After, Taras and Theron: Beyond Jerusalem

THERON

Athens, 33 A.D.

Home. Theron stepped out from the deep shadow between the two buildings, wiped the blood from his chin with his sleeve, and looked around the city. He took in the many buildings and monuments, most of which had changed dramatically in the 900 years since he’d left. Statues of heroes and gods were everywhere. The Greeks loved statues, they dotted the city like flies on a corpse, but few of them remained from when he lived here last.

Acropolis still stood in the center of the city-Athens had literally grown up around the great mound of stone-but the structures atop it were different. Gone was the ancient temple of Athena from Theron’s youth, replaced by a building of white stone columns and a triangular roof the locals called the Parthenon. Supposedly, it was intended to honor all the gods, but from what he’d been able to gather, the building was now a treasury of some sort.

Behind him, Theron’s latest victim lay unmoving, hidden deep in the shadows as rats and other vermin tended to what remained of her body. The last of her blood spotted his sleeve, and the coins from her purse now mingled with his own.

Athens was much larger than he remembered. In his years with the Bachiyr and as an agent of the Council of Thirteen, he had never once come back to his homeland. He only returned now because he could not think of anyplace else to go. He had dwelt within the walls of the Halls of the Bachiyr for nearly a millennium, and before that he’d spent most of his life in Athens, having come with his family from Macedonia as a boy.

Theron had died here, killed by a Bachiyr woman named Adonia before he had reached his twenty fifth year. The two were lovers, or so he thought, right up until the moment she sank her teeth into his neck. His father buried him in the northern section of the city, under the shadow of Acropolis so that Athena could watch over his grave. Theron had awakened underground with a coin in his mouth, and started to scream.

Adonia had been waiting, and she dug through the dirt with her hands until he was free. When she saw him she smiled, and Theron saw her fangs for the first time. In life, he had loved her fiercely, following the scent of her jasmine perfume anywhere she led him. As he woke to learn her true nature, he felt no fear. If anything, the sight made him want the raven-haired beauty even more. He took her hand and rose from his grave, spitting out the coin his father had left in his mouth for the ferryman.

Living as a vampire had taken some getting used to, but even then Athens was a large and sprawling metropolis, with plenty of people on which to feed. He and Adonia ruled the night, fearing nothing, and feeding as they pleased. For a young Bachiyr, it was an idyllic life. The pair indulged in the pleasures of the blood and of the body whenever possible, with no worries of disease or aging to get in the way. Then an ancient Bachiyr named Ephraim appeared in the city and invited Theron to join him in the Halls.

That was nine hundred years ago. Despite his enviable lifestyle, Theron had gone to the Halls gladly, leaving Adonia behind to stew in her jealousy. He had traveled the world at the service of the Council, visiting places that he would never have dreamed existed as a boy in provincial Macedonia. There was a whole other world across the ocean that no one knew existed, its knowledge a secret known only by those who lived there and the Bachiyr. He had seen wonders few men could dream of and been party to events that mystified the world, all in service to the Council.

And now he was back in Athens, and it wasn’t even home anymore.

“That damn rabbi,” he growled under his breath. “This is all his fault. He should have just died and been done with it.”

He looked at his right hand, at the black flesh there. He’d burned it when he struck Jesus in the Roman dungeon in Jerusalem. In the two months since, the charred flesh had healed, and the hand did not pain him anymore, but the black coloring remained behind. He’d tried forcing blood into it, reciting a healing psalm over it, and had even rubbed a blood-based salve onto the skin, but nothing worked. None of the healing methods he knew of could restore the color to his flesh. It remained black as freshly burned skin, a permanent reminder of his failure, and an easy method by which any other Bachiyr could identify him.

After his humiliating mistake in Jerusalem, Theron had left the city, headed east to avoid the Council’s minions. On the road he encountered several followers of the dead rabbi, and had killed every one of them. It wasn’t easy. Many of them possessed the glow which marked them as faithful servants of God, but he forced himself to operate past the discomfort and feed anyway. It was worth the pain to see the looks on their faces when they realized their faith was no match for his anger, and the fear added to the heady spice of their blood.

The farther he traveled from Jerusalem, however, the fewer such people he met. Now, in Athens, no one possessed the glow. It was as it had been before Ephraim’s betrayal, with hordes of potential victims everywhere he looked. As he watched the ordinary people pass in and out of his view, he could almost believe Jerusalem had never happened.

Until he looked at his hand.

He wandered the streets of Athens for several hours. In the older sections of the city, the street patterns remained mostly as he remembered them, though the buildings had changed. When he reached the newer sections of the city, he had to pay close attention to where he walked, lest he be unable to find his way back to the port and the ship that carried him here. In the belly of the boat was a sturdy room, reinforced with steel and completely cut off from sunlight. Until he could find a new dwelling, that would be his sanctum.

The sheer volume of people bustling by on their way to one errand or another, even at this late hour, was astonishing. Merchants carried their wares to storage, orators spoke on corners, hoping for coin from those seeking enlightenment, and of course, ratty beggars and gaily-dressed prostitutes were everywhere. This was good news for Theron, since they would be the largest portion of his diet during his stay. By necessity he would have to be careful to only feed on those people whom no one would miss. Beggars and prostitutes were at the top of that list. He would stick to them for his meals.

Unless he came across one of the rabbi’s followers. He had seen them on his way to Athens in other cities and villages, preaching to the assembled people of the virtues of their faith. Theron killed them at every opportunity, but how many more were there? Were teams of men and women even now spreading to other towns all over the known world, preaching the word of a single dead rabbi?

