by May Sage
God, she was beautiful. And in the darkest hour he could recall, she brought a torch to his world.
It was strange that despite having lived for so many centuries, and having known so many faces, she was the one he would have loathed to leave behind, had he been the one in that circle, in Tris’s place. She would have been his one regret. His heart stopped. Something inside his stomach twisted, churning in violent revulsion at the very thought of leaving her here, alone. He couldn't. He didn't have the right to. What had he been thinking, welcoming death? His life wasn't his to squander.
It was hers.
How thick, how stupid had it been! All signs had pointed to it, from the very beginning, but he hadn't seen it. He hadn't seen his own soul reflected in her eyes. He was hers. She was his.
His fated mate.
He thought back to his protectiveness of her as a child, as a weak mortal girl. He’d put it down to the fondness most vampires felt for the born children of their races, but what if it had been more? He certainly hadn’t taken a vested interest in any other children of the seven. He understood why he wouldn’t have seen it then. She was so frail, so young—and then she left shortly after being turned.
But he couldn’t explain having been blind to it since she’d come back. He was just an idiot. He'd been drawn to everything about her from the start, and somehow, he had failed to connect the dots. To see who she was to him.
Although his world had forever changed the moment this fundamental truth hit him like a truck, the rest of the valley kept going. He barely registered anything happening, too stunned to use any of his brain cells.
Blair grimaced. "Stop what, exactly?"
"Death." Diana was matter-of-fact, too calm for the occasion. "I have to call Death and negotiate with it."
That didn't sound like a great idea. At all.
Before Mikar managed to remember how to speak, Diana took Sylvan's silver dagger and placed its tip on the skin of her wrist, drawing a five-pointed star with so much confidence Mikar guessed she'd done it a thousand times. Or she'd learned to do so while being human. Any knowledge amassed during their mortal lives was ingrained deep into their minds, like an instinct as easy as breathing.
Her blood was black as night, and damn if it didn't smell like the sweetest of treats, rich and smooth. Mikar had never hungered for vampire blood until her. Now, it was all he could do to stop himself from licking his lips. Finally, he knew why.
Part of him wanted to wrench her out of the circle, drag her to his house and lock her in there, where she was safe. But fate had been kind enough to design Diana Helsing for his overbearing ass. A strong woman who could take care of herself and would kick him into the next century if he attempted to control her.
He smiled. Minutes ago, he wouldn't have thought it possible to ever smile again, but he did. He believed in her. She could save Chloe. She could do anything. He wanted to shout, proud that this incredible creature belonged to him.
She tossed the knife to Tris, who caught it deftly mid-air. “We’re really going to call Death?”
“It’s not that hard. Anyone can do it, in fact. People don’t because, well, they aren’t suicidal. Death is temperamental and unpredictable. It’s as likely to help you as it is to kill you on the spot, if it’s in the mood to.” She swallowed. “We…my family. We have something that provides a bit of leverage and protection. Not that it’s still entirely safe.”
Tris mindlessly twirled the silver blade in her hands, the only thing betraying her anxiety. “All right.”
"Now, if you'd start with the elemental shields," Diana said to the witches.
From the four corners, each witch focused on the element they were linked to. Mikar noted that while there were many in the east, north and south, Blair stood alone in the west corner. She was a fire witch, then. They were the rarest, as far as Mikar knew.
Words crossed Diana's lips, taking his attention away from Blair. He didn't understand any of them, although he spoke most living and some dead languages from all around the globe. While he couldn't make sense of the harsh, almost guttural sounds, he recognized the intonations. Enochian. The language of heaven and hell, shared by angels and the fallen. The language Belial had made use of when they'd first met.
Diana was really calling hell.
And hell responded.
