Inferni Eternal: Hotel California: Book Three (An Urban Fantasy Series) Read online

  INFERNI ETERNAL

  HOTEL CALIFORNIA

  BOOK THREE

  By RJ WOLF

  Copyright © 2020 by RJ Wolf

  www.rj-wolf.com

  [email protected]

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  Twitter: @RJWolfwrites

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the expressed written consent of the author.

  “Hell is empty, all the devils are here.”

  ~Shakespeare~

  CHAPTER 1

  CHASING THE NIGHT AWAY

  Safron stepped in front of the polished steel door then reached out for the knob. Before his fingers touched the ancient metal, he paused and looked over his shoulder.

  “You’ve come this far,” Richard said in an encouraging voice.

  It was true, he’d broken countless vows and ruined his family name just to get to the spot where he was standing. There was no reason and no logic to doubt his decision anymore. The damage had been done. But still, his hand froze an inch away from the knob and he couldn’t find the will power to continue.

  Nearly half a millennium had passed since he’d said the words. Now, lifetimes of honor were wiped away in the blink of an eye. But somethings were more important than honor.

  Safron was bound to the hotel and the hotel bound to him. The reasons behind it all no longer mattered but the consequences would. Would the hotel be a safe haven any longer, now that Safron had forsaken his charge? Would he still have access to the magic that lived within the walls, within the very foundation of the place? Had he doomed them all for a moment of fleeting glory?

  “I can open it,” Richard said impatiently.

  “I’ll tear your hand off if you touch it. This is for me and me alone.”

  “I won’t tolerate that tone once you join my coven, Safron.”

  Safron’s eyes glared the color of blood as he suppressed the urge to lash out. He turned and took a step toward Richard. “With all that we have seen, all that you have seen…you still cling to ancient illusions of hierarchy?”

  “That’s why we are here, isn’t it?”

  “Honor brings me here.”

  “Honor?” Richard laughed. “And all this time I thought you a coward.”

  Safron lunged at Richard and snared him by the neck. “Warlock or not, I will tear your head from your shoulders.”

  Richard raised his eyebrows and winced. “Is that so?”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Each of them powerful in their own right. Each stubborn and proud. Immortals took the idea of petty to different levels and vampires were by far the worst.

  After a lingering uncomfortable stare, Safron tightened his jaw and slowly released Richard. He swallowed down his anger and his senses returned. “Sorry,” he grumbled.

  “Do not apologize. Finish this, Safron?”

  Safron closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Fighting against fear, he turned back to the door and yanked it open. There was a short hall ahead of him and another door that was coated in a tacky red paint.

  “The only way forward is forward,” Richard said and gave him a slight push in the back.

  Safron took another step forward then paused. “Something is wrong,” he said.

  “Yes. You keep stopping. Get on with it, Safron.”

  “Richard, you don’t feel that? You don’t smell that?”

  “Safron, you’re just afra….” Richard stopped mid-sentence. The side of his face twitched and his eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. “Open the door, Safron,” Richard said in a flat tone as he stepped forward.

  “We should leave. This was a bad idea. We should leave, now!”

  Richard glared at him then flicked his hand. The knob turned on its own and the door creaked open. Richard pushed ahead and with Safron following, he stepped into a sea of darkness. “This is all very ominous,” he mumbled.

  Beneath the cloak of shadows was an impressive hall. Ivory columns rose from a pale marble floors supporting a domed ceiling adorned with ancient paintings, depicting a time before man ruled the earth. Windows as tall as ogres ran the length of the wall. Blue toned glass blocked out any light and a row of chandeliers embellished with sparkling diamonds hung overhead.

  A long, banquet table made of stone was set in the middle of the room. It was cracked in half with fissures running along the ground like bolts of lightning, marking the point of impact. The chairs around it were toppled over and broken. Blood was smeared across the floor like someone had been dragged and it came to a stop at a door in the back of the room.

  “What happened here?” Safron whispered.

  Richard swallowed then made a beeline for the back wall. “Come quickly,” he said.

  Safron didn’t argue. He followed him across the room in silence. His eyes wandered and soaked in the destruction. The longer he looked, the more anxious he became.

  Traces of death were splattered everywhere. Shreds of torn clothing and broken glass peppered the floor like they’d been fed through a wood chipper. There were holes in the wall and chunks of concrete falling from the ceiling. It was the aftermath of a fierce battle but there wasn’t a body in sight.

  Safron paused and spun around. “What in all the hells happened here?” he asked. “Where is everyone? I’ve never known Mercails to be empty.”

  The Hall of Mercails lay just outside of Las Vegas, planted deep within the Red Rock Canyon away from the prying eyes of zeroes. It was nothing if not a showcase of the opulence and lavishness that an immortal life could acquire. The capital of the vampire nation and as such, protected at all costs.

  The hall existed long before humans decided to build an entire city dedicated to gluttony and excess. It claimed the Nevada desert long before the present day Sodom and Gomorrah was erected from the sand like a beacon to the depraved and hopeless. The hall was the real sin city and to see it in such a state of disarray could only mean one thing, the war for the shade was spilling over.