Surely not. And yet it was possible. If so, it meant a long journey for Theron, who had made it his mission to kill everyone who called himself a follower of Jesus of Nazareth.

One thing at a time, he reminded himself. First he needed a place to stay. The ship’s hold was serviceable, but not ideal. In any case, they would leave port in a few days, and he intended to remain behind. In a city the size of Athens, it should be easy for him to blend in and disappear. At least for a while. Long enough to figure out what to do next, anyway.

He wandered the streets until shortly before sunrise, memorizing the layout of the city and planning his next move. When the eastern sky began to lighten with the coming sun, he started back for the docks. In eight hours of walking he had not even covered one quarter of the city, but he had found several locations that could be useful. In a city as old as Athens, there were many secrets that few knew about. Theron, having lived in the city nearly a thousand years before, knew several of which no one living today would have any knowledge.

One of those secrets was a tunnel system built even before Theron was born. They had initially been designed as an escape, and were used as such during the invasion of Persian emperor Xerxes. Most of them had crumbled or been covered over by new structures in the centuries since. But the stone under Athens was strong, and a handful of the tunnels still existed in dark and forgotten corners of the city. If he could secure one such tunnel against intrusion, he would have his base of operations.

It would have to wait until tomorrow night, however, as he was running out of time before sunrise. The captain of the boat said he would remain at port for three days. That would give Theron enough time to secure one of the tunnels. But he would need blood, and plenty of it, to work the psalms. Tomorrow night he would have to feed again.

On his way back to the boat, he felt eyes on his back. He turned to look behind him, scanning the shadows on the city and looking for anything-or anyone-out of the ordinary. His fingers itched as his claws begged for release, but the streets behind him revealed nothing out of place. A handful of people milled about on one errand or another, but none of them paid the slightest bit of attention to him. Nonetheless, he stood his ground for several minutes, watching the people as they went about their business. He kept a mental tally of where each person was and where they were headed. When he was sure that all the people on the street had moved on, he turned his back and resumed walking. Not normally prone to imagining things, he chalked it up to paranoia about the Council and continued on his way back to the ship.

The whole way there, he had the nagging feeling that he’d missed something.

Theron woke to fire.

All around him, the ship’s cargo burned. Flames crackled through the hold, feeding on the wood and filling the air with smoke. Several burned and blackened bodies lay on the floor, tongues of fire licking their way across their charred skin. Had Theron needed to breathe, he would have been dead already.

He waved his hand in front of his face, trying to clear some of the smoke so he could see deeper into the ship, but it was no use. The smoke created a thick barrier even to his keen eyes, and he was forced to wander blindly through the flames, dodging aside as burning timbers dropped from above.

The heat was intense. His skin shriveled and cracked, revealing the muscles beneath just long enough for them to turn black. He staggered through the hold, trying to focus his mind beyond the pain and find a way out. But the flames were everywhere, and the smoke made it impossible to know where he was. Was he facing the ladder to the deck? Or was he walking into the bilge room? The sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh hung in the air with the smoke.

He walked on, sometimes forced to step through a wall of fire, determined to find a way out. He hadn’t escaped from Ramah in Jerusalem just to die on a damned boat two months later. Finally, he reached the inside wall of the ship. Flames danced at his back, and his clothes had caught fire again. He patted them out and looked down the length of the ship’s inner hull for any kind of opening. All down his line of sight the wood was whole and smooth, undamaged by the flames that even now moved to hem him into a corner.

Theron turned, hoping to cut back across the rolling hold and look for another way, but the fire had closed his exit. Above him, the timbers supporting the deck crackled and charred in the heat. As he watched, a large beam snapped in half and fell to the floor, sending up a glowing cloud of sparks. there would be no exit that way.

He turned back to the hull. How thick was the wood? He had no idea, but he didn’t have much choice. Theron screamed as his claws ripped the burned flesh of his fingertips, but he grew them just the same. Then he set to work clawing at the wood. Splinters fell away as he gouged tracks in the hull of the ship, but after an agonizing few minutes, he knew it was hopeless. He was simply not making enough progress.

Theron forced some of his blood into his hands, using their energy to heal the blisters. Somehow, he resisted the urge to spend more blood healing his bubbled skin. There would be time enough to take care of all his wounds if he made it out alive. He used more blood on the muscles of his upper body, enhancing his strength, endurance, and speed. Satisfied that he had done everything he could, he began to pound on the wood of the ship with his fists, hoping to break through the hull.

The fire reached his feet, burning through his boots and licking at his ankles. Still he pounded, even as the skin of his knuckles tore and the flesh turned to a red, pasty mush. He focused his energies on keeping the bones in his hand whole. If they broke, he would have no chance of escape at all.

A satisfying crack sounded under his hand, and a thin jet of seawater shot into the hold. It turned to steam before it hit the floor, but it was a start. Theron punched the wall again, and another crack sounded through the hold. By now his fists were little more than bloody masses of pulp, and the pain of the fire at his feet made him dizzy.

His next blow went through the wood and into the water beyond, cooling the torn skin of his left hand and sending a large stream of water into his chest. The force of the water staggered him backward into the flames, but the fire sizzled and went out as the water poured over it. Theron forced his way back to the hull and punched it again, widening the hole and letting in more water. He did this several more times until the hole in the ship’s belly was big enough to accommodate his form. It would be his escape when the water pressure inside the hull evened out, but for now the cool fluid rolled through too fast for him to escape.