Shadows gathered inside the salt lines blocked by an immaterial wall. The dark, murky fog converged to the center of the circle, right above Chloe. The smell of the valley was overpowered with a strong scent. The salty, metallic smell of blood and fire. The shadows dissipated in a cloud of fine mist, leaving in their stead a hooded figure, too tall, too still. Even from outside the circle, beyond its reach, Mikar could tell it was also too powerful. Stronger than one single being had the right to be. He'd met gods and demons. He'd met monsters and freaks. Hell, he was a freak.
This was something else. An elemental force that felt unlimited.
The figure lowered its hood, revealing a face that wasn't unfamiliar. Dark eyes, ebony hair, and skin so pale it seemed to shine in the darkness. Its features were too delicate and enticing to be manly, although when it spoke, the voice was deep and suave. Enchanting.
"It has been some time since I heard such a call," it drawled, smooth and seductive, gliding more than walking the length of the table, to stand above Diana. It didn't speak English, or any language Mikar recognized, but he understood every word all the same. Its communication was beyond words, predating the very notion of language. Predating life in this world.
This…thing wasn’t a person, though it wore a suit of flesh. It wasn’t a master, a lord, or a king of the underworld. It was emptiness. It was void. It was Death.
It dropped to a low crouch, and extended a long, pale hand to touch the tip of her chin.
Mikar started to advance, not able to help himself. If Eirikr hadn't firmly held him back, he would have entered the circle and stood between that thing and Diana.
“It’d kill you where you stand without a blink,” Eirikr whispered, his words coming out fast and low.
“It could kill her,” Mikar shot back.
“It won’t.” He sounded so certain. “She’s a Helsing.”
Mikar’s lips pursed, but he stopped fighting to get to her. For now.
Death paid him no mind, entirely focused on Diana. "I remember you. The last time such a spell was cast to get me here, you were right under me." Death sounded amused, glancing down to Chloe.
Mikar blinked. Diana had been dead? Or dying. That was hardly better. His heart skipped a beat.
“I’m honored you answered, Thanatos.” Diana seemed calm, but sweat was gathering on her forehead.
Death let go of her chin and rose with a chuckle. "Oh, you knew I would. The deepest, darkest pit of the underworld gets rather tedious. I enjoy your summonses. Well, I see a dying girl and a girl willing to die. I see blood, and salt and water to keep me away from your little friends.” Death’s smirk suggested that if it so wished, it’d get out of the circle and destroy them all without any effort. Mikar believed it.
“Yes. I see many things. But I hear nothing." Death stared pointedly at Diana, its gaze demanding, probing, challenging.
Diana lowered her gaze to her palms, biting her lip, uncertain.
"Do not tease. I have little patience, girl."
“I’m not my father,” she said. “I haven’t got his skills. You may find me wanting.”
Thanatos’s depthless dark eyes were set on her. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Diana breathed deep, in and out, and opened her mouth.
The sounds coming out of her throat weren't real. They couldn't be. Mikar wouldn't have thought such a pure, powerful, clear voice could possibly exist. She sang. The valley was filled with her voice, responding to it, every bit of grass, every tree, every animal falling silent to listen to the ageless lullaby she sang. The elemental magic the witches were maintaining outside the circle erupted in colorful flames, dancing with
her voice. Her voice was a spell. A curse. All here would live the rest of their lives haunted by the melody, seeking more to make sense of their lives.
When her voice quieted, Mikar realized he was on his knees. He wasn't alone. Everyone had fallen. All but Eirikr, and Death.
The Helsings weren’t vampires. Or at least, not just that. Long before the first of them had been turned, they’d been something else.
Sirens.
“Not your father?” Death tilted its head. “Certainly. Your father was pompous and controlled. He studied each note. You’re messy.” Death’s mouth wrapped around the word. “You taste of wildness, poison, and sex.”
Diana looked terrified. But Death was pleased, Mikar could tell. Beyond pleased. It was interested. In Diana.
Fuck.
“I will grant your wish today if you grant one of my own."
Diana only nodded.
"You will call me in a hundred years,” Death stated. “And a hundred years after that. Every century, till your last breath. Fail to do so, and I will not be so kind when next I stand in front of a Helsing."