  “Stay close,” Richard replied. “Be ready for anything.”

  Richard pulled the door open and stepped inside of the next room. The rancid smell was the first thing he noticed. The stench of death was fresh and opening the door was like popping a cork. He twisted his face in disgust then pushed past the horrid fetor and stormed deeper inside.

  The room was only a bit smaller than the one they’d just left. Red, velvet couches were randomly arranged throughout and a ring of wooden chairs circled a fire pit in the center that was enclosed with slabs of obsidian.

  The room was used as a lounge for the Pactiza, the vampire elite, when they weren’t conducting official business. The Pactiza was the top coven for all vampires. They upheld what few laws there were and reigned as the governing council for all vampire affairs. If Safron wished to break his family’s vow he needed to speak to the Pactiza.

  “They’re all dead,” Safron whispered.

  Richard ignored him and quietly scanned the room. The fire pit was ablaze, chasing shadows into the far corners. The flames crackled as the burning logs snapped and charred. It may have been peaceful if not for the bodies that li
ttered the floor.

  Safron let his mouth hang open as shock washed over him. “Who…what could’ve done this?”

  “You know who,” Richard said angrily. “Langston is a dead man.”

  “How could they? The entire Pactiza? Lewis was here.”

  “He’s still here,” Richard replied and pointed to a puddle of remains. “I don’t believe he died well.”

  “How could they defeat Lewis? He was the strongest of us all.”

  Richard gave him a sideways glance. “That statement seems to fly in the face of recent events. We need to get back to the hotel and alert the others.”

  “We came here for a reason, Richard.”

  “Yes, we did. But as you can see, everyone here is dead. There’s no one to inform, Safron. Some things are more important than unbreakable vows.”

  Safron mumbled under his breath then whipped his head around as something moved. There was a pile of broken stone where a wall had been destroyed. A small piece of the rubble toppled down the pile and slid across the floor.

  “Richard?” Safron called.

  “I see it.”

  They moved closer as another shard tumbled down the pile then a hand shot out followed by a crackling voice. “Help me, please!”

  CHAPTER 2

  AMONGST FOES

  “They were tougher than they looked,” Langston said with a wicked grin. He wiped blood from his arms with a rag then tossed it to the side.

  “They would’ve never been chosen. Centuries of hiding in their enclave has made them weak.”

  “Olivia,” Langston started but she cut him off.

  “Do not pity our foes, Langston. They made their bed.”

  Langston swallowed his reply. He hated being chastised like some child but the argument was hardly worth it. Instead, he fell into a wide leather arm chair that sat across from a fireplace made from a marble lion head.

  He stared into the pyre as it crackled and swayed, spreading its flaming venom across the charred oak. He looked deeper and deeper, gazing through the flames and into a past that he wished he could forget. There, he saw himself, he saw the frailness that he now hid with anger and bravado. He saw the concurrent moment where his life ended and began.

  It was snowing. Langston could feel the cold as if he was still there, even as the flames hissed and spit in front of him. He shivered then folded his arms across his chest and focused on the memory.

  A ten-year-old boy stood outside of a shabby cabin. He was barefoot and ankle-deep in the snow. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath, the animal-skin shorts his only protection from the elements.

  Tears rolled down his cheeks as the icy cold nipped at his bare skin. The only life he had ever known was literally falling apart right before his eyes and he couldn’t will himself to budge. He was frozen with an indescribable fear that paralyzed him.

  Suddenly, blood splattered onto his face and he screamed and begged the heavens for help. Help that wouldn’t come and if it did it was already too late.

  His mother was laying motionless in front of him. Her head was severed from her body. Her eyes were staring up at him as the life faded like the end of a song. His sisters’ screams stabbed his ears and echoed across the wind. His world was crumbling.

  The boy wiped his face with the back of his hand and looked up to a man gripping the hilt of a bloody sword. The man turned to face him, one crooked eye stared into the clouds, his other bored into the boy like a drill.

  “Is that your mom, boy?” the man asked then turned and walked off.

  The pain of the loss hit him all at once. “No! No, no no,” he cried then fell to his knees in the snow and reached out his hand.

  Something hit him hard in the head and he toppled over as a dark voice barked, “Tie this one up! He’s worth triple the amount alive.”

  The man raised the board again and the boy shielded his head with his arms. “Please don’t!” he shrieked. The board came crashing down and he shut his eyes and braced for the impact.

  “Did you hear me Langston?” Olivia’s voice cut through his reverie. “We don’t have time for your daydreams. We have work to do!”

  Langston opened his eyes as the fire rose and a log snapped in half. Running his hand across his beard, he smiled then cast a curious glance in Olivia’s direction. “I’m sure this is all new to you. After all, you were nowhere to be found when we stormed the hotel. How could you know anything about our foes?”

  Olivia sighed. “Of course I wasn’t. Had I been there, the outcome would’ve been much different.”

