For centuries he had been a bloated spider, weaving his evil web, keeping a low profile and running when it was necessary. “Gregori, I cannot believe one such as you would choose to hunt so meager an opponent as myself,” he said, fawning and simpering as if they were old friends.

“Are you calling yourself Morrison these days?” Gregori’s pale eyes shifted to the zombie on his left, inching closer, his every moment carefully orchestrated by the vampire. “When we were young, you were Rafael. You disappeared some four hundred years ago.”

The jagged teeth, stained brown from centuries of consuming human, adrenaline-based blood, flashed in a grotesque parody of a smile. “I went to ground for nearly a century. When I rose, the world was much changed. You were the Prince’s sanctioned killer, feeding on our kind. I left our homeland, driven out by your fever, by your own bloodlust. This is my sanctuary now, my home. I have not asked for more. Why do you come here uninvited to plague me?”

Gregori began to focus on the air itself, to build the charge he needed, gathering it into a ball of crackling, fiery energy just out of sight in the cauldron of clouds. “You do not own this city, Rafael, nor can you dictate to me where I can and cannot go. You put your servants on Savannah’s trail. You knew she was my lifemate, yet you deliberately sought her. I can think of no other reason than you wished your centuries of depravity over. You were seeking the dark justice of our people.”

The first ghoul lunged at him, bellowing loudly, his movements lumbering. Gregori simply vanished, one sharp nail raking the tainted neck, severing the jugular. The ghoul howled and spun in circles, the spray of red droplets shining black in the night. The noise continued, high-pitched and shrill, echoing across the water, startling wildlife and fowl. Snakes, disturbed by the commotion, plopped from the trees into the water. Far off, in the bayou, alligators slithered down the embankment to slide silently into the murky depths. The screams continued as the vampire’s puppet spun this way and that, looking for his intended victim.

Gregori watched dispassionately from where he stood a few yards from the pathetic creature. “Finish him off, Rafael. You created him; you can allow him the dignity of death.”

The vampire was feasting his eyes on the spray of blood, saliva dripping down his chin in anticipation. Casually he reached out and caught some of the gushing blood in his palm and licked at it greedily. The creature crawled to him, begging and pleading, imploring the vampire to spare his life. Rafael kicked the creature away from him. The body, still thrashing hopelessly, landed in deeper water and began to sink.

Swearing to himself, Gregori lifted his hand and directed the ball of fire into the man’s body. A ghoul could rise again and again and be used by its creator if not properly disposed of. This one would terrify those who lived along the river if Gregori didn’t cremate him, rendering him useless to the vampire.

Rafael leapt back, horrified at the sight of the orange ball of flame that passed directly through his work of art and instantly exploded the body into a burning conflagration. He hissed, his head undulating like that of the reptile he was.

Gregori regarded him coolly. “I was mistaken. You are not the master. You are one of his expendable minions, a lower slave to fawn at his knees and curry favor. You cannot be Morrison.”

The vampire’s eyes glowed red hot, and his lips drew back in a snarl. “You think to ridicule me? You believe the one called Morrison is more powerful than me? I made Morrison. He is myservant.”

Gregori laughed softly. “Do not attempt to masquerade as one of the ancients, Rafael. As I recall, even as a student you put no effort into learning the necessary guards to keep you safe.” He tipped his head to one side. “This was your idea, not Morrison’s, correct? You provoked me by sending that ridiculous excuse for a vampire, Roberto, after Savannah, and you put Wade Carter on her trail. The one they call Morrison now is too smart for that. He would want no part of challenging me.”

The vampire’s eyes glowed with hot fury. His hiss was venomous, his head undulating faster, an enthralling rhythm used to hypnotize a victim. “Morrison is a fool. He is no master.” It was difficult to understand the words with the vampire growling and hissing as he said them. Saliva, tainted with his corrupt blood, spewed from his mouth and dribbled down his chin onto the front of his once elegant, faded white silk shirt.

Gregori shook his head slowly. “You wanted me to hunt Morrison. You were using Savannah to draw me out to rid you of your master.”

The second ghoul struck from behind, creeping in a stealthy manner up to Gregori, then swinging a huge tree branch at the back of his head. At the last possible second, Gregori spun around, his arm shattering the thick limb, so that splinters and twigs showered down to the muddy banks of the river. He continued on with his smooth motion, a powerful ballet dancer, fluid and strong, his claws ripping out the exposed throat, nearly decapitating the vampire’s servant with his casual strength.

The vampire erupted in a howl of rage that carried like thunder through the thick fog. The mist was dense, the tendrils of fog winding tighter and tighter around legs and waists, moving higher to trail in a loose coil around their chests. It seemed almost alive, living and breathing like a crouching beast, gaining strength as it moved.

Gregori smiled pleasantly at the vampire, taking care to step far away from the body now flopping helplessly in the mud. “You are like a peacock, Rafael, raising your feathers and strutting. You must have had centuries to build such a hatred against Morrison.” His voice was beautiful, seeping into the vampire’s body, turning the strength, built on the deaths of so many others, to water. That voice whispered of power. Real power. Invincible. Merciless. Relentless. “Morrison is the one who allowed you to survive the hunters, sending you from the city. It has been the way he has survived the hunters, leaving when they arrive in the vicinity he occupies.”

“Running,” Rafael said contemptuously. “He runs even when we are strong. We should own this city. Together we should drive off and kill any hunter who dares to come here. But he runs like the rabbit he is. I despise his weakness.”

Gregori pointed to the thrashing ghoul, and a bolt of lightning slammed from the cloud to the ground, driving through the very heart of the puppet and leaving behind only blackened, useless ashes.

“You think you are so powerful,” Rafael snickered. “I have killed so many, you are nothing. Nothing compared to one such as me.”

Gregori’s silver eyes glittered, pale and cold in the black night. Red flames flickered through the silver. He seemed to grow in power and stature. “I am the wind heralding death, the instrument of justice sent by our Prince to carry out the sentence pronounced on you by our people for your crimes against mortals and immortals alike.” His voice was purity, beauty, the tones painful to the vampire, like spikes being driven through his head. Yet he had no choice; unwillingly he moved closer, needing to hear the sound of such purity and beauty again.

As the vampire took an involuntary step forward, something tightened around his calves, his thighs, then reached higher to coil around his chest, squeezing slowly. The pressure was steady, relentless. In horror, the vampire looked down to see the tails of fog moving, alive, like a huge, thick python, sliding in an ever-tightening ring to imprison his body. “Fight me!” Rafael screamed, spraying blood and saliva into the mud and water. “You are afraid to fight me.”

“I am justice,” Gregori said softly, his voice implacable in its resolve. “There can be no fight, no battle, as there can be only one outcome. Mental or physical bout, or simply a match of our wits, there can be only one end. I am justice. That is all.”