Theron relaxed and allowed the water to soothe his blistered skin. As the hold flooded, the fires went out, and a heavy cloud of steam replaced the smoke. He took advantage of the respite to heal his skin, which used up a great deal of his stored blood. He would need to feed again tonight to replace it, which might be a bit of a problem.

He didn’t believe for a second that the fire was an accident. He’d missed something the night before when he stopped and checked his surroundings. Someone had been watching him, and he had led that someone right to his hiding place. It couldn’t have been Ramah. The Blood Letter would never resort to fire. Though deadly even to his kind, fire was notoriously unreliable as a means of assassination. Who did that leave? Taras, perhaps? The tall Roman legionary he’d inadvertently turned in Jerusalem? Theron rejected the idea almost as soon as he thought it. Taras was an experienced assassin in his own right. He would have tried something a little less dicey.

Whoever it was, they obviously knew he was here. Which meant they were one step ahead of him. Theron would have to catch up, and soon.

He broke the surface of the water about an hour later. It had taken that long for the hull to flood enough to bring the ship down. Once the hull filled, he was able to swim through the hole he created. The water in front of him sparkled with bright orange points of light. Theron turned around and watched as the ship continued to burn even as it sank. The flames had reached the main mast and enveloped the deck from stem to stern, reaching up toward the sky and spewing sparks in every direction.

On the docks, men yelled as they ran back and forth. Several of them pointed at the burning wreckage and moaned about their lost cargo while others, mostly women, wailed about their husbands or family that were still on board. A few thought to fight the fire with buckets, but the ship was too far out and too engulfed for such a tactic to be effective. There was nothing anyone could do. The ship was lost. Two men cut the ropes securing the ship so it would not set the docks alight and the ship drifted out into the harbor, sliding lower into the water as it went. As the water reached the flames, it hissed and sent up clouds of steam, which mingled with the smoke and the sparks. Then the ship was gone, and only the tip of the mast could be seen, burning like a candle on the sea.

A few other men swam in the water around him, and he recognized the faces of some of the crewmen. He did not see the captain, which meant he had either not been aboard when the fire started or he had died on the ship. It also meant he would not have to pay him, not that he could. All his belongings, including most of the gold he brought with him from Jerusalem, now lay at the bottom of the harbor.

The money did not worry him. He still had enough in his purse to meet his needs, and he could replace what he lost easily enough with a few choice victims. In any case he had little need to purchase anything. Blood was free, and he could scrounge clothing from those upon whom he fed. He had lived quite well in Athens by using such methods nine hundred years ago, and he could do it again.

More troublesome was the fact that whoever had set the fire was most certainly watching the ship and the water around it, probably checking to see if he survived. Had they spotted him already? He hoped not. Just in case, he sank under the surface and began to swim for shore. He was able to stay hidden the entire way because he did not need to come up for air, so he chose a long route that would bring him up a few hundred yards away from the docks. If his adversary was watching, he or she would not see him leave the water.

He hoped.

He pulled himself up on the shore thirty minutes after leaving the boat. He could have surfaced sooner, but he didn’t want to be seen. Now, as he dripped seawater onto the wooden docks, he stared down the coast at the place where his ship, and his temporary sanctuary, had been. All that could be seen of the boat was the charred tip of the main mast, barely visible in the night’s gloom as it poked a few feet out of the water.

Captain Helos, if he still lived, would not be pleased.

He turned away from the sunken boat and walked into the city. No help for it now, he would have to find a meal and fortify a new sanctuary to wait out the day. Fortunately, there was no shortage of suitable victims in Athens. Theron looked back at the mast one more time. Whoever set the fire was probably watching the wreckage even now, waiting for him to surface. He should go back, try to see if he could figure out who was trying to kill him. But what if they weren’t there? Or what if they saw him first? With no safe place in the city to hide he would be exposed and vulnerable to their attack. Better to set up his sanctuary as soon as possible. He’d already lost an hour and a half of dark, so he would need to get to work. It would be a busy night. Once he had his sanctuary fortified and ready he would hunt down his pursuers and make them pay for his injuries.

The fire had cost him a great deal of blood. He’d used much of it to break free, and still more to heal his burns. He would have to find more before he could work his protective psalms over his new tunnel home. With that in mind, he took a longer route through the tavern district, looking for a drunkard or a prostitute. There were plenty of both in Athens.

Theron passed by a modest three-story structure. The front sported a wide veranda covered by a triangular roof. The veranda was built to emulate the big Parthenon building on Acropolis, with six wide fluted pillars supporting the roof. Beneath the roof was an open area with chairs, tables, and of course, women. A dozen of them sat languidly in the evening air, fanning themselves or simply removing layers of clothing to keep cool.

Several called to him as he walked by, but he paid them no attention. A brothel whore was the exception to the general ease of feeding on prostitutes. When a brothel woman disappeared, they were almost always missed. An angry madam could be a tenacious pest. The best kind of prostitute to feed upon was the unattached sort, one with no ties to anything or anyone, or even a regular clientele.

Those sorts could usually be found closer to the taverns, walking the streets looking for drunken men who needed a release. By and large, they were less attractive and dirtier than the brothel ladies, but they were cheaper. Besides, Theron didn’t choose them for how they looked or smelled, he just wanted their blood. Any of them would do.

He found a likely woman walking alone on the street near a loud and bawdy tavern. The noise of the men and women drinking inside masked the sound of her hard sandals clicking on the paved street, but there was no hiding the woman’s garish attire. Her black hair was tied back with a bright yellow scarf which hung past her shoulders, occasionally fluttering in the light breeze. A thin red blouse did little to hide her small but perky breasts. Her skirt, which matched her scarf, was cut on the side all the way to her crotch, allowing him a glimpse of her shapely buttocks every time she took a step.

