Pounding hoofbeats caught his attention. He watched with interest as a lone rider came galloping out of the forest to the north. Marcus recognized the rider as yet another Death Dealer engaged in the hunt. The vampire rode into the village and alongside Viktor. Marcus strained his ears to hear what the man had to report.

"We found him!" the Death Dealer exclaimed.

Viktor instantly gave the rider his full attention. "And?"

"We need more men."

That was all Viktor needed to hear."Find Amelia!"

Marcus looked on in secret as the female Elder withdrew a wet blade from her latest kill. Responding to Viktor's summons, she hurried to confer with the other Elder. They spoke in hushed tones too low for Marcus to make out, but within seconds a decision appeared to have been reached. Rounding up a half dozen Death Dealers to accompany her, Amelia galloped off into the very woods from which the rider had emerged, leaving Viktor and the remainder of their forces behind to contend with the transformed villagers. Marcus watched as Amelia and her men disappeared into the forest.

He had no doubt as to whom she sought, or why such reinforcements were required.

They have found William...at last.

He knew also where he needed to be. Shooting a glance at Viktor, he saw that the undead warlord was fully engaged in the ongoing battle against the newborn werewolves. Astride his armored destrier, Viktor hacked away at his foes with his broadsword, while simultaneously shouting out commands to his beleaguered troops. "Show no mercy!" he cried out imperiously. "Let not a single mongrel escape!"

He's far too busy to look this way, Marcus realized.

Confident that Viktor was preoccupied with other matters, Marcus took off after Amelia and the others. He rode briskly through the nocturnal forest, ducking the branches that threatened to unhorse him. Small animals scurried away as the charger's hooves pounded through the underbrush after the earlier riders. An owl hooted shrilly overhead.

Broken branches and trampled brush testified to the Death Dealers' pa.s.sage. The trail would have been ridiculously easy to follow even if the fallen snow had not preserved the overlapping hoofprints of numerous riders. Marcus knew he was heading in the right direction.

He only prayed that he could catch up with Amelia and the others before events pa.s.sed beyond his control. Much was at stake, not the least of which was his brother's ultimate fate.

I'm coming, William, he promised silently. I'm coming!

As if in response to his fevered thoughts, a deafening roar shook the forest. The roar bore some kins.h.i.+p to the growls of the werewolves back in the village, but was deeper in timbre and far louder. Compared to this thundering roar, those earlier growls were like the yelps of newborn puppies.

The colossal roar brought Marcus to a momentary halt. Even though he knew full well who-and what-had produced the roar, the blood-chilling sound was enough to daunt even the most determined spirit. He paused to steady his nerves, only to feel the ground tremble beneath his horse's hooves. The tremor shook acc.u.mulations of snow from the treetops, causing avalanches of white powder to rain down upon the floor of the forest. He brushed the icy flakes away from his face.

What the devil?

The source of the tremor was revealed as a knot of riderless horses exploded from the brush. They stampeded past Marcus, their eyes wide with panic. He held firmly on to the reins of his own steed, struggling to keep the anxious horse under control, while the other chargers fled for their lives. The saddles upon the horses' backs were ominously empty. Claw marks scarred the thick metal plates protecting the destriers' heads, necks, and chests. Steam jetted from their nostrils. Foam flecked their lips.

Marcus could not help wondering what had become of the horses' riders.

Another fearsome growl echoed through the night, followed by agitated screams and shouts. Heavy chains clattered in the distance.

It was all too much for Marcus's frightened steed. He dug his spurs into the horse's flanks, but the terrified destrier would go no farther. Marcus could hardly blame the animal, knowing what lay ahead.

Very well, he resolved. Dismounting, he tied the horse's reins to a nearby tree trunk, then set off on foot through the wintry woods. His boots sank deep into the fallen snow.

He did not have far to go. Within minutes, he emerged from the brush and bracken into a forest clearing deeply buried in snow. He froze in his tracks, taken aback by the nightmarish spectacle before him.

