The Blood of Caine

The Lioness, the Witch and the Werewolves

Vlad gave Dmitri the address and informed them that they had two hours until sunrise.

Once they'd exited the castle, they went to a car. A black SUV. It was then that the woman chose to introduce herself, "The name's Amelia Wolffheart."

Freya acknowledged her with a nod, "Freya Craven."

"What are you?" she asked.

Freya assumed she was talking about the discipline and shrugged, "No idea. Judging by your eyes, I suppose it is safe to guess that you're Nosferatu?"

Amelia gave a sharp nod, "Yes, you catch on quickly."

Dmitri hurried them into the car - reminding them of their time limit. He programmed the address into the GPS and started off in the direction it showed.

It didn't take long to find the destination. A huge Gothic style building. It had a cemetry near it. Freya recognised it, immediately, as a church.

"Dammit," Amelia hissed, "It would be."

Dmitri slid his tongue over his teeth, "Freya, you need to go in there alone."

Freya's eyes widened, "What? You can't be serious!"

"You're the only one who can," Amelia explained.

She folded her arms, "And why is that?"

"You have yet to taste human blood, correct?" Dmitri turned to face her, in the back seat.

Freya remembered the sweet taste of the blood on her tongue, "I don't know."

Amelia nodded, "Yip. It has to be you."

Freya rolled her eyes and got out the car. She started walking towards the church, when Amelia tapped on the window. She turned to face her as the window opened.

"You can't just waltz in the front door," Amelia whispered.

Freya raised an eyebrow, "Why not ?"

"Have you ever heard of a thing called stealth?" Dmitri asked, dryly.

"That's why I'm going in the front door," she whispered, "no one will expect it."

She turned and walked up the concrete pathway to the church door. It was unlocked, so she got in easily enough. It was what happened after; that was a problem.

Freya closed the door behind her, letting it click softly. She turned and found herself face to face with a tall, intimidating woman in a long, black dress. So much for the element of surprise. Her black hair hung in a matted mess around her face and there was a snarl - identical to that which one would be greeted with upon passing through the gates of hell - painted upon her face.

"Oh..." Freya couldn't complete that thought.

Long, claw-like nails lashed her cheek. Blood poured down her face, then the wounds closed, and her sword was in her hand. She lunged forward, impaling the demonic-looking woman's torso. She disappeared, leaving behind the faint, metalic smell of blood.

Freya pressed her back to the wall of the foyer, taking a moment to recover from her shock. She poked her head into the massive church area. Scanning the pews for any sign of movement. Her night vision had improved, since she'd woken up that evening. She edged into the church, her sword held out in front of her.

She pressed herself up against another wall and moved along it, right round the gathering area, past the pulpit, to a wooden door. She rested her hand on the the handle and took a deep breath. She, gently, applied pressure and threw the door open then she spun into the doorway, her sword raised and ready to strike.

She let go a sigh of relief when she found the small room empty. It was a study. She backed out of the room and closed the door. There was another door opposite, she opened it and followed a stone corridor to, yet, another wooden door. She opened it to find a flight of wooden stairs, going down. She took each step carefully, making sure they didn't creak under her weight. She'd made it, right until the last step. Which creaked and gave way beneath her shoes. She fell, with a loud clatter, and screwed her eyes shut. They shot wide open when a deep, ominous growl seeped through the silence.

Two yellow orbs glowed just two metres away. Freya's eyes adjusted to the pitch darkness and what she saw was a far cry from pleasant. There was a huge, grey wolf staring straight at her. It's teeth were bared and a viscious growl rumbled in its throat, next to it, stood that ghastly woman.

Slowly, the two orbs were joined with more and the whole small basement room rumbled. Freya cursed.

They attacked, and they did not attack the way she'd seen in movies - one by one. They attacked all at once, until she was drowning in an ocean of blood, claws and teeth. How many werewolves could you fit in such a small room? Through the chaos, Freya caught a glimps of the rest of the room. It wasn't so small. Right on the other side, a big leather bound book rested on a pedistal. The Book of Blood, no doubt.

Pain caught her off guard as a claw slashed at her face. She felt sharp teeth penetrate the skin on her thigh, it actually burned, like acid. She reached for a dagger and began flailing wildly. Dmitri's lessons forgotten, her blade found it's mark. She slashed the wolf's throat in one swift movement. It's blood spilled over her face but it did not die. She thrust the dagger upward and through. The wolf's head hit the ground with a thud Freya heaved its body off her own. That seemed to distract the others, momentarily, giving her time to get some space and retrieve her sword.

She stood, fangs bared and legs firm. They wouldn't catch her off guard again. There was a shriek and the woman was in front of her, lunging for her throat but she was faster. She stepped in, grabbing the woman's throat. She bit into the almost necrotic skin and the woman dropped to her knees. Freya swiped at the blood on her mouth.

It was then that she realised what she had just done. The soles of her feet burned, making her feel like she was walking on heated iron. Her stomach began to cramp and she felt she might be ill. She fought the feeling. The werewolves refocused their attention on her and attacked again. There was nothing she could do. She was a vampire on consecrated ground. She was in pain. She was going to die.

The werewolves halted, suddenly. Could Amelia control the werewolves? No. A man stood in front of her. He was wearing a long black cloak, red eyes gleaming in the shadow of his hood.

Caine, she thought, thank goodness.

Nope. Not Caine. She screamed as he slid the silver dagger between her chest plate and her corset. Her heart. She was thrown to the wolves, the last thing she saw, before everything went black, was a large lioness break through the basement window, along with Dmitri.