Part 14 (1/2)
In his hand, Corvinus held the second half of the key, the one he had extracted from Viktor's rib cage. Facing his father's back, Marcus could not see the key. Corvinus prayed he never would.
”You are unwelcome in my presence,” Corvinus said sternly.
He turned to face his son, but the vital key was no longer in evidence. To his slight surprise, he saw that Marcus looked like the son he remembered, not the hybrid abomination described by Selene. His beard and hair were the same reddish tint they had always been. A leather overcoat was draped over his bare shoulders, concealing his wings. Corvinus recognized his son's cruel, sardonic smile. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or dismayed by Marcus's deceptively human appearance.
”Ah, the predictable heart that never thaws,” his son said mockingly. He placed his hand atop his chest, as though wounded to the core. ”Pity it beats within such a fool. The eldest of the immortals, yet you've made no attempt to seize your destiny.”
The ancient broadsword rested on the desk between them. The carved G.o.ddess upon the wall was the sole witness to their reunion. In hopes of sparing their lives, Corvinus had ordered the s.h.i.+p's staff and guards to evacuate the vessel. What transpired now was between him and Marcus alone.
As it was always meant to be.
”We are oddities of nature, you and I. Nothing more.” He leveled a disapproving gaze upon his son.
”This is a world for humanity.”
Marcus sneered at him. ”And that petty sentiment explains why you rejected your sons? Why you stood by for over half a millennium as William suffered alone in darkness?” Contempt registered in his voice.
”No Father. I have no respect for your pitiful excuse.” He stepped forward ominously, circling around the desk. ”Viktor's key. Where is it?”
”Whatever plan you have for William is futile.” Corvinus did not quail in the face of his son's advance. ”You cannot control your brother.”
Lord knows I tried, he thought sadly, before William's bloodl.u.s.t grew beyond all control.
”I am stronger now,” Marcus replied, ”and our bond is greater than you have ever wanted to acknowledge.”
The same old delusion, Corvinus mused. Marcus had never been able to recognize the truth about his beloved twin. ”You're wrong. Soon you will be drowning in lycans...just like before.”
Marcus shook his head. ”Not lycans, Father, or vampires. A new race, created in the image of their maker...their new G.o.d. Me.”
Fervor burned in his eyes, and Corvinus realized that his son had truly gone mad.
”And a true G.o.d...has no father.”
Corvinus reached for his sword, but he had waited too long...perhaps intentionally. Marcus's wings unfurled, the unnatural sight causing Corvinus's eyes to widen in amazement. A demonic pinion snapped outward, knocking the older man against the starboard wall. A spear-tipped talon pierced his shoulder, pinning him to the solid steel bulkhead.
Immortal blood flowed from his injured shoulder, but Corvinus had survived worse in his time. He grunted in pain, but refused to beg for his life, not even when he saw Marcus lift the heavy broadsword with one hand. He was still Alexander Corvinus, and he would not give Marcus the satisfaction of seeing his father tremble in fear.
My death is long overdue, he thought. Let me face it with dignity.
There was nothing dignified about the hate-filled expression on Marcus's face as he slowly drove the point of the sword through his father's chest. Despite his resolve, Corvinus could not help gasping out loud as the double-edged blade sliced through his body inch by excruciating inch. The sword cut through bone and tissue alike.
Was I truly too slow to defend myself, Corvinus wondered, or was it that I simply could not bring myself to slay my son-not even to save my own life?
He suspected the latter.
Marcus thrust the entire length of the blade into his father, all the way up to the hilt. Only then did he withdraw his left wing from his victim's shoulder. Coughing up blood, Corvinus slumped against the steel bulkhead, held up by the broadsword alone. As he writhed upon the blade, his son reached into his wool coat and began searching Corvinus's pockets.
Forgive me, Viktor, Corvinus thought in despair. The deceased Elder had been a liar and a hypocrite, but at least he had understood the importance of keeping William locked away from the world. You hid it better than I.
Marcus's eyes lit up with malevolent glee. Grinning evilly at his father, he plucked the key from an inside pocket. Corvinus's dying heart sank at the sight; he had no doubt that, despite Selene's best efforts, Marcus had already obtained the pendant and the location of William's hidden prison. Now his insane son had it all...and all of humanity was in danger.
”You will fail,” Corvinus said, looking into his son's eyes.
But Marcus wasn't quite done with him yet. Tucking the key into the pocket of his overcoat, he turned to face his father once more. It was time to deliver the coup de grace.
The talons of both wings sprang forward, converging on the old man's heart.