Under Amelia's command, a complement of Death Dealers vied against a huge albino werewolf, larger and more formidable than any of the misbegotten beasts back at the village. His thick, matted pelt was the color of the pristine snow. Rheumy pink eyes glared out from the creature's wolfen face. Herculean muscles bulged beneath his milky fur. His hot breath steamed the air.

William. Marcus gasped in recognition. My brother.

If the werewolf noted his sibling's arrival, he gave no evidence of it. Instead the t.i.tanic beast roared defiantly at the Death Dealers seeking to bring him down. The undead soldiers were spread out in a circle around their formidable quarry, blocking his escape in every direction. Taking care to stay out of reach of William's claws, they fired upon the werewolf with iron spears attached to links of heavy chain.

Crossbows, specially crafted for this purpose, launched the spears at William with tremendous force. The silver tips of the spears lodged deep within his flesh. He flailed about wildly as the chains snapped taut against steel spikes anch.o.r.ed to the ground and surrounding tree trunks. William howled in pain and fury.

Another archer took aim at the thras.h.i.+ng werewolf. A vicious-looking spear sprang from a crossbow, striking William just below his ribs. Dark blood stained the werewolf's pure white fur.

That the Death Dealers seemed intent on capturing William, not slaying him, provided Marcus with scant comfort. The sight of his ill-starred brother being tormented by the soldiers' lances was more than he could bear.

"No!" he cried out. "Leave him be!"

Distracted by the Elder's cry, the archer failed to unhook the chain from his crossbow quickly enough. William grabbed hold of the links and jerked them violently, flinging the hapless Death Dealer into the air. The soldier's body slammed against a ma.s.sive tree trunk with bone-crus.h.i.+ng force. He slid down onto the ground beneath the tree and did not rise up again. Marcus feared that the vampire's neck had been shattered beyond repair.

One more life lost to the madness that had consumed his brother.

William roared in triumph, but his victory was short-lived. Marcus heard the tw.a.n.g of a crossbow being fired and watched in horror as a well-aimed spear pierced William's shoulder, pa.s.sing all the way through the bleeding meat and gristle. Vicious silver hooks sprang to life at the exposed tip of the spear. The second archer yanked back on the chain and the cruel barbs sank into William's leathery hide. The werewolf could not tug the spear free without tearing his flesh to ribbons.

The crossbow's chain feeder spun rapidly as William reared back on his hind legs and let loose an anguished roar. The second archer hit a switch on his crossbow and the chain came free. Another Death Dealer grabbed hold of the links and hastily secured them to the frozen earth. The chain snapped taut as William tried in vain to tug it loose.

"Stop this!" Marcus shouted. He felt his brother's wounds as though they were his own. "You're killing him!"

Standing apart from the battle, Amelia looked at her fellow Elder. She had removed her helmet, which rested on the snow beside her feet. Her elegant face held a cold, inscrutable expression. Snowflakes glistened in her l.u.s.trous black hair. Her eyes locked briefly with Marcus's before she turned back toward her troops.

"More!" she commanded.

Ignoring Marcus, the Death Dealers fired spear after spear at their outnumbered prey. More chains were anch.o.r.ed to the ground, trapping the werewolf within the clearing. His brawny shoulders drooped beneath the weight of abundant chains, which hung tangled about him like a spider's web. His breaths grew ragged. He whimpered in pain and exhaustion.

Marcus could stand it no more. Furious, he grabbed one of the archers and hurled him aside with an Elder's strength. The armored soldier landed in a snowdrift over a dozen yards away. Fearful eyes peered from behind the Death Dealer's black helmet as he scrambled toward Amelia, seeking the other Elder's protection. His petrified expression betrayed his terror at being caught between two clas.h.i.+ng Elders.

"Enough, Marcus," Amelia said.

Turning his gaze back toward his persecuted brother, Marcus saw that the deed was done. The spears and chains had done their work, overcoming even William's preternatural strength and endurance. Enmeshed in his chains, the werewolf collapsed onto the snow, beaten and bleeding. His chest rose and fell beneath his heavy bonds. Only this labored breathing a.s.sured Marcus that his unfortunate brother still lived.

