by S. K. Ryder
Dominic grabbed him by the arm. “Allow me a suggestion before you lose the rest of your mind?”
A dazed nod.
He pitched his voice toward compulsion. “You are safe with us. Whatever you see or hear or feel, you will be safe. Do you understand?”
With closed eyes, Jackson accepted the ‘suggestion’ and let it work on him. He relaxed, nodded again, and scrubbed his blood-smeared face with both hands. “Thanks.”
When Dominic released him, Jackson held out a hand to Makoto. She obliged by returning his sword. It still reeked of Esteban’s blood, and Dominic thought that Jackson might be safer soaked in fear after all.
Chapter 37
No Equal
Moving in complete silence, Dominic took the lead toward the bedlam echoing from the audience chamber. Together they marched through the entrance arches and stopped to take in the spectacle.
Gray bodies lay scattered where they dropped, perhaps twenty or thirty of them, men and women in court finery with surprise frozen on their ghoulish faces. The remaining blood-drinkers—well over a hundred—milled among the corpses, their eyes filled with disbelief. How can this be, some asked? Who would dare? What did it mean?
Others didn’t ask anything. They hunched over their fallen friends and lovers, their heads hanging in shock and despair.
Dominic cast a sidelong glance at Jackson who maintained a white-knuckled grip on the weapon that had wrought this carnage. His jaw muscles twitched, but his mind remained free of fear, if not doubt.
Adilla had his back turned to them as he walked toward the gilded throne. His two shadows trailed behind him like extensions of his deep-purple robes. “This is an outrage. An affront to you and your glory that cannot go unanswered,” Bhavanur hissed. Markandeya stayed farther back, keeping his own council.
Rage vibrated in Adilla’s low voice. “It will not go unanswered. Be assured of that.”
“I can take a group to the surface and hunt them down. They won’t get far.”
Adilla settled onto his throne and glared at the young-looking man, who appeared about as capable of combat as a butterfly.
Bhavanur shrank back with a demure, “If you wish it, my lord.”
Dominic inhaled deeply, drinking in the blood and ash and death that perfumed the air, and let it out on a long, quiet exhale. A few of the blood-drinkers closest to the entrance who weren’t completely focused on a fallen comrade or their lord, finally took notice of him.
Awareness rippled through the court on a wave of gasps and hisses. A few, uncertain, retreated to their lord’s side, clustering around the dais. Most, however, gathered themselves, preparing to spring at the intruders, to destroy them at Adilla’s most subtle command.
The air throbbed with animosity.
While the others held their weapons at the ready, Dominic kept his blades sheathed despite the mob on the brink of releasing their beasts on him. These were all that was left of Adilla’s court now that the fighters, the security guards, and the spies had fallen with their sire. Not one of them carried a weapon beyond their formidable supernatural abilities. But their sheer numbers—and perhaps what remained of Dominic’s weakened blood in their veins—gave them the reckless courage that could prove fatal. To someone.
Isao’s silent warning prickled in Dominic’s mind, but he brushed it off. These blood-drinkers were angry and afraid, and they needed to see that the Lord of Night had no quarrel with them—not unless they defied him directly.
Far more dangerous was their master.
Adilla pinned Dominic with obsidian eyes set in the increasingly skeletal mask of his stark white face.
Immortal rage incarnate.
He rose from his throne to tower over them all, his voice a hoarse rustle. “You dare to show yourself in my presence?”
Dominic took several slow steps into the room. He spoke with velvet menace. “You dare to defy me? You dare to threaten my family?”
An intense hissing crawled up the walls in response.
“Your family? The mortals you cannot live without like some depraved newborn moping after his past life?” Spittle flew from Adilla’s lips. “They are nothing. Nothing beside my immortal glory. Nothing compared to a single immortal life. Let alone seventy-three!” he finished on a roar that reverberated through the hall. His rage caught in the crowd like fire in kindling. Several shrieked as they darted closer.
Dominic maintained his cavalier quiet and waited for the uproar to settle a bit. Then he graced Adilla with a condescending smile. “As I told you, you will be mine.”
“You pretentious babe,” Adilla snarled. “You and this band of vermin you dragged into your lunacy have no hope against my superior strength.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Isao called. “Or are you so afraid of getting your hands dirty that you would have us slaughter these helpless panderers first?”
Adilla’s nostrils flared. Isao knew how to push his sire’s buttons. But his sire also had access to his mind, something Dominic sensed Isao was not only not fighting, but inviting. Isao showed Adilla his memories of the battle. He showed him the ease with which they had subdued the elite guard.
And he showed him Esteban’s death in vivid detail.
Adilla’s gaze flew to Jackson. “A human,” he sneered. “A warrior of Esteban’s stature, my most loyal aide . . . slain by a human?”
Every eye turned to the sole mortal in the room. The hissing shifted back into growling. But instead of remaining quiet, Jackson brandished his bloodied sword in challenge. “Want to be next?”
