Greg Cox - Underworld, Book 1

Budapest was no stranger to war. Over the long, bloody centuries, theHungarian capital had been captured and fought over by a succession of conquerorsHuns, Goths, Magyars, Turks, Hapsburgs, Nazis, and Sovietsbeforefinally reclaiming its independence in the concluding decade of the twentieth century. But all these merely human conflicts were fleeting in comparison with the shadowy, ageless war now being fought in the moonlit streets and alleys of the ancient city.

A war that, at long last, might be nearing its end.

Driving rain pelted the rooftops, while the howling autumn wind carried a hint of winters bite. A grotesque stone gargoyle, oily black and slick withrain, perched on the crumbling ledge of the historic Klotild Palace, an imposing, five-story apartment block adorned by elaborate Spanish-Baroque stonework. The one-hundred-year-old edifice, whose ground floor now housed an art gallery, a cafe, and various stylish boutiques, overlooked Ferenciek Square, a busy hub of pedestrian and auto traffic located near the heart of central Pest. Buses, trolleys, and taxis zipped along the cobblestone streets below, braving the torrential downpour.

Another figure crouched beside the petrified gargoyle, very nearly as still and silent: a beautiful woman, clad in lustrous black leather, with long, dark brown hair and alabaster skin. Heedless of both the storm and her own precarious roost upon the narrow ledge, she gazed grimly from the rooftop. Her striking chestnut eyes were fixed on the teeming streets beneath her, even as her somber thoughts looked back upon centuries of unremitting warfare.

Could it truly be, Selene reflected, that the war is almostover? Her elegant face, as pale and lovely as the moon goddess after whomshe was named, was a mask of coldblooded concentration, betraying no sign of the restless anxieties troubling her mind. It seems unthinkable, and yet

The enemy had been losing ground for nearly six centuries, ever since its crushing defeat back in 1409, when a daring assault team had penetrated the oppositions hidden fortress in Moldavia. Lucian, the most feared and ruthlessleader ever to rule the lycan horde, had been killed at last, his men scattered to the wind in a single evening of purifying flame and retribution. Yet the ancient blood feud had proved unwilling to follow Lucian to the grave. Though the lycans were fewer in number, the war had become even more perilousfor themoon no longer held her sway. Older, more powerful lycans were now able to change form at will, posing an even greater threat to Selene and her fellow Death Dealers. For close to six hundred years, the Dealers, an elite squad of vampire warriors, had pursued the surviving man-beasts, the weapons changing but never the tactics: hunt the lycans down, and kill them off, one by one. A most successful campaign.

Perhaps too successful, she mused ruefully. The tail of her glossy blacktrench coat flapped in the wind as she leaned forward over the edge of the rooftop, defying gravity. A five-story plunge beckoned precipitously, but Selenes mind still dwelt onthe war and its potential aftermath. According to all their intel, obtained at great cost by undercover agents and paid human informants, the lycans were scattered and in disarray, their numbers scant and diminishing. After countless generations of brutal combat, it appeared the loathsome beasts finally had become an endangered species, a thought that filled Selene with profoundly mixed feelings.

On one hand, she eagerly looked forward to exterminating the lycans once and for all; this was, after all, what she had lived for all these years. The world would be a better place when the carcass of the last savage man-beast was left rotting in the sun. And yet Selene couldnt help feeling a tremor ofapprehension at the prospect of an end to her long crusade. For such as she, the final extinction of the lycans would signal the close of an era. Soon, like the discarded weapons of the previous centuries, she, too, would become obsolete.

A pity, she thought, her tongue tracing the polished contours of herfangs. Tracking and killing lycans had been her only pleasure for ages, and she had come to love it dearly. What will I do when the war is over? theshapely vampire fretted, facing an eternity without purpose. What am I if not a Death Dealer?

The icy rain sluiced down her face and form, forming sooty puddles on the ornate rooftop. The smoggy night air smelled of ozone, presaging thunderbolts to come. Selene ignored the fierce wind and rain, maintaining her stakeout upon the ledge. She searched intently for her prey, craving action to dispel the melancholy doubts haunting her mind. She glanced impatiently at the clock tower of the Klotilds sister building, on the other side of busy Szabadsajto Avenue. It was a quarter to nine, the sun had been down for hours, so where thehell were those goddamn lycanthropes?

The crowded sidewalks below were choked with umbrellas, obscuring her view of the pedestrians scurrying about in the rain, defying the storm from beneath their concealing bumbershoots. Selene clenched her fists in frustration, her sharpened nails digging into her ivory palms. Surveillance teams had reported definite lycan activity in this district, but she had yet to spot a single target. Where are you hiding, you bloody animals? she thought irritably.

She began to fear that their prey had eluded them, that the wolf pack had decamped under the cover of daylight, seeking a more secluded lair elsewhere. Sadly, it would not be the first time a mangy pack of lycanthropes managed to relocate before the Death Dealers caught up with them.

She shivered beneath her leathers, the inclement weather beginning to get to her despite her snug attire and intense resolve. It was tempting to give up and call it a night, but no, that was not an option. A look of stubborn determination came over her face as she shrugged off her momentary weakness. There were lycans abroad tonight, she knew it, and she wasnt about to let themget away, even if it meant crouching in the rain until nearly sunrise.

Her keen eyes searched the hectic streets below. At first, she spotted nothing suspicious. Thenwait! Over there! Her eyes narrowed as theyzeroed in on two unsavory-looking individuals making their way down a crowded sidewalk. Eschewing umbrellas, the two men roughly weaved through the ambulatory throng, using jabbing elbows and surly glares to clear a path for themselves amidst the myriad other pedestrians abroad in the storm. Scuffed leather jackets protected the men from the worst of the wind and rain.

An angry hiss escaped Selenes pale red lips. Even in human form, the roving lycans filled her veins with hatred and revulsion.Their present shape could not deceive her; she knew full well that the two ruffians were not really people at all, just filthy animals masquerading as men.

She recognized them at once from her intel briefings. The larger lycanthrope, some one-hundred-plus kilos of barely contained murderous intent, was known as Raze. Some of the analysts back at the mansion maintained that the muscular black lycan was now the alpha-male of the central European pack, while others speculated that some other lycan, as yet unidentified, outranked even Raze. Either way, the bald-headed bruiser struck Selene as a formidable opponent; she looked forward to filling him full of silver.

His companion, a smaller lycan maybe eighty kilos in weight, was obviously a lesser specimen. He was Caucasian in appearance, with nervous, ratlike features and a head of untidy brown hair. Selene watched as Raze rudely shoved the other lycan, whose name was reputedly Trix, out of his way as the bullying lycan hurried down the congested sidewalk, intent on the Elders only knew what sort of barbaric mischief.