"William," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

Mixed emotions warred within his chest. It could not be denied that his brother had posed a dire threat to them all. His depredations had ravaged the countryside for years now, costing the lives of countless innocent vampires and mortals. Worse yet, his h.e.l.lish curse had proven d.a.m.nably contagious, creating an entire breed of subhuman monsters like himself. Before William had succ.u.mbed to the primeval infection in his blood, the world had never heard of werewolves. He had become the progenitor of a loathsome new species.

And yet, William could not be blamed for what he had become. Marcus stared in sorrow at his vanquished brother. If not for a capricious twist of fate, their destinies might have been reversed. He might have been born a vampire, Marcus thought, and I...an animal. He alone understood how hard his brother had fought against the curse.

But what would become of William now?

"Marcus!"

He turned to see Viktor stalking out of the forest, flanked by a complement of additional Death Dealers. The warlord's armor and sword were smeared with lycan blood. His helmet had gone astray somewhere, exposing a craggy, weathered face. Although immortal, Viktor resembled a man in his early fifties-the very age at which he had become a vampire. Pale brown hair, streaked with gray, hung past his shoulders. He appeared enraged to find Marcus present, in defiance of his instructions.

To h.e.l.l with him! Marcus thought furiously. The red-haired Elder drew his sword from its scabbard. He had his own grounds for anger. His voice rang with betrayal: "He was not to be harmed! Place him in my charge as we agreed, or you will pay for your deceit!"

A chorus of metallic threats greeted his threat. Looking around, Marcus was surprised to find himself targeted by dozens of loaded crossbows. His jaw dropped as he realized belatedly that the Death Dealers took their orders from one Elder and one Elder alone.

Viktor.

"And you will learn your place," Viktor said sternly. His voice softened as he strove to reason with the other Elder. "Your sympathy for this beast is foolish." He gestured at the captured werewolf. "Your brother is entirely beyond your control." Viktor shook his head. "It will be done my way."

Marcus swept his gaze over the weapons arrayed against him. His face held not a hint of fear. "You know well the consequences if you murder me...or William."

"If you so much as speak his name again," Viktor warned, "you will have chosen that future for him yourself."

Was he bluffing? Surely he wouldn't dare...? Marcus's blue eyes were ablaze with fury. He scanned the implacable faces of the Death Dealers, but found no sympathy for his brother's plight, nor any trace of the loyalty to which he, Marcus Corvinus, was ent.i.tled. He had no doubt that the warriors would open fire on him if Viktor commanded it. Turncoats! he thought venomously. He clenched his fists at his side. Traitors!

He looked to Amelia for support, but found none to be had. Her beautiful face could have been made of porcelain for all the emotion it displayed. "There is nothing else to be done, Marcus. In time, you will understand this."

Never! he thought. Not in a thousand years! For a moment, he contemplated taking arms against the lot of them, Viktor and Amelia included. After all, he was older and stronger than them both. If he could just manage to liberate William from his bonds, the two of them might stand a chance of escaping Viktor and his treacherous jackals. They could escape into the sheltering wilderness and therein plot their revenge. I still have my own loyal va.s.sals back at the castle, he reminded himself. They will not stand by while I am treated thus. William and I can still reign over the coven as we were always meant to.

But, no...this was only a hopeless fancy. The odds against them were too great. It was two Elders against one, with over a dozen Death Dealers allied with Viktor as well. And, after his ordeal, William lacked the strength to retreat, let alone engage in combat against superior numbers. Although it galled his very soul to admit it, Marcus realized that this was a fight he could not win. At least not tonight.

Scowling, he lowered his sword.

"What is thy will, milord?" he asked, his voice fairly dripping with sarcasm.

Viktor chose to ignore the other Elder's impudent tone. "Imprisonment for all time," he decreed. "Far from you."

He turned and strode away, confident enough in his guards to turn his back to Marcus. He gathered his lieutenants to him and began to make the arrangements for the disposition of the prisoner.

