Chapter 2: No Other Choice

CHAPTER 2

 

The scream split the air, this time a cry of impending death. It seemed to freeze the putrid water flowing into the storm drains. The smell of fear only intensified the foul stench of the alley, and it was enough to make any human green with nausea. For a dhampir, the scent of decay would have been unbearable. But Kaileena pressed on through the darkness, the only sign that she acknowledged the roiling odour being only a slight twitch of her nostrils. Just then, her eyes took on a faint crimson spark. She had caught a scent that, in her mind, overwhelmed the reek.

 

The scent of freshly spilt blood.

 

Her sight adjusted to the sudden flood of illumination and beheld a scene fit to send even a seasoned homicide detective running for the hills. Blood glistened brightly, slowly spiling over the soot-blackened pavement in a congealing flood. It brought to mind those horrifying slasher films. Blood too bright, light too harsh in spite of the dim streetlamp glow. The trail of carnage was marked by indentations, the telltale flick favoured in Japanese calligraphy surmounting the Nike logo.

 

Sneaker treads. Trust one of their kind to follow the latest trends of the current century. Once, it had been the era of Opera stovepipe hats and corsets cinched tight enough to fracture ribs. Then it had progressed to the age of tattered denim, safety pin piercings and the ever growing Mohican tribe hairstyle. Now, in the new millennium, sport casual prep was now in vogue.

Kaileena had never cared much for the passing fads, preferring garments that were both form-fitting and functional. Though still young at heart, she was not adverse to the rare indulgence of shopping. Not for fashion, though she took great pride in her personalised wardrobe. But for things that would prove useful in her nocturnal hunts. When hunting the undead, you could never have too many weapons.

 

However, since it was only of their brood, tonight she was travelling light. Silver stakes a good foot long were strapped to her right thigh. Vials of holy water glowed with a divine light, having been blessed by an archangel hoping to buy his way back into God’s good graces. An anecdote that never failed to amuse her for the angel had once governed the realms of wealth and prosperity. A short dagger that gleamed with a mirror-like shine was nestled securely in its sheath, sitting above her right hip. An elegant long sword completed her arsenal, firmly secured to her back by three sturdy straps; one diagonally across her stomach while the other two crossed over her ample chest. She didn’t particularly favour the long tailored leather coats for battle wear, but they were good for limiting the number of prying eyes. Especially since most of the weapons she carried were decreed illegal by mortal government. Not that she considered the laws of men in her nightly work; there was only one law that applied here.

 

No more screams. The alley was silent, giving the impression she was roaming the catacombs beneath a mausoleum rather than a back-brothel alley in the middle of London. In her line of work, it was not a good idea to shell out funds for high-rise apartments or first-class hotel suites. It was that kind of unnecessary luxury that caused a dramatic decrease in the population of Vampire Hunters. And it was due to that fact that most became inactive. Permanently. She hadn’t liked the thought of renting a studio apartment above a popular brothel, but it allowed for discretion. It also provided a very fertile hunting ground. Contrary to belief, even vampires used hookers.

She turned the corner, hot on the trail of the vampire only to freeze in her own tracks. She’d given chase far too late.

 

Judging by the slight curves and the small, barely discernible swells at the chest, it was that of a young girl. Her head was turned away from view, the matted mass of copper hair soaking in a pool of her own blood. Bone gleamed dimly in the flickering streetlamp, just below the base of the skull. Her chest had been blown open, fragments of her ribs clinging to the exposed red slag that had once been muscle. It looked like a lion’s meal that had been subjected to a vast pile of party explosives. Chunks of meat splattered the brickwork, clinging to the corroded clay in patterns resembling that of wallpaper. The scent of blood, bile and s**t cloyed the air, making the dhampir nostalgic for the days where killing vampires didn’t need to be discreet.

And the author of this gruesome scene turned to leer at the woman, his fangs and his neon green ponytail clinging to his bloodied face.

 

Silence reigned, but not for long.

 

The vampire lunged at Kaileena, moving in a blur of speed that the human eye could never hope to follow. His acid-green eyes blazed with hunger for new prey, and he seemed to flit around the woman like a hummingbird. A streak of silver flashed and the creature’s eyes went wide before he did the unthinkable.

He twisted his torso a full three-sixty degrees, still rushing towards her!

 

“What the-?’

Kaileena had finally broken the silence, but not before the vampire barrelled into her. She held the thing back at arm’s length, her limb shaking slightly. This was no new-born. With a burst of strength, she thrust the vampire off of her, hurling him into a pile of water canisters. They burst on impact, the pure clean water washing away the blood. She secretly thanked herself for that bit of luck; bloody crime scenes seemed to draw unwanted attention.

He raised his head, his face now clearly visible. A square-jawed, high-cheek boned individual bearing a tattoo imprinted on his forehead. It resembled a large pentacle with runes inscribed between the points.

