The End of Hatred

by Rebecca Hefner

Sathan ran his fingers through his hair, unable to comprehend that they had conceived a child. And lost it. Fury at his stupid decisions swamped him. “Does that mean we could conceive again?”

  The doctors exchanged a look. “We can’t be sure, but the probability is high that if she recovers you can conceive another child. We see no reason why her body would reject your sperm if it’s already accepted it once,” Nolan said.

  Sighing, Sathan buried his face in his hands as his elbows sat on his knees, rocking back and forth. What an idiot he was. He had pushed her here, threatening to pull his troops and forcing her to attack early. Hating himself, he tried not to drown in his despair.

  “There, there,” the kind Slayer said, stroking his shoulder. “It will be alright. Take some time to clean yourself up and then come back and sit with her. Hearing your voice will do her good.”

  Lifting his head, he thanked her, determined to follow her advice.

  * * * *

  In the barracks, Arderin buzzed around the semi-private makeshift rooms they had set up for triage. Waves upon waves of soldiers were being coptered in and she rushed to assess each one. She had been training with Nolan for centuries, enthralled by the practice of medicine. It was time to put her knowledge to use.

  Another soldier was brought in, badly bleeding, with large, swollen lacerations on his face. “Put him here,” she said, pointing to an open bed. Once he was laid on top, she examined his face. His wounds were deep but not life-threatening, so she decided to check the rest of his body before cleaning and suturing his facial wounds. Surprise washed over her as she spotted the tops of his pointed ears. Was he a Deamon? Had the troops mistaken him for a Slayer and loaded him in with the injured? Unsure, she decided to treat him, knowing time was of the essence.

  Grabbing the scissors, she cut off his shirt.

  His chest didn’t show any major damage, so she checked the rest of his body, cutting off his clothes as she went. When she got to his underwear, she hesitated. As a virgin, she had never seen a man’s genitals. Of course she had spied on the soldiers as they bathed in the river. Curious, she had always tried to see their naughty bits, but had never really gotten a good look.

  A severe laceration ran from the man’s hip under his black underwear. It needed to be cleaned. “You can’t be a healer if you’re scared to assess wounds in private places,” she muttered to herself. Deciding that it was her Hippocratic duty to suture him, she cut off the man’s underwear.

  She gasped, observing his thick shaft. She understood that a man was only supposed to be erect when he was aroused. Yet this man’s phallus was stiff and turgid, blood vessels threatening to pop as it strained upward, the purple head resting just beneath his navel.

  Her inquisitive mind slammed into overdrive, understanding that there was no way this unconscious man could be in any state of arousal. How in the hell was he so hard? Following instinct, she grasped the shaft in her gloved hand and squeezed slightly, wondering if it would ease the swelling. No such luck.

  Swallowing, she felt a wave of shame rush through her. Telling herself not to be a sicko, she cleaned the red wound that ran from his hip, stitching it up. Her hands would brush his shaft as she worked and it would make tiny jerks as she brushed against it.

  Finishing up, she couldn’t deny herself one more look. Removing her gloves, she grasped him again, needing to understand why he was so erect.

  “Don’t stop,” came a low-toned voice, pained and gritty.

  Gasping, she withdrew her hands, looking at her patient. “I’m so sorry,” she said, embarrassment flooding her. Lifting her hands to her cheeks, they were on fire. “I don’t understand why you’re erect. I…it doesn’t make sense. I thought I could give you some sort of relief.”

  The man’s deep green eyes seemed to flash with desire. “There is no relief,” he said, his voice raspy. “Etherya cursed me to be this way. Because I’m the son of the Dark Lord, borne of torture and rape.”

  As a trained clinician, she understood how painful that curse was. Although arousal was amazing in short bursts, being in a constant state would be maddening. The body would always be in overdrive, straining for release but never achieving it.

  Lifting the sheet, she placed it over his lower body, covering him. “I didn’t mean to violate you. I feel…awful.”

  The Deamon regarded her through slitted eyelids. “I guess it makes us even for me knocking you unconscious and dumping you in the river.”

