The End of Hatred

by Rebecca Hefner

  “When you were clutching a metal object in your hand and accusing me of betraying you? Yeah, I chose to pass. You were delusional with anger. I knew there was no reaching you.”

  Running a hand through his hair, Sathan exhaled. “Did you pull the troops? Shit. That leaves the Slayer compound open to another attack.”

  “Thankfully, as the smartest brother, I figured out a solution. Miranda marches upon Crimeous as we speak.”

  “What?” Sathan yelled, fear for her closing his throat. “She was supposed to attack under the light of the full moon.”

  “I wasn’t sure you would be able to calm down before the troops were pulled. You left her no option.”

  Cursing, Sathan began to pace. Lifting his head, he trained his angry gaze on his brother. “Was her meeting with Darkrip staged for the video?”

  “No,” Latimus said, shaking his head. “She’s been secretly meeting with him for months. She didn’t think you would understand their connection.”

  Clenching his jaw, Sathan contemplated what would make his beautiful Slayer distrust him so deeply. Didn’t she know that if she had only come to him, he would’ve helped her in any way he could? His heart clenched knowing that she didn’t feel she could tell him everything.

  “She marches on Crimeous now?”

  Latimus gave a nod.

  “We have to help her.”

  “You can’t fight with her, Sathan. We’ve discussed this. Putting both of your lives in danger isn’t an option.”

  “But what if she dies?” he screamed, grabbing his brother’s shirt with both fists and shaking him. “She’ll think I pulled my support from her. That I didn’t trust her.”

  “Well, you didn’t,” Latimus said, shrugging.

  “Okay, okay,” Heden said, approaching them. Gently, he disentangled Sathan’s fingers from his brother’s shirt. “I understand your argument, Latimus, but Sathan really fucked up. He’s finally in love with a woman for the first time in his life and he wants to save her. If it was Lila, you’d feel the same way.”

  Sathan felt his eyes grow large as he gawked at his brother. “You have feelings for Lila?” he asked.

  Latimus shoved Heden away. “Fuck you, Heden. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t have feelings for anyone,” he said, addressing Sathan. “And I never fucking will. Look at you. Overcome with emotion. It’s pathetic.”

  Heden rubbed his chest where his brother had pushed him. “Just because you’re a coward doesn’t mean Sathan is. She’s your woman, brother. Go save her. Fuck Latimus.”

  Sathan regarded his youngest brother. “You’re right. I have to go help her.” Training his gaze on Latimus, he said, “Either you’re with me or you’re not.”

  Latimus rolled his eyes. “You two are a bunch of fucking pansies. Come on,” he said to Sathan, “we’ll take the copter. I’ll be ready in five.” Turning, he left the room.

  “Thank you, Heden,” Sathan said softly. “I had no idea that he had feelings for Lila.”

  “Only for about a thousand years. You’re pretty oblivious when you want to be, bro. Now go save your Slayer.” Patting him on his shoulder, his brother urged him toward the door. “I’ll watch the compound and keep an eye on the red-haired woman. Go.”

  Placing his hand on Heden’s shoulder, he silently thanked him. And then he ran to the copter to help Miranda defeat their enemy.

  * * * *

  Miranda grunted as she wielded her sword. Striking down another Deamon, she searched for Crimeous. An evil laugh sounded behind her and she turned, ready to strike.

  “Hello, Miranda,” the Dark Lord said. He wore a long grey cape, flowing as he seemed to float toward her. Everything about him was grey, from his long fingers, to his skin, to his lips. Beady eyes drilled into her own. “I hear that you have come to kill me.”

  Heart beating with fear, she threw down her sword and pulled the Blade from her back. “I have,” she said, clutching the hilt with both fists. “I will avenge my mother and bring my people peace. You have terrorized us for too long.”

  He smiled, revealing teeth that had been shaven into sharp points. “Is that so? And here I thought I was only getting started.”

  Giving an angry yell, she charged. Swinging the Blade at him, he seemed to dodge her blows as if they were in slow motion. “Come on, Miranda. You can do better than that. Even your mother fought harder as I fucked her.”

