old ways, missing the l.u.s.ty lifestyle of the old Norseman. His weathered voice boomed when he spoke like the dictating lord over his manor. Long braids bound through his blonde hair at his temples and he was the only vampire with a beard. How he managed to keep it was a mystery to even the council. And Ragnhild, in his vanity over the trim whiskers, was not telling his secret.

Ragnhild was seated next to Vishnu of the Rakshasa. Vishnu carried herself as the Indian princess she had been. The richness of her clothing wrapped around her slender body in silken grace. Her temper was short and her patience constantly tried, much like the G.o.d she had been named for. Her arms were adorned with bracelets. The long locks of her black hair parted in the middle to spill about her shoulders to frame her wide almond-shaped eyes. Her gaze sought those around her with a keen, dark gray beauty.

Amon, leader of the Impudula, carefully beheld all those around him. When he sat, he had a tendency to lean towards Vishnu.

They shared a common bond of blatant, unashamed self-indulgence. His black skin shone almost gold as he threw out the presence of a supreme being. It was only for the council that he left his homeland of Africa where he lived a quiet existence in a grand palace.

Pietro of the Llugut was the last of the seven. He had been chosen for the dark gift past the prime of his youth, which often gave his handsome features the appearance of knowledge and grace. His chair stood opposite Theophania, which was to his liking. He didn't care for the immortal woman and his feelings were well acknowledged and returned. Pietro was the last of his line and refused to make more of his kind. He sat brooding in his silence, ignoring all but the torch as it caught his attention. As the leaders talked amongst themselves, Pietro listened intently to all their words, his ears perking up beneath his dark veil of permanently graying hair. His fingers curled, settling beneath his flat nose.

Completing the circle, between Andrei and Pietro, was Jiri's appointed seat. It stayed empty.

"Ragnhild," Chara began. She looked at her sister, both of them exchanging secretive sulks. Ragnhild turned his Viking blue eyes to the women. Chara smiled a seductively sweet smile that made Andrei frown. "What have you heard from your knight?"

"He's in the New World," Ragnhild answered gruffly. The leaders' noses wrinkled in distaste. None of them found a liking for the Americas. It was too far to travel for too little reward. The Drauger's voice rose as he spoke, divulging his information for all to hear, "I have been sent doc.u.ments."

A stern quietness fell over the leaders as Ragnhild paused. He reached into his tunic s.h.i.+rt to pull out a tattered piece of paper from within.

"This is a doc.u.ment of Alan MacNaughton's," he continued. "It was taken off of one of his men. It's a work detail for one of his excursions."

Pietro's head snapped up to study the page. The word 'excursions' had been said with supreme disdain. All other eyes were turned the same way.

"Would MacNaughton be so foolish as to write down his deeds?" Chara questioned aloud. Pietro nodded in agreement.

"He is overbold," Amon said quietly. "He would dare much."

"Excursions," Vishnu said with disgust, her tone mimicking Ragnhild's. Amon glanced regally at her, sharing the sentiment but keeping quiet. Hissing between her teeth, she said, "I do not need to hear more. Order Tyr to kill him. Mortals are too tiresome."

"He's a hard man to get to," Ragnhild said, not liking the interruption.

"If your Tyr is not up to the challenge of a mere mortal, then I'll be happy to send s.h.i.+va. He will make MacNaughton suffer."

Vishnu smiled at the prospect.

"I didn't say he couldn't do it. He will kill the man soon enough. But right now he is carrying out his orders to discover what he can of the dhampir Jaden MacNaughton." Ragnhild's anger dissolved quickly at the look the sisters gave him. "It is too soon to act so impulsive. There is too much that needs to be learned first."

"And what of the rumors?" Pietro asked quietly.

All eyes turned to him in amazement. He hardly ever deemed to speak.

"What rumors?" Andrei asked, ready to steal some of Chara's attention back to himself. "That he has made the dhampir his indicium," Pietro replied quietly. "Mayhap he cannot be trusted."

"What are you implying--" Ragnhild began, rising to his feet in anger. He levitated over his chair. Blood swirled dangerously in his eyes, his fangs extending in caution, as his face contorted into a dark look of forewarning.

"Sh, Ragnhild," Theophania whispered. She waved her hand through the air. "No one is insulting the cleverness or strength of your tribe."

Ragnhild sat but directed a hard glare at Pietro. Pietro returned his look with one of his own before growing bored with the battle and turning away.

"Continue," Theophania instructed.

"I only wondered at the rumor," Pietro shrugged as if it were no big deal. The old Albanian again found renewed interest in the flames. He was done talking.

The attention on Pietro turned dismissive. Soon what he said was forgotten.

"The doc.u.ment," Ragnhild started anew, "describes that a woman is to be turned by an unnamed vampire working for MacNaughton. The new vampire is then taken, strapped down and left to the whims of MacNaughton's patron. Ultimately the vampire is done to death. From what Tyr has gathered it seems sometimes the vampires are raped by the patrons, or by his men in front of the patrons. They can be cut, tortured--whatever has been paid for."

The leaders' eyes became livid with volcanic rage. Ragnhild dropped the paper before him in the table. Standing, Theophania screeched, "Who dares defy our laws? Which vampire turns for such purposes? It matters not what has been done with a mortal woman. But once she is turned she is ours. I want the traitorous vampire brought here to face judgment."

"To help a blood being use our kind for sport!" Amon said in disgust.

"No one makes sport with our kind, but us," Vishnu added, with a stiff nod to Amon. None of them cared to mention that their kind had done worse to humans since the dawn of time. To them, it wasn't the same thing. Humans were beneath them--like cattle grazing in the field, waiting to be slaughtered.

