Underworld: Blood Enemy by Greg Cox Read Free Book Online

the drawbridge back down over the defensive chasm, despite the best efforts of the lycan guards stationed above the gate, who found themselves sorely beset by an onslaught of spears and flaming arrows.
    Now a colossal battering ram came charging at the gate, driven by a gang of sweaty humans.
    Dozens of boots pounded over the drawbridge, which groaned beneath the combined weight of the ram and its crew. The mighty timber, which was at least three feet in diameter, slammed into the iron portcullis and the great double doors beyond, producing an earth-shaking clamor loud enough to wake every slumbering vampire in the castle. Lucian imagined Sonja in her bedchamber, trembling beneath the covers at the fearful din, knowing that something was terribly amiss yet unable to venture out into the sunlight to find out what was happening.
    No! Lucian thought, the image fueling his anger against the ruffians. Nothing ill shall befall you, my princess, he vowed passionately. Not while I live!
    He turned toward the vat, whose burnished steel reflected the dancing flames beneath the cauldron. “How fares the pitch?” he demanded impatiently.
    “It boils, Lucian!” Nasir called out to him. The Turk stood behind the copper kettle, stirring its contents with a long metal rod. He withdrew the rod; thick black tar dripped from the further end of the stick. Lucian could hear the hot pitch bubbling within the vat. The smell of brimstone filled his nostrils.
    Excellent, he thought.
    Peering out over the battlements, he saw the scaling ladders swing back against the castle walls once more. “Hold one minute more,” he instructed Nasir, holding up his hand to forestall the other lycan. Lucian waited until a new wave of besiegers was halfway up the high ladders before stepping safely to one side of the steaming vat. “Now!” he shouted.
    Nasir used his metal rod to tip the cauldron toward the battlements. A flood of viscous black pitch poured from the vat onto the floor of the rampart, where it swiftly flowed into the gutters, which led to holes in the protruding stone machicolations, from whence the tar spilled out onto the men below. The boiling goo splattered the unlucky mortals scaling the walls before inundating the shield bearers and ladder holders at the base of the castle. Agonized screams rose toward the sky as the scalding tar clung to the mortals’ bodies. Blackened figures ran about frantically, clawing fruitlessly at the molten pitch, before dropping to the earth, where their tortured forms spasmed briefly before falling still. Tar-coated peasants stumbled headlong into the gaping chasm, impaling themselves on the spikes waiting at the bottom of the abyss. Scaling ladders, abandoned by the men who had held them secure, teetered precariously before toppling over once again. The shrieks of falling men joined the high-pitched wails of those burned by the oozing tar. A sulfurous stench rose from their blistered flesh.
    Lucian felt a flicker of pity for the suffering mortals, which was speedily dispelled by the mere thought of his beloved Sonja falling into the hands of these varlets. He imagined brutal hands driving a stake through Sonja’s gentle heart. He saw her lovely head severed from her body, her delicate mouth stuffed with garlic by ignorant humans who had no understanding of how truly precious she was.
    Never! he thought, clenching his fists at his sides. Fury turned his brown eyes an unearthly blue, and a low growl emanated from the back of his throat. He would gladly tear out the throats of the entire mortal world to protect his princess, even though he knew in his heart that she could never truly be his. I shall not fail you, fair maiden.

    “Did it work?” Nasir asked eagerly, his eyes agleam. “Did the tar succeed?” He rushed over to the battlements, keen to witness firsthand the damaged inflicted by the boiling pitch. “Hah!” he laughed, peering through the gap between two merlons. “They look like bacon frying