Hatred smoldered in Marcus's eyes. Tearing his irate gaze away from Viktor, he took one last look at his condemned brother. The vanquished werewolf sprawled upon the snow-covered ground, his mighty limbs rendered impotent by the chains wrapped around his furry body. The Fates alone knew when and if Marcus would ever lay eyes on William again.

I shall not forget you, my brother, the Elder vowed. He wiped a bloodred tear from the corner of his eye. I will bide my time until our moment comes round again. No matter how long we must wait, someday you shall be free once more.

And the world will tremble before us.

Chapter Four.

Present day The abandoned mine was located in the rocky hills northeast of Budapest. A corrugated-steel door barred the entrance to the mine, which was built into the side of a hill. Rusty metal tracks led up to the sealed doorway. Security cameras monitored the approach to the mine. DANGER! NO TRESPa.s.sING! a sign read in Hungarian. Selene ignored the warning, tramping through the snow up to the locked entrance. A full moon provided the only illumination, but Michael found that he could easily see through the dark.

Another side effect of his new condition?

The young American was still trying to process all the life-altering changes that had been thrown at him over the last few nights. Barely seventy-two hours ago, he hadn't even believed in vampires or werewolves. Now he was some sort of a vampire/werewolf hybrid and caught in the middle of a life-and-death struggle he was only just beginning to comprehend, in the company of a lethal woman he barely knew. He had been shot, bitten, abducted, drugged, and nearly devoured since stumbling into that firefight in the subway station three nights ago.

How did this happen to me? he wondered. I just want to be a doctor, that's all.

A pang struck him as he thought longingly of his d.i.n.ky apartment in the city, and of his residency back at the hospital. Both were less than an hour away by car, but they might as well have been on another planet. His old life was over now. There was no turning back.

It's just me and Selene now.

A high-tech lock protected the mine from intruders. Selene entered the key code, then pressed her thumb against a biometric sensor. The rusty metal door squealed loudly as she threw it open, exposing the interior of the mine. It was pitch-black inside, obscuring Michael's view of what lay beyond. It had been Selene's idea to seek out this so-called safe house, after they'd fled the lycans' underground lair beneath the city. He a.s.sumed she knew what she was doing.

I have to trust her, he thought. She's all I have left in the world.

A power box was mounted on the wall just inside the mountain. Selene flipped the switch, but nothing happened. The safe house remained as dark as before. She scowled in annoyance.

Power must be out, Michael guessed. He wondered when was the last time anyone had visited this location. From outside, the mine looked as if it had been deserted for years. Appearances can be deceiving, he reminded himself, as I'm starting to learn all too well.

Take, for instance, the leather-clad woman standing by the power box. Michael recalled the first time he had laid eyes on her, at that subway station downtown. He had been attracted to her immediately, but had thought that she was just another hot-looking European chick. How was he to know that she was really a kick-a.s.s vampire a.s.sa.s.sin?

I didn't have a clue, he thought.

She drew an automatic pistol from beneath the folds of her voluminous black trench coat. A light mount was attached to the stock of the gun. She pressed a switch and a thin beam of light penetrated the darkness. The search-beam fell upon...the face of an enraged werewolf!

Oh, f.u.c.k! Michael thought. His brown eyes turned into molten jet-black orbs as he instinctively started to change into his hybrid form. Sharpened talons extended from his fingertips...

But Selene was way ahead of him. She squeezed the trigger of her handgun and fired repeatedly at the monster. Gunshots echoed inside the mine, and the muzzle of the pistol flashed in the darkness as she emptied an entire clip of silver bullets into the creature.

Would that be enough to kill the beast? Michael watched anxiously, waiting for the werewolf to either fall over dead or come charging at them. But the monster seemed to have no reaction to the barrage of silver bullets. Its savage face remained exactly where it was, its open jaws frozen in the same fixed expression. Ivory fangs glinted in the beam of the searchlight. Cobalt eyes stared gla.s.sily into s.p.a.ce.

