by N M Thorn
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” the man whispered, dropping his hands.
“What is the last thing you remember?”
The vampire lowered his head, his shaking fingers clenching and unclenching uncontrollably. “I don’t…” he mumbled, staring down. “The last thing I remember is coming to see my king in his office.” He raised his face, his eyes wide with fear like that of an animal caught in a hunter’s trap. “I don’t recall anything after that, my lord. I swear. I don’t remember traveling to Arizona, or how I was wounded.”
“Who is your king?” asked Cole, realizing that one of his questions had just been answered. This vampire wasn’t rogue, but he also wasn’t a part of his Court.
“Santiago del Castillo,” replied the vampire. “The King of the Nevada Vampire Court, my lord.” As Cole frowned, leaning back in his chair, the vampire moved forward, raising his hands pleadingly. “Please, Your Majesty, I swear I’m telling you the truth. You can call him and verify my words.”
“What’s your name?” asked Cole, reaching for his phone.
“Rob Miller. I am His Majesty’s executive—”
With a loud bang, every single window in the room exploded, slivers of glass flying in every direction. Instinctively, Cole dropped to his knees, knocking his chair down. He bent forward, covering his head with his arms. A few pieces of glass cut his arms, leaving long, bleeding lacerations in their wake. With a low growl, he jumped to his feet and spun around to see six figures in dark tactical uniforms barging into the room through the glassless windows.
Dressed in all black with black masks over their faces, it was impossible to say who or what they were in the darkness of the room. Without saying a word, they pulled out their swords and hastened forward, moving with the grace and force of experienced swordsmen. Cole stepped back, positioning himself between his prisoner and the attackers, and unsheathed his sword, his eyes never leaving his opponents.
They stilled for a heartbeat to exchange a quick look. The person upfront gave a curt nod, and without saying anything, they attacked all at once. Cole spun in place, moving as fast as he could in the limited space he had. But despite his sword skills and his speed, the assailants deflected all his strikes with ease, and he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that they were toying with him like a bunch of alley cats with a tiny mouse.
A sharp pain spiked through his body as a blade ran through his side, and he cried out, staggering backward just to run into his prisoner, tripping over his leg. He fell to the floor, but jumped to his feet right away, ignoring the burning pain under his ribs. Glancing down, he noticed that the wound wasn’t healing, dark red blood gushing from the deep laceration, soaking his shirt and pants. He had no time to worry about it. His attackers didn’t give him a chance to regroup, and judging by their behavior, they weren’t here to negotiate or take prisoners. It was a kill or be killed situation, and he’d never considered himself easy prey.
Cole screamed, swinging his sword in a desperate attempt to parry the next strike. Metal clashed against metal with a loud clang, sparks flying. He pushed down on his blade, looking directly at his opponent’s face. A pair of dark eyes stared back at him through the slits of the mask, the taunting twinkles mocking him. The attacker retreated, skillfully avoiding the bind. Fast and forceful, Cole followed, and his sword finally found its target, the blade sliding through his assailant’s chest, missing the heart by no more than an inch.
The attacker cried out in a high-pitched voice and fell to the floor, hands rising to cover the wound. Cole closed the distance between them in one long stride and ripped the mask off, exposing their face.
“But you’re a woman,” Cole whispered, staring down at her in shock. A derisive sneer stretched her lips coated in bubbling, red liquid, her brown eyes shining with disdain as she glowered at him.
“Yes,” she hissed and coughed, blood spilling from her mouth, running down her chin. “And you’re nothing but a stupid, disgusting vamp who just got played.”
Cole snapped around, realizing his mistake too late. A long blade pierced his stomach, and the person wielding it twisted it in his gut, moving it up slightly before pulling it out. As debilitating pain ripped through his insides, he screamed and fell back, hitting the tiled floor with his head.
The attackers stopped and lowered their weapons, taking their masks off. Tall and athletically built, all of them were women. The front one—most likely their leader, judging by the way she held herself—took a knee next to Cole and seized his hair, yanking his head up. Then she took a dagger and stabbed him in his stomach again. He groaned, his hands rising to his bleeding wounds involuntarily.
“Cole Adams,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “today is your lucky day, vamp. We’re not here for you. In fact, we have orders to keep you alive for a little while longer.”
She glanced over her shoulder and gave the other four a quick nod. One of her teammates reached behind her back and produced a wooden stake. Cole tensed, raising his hand covered in red splatters of fresh blood.
“Please, don’t kill him—,” he started, but before he could finish, the woman thrust the stake through his prisoner’s heart.
The vampire’s mouth opened in a silent cry of pain, and his widened eyes locked with Cole’s for a brief moment before his body disintegrated, turning into ash. The enchanted handcuffs fell to the floor with a loud clatter, and the woman picked them up, observing them with interest, her finger following the flow of runes.
“What a neat little toy,” she murmured, sliding the handcuffs into a small hip purse attached by leather straps to her belt and her thigh. “I think I’ll keep it.” She winked at Cole and added with a shrug, “Spoils of war.”