In all, a very nice catch.

Theron approached her from behind, swaying just a little, and plastered a lopsided smile on his face, hoping she would take him for a drunk. “Hello,” he said, a bit slurred.

She turned to face him, a smile on her dark, lovely face. “Good evening, sir. Do you like what you see?” Her lips were stained red and smelled of berries, and her eyes shone a deep sapphire blue even in the moonlight. This close, he could see the curve of her breasts as her thin, filmy blouse struggled to cover them. A flowery smell surrounded her. Jasmine, perhaps. Or maybe Lavender. She was beautiful. Perhaps too beautiful for her profession, but that was not his concern. He nodded.

“I do, Lady,” he replied. “The street is hardly a place for one such as you. May I escort you somewhere more…comfortable?”

“Yes, provided you show me the coin first.”

Theron reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold shekel. It was an ungodly sum for one night’s pleasure, but he didn’t have anything smaller. In any case, she would only be in possession of it long enough for him to kill her, then he intended to take it back. He placed it in her palm, grinning, and wished he’d taken the time to moisten his mouth with wine so he would smell like a drunk, as well. “Here, Lady,” he said. “Will this do?”

She took the coin and brought it to her eye, inspecting it in the weak light. To his surprise, her eyes did not grow at the glint of gold in her fingers. She shook her head and handed it back to him. “This is not enough. A pity.”

Theron’s smile faltered. Not enough? He scanned her face, looking for some sign of a jest, but her expression remained guarded and distant. He removed another gold shekel from his pouch and placed both in her hands. What did it matter, anyway? Two gold would be enough to buy a horse in any city in the world, it should be enough for her.

“If that is not enough, Lady,” he said. “Then you can keep walking.” He had more gold, but it would look better if he seemed angry.

She looked at the two coins in her hand, smiled, and put them in a pouch between her breasts. “This will do,” she said. “You must have a powerful need tonight.”

“For two gold shekels, you had better be able to satisfy it,” he replied.

“Don’t worry,” she said, turning her back to him and walking down the street. She waggled her finger at him, indicating he should follow.“You will not be disappointed.”

Theron looked at the olive skin of her neck, and the graceful curve of her skin as her veins pulsed just beneath the surface. “I’m sure I won’t,” he said.

She led him to a modest two story building near the market district. As they climbed the stairs to her door, he watched her skirt sway back and forth. Several times it moved to the side just enough for him to see everything underneath, and he realized it had been a very long time since he’d lain with a woman.

She opened her door and stepped aside. “Please come in.”

Theron walked into the room and noted the lavish settee, the thick rugs on the floor, and the many cushions scattered around the main room. In the center was an oaken table flanked by a pair of red-cushioned chairs. In the far corner sat a large bed, with thick mattresses and sheets of red silk. Half a dozen pillows covered the bed. Elegant tapestries hung from three of the four walls, depicting various scenes in nature. On the left wall was a thick wooden door, which probably led to the rest of her dwelling.

She obviously did quite well, as evidenced by the fact that gold was not enough. Theron started to wonder if perhaps she might be missed, after all. If her customers were so affluent, odds were good her disappearance would not go unnoticed, which would be very bad for him. Perhaps he should leave now and find other prey.

He turned around just in time to duck her clawed hand. He fell to the floor and rolled to his right as she aimed another blow at his head. Once he bumped into the far wall, he shot to his feet and turned to face his adversary.

The woman he’d thought was a whore advanced on him with her claws and fangs extended to their full length. Her eyes glowed red, casting her face in a fiery hue.

“You’re a Bachiyr,” Theron said stupidly. Now he understood why such a woman was wandering the area around the taverns. She must have been looking for victims, too.

“Very astute, Theron of Macedonia,” she replied, circling.

“You know me?”

“All Bachiyr know you. The Council has promised a position in the Halls to anyone who brings you to justice. I mean to claim it for myself.” She stepped forward, waving her claws in the air in an obvious attempt to distract him. “Tonight I will leave Athens forever and carry your head to the Council as a trophy.”

Theron watched her claws and smiled. The trick was so basic, it barely merited his attention. “You overestimate yourself,” he replied, allowing his own claws to extend. He would get to feed tonight, after all.

“We shall see,” she replied. She sprang forward, fast as a cobra, her claws extended in a straightforward thrust that would have impaled him if he hadn’t seen the move a thousand times before. Theron stepped to the right and brought the claws of his right hand down in a swipe intended to remove her hand from her arm, but she dodged aside just in time, twisting her body as she passed so that his claws cut only air.

Before she could right heself, Theron planted a boot in the small of her back and launched her into the wall. She hit with a thud, tearing one of the tapestries and knocking it to the floor. It fell over her like a net, but she ripped her way free in seconds and shot to her feet, a look of pure fury on her face and a thin line of blood leaking from a cut in her head.

By the time she freed herself he was already on her. His clawed left hand punched through her belly while his right caught her arm and pinned it to the wall. He turned his body to the side, pinning her other arm with his shoulder and dodging a kick at the same time.

“The Council will never know what happened to you,” he promised, a wicked grin on his face. “They will never find your ashes, if they bother to look at all.” Knowing the Council, they probably wouldn’t. This vampire was no one special. The council most likely didn’t even know she existed, which made her a good choice for feeding, as well.

