Much closer.

Valentin shut his eyes, and permitted himself an indulgent moment to consider the life he had lived, a life almost unparalleled in human history, full of light and dark and every shade of grey between.

Then he breathed out, and tore the bundle of wires in half.

Osvaldo strode across the blood-soaked ground with the hunting knife that had been his father’s in his hand, his body physically vibrating with anger.

He knew he should just return to his post on the drawbridge, revive his guards, and send one of them down the hill to finish the man off, but his mind was coursing with a simple, unstoppable desire: he wanted to kill the soldier so very badly.

The destruction of the helicopter fleet and the reveal of their second front meant that the battle was now indisputably going their way, but it was still far too early for complacency. Until each and every one of their enemies lay dead on the ground and his master descended from the Basilica to begin his reign, he would assume nothing.

The soldier got to his feet at the same moment Osvaldo reached him and plunged the hunting knife into his gut. The man’s eyes widened; he let out a thick grunt and slumped forward as Osvaldo hauled the knife upwards, slicing flesh and muscle until a thick ridge of bone stopped the blade. He yanked out the knife, and shoved the soldier backwards; the man spun limply through the air, his insides trailing, and slid across the blackened ground. For a long moment, Osvaldo considered going after him and finishing him off, but the bloodlust that had gripped him so urgently was already fading, and he could see there was no need.

The man was done.

I’m hurt, thought Julian, as shock flooded through him. Oh God, that hurts so much.

The vampire was staring down at him with a cold expression on his face. Julian tried to move, but couldn’t; his mind was horribly clear, but his body would simply not obey its commands. His insides felt like they were on fire, like someone had scooped his organs out and replaced them with burning coals, and his hands were cold beneath his gloves, so cold that he could suddenly no longer feel his fingers. He tried to raise his head, and felt liquid gush up his throat and into his mouth; he gagged and spat, blood running down his face and neck in warm rivers.

The vampire was still staring at him, its eyes smouldering red in the darkness.

Come on then! he wanted to shout. Come on and finish me!

But he couldn’t form the words. All he could do was stare back, and hope the fear pulsing through him was not visible in his eyes.

The vampire frowned.

His eyes flared crimson and he looked up at the sky, a millisecond before fifty-two tonnes of intercontinental ballistic missile obliterated him completely. It hammered into the ground and exploded with a belch of fire, a noise that struck Julian momentarily deaf, and a storm of flying shrapnel.

Julian stared at the fireball billowing up into the air, dimly aware that the missile had not detonated, that only its fuel tank had blown; the heat was overpowering, and he could smell cordite and blood and burning metal, but he wanted to throw back his head and scream with joyous laughter. If the frown on the vampire’s face before the sky quite literally fell on him was the last thing he ever saw, he could think of a great many worse sights.

Despite the protective material of his uniform, the heat on his skin began to rise to an unbearable level. He couldn’t move himself away from the burning wreckage of the missile, but he knew it didn’t matter. The pain the vampire’s knife had caused was gone, replaced by shivering cold and a sensation of profound exhaustion; the ground beneath him was soaked, and he was starting to feel light-headed.

It’s all right, he told himself. It’s really all right. Just let go.

A dark shape dropped out of the sky, landed heavily, and staggered backwards down the slope. The figure was wearing a Blacklight uniform, but it spun round as it threw its arms out to keep its balance, and Julian saw red eyes glowing at the centre of a face that was strangely familiar.

His first thought was that it was Alexandru Rusmanov standing before him, but he knew that wasn’t possible; Alexandru was dead, destroyed on Lindisfarne by Julian’s son. Valeri was dead too, which left only one explanation.

Valentin, he thought. It has to be Valentin.

The vampire frowned at him, and took a series of quick steps down the hill.

“I recognise you,” it said, its voice low. “Why do I recognise you? What’s your name?”

“My name is Julian Carpenter,” he replied, each word requiring tremendous effort. “We’ve never met, but I recognise you too, Valentin.”

The vampire smiled. “You are Jamie’s father. The traitor.”

Julian grimaced. “I betrayed nobody.”

Valentin narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “I believe you,” he said. “What are you doing here, Mr Carpenter? I don’t believe you are still a member of Blacklight.”

Julian opened his mouth to answer, but a wave of pain rolled through his body; he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut until it passed. When it finally did so, he found Valentin looking at him with open curiosity.

“You’re dying, Mr Carpenter,” said the vampire.

Julian grunted, and forced a thin smile. “I’m well aware of that.”

“I could bite you,” said Valentin. “I can tell by looking at you that it won’t help, that you won’t live long enough for the turn to begin. But I will try if you want me to.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Because I liked your father a great deal, Mr Carpenter,” said Valentin. “And because I am very fond of your son.”

He frowned. “You know Jamie?”

“I do.”

Julian felt his throat fill with liquid, bitter and horribly warm. He spat out blood so dark it was almost black, and looked up at the old vampire.

“I don’t want you to bite me,” he said, his voice low and thick. “Even if there was time for it to work, I wouldn’t want you to.”

Valentin nodded. “I understand,” he said. “The chance to choose how you meet your end is not something many men are lucky enough to have.”

Lucky, thought Julian, and smiled again. Right. I’m really lucky.

“There is something you can do for me,” he said. He reached a shaking hand inside his uniform and pulled out the envelope he had carried with him from his mother’s cottage; it was now smeared with his blood, and he would just have to hope that the letter inside was still legible. He held it out towards the vampire. “You can give this to my son.”

Valentin frowned, and took the letter from his fingers.

“Will you?” asked Julian, his voice urgent. “Will you give it to him? Please?”

The old vampire stared at the envelope for a long moment, then raised his head and nodded. Julian smiled, despite the pain and cold spreading through him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Valentin slid the envelope into his uniform. Then he turned and rocketed towards the summit of Carcassonne, so quickly it was as though he had simply disappeared, and Julian let his head sink back to the ground; it was suddenly so heavy that he could barely lift it.

An image of his wife rose into his mind, her smile wide, her hair fluttering around her beautiful face. He wished he could have seen her again, just one last time, to tell her he loved her and say goodbye, but maybe it was for the best; she and Jamie lived in his memories, where they were perfect, where they would always be happy, where reality had never intruded on their lives. He thought about his son, not the man he had become who was out there somewhere in the darkness, but the boy he had been, his hair messy, his knees scraped, his eyes so bright and full of hope.

I loved you, he thought. I loved you both so much.