The leader patted Cole lightly on his cheek. “Our job here is done,” she said, making a circular motion with her finger. “In case you were wondering, your wounds are not healing because of the poison circulating through your body. All our blades are covered with it. But don’t worry. It’s not going to kill you. It’s designed to make you weaker for a few hours. After that, your wounds will heal, and you’ll be back to your normal self.” She got up, staring down at him with unconcealed disgust. “Whatever that means.”
She pivoted on her heels and headed toward the window without as much as giving a second look to him or her fallen teammate. The other four women followed her, and they left the room the same way they came in.
Cole moaned and fell back. His eyes closed and darkness, hot and sticky, enveloped him, strangling his every desire. He wasn’t sure how long he lay like this, motionless, subdued by crippling pain. After a while, he opened his eyes and reached for his cellphone. He brought the device up and cursed, dropping it. The phone was broken, a thin web of fractures covering the screen.
His arm fell to the floor with a dull thud, and his head lolled to the side powerlessly. Right in front of his face, he saw the arm of the dead woman. The sleeve of her uniform was torn above her wrist, and through the hole, he could see a small tattoo drawn in red ink—a stylized Ankh symbol that looked like a sword with a serpent coiling around it.
He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, and opened his mind to the blood bond with his brother.
“Dima, I need you,” he projected. “I’m in serious trouble, brother.”
There was no answer…
Chapter 5
~ Damian Blake ~
At first, Damian teleported to Paradise Manor, but as his arm responded with a sharp twinge, he glanced down at the four long welts left by the shifter-lion that cut deep into his flesh. Despite his ability to control his pain, the gruesome look of the injury made him shudder, sending waves of weakness and aches through his battered body. He glanced at the house, but as inviting as it looked, he changed his mind. He didn’t want River to see him like this. Even though she had witnessed a fair share of injuries in her line of duty, when it came to him and Cole, she couldn’t tolerate seeing them hurt.
“It’s okay,” he mumbled to him
self. “All I have to do is heal myself and go back home to get some sleep. A few hours of uninterrupted rest, and I’ll be like new.”
Despite the exhaustion he felt, he snapped his fingers again and teleported to his favorite place in the desert. Isolated by a few large rock formations, the natural amphitheater he had found when he moved to Blue Creek was secluded enough to provide some privacy. A while later, however, he had added a few more large rocks, making sure that the area he chose wasn’t visible to anyone from outside. So even if some crazy human decided to take their dirt bike for a spin in the middle of the night, they couldn’t see him there.
With a low groan, he lowered himself to the ground and ripped the leftovers of his shirt off. Then he lay down flat on his back and folded his hands over his stomach, enjoying the touch of the cold sand to his bare skin. Closing his eyes, he channeled the elemental energy of Earth and started the healing process. As the energy of his element rushed through him, surrounding him with its warm, welcoming embrace, he moaned softly, feeling weakness assailing him once again.
While healing magic could take care of any injury and relieve pain, it demanded a lot of magical and physical energy. After performing healing, Damian always felt so drained and tired that the only thing he could think of was sleep. Today, it was the second time he had to do it, and he knew it would take a toll on him. Besides, keeping his pain under control for such a long time had its price tag as well.
As the pain gave up its hold, and all welts, lacerations and bruises disappeared, his eyes closed of their own accord, and a peaceful oblivion took hold of him.
“Damian… Daaa-mi-aaa-n…”
He jolted into a sitting position, staring around in shock. He was still in the same place, surrounded by the rocks and the endless desert, yet everything looked different. The sky shone with a soft, purple glow, and a few white clouds had a shining purple lining. The sand and the mountains reflected the color of the sky, shimmering with purple and lilac sparkles.
“What the hell?” he mumbled, rising to his feet.
As he glanced down at himself, his jaw dropped. His body was clad in ancient Russian armor, the links of chainmail reflecting the purple shades of his surroundings. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the slick coldness of metal under his touch, and spun around.
“What the hell?? Mara! I know it’s you. Show yourself! Goddammit!” he yelled, throwing his hands up.
A sound of soft, musical laughter rang behind him, making him twirl around, his chainmail producing a soft jingling sound with his every move.
“Aw, Damian, a girl just wants to have fun. What’s wrong with that?” She giggled, her fingers tracing the shape of his chest plate. “Can’t I see my handsome Russian warrior in his full regalia?”
Damian stared down at the Slavic goddess of Nightmares, flabbergasted. She rose on her tiptoes and brushed his cheek with her fingers. Damian seized her wrist and forced her arm down.
“Are you trying to flirt with me, Mara?” he asked with an exasperated sigh, watching her grin grow wider.
“And is it working?” she asked, batting her long, black eyelashes at him.
“Not in the slightest. What do you want?”
She snapped her fingers, playful twinkles shining in her eyes. He glanced down, realizing that even though she had restored his normal appearance, it only made the situation worse.
“Dammit…” he mumbled, assessing his state of undress.
She laughed, and for a moment, she didn’t look like one of the most powerful dark deities in the Slavic pantheon, but like a young girl who truly did have fun flirting with him.
He sighed and sat down, pulling his knees to his chest. She lowered herself to the ground next to him, readjusting the folds of her long black dress.