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “The night of your abduction. By the river.”

  A flash of anger jolted through her. “That was you?”

  He nodded on the pillow, breaking into a coughing fit.

  “I could’ve died,” she said, furious at this creature. “Why did you attack me?”

  “It was the catalyst that was needed. You served your purpose.”

  Her nostrils flared as she studied him, his indifference infuriating. “You still have some wounds on your face but I’ll be damned if I help the man who shoved me in a river and left me to die. You fucked with the wrong Vampyre.” Calling over a nurse to help stitch up the man’s face, she scowled at him, giving him her best look of hate.

  His deep chuckle reverberated down her spine, causing her to shiver.

  “God, are you this passionate in bed?” he asked, his lips forming a cruel smile.

  Disgusted, she left him in the nurse’s hands and stomped off to find another patient. One who wouldn’t make her insides quiver and her heart pound with fury.

  Chapter 35

  Sathan sat beside Miranda’s bed, his hand rubbing the soft skin of her upper back, above her wounds. Nolan had instructed him to leave her uncovered so the fresh air could help her heal. His other hand held the lower part of his face, and he felt his chin quiver as he looked at her.

  It was all his fault. The entire fucking dilemma. If he had only trusted her and vetted the red-haired woman to be the liar that she was. Fury surged as he anticipated questioning her later. Heden had locked her in the dungeon and he was waiting on Latimus and Kenden so they could interrogate her together. Unashamed, he imagined strangling her. It was no less than she deserved.

  And what did he deserve? How could he have doubted Miranda so quickly? He had worked so hard to calm the passionate judgement that dictated the decades after his parents’ murder. Over the last several centuries he had prided himself on his dispassionate restraint. For some reason, his little Slayer had broken through the walls of his carefully-built control.

  His fingers caressed her, moving up to her hair. Softly, he stroked, hating that she still had dirt from the Deamon cave in her silky tresses. Mentally, he made a note to ask Sadie if she could wash her hair next time she checked in on her.

  He couldn’t see her face. It was encompassed by the plushy pillow, usually reserved for massage tables, so that the wounds on her back could heal. If he’d had access he would’ve lowered down and kissed her soft lips, murmuring words of love and asking her to come back to him.

  Instead, he gently stroked her, barely able to control his emotions.

  “I have rarely seen you in such pain,” a voice screeched behind him. “Even when your parents died.”

  Sathan turned to see the goddess floating at the foot of the bed. “I love her,” was all he said, unable to justify the hurt any other way.

  “I know. I foresaw this ages ago, although it was murky. I knew that a Vampyre and Slayer royal would come to mate and bear a warrior.”

  Surprise flowed through him at her words. “That prophecy wasn’t in any of the Vampyre archives or Slayer soothsayer fables.”

  “And what are fables, if not stories that are half-truths?” she asked, curly red hair seemingly on fire as it surrounded her white robe. “Archivists and soothsayers are fallible and malicious. Many stories were changed after the Awakening. As I told you before, there is so much you don’t know.”

  Sathan inhaled a deep breath. “Will she live, Etherya?” he ask
ed softly.

  The goddess closed her eyes, searching, and opened them to train her gaze upon him. “Unclear. She is in the Passage now but the portal has not closed. She can return here if she chooses.”

  “Miranda,” he said, lowering his head to speak into her ear. “Please come back to me. If you can hear me, please, I can’t do this without you. Your people are so close to having the peace you crave. Come back to me and let me help you.” Unable to continue, he stroked her glossy hair.

  “Keep speaking to her. I hope she chooses to return. Stay strong, son of Markdor.”

  Like a cloud dissolving under the rays of the sun, she vanished.

  Minutes later, Latimus and Kenden stalked into the room. Kenden walked to the head of the bed and stroked Miranda’s hair, his expression filled with concern.

  “How is she?” Latimus asked.

  “The same,” Sathan said, exhausted.

  “Come,” Latimus said. “It’s time to question the red-haired bitch.”

  With resolve, the three of them headed to the dungeon.