  “That’s easy to say. What was it again that had you otherwise predisposed?”

  “Seems that information is above your paygrade, Langston. If Rabelial wanted you to know…I’m certain he would’ve told you.”

  Langston stood up and walked the length of the room. They were in an old manor house tucked in the hills of Los Angeles. It’d once belonged to some giant movie exec but Langston had a legion of witches at his beck and call. They’d convinced the poor sap to sign over the property and move to a suburb in Oklahoma. Zeroes never stood a chance.

  “It’s funny, Olivia. You think Rabelial confides in you? You think he would chance his return to power on the likes of your kind?”

  “It seems he doesn’t confide in you, Langston. I have no higher priority than to serve my master.”

  “How easily your allegiances change. Did you not serve me? Did you not call me master?”

  Before Olivia could respond, Langston had crossed the room and stopped right in front of her. He had a crooked grin on his face and his eyes were narrowed and shielding a flood of contentment. “Elves…” he said and let the word hang in the air. “You think your kind is special? You think you’re what…some kind of elite? You come from holes, from beneath rocks, from the forest where you hid for centuries while the rest of us conquered all the worlds.”

  Olivia snorted and flailed her arms. “You think you’re some kind of god, Langston?”

  “Am I not!” his voice boomed and rattled the walls. His eyes glowed with rage as flashes of blue crackled across his pupils and electricity surged through his veins like blood. “What do you think I am?”

  He grabbed Olivia by the neck and raised her into the air. She struggled against him, digging her nails into his wrists and kicking her legs like a cyclone. But nothing she did mattered.

  “Am I not the stuff of legend? Am I not every demon, every nightmare, every cry for vengeance made manifest?” He spun and slammed her into the wall. “Do not take me for a toy, woman. I answer to one and one alone! All others shall bow at my feet or meet their end at my hands. Don’t forget who I am.” He threw her onto the floor then walked off.

  Olivia gasped and clutched her throat. Her eyes watered as she swallowed gulps of air in desperation. She lay on the floor for minutes, ashamed and exhausted. But what else could she do? Langston was the strongest of them.

  With a painful swallow, Olivia pushed herself onto all fours. “Temper, temper,” she mumbled then wiped her face with the back of her hand. She curled her lips into a fake smile and stood up.

  Langston glanced at her through the corner of his eye. “Pathetic,” he said then turned his head and went back to his seat in front of the fire.

  “We can’t all be gods, Langston,” Olivia croaked.

  “You would do well to remember that!” Langston stood up and started toward the door. “Get up! It’s time we offer the Lycans the same deal we gave the Vampires. Evolution or extinction.”

  CHAPTER 3

  THE FALLEN COVEN

  “He’s alive,” Safron said. “Barely. We need to get him back to the hotel. Can you get us there?”

  “Travelling by magic would draw too much unwanted attention,” Richard replied. “And it’s quite a distance to apparate the three of us.”

  “Forgive me, I thought you were a warlock vampire.”

  “Now is not the time for your childish games.”

  Safron frowned the
n looked back to the man laying on the floor. He was frail and his curly black hair fell over his forehead, mixing with the blood that leaked from a gash that ran down his face. He was dressed in a ridiculous, golden tuxedo with sparkling, silver collars. It was torn and ripped which made a slight improvement.

  “Why isn’t he healing?” Safron asked, using a torn piece of his shirt to wipe blood off the man’s face.

  “I’m surprised he survived the attack,” Richard replied as he continued to look around the room.

  “Blood…” the man cooed and reached his hand out.

  Safron gripped his wrist and looked up as Richard knelt beside him. “Richard, what should we do?”

  Richard glared with a disappointing frown. “Marcel, what happened here?” he asked with a hint of anger in his voice.

  “Blood,” Marcel moaned again and clawed at the air.

  Richard slapped his hand down and grabbed his collar. “You’ll get your blood when I get some answers.”

  “He’s barely alive, Richard. Take it easy,” Safron warned.

  “You’ve been gone too long. This skin bag was supposed to protect them. Marcel led security for the entire organization. So, tell me why he’s clinging to life and everyone else here is dead.” Richard yanked Marcel by his collar again. “You want blood, answer me!”

  Marcel’s eyes rolled into his head and he mumbled something then coughed blood and grabbed Richard’s wrists. “It wasn’t my fault,” he cried. “What could I do to stop them?”

  “Your job, Marcel. You could’ve done your job. Now, tell me what happened.”

  “I’m a coward, Richard. When the devil came, I hid. We were no match for them.”

  “Who?”

  “Olivia and…Langston. But it wasn’t. They were so much more. He was so much more.”

  “You’re not making any sense, Marcel.”

  Marcel leaned forward. He was nearly nose to nose with Richard. His eyes were shifting from side to side and his lips quivered like a plucked guitar string. “He wanted the coven to join him. He wanted Lewis to declare that the Pactiza was behind the commission and would follow their lead.” Marcel paused. He took a raspy breath and closed his eyes. “Langston attacked. There was no stopping him.”