But instead of asking for mercy or cowering in fear, she laughed at him. Theron stared at her amused expression, wondering what was happening. He had all the leverage. He was stronger, faster, and far more experienced. By rights, she should be pleading for her life, not laughing in his face.

When a hand clamped around his shoulder and threw him backwards into another wall, he figured it out.

He hit the wall hard enough to crack it, and then sank to the floor. His head spun, and a touch of nausea threatened to drop him back to the ground, but he forced his body upright just in time to catch a blow to the chin that slammed his head back into the wall. Stars exploded in his field of vision, but he retained enough presence of mind to duck.

Above his head, part of the wall cracked under another blow. He’d gotten out of the way just in time. Acting on instinct, he thrust his hand forward and was rewarded as his claws sank into a seeming wall of flesh, which shuddered at the blow. A grunt of pain sounded above his head and he pulled his bloodied claws out and stabbed them forward a second time, spraying bright red ichor all over the walls and his face.

The mountain of flesh retreated half a step, giving Theron time to move aside and reorient his thoughts. Now that he could focus, he noted the largest Bachiyr he’d ever seen standing a few feet away. The giant stood at least seven and a half feet tall, and probably weighed as many as three Therons. His bushy eyebrows sprang from a hairless forehead, and sat atop glittering black eyes set deep within his face. A sparse, shaggy beard hung halfway down his chest, but Theron could clearly see the fangs jutting from his upper lip.

At the moment, the giant stood staring at the holes in his belly. Behind him, the woman had regained her feet and was walking toward the big one.

“Not the brightest of the lot, is he?” Theron teased.

The giant’s head snapped up, and he lunged so fast Theron barely had time to jump aside. He caught a glancing blow to the head from the giant’s right hand that nonetheless sent him flying toward the far wall. When he landed, the woman was laughing again.

“He doesn’t have to be,” she said.

“I guess not,” Theron admitted.

The giant, meanwhile, had turned around to face him again. The wall behind him had so many thin cracks it reminded Theron of a spider’s web. Every time the behemoth slammed into a wall the whole building shuddered. And the noise! Soon the city guard would descend upon them if he didn’t do something to end this quick.

Theron looked at the cracks in the wall, and he had an idea.

He dodged aside as the giant came again, this time he jumped toward the woman, who tried to step away to the left but failed as he wrapped his arms around her neck. Theron jerked her head to the side and jabbed his claws into her lower back. She screamed at the pain, and the giant turned around again, growling something Theron could not understand.

The two circled, Theron holding the woman between them as a shield, using the claws in her back to prod her in the desired direction. She grunted in pain and tried to rake her claws across his body, but Theron swallowed the pain and kept his hold on her. He would heal the wounds soon enough. The giant seemed unwilling to attack while his mistress was so vulnerable. Perfect.

Once in position, Theron twisted his claws, making the woman scream in pain. The giant stood for a moment, indecision stamped on his face, then he lunged again. Theron tossed the woman at the giant’s feet and leapt aside as the two tumbled over each other. The giant crashed into the weakened wall and smashed right through it. He fell into the street below and right into the waiting arms of the city guard, who immediately tried to place him under arrest.

Theron heard the shouts of pain from the humans in the street. It would not take long for the giant to kill them all, so he didn’t have much time. He grabbed the woman, who squirmed in pain on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, and pulled her to her feet. She wobbled, and he realized that both her legs were broken. So much the better. He pulled her close and sank his fangs into her throat, drinking deeply. She groaned and swatted at him with her right hand, but it was a weak and ineffective attempt. She had lost too much blood.

Right away he felt a surge of strength. Bachiyr blood was much richer than human blood, but the Council frowned upon the Father’s children feeding on each other. Theron didn’t care, he needed blood, and she had it. Damn the Council and their rules. They were hunting him already, anyway. This would just give them something else to be angry about, provided they bothered themselves with it at all, which he doubted. He drank from her until she stopped moving, which didn’t take long.

He cast her body aside and listened as the sound of fighting outside grew more intense. Men screamed in pain and fear, while others shouted orders. An occasional deep grunt and the sound of bodies smashing into buildings punctuated the general din. He walked over to the hole in the wall and peered out to see how the giant was doing against the Athens city guard.

At least a dozen men lay broken and bleeding as the giant Bachiyr whirled and danced in the street. For such a large man he moved deceptively fast, and the city guard found their numbers dwindling until a second squad joined the first. The captain of the new squad, a wizened old soldier about half the size of the giant, ordered his men to throw a bucket of pitch on the frenzied devil in their midst.

Once the giant was covered in black, sticky tar, the captain threw a torch at him. The resulting fire flared high enough to make Theron back away from the hole on the second floor. He had seen enough, anyway. The sound of the big Bachiyr’s scream rattled the wall and confirmed Theron’s suspicions. The giant would not survive the night.

He looked around for a way out of the building but saw only the wooden door the giant had come through. He checked it anyway, hoping for a rear exit. Instead he found only the remaining chambers of the woman’s sanctuary, which confirmed what he’d already suspected. To escape, he would have to fight his way past the city guard.

He checked the scene outside and saw that, for the moment, most of them were distracted by the flaming giant. The huge Bachiyr kept the soldiers at bay with his wild flailing and deep bellow, but several of the men had drawn crossbows and were getting into position. Ordinarily, such puny weapons would not have much effect on one so big, but with the flames eating at his flesh the giant apparently thought better of continuing the fight and instead sprinted down the street, headed for the ocean. Two dozen guardsmen gave chase, their white cloaks streaming behind them as they fired bolt after bolt into the giant’s back.