Diana swallowed hard, but lifted her eyes to Thanatos, holding its gaze. "I swear it."
Death inclined its head, almost imperceptibly, and dissolved into the darkest mist once again, filling the circle with a fog so thick Mikar couldn't see anything inside it. Then an instant later, it was gone, all clouds cleared out.
First Meal
Death had disappeared, leaving only the scent of blood and a sense of dread behind it.
Diana still sat in the exact position where she'd been, to Mikar’s great relief.
However, Tris was spread out under the table, lying at an awkward angle, too still. Mikar couldn't hear any heartbeat.
Diana lurched to her feet, spent. From behind her, Gwen was the first to steady her. "You're all right?" Mikar joined them, taking Diana from Gwen’s hands.
The proud, strong woman fell against him, letting him hold her up. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his thumb on her shoulders.
“Tris…” She didn’t finish her sentence.
Tris’s huntsmen friends were already gathering around her.
“She should be fine.” Right? “You need some blood, and rest too.”
Diana shook her head. “Not yet. I want to see—”
Without any warning, a crash resounded in the clearing, thunderous in the silence. Before Mikar could understand where it came from, it slammed again, and Chloe's fist smashed through her ice casket.
"Oh my god!" Blair rushed to help Chloe sit.
Though she was inches away, Blair reached her after Levi, who was already breaking through the rest of the ice and sweeping Chloe into his arms, cradling her as though she was a child.
Despite everything, Mikar was still shocked to see her alive. Everything seemed fine, intact. Her chest was unmarked by so much as a blemish.
"I told you you weren't allowed to die on my watch, remember?" Blair pointed an accusatory finger at Chloe. "Don't you dare give me a heart attack like that!"
Eirikr stood at a distance, still seeming lost, not quite sure where to stand. Chloe looked over Levi's shoulder to him and smiled, her hand reaching out, beckoning him close. He walked to her then, and tentatively stroked her hair—a tender gesture he didn’t seem practiced in.
Mikar left them to it. This was their family time; he would have felt like an intruder.
“How’s Tris?” Diana asked weakly.
Mikar helped her balance herself as she walked to the other side of the circle. To his surprise, she let him, without a protest. Her concerned huntsmen friends parted ways to give her a look at the fledgling, who still lay unmoving, her head propped up on Jack Hunter’s knees.
"She'll need blood of..." Diana started.
Jack produced a flask. "I keep that handy," he replied. "It's from her father."
Mikar remembered that Tris was his cousin. Several moments passed, stretching painfully as they stood around her, waiting for her to awaken.
When born vampires died, their mortal shells froze in time, and they woke changed—although they needed to drink the blood of their ancestor to survive the transition. From years of experience on the hill, Mikar knew that the wait could be seconds, minutes, or in certain cases, days. Younger, weaker children took longer. And sometimes—rarely—they didn't wake up at all.
Chloe had left Levi's embrace to join them, her cheeks wet with tears as she clasped one of Tris’s hands in hers.
Dread pooled in the air as the moon rose to its apex over the lake. What if Thanatos had taken her permanently? Mikar knew it'd destroy a part of Chloe to know she'd indirectly been responsible for her friend's death. And it would also weigh on Diana for the part she’d played. Her features morphed into a mask of fright, confusion, and guilt.
Tris jolted awake, her eyes wild, sitting up and exhaling so deep her face contorted into a wordless scream. She blinked, looking around in confusion.
Mikar laughed. He couldn't help it. The relief was too great. To his surprise, the others joined in, chuckling as Tris lifted a brow. "You took your time, kid," he explained to the confused huntsman.
“Sorry to be a bother.” She rolled her dark eyes that turned silver under the moonlight. Jack handed her the vial of blood, that Tris uncapped and downed in one greedy gulp. "Dad tastes disturbingly good.” She wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
Her cousin grimaced. "Limit the incestuous innuendoes around me, if you would."
