Dark Fangs Rising: An Action-Packed Vampire Hunter Urban Fantasy with Found Family

Book 1: Luke Irontree & The Last Vampire War

by C. Thomas Lafollette

Genres: Dark Fantasy; Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

Luke Irontree fled to Portland to escape vampires…and his memories. He failed.

Born in the first century, Luke has been hunting vampires since the gods made him their immortal weapon. Now he’s one man awash in a sea of fangy monsters. When Portland’s most vulnerable disappear, he’s the only one who even cares.

Things go from bad to FUBAR when he realizes he’s number one on the menu. Fortunately, a nosy werewolf and a tough human woman are determined to join forces with the curmudgeonly hunter. While he appreciates the help, he fears he won’t be able to keep them alive.

With the gutters running red with the blood of innocents, three against an army of bloodthirsty villains might not be enough. Luke will have to dig deep to overcome his own trauma and forge the group into a force to be reckoned with. But if he fails, it’s not just a city’s survival but his immortal life that hangs by a fraying thread…

 

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Release date: March 22, 2022

Publisher: Broken World Publishing

Print pages: 356

Content advisory: Gore, violence, mild mention of child abuse, mild mention of domestic violence, brief mention of transphobia

Sample

Chapter 1

The streets were virtually empty, the people driven inside by the cold rain, the late hour, and the fear of being murdered. But after a mind-numbing and frustrating night of nothing, the sense of vampire finally drew Luke toward a couple stumbling down the rain damp sidewalk.

The vamp’s take-out meal was either drunk on booze or glamour, likely both. With his focus on his victim, he didn’t notice the slayer stalking him. The vampire maneuvered his impaired victim into the shadow of a massive statue of a woman kneeling, one hand reaching down while the other grasped a trident. Rain cascaded down her metal arm, streaming off her outstretched fingers onto the street below.

His baggy black hoodie and jeans were thoroughly damp after a long, drizzly night of stalking the streets patrolling for vampires, but at least his boots kept his feet dry and warm. Only his boots had kept him dry, even in the worst of the downpour. Luke reached over his shoulder into the folds of his hood, ensuring his sword’s handle remained unobstructed by the damp cloth, then returned his hand to his side.

“Excuse me, sir. Could you spare a moment? I seem to be lost. Can you point me in the right direction?” Luke asked.

The overly polite and formal tone should mark him as an easy target—a tourist or a naïve bumpkin. A bit of buzzed slur added just the right spice to Luke’s charade. He distractedly scratched at his overgrown, scruffy beard. He hadn’t cared enough to trim it since he’d returned from his trip to Belgium last spring. The vamp, clad in a stylish jacket, hefted the woman against the wall.

Luke waited for the man to turn around. Instead, it was a woman who disentangled herself from her victim to take Luke for her next course. Most vampires tended to be male. The drunk slumped forward, momentum stopped by the wall.

The vamp strode toward him. The short, dark-haired, white woman looked him over. Her expression went from annoyed to predatory to pleasantly helpful in the blink of an eye. If Luke was as drunk as he was feigning, he’d never have suspected a thing. “Certainly!” she said with a small smile on her face. “What are you looking for?”

As she approached him he wobbled, catching himself as if he’d tripped on nothing, the predatory gleam returned to her eyes. As oblivious as she was to her surroundings—letting Luke follow her and missing that his drunkenness wasn’t genuine—she must be a young vamp.

Luke ran his right hand through his long, dark, wet hair, feigning nervousness by rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, I’m not sure… I’m staying at a hotel near here, but I seem to be lost.”

“Fortunately, you ran into me,” the vampire said, her lips parting into a carnivorous grin.

“What’s—what’s wrong with your teeth?”

Needle-sharp fangs descended from her upper jaw. She tilted her head slightly to the side as her smile grew impossibly wider. “Oh, these? In a moment, you’ll forget you ever saw them.”

Luke faked a nervous chuckle and let his hand slide down into his hood to grip the well-worn handle of his gladius. Twenty-five inches of viciously sharp Toledo steel alloyed with a bit of silver, its scabbard was angled toward his right shoulder. With the flick of his thumb, the snap closure popped free.

His new friend leaned seductively into his left side. She raised her arm to put it around his shoulders so she could more easily guide him to his destination—her dinner plate.

