“Daniel!” Malora cried. “Why are you doing this? I thought you were myfriend.”
But Daniel had forgotten about his crush on Malora. He craved bloodshed. The scene with Yasmin had whet his appetite and he couldn’t stop now, any more than Larten could have when the hunger overwhelmed him.
The captain studied Daniel soberly, then turned his gaze on Malora. “Step out of the way, please, ma’am.” He nodded at a few of his sailors.
Malora shook her head. “Captain, no, don’t listen to him, itwasjust-”
“Ma’am!” the captain barked. “Ye’re not listening t’ me. Ye have t’ move now This is bad fer yer master and if ye don’t get away from there immediately it’ll be bad fer you and all. If ye give him to us, I’ll settle fer that and spare ye. But if ye stand up fer him… fer what he did…” His features hardened. “It’s time t’ choose.”
The young woman looked from one stern-faced sailor to another. There was a vicious gleam to their eyes — they had caught the same dark lust as Daniel. Her friends had disappeared and she knew better than to beg for mercy. It didn’t exist here now.
Malora nodded slowly, accepting what destiny had unleashed upon her. Unlike Larten, she had no problem choosing her path. No problem at all.
“So be it,” she said, softly closing the door so as not to disturb the unconscious vampire. As the sailors bunched around her, silent as a pack of sharks, she laid the palm of one hand on the door and bid a silent farewell to the lover she would never get a chance to truly love. Then, turning calmly, she faced the mob closing in on her, sneered at their savage, bestial hunger, drew a knife and made her stand.
Chapter Twenty-three
If the crew had stormed the cabin, Larten would not have been able to resist. He had passed out on top of his bed. It would have been a simple matter for them to turn him over, bare his left breast and drive a sharpened stake through his heart.
But superstition and fear swept through the sailors once they had dealt with Malora. Instead of rushing to finish the cruel business, they paused to debate the situation. And in that pause their doubts exploded.
“He’s a vampire,” one hissed, and explained what vampires were for those who didn’t know. It was a maelstrom of myths, theories and hysteria after that.
“He can turn into a bat.”
“He can turn into smoke and slip away.”
“He’s powerful at night, but weak in the day. We should wait for the sun.”
“A stake through the heart will destroy him.”
“So will sunlight.”
'And holy water, but we ain’t got any of that.”
“If we attack now and he wakes, he’ll be stronger than us.”
‘Wait.”
“Daylight turns them to ash.”
“Aye, wait.”
“He can’t hide from the sun.”
‘Wait.”
“Aye.”
“Wait.”
Larten was groggy when he awoke. He could have happily slept much longer, but something had disturbed him. Creaking noises, sharper and louder than the normal twangs of the ship, coming from directly overhead. As he listened, the sounds came again. It was as if the room was trying to rip itself apart.
As Larten sat up, confused, a couple of planks were torn loose from the ceiling and sunlight pierced the cabin. He flinched and drew back from the beams. There was laughteroutside.
“There! He’s frightened o’ the light. Hurry, lads. Once we pull the rest o’ that ceiling away, he’s finished. He’ll be ash by breakfast.”
Larten stared with astonishment as a crowd of sailors hacked through the thin roof of his cabin. They were working like a team of ants. They’d tear all of the planks away in a matter of minutes and Larten would have nowhere to shelter.
He couldn’t remember much of the night before, but he swiftly worked out what had happened. They had discovered his true identity and were coming to kill him. This was serious. The sunlight wouldn’t destroy him instantly, but he couldn’t stay exposed to it for long. He would have to retreat and seek shelter in the bowels of the ship. He could barricade himself in somewhere, but it was going to be nigh impossible to keep them out. Still, he had to try.
“Malora?” he croaked, although he already knew she wasn’t there. He looked for her, to be sure, then sighed with relief. They’d either captured her or she had gone over to their side to save her own neck. He didn’t mind which, just as long as she wasn’t sucked down into the pit with him. If this was to be his end, so be it, but there was no reason why the innocent girl should suffer too.
The vampire grinned bleakly as the sailors tore the ceiling to shreds. He felt better than he had in ages, stomach still warm with Yasmin’s blood, head clearer than it had been for several days. Ironically, it seemed that he had gotten the better of the flu at last, so at least he could die in good health.
Larten washed his hands in a finger bowl, gargled from a glass of water, then drank the rest. He dusted off his clothes, brushed his hair back and blew his nose several times for good measure. Vampires didn’tfear death. Larten had already lived longerthan most humans. This would be a good way to die, hunted and staked by a mob. Seba would chuckle proudly if word ever reached him in Vampire Mountain. “When you have to go,” he had often said to Larten and Wester, “try to go in style!”
As the last of the ceiling was pried away with crowbars, Larten crouched, then sprang through the gap that had been created, landing on the deck like a cat. The sailors cried out with alarm and reeled away from the freed vampire. As they scrambled over one another, shrieking with terror, Larten stood to his full height and glared at his tormentors, looking majestic despite his dirty clothes, red eyes and scraggly beard.
“Come then, humans!” he bellowed. “I am Larten Crepsley of the vampire clan and I fear no man.”
The sailors paused and gaped. They hadn’t expected a response like this. They thought he’d howl and screech and fight like a cornered rat to the bitter, bloody end. But here he stood, tall and straight, unafraid of his foes, challenging them to do their worst.
The captain recovered and pointed at Larten with a hook he’d kept over his bed for many years in case he ever faced a mutiny. “Crosses!” he barked, and six sailors pressed forward holding crucifixes.
Larten laughed. Perhaps the clan didn’t require Bram Stoker to spread silly myths about the creatures of the night. These humans had accepted the old, crazy legends without any need of a novel.
The captain scowled. He didn’t like the way the monster was laughing. The beast should be cowering, begging them to spare his worthless life. The captain was eagerto finish off the vampire, but first he wanted to see that smirk wiped from the villain’s face.
‘Ye think this is funny?” the captain snarled.
“I think it is pathetic,” Larten retorted.
‘Ye’re a monster. A vampire. A servant o’ the devil himself.”
‘You know far more about the devil than I do, sir,” Larten replied. He wouldn’t normally have played for time — it would have made more sense to make his break and seek shelter from the sun — but he was scanning the crowd for Malora. He wanted to be sure she was safe before he fled. Maybe curse her as a traitor or act as if he’d fooled her along with the rest, to make them think she hadn’t been working in league with him.
The captain saw Larten looking and realized what he was searching for. A dark flicker of a smile danced across his lips. “Are ye worried about yer wench?” he asked innocently.
Larten felt a chill form inside his stomach. “She knows nothing about me,” he said, trying to distance himself from Malora to help her as much as he could — if that was still possible. “She is just a girl I picked up and used. I do not care what you do with her.”
