On a Darkling Plain by Unknown Author Read Free Book Online

insults and rebuffs rose in his mind, and he wondered who he was kidding. His fellow Kindred would never accept him in any case. For whatever reason, they’d always loathed him, and no doubt they always would. And perhaps it was time to start avenging the mistreatment he’d suffered at their hands.
    Making himself move slowly, savoring the moment, he lowered his head toward the female vampire’s throat. A bullet fell out of his breast as his regenerating flesh ejected it. Just as his fangs pricked his victim’s skin, a lovely contralto voice behind him said, “Wait.”
    TWO: THE PROGNOSIS
    If I am a great man, then a good many of the great men of history are frauds.
    —- Bonar Law
    By the time he reached the top of the wide oak stairs, Elliott knew there hadn’t been any improvement in Roger’s condition. The Toreador prince’s voice echoed hoarsely through his four-story beachfront Victorian house, ranting threats, accusations of treason, and obscenities. Nevertheless, cringing at the prospect, the younger vampire felt honor-bound to look in on his sire.
    Straightening his green silk tie, Elliott paced down the softly lit, luxuriously carpeted hallway. Baroque paintings depicting the world of the undead — macabre masterpieces unknown to the art historians of the mortal world — hung along the walls. For a moment one of the pictures glimpsed from the corner of his eye, a depiction of a pretty young vampire spying on her own funeral, tugged at him in the old familiar way. But even as he turned to gaze at it, his sense of incipient rapture died unborn.
    Sighing, he moved on and tapped on the door to Roger’s bedroom. His knock triggered a renewed outburst of his sire’s cursing. Simultaneously, a solemn baritone voice said, “Come in.”
    Elliott entered the chamber. Roger lay, not in his ornate canopy bed, but on the hospital gurney his subjects had procured the night he’d fallen ill. Leather restraints bounds his arms and legs to the steel rails to keep him from hurting himself or someone else. Even those hadn’t prevented him from gnawing his lips bloody. The scent of the vitae tinged the air.
    Lazio perched miserably on a Queen Anne chair in the corner, looking as if he’d aged ten years. A tall, black, shaven-headed vampire with a square, oversized head and narrow maroon eyes, his skin as dark as it had been in life but with an underlying grayness, stood beside the ailing prince’s resting place. Several gold studs gleamed in his left ear, in striking contrast to his conservative attire. The front of his three-piece pinstriped suit was stained with blood. Roger had probably spat it at him.
    Seeing the Kindred, Elliott felt a faint stirring of hope: the man was Lionel Potter, come at last. When mortal, Potter had been a brilliant physician; in the century since his induction into the ranks of the undead, he’d become the closest thing there was to an expert on vampiric physiology and disease. Thanks to his invaluable knowledge, skills and discretion, he’d transcended his humble Caitiff origins to become one of the most respected young Cainites in the Camarilla.
    Elliott gave Roger a respectful, affectionate smile. “Good evening,” he said. “How do you feel?”
    Roger’s lip curled. “Well, the leader of the rats, come to gloat. If you have a shred of courage or honor, you’ll let me up from here so we can settle our vendetta in a fair fight.”
    Elliott’s head swam. For a moment he felt a burst at rage at his sire for impugning his bravery, and yearned to give the older vampire the duel he was demanding. Stepping forward, he reached to unfasten the restraints. Then his mind cleared, and he realized that Roger was using his charismatic powers to manipulate him. Feeling foolish, Elliott lowered his hand, and the prince of Sarasota burst into peals of mocking laughter.
    Elliott turned to Potter. “Thank you for coming,” the one-time actor said. “I’m Elliott Sinclair. We met in Paris two