  Bile rose in her throat as she thought of this awful creature touching her beautiful mother. With a yell, she sliced through the air.

  “I’m bored with this,” he said, shaking his head at her. “Darkrip, take her hostage. Perhaps we can have some fun with her before we kill her.”

  Her half-brother walked to stand beside his father. In that moment, she saw the evil in his eyes. Although he favored her mother, he did share features with the Deamon as they stood side-by-side. She felt a brief flash terror that he would betray her.

  Then, he lifted a Glock, aiming it at his father’s head. Pulling the trigger, he shot him point-blank in the side of the face. The Dark Lord wailed in pain, bringing his hand to cover the wound. Stunned, he looked at his son. “You would betray me?” he asked, reaching out a hand to Darkrip.

  “Strike him quickly, Miranda. We don’t have much time.”

  Lifting the Blade, she pounced, slicing Crimeous’ head off of his neck with one sure thrust. His body collapsed onto the floor, his severed head lying beside it. Stunned, Darkrip looked back and forth between them. “Holy shit, you did it, Miranda.” Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her tight.

  Unfortunately, this obscured their view so that they didn’t see the Deamon’s severed head realign with his body. Blood vessels reattached and skin congealed, as if drawn together by some unseen dark force. As Miranda disengaged from her brother, Crimeous grabbed her by the ankle. “Did I miss the celebration? Too bad.” Yanking, he pulled her to the floor.

  Darkrip howled, lifting the gun and proceeded to pump bullets into his father. They only seemed to make the Dark Lord grow stronger. Lifting to his full height, he grabbed his son by the throat, choking him as he lifted him off the ground.

  “Your hate makes me grow stronger, son. Don’t you see? I thrive on it. It will fuel me to kill you and the Slayer.”

  Below, Miranda grunted and swung the Blade into his calves. Crimeous howled in pain. Angrily, he kicked her in the face and then the abdomen. With a groan, she doubled over on the ground.

  “You align with her?” his father screamed, still holding Darkrip’s throat. “Over me? I could have given you unlimited power. Now you will die no better than your mother. What a disappointment. I should’ve killed you centuries ago.” Scowling, he squeezed his son’s neck, smiling with joy as his eyes began to pop out of his head.

  “Let him go,” a baritone voice warned. “I won’t say it again.”

  Crimeous’ head snapped and he smiled with malice. “Latimus. How nice to see you. Have you come to join the fun?”

  Latimus pulled the trigger of the AR-15, spraying bullets into the Deamon’s chest. With a loud wail, he dropped Darkrip to the floor, sputtering to reclaim his breath.

  “Miranda!”

  She heard the voice, so faint as it called to her. “Sathan?” she called, her voice hoarse with pain.

  “I’m here,” he said, rushing to her side, lifting her to him. “I’m here.”

  Suddenly, an eight-shooter materialized in Crimeous’ thin hands. Training it on Latimus, as he still sprayed bullets from the AR-15, the Dark Lord fired. Latimus fell to the ground in a large heap.

  “Shit,” Sathan said, leaving Miranda so that he could tend to his brother. “Hold on, brother. Hold on.” Flipping him over, he assessed the damage. Latimus looked up at him, his blue eyes swimming in pain. Softly he croaked, “Watch out.”

  Turning his head, Sathan saw the Deamon cock the eight-shooter, reloading. Darkrip, who had finally stopped gasping, grabbed Latimus’ AR-15 and began to pump
his father full of bullets from his position on the ground.

  “Yessssssss,” the Dark Lord hissed, absorbing the bullets as if they were bubbles blown to him on a sunny day. “Your hate is consuming. I feel it everywhere.”

  Crimeous lifted the eight-shooter, training it on Sathan.

  Sathan pulled a Glock from his belt, cocking it as he aimed it at the Dark Lord.

  Miranda heard the click of the eight-shooter deploying. “No!” she screamed, unwilling to watch Sathan die in front of her. Forcing her wounded body to move, she threw herself in front of the man she loved.

  Gasping, she felt the pain explode everywhere. And then her eyes closed.

  “What the hell?” she heard Kenden’s voice above her, a million miles away. Metal clashed and bullets exploded but to her the sounds were so muffled, so distant.

