Blood, Lust and War

Blood, Lust and War

by John Savage

Published by Running Wolf Books

Copyright 2011 John Savage

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means except by prior and express permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used as an element of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Chapter I: The Hunter and the Hunted

Chapter II: Hunter and Prey

Chapter III: Patterns

Chapter IV: A Little Show and Tell

Chapter V: A Decision

Chapter VI: N.H.T.F.

Chapter VII: The Hunt

Chapter VIII: The Pickup

Chapter IX: Recruit

Chapter X: Developments

Chapter XI: The Third Player

Chapter XII: Doubts

Chapter XIII: A Joining

Chapter XIV: The Third Party

Chapter XV: A Disbelieving Vampire

Chapter XVI: Developments

Chapter XVII: The Big One

Chapter XVIII: The Doomsday Virus

Chapter XIX: Calling on the Police

Chapter XX: A Slight Confrontation

Chapter XXI: Aftermath

Chapter XXII: Aftermath II

About John Savage

You want true evil? Look to the Vampires. They are creatures of the night, sliding through the shadows, seeking the unsuspecting and innocent with the intent of draining their life force, of stealing their very souls. Those are the evil ones: Dracula’s children, the Damned.

Albrecht von Kystra, Werewolf 1733

All werewolves are liars. Are they not the Hell Hounds of the Dark Lord? Vicious creatures that run with the wind and howl at the moon! With fang and claw they rip and tear and gorge themselves upon the bodies of men and women, and yes, even children. They are the ones you should fear.

Wolfgang Mayr Kreusser, Vampire 1855

You can’t trust werewolves or vampires. They ain’t our kind, son.

George Jessie Foreman, Human 1995

I wonder who’s been killing all those vampires and werewolves?

Lt. Lloyd Martin, 2026

Chapter I

The Hunter and the Hunted

It was that time of day when the world pauses at the dividing line between day and night, that quiet time when light fades and stars dare to appear. The rush of the day creatures becomes hushed, while the night creatures have not yet claimed the world as theirs. But not all. One night creature dares to venture forth in fading heat of summer twilight.

She is tall, slender and moves with an animal grace as she prowls the empty street. A distant hum comes from the freeway, still overloaded with people rushing to their homes. The concrete highways of Los Angeles are never empty. The hum varies but is a constant backdrop to the crowded land perched by the Pacific. This predator’s animal instincts ignore those noises not necessary to the hunt. She knows that these streets are not as empty as they seem. Life hides behind the brick walls and concrete barriers. She can almost hear the blood rushing through the veins of her prey and licks her lips.

The soft click-clack of high-heeled boots rushes ahead of her down the street to announce her coming. Long tresses as dark as the blackest midnight hang down almost to her waist, matched by the black leather of the tight pants she wears. A silky blouse of ebony helps this creature of the night blend into the lengthening shadows. Hunger has driven her out into the open, a hunger deep within her blood, a hunger that no mere food can satisfy.

She knows it would have been better to wait until darkness has totally claimed the world, but it has been too many days since she feasted last, and hunger overcomes caution.

Suddenly she freezes. There is life near; she can sense it. But there is something else, something uncertain. Her dark eyes scan the shadows. There – beyond that wall she can almost smell the overpowering scent of blood. Still there is something else. A presence? An animal? It is almost the same feeling she has felt when a pack of wild dogs was near. Yet not the same.

But there is no mistaking the scent of blood. It calls to her, an ancient call her race cannot ignore. She begins moving again, slowly, cautiously but ever nearer to that hot scent. A rusted gate hangs askew in a driveway, and just beyond lies what her body craves. Moving silently now, she enters the area beyond. A part of her instinct tells her something is wrong but she pushes it down. What has she to fear? She is a powerful creature of the night, a predator, not prey. She fears nothing.

There is a man there. A bum, perhaps a wino, an derelict cast aside by society, living only for the next bottle of cheap wine that will help him forget. She approaches. He is lying by a brick wall, huddled in ragged, foul clothing. He sleeps the sleep of the one addicted to alcohol, she can sense. Easy prey. Not that it will be much of a fight if he were aware of the death coming for him. A vigorous, healthy man cannot resist her. There will be no contest here, but there will be the draining of his lifeblood to satisfy her hunger…

* * * * *

Perhaps the hunger blinded her normal caution. All she could feel was that pulsing crimson fluid. Her lips parted to reveal two fangs. Not huge fangs, but sharp and just as deadly as those of the biggest hunting cat.

The attack came as a surprise to her. Suddenly there was a noise, and then something descended over her. Instinct drove away the hunger but it was too late to fight or flee. The net covered her, forcing her to the concrete. Strong hands pulled the rope-work and she felt herself being dragged away from her intended prey. Then those hands held her down as two male bodies pressed against her.