Luke grabbed the vampire’s arm and spun the creature until she was facing away from him, keeping those dangerous fangs out of striking range. He pulled his gladius from its quick-draw sheath and brought it down through the woman’s leather clad elbow.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN!” She wailed, whirling around. Black blood arced from her stump. Her eyes turned red, easy confidence replaced with raw fury. A wound that would have downed a howling barbarian had merely pissed her off. “We could have done this the easy way, but now you’re going to feel every moment.”

The vampire crouched and flexed her remaining hand. The nails extended into nasty looking claws, and she launched a series of clumsy swipes. She lacked any skill; Luke side stepped every one with ease. With each subsequent miss, her rage grew, fueling her speed, but failing to improve her accuracy.

Luke snorted as she continued to come up empty. With a guttural growl, she finally landed a blow to Luke’s chest. Triumph quickly morphed into confusion as her claws found no soft flesh, but screeched against hard steel.

Luke’d had enough. Patiently, he let the momentum of the frustrated vamp’s next attack carry her past him. Then he spun and brought the blade down on the vamp’s left shoulder, relieving her of her other arm. A single kick to the back of her legs sent her crashing to the ground. The creature whimpered as she struggled to push her severed limbs off the ground. The bloody, oozing stump slid. She landed face down on the concrete. He pinned her down with a foot on her butt. Taking his time, he reached beneath his waistband and flipped the catch to withdraw his second weapon from its from its scabbard.

The rudis, a gladius made of wood, was a piece of art. Gleaming, razor-sharp steel-silver alloy lined the cutting edges, converging at the point. Intricate designs made of silver filigree covered the flat sides of the wooden blade. The warm, deep honey gold intermixed with the rich, dark browns of the hardwood, highlighting the natural pattern of the Persian Ironwood’s grain. With a flick of his wrist, the steel sword sliced into the vamp’s leather jacket, between the shoulder blade and the spine.

“My coat!” she whimpered. The blood was slowing to a trickle, her stumps already sealing.

“I already cut both sleeves off. What’s one more rip?” Taking aim at the incision, Luke plunged the rudis through. The blade scraped along the vampire’s scapula, backbone, and ribs, until it found the heart. She wouldn’t be worrying about her coat anymore.

 Kneeling over her body, Luke rested his forehead on the pommel of the rudis and whispered an incantation he’d repeated more times than he could remember. Its cutting edges and the silver filigree began to glow. Pure, white light slithered down the silver into the vampire’s body, then continued the circuit back up, disappearing into Luke’s forehead. The corpse went rigid. Steam rose where the silver touched it. As he withdrew the sacred blade, the corpse deflated and dissolved. Only a viscous reddish-black goo remained.

“Damn it,” Luke muttered, shaking his head. “A new vampire. All goo and no go. I thought her moves seemed weak.”

The sound of retching reminded him he wasn’t alone. He found the vamp’s intended victim on all fours, heaving up everything he’d consumed that night. Luke scanned around for something to clean his blades on. The vamp’s clothes were out; the erstwhile young lady of the fang was currently drenching her trendy ensemble in the rapidly spreading goo that had been her body.

Luke looked down, pursing his lips. “Fucking vamp ruined my favorite hoodie.” With care, he slid each blade one at a time into the belly pocket. The rain-soaked fabric was a perfect cleaning rag. Weaponry stowed, he slowly walked toward the man.

“W-what’s wrong with me?”

“It appears you drank too much.”

“Did she drug me? Was she going to rob me?”

“Something like that,” Luke replied as he telegraphed his movements, trying not to spook him. Luke followed the man’s gaze to what remained of his would-be date, slowly liquefying on the sidewalk and running into the gutter. The poor guy retched again, but nothing came out.

“Pl-pl-please don’t hurt me,” he whimpered between dry heaves.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He pointed at the slick of vampire goo. “She was going to.”

The glamour drunk man nodded.

Luke pointed west. “Let’s walk up to Broadway. It’s well lit. Do you have a phone? You can call a Lyft or a taxi.”

“O-OK.”

They moved as quickly as the man’s frightened, inebriated body would carry him. As they walked past the nearly vanished remnants of the unlucky vampire, the man looked anywhere else. When they got to Broadway, Luke waited with him under a streetlight until a car arrived to take him home. Just as he stepped into the back seat, he turned to Luke and said, “Thank you.”

Luke nodded and walked back into the dreary night.

* * *

As the car settled and the springs groaned, Luke pulled the parking brake lever on his old Volvo wagon after parking it in his garage. He grabbed the equipment-filled tote from the rear hatch. Propping the laden plastic against the door frame, he hit the garage door button and headed inside. A hulking, orange tabby cat greeted him as he locked the door.