  * * * *

  Miranda jolted awake, shielding her eyes from the blinding light. She gasped, needing air in her lungs, and brought her hands to her throat. The choking sensation ceased slightly and she inhaled a large breath. Panting, she pushed herself up with her arms, the appendages wobbly underneath her. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she searched her surroundings.

  A root from the large tree beside her rested under her leg. Water gurgled nearby and the grass she sat upon was plushy. She was at her mother’s gravesite. How had she gotten here? She fought to remember what happened before she slept, her mind clouded.

  “Well, hello my dear. It’s been such a long time. I’ve missed you so.”

  Turning her head toward the voice, she regarded the smiling man with the vibrant green eyes. “Grandfather?” she whispered. Confusion swamped her.

  “Miranda,” he said, his voice so kind, as he caressed her cheek with his hand. “My goodness, you are so beautiful. Perhaps even more so than your precious mother.”

  Heart pounding, she studied him. She was always down for a dream about her dear old grandfather, but something seemed strange. The setting seemed plastic; fake somehow.

  “I don’t think this is real,” she said, looking at the man she only remembered in faint memories. “How can I see you?”

  His smile was warm and deep. “You are in the Passage, my dear.”

  “The Passage?” she asked, her head jerking back and forth to assess her surroundings. “No, I can’t be.” Lifting her hands, she felt her face, testing. “Am I dead?”

  “You are very close, child. You have only moments to make another choice.”

  “Another choice?” Her brain wasn’t working and she felt woozy. “What choice?”

  “You can choose to return to your world or stay here with us in the Passage. Hurry, child. The window is closing.”

  Fear shot through her and she struggled to piece together the jumbled images in her mind. Sathan threatening to pull the troops. Latimus helping her. Attacking with the soldiers. Cutting Crimeous’ head off only to have it reattach. She had jumped in front of Sathan to shield him from the eight-shooter…

  “You are not the one who will kill Crimeous with the Blade, Miranda. I’m sorry. It is another one of my lineage who will complete the task. You fought bravely and I promise you the day will come when he is defeated.”

  Looking at him, she asked the one question that had always eluded her. “Why did you murder Markdor and Calla?”

  His eyes, mirror-images of her own, clouded with intense pain. “Crimeous fashioned the Blade for me and told me he would release Rina if I killed them. When I returned to claim her, I realized he had no intention of honoring his word. I fought to rescue her but lost. When I reached the Passage, Etherya pulled me out, transporting me to the Cave of the Sacred Prophecy. She had recovered the Blade and helped me forge the prophecies. Once I was finished I was unable to live with what I had done. I threw myself into the Purges of Methesda, hoping that my descendants would have the courage and bravery to set things right.”

  He smiled at her, sad and reverent. “You are so much stronger than I ever was. You will bring peace to our land once again.”

  Her eyes filled with angry tears. “All that death. All the war. Because you wished to save Mother.”

  “Love is not logical, Miranda. You should know this, now that you have experienced love with your Vampyre.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We don’t have a future.” Her lips tuned into a frown as she pulled at the green grass at her feet.

  Her grandfather chuckled. “Know everything, do you, my dear?”

  “Not everything,” she muttered. “I have to go back. Even though I’m not the one who will kill Crimeous, my people need me.”

  “Many need you,” he said, and she somehow understood that he was referring to Sathan.

  “Are Mother and Father here?”

  “Your mother rests in the Land of Lost Souls. Your father decided to join her when he arrived here. He chose to suffer with her for eternity rather than to live an eternity without her. As I said, love is not logical.”

  Miranda sighed, drawing her knees to her chest. Imagining Sathan’s face in her mind, she realized that if he were lost, she would travel to the ends of the universe to be with him. Fucking love. What a cluster.

  “I’m so glad I got to see you,” she said, squeezing his hand and lifting herself off the ground. Wiping her hands together, she shook off the dirt. “This place isn’t ready for me yet. How the hell do I get home?”