She turned her head to attack with a hypnotic force no man could resist. She would soon have these stupid men cringing with fear as she forced her will into their minds. Then she would feast!

But it was all wrong. A foul-smelling cloth was pressed against her face through the net. Surprise registered in her mind as her thoughts began to become unfocused. These were not men! As vision and consciousness faded, she knew why she had not detected her attackers. And why her mind could not overpower puny human minds.

Her last thought was the realization that these were the ancient enemies: werewolves!

* * * * *

Awakening came slowly. For a long time it was only the feeling of hunger. That she must feed was the only thought her mind could form. Then she slowly remembered. The twilight, the helpless wino and then the net thrown over her.

The werewolves!

There is very little in the world that a vampire fears. Certainly not the stupid, puny humans. Maybe a few wild animals, for a bear or tiger could rip apart a vampire as easily as it could a human. Yet, a strong vampire could sometimes face down a wild animal. But there was one other creature that would not bend to the vampire willpower. Another creature of the night: the werewolf.

She opened her eyes. It was dark. But she could sense that she was inside a room, not outdoors still. There was no net over her, only something soft beneath her body. Slowly her hand came up to her head. There was a sickening headache and a sour taste in her mouth, but her thoughts were focusing as her mind cleared of the chemicals. Her head turned slowly. Only the tiniest hint of light filled the room, not enough for a human to see a thing, but more than enough for a vampire. She was on a bed. To her right was a wall. There seemed to be a fireplace in it but with no flame. Beyond the end of her bed she could make out vertical lines. For a few seconds she was puzzled by them. Then the realization came. There were bars! Steel bars. She was in a cage, a prison cell!

Anger flooded over her. How dare they! Blood would flow over this mistreatment! A hiss escaped her lips, a vampire equivalent to a snarl. She lifted herself suddenly but almost fell back from the dizziness. When it passed, she repeated the move slowly. When she swung her feet over the edge of the bed, she discovered another surprise.

There was a tinkling sound and she looked down to find her right ankle encircled by a metal band. Attached to that band was a chain. Her eyes followed the chain a few feet to a ring set in the floor. There was a padlock securing the chain to the ring.

The hiss was louder as she dug her sharp nails into the bedding. She would have lashed out in anger but there was no one in the cell to lash at.

Anger dominated her thoughts. Sometime very soon, she promised herself, she was going to rip out the throat of a werewolf and watch his blood and life spurt out of his body. And she would enjoy it. That promise did not help appease the hunger and blood lust still gnawing at her insides, but it nevertheless made her feel a little better.

There was the noise of a door opening slowly. Even before the man entered the room, she could sense his presence. It was unmistakably a werewolf. And not just any werewolf; the essence was strong, an Alpha male! She hissed again.

He entered the room. For a few moments he just stood there, looking in her direction. She had no doubt that even with the dim light he could see her, just as she could see him. Were they not both creatures of the night?

Without a word, he crossed the few steps to the bars that made up her cage. A section was hinged and when he unlocked the padlock, swung open. She measured the distance carefully and would have lunged for his throat had he been but a foot closer. He went to the fireplace. On the mantle there were two candles. He lit both, casting a faint but warm golden glow over the room. The flickering candlelight also made a pattern of dark lines on the far wall where the shadows of the bars danced.

In the light, she could see him better. He was tall. His broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist. He wore only a pair of slacks and a polo shirt that left his arms bare. She could see how well muscled they were. But what held her attention was his eyes. In the candlelight they held the faintest red glow, characteristic of werewolves. They also held power: sheer, undeniable, animal power.

Let me go, she said when he did not seem inclined to begin the conversation.

No, was his simple reply.

Do you know who I am?

You are Ardella, sister of Marcus, Lord of the Vampires. At least, those in this part of the country.

Then you know what a big mistake you have made. My brother will not take kindly to your kidnapping me. Nor will others of my kind.

They do not know where you are. Nor will they. This place is well hidden.

His voice was deep and resonant. He spoke with calm assuredness, projecting the feeling that he did not fear this princess of vampires. Or any vampire, for that matter.

The truce between vampires and werewolves has always been shaky, she told him. This will shatter that truce. It will be war again between our two races.

I think not.

Are you a fool as well as a kidnapper? How can you say that?

Your brother will not know that it was us who took you until we are ready for him to know. You are a pawn in a struggle that goes back thousands of years. He paused. Surely you know that changes are coming.

She did not reply. The inner hunger was distracting. She could feel the blood pumping through his veins, and it called to her. She would happily sink her fangs into his neck and drink deeply. But he was a werewolf and, as such, immune to her hypnotic powers. And his wolf strength was