Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

to enter our territory, trespassing near our women?”
    “There is little daring to it.” Only a madman would enter a shifters’ den? Lothaire was beset with boredom. How many packs had he faced and slaughtered? Incalculable. “I seek ash vines. Give them to me, and I’ll spare you all.”
    “Who the hell are you?” the alpha demanded.
    “I’m the Enemy of Old.”
    Alpha’s eyes went wide. “You killed my father and three older brothers.”
    Lothaire drawled, “ Never heard that before.” Apparently, he’d killed so many family members that he must have significantly affected the Lore’s population. Doing my part for the environment.
    A burly no-necked male said, “The leech targeted an alpha’s line? Now he’s going to die.”
    Broken record.
    “Let’s leave him be,” a more cowardly—or wise—shifter advised. Others murmured in agreement.
    “Are you all crazy?” Alpha glowered. “There’s thirty of us. One of him.”
    Out of the corner of his mouth, the coward insisted, “But . . . but it’s the Enemy of Old.” Then to Lothaire, he said, “We’re out of the vines, and our supplier won’t have them for weeks. I vow it to the Lore.”
    “Shut the fuck up!” Alpha ordered.
    No vines. Lothaire should trace away, not risking his bloodlust, ensuring he didn’t drink any of these animals in the heat of the fight—
    “Look at that,” No-neck said, “he’s going to trace away, run back to his
king. Oh, wait—your king got killed, just last spring. Assassinated in
his own castle.”
    The king Lothaire had served. The king he’d failed.
    The death I both mourned—and celebrated.
    A quiet rage simmered inside Lothaire. His mind grew tunnel-visioned. Everything around him slowed until even their racing heartbeats sounded ponderous, like clocks ticking in oil.
    The alpha will slash with the claws of his dominant left hand. I’ll slice off his armwith my right, use my left to sever his jugular. Coward will hesitantly attack from behind. A kick backward will connect with his chest and crush his rib cage. No-neck will snatch up a stone bench, swinging while I punch through his chest and remove his heart.
    The rest will react uncontrollably, shifting and attacking as a pack.
    “You’ve erred for ill.” Lothaire bared his fangs. “Now you all get to die.”

21
    S o what’s my reward for saving your fey ass?” Ellie asked when Hag returned to the kitchen.
    Shortly after Lothaire’s last suspicious pop-in, Hag had excused herself, saying she needed to check on something. Now that she’d returned, she stared at Ellie with a strange intensity.
    “Go to that bookshelf.” Hag pointed out a rickety set of shelves. “Look for a very old tome entitled The Living Book of Lore. It’s a self-updating encyclopedia of our world.”
    “Encyclopedia?” Score! Ellie found it, cracking open the musty pages. The words were handwritten in an old-style script, but legible.
    “If Lothaire returns and finds you with it, I’ll deny pointing it out to you.”
    “Ten-four.” Moments later, Ellie reclined with the book on a deck lounge chair under the nearly full moon.
    At once, she searched for a “goddess of blood” or “Saroya” or “soul reaper,” but came up empty. Discouraged, she turned to the Vampires entry. Now there was information for the taking! She began reading intently about the vampire factions.
    Lothaire had sneered to her, “I couldn’t expect you to understand the political machinations of vampires.”
    Therefore it was imperative for Ellie to understand them.
    The Forbearers were a relatively new army of turned humans led by a natural-born vampire named Kristoff the Gravewalker. They’d vowed not to drink blood straight from the flesh—to forbear. Their eyes were clear, their minds strong. Kristoff ruled them from his castle on Mt. Oblak.
    The Daci were supposedly another faction, thought to be the first vampires. They were rumored to exist in an underground kingdom—with a fabled black castle that no one in the Lore could find. Nor could any prove their existence.
    The Horde was the main vampire kingdom, populated mostly by the Fallen—red-eyed vampires like Lothaire who’d killed as they’d drunk their prey. They were led by Tymur the Allegiant, so called because he served whatever king sat upon the throne.
    Even if his previous master had been slain by his new one.
    Since King Demestriu’s death the year before, Tymur and other loyalist vampires had held