“Mrrrraaaoooo!”

“Hey, Alfred. Stay out of trouble tonight?” He usually did, not having opposable thumbs and all.

Luke set the tote down, then dropped a scoop of kibble into the cat’s empty bowl. Alfred ran to the bowl, buried his giant head in it, and chomped down. Luke shucked his ripped wet hoodie and grabbed a hand towel to dry his wavy hair. He unlaced his boots and left them on a mat by the door before heading to the fridge. Grabbing a Pfriem Pils out of the fridge, he walked back and snagged the tote.

“I’m headed down to the Batcave, Alfred, if you want to come…” The tinkling of the cat’s collar bell as he sauntered over to Luke answered the invite.

Once in the office, he engaged the hidden mechanism. One of the bookcases swung open, revealing a steel spiral staircase. It led down to a square room with dark hardwood flooring. Along one wall, two Danish mid-century chairs sat, an end table of the same style between them. An expansive rug covered the floor. Luke set the tote down near his workstation, a recess with along the wall furthest from the stairs. Alfred ran over to one of the chairs, hopped onto the seat, spun a couple donuts, then sprawled out. He took up most of the seat, one of his front paws stretched out over the edge.

Luke looked at the cat. “What’s it going to be tonight, eh, Alfred? We feeling up? Down? Al Green?”

“Mrao!”

“Ah! Good choice, Alfred. ‘Let’s Stay Together’ it is!” He walked to the wall of records and flipped through the albums in the “G” section until he found the right one. Pulling out the album, he stopped halfway, shoulders slumping, and slid the aging album back into place. Luke stepped over to the “Ns.” Taking the second black disk most of the way out of the tan dust jacket depicting peeling paint, he hesitated. “You sure Alfie? What about Nine Inch Nails? Or is ‘sad guy listens to Downward Spiral’ too cliché?”

Alfred responded to his name with a raspy purr.

“You’re right. Al Green was the correct choice.” He opened the top of the huge console unit and set the needle down on side one. The smooth interplay of horns, guitars, and drums led into the silky voice of Al Green. With an exhausted sigh, Luke grabbed a glass from the bar shelf and poured his first beer.

Settling in, he popped the top off the tote and set both swords out on his work bench. He quickly but meticulously cleaned both, checked for damage, and oiled them before placing them on a rack. From a tall cabinet next to the worktable, he rolled out an armor stand on a rotating base. With both hands, he retrieved from the plastic tote an ancient set of lorica segmentata, placing it with reverence on the stand. Phrases engraved in Ancient Greek, Latin, and Old Persian covered every flawless band. The lettering—so thick the light didn’t quite know how to reflect off the steel—wove protections, giving the metal plates preternatural strength and silence.

Absentmindedly, he found himself tracing the crescent moon, engraved in the breast plate covering his heart. A second moon matched the first on the horizontal band under the breast plate. These armaments were nearly as old as he was, his longest relationship in nineteen-hundred plus years of existence. Today, they were the only ones that remained, apart from the orange tabby grooming himself on the chair.

Luke let out a long sigh, lips closing into a frown. He squeezed his eyes shut and placed his head in his hands. “A gladius, a rudis, a set of lorica segmentata, and an Alfred…”

“Mrao.” Alfred replied. The cat was sitting at Luke’s feet, gazing up at him.

Luke sat up, making room in his lap. He scooped up the cat and held him close, supporting his weight while scratching his ears. “I’m tired, Alfie,” he sighed. “So damn tired…” Burying his face in the thick fur, Luke sought the only comfort he had left—a growing catalog of records and a housecat purring in his arms.

When he’d picked it as his new home sixty years ago, he’d hoped Portland would be a good place to avoid vampires, at least in serious numbers. It was a city, but only nominally; certainly not one important enough to become a supernatural hub. But it didn’t matter how far he ran, he couldn’t escape his duty. The monsters wouldn’t let him.

 

Chapter 2

“Well, buddy.” Luke bent down to scratch Alfred between his ears. “I’m going out for dinner, so you’re on your own tonight.”

Luke slung his backpack over his shoulder and pulled the door open before turning and looking back at the orange tabby cat as he proceeded to ignore Luke by grooming his paw. “No wild parties while I’m gone.”