 

‘So there you are,’ she murmured. Her voice was low and soft, flecked with tones of iron and ice. It was slightly rusted, a faint rasp edging it as though it was rarely used. ‘Constantine Biblos, I presume?’

 

The name seemed to strip the madness of the Thirst, for the lurid acid hue of his eyes faded, revealing a deep olive. Contrary to the belief that all vampires possessed the blood-light, only the pure-bred and the older ones possessed that trait. New-borns and vampire servants, and even some dhampirs, were only known possess what was referred to as the ‘Predator’s Lure.’ It was a bioluminescence that was several shades lighter than the vampire’s natural eye colour. The only case of a vampire or half-breed would possess the true blood light would be if more than thirty percent of the parent gene was present. In Kaileena’s case, which was so rare that vampire physiology experts had it stricken from public records, it was a different story. Being a dhampir, it was nearly impossible for it to occur, given the human genes were larger in quantity. Even though her mother was vampire, she’d only been turned a year prior to Kaileena’s conception. So how could her dominant vampire genes be more than fifty percent? It was a mystery left unsolved. Another of many that she had filed away carefully in her memory.

 

The vampire smirked as he regarded the woman. The same distaste for her kind raced through his pupils; a hatred for the abominable mingling of human and vampire blood.

‘So, the rumours are true,’ he sneered. ‘The rogue dhampir lives. How does it feel to kill your own ancestors, traitor?’

‘How does it feel to slaughter innocent children?’ The scathing inquiry was parried, her stern tone shaded with frost. ‘You’re supposed to be apart of Athens’s largest cocaine smuggling ring. It seems you’ve upgraded from drugs to murder in quite a short period of time.’

Constantine laughed derisively, turning the nearly dismembered corpse so the head lolled to the other side. Lily-green eyes wide with terror bore into Kaileena, her small mouth frozen open in a silent scream. Kaileena felt a stab in her heart as she recognised the sweet face.

 

Samantha Crowley, thirteen years old. She’d been able to get her grades up to be accepted into Cambridge early in life. Thanks to the dhampir’s offer to use her library as a study area after school. Her parents had been heavy drinkers, always throwing mixers and ignoring their only child. Little Samantha, or more affectionately known as Sama, had a bright future ahead of her.

 

A tragedy for it to end during her pre-dawn walk to the after-hours bookstore.

 

The book she’d bought was now so drenched in her blood that it reeked of copper and salt, but the title was still discernible. Another stab of pain in Kaileena’s heart. It was a copy of Black Butler, a manga series the dhampir had taken a firm interest in. She never really cared for the obscure world known as manga, preferring written text, and the doujinshi most commonly published were enough to make even a matured woman like her flush crimson. But Sama had converted her and most likely had seen how avidly the Hunter read the series. She must have decided to surprise her with the latest volume. A sweet gesture, but it had cost the shy youth her life.

‘This moppet was just going to be amusement,’ said Constantine, shaking the corpse roughly. The head was dangerously close to snapping off altogether, held in place only by a slim band of veins and sinew. ‘But it would seem they love fighting back in this era. What happened to the damsel who would run from us? Pleading futilely before resigning to their fate at the mercy of our fangs?’ He sneered in disgust. ‘It’s today’s women that make me sick. You are only good for three things: breeding, cooking and pleasing men.’ His lips curled back in a distasteful snarl. ‘Especially you, you half-breed b***h. How dare you sell your soul to humans, freely killing our kind? The one other thing that sickens me further is that you’re not only a Vampire Hunter, but a female dhampir as well. You’re supposed to be our w****s, not our slayers!’

 

A beautiful sound drifted through the air as her blade sang out. It gleamed with a brilliance rivalling the purest silver, except the blade was black as pitch. The edge was eternally dyed crimson with the blood of the damned. It seemed to drink the light in the alley, leaving only a faint glow behind. A deep purple aura surrounded the blade itself, as though it hungered for more heathen blood. When Constantine beheld it and took in the design of the hilt- a raven winged skeleton- he became the colour of a drowned corpse.

‘That sword...no, it can’t be!’ His voice trembled pitifully. ‘Angelus Mortis! But how…?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Kaileena said softly. She raised the blade so it was level with her eyes, the tip angled skyward. ‘She will deliver you to Hell.’

‘W-wait! Please!’ The vampire was now a mewling mass of cowardice. He clasped his hands in front of him, raising them to the woman before his prostrate form. He was only beginning to understand the power behind that blade. ‘Don’t kill me!’

His pleading turned into a scream of agony as a silver flash severed his hand from his wrist. He crumpled over the gushing wound, his blood mingling with that of the dead girl’s. Kaileena loomed over the whimpering creature, her blade angled towards his throat.