Theron watched them go, amused by his good fortune. Not a single one of the guardsmen had remained behind to investigate the building. Now was his chance. He vaulted through the hole in the wall and fell to the street below. It wasn’t a long drop, but he bent his knees and rolled into his landing anyway, just to be safe. The last thing he needed to do right now was break his leg. He could heal it, of course, but that would take time, and the city guard could return at any moment. Better to be far away by the time they did.

He ran down the street, heading away from the ocean and deeper into the city. He had no idea where he was going. The city had changed so much since he’d lived here that the only familiar landmark was Acropolis. Fortunately it was visible above the rooftops, which allowed him to keep his bearings. While he ran, he thought about what the woman had said. The Council had offered a position within the Halls to anyone who could capture him.

A high prize, indeed. Only the elite of his race were permitted to live in the Halls of the Bachiyr. Adonia had nearly turned green with jealousy when Ephraim offered Theron a place within its walls. She had tried unsuccessfully for centuries to gain the notice of the Council, and she was far older than Theron. Such an offer would tempt every vampire from Rome to the far eastern cities and beyond. Not only would he not be safe in Athens, he realized, he would not be safe anywhere in the world. Bachiyr from every corner would come looking for him, all with visions of glory running through their minds. The Council had left him with no place to hide.

His stay in Athens would have to be very short. From this point on, he would have to keep moving in order to stay ahead of his pursuers. Most of them would be minor Bachiyr with dreams of grandeur, who would have no idea of the kind of power he possessed. They would be little more than annoyances as long as they didn’t band together.

But there were other powerful Bachiyr in the world, and not all of them had already secured a place in the Halls. Theron could think of a dozen, at least, that he would prefer to avoid if at all possible. Adonia, for example. By all reports, she still lived in Athens, and if the woman and her giant friend-Theron realized then that he’d never gotten their names-knew he was in the city then Adonia surely did, as well. Which meant she was probably prowling the streets even now, looking for him.

The thought caused him to slow his pace, no sense in drawing attention to himself. Even at this late hour people walked the streets of Athens, but few of them ran. Better to try and blend in as much as possible, at least until he could find a safe place to spend the day.

Of course, blending in was difficult to do with blood all over his clothes. He would need to replace them, and soon. He scanned the street, looking for a suitable candidate. After locating several men who had a height and build similar to his own, he settled on a drunkard weaving his way through the streets in the direction of Acropolis. Judging by his shabby clothes, the man was not on his way home. Only the wealthy lived in the shadow of the great hill. He was probably headed for the taverns. It didn’t matter. Wherever the man was going, he would not get there.

Theron would see to that.

Thirty minutes later, Theron walked through the city in his new clothes. He had not spilled a single drop of his victim’s blood on them and he blended in perfectly with the handful of people already in the street. The drunkard even had a few coins on him, which Theron took, realizing too late that he’d left two gold shekels behind in the woman’s home. He hated to lose that much money, but he wasn’t going to go back for it. By now the place would be crawling with the city guard, and probably a handful of Bachiyr, as well.

A group of guardsmen tromped by in orderly rows, the moonlight glinting off their steel helmets and the tips of their spears. Theron watched them go. Their tight ranks reminded him a bit of the Roman Legionaries who patrolled the streets of Jerusalem, though the Romans kept tighter formations and wore red cloaks instead of white. The Athenians were no less formidable, however, and he kept a safe distance. He heard a few snippets of hushed conversation as they passed by.

“…eight feet tall.”

“I heard it was ten.”

“…set the damned thing on fire.”

…still fought…”

“…jumped into the ocean…”

So, the giant had made it to the water, after all. Theron smiled. The big fellow was even tougher than he thought. He would be in bad shape when he surfaced, however. The burns he suffered would take time to heal, and even then it would be impossible for a being that size to hide for long now that the city guard was looking for him. Theron would not be the only one leaving Athens as soon as possible. If the giant had any sense, he would leave tonight.

For that matter, Theron should leave tonight, as well. He was rested, healed, and had plenty of blood. There was no reason to spend another day in the city. He had planned to stop by his tomb-if it still existed-and see how it had fared over the centuries, but it would make more sense to leave the city while there was still enough night to find a secure place to spend the day.

He turned north, using Acropolis as a guide. He would travel inland, away from the coast and the highly populated cities that lay by the water. The bigger cities were bound to have plenty of Bachiyr. If he could reach the countryside, he would have a better chance of outdistancing any who were hunting for him. As a bonus, his route through the city would take him close to his tomb. Maybe he would have time to visit, after all.

The building, though showing signs of age and wear, stood tall and straight on the spot where his father buried him. It was a massive structure, several stories tall and at least a hundred paces wide. Probably the home of some wealthy merchant. He should have known his tomb would be gone. There was no one left in the city to wonder where he had gone. His father had probably died not long after Theron joined the Bachiyr, leaving no one left alive to mourn him.

Theron stared at the walls, trying to remember what his place of rest had looked like. Back then, it was little more than a hole in the stone, covered by a slab of rock. The surrounding grounds had been bare save for a handful of other tombs, much like his own. Over the centuries, the dead must have lost their power to preserve their final resting place and the living had moved in. Where had they put the bodies? Theron wondered. And what must they have thought when they opened his tomb and found it empty? A smile found its way to his face. He would have liked to have seen that.

“I knew you would come here,” a voice behind him said. It had been nine hundred years since he’d heard it last, but he would recognize it anywhere. The smell of jasmine drifted through the night, confirming what he already knew. He turned, allowing his claws to grow for the second time that evening.

