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Clay and Susan Griffith, a married couple who have written and published together for more than two decades, are the authors of the Vampire Empire trilogy—The Greyfriar, The Rift Walker, and The Kingmakers—and the Crown & Key trilogy, as well as the first Vampire Empire: A Gareth and Adele novel, The Geomancer. Their credits include numerous short stories featuring noted genre characters like Kolchak the Night Stalker and the Phantom and comic books including The Tick and The Simpsons. They've also written scripts for the television/web show Monster Creature Feature. They live in North Carolina where they play World of Warcraft and struggle to entertain their cat. Visit the authors' website at clayandsusangriffith.com/ and www.facebook.com/#!/vampireempire.

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VAMPIRE EMPIRE

Prometheus Books

Chapter One

"Please," she cried. "There was some mistake. I'm not next."

"Yes, you are," was his harsh reply. "Your name was chosen by the committee. Think of it this way, what you do today may save the rest of us."

"We're all dead. You're just prolonging the inevitable!"

"Maybe. But better a few more days than none at all."

"A few days for you." She cast him a scathing glare full of spite and struggled harder, but could not escape. Another man and a woman came out of the tavern to help pull her along.

"Volker, you must stop this." A thin, aging man with reddish blond hair ran toward the group, desperate and angry, stepping purposefully in front of them.

"This is none of your concern, Matthias." Volker turned furiously on the older man, but Matthias held his ground.

"Then take me instead. Let her go."

"They don't want you," Volker sneered. "They want a woman."

With that they dragged her to the inn, closing the door and sealing them inside the building. The interior was dark and stank of stale ale, sweat, and something more pungent. Men and women slumped dejectedly in chairs. All were filthy and weak. On the floor lay four bodies.

The newly arrived woman recognized one of the bodies. "Johan!" She couldn't go to him as she was dragged toward the bar where three lean vampires sat waiting. She went limp and wept.

A trio of gaudily dressed vampires held an eccentric court. Their skin was akin to alabaster and nearly translucent in the dim light of the tavern. The nearest one, tall and poised, draped in a dark green velvet cape with tight riding breeches that disappeared into high, black, shiny boots, turned to regard the woman.

"Ahh, she's a ripe one."

Another vampire wearing only fine linen trousers sniffed the air and licked his lips. "Volker always brings us the finest choices. You've chosen well."

The man who had escorted the woman gave an exaggerated bow along with a shudder he could not suppress. He pushed her ahead to divert the piercing eyes of the triumvirate.

A third vampire slipped to his feet with eager intent. His fingers were laden with jeweled rings. With an effortless leap, he floated over the bar and landed in front of the woman. The vampire studied her before luxuriously sniffing the air around her, ending at her neck. Salty tears leaked from her eyes as she remained fixed on the bodies at her feet. She waited for the inevitable.

The door of the inn opened slowly, causing everyone to turn their heads and blink into the light. In the doorway stood a tall, lean figure dressed in a vintage rifleman tunic, grey cavalry breeches with red piping down the side, and high leather boots. His head was wrapped in a scarf, like a desert bandit, obscuring his face. Over his eyes he wore smoked glasses.

The three vampires crouched and hissed, followed by an audible gasp from the people in the room.

"The Greyfriar," someone whispered, as if saying the man's name would make him vanish like an apparition. Another said it almost like a prayer.

The newcomer took in the room, his gaze stopping on the vampires. The one closest to the woman stepped back to join his companions behind the bar.

The Greyfriar did not say a word as he slowly approached them. Walking past the woman, he stepped between her and the hissing vampires. It was not a sound of distaste or anger; instead, it was a language. These days, vampires used their old tongue only when surprised or when they didn't want to be understood by humans, preferring an eclectic mixture of human languages.

"He's alone," hissed the bare-chested one, rallying his companions.

"He's always alone," retorted the cloaked vampire. "It makes no difference. He kills us as though we are infants. We should flee."

"This town is ours!" the one wearing rings exclaimed. "We will defend it."

"But where are the others? They should have intercepted him." This from the hesitant one.

"How he got past the others is unimportant. There are three of us here."

Casually, the Greyfriar leaned his elbows upon the bar and remarked in perfect German. "When you are finished debating your options, you should know that you are already dead."

The three vampires shrank back another step. The fearful one looked about wildly for an escape route.

The swordsman added, "Your friends are all dead. I killed them as they gorged. They died far too easily, actually."

They attacked, flinging themselves into the air over the bar. Greyfriar stepped back and drew his sword. The pistol, already in his other hand, lifted and fired. The bare-chested vampire shifted at the last moment, obviously familiar with fighting armed humans. The bullet struck him in the shoulder and should have flung him back, but he altered his density at the last second and landed heavily in front of Greyfriar. Claws extended, he swiped as Greyfriar ducked and kicked the vampire aside. The masked man turned quickly, protecting himself from the attacks of the others. His rapier ripped into the onrushing vampires, connecting once, twice, again and again. The vampires darted out of range of the weapon's bite, their bodies streaming blood from the vicious wounds they did not feel. The skin of vampires, though flesh, was desensitized- making them incredibly hard to stop.

Greyfriar's pistol fired again, hitting one of the vampires in the heart. It staggered forward a few steps, reaching with its jeweled hands, before realizing it was dead. Then it dropped to the floor amid the human bodies.

The wounded one sprang back into the fight, and Greyfriar's sword swung up, aiming for the vampire's neck. It would have been a killing blow, but the creature veered again and the sword slashed its arm, which was nearly severed by the force. The vampire was sacrificing its limb to avoid more serious damage. It stood again and ran at the Greyfriar, its useful arm raised, displaying its deadly claws ready to disembowel.

The swordsman sidestepped the attack and then spun, driving the sword into the spinal column at the base of the neck, shoving the vampire downward. The body flopped to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.

The Greyfriar turned to the final vampire, the nervous one. The vampire held out its arms in supplication.

"Wait!" it shouted in German.

Greyfriar worked his blade free as he regarded the pile of dead humans on the floor, some only half-drained of their blood. "Do not expect pity from me."

The vampire's ice blue eyes filled with terror, as he inched toward the open door. When the Greyfriar did not advance on him, he bolted.

In a burst of speed no human eye could follow, Greyfriar rushed the fleeing vampire. One hand grabbed the collar of the velvet cape and threw the creature back into the room. The vampire didn't fall to the ground, however, but...