  “Get her to the copter,” she heard Kenden say. “And Latimus too. Darkrip and I will get the Blade. After that, we retreat.”

  Someone was carrying her, jogging with her in their arms. She felt weightless, dazed, as she floated on the air. Slowly, she became aware that someone was slapping her face. Damnit, it hurt. Struggling, she opened her eyes.

  Sathan’s face was over hers, contorted in pain and grief. “Miranda,” he called from afar. “Hang on. I’ve got you.”

  She coughed, trying to tell him she loved him, that she didn’t betray him, but she couldn’t speak. “Don’t talk,” he said. She felt his fingers on the skin of her battered cheek. Gathering all her strength, she lifted her hand and touched his chin.

  “Didn’t…betray…you,” she said, unsure if he could hear her.

  “I know,” he said, his eyes searching hers, wet with unshed tears. “I know, sweetheart.”

  She tried to tell him she was sorry for everything, for keeping her meetings with Darkrip secret, but she just couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Giving up her struggle, she gave in to the darkness.

  * * * *

  Darkrip pumped his father full of bullets, hating that he seemed to grow stronger with each discharge. Noting his own fucked up reaction to pain, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Darkrip, we have to go,” Kenden yelled behind him. “Grab the Blade.”

  “This Blade?” Crimeous had, bending down to grab it and hold it high. “I don’t think so. I’ll just hold onto this for safekeeping. I can’t have all of Valktor’s bastards coming to threaten me with it.”

  “I hate you!” Darkrip screamed through his clenched teeth. Finally, his rifle ran out of bullets.

  “I know,” the Deamon Lord said, lifting his hands in triumph. “Your hate is amazing. It flows so purely through you. Stay with me. Let me train you how to use it to control others. You could be so much more.”

  “Fuck you,” Darkrip said, spittle spraying through his teeth. In frustration, he threw the gun to the ground and charged his father, determined to die fighting him with his bare hands. His father knocked the handle of the Blade into the side of his face. As he fell, he thought of how he’d failed Miranda. He’d wanted so badly to help her. Accepting his death, he exhaled.

  Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and he wondered if his father was repositioning him before stabbing him in the chest. Unable to open his eyes, he prayed that the bastard would strike swiftly so that he didn’t suffer. And then he succumbed to unconsciousness.

  Chapter 34

  Latimus awoke with a gasp. Jerking his head around, he could see that he was in a hospital bed. Wires and tubes were inserted in both of his arms. With a growl, he sat up and yanked them all out.

  “Hey,” Arderin said, coming over and placing a hand over his. “Stop doing that. You’ll only make it worse.”

  “How the fuck can it be worse? Am I in Nolan’s infirmary?”

  She nodded and he noticed she wore a white lab coat. “You were shot with an eight-shooter but thankfully it only grazed you on the side. Many others weren’t so lucky.”

  Latimus cursed, running his hands over his head. “How many did we lose?”

  “I don’t know the exact count. Kenden would know. He’s been running point.”

  Nodding, he threw back the covers and stood, swaying due to his wooziness. He grabbed onto the railing of the bed.

  “Please rest,” his sister said, trying to push him back toward the bed. “You won’t do anyone any good if you’re not well.”

  “Fuck that,” he said, pushing himself to stand again.

  “Don’t curse at me!” she said, her mouth forming into a pout.

  “Sorry,” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek. “I don’t want to fight with you. But I can’t be in this bed. Where is Kenden?”

  “In the barracks. He set up point there.”

  “Thank you. Don’t let Sathan give you any shit. You look good as a doctor. If you like it, keep it up.” Squeezing her wrist, he walked away, warmed by her smile.

  After stopping by his room to change into fresh clothes, he headed to the barracks to find the Slayer commander. The one man who had been his greatest enemy, and his greatest challenger, for almost a thousand years. Spotting him, he walked over toward the tables that had been set up.

  “Did you escape with the Blade?”

  Kenden’s brown eyes assessed him. “No. Crimeous has it.”