Wait a sec, Michael thought. Something's not right here.

Selene appeared to have reached the same conclusion. She let up on the trigger and swept the beam over the unmoving creature before them. Michael saw now that the werewolf was hanging lifelessly in a cagelike apparatus at the far end of the chamber. Thick lengths of chain were looped beneath the monster's underarms, suspending the body from the ceiling. A metallic harness was fastened around the werewolf's neck and snout. Old wounds could be glimpsed through its s.h.a.ggy black pelt. Its jaws were locked in a rictus of agony, not attack.

No blood flowed from the multiple bullet holes Selene had just inflicted on the beast. She lowered her gun and glanced at Michael.

"I may have overreacted," she said, with just a trace of embarra.s.sment in her voice.

No s.h.i.+t, Michael thought. The werewolf was obviously long dead. Michael's talons retracted back into his fingers and his eyes turned human once more. His heartbeat slowed to a less frenetic pace. Obviously, the dead creature posed no threat to them. Talk about a shock, though!

He couldn't help noticing how quickly he had started to transform at the sight of a potential enemy. He had changed without thinking, just as he had during that final battle with Viktor back in the underworld. Was his bizarre new existence already becoming second nature to him? The change had felt as natural as breathing, which scared him more than a little.

Get used to it, he told himself harshly. This is who you are now.

Easier said than done, another part of his mind answered back.

Tucking her pistol back beneath her coat, Selene located a fuse box on the opposite wall. She opened the box and reset the tripped switches. A generator hummed somewhere deeper inside the mine. Fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead. The sudden illumination hurt Michael's eyes and he blinked against the glare.

The dead werewolf could be seen more easily now. Looking closer, Michael saw that the body had been hooked up to various pieces of sophisticated medical technology, including an electrocardiogram, intracranial-pressure monitor, Swan-Ganz catheter, a mobile X-ray unit, and your basic physiologic monitor, all top-of-the-line. Electrodes were connected to shaved portions of the werewolf's anatomy. A crash cart held an emergency defibrillator, just in case the Death Dealers had needed to revive one of their lycan guinea pigs. A metal tray rested on a stainless-steel counter next to the open cage. Scalpels, scissors, forceps, retractors, hemostats, and other surgical tools were scattered atop the tray. He scowled at the obvious bloodstains on the instruments; maintaining a sterile environment was obviously not a priority. Anesthetics were conspicuously absent.

Michael recalled the safe house he and Selene had briefly stayed at in the city, after their escape from the vampires' mansion. Selene had mentioned that lycan prisoners were sometimes interrogated at such locations. From the looks of things here, those prisoners also got turned into guinea pigs on occasion-by vampire scientists looking for newer and better ways to exterminate their ancient foes?

He felt a stab of sympathy for the poor, dead beast. Only a few hours ago, Michael had been strapped to an examination table himself, while Lucian extracted Michael's blood for his own arcane experiments. The lycan leader had intended to use a unique enzyme in Michael's blood to transform himself into an unstoppable werewolf/vampire hybrid, but his master plan had gone awry. In the end, Lucian had perished, and Michael had become the hybrid.

For better or for worse.

Selene lifted a portable hydrocarbon a.n.a.lyzer from the tray and inspected the digital readout. Michael couldn't tell if the numbers meant anything to her. Despite everything they had endured together over the last few nights, he still found her beautifully sculpted face difficult to read. Most of the time, Selene kept her private thoughts and feelings locked up inside her, just as she probably had for hundreds of years. Michael wondered briefly just how old she really was.

In theory, he was now immortal, too. Michael's brain rebelled against the concept, even though he knew for a fact that Viktor and Lucian had been around since at least the Middle Ages. Would he also live for uncounted centuries? Michael couldn't even begin to wrap his head around the idea. It's hard to think about living forever, he mused, when people keep trying to kill you every few hours.

Selene dropped the a.n.a.lyzer back onto the tray and examined the s.h.a.ggy corpse hanging nearby. "This thing's been dead for weeks."