Dominic stifled a wince. That compulsion might have worked a little too well. Before the anger simmering in the hall could morph into a bloodbath, Dominic moved to the center of the chamber and raised his voice. “Esteban did not have to die. He had a choice. As do you, Adilla Kahn. And all of you.” He indicated the mob with a sweep of both arms. “Submit to me and know peace in your hearts. Or refuse and meet Esteban’s fate.”
In their agitated state, the threat was apparently stronger than the offer, for the outrage that erupted was instantaneous. They brandished their fangs, flashed their black eyes, released their beasts. An army of monsters tethered by the thinnest of leashes.
Their master considered for a long while before quieting them with a gesture of his bejeweled hand. His expression one of cool amusement, he descended the dais. “And here is where you fail, young pretender. Perhaps you could surprise Esteban with your cleverness, but me? Me, you will have to defeat on your own merit because I will not submit to you or anyone. And Isao—” His smile widened into blatant malevolence. “Isao and his babes are not fool enough to let you try.”
“On the contrary. We intend to help,” Isao said, bloodlust in his voice.
Dominic pulled his lips into a semblance of a smile as his vision expanded and eyes darkened to reveal their unearthly golden fire. “Do you recognize the boy with us?” he asked without turning away from Adilla. “Lyle is one of Esteban’s young ones. But now he is also mine. Unlike my sister, he survives. And he will continue to do so as long as I live. The same is true for Isao and his younglings. Your demise will not at all matter to them.”
The low warning growls faltered, became a hum of uncertain murmurs. As a former member of the colony, they would know Lyle and his parentage. And now that facts had been spelled out for them, they began to draw new and more accurate conclusions about Dominic and his claim.
Adilla stared at Lyle as though wanting to smear him into the ground.
“So what will it be, Adilla?” Dominic continued. “My offer to submit and join me still stands. Will you accept? Or shall I end you? Are there any of your spawn here who would like to pledge themselves to me first? I will welcome them with open arms.” He held out his arms to demonstrate.
Back by the thron
e, Bhavanur and Markandeya exchanged a look that spoke volumes.
“Enough!” Adilla roared. “Enough of these games and deceptions. Remove them from my sight!” No one moved. “Now!”
The colony cowered.
And Adilla Kahn lost his last measure of self-control.
In a blur, he charged at Dominic, who needed only a thought to vanish. To the eyes of the stunned onlookers, he dematerialized into a cloud of black smoke that slithered away in a dozen writhing snakes while he himself stepped aside unseen from the spot Isao rushed to fill. Adilla stopped a microsecond before the tip of Isao’s katana found his throat.
“Give me an excuse, you insufferable waste of space and time,” the samurai snarled. “Any excuse will do.”
Back by the entrance, Douglas and Lyle flanked their human charge, while Makoto took up position behind Isao and surveyed the crowd for threats.
Invisible, Dominic settled onto the throne. He leaned back, propping one ankle over the opposite knee, and conjured the snakes of smoke again. They rushed from every corner of the chamber, arced toward the throne and re-formed there as his solid, once-more-visible self. Part of him wished Cassidy were here to see this. It was her innocent question to him early in their relationship that had given him this idea. Can you turn into smoke? Yes. Now he could. In no small part because of her. The memory made him smile over his steepled fingers.
The silence that descended was dense enough to choke. One and all, the blood-drinkers gaped at Dominic. Markandeya and Bhavanur realized just how close he was and darted away like startled fish.
Adilla turned away from Isao and the blade looking for an excuse. The wrath in his jade eyes was only slightly tempered by shock. He was the only one here who would have ever witnessed anything even close to such power in Kambyses—a power that was now Dominic’s.
The Lord of Night spoke into the hush. “You will find me a most generous lord, Adilla. You may keep your . . . kingdom.” A dismissive wave at the glittering opulence. “And all those who wish to continue their servitude to you are free to do so. But those who wish otherwise will also be free to pursue their own existence in whatever way they see fit.”
Adilla was beyond words. With a primal scream, he released his beast.
Isao swung his sword. It slashed through empty air.
In a single, mighty leap, Adilla catapulted toward the throne.
Dominic didn’t wait for him to land. He shot up and forward to meet Adilla in mid-flight. When they crashed to the polished stone floor, he had already ripped open Adilla’s jugular. Ancient blood spurted into his face and mouth, thick with time and power. Claw-like hands tore at his jacket and shoulders. Dominic did not miss a swallow.
He took the blood as fast it would come, all but inhaling it, along with its memories. Even after a thousand years, Adilla’s soul still rang with the same unabated greed as that of the mortal he had been, pampered and privileged but with no hope of greatness until a mysterious traveler arrived and showed him what could be. Adilla had begged Kambyses for the power to rule without question, answerable to none.
You answer now, Adilla. You answer to me. Come. Dominic opened himself to the beast that fought him, showed him the peace he would know if he but surrendered, tried to soothe the selfish fury burning in Adilla’s heart.
It did not cease.
It did not falter.
If anything, it blazed brighter.
Incredibly, faced with a world rushing to obliterate him, Adilla raced to meet it. He would not—could not, not ever—be bested, be second. To anyone. Every fiber in his body raged. I have no equal!