"This," Ragnhild said with a glare at Vishnu, "is why I have not ordered Tyr to kill MacNaughton. I have ordered that he find out who is helping him. Then all parties will be brought here for us to feast upon. We will show these transgressors the true meaning of pain. Their last lesson on this earth with be--"

"--of anguish," Chara murmured, a sparkle in her deadly eyes. A slow breath slid from beneath her widely parted mouth. Slowly, her crimson lips curled into a smile. The remembrance of spilled blood entered l.u.s.tfully into her eyes.

Pietro snorted. The others ignored him, nodding their approval. When the murmuring died down, Pietro questioned, "And the dhampir?"

"Bring her too," Andrei said to Ragnhild. "Let us judge her for ourselves."

Ragnhild nodded and it was agreed. Suddenly, all eyes turned to a cobwebbed hole high in the ceiling. All talk of Tyr ceased.

Ragnhild pulled the paper from the table, slipping it back into his tunic.

"Jiri's report is of little importance," Vishnu murmured. "I don't care about a club of London young ones. Let them kill themselves."

A figure fell down from the ceiling, landing neatly on his feet. He folded his hands elegantly in front of him, standing tall as if the descent took no effort. His long, wavy brown hair landed gently on his shoulders. Smiling politely, he respectfully met the eyes of the others gathered, nodding his head to all around."Jiri of the Moroi," Ragnhild's weathered voice acknowledged. His old, blue eyes glowed slightly yellow from his handsome Nordic face. "Has Vladamir not risen from his rest to take his rightful place in the chair?"

"Nay, he has not. But his body is safe, buried deep," the new arrival allowed, as he had every meeting since his first.

When Jiri was seated at his chair, Theophania silently raised her delicate fingers. One of the four corner doors burst open revealing a line of eight beautiful, young women in white shrouds, each a human native of their respective vampire. The women walked dutifully to their designated master or mistress to stand by the sides of their chairs.

The leaders could smell the rare ethnic purity of the offering's blood as it flowed in their veins. Their eyes were clouded with a fine mist. Their bodies glowed with warm brilliance. Pulling up their sleeves, the women held an arm out for the vampires to drink.

And, as the leaders partook of their meals, all hid their thoughts, suspiciously wary of the motives of others.

Chapter Seven.

Jotunheimen Mountain Range, Norway

"I'm going to butcher him." Jaden's foot tapped in irritation. Her jaw tightened, worked and pulsated with all the pent up frustration four, long days could bring. Her eyes saw red. Her heart hammered the color until blood flooded her face, neck and body. Outrage poured out over her like a rockslide from the highest cliff on a mountain top. Only her rocks had nowhere to land, no ground to pummel and crack against with a satisfying burst of destruction. She was trapped with her anger, imprisoned with her outrage.

She remembered Rick drugging her sandwich and she remembered wanting to kill him for it as she collapsed on the floor.

However, when she awoke, ready to strike out though her mind was hazy, her fists met with air not flesh and her eyes met with the solemn color of a gray-green stone prison. From her estimation, it had been at least four days since she awoke in the dark tomb. But who could tell how long she slept before then? Her dreams had been long and endless, but were impossible to keep time by. They could've lasted a night or a month.

She knew who had her. Tyr. He spoke with her through the thick iron door, pus.h.i.+ng food beneath the little swing gate for her. As for the fare, it wasn't very inventive--cold meats and cheeses, bread and fruit. More humiliating than that was the linen covered chamber pot he allowed her for her more personal needs. Each night he came, he offered to let her out if she would be willing to 'behave'. She offered to smash his face into the back of his skull when he did. Needless to say, he left her alone with her anger-- and oh how her anger did seethe!

Jaden could feel him outside her door. It was the only diversion her mind was afforded, aside from staring mindlessly at the dancing flicker of a candle flame and plotting her revenge. She had smashed the first candle given her, only too late realizing her mistake. The darkness surrounded her like a crypt. A straw mat lay on the hard floor as a bed. The stone wall and ceiling were constructed so thick that Jaden realized the sound proof walls were more than likely underground, as they weren't bricked around, but hollowed out.

After careful examination, she discovered claw marks dug into the stone. No mortal could've made such a marking on the walls.

The prison was originally constructed to keep a more dangerous breed within. It was made to hold vampires. Jaden smiled, longing to lock Tyr within these silent walls. But if her fantasy was ever going to be close to becoming a reality, she would have to bide her time and she would have to let her anger go. He could smell it too easily on her.

Standing, she went over to the door, greeting the oblong shape of her shadow as it crept before her. Glancing at the food door, she grimaced. Already, she knew it couldn't be opened from the inside. She had bloodied her hands trying.

Turning her back to the iron door, Jaden kicked the metal in steady thumps with the back of her heel. She hated to admit that she was starting to waver. How men spent years in such isolated prisons, she had no idea. Four days and she was already loosing her mind. Her limbs longed to stretch out and her skin begged for the feel of the open night air.

Any truce she called would be temporary--as temporary as it took for her to walk out the door. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to discover what part of the states she was in. They couldn't have gotten too far out of New York.

"I'm going to kill him," she hissed under her breath, repeating the words like a mantra. As she felt him draw near, she stopped pounding.

"Argh," Tyr growled. A door slammed with a heavily m.u.f.fled thud. It sounded like a trunk or coffin lid. She couldn't be sure.

Without a window, it was hard to tell if it was night or day. "What is it woman? For the sake of Odin! Stop that blasted noise!"

"Good morning," she called with as much sugary sweetness as she could muster. She pasted a false smile on her face so that her words would sound properly concerned and contrite. "Did I wake you?"