Howling Moon Brewing had moved into an old brick building on North Lombard Avenue just over a year ago. Since then, it’d become Luke’s regular watering hole. The menu was superb, the beers some of the best he’d found since leaving Europe behind. Best of all, the atmosphere was usually exactly what he liked—dark and warm. The high back booths provided intimacy ideal for a date night, or if you preferred, you could sit at the bar and chat with the owner or one of the bartenders. Best of all, it was a short walk from his home. The staff knew by now that he was best left alone after he placed his drink order, except for the rare times he engaged with them on his own.

“Hey, Pablo. How’s it going tonight?”

Pablo idly took out clean glasses from the dishwasher and stacked them on the shelves, periodically sweeping an eye around the bar to check if the few guests needed anything. “Not bad. We’ve had better nights, but I can’t complain.”

Pablo stood about five foot six and had the brown complexion of Latin America that marked him as having Indigenous and European heritage. His black hair was coiffed into a hip modern cut, the sides shaved and the top left long. He wore black jeans and a black tee featuring the brewery’s logo of a wolf’s head howling at a full moon. Tattoos covered his muscular arms.

Luke finished his beer and held up the empty. “Another, please. Just seems a bit quiet tonight.”

Pablo brought Luke’s beer and set it down in front of him. “Yeah, a bit. It’s been that way a lot lately. Maybe all the crime on the news is keeping people home.” He shrugged. “Hard to tell. We haven’t been open that long. Hey, did you hear about the weird shit they found by the Portlandia statue this morning?”

“I must have missed that story,” Luke replied.

“They found a full outfit oozing some black goop. And get this, someone had cut the arms off the leather jacket. Weird, man.”

Luke chuckled nervously. “That does sound weird. Anything new on tap I should know about?”

“Yeah! I’ve got a Belgian-style wit I’ve been experimenting with. I think I got it dialed in.”

“I’ll take one of those. Wits are one of my favorites.” He hadn’t had a proper one since his recent trip to Belgium. He’d always been fond of the style since its invention centuries earlier.

“Really? Not IPA? Seems that’s all anyone orders these days.” Pablo grabbed a glass and poured a hazy blond beer with a thick, frothy head. “Let me know what you think.”

Luke pulled out his usual chair at the bar, hung his backpack on the hook underneath, and grabbed his beer. “Nice aroma. Good balance between citrus, coriander, and grainy notes.” He took a sip.

“Excellent nose,” Pablo said.

“I like the flavor. Let me finish this glass, and I’ll give you a full report.”

“Good man. You can’t really judge a beer from one sip. I’ll be back.” Pablo wandered off to check on the few other customers.

Luke’s dinner and a third beer showed up about the same time three guys walked in. Popped-collar polos under jackets and jeans with bedazzled rear pockets would have marked them as young bros who could be mistaken for University of Portland students, if not for Luke’s ability to tell the living from the no longer alive. He’d have to keep an eye on them.

Luke couldn’t even enjoy the flavor of his food, shoveling it down while trying to inconspicuously stare at the undead jackasses flirting, buying beer, and glamouring their targets. The bros chatted up a trio of women and then joined them in their booth. The mirrored back bar afforded Luke a decent view. He had to take care to mix in a couple glasses of water. Luke had only wanted a quiet night down at the local pub; how had their numbers grown so unchecked?

As the evening progressed, the crowd began to grow thin. The vampires gave it a few minutes after every other booth had cleared before ushering the three women out the door—opting to take their meals to go. Luke made eye contact with Pablo, set some cash on the bar, grabbed his backpack, and followed. The door open and closed again as he stepped into the damp evening. Pablo followed, yet Luke had no way of knowing if he had help or not.

* * *

The three bros and the women they’d glamoured walked toward the alley behind the bar. Pablo laid a hand on Luke’s shoulder and stepped in front, putting his body between the bros and his regular customer. Luke couldn’t see any marks on his neck, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have them somewhere else.

“Step away from the ladies, gentlemen. Doesn’t seem like they’re interested in what you’re offering,” Pablo said.

Bystander, then. Luke unzipped his backpack and slowly drew the gladius and rudis from their custom sheaths. “Pablo, back up a bit, please. I appreciate your effort, but you don’t want to tangle with this lot.”

Pablo kept his eyes on the trio. “I’m OK, Luke. I can handle myself. No one comes into my pub and assaults people in my alley.”

