"What have we found?"
"Phone numbers, encrypted data, bank files. Markus is checking everything, as soon as he has news he will let us know."
"The test tubes?"
"I have sent them to Dr Silver for analysis of the blood content."
Michael nodded and relaxed in his armchair, then took a sip of Macallan. "Do you think it's over?" he asked, lowering his glass.
Christopher put his fingers together in front of his face, then looked out the window at the sky tinged with the purple hues of sunset. Finally he returned his gaze to his waiting brother. 'There was no sign of Nereus' body at the cottage, and Anthony assured me that they did not take him. His army was destroyed, but given the unorthodox way he uses to conscript his soldiers, that's not a long-term guarantee. I will not consider the matter closed until Nereus is out of circulation, that is, imprisoned or, preferably, dead. We cannot let our guard down just yet, rather we must increase our efforts to track him down before he can become a threat again."
***
Nereus sipped his whisky while looking at the city lights stretching out under the large window of the hotel room. London was so immense. It gave him a feeling of omnipotence. In that city more multi-ethnic than its own citizens knew, everything seemed simple and feasible. He sat in the black leather armchair watching the comings and goings of cars on the streets below and tried to assess his current options.
He did not know if in the week he had given them his scientists would be able to find the right formula that would allow him to enhance his soldiers with vampire blood and thus make them virtually invincible. Losses in research are contemplated, and also in battle, but Nereus could not lose any more of his lycanthropes faster than it took him to produce them. It was a matter of war economy: his army had to be large now. However, in all likelihood, even after destroying the Barclays the war would not end. Some of the old barons would have sided with him, of that he had no doubt: the desire for power and the predator instinct were indeed inherent in the very nature of lycanthropes. But many would have refused to declare their existence to the world, softened by a long existence among humans. He had to be ready to face any possible adversary.
The conclusion was that he needed, first and foremost, a new army. Night's death in the destruction of the training centre had been a far greater loss perhaps than the total of the others: he would have to find someone else who was trustworthy and also able to train the new werewolves. And that would have taken time.
It seemed that this was now the variable around which everything revolved. For his enlistment he could move into another pack's territory, but the certainty that Christopher Barclay would still be hunting him led him to focus on Oldgrove. He did not want to find himself having two packs against him at a time when he was so vulnerable. He just had to find a way to keep him occupied until he regained his strength to face him and this time destroy him completely. Christopher had had the choice, and he had made the wrong choice. If he had originally planned to become the new top dog, he now wanted nothing left of what had belonged to Christopher Barclay. One by one he would have slaughtered the families under his protection, thus annihilating his role. Lastly, he would kill him, personally.
He swirled the amber liquid in the glass. If he had not been researching vampire blood, thus making enemies of them, he would have considered an alliance with them. He knew that among their ranks were those who thought as he did and dreamed of the creatures of the night's dominion over humanity. But he had dismissed this opportunity when he had decided to seize their power. To an alliance, however advantageous, they would have preferred his head, and he was unwilling to give it to them.
Demons and sorcerers were to be ruled out: too fickle and uncontrollable. What he needed was someone willing to kill werewolves, easy to control and, above all, even easier to eliminate when he was no longer useful. A smile curved his lips. He knew where to find what he was looking for and, what made the situation even more interesting, he was also the Barclays' personal bogeyman. Hunters. Blind in their faith, they would be easy to manipulate and even easier to eliminate when they had finished their job: the destruction of the Barclay pack. They would have been his weapon of destruction. They would have done the dirty work for him as he put his army back together