Then so be it. Dominic knew a moment’s regret as he continued to drink. What a waste of so much experience. What a waste of such a life. Or . . . maybe not. The more he saw of Adilla’s centuries of existence, the more these years felt the same, shallow and bland as puddles in any given street. From the moment he had been old enough to reason—and reasoned himself the center of a world that would not have him—Adilla had festered with resentment.
And nothing Dominic could say or do or force on him would change that. Not now. Not in a thousand years.
He drank.
There had been a chance, a slim one, that his bite would react with the blood Adilla consumed two nights earlier and trigger a re-siring. But it didn’t. Too much time had passed, and Dominic found himself relieved.
All of Adilla’s younglings were here, except one, Serge. Dominic saw his friend as a mortal frightened by his own gifts turned into a blood-drinker by an Adilla who craved only to hear about his own glorious future. Death by fire is what that future would hold according to Serge. Adilla tossed him aside in disgust and left him defenseless against those who would not tolerate a newborn without a sire to control him.
But Serge had kept to himself. Serge had thrived. And three hundred years later, Serge had sent Dominic to his door. You will face Adilla. Alone.
Adilla shuddered.
Dominic continued to drink.
Except for Isao and Serge, no other spawn of Adilla’s had ever left his side. If they tried, they died. Those he created were his and his alone, and they were all here along with those he had seduced into his sphere along the way.
Dominic drank until his belly ached. He drank until he was plump with blood. He drank until the beast clutched in his arms ceased to struggle, his movements becoming feeble and uncoordinated and, at last, still.
But Adilla’s mind seethed.
There was no ultimate essence to pull from this body to end him like there had been with Kambyses. Even with his veins dry, Adilla continued, physically helpless but conscious. Rage blasted at Dominic when he released him.
“You belong to me, Adilla,” Dominic said and stood. The emaciated body in its fine clothes draped in his arms like a gangly puppet.
Only then did he realize that Isao, Makoto, Douglas, Lyle and Jackson surrounded him, their weapons held ready to fend off anyone who might have wanted to rush to Adilla’s aid. No one did. No one except for his two oldest younglings. They stood just out of reach of the swords. Tears streamed down Bhavanur’s cheeks, but Markandeya only stared, blank-faced.
Dominic stepped between them and placed Adilla on the marble slabs before the throne with all the care and respect worthy of a fallen ancient one. Then he ascended the dais to stand beside the empty throne.
Every eye was on him. Except for a few muffled sobs, the hall was silent.
“I am the Lord of Night,” Dominic began, a small part of him marveling at the new conviction in his voice. “And I will have peace in my kingdom for all its citizens. The world of night is a world of refuge. Of love, compassion, and respect for all living things, immortal and other.” He paused to let that sink in before laying out the re-siring process and how it would change them. He also informed them of the two primary rules of his kingdom—no killing and no turning anyone against their will. “Beyond this, you are free to live your eternal lives how ever you wish and anywhere you choose.”
Several individuals exchanged hesitant looks. The soft wailing in the back quieted.
“This is the same offer I made Adilla,” Dominic continued with a long look at the still form on the floor. “But he refused. To preserve the peace for all, I will not allow him to continue. Those of you who claim him in your sire line will survive—as long as you accept my offer first.”
Uncertain glances darted between Lyle, the corpses scattered on the ground, and Adilla’s prone figure before settling back on Dominic.
Dominic let them take his measure. They had no reason to trust his word, and every reason to suspect ulterior motives. It’s what they knew from Adilla, after all. But the fact remained—Adilla lay defeated. He would manipulate them no more. And the blood-drinker who had bested him stood before them, not studded in jewels and trailing a cape, but wrapp
ed in leather and covered in blood.
Markandeya, who had stared at his helpless son with what appeared to be no particular emotion, was the first to sink to one knee. “He brought me into this life for no reason other than to declare himself my master for eternity. All these centuries later, I can honestly say that I am done, and gladly so.”
“As am I,” another man said, dropping to a knee. He was a tall, elegant figure with long brown hair. Recalling what he knew of him from Adilla’s mind, Dominic glanced at Jackson and already anticipated introducing them.
All around the room, others now knelt as well, singly and in groups of twos and threes and fours, some eager others sullen, until all but Bhavanur were on their knees. He looked around, shoulders riding up to his ears. “Traitors,” he whispered. A moment later he shrieked, “Traitors!”
When no one even lifted their eyes in his direction, Bhavanur whirled around to the Lord of Night, his boyish, tearstained face distorted by outrage. “You are an animal. A monster. I will never be yours. I will—” Whatever he had been about to threaten, nobody would ever know. His head separated from his neck and tumbled away in the wake of Isao’s sword.
Dominic nodded to the samurai in silent gratitude.
“Submission is not optional,” Isao intoned into the hush, clarifying what Dominic could not say without being branded the same sort of tyrant he had just deposed. On a thunderous bellow, he added, “Approach your lord!”
The male who had been the second to submit was now the first to move. He began to shuffle forward—on his knees.
“No,” Dominic said, stopping him. “On your feet. Upright like the proud creature of the night that you are.”