  Her grandfather stood and gave her a hug. Placing a kiss on her head, he stepped back. “You’ll find a way, little one. I love you, Miranda. Your brother and sister, too. He is strong but she is lost. I need you to help her find her way. Never forget that my blood unites you all.” Lifting his face toward the bright light in the sky, he vanished.

  Biting her lip, she looked around at the strange, plastic recreation of her mother’s gravesite, trying to figure out how to return home.

  * * * *

  Sathan growled as he clutched the woman’s fire-red hair in his hand, pulling her face toward his. “What is Crimeous planning next?” he asked, spittle flying from his gritted teeth. “I won’t ask again.”

  The woman laughed and spit in his face. Wailing, he lifted his arm to strike her.

  “Enough!” Kenden yelled, grabbing Sathan’s arm before he could pulverize the woman’s face. Pushing Sathan back, Kenden spoke firmly. “She is our prisoner but she is still a woman. Don’t go there. You’re better than that. Don’t let her drag you to her level.”

  “But my level is so fun,” she said, opening her legs at her thighs since her feet were bound together. She gyrated on the chair. “Why don’t one of you boys show me how big and bad and strong you can be?” Throwing back her head, she gave an evil laugh, and then licked her full red lips. “Mmmm…” she said.

  “I know what you’re doing, Evie.” Kenden walked over to stand in front of her. “I assure you, none of us are going to beat up a female. We just want to know why you’re working with Crimeous. When I saw you in France you said you wanted nothing to do with this world.”

  “I didn’t, you piece of shit,” she said, her jaw clenched. “But you found me and threw your immortal arrogance in my face. I won’t have a bunch of limp-dicked immortals telling me how to live my life and who I should fight for. No one ever gave a shit about me unless they needed something from me, or wanted to rape or fuck me. And you dared to find me and ask for my help in your pathetic wars? Fuck you.”

  As Kenden regarded her, sputtering and furious with daggers of rage in her color-concealed eyes, something shifted deep inside him. If what she said was true, if she had truly been raped and most likely repeatedly, no wonder she lashed out like a wounded animal. She had been taught that life was full of pain. How alone would he feel in a world without Miranda? Where no one claimed him or cared for him? Did
she have anyone who had ever shown concern for her? She’d told him in the hotel room that there was no one she loved. A wave of pity washed over him. He had rarely seen a soul so damaged.

  But she was also evil. Manipulative and cunning. He would do well to remember that, lest he succumb to his pity for her. “Are you working with Crimeous?” he asked.

  “Of course not. That bastard raped me from before I could speak. I hate him more than I hate you. I didn’t care to help him. I just wanted to fuck you assholes over. Maybe next time you’ll check your arrogance and leave people well enough alone.”

  Kenden’s heart clenched at her admission. No matter how evil someone was, they didn’t deserve what she had been through, especially as a child.

  “I propose we let her go,” he said, still looking into her eyes.

  “What?” Sathan screamed behind him. “No fucking way.”

  “She’s here by choice anyway. She could escape these binds in a second. Isn’t that right, Evie?”

  A cunning smile curved on her red lips. “Well, look who’s smarter than they appear.” Pulling the ropes at her wrists and ankles apart as if they were made of feathers, she stood. Coming within inches of Kenden, she lifted her chin to look up into his eyes. “I will leave you alone if you return the favor. Consider it a prize I’m bestowing since you figured out the depth of my true strength. Don’t try to find me again. I’ll give you all the gift of sparing you from my wrath if you leave me the fuck alone.” Turning her head, she gazed at the Vampyres. “It’s the last time I will ever show you mercy.”

  Before their eyes, she vanished.

  “No!” Sathan yelled, rushing toward the chair. “Where did she go? How in the fuck did she just disappear?”

  “Her brother can dematerialize as well,” Kenden said. “Their powers are vast.”

  “Then that makes him dangerous,” Sathan said, anger in his voice.

  “He’s protective of Miranda. Let’s hope that calms his …urges. Evie, on the other hand, cares for no one. I trust her when she says she’ll leave us alone if we do the same. Unfortunately, if Darkrip isn’t the one destined to kill Crimeous with the Blade, we’ll have no choice but to contact her.”