She looked the same as he remembered, with dark, almost black hair that reached down to her waist. Her skin was the color of oak ashes, gray and dark at the same time. The deep brown of her eyes glared at him from a face he had remembered many times over the last nine centuries. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was, and something stirred within him as he recalled their past together. Not love, certainly. He had no place for that. But something pleasant, like finding something you lost long ago. Adonia’s full, thick lips turned up in a smile. He remembered how they had looked with blood dripping from them to roll down her chin.

Good times.

“Adonia,” he said. “I had hoped to avoid this.”

“I’m sure you did,” she replied. “You know the Council has put a bounty on your head.”

“So I heard. The last I recall, you had little regard for the Council.”

“That was before they offered a place in the Halls for whoever kills you.” Adonia’s smile vanished, and her eyes glittered in the shadows of her face. “That post should have been mine. I was older. I was stronger. I was far more suited to battle, and yet they offered everything to you, instead.”

Theron had heard this all before. Nine hundred years ago, to be exact. Adonia’s anger was part of the reason he’d never returned to Athens. “You spoke of the Council as though they were a group of old fools even then. You could not even mention Herris’ name without spitting on the ground. They chose me because they wanted someone loyal.”

“So they did,” she replied. “And I have waited centuries for you to fall out of their favor. Centuries of hearing stories about your glorious rise through the ranks of the Enforcers. Years spent listening to other Bachiyr speak your name in hushed tones, all the while knowing I was the one they should be fearing. My name they should revere, if not for some twist of the Council’s desire that put you above me.”

He sighed. “I don’t want to kill you, Adonia.”

Adonia snorted. “This is long overdue, Theron.” She dropped into a crouch, bringing her hands up to guard her face and torso but leaving her legs free to move. Theron remembered this stance, he’d seen it numerous times during their nights together. Her legs, deceptively fast, could strike from under the guard of her hands at any time, flashing forward like a snake. The tips of her boots bore three-inch wooden spikes, making them that much more dangerous.

“So it is,” he said, and brought his hands to waist level. From there, he could better block strikes from above and below, and keeping his hands low helped his center of gravity.

She came at him, a whirling, spinning dance of claws, feet and teeth. She had taught him this move nine centuries ago, and even now there simply was no good way to block her as she rained blows at him from every angle. There was a time when he would have dived in, accepting the wounds as he tried to close with her, but many scars and gallons of lost blood had taught him otherwise. Rather than try to engage, Theron moved a few paces back, putting himself out of reach of her numerous weapons.

Soon after he backed away, she stopped her spin, planting both feet flat on the ground about shoulder-width apart and slightly bent at the knees. “You still remember,” she said.

“That and more.”

“But not this.” She launched herself at him, leading with her claws. It was so bold and amateur an attack that he had not expected it from her, and he barely got his arms up in time to deflect her claws. The impact knocked him to the ground, and she landed on top of him, digging with her claws and snapping at his throat. He tried to grab her wrists but that left him exposed to her bite, so he focused on trying to dislodge her, instead. The two rolled and grappled in the street, sending up small clouds of dust.

He winced as her claws traced a line across the top half of his face, missing his eyes by a hair’s breadth. His own blood dripped into his mouth, and the taste of it brought his fangs to the surface. He suppressed the urge to lunge at her throat or jab his clawed fingers into her belly, instead trying to hold her back and knock her off him. If he could jar her loose, he might be able to escape. He tried to wriggle out from under her, using his legs for leverage.

Adonia laughed, smiling at him as he tried to block her attacks rather than strike back. She certainly had no qualms about trying to kill him. He looked in her eyes and realized that, to her mind, she had already won. History together or no, she would not stop until one of them was dead. It reminded him of his former friend and Lead Enforcer, Ephraim. They had worked together for centuries, yet he’d killed Ephraim without a second thought.

Forgiveness, Jesus had said. That’s what Ephraim had been looking for when Theron killed him. Is that what he wanted? To be forgiven? Could he ever be? It’s not too late, for him or for you…

Theron knew better.

Pain ignited in his side as Adonia scored another serious hit. Her claws dug several inches into his abdomen, tearing at the flesh with a wet slurp. His blood flowed over her fingers and into the street beneath him, just as Ephraim’s had flowed over his fingers to drip onto the floor. Ephraim had died without fighting back. Not a single blow. He’d just sat there and waited for his death with a sad expression on his face.

Not me, Theron thought. He gave up trying to block Adonia and let himself get into the fight, at last. He let go of her wrists and reached for her throat with both hands. Surprised, she did not move away in time, and Theron’s fingers closed around her throat. He dug his clawed thumbs into the soft flesh under her jaw, launching a spray of her blood at his face.

She raked his arms, trying to claw her way free of his grip, but he accepted the pain willingly, even eagerly. He’d told her he didn’t want to kill her, but as his right thumb brushed against the bone of her lower jaw, he realized now that it was a lie. It would always be a lie. Not only did Theron want to kill her, he wanted to drain her completely and leave her dried out carcass in the street as a warning to any other Bachiyr who might come hunting for him.

More pain in his side, this one in his lower ribs, as his desperate opponent dug into the flesh, grabbed a rib, and snapped it. The pain was intense, flaring through his torso like fire, but he held on. He pulled her close, bringing her throat down and closer to his mouth. Adonia’s struggles increased in frenzy, and she abandoned her attempts to injure him in favor of breaking free. She put her hands on his chest and pushed, flailing with her legs. Now he was the aggressor, and she was the one trying to escape.