“I’m not saying you can’t. I’m just saying you should trust me about these guys. They might be a bit more than you’re expecting…”

The three bros reluctantly set aside their prey and turned toward them. The one in the lead said, “If you two don’t want a rough evening, I suggest you keep walking.”

“I think you’re the ones messing with more than you can handle here. Leave the innocents alone and get the fuck out of here. Otherwise, things might get a touch…splattery,” Luke said.

The three vampires chuckled. “I guess our dinner just got tastier.” The lead guy focused, making eye contact with Luke and Pablo in an attempt to glamour them.

“Look, ‘bros.’ Just get the fuck out of here before you regret your choices,” Pablo threatened.

Glamours couldn’t affect Luke, but Pablo was a surprise.

“You get the fuck out of here before we rip you a new asshole and then shove your fucking brown head up it,” the lead vamp said.

“Of course, they have to be racists, too. I guess they’re not going to move along. I’m not sure you need the hardware, Luke.” Pablo rolled his shoulders, loosening up his muscles.

“For these three, yeah, I think I’ll keep them out.” Luke twirled the gladius once.

Despite the distraction provided by Pablo and Luke, the three women hadn’t moved from their positions, propped against the alley wall.

“Hey, girls! Run!” Pablo shouted.

The women didn’t answer, didn’t move an inch. The three vamps got progressively meaner as their fangs descended in murderous smiles. Razor-sharp claws joined them for the party.

Luke stepped in front of Pablo, eyes on their opponents. “OK, Pablo. Stay behind me. Try to avoid their claws and fangs, and don’t let them get you pinned down. They’re faster than your normal run of the mill beered up bros and a lot stronger.”

Luke stalked forward, keeping himself between Pablo and the creeping vampires. The vamps opened space between the three of them, hoping to outflank Luke and attack from multiple sides. He spared a thought for his armor, secured on its rack in his basement. He usually didn’t need it for trips to the pub.

Luke feinted left and low with his rudis, then whirled right with the gladius and lopped off the vampire’s head with a backhanded swing. Keeping his weapons up, he peeked over his shoulder to check on Pablo. The bartender had peeled his shirt off and was sprouting prodigious volumes of body hair and a lupine snout.

What the hell had Luke gotten himself into?

Stepping over the decapitated vamp, Luke maneuvered to put the girls at his back. Effectively trapping the vampires between him and what was quickly becoming a very large werewolf in bipedal form. He hoped Pablo would keep his cool and not go berserk on him or the victims. He’d hate to have to hurt him; the man brewed good beer.

The two remaining vampires—confidence dissolving from their faces, their eyes flicking about for escape routes—at last realized that neither of the men were going to be the pushovers they’d initially assumed. The lead vampire eyed the sword-wielding hunter and the hulking werewolf, then settled his gaze on Luke.

“You’re the one who’s been killing our brethren. You’re ‘The Hunter.’ You’ll pay for this.” His casual dude-bro dialect dropped away, replaced by an antiquated, upper crust English accent. He looked at his partner. “Break free and report what’s happened here. Bring reinforcements if you can.”

Things were about to get interesting. If this vamp was as old as his accent indicated, he’d be much more powerful than the newly whelped bloodsuckers Luke’d been dispatching with ease lately. It’d been several months since he’d encountered anything this old. Luke’s eyes narrowed, and he backed off a bit, switching to a defensive stance. He needed to protect those he could and keep the vamps from scampering off.

Pablo had finished his transformation and was stalking toward the vampires while ensuring he cut off their escape route. The British vampire pulled a long double-edge dagger from under the back of his shirt. As he slid into a fighter’s stance, it became clear he knew how to handle himself and his blade. His young companion, however, was a lot less cocksure. The younger vampire’s eyes darted around nervously, looking for an exit.

Luke narrowed his eyes, planning his next move. “Pablo, keep the little guy from getting away.”

Pablo grunted and growled as Luke slashed his gladius toward the Brit’s head. He met Luke’s sword with his dagger and the two blades slid together, down to their hilt guards. The fanger took a swipe at Luke’s midsection with his claws. Luke slapped it aside with the flat of his rudis. The vampire yanked his hand back with a yelp as it burned his hand. He disengaged and leapt back, keeping a wary eye on Luke’s next move. Blisters rose where the silver had burned him; they would not heal easily.

The vampire crouched and then launched himself at Luke with a feral grin. But there was no attack; instead, he leapt high into the air over Luke’s head. Landing on his hands, the vamp rolled onto his back and sprang up again. Luke sliced his gladius low, cutting deep into the back of the fanger’s legs, and severed his hamstrings.