  Latimus cursed.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Kenden spoke with resolve. “I need to know why we lost. How Crimeous has grown so strong. Can you interview the soldiers and compile their statements? We need to piece their accounts together before their brains muddy their memories. Perhaps we can find a clue.”

  He regarded the great strategist. With a nod, he extended his hands. “Give me a notebook.” The Slayer placed one in his hands. “You fought well in the cave. Now that we’re done destroying each other’s people I look forward to building an even greater combined army with you.”

  “As do I,” he said, his chestnut-eyed gaze firm.

  Latimus decided he was okay. Stepping from the barracks, he got to work.

  * * * *

  Sathan watched Nolan as he stood over Miranda, gently cleaning her wounds. Kenden had helicoptered in a Slayer doctor and she stood on the other side of the hospital bed. Miranda laid face-down as they cleaned the eight grisly lesions on her back. The Slayer, who was badly burned on one side of her body, sniffled as she worked. Sathan couldn’t blame her, as he was fighting his own emotions.

  Miranda looked so small and frail, lying unconscious in the white, staid bed. Her copper skin seemed to glow against the sheets and he longed to hold her to his chest. Nolan had urged him not to touch her, informing him that her wounds were severe.

  Swallowing thickly, he watched them work.

  “Does he always stand and watch you with your patients?” the Slayer physician asked, her hands working to suture one of Miranda’s wounds.

  “Nope,” Nolan said as he pulled a needle through the flesh at Miranda’s back. “But he’s not usually in love with my patients. I guess that makes this a special occasion.”

  Wanting to strangle both of them, Sathan left the room, needing to get outside and inhale some fresh air.

  About an hour later, he went back downstairs, finding Nolan as he wrote in a chart. The Slayer doctor was beside him, furiously writing with her unburnt hand. They made a serious pair, indeed.

  “What’s the prognosis?” Sathan asked, his voice raw. He dreaded the answer.

  Turning, Nolan urged him to sit down in the chair beside Miranda’s bed. “I’ll stand,” he said, and Nolan nodded.

  “Do you mind if Sadie helps me detail you on Miranda’s prognosis? She is well-versed in Slayer anatomy.”

  “Fine,” Sathan said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

  “Her injuries are severe, Sathan. I won’t sugar coat it. As you know, I advised against trying to save her but you insisted so here we are.”

  Sathan tried to control his scowl.

  “I advised against it because her chances o
f recovery are poor. Probably ten to fifteen percent. Not only does she have severe trauma to her back from the eight-shooter wounds, but she has extensive head wounds and internal bleeding.”

  “I understand,” Sathan said, his voice thick. “What can we do to increase her chances? Will transfusing her with my self-healing blood help?”

  “Unfortunately not,” Sadie said. “We would’ve had to infuse her on the battlefield for that to be effective. One must be exposed to self-healing blood or saliva within the first few minutes of severe injury. Her body is in extreme shock. The only way it will heal is if she rests. And fights. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known and a dear friend. If anyone can recover, she can.”

  “But we don’t want to give you false hope,” Nolan said. “All we can do is wait. She is in a medically-induced coma so that her body has better chance of healing.”

  Sathan looked over at her small frame, lying face down, tubes attached, monitors beeping. “Can she hear me if I talk to her?”

  “Some patients can and some can’t,” Sadie said. “When they’re in a coma, it’s hard to know. Personally, I don’t think it could hurt. If you want to talk to her, I would encourage it.”

  “I agree,” Nolan said.

  Sathan nodded, unable to continue as emotion swelled in his chest.

  “There’s one more thing we need to tell you.”

  Sathan lifted his gaze to Nolan, indicating he should continue.

  “She was pregnant, Sathan. Most likely eight weeks along. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to save the baby. Sadie ran a test on the fetus. It was a hybrid. Vampyre and Slayer. The first we’ve ever seen.”

  Clutching his heart, he fell into the chair, unable to stand on his wobbly legs. “How is that possible?” Shock reverberated through every nerve in his body.

  “After analyzing the DNA, we can only assume that it’s because your bloodlines are so pure. Most species’ wombs will reject sperm from another species, because they see it as foreign. Because your bloodlines are both so pure, her womb must have accepted the sperm, recognizing it in some way.”