No one pushed him around now.
Except for the girl.
He could taste his frustration. He’d been close two decades ago, when he’d killed the most powerful necromancers on the continent. Morgan and Kels Darkmore, rumored to possess a great treasure, the only gem of its kind. An artifact in theMundane plane coveted by a lost god who’d once made Vladimir a deal.
Whispers and rumors had stirred Vladimir for centuries. The promise of eternal peace his, if only he could return what had once been stolen, given to unworthy necromancers, passed down generation by generation until the gem had come to the Darkmores.
They’d been tasty foes. Morgan especially.
He still sometimes fell asleep to her sweet cries, her mournful sobs of misery, knowing she’d lost everything she cared for. Such exquisite pain.
Until her bitch of a daughter had bested him. He didn’t know how she’d done it, but as a young girl she’d hurt him.Him.Vladimir the Wicked.
He’d taken years to recover and regain his strength. Meeting Nergal had been the key though. His dreams were so close. The Darkness was coming. His path toward ultimate damnation.
He couldn’t wait.
He urged his crew to move faster toward the White Castle. Linked to the staff, he commanded the pocket dimension to open for him, the staff a beacon that drew him past all animal and magical guards. What he didn’t kill, he ingested, the tasty death magic adding to his increasing power.
Finding Nergal’s treasure buried inside the keep, he studied the unimposing staff made of rowan wood, a symbol of success and power.
But before he could grab it and verify if it was indeed the staff Nergal sought, a portal appeared. And a dark fae stepped through it, putting himself between Vladimir and his prize.
A warrior, by the look of him. Large and muscular, armed with a sword that hummed with a soul-hunger. Fascinating.
Vladimir smiled. “Boy, I’ll take you with me when I go.” What he could do with a dark elf to serve him for an eternity! They were exceedingly scarce and even more difficult to hold on to.
He hadn’t believed it when Nergal had used several dark elves at the bazaar, sacrificing them to distract MEC so Vladimir could find his staff. A waste of a hell threader and dark fae.
But none of them had looked this powerful.
“You trespass, unclean one.” The fae flexed, holding his sword, his arms massive under a sleeveless green tunic. Powerful thighs filled his matching trousers, ending at mid-calf to show off large black feet tipped with short claws.
“By what name are you called, elf?”
“I am Onvyr the Almighty.” Onvyr snarled, showing small fangs.
“Almighty?” Came an unwelcome voice. “Says who?”
Vladimir frowned. A blond vampire? That had to be the draugr, Rolf of the Night Bloode.
Which meant the other one joining the party was also of that problematic clan.
The draugr might be a problem, as the tribe were known for their tricky magic and unpredictable natures.
The other one, though. Was he the revenant? Not the nachzehrer. He didn’t feel wolfish enough.
And then Vladimir saw it. That spark of death in his black gaze.
Vladimir smiled. “Ah, the reaper. Welcome, brother.”
A deep, smoky voice issued from a face that could have graced temples and royal sarcophagi. “I am not your brother,human.” The sneer only enhanced the beautiful features of a creature Vladimir looked forward to possessing. “I am Imy-Mut.” The name rang in the air like a bell, a shimmer of power there and gone.
Ee-mee Moot?What the hell was that?
Vladimir had taken a few weaker upir as servants, but they’d expired too quickly. Pathetic, as were most of their kind. Oh, they had physical power, like mini-nukes on the magical scale when it came to offensive tactics. But he’d found that vampires were easy enough to conquer, so consumed with their massive egos they didn’t realize they too were susceptible to ancient spells of rot and ruin.
Spells only humans could weave.