"Ew." Tris faked barfing. "Majorly gross. Only you would get your head in the gutter like that." Tris's hand went to her throat. "Oh. This isn't fun. I'm hungry. Well, you know. Thirsty.”
That must have been an understatement: newly made vampires were parched after the change. They needed to get her some blood, and soon.
“And you all smell like dinner.” She didn’t sound surprised, but her visible self-disgust wasn’t unexpected. Mikar had felt the same way about his new thirst for blood when he’d been turned. Most vampires did.
Before he could announce his intention to run to his place to bring her a bottle or two, Gwen had taken the soiled knife discarded on the ground and lightly slashed her forearm. "Here, you can drink from me."
“You might have wanted to clean the blade,” Diana murmured, grimacing.
Tris blinked up at the witch, her expression horrified, but then her eyes darted to the thin line of fresh blood. She opened her mouth, her tongue licking her dry lips. "You don't know what you're offering. I'm literally minutes old. I may not be able to stop myself."
“Whatever.” Gwen shrugged. "There are a bunch of people who will stop you here. You saved Chloe. You're a friend. Friends don't let friends go thirsty."
Tris looked up at Jack, then sat up higher to reach the offered arm. "Watch me," she told her cousin. He nodded, frowning at Gwen, as though he didn't quite approve, but couldn't, or wouldn't, say anything. Not when Tris's well-being hung in the balance.
And then, Tris drank.
Hunters and Prey
By some sort of miracle, everyone was alive. Alive and well. Diana was right here, half leaning on him, her heat providing him with a sense of comfort and completion.
Mikar's mind finally started working again. And he had approximatively a thousand questions.
For one... "How are you here?" he asked, turning to Eirikr.
It looked like he was the first to think to ask it. Everyone was suddenly paying attention to the ancient, who was braiding Chloe’s hair out of her face.
Looking around, Chloe asked, "Where's Greer?"
The two questions seemed intertwined, one bleeding into the next.
Her ancestor glanced back to Cosnoc. "The witch let me out—not without effort. I believe she might have wanted me to have time to see you." He looked stunned at that. “Before you were lost.”
To be fair, Mikar was stunned, too. He hadn't even noticed that Greer had disappeared. That didn't quite answer the question. "But where is she now?"
“Asleep. She'll have to lock me back in my cage when she wakes.” He bared his fangs. “The slayer child took her. Black-haired, gray dress.”
Ah. Ruby.
Greer was safe, which brought up the next issue they had on their hands. Levi was the one to bring it up. "How did the arrow manage to cross the border in the first place?" He went to retrieve it, his eyes flashing in anger as he took in the weapon that had killed his mate. For a hot second, but still, Mikar could tell Levi didn't hate it any less. He still seemed shaken, pale, his eyes cold as ice.
The black-tipped metal shone violet with Chloe’s blood in the darkness. Levi sniffed at the tip and frowned, handing the arrow to Mikar. He looked at it and smelled it too. Underneath the potent scent of Chloe's blood, there was something else. Some sort of potion, he thought.
Eirikr extended his hand. There was no denying the likes of him. Mikar handed him the arrow. The first vampire merely looked at it. "Vladrien."
The word—or name—sounded fairly familiar. "Wasn't that one of your slayers?" he asked Eirikr.
"Hardly. I turned Vladrien before any other. He used to be a friend, in my mortal life, and he was dying." His jaw set. "Vladrien loved the power, the rush, the strength of this life. He never understood why I condemned drinking from mortals. He resented me for it. So he left, and found Ariadne. For a time—centuries, I think—he was by her side, a protector specifically designed to keep me at bay. Ariadne knew I wouldn't wish to destroy an old friend."
From the way his cold eyes narrowed, that feeling was in the past.
"I know no one else who could shoot from such a distance. Still, time has changed…it could have been another." Regret etched the edge of his features. Then his jaw set. "But this is his arrow."
"That doesn't explain how he could see Greer. Or even how he'd know we were here." Blair waved her hands. "It's not like we go to the lake every day."