‘You deserve worse,’ snarled the woman, her eyes flashing crimson. ‘I’ll cut you a deal. If the information you give is of any value, I’ll let you go. Disappoint me and I shall prolong your suffering. One. Finger. At. A. Time.

Constantine trembled, but this time his fear was mingling with lust as he studied her. Short wild raven hair. Cold eyes that were a perfect mix of silver, green and blue gleamed with a brilliant and dangerous fire. Long legs, toned arms, taut stomach and streamlined curves…All accentuated by an angelic face and sensual full lips. She would have been thought of as just cute were she just a geeky bookworm. But combined with that exquisite physique and dark allure that could rightly be called sinful, she was truly beautiful. Kaileena’s eyes narrowed and, with a flick of her wrist, his other hand went flying. He shrieked in pain, rolling to the side on the bloody ground. He raised his head to meet the dhampir’s eyes with a watery gaze.

 

‘Talk,’ she said curtly.

‘What do y-you want to know?’ the vampire stammered.

‘The location of Countess Elizabeth Bathory.’

      Constantine stared at her, completely forgetting his agony.

     ‘What makes you think I know that?’ he cried.

     ‘That tattoo on your forehead is the mark of the Dracului. Is there someone in that circle that you serve?’ Her eyes narrowed to green slits. ‘Speak or your journey to Hell will be an early one.’

‘Ok, Ok! I’ll talk!’ yelped Constantine. ‘The Dracului are the c**k of the walk in these parts. They’re the Vampire High Council, the governing body that keeps the masses in check. Without them, our world would be thrown in to chaos.’

‘Is Elizabeth part of the council?’

‘No, she was stripped of her title and abandoned by the council when they heard of the murders of those women.’

 

‘I didn’t think vampires took such interest in human affairs.’ Her tone was dry and sardonic. She already knew what the vampire was going to say in his defence. And he did not disappoint.

 

‘She was flaunting her kills too openly,’ snapped Constantine before cowering as the blade twitched. ‘She didn’t care for personal security. She was too vain and too obsessed with her bloodlust. If they’d discovered what the Countess was, it would have meant exposure of our world. It could have destroyed us all!’

Kaileena bit her lips to keep her thoughts on vampire genocide quiet. As much as she thought vampires were a plague that had to be wiped out, even she had to admit the cons that could emerge from such extermination. She’d seen minor massacres in the past where villages had turned against anything vaguely vampiric. She still bore the scars from those crusades. However, scars fade, memories do not. And they would haunt her for the rest of her unnatural life.

 ‘Where is Elizabeth now?’

Constantine blinked, his expression blank.

‘You do not even have the slightest clue as to her current location?’ She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but it was a losing battle.

‘If I knew, I would say. But I don’t.’ His eyes widened as she raised the sword a notch. ‘But I know someone who might! He works on the council in the containment sector.’

‘Containment?’

‘You kill vampires to annihilate threats to humans. We kill them to eliminate possible moles and rogues.’

‘You would kill your own kind to ensure your survival?’ She couldn’t help but smirk at the irony. Constantine naturally took it the wrong way.

‘At least I do not kill to satisfy my own bloodlust,’ he snapped. ‘But I suppose that’s to be expected of dhampirs. You’re as much the same as Elizabeth.’

 

A blur of darkness and Constantine was slammed against the wall, staring into twin points of crimson light.

Kaileena’s eyes were ablaze with rage.

‘Don’t you EVER throw me into the same lot as that f*****g b***h,’ she said, her voice low and so calm it sent chills down his spine. ‘You have five seconds to tell me the name of the head of containment or you are being sent to Hell in pieces.’

The vampire swallowed. God, was she pissed.

‘Five..’

‘Please, don’t make me tell you.’

‘Four..’

‘He’ll kill me for exposing the council!’

‘Three..’

‘You don’t understand! He’ll kill me if he finds out!’

‘Two…’ The blade was being raised and her hand seemed to glow with vivid flames.

‘WAIT! I-I’ll take you! I’ll take you to him! Just please don’t kill me!’

 

Kaileena regarded him for a second before the scent of urine hit her nostrils. She crinkled her nose in disgust and released the soiled vampire, letting him crash to the ground.

‘Well?’

‘I’ll call him to arrange a meeting,’ said Constantine. ‘But could we get inside first?’

Kaileena glared at him before turning her gaze to the horizon. The night was fading and the sky was enamelled with a pale blue, gold edging the London skyline. First light would be upon them soon.

‘Fine. But the moment we get in, you are calling your superior. Understood?’

‘Of course,’ nodded the vampire. ‘But I got to warn you. The Dracului hate dhampirs. They’ll kill me for even letting you know where they are.’

‘It’s not them you have to worry about.’ She smirked, her eyes glinting red as her fine white fangs flashed, causing him to recoil in fear and revulsion. ‘It’s me.’