by M. L. Desir
His eyebrows rose. “Now see here, Nikolai—”
The child jumped to his feet and grabbed Gabriel’s hand. “No!” he shouted. “You see here.” He raised his foot several inches off the floor and smashed it down. “For your sake, for your future,” he said, pleading in a voice suddenly as sweet and endearing as a little girl’s. “You must let me speak to Seth.”
Gabriel slipped his hand out of Nikolai’s grasp. He couldn’t understand it. What did the child think he could accomplish by speaking to someone so dangerous? He knew that children could be optimistic, but this was ridiculous. “You’re a child. There’s nothing you can do. Besides, you should be focused on your own problems.”
Nikolai stared at his own hands. A frown slowly slipped across his face. “But your problems are mine as well.” He blinked several times. Tears formed like dew in his eyes. A couple of droplets glistened on the length of his lashes. He didn’t sniffle. His face didn’t contort into the ugly mask that crying often produced, but remained a porcelain facade Gabriel had never seen someone cry so stoically. How strange to find Nikolai’s crying didn’t repulse him. But it was disturbing. The tears weren’t tinged with red, but clear as water.
“Your eyes,” Gabriel said, reaching out to touch his tears. “Your tears . . . why aren’t they red?” he asked as gently as he could, but this voice only sounded flat, empty when ironically he felt the opposite.
Nikolai averted his face as if his touch would burn him. “You don’t understand. The blood bond,” he said, voice lowering into a whisper, “won’t allow you to attack. Seth will sense that you mean to trick him. Let me speak to him! Let me reason with him.”
“Forget about Seth. Who made you? Who Enlightened you? Tell me. Now!”
Turning to him, Nikolai paused, and a sickening smile crept on his lips. “Let me attend the party, and I’ll tell you everything. The truth . . .”
“How dare you try to bargain with me? You’ll stay in your room. Mikel will keep you company.”
Nikolai’s face turned as dark as thunder clouds. “I don’t think you want the truth.” He snorted an obnoxious laugh through his nose. “Mikel is so boring. This whole bloody place is boring!” he screamed. “If you don’t let me come, I shall bite off my tongue and bleed to death.”
Gabriel chuckled. “Then you certainly won’t be bored any longer. You’d just be dead.”
Mikel strode into the room, dressed in deep blue evening attire. He moved toward the bed and sat in the chair beside it. He reached out his hand and patted Nikolai on the head. “I’m boring, eh? Aww, you hurt my feelings, mon petite.”
The child chewed on his bottom lip. “I didn’t mean it, Mikel. Sorry. Forgive me. Please.”
Mikel smiled. “I forgive you. Why don’t you go in my bedroom and play the piano? You were clumsy with some of the notes yesterday. This evening, I want to teach you a fantastic, new piece. And if you catch on quickly, I may even let you play a duet with me.”
Nikolai gasped, shouted in glee, and leaped into the air. He dashed out of the room and across the hallway into Mikel’s room.
His sudden compliance. The boy was up to something. He didn’t know what yet. He shifted his eyes to Mikel and found him staring at him.
“Now that we’re alone.” Mikel’s tone had changed drastically—dark, cold, and just plain nasty. “If you were to die tonight, how will I be affected?”
“Don’t you mean how you and Colin will be affected?” Gabriel answered with a smile.
He rolled his eyes. “I care for no one but myself.
“You sound like a selfish child, Mikel.”
“Yes. Aren’t we Chosen all merely selfish children? Forever young and living in the eternal present.” He shrugged. “Answer my question.” He flashed a refulgent smile, “My master,” he added with a sneer.
Gabriel rose to his feet and walked to the door. Over his shoulder, he threw Mikel a contemptuous look. “As your maker, your master, my life is tied to yours. So, exorcise those daft ideas out of your bloody head about trying to take it.”
CHAPTER 33
Devil in the Serpent
THE CHOSEN ARRIVED at sunset. At the front door, a servant pinned red or white roses to each of their evening attire.