The vamp dropped like he’d been shot in the head. “You bloody bastard!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke caught Pablo and the last vampire squaring off. Pablo had no problem keeping the other vamp occupied; of course, not much could trouble a werewolf in their bipedal form. Luke’s vampire was trying to scuttle away from him and toward the dropped dagger. Luke kicked it out of reach.

The sound of snapping bones and tearing flesh made Luke cringe. He ducked as something flew past and smashed into the face of the British vampire. Pablo had thrown the other vampire’s head.

“It appears this night didn’t go the way you wanted it to.” Luke surged forward and lopped off the distracted vampire’s head. He flopped backward, his black sludge-like blood leaking into the alley. “Pablo, you better shift back and get these women out of here. The glamour they’re under is about to wear off.”

“I’m on it,” Pablo said from behind Luke.

Luke wiped his gladius on the vamp’s shirt and sheathed it in his custom backpack. He knelt over the headless body and plunged the rudis into its heart. Forehead resting on the pommel, he whispered the incantation that set the rudis glowing. Instead of dissolving into goo like the vamp from last night, the old Brit turned to dust, scattering down the alley on the breeze. Luke snagged the wallet out of the vampire’s pocket just in case it held anything useful. He repeated the process until only piles of goo from the other two vamps remained. When he was done, Pablo was leaning against the entrance to the alley with his arms crossed.

“Let’s step inside for a beer and a chat.”

Luke nodded and followed him in.

 

Chapter 3

Pablo turned off the “open” sign and locked the door behind them.

“The girls called an Uber and got out of here. I don’t think they’re any wiser. They’ll probably just chalk it up to a bad interaction with booze and some douchebags,” Pablo said.

“Yeah. They were glamoured pretty hard. That’ll fuzz out their memories fairly aggressively.”

Pablo walked behind the bar. “Can I get you a beer?”

“I’ll take a pilsner, please.”

“Ah, a refreshing choice after a bit of a scuffle,” Pablo said sardonically.

Luke took off his backpack and slid into a chair at the bar. Pablo had his back to him as he poured Luke’s beer and one for himself. The awkward silence of the empty bar, compounded by a lack of music, was nearly palpable.

“So, werewolf, eh?” Luke asked.

“Yup. I know what I am. I know what they were, although this was my first encounter with one. But I don’t know who or what you are.”

Luke set his rudis on the bar.

“He called you ‘The Hunter.’ Are you some sort of vampire slayer? I’d make a joke about watching too many episodes of Buffy and getting delusions of grandeur, but that’s some weird ass hardware you’re packing,” Pablo said, glancing at the rudis. “I can practically feel the power pulsing off it.” He continued eyeing it warily, like it was a snake about to strike.

“That’s a long story. One I usually don’t tell virtual strangers.” Although the two men were friendly, they weren’t friends. But they had fought together—immortal vampire slayer and werewolf. His kind were not uncommon; it had only been a few months since he’d last seen a Child of Tutyr. They were masters of blending into normal society and living undetected by humans. He knew there was a pack in Portland, there had to be in a city this large, but he’d yet to run into one in the sixty years he’d lived there.

Pablo looked down at his beer. “Well, you know my secret. I’m assuming you can keep your lips shut about that. I usually don’t wolf out around strangers but got a little over excited when the vampire fangs popped out.”

Luke held his hands up. “Have no fear. Your secret is safe with me. You’re not the first werewolf I’ve encountered.”

“You’ve run into other shifters?” Pablo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Luke nodded. “A few here and there over the years.”

“It’s obvious the vampires know who or what you are, but shifter lore doesn’t speak of a ‘hunter’ or ‘slayer,’ at least none I’ve heard. I’m assuming you keep your activities limited to bloodsuckers?” Pablo took a sip of beer.

“I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of me. I’m guessing you were born in and lived your entire life in the Americas. My reputation, what little of it may still make the rounds, is mostly confined to Europe. You have nothing to fear from me. Bother me not and I shall not bother you.”

Pablo relaxed slightly.

“Vampires though. Vampires have feared me for a long, long time.” Luke chuckled. “I’m the bump in the night that terrifies the bump in the night.”

“Are you human?” Pablo asked.

“I was born one. I imagine I still am, although I’ve not submitted myself for scientific testing.” Sitting in silence, Luke took a few drinks of the pilsner, sizing up Pablo from where he leaned against the bar, nursing his beer. “I guess I understand the name of the brewery a bit better.”