Theron wrapped his legs around her lower half and pulled her closer to him, taking away her leverage. He then shifted his weight, rolling her onto her back. She slammed her forehead into his face, breaking his nose with an audible crack. More blood spilled onto his lips, but instead of making him wary, it fueled his hunger. He released his grip on her throat and immediately blood welled up from the wound and spilled down over her flesh. He then grabbed her by the face and slammed her head into the hard stone cobbles. He did so again, and then again. The fourth time, he heard a sharp crack.

Her arms went limp and her eyes clouded over. She lay stunned and unmoving in the street. The effect would only last a moment, just long enough for her senses to return, but it was long enough. Theron pressed his jaws to her throat and opened her veins, drinking greedily from the fountain of a very old vampire’s well.

Power surged through him, igniting his nerves along the way as her potent blood filled his every pore. She had lived for over two thousand years, and was a direct child of Lannis. Her potent blood screamed with energy, tearing through his body like lightning. Her body shriveled beneath him but still he drank, unwilling to break the connection.

When at last the flow of blood ceased, he noticed the utter silence around him. Neither he nor Adonia had cast a Psalm of Silence, but the air was deathly quiet. He raised his head and looked around. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, the heady blood in Adonia’s body had left him with a bit of vertigo. But once his vision cleared he noted several humans standing nearby, watching him with eyes as wide as dates. None of them had moved to intervene, which he took as a good sign.

Theron shot to his feet and snarled at the crowd, baring his teeth for all to see. All but one of the spectators fled, apparently finding better things to do than confront a murderous Bachiyr. Smart. The single remaining witness stepped forward, and Theron caught a glimpse of his face. It was another Bachiyr, perhaps come to claim the Council’s prize. He looked young, but among his race, appearances meant nothing. However, his nervous expression and the way his fingers fidgeted at his waist told Theron he was probably no more than a few decades old. He might even be one of Adonia’s children. If so, his blood would be sweet, indeed.

The new Bachiyr’s eyes went from Theron to the dried up corpse of Adonia, and then back. In Theron’s time, Adonia had been the most powerful Bachiyr in the city. That would explain the young vampire’s sudden reluctance.

“You know her?” Theron pointed at the body, which had started to flake away in the light breeze.

The youth nodded.

“You feared her,” Theron noted.

The youth nodded again.

“You see what I did to her, this most powerful of Athens’ Bachiyr?”

He nodded and took a step backward.

Theron sprang forward, catching the other Bachiyr off guard and grabbing his shoulders before the youth could think to block him. The young vampire struggled, but Theron’s hand clamped onto his shoulder and brought him in close. Fear radiated from him like a cold mist, and he reprised his opinion of the youth’s age. Not more than a decade, most likely. Theron flashed his fangs, smiling as the younger vampire shut his eyes and tried to look away. Theron dug his claws into the youth’s flesh, reveling in his victim’s pained groan.

“Look at me,” Theron commanded.

The young vampire turned to look at him, his face a mask of fear and pain.

“You know who I am,” Theron said.

The young vampire nodded.

“Say my name.” Theron squeezed his fingers, digging them deeper into flesh.

“Theron!” the other gasped. “Theron of Macedonia.”

“Good.” Theron relaxed his grip a bit, and some of the tension went out of the other vampire’s body. “Tell every Bachiyr you meet about this. Make sure they know that I am the one who killed Adonia of Athens, and let it be a warning to them. I will do the same to every Bachiyr who tries to hunt me. Swear to do that, and I will let you live.”

The younger vampire nodded, his face reflecting his eagerness to get out of this alive.

“Swear it!” Theron dug his claws deeper, grinding their tips against the young vampire’s bones.

“I swear it!” he replied. “By the Father, I swear!”

Theron released the youth’s arms, smiling. The younger vampire dropped back a few paces, rubbing the bloody holes in his arms. He glared at Theron for a moment, then turned to go.

“Wait,” Theron said. The youth turned around to face him, a wary look on his face. “There is one more thing I want you to do. Take her body back to the Council’s gate in Athens and leave it with the clerk.”

The young vampire’s eyes widened again. Theron understood. Such a thing would be taken as a direct dare to the Council. Doubtless the youth thought he was crazy.

“Do it,” Theron repeated, “or I will kill you and find someone who will.”

The youth nodded again and stepped over to Adonia’s body. He lifted it over his shoulder and started walking down the street. Occasionally, he would glance over his shoulder, perhaps to make certain Theron was not about to go back on his word. Theron considered going after him and driving his claws through the other vampire’s spine, but decided against it. He wanted this message delivered.

Once the Council saw Adonia’s body, they would know they had underestimated their former Lead Enforcer. Few, if any, of their servants would be a match for him. Which meant if the Council of Thirteen wanted him brought to justice, they would have to do it themselves.

He walked down the street, headed for the edge of the city. It would take the youth an hour or so to reach the Council’s portal in Athens, and it would take another few hours for the Council to be roused and alerted. By then the young vampire would be in a cell somewhere, waiting for Algor to interrogate him. Theron had witnessed many such interrogations. The young vampire would very likely never leave the Halls of the Bachiyr. An older, more experienced vampire would have simply fought Theron then and there, preferring to die outright than suffer through Algor’s manipulations. Theron had done him no favors by sparing his life.

He smiled as he left Athens and began walking through the lush, moonlit countryside, wondering how long it would take Ramah to find him.

However long it took, he meant to make the bastard work for it.