Greg Cox - Underworld: Rise of the Lycans (Underworld (Pocket Star Books))

From The Underworld Chronicles by Selene:

A war has raged for the better part of a thousand years, a blood feud betweenvampires and werewolves. It had its roots in the Dark Ages, when a great plague burned through Eastern Europe, turning all the land into a graveyard. Corpse wagons were piled high with the bodies of the victims, their lifeless faces contorted by the fearsome agonies of their deaths. Blackened flesh and swollen buboes hinted at the torments the doomed souls had endured before the Grim Reaper put them out of their misery. Their limbs and extremities were rotted from within. Pus oozed from open sores.

None was spared save Alexander, Duke of Corvinus. To him and his heirs, the Plague brought not death but life eternal. He became the Father of all immortals, beginning with his twin sons, William and Marcus.

William was the first to be changed. It began on a moonlit night in the Carpathian Mountains, when the two brothers rode their steeds fearlessly through a dense, black forest. Blessed with immortality, they feared neither beast nor man as they raced past ancient firs and pines. Pounding hooves tore up the winding dirt trail. Without warning, a great black wolf lunged from the shadows. Ivory fangs glistened in the moonlight as the beast leapt at Marcus, who was taken unawares by the wolfs savage attack. His horse reared up in alarm,whinnying in terror. All but thrown from his saddle, Marcus clung frantically to the reins of his panicked mount, unable to defend himself. The wolf snarled loudly as it went in for the kill, its hot breath steaming the cold night air.

The young nobleman would surely have perished had not his brother come to his defense with lightning speed. Yanking his double-edged sword from its scabbard, William struck out at the beast only moments before its fangs could tear out Marcus throat. Tempered steel sliced through matted black fur. Blood sprayedfrom the beasts side. Dying, the wounded beast whirled about and snapped atWilliams outstretched sword arm. Powerful jaws clamped down on his armoredwrist, punching through chain mail. The wolfs fangs sank deep into his flesh.

William saved his brothers life, but at a terrible cost. Within hours, ashis thrashing form was laid out atop a rough-hewn wooden table at the nearest inn, the wolfs bite caused the mutated virus within his veins to react in anunexpected fashion. Violent convulsions racked his flailing body as a hideous metamorphosis forever robbed him of all semblance of humanity. Snow-white fur sprouted from hisagonized flesh. Bones cracked and twisted audibly. His skull stretched beneath his skin, transforming his once handsome features into a canine snout. Jagged fangs protruded from his gums. Hairy ears tapered to points. Claws slid from his fingertips. His hands and feet gave way to large, shaggy paws. His fine clothes and armor came apart at the seams. Bloodshot brown eyes turned cobalt blue and opalescent. An anguished scream devolved into the howl of a ravening beast. On that terrible night, before the shocked eyes of his brother, William became the first werewolf, a soulless monster with a bottomless appetite for slaughter.

His bloody rampages became legend. He and those he infected laid waste entire villages. Packs of marauding werewolves ran amok through the countryside, devouring the populace while creating ever more of their kind, much to the horror of his brother, Marcus, who in time became the first vampire. It fell upon Marcus to create the Death Dealers, an army of vampire soldiers dedicated to the destruction of Williams inhuman spawn. Vampire waged all-out war againstwerewolf in a series of horrific battlesuntil William himself was cornered atlast. Led by Viktor, the Death Dealers ruthless military commander, the greatwhite beast was finally brought to his kneesand locked away in a secret prisonfor all time.

But even after Williams capture, his vile breed lingered for centuries.Death Dealers fought an endless battle against the beasts he had created in his own image. Like William, the werewolves were nothing but wild, unreasoning animals, forever trapped in the shape of monstrous beasts.Only upon death did they regain their humanity.

Until, one fateful night many years after Williams downfall, he was born.

Lucian.

Hungary

The Thirteenth Century

The werewolf whimpered in pain as its captors dragged it through the shadowycorridors of the underground dungeon. Silver barbs, embedded deep in the beastsbleeding hide, were affixed to heavy iron chains that weighed down the werewolfs shaggy black form; unlike their albino progenitor, Williamssuccessors were covered with fur the color of midnight. Even with its massive head bowed in submission, the monsters pointed ears brushed the low ceiling ofthe dungeon. Its clawed feet scraped against the dank stone floor as it staggered down the tunnel on its hind legs. Death Dealers, clad in gleaming black plate armor, tugged on the other ends of the chains, being careful to stay out of reach of their captives razor-sharp fangs and claws. The immensewerewolf, more than eight feet tall, towered over the smaller vampires. Additional knights, armed withcrossbows and silver truncheons, warily escorted the procession, in the event that the beast was not quite as cowed as it appeared. Too many Death Dealers had seen their immortality end beneath the slavering jaws of an enraged werewolf; no one wanted to take any unnecessary chances with this prisoner until it was safely locked away in its cell. Even a chained wolf could bite.

Loathsome animal, Viktor thought. The regal Elder watched withsatisfaction as his soldiers led the beast away Piercing azure eyes peered from his gaunt, clean-shaven face. Sandy blond hair receded from his lofty brow. An aquiline nose distinguished his patrician countenance. A black velvet robe with golden trim clothed his narrow frame. He looked to be roughly fifty by mortal standards, although, like most of the inhabitants of the castle, his true age was measured in centuries.

Not for the first time, he pondered whether it was worth the risk to take these monsters alive. His alchemists and advisers insisted that they needed living specimens to experiment upon, in hopes of finding new means to combat their bestial enemies, but Viktor sometimes had his doubts as to whether their efforts were truly necessary. Fire and silver had always served the Death Dealers in the past. What more did they need to rid the world of these wretched beasts?

This way, sire.

A jailor gestured to the right, reminding the Elder of his errand here tonight. A bizarre story had reached his ears, one that frankly beggared belief, but which had seemed to demandhis personal attention. With Marcus and Amelia presently hibernating beneath the earth, enjoying two centuries of interrupted slumber, Viktor was the sole Elder in command of the coven. As such, it was his solemn duty to investigate anything that might affect their eternal war with the werewolveseven if, in this case,he suspected he was wasting his time.

Surely there must be some mistake, he thought. Such a thing is notpossible.

Lead on, he instructed the jailor.

The club-footed turnkey, whose pasty complexion was even paler than an ordinary vampires, guided Viktor down a murky subterranean corridor. He heldaloft a sputtering torch that did little to dispel the gloomy shadows shrouding the dungeon, while gripping a crossbow with his other hand. Heavy iron bars, reinforced with silver, guarded the dismal cells lining both sides of the passageway. Chains rattled as caged werewolves shuffled behind the sturdy bars. Low growls and angry snarls escaped the cells. Filthy straw littered the cold stone floors. Water dripped down clammy, slime-encrusted brick walls. Arcane runes were inscribed on the greenish-gray masonry. The fetid atmosphere reeked of sweat, piss, offal, and foul wolfen blood. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Rats and lizards scurried away from their approach.