“Ha! Yeah, it’s not subtle if you’re in the know. Although, most patrons are decidedly not in the know. Speaking of which, I’ll have to report this to the pack leadership. Portland has been mostly vampire free, and I have no idea what to make of you. Vampires know you as their enemy. You claim to have been fighting them for a long time. Just how long are we talking? Your hardware looks like more than just an affectation. That’s no ren faire souvenir,” Pablo said, eyeing the rudis.

Luke gestured toward it, indicating Pablo could pick it up. “Mind the silver.”

Pablo gingerly grabbed the rudis by the handle and eyed the blade. “Is the cutting edge made of silver?”

“No, silver is too soft to keep a good edge. It’s a steel and silver alloy, enough silver to give it a bit of extra anti-vampire oomph.”

“What kind of wood is this?” Pablo asked. “I’m not sure I’ve seen it before.”

“It’s Persian ironwood. In essence, it’s a fancy stake. A rudis was granted to gladiators when they earned their freedom. This was awarded to me and symbolizes freedom from the undead.”

“Like in that Russell Crowe movie?” Pablo set the rudis back on the bar.

“Yeah. Something like that. ‘Shadows and dust…’”

“What?” asked Pablo, confused.

“That’s what Proximo said…”

Pablo still looked confused.

Luke waved Pablo off. “Never mind. I’ve probably seen that movie too many times.”

“Oh, OK. Can I, uh, can I see the other sword?” Pablo asked hesitantly.

“Sure.” Luke chuckled lightly as he pulled the gladius out of his backpack. He flipped it around and handed it to Pablo, handle first. “Be careful; it’s got some silver, and it’s extremely sharp. You could shave with it if you didn’t mind accidentally slicing your nose off.”

Pablo stared at the blade. “What are these engravings? A sun and a crescent moon and stars? Is this an Islamic symbol?”

“No. It predates the founding of Islam by a few centuries. The sun represents Sol Invictus and his cleansing flames. The moon and star represent Selene, goddess of the moon. Their symbols make it a potent anti-vampire weapon. Put it through a vampire’s heart, and it’ll give them a true death and start their decay.”

“It’s light!” Pablo exclaimed.

“Less than two pounds. Even that gets to feeling heavy after a full day of using it in earnest.”

“They’re…authentic?”

Luke nodded at him.

“Are…are you…” Pablo paused, searching for the right word. “‘Authentic?’”

Luke raised his eyebrow in response. “‘Authentic?’ That feels like a loaded question. I am who I am. I use Roman era gear to slay vampires. That’s my day job, I guess, or night job, to be more accurate.” He could tell the answer wasn’t even coming close to satisfying Pablo. He’d lost that bit of trepidation, getting a touch annoyed with a soupçon of determination.

Pablo stared at Luke for a bit until his eyebrows lifted toward his hairline. “Earlier when I mentioned the weird shit at the Portlandia statue, that was you. Wasn’t it?”

Luke nodded. “Yup. Sorry if I wasn’t more forthcoming, but you know how it is.”

“And the other similar messes the news is talking about? You?”

“Pretty much,” Luke replied.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Luke. I live in the neighborhood and drink beer at your pub.”

“There’s something off about you…” Pablo narrowed his eyes at him. “You fight different. Your speech is different. Now that you’re not playing the casual customer, it’s almost like you’re cataloging my details, seeing if you could take me.”

Luke shrugged. “I am who I am.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You are who you are. I get it. Stop deflecting. You don’t act like other…like other modern men. There’s something slightly different somehow. I don’t know. It’s hard to put my finger on it. Just that I’ve never met another human like you. What are you, dude?”

“Old. Very, very old, and some days I feel my age more than others. I’ve seen the fall of empires and witnessed the rise of Christianity and Islam. I’ve served emperors and kings. I’ve slain vampires beyond count. I was born Lucius, son of Ambeltrix Gaius Silvanius, in a village outside what is today called Brussels in the 839th year after the founding of Rome, better known as the year 86 of the Common Era. I enlisted in Rome’s legions when I was seventeen and fought under the Emperor Trajan in his second Dacian War, where I ended up killing my first vampire.”

