Free Underworld: Blood Enemy by Greg Cox

silver chain mail glittered in the moonlight, and the legs of her leather armor were splattered with mud from the journey. A worried frown marred her elegant features as she glanced upward at the night sky where a gibbous moon shone amid the starry vault. “Dawn will be upon us soon.”
    “Not far, milady,” Soren assured her from atop his own steed. A dozen mounted vampires, plus half as many lycan servants on foot, trailed behind him. Arriving at a crossroads, which was marked by a weathered roadside shrine, he pointed to the right. “That road leads to the monastery of Saint Walpurga, which means that the keep is straight ahead of us, only a short distance away. We should spy the tower anon.”
    Let us hope so, Lucian thought, eavesdropping on the conversation. The procession had been traveling since sunset, en route to Ordoghaz, Viktor’s estate outside Buda, and his legs were weary from trying to keep up with the vampires’ horses. Along with the other lycans, he plodded along at the rear of the procession, stepping carefully to avoid the steaming piles of dung left behind by the vampires’ mounts. A rolled-up tapestry, intended as an Awakening gift for Viktor, was slung over his shoulder, and his back ached from toting the heavy fabric for mile after mile. He was more than ready to shed his burden and rest for a spell.
    There was good reason for the vampires’ haste, however. In less than three nights, with the coming of the new year, Viktor would be Awakened from two centuries of hibernation, and Lady Ilona was determined to attend the ceremony along with her daughter. A company of Death Dealers rode to protect the two noblewomen until they reached Viktor’s estate, where Marcus, the reigning Elder, currently made ready to take Viktor’s place beneath the earth, in accordance with the hallowed tradition of the coven, which dictated that only one Elder ruled over the other immortals during any given century.
    Lucian could not blame the lady for her eagerness to be reunited with her husband. He tried to imagine what it would be like not to lay eyes on Sonja for two full centuries.
    That would be purgatory itself, he mused.
    Despite his fatigue, Lucian was unable to keep from gazing furtively at the unknowing object of his affections. Sonja rode behind her mother and Soren on a roan-colored palfrey named Clio. A fur-trimmed indigo riding cloak concealed the princess’s beauty, yet Lucian occasionally caught a glimpse of blowing blond tresses or a delicate ankle. He fantasized about walking alongside her horse, perhaps engaging Sonja in conversation, but, alas, he knew that to do so would be the height of impertinence. Besides, he rebuked himself, what could such as I have to say to so cultured and highborn a maiden?
    When not staring longingly at the back of Sonja’s cloak, Lucian’s eyes searched the night-shrouded woods lining the road, on guard against any hate-crazed humans who might want to waylay the procession now that Lady Ilona and others had left the safety of the castle. Unlike Soren, he was not at all certain that the caravan was not in jeopardy. He could not help thinking that the procession of immortals presented an all too tempting target to the likes of Brother Ambrose and his followers.
    So far, though, he had yet to detect any lurking peril. The winter night was broken only by the steady clip-clop of the horses and the usual forest noises: the hoot of an owl, the rustling of branches in the wind, the distant howl of a very ordinary wolf.
    The rogue lycans are in custody, he reminded himself hopefully. Perhaps, now that the massacres had ceased, the murderous hatred fueled by the brigands’ depredations had cooled somewhat, so that the frightened mortals were no longer quite so ready to take up arms against the
    “demons” of the castle. It would be comforting to think so, he thought. Still, I will feel better when we have safely arrived at our final destination one night hence.
    Lucian had