David McAfee - 61 A.D.

She touched her palm to his face, and for an instant Theron felt a jolt of electricity sizzle through his body. Then the world went dark.

They stood with their backs to him, two Bachiyr of seemingly local origin to judge by their clothes and their accents. They smelled newly turned, not more than a month dead. The pair stood with their necks bent, looking down at a sobbing woman who lay squirming on the alley floor. One of them chuckled, and the other kicked the woman in the side, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. The smell of blood hung in the air, a tantalizing coppery scent that would have attracted other vampires to the alley like sharks. As it happened, Ramah was the first shark to the scene, and these two vampires would never live to finish the woman off.

He stepped forward, his fangs and claws tucked away for the moment. In truth, Ramah did not need either to deal with the two vampires. He could kill them from a hundred yards away if he chose, but that was less entertaining than spilling their blood in the street with his bare hands. His search for Theron and Taras had thus far proven fruitless, and it would feel good to release some of his irritation on these two renegades.

That the two figures standing in the shadows of the alley were Bachiyr was obvious, but they didn’t look familiar. Granted, he’d been away from the Halls many times, often for months or years at a time, but he still knew most of the other vampires in the world. That was by design. All Bachiyr had to be approved by the Council before they could be turned.

Unless they were turned during one of his absences, they had to be renegades. And the Council’s law on renegade Bachiyr was quite clear: terminate immediately. It would be a nice distraction before he went back to looking for Theron and Taras.

Ramah leaned against a wall and cleared his throat loudly. Both renegades turned to face him. Even the woman looked up. When she saw Ramah her face lit with such hope that Ramah couldn’t help but chuckle. Doubtless she thought he was there to save her. Once he killed the other two Bachiyr she would be his next meal. It was nice of them to tenderize her first.

“Go away,” one of the vampires said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Wait, Elias,” the other said. “”We’ll need as much blood as we can get for later, right?”

“True,” Elias replied, grinning. “I guess he can stay after all, Brecht.”

The one called Brecht turned his body around to face Ramah and bared his teeth. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This won’t hurt much.”

Ramah almost laughed. This was going to be fun.

Taras and his new ally dragged Theron through the tavern district. They held him up between them, making him look like a drunk being helped home by his friends. They needn’t have bothered with the ruse, the streets of Londinium were all but deserted, with only the moon to keep them company.

“How much farther?” Taras asked, wanting to get this over with. Despite his desire to kill Theron, the woman made him nervous.

“Right over there,” Lannis said, pointing. “In that alley.”

Taras looked. About thirty yards away was a narrow opening between two ramshackle taverns. Just beyond it, on the city’s skyline, he could see the faint lightening of the horizon that signaled the upcoming dawn. He hoped Lannis had a place to wait out the daylight hours.

Before they reached the alley they heard a shout of pain, immediately followed by a severed head bouncing out of the darkness and into the street. Taras froze, noting the sharp fangs in the dead, rolling face. Another vampire?

He turned to Lannis, but her expression showed just as much confusion as he felt. She blinked, then said, “Brecht?”

The head rolled by without responding, of course, and her face soon changed from confused to angry. She dropped Theron’s shoulder, sending half his torso into the dirt. The claws on her hands extended outward. She snarled and took a step toward the alley.

Just then a body flew out in a splatter of crimson and flesh. The smell of blood hit Taras’s nostrils like a hurricane, nearly bowling him over. The body landed hard in the street, and Taras noted that despite the many rips and tears, this one’s head was still attached. When one of the arms moved, and the victim tried to pull himself away from the alley, Taras guessed he probably wished he wasn’t living, after all.

“Elias!” Lannis yelled. “What is happening here? I left you-”

Her voice trailed off as a figure stepped from the alley entrance. Taras stared in awe. He’d seen this vampire once before, in Jerusalem. He didn’t know much about the elder vampire except that Theron had seemed terrified of him. Lannis, too, had stopped in her tracks.

“Ramah,” she whispered.

Ramah. Another Council Member. Good. He would see Taras helping Lannis to bring Theron to justice. That could only expedite things for him.

At the sound of his name, Ramah turned to face them. Taras steeled himself against the dark visage. Ramah stood drenched in the blood of two vampires that Taras could only assume were renegades like himself. Maybe they’d attacked Ramah while he waited in the alley. Judging by the results, it was very poor judgment on their part.

When Ramah’s eyes settled on him, Taras felt a shiver crawl up his spine. The smile on that bloody face didn’t look friendly at all.

“You,” Ramah said. “Taras, isn’t it?”

Taras nodded.

Ramah chuckled. “Is that Theron with you?”

Taras nodded again. “I’ve been working with Councilor Lannis to bring him to justice.” Taras motioned to his right, where Lannis had been standing when Ramah stepped out of the shadows.

But she wasn’t there.

Ramah chuckled. “Really? Where is she, Taras?”

Taras let go of Theron’s wrist and backed away a few steps. “She was right here. Didn’t she tell you about our deal?”

“Deal?” Ramah’s voice sounded light. Amused.

Shit. He could tell by Ramah’s bemused smirk that the Councilor thought he was lying. Where the hell was Lannis? She should be helping him, not disappearing. Now he was in real danger. He made ready to run, not wanting any part of another fight with Ramah. The last time he’d fought the elder vampire, only the interference of the people near Jerusalem’s Damascus Gate had saved him. This time the streets were empty, and he had no doubt who would prove the victor. He turned and sprinted for a side street.

Before he’d gone ten paces Ramah stood in front of him, materializing as if from the very air itself. Taras couldn’t stop, so he ducked his head and charged, hoping to surprise Ramah and bowl his way past.

It felt like he ran into a stone wall. He bounced off Ramah’s torso in a fit of stars and pain, and for a moment the whole world disappeared. The next thing he knew, he was lying in the street, dizzy and confused, while a shadow crossed his face. He looked up just in time to see Ramah’s clawed hand skewer his throat. The pain flared through his body like fire, and as Ramah lifted Taras off the ground by his ripped and bleeding neck, he smiled.

“Not this time, Taras.” Ramah said. “You will not escape me again.”

Taras coughed and choked on the blood pooling in his throat. He knew he would not live to see the moon again.

Ramah reached back with his other hand and punched forward, sending his second set of claws into Taras’s gut. Taras screamed at the searing pain in his belly, but no sound came out. The entire street had gone deathly silent. He knew what that meant. Ramah had cast a psalm to keep from waking the city’s inhabitants.

Taras reached out with a trembling hand and tried to swat at Ramah’s arm, but it did no good. Ramah batted his hand away as though he were a fly. Then Ramah brought his face to Taras’s neck and tore into his flesh. The pain was intense, but mercifully short. Soon Taras felt nothing at all other than a heavy tiredness that he’d never experienced before. He saw the lightening glow on the horizon and wondered if Ramah would manage to kill him before the sun peeked over the rooftops. Then there was nothing.