Pablo’s mouth hung open; it looked like his brain had stopped working correctly. Luke wasn’t sure why he’d told Pablo. He’d always enjoyed chatting with the man when he came to drink, but something had clicked in Luke’s head. He knew when to follow his intuition about people, and Pablo was good people. That, and he figured a secret was worth a secret. Pablo had revealed his to Luke when he’d shifted in plain view to defend three innocent people and help Luke slay some vampires.

“You’re… You’re a two-thousand-year-old Roman legionnaire from Belgium who slays vampires? That’s a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?” He looked like he was trying to comprehend it, but wasn’t quite connecting all the dots.

“You said it yourself. I don’t act like other humans, or more correctly, like modern humans. I mean, I try my best to blend in.” Luke pursed his lips, frustrated with how the evening had gone. “The swords are authentic. I typically have my armor too, but tend to not wear it to the pub. You can either accept what I’ve told you, or that I’m just a weirdo with a penchant for using antique weapons to kill vampires. Well, I guess both are still true no matter how you slice it.”

Pablo chuckled at Luke’s pun, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a long sigh. He turned away, grabbed a couple more glasses and filled them with beer, setting one in front of Luke. He leaned against the back bar, appearing to think about what Luke had told him, occasionally taking a drink from his glass.

Luke let the silence hang in the air while enjoying the freshly poured pint.

“Shit, man. I don’t know what to think. You’re just a dude who comes into my pub to drink beer. You’re a regular, so I know your name. Until tonight, that was the extent of our relationship. Now, we’ve killed vampires. I mean, shit, I killed a vampire. Holy fuck. Now you tell me you’re an immortal vampire slayer.” Pablo shook his head. “My packleader is going to think I’ve been hitting too much of my own sauce.”

“I’ll make myself available to meet with your packleader,” Luke promised. “Now that both our cats are out of the bag and we’re sharing the same territory, we should probably be properly introduced as a courtesy between supernaturals. Here.” Luke grabbed a notepad out of his backpack and jotted down his number. “If your packleader wants to meet me, and you haven’t seen me down here drinking beer, give me a call.” Luke packed up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “I should get home and feed my cat.”

“I’ll let you out. And don’t worry about the mess out back. I’ll burn the clothes and wash the alley out. I wouldn’t want anyone sniffing around looking for their fanged friends.” Pablo pushed off the wall.

Luke nodded and walked out the door, keenly aware that something new had just disrupted his normal routine. Werewolves in the neighborhood could immensely complicate his life. He shook his head, wondering what had happened to the quiet Portland he’d moved to.

* * *

Alfred was suitably annoyed with his later than normal dinner, but still managed to be magnanimous with his affections, despite the grave insult to his feline honor.

“Well, buddy. Looks like things are going to get a little more interesting. Apparently, we live in a neighborhood with werewolves.” Luke scratched Alfred’s head between his ears. The cat grumbled in reply, pushing his head into Luke’s hand. He grabbed his backpack and headed down to clean his swords.

This time, Luke picked out The Rolling Stones’ “Let it Bleed” LP and set down the needle. He turned the volume up as loud as he could stand. The atmospheric intro to “Gimme Shelter” floated out of the speakers as he turned to the giant map pinned to the wall. Pins from the tray marked the sites of his latest vampire sighting. The pin shoved through the Howling Moon attack was the first in North Portland.

The vast majority were concentrated around downtown Portland. The high concentration of bars, hotels, and entertainment venues meant a steady stream of tourists, or the bridge-and-tunnel kids coming in from the suburbs looking for booze to fuel their hookups. This concentration of people and intoxicants made downtown Portland an irresistible hunting ground for the undead.

He flipped the record and returned to pondering the map. A persistent rubbing over his lower legs prompted him to pick up Alfred. Luke flipped him on his back and rubbed his chest; the cat settled into a deep, raspy purr.

“There’s at least one nest in town, maybe more. This isn’t good,” he muttered. There had been random vampires wandering through Portland over the years he’d lived there. A few here, a few there, but nothing like this. He’d killed at least a dozen since he’d returned from Belgium a few months ago, mostly foolish newborns; that on its own was troubling. Newly turned vampires rarely strayed far from their creator’s territory. Either an older vampire was getting highly ambitious, or there were several powerful vampires now operating in Portland.

The last track from side two shook him out of his reverie.

“You’re right, Mick. I wanted a nice, quiet city, yet here we are. Although, I doubt a pack of werewolves is actually what I needed.” He sighed wearily. “This shit is going to get messy if we have multiple elder vampires establishing a beachhead.” Luke was silent for a long while before he shook his head and returned to cleaning his swords.