Faron and Alexander had sent out invitations under the premise that all—even the traitors—had become Gabriel’s followers. Every treacherous act was forgiven, and in celebration of that, Gabriel had decided to host a party. All that was asked of them was that they allow Gabriel to drink from them, which served two purposes. First, the blood giving symbolized a pact between the Prince and his servants. The second purpose remained a secret: during the blood exchange, whatever powers the individuals possessed would become his. Those wearing red roses were first sent to the dining room to participate in the bloodletting, and the ones with white roses enjoyed dancing and drinking until their turn came about. Eventually, they would rotate until Gabriel completed the ritual with each and every one.
Nathaniel had Colin position a giant chair at the front of the dining room. It looked more like a throne inlaid with jewels, and Gabriel, dressed in a suit the color of burgundy and cream that set off his emerald eyes to perfection, looked like the proverbial beautiful prince.
* * *
“I’m the divine Fountainhead from which all things flow,” Gabriel said, for what seemed like the thousandth time to the Chosen kneeling before him. No one waited in line behind this one. He looked to be the last for a while. What a disappointment. He was hoping to get a feel for tasting truth. How did Leigh do it? He remembered that even though Leigh hadn’t fed from him, he could still sense when he was lying or telling the truth. Did the answer lie in the racing of the heartbeat? The bitter scent of blood? It was one thing to have the gift, but another to recognize that one had it. He’d have to base his decisions on the Chosen’s body language and his own intuition alone. Damn it.
Gabriel reached out his hand and took the name card. Anthony. “Allow me to drink of you,” he continued, inserting the Chosen’s name, “Anthony, so that you can become one with this divine flow.” He held the Chosen by his shoulders, who stared into his face, lips slightly parted. He had the classical handsome face of the other Chosen men. A proud, high forehead with brown hair of medium length and russet eyes to match. The brown frock coat he wore was similar to his own Prince Albert. Apart from that, he looked familiar in a way…
Gabriel hesitated with leaning forward to continue. “I insist that you close your eyes. You’re making this terribly awkward.”
Anthony let out a long breath that he might’ve been holding before murmuring an apology and shut his eyes.
Gabriel bit into his neck and drank his blood. The ritual, at first, filled him with anticipation as well as blood. And each neck he sank his fangs into opened a potential doorway to a new present, a new gift.
Now, the novelty of it had worn off. And Gabriel hoped it would be over sooner than later. He would have to wait to see if he had benefited at all.
The ritual had not been a total waste, though. On occasion, the sounds of purring from their throats amused him. He remembered, with regret, what it felt like to receive the deliciously wicked kiss upon his own throat. Never wanting it to end. An image of Bela flickered into his mind before he cast it out. He glanced around the room, for the second time, to see if she had arrived.
When Gabriel had finished, Anthony proved to be just as amusing. Gabriel laughed to himself the way Anthony lingered, trying to hold onto him, attempting to capture Gabriel in his arms only to be fended off by Nathaniel. Once Nathaniel removed the threat, he stood behind him, like a guardian.
Anthony adjusted the high collar of his shirt with trembling fingers (from fear or pleasure?) then bowed very low. “My Prince, don’t you have any recollection of me?”
Gabriel studied his features again. “You look vaguely familiar . . .”
>
“Remember that night you confronted Seth? I forgive you for the broken chandelier, but you won’t believe how inventive I was with the explanation I gave to my servants.”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That was your dwelling? I shall repay you for your troubles, Anthony.”
“Thank you, my Prince,” he said. “Thank you so much, but before I go, I have something to ask you . . .” He paused, shaking his head with a nervous smile. “Is it true what Seth said, you know, er, about you bringing back what is dead?”
“If I answer your question, you’ll want me prove it to you, and to give you proof, I’ll have to kill you . . .” Gabriel gave a flash of teeth. “But I suppose I could always resurrect you. Do you want to take that chance, Anthony?”
Anthony shook his head, but he no longer smiled. He retreated from Gabriel, walking backward, dipping into a bow every few steps. Gabriel rolled his eyes once Anthony stepped back, swallowed into the crowd of dancers. He hoped that he would keep quiet about what Seth had said. He didn’t need any more problems.