Whirring blades sliced through the air as the helicopter touched down on the s.h.i.+p's landing pad. Peering from the c.o.c.kpit, Samuel could have told at once that they had a situation on their hands, even if they hadn't already received an emergency distress signal from the Sancta Helena. Dead guards littered the deck, along with blood and empty sh.e.l.ls. A gaping hole had been torn in the dock alongside the s.h.i.+p, while the broken skylight testified that even the sanct.i.ty of Macaro's private office had been violated.
The Sancta Helena had obviously come under attack. Samuel feared that he and his men had arrived too late. Was the Old Man still alive?
Rifles and machine guns ready, the Cleaners piled out of the copter and raced toward the ops center. They found the corridors of the s.h.i.+p strangely deserted, which suggested that most of the crew and staff had managed to escape the a.s.sault. Samuel dared to hope that Macaro might be among the survivors, but in his heart he knew otherwise. Their commander was definitely one who would want to go down with his s.h.i.+p.
Leading the way, Samuel rushed through the abandoned ops center and up the stairs to the palatial suite. A quick glance confirmed the worst: Macaro sat slumped against one wall, barely breathing. A bright red streak upon the steel bulkhead testified to how the Old Man had slid onto the floor. A bloodstained broadsword rested on the polished wooden planks a few feet away, its grisly work accomplished. Scanning the office, Samuel spotted the inert body of another Cleaner sprawled atop the mahogany desk. Colin Langely, he believed, although the corpse's mutilated face threw some doubt on the matter.
”Look sharp!” he ordered his team. Searching the office, they quickly determined that the enemy was no longer present. Then, and only then, did Samuel hurry to see to Macaro. A look of horror transformed the soldier's usually impa.s.sive features as he registered the full extent of his commander's injuries. Gaping wounds perforated Macaro's chest, many of them pa.s.sing all the way through the man's body. A crimson froth bubbled up from his punctured lungs. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping through the cracks in the hardwood floor. His face was drawn and pale. Pain showed in his ageless gray eyes.
Samuel was one of the few operatives Macaro had trusted with the secret of his true ident.i.ty. The Cleaner realized that any other man would already be dead by now; only Macaro's immortal nature had kept him alive so far.
But for how much longer?
Samuel found it hard to believe that even Alexander Corvinus could survive such grievous wounds. Urgently, he called for a first-aid kit and started applying pressure to the worst of the sucking chest wounds. If he could just stop the bleeding, maybe there was still a chance to save him!
Macaro waved him away. ”No,” he insisted. ”The time has come, my friend.” Gasping for breath, he hurriedly explained the nature of the threat posed by Marcus. ”Find the girl.” He coughed up blood.
”Bring her to me.”
Beneath the pier, Selene tried hopelessly to revive Michael. Her blood had saved him once before; perhaps it could do so again? She squeezed her hand, forcing the blood to stream from her wounded palm onto the gaping wounds in Michael's chest, which nevertheless stubbornly refused to heal. In desperation, she pressed her bleeding palm to his lips. Drink, she pleaded with him silently. Drink, please.
His lips were cold to her touch. His mouth did not welcome the blood.
It was no use. Michael was past saving.
Hunched over his body, she cradled his head with one arm. Only days ago, she recalled, Michael had tended her own wounds beneath a similar pier, after he'd rescued her from a sinking car. Perhaps he would have been better off letting her die; in the end, she had brought him nothing but a violent death.
Fresh tears streaked her face as she wept openly. It was all too much. She had lost everything, including any last hope for happiness. She felt as though her own future had died with Michael.
Caught up in her grief, she didn't even hear the Cleaners coming down the steps until their flashlight beams cut through the darkness below the dock. A hand landed on her shoulder and she spun around violently, knocking the hand away. She sprang to her feet and raised her gun.
The leader of the Cleaners stepped back and raised his hands to signal that he didn't want a fight. ”No, wait.” Behind him, his men lowered their weapons. Selene held her fire, but kept her gun ready. As far as she knew, Corvinus's soldiers were not her enemy, but she wasn't about to take any chances.
”Well?” she demanded hoa.r.s.ely. Her throat ached from sobbing.
”My name is Samuel,” the lead Cleaner identified himself. ”If you want Marcus, you'll need Alexander's help.”
Marcus! The Elder's name inspired a burst of volcanic rage. Selene realized that she still had one thing left to live for: stopping Marcus and avenging Michael's death. But to destroy the hybrid Elder she would need all the a.s.sistance she could get.
She nodded, then glanced down at Michael.