“What can I do for you today, Mara?” he asked, sounding slightly softer. “To be honest, I’m exhausted, and it’s the middle of the night. Unlike you, I have a human body, so I need food and sleep. And I know until you say your piece, you’re not going to let me out of this illusion. So, let’s get to business.”
“I can sense how drained you are magically, Damian, and I’m truly sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I know you’ve been through hell in the last few hours, but the night is not over yet,” she said in full seriousness. “Anyway, this is not why I’m here. You fell asleep in the middle of nowhere, and I seized the opportunity to speak with you.”
“About?”
“You,” she replied, gently following the flow of his bicep with her slender finger. “You seem to be a magnet for trouble, boy.”
“What do you mean?”
“The last time we met, you had a Fallen toying with you,” she continued. “This time—” She cut herself off and looked away, staring at the bright, purple desert. There was something so plaintive in her expression that it sent icy waves down his spine.
“What’s going on, Mara?” he asked softly, turning toward her. “You went through the trouble of creating this illusion, so you may as well give me your warning.”
She scrambled to her knees and readjusted her position to face him. Sitting back on her heels, she took his hand into hers, her thumb rubbing his knuckles absentmindedly. His first reaction was to yank his hand out of her grip, but he suppressed it.
“Damian,” she said at length, “you know how it all works. I can’t tell you what’s going on. All I can do is give you a vague warning.”
“I know that,” he replied, giving a gentle squeeze to her tiny hand. “It’s frustrating, but I’ve been around long enough to know the limitations. I also know that you wouldn’t do anything without getting something in return.”
She shook her head no, a deep vertical crease appearing between her thin, black eyebrows. “I already have what I want from you. You gave me your word that you’ll speak with Chernobog on my behalf, given the opportunity.”
“I stand by my word, Mara.”
“Well, then you understand that I have a vested interest in keeping you alive and well, right?” She gave him a half-hearted shrug. “So, here is my warning. You’re on the right path, my Russian warrior, but this path is too dangerous to walk alone—even for someone as powerful as you.”
“Are you talking about my brother?” he asked.
“Yes, but no,” she replied, shaking her head. “Your brother always stands by your side, anyway. You two are bound by destiny. I’m talking about a different person in your life. When the time comes, don’t say no to an offer of help, no matter who this offer comes from. Do you understand me?”
Damian nodded, wondering if the goddess was talking about Zabava. But since he knew that asking her about that was pointless, he inclined his head in a slight bow. “Thank you, my lady. I’ll try to remember that.”
“I guess it’s time for you to wake up.” She raised her hand, but he seized it, holding it in his grip.
“Wait,” he said, releasing her. “Can I ask you a question before you leave?”
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows, curiosity gleaming in her large, black eyes. “Go ahead. What would you like to know?”
Damian nibbled on his lip, searching for better words. Then he averted his gaze, staring at his hands covered in bloodstains. “In the last few months, I can barely get any sleep,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I see the same nightmare over and over with slight variations that make it only harder and more painful for me to watch. The same vision you showed me a while ago. Are you doing it to me?”
“No, Damian.” She pressed her hands to her chest. “I swear it isn’t me. Why would I do that to you if you promised to help me? You’re my only hope to find my way home… the only hope to see my—” She cut herself off and added, “Besides, I’m not the only dream-walker as you probably know.”
“You’re right,” he agreed calmly. “You’re not the only dream-walker, but you are a dark deity, and it takes true evil to do something like this.”
“Good. Evil.” Mara huffed, gazing heavenwards. “After walking this pun
y realm for the last thousand years, you still didn’t learn your lesson, did you, Damian?”
“And what might that lesson be?”
“There is no such thing as unadulterated evil or pure good.” Mara shrugged with a light flick of her hand. “The world is not black and white, my boy. There are all sorts of shades in between. The mesmerizing canvas of life is painted with these shades, and every one of us is the artist who wields the brush.” She fell silent for a moment, exploring his face. “Sometimes, good people do bad things for the right reasons. Sometimes, an evil being does something completely selfless because they believe it’s what they need to do. I don’t believe that throughout your long life, you’ve never witnessed something like that.” She looked up at him, her face absolutely serious, but then her lips twitched ever so slightly. “Besides, without evil, you won’t know what good is.”
“You have a point, but I’ve never seen a dark deity playing on the side of the Light. Not without an ulterior motive, that is. And I’m sorry, but you’re not an exception to this rule.” Damian sighed. “The other reason I thought it was you was because you were the one who showed me this vision in the first place.” He fell silent and raised his eyes at her, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. “I think if you break the mystery of this vision and tell me who that man is, the nightmares will stop.”
She looked away, a soft pink shade rising to her pale cheeks.
“Sorry, Damian, but I can’t do that,” she said and added hastily, “Not because I don’t want to help you.” She met his eyes, tugging at the collar of her dress uncomfortably. “This vision is real, but I have no idea who this man is. I lied to you to force you into a deal with me. Just like I lied to your brother when I told him his maker was dead. I did it to hurt him, and I think it worked.” She threw the long black strands of her hair off her face and shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not going to apologize for that. I did what I had to do at the time. As you pointed out many times, I’m a dark deity. It’s in my nature.”