You need to smile more, Nathaniel thought to him, a beaming smile on his own face.
Gabriel attempted to smile, but fell short when a disturbance arose in the throng of dancers. Bela emerged, dressed in a gray and blue dress, which accentuated the curves of her long, slender figure. She murmured a plaintive “excuse me, pardon me” as she made her way through. When she made eye contact with Gabriel, her face hardened. She stood as tall and rigid as a statue just a few feet away from him.
A dull ache throbbed in his chest. “I trust that you are yourself.”
Bela nodded. “But are you, Gabriel, your own self?”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Why this display of mercy? When I pleaded for such, I only received cruelty. Has Seth instilled so much fear in you that you have decided to fall upon the aid of others who would sooner place a knife in your back the moment you turn it?”
Gabriel glanced at Faron. Now where have I heard that? He turned his attention to Bela. “Come to me Bela, beautiful Bela.” His voice must have taken on a more lustful timbre than he had intended because the dancers stopped their dancing and turned to watch the exchange between the two of them, concupiscent smiles playing on their faces. Someone let out a breathy moan or two, sprinkling the area with desire. Tension hung thick in the room too, making it hard to breathe. He sensed the tension taut, like a cord stretching in the back of his mind. Seth?
Was Seth here, too?
Show yourself, coward, he thought. Make your move. Or will you watch from the shadows like the ghoul that you are?
Bela held her head high in the air, a defiant set in her delicate jaw. She reached him in slow strides.
He offered an open hand to her, the fingers spread in an elegant gesture of a prince offering his heart to his love. She let him take her hand, and her fingers felt as cold as marble. He wondered how long she had gone without feeding. And why.
So watch then, Seth. Watch. “Bela, beautiful Bela—”
She scrunched up her face into a sneer. “Stop mocking me!”
Laughter.
Gabriel smiled. “Now Bela, spill some of your blood so that the tainted blood of your master will be purged from your lovely body.”
Bela wrenched her hand from him, but he held it. “How do you expect me to,” she spat through clenched teeth, “if you don’t let go?”
“Ah,” Gabriel sighed. “All I wanted to do was assist. You mustn’t deny me that, lovely Bela.” He leaned forward, looking into her eyes, enjoying the frightful expression on her face. Just as his lips grazed against the softness of her skin, he closed his eyes and bit into her wrist, making a small incision. Her bright, red blood flowed, like a tiny stream onto the floor.
“You severed the vein, my Prince,” she said, dully.
He released her. “You know it will heal,” he replied.
Bela stepped backward, her eyes on the floor, holding her wrist delicately, as if it were a piece of glass. He stared at her, wondering why Seth hadn’t revealed himself yet. He knew that he lurked somewhere here, he just didn’t know where exactly. His eyes moved over the faces of the Chosen. Seth could’ve used an illusion to disguise himself. He could be anyone.
“My fellow Chosen,” Gabriel said to his audience. “I’m glad that you could come. Now that you have sworn fealty to me, you shall serve no other. Likewise, all past allegiances to Seth have been canceled. You cannot serve two masters. I will have no rival.”
“Did you really believe it when you said that you have no rival?” Jules ambled toward Gabriel wearing a red rose in the outer pocket of his black frock coat.
“Jules,” Gabriel said. “Or should I call you by your other name, Black Knight?”
Jules’ mouth parted slightly in what looked like mild surprise or the beginning of a reply.
“Really Jules, I find your astonishment in my ability in unveiling you as Katherine and Robert’s killer most insulting,” Gabriel said.
Jules tossed his head, and his black hair fell back out of his face. “As I recall, my Prince, it was you who had insulted me that night, and I had a right to make amends. You insulted all of us. Choosing those pathetic humans over your own kind was, I dare say, deplorable. At least Seth understands. At least Seth understands that there’s a hierarchy in the world, and that we’re at its peak.” His voice grew louder when he spoke. He raised his hands over his head, turning about as if trying to rally loyalty from the other Chosen. “You, who think you’re so superior because you don’t have a taste for blood. I think that you would like to change what we’ve been accustomed to. Who gave you the right?”
Whispers rose and fell as Gabriel stared at Jules.
“My Prince,” Faron called. He held a sword up in the air, tossed it, and Gabriel caught it.
Jules looked to the double doors, his only available exit, blocked by Alexander.
Gabriel almost laughed at the absurd look on Jules’ face, but anger blinded him from indulging in something so petty.
“We have a law against killing our own. You mustn’t. You cannot.”
“Oh, but yes, for if our roles were reversed, you would conveniently forget about the law. So, as will I.” Gabriel swung the sword with both hands, cutting Jules at the hip. The blade made a clean, quick slice. His torso flew several feet away from the force of the blow while the rest of his body collapsed with a dull thud to the ground. Remarkably, Jules still lived, though. He raised himself up on his hands and dragged himself across the floor leaving a red trail of blood and entrails behind him.
He reached out his hand to Bela, who had begun to weep. “Bela, help me! Someone!” He screamed, face twisted with pain. He reached out his other hand to her, but she stepped backward, shaking her head. Her pale gray eyes wide with terror cried, Forgive me. “But I still live—help!” He slammed a clenched fist on the tiled floor and broke into a guttural sob. “Cowards. Damn you! All of you!”
Jules gazed up at Gabriel. “What will you do now?” he asked, face streaked with scarlet tears.
Gabriel didn’t answer. Jules had survived being cut in half. Interesting. He didn’t know what to do next. He hadn’t expected him to survive. Had he been given immortality? He beckoned to Colin. “My latest Chosen would like to display his new gift. You should be honored.”
Colin moved forward from the crowd and spread his hands out in front of him. Fire flared out of his fingers and like the petals of a rose, fluttered toward Jules. He burst into flames and thrashed on the ground as the flames ate away his clothing, hair, and flesh. He howled a gut-wrenching scream, which lasted for several minutes. Hearing it didn’t give Gabriel as much pleasure as he had thought. Torture and revenge were overrated. He wished that Jules would just die.
A hollow, eerie silence filled Gabriel’s ears when his screams did stop. Colin stepped backward a few
feet, as if to admire his handiwork, a complacent smile on his little mouth. Jules laid still, a blackened skeleton, and the room smelled strangely of flowers or incense.
Gabriel frowned. Were there none who could live forever? Including even himself?
“He’s dead?” Bela cried out.
Anthony dashed forward. “Yes! He’s killed one of us before. And Seth, even Seth implied that he could bring the dead back . . .” His eyes darted to Gabriel before casting to the bloodstained floor. The other man’s hands shook, but Gabriel knew the reaction had nothing to do with pleasure.
Yes, you willed Jules to die, just as you could will them to live, Nathaniel said. Tell them that.
Gabriel did. “You shall live as long as I will you to. In my hands are the keys of life and death.”
Silence. Gabriel looked over their faces, which looked paler than usual. He frowned and opened his mouth to speak, to try to alleviate them of their fears when the double doors slammed wide open.
Sevien, dressed all in white with a red cravat, strode forward into the dining room. “Do my eyes deceive me? I thought that this was supposed to be a joyous occasion. One may have thought they had stumbled upon a funeral with all these miserable faces,” he said with his unbearably beautiful voice. His jeweled eyes shifted to the charred corpse that Timothy and Christopher were disposing of, and then back to Gabriel. “I have come to assist you, but it appears that you’re not in need of assistance.”
Gabriel sank down into his seat. “When blood is spilt, is that when you come?”
Sevien’s beautiful face brightened into a wicked smile. “Blood, yesss. Amongst other things. Either way, I shan’t be thirsty tonight.”
Gabriel avoided Sevien’s ravenous stare. For a brief moment, he thought to call Sevien by his other name–Sthenius. And if it was indeed one of his other names, he wondered how he would react. A violent reaction, like the demon Rumpelstiltskin, who tore himself in two, most likely wouldn’t happen. So much for wishful thinking.