Retribution (Book 3 of The Dominion Series)

by Lund, S. E.

  He thrusts hard and fast, watching himself as he does, and I'm close but not able to get the right amount of friction in the right position to come. Within a moment or two, he comes, grimacing as he ejaculates, ramming himself into me as if he's taking out his anger and frustration and fear on my body.

  Finally, he leans over me, his face in the crook of my neck.

  "Don't ever do that again," he says, kissing my neck where he bit me. "Eve, I thought Blackstone had you. I thought they'd kill you. Can't you understand how important it is for you to just obey me?"

  "I'm sorry," I say. "I just wanted to talk to Dylan…"

  He shakes his head and strokes my cheek, frowning.

  "Please," he says. "No more disobedience."

  Then he embraces me, and I stare at the canopy over our heads, his fear and anguish at thinking I was in danger making me feel remorse. I wrap my arms around him, suddenly overtaken by a sense of grief I can't explain, but I want to feel his arms around me, needing the comfort more than any sexual release I might have wanted.

  I'm desperate for it.

  Later that night, I attend a meeting of 'The Twelve' to discuss the plans to reveal Soren's powers to the congregation in Boston. It's part of his plan to gain followers and amass power. I was supposed to attend with Michel, but he and Soren are in a meeting and have been delayed. Vasquez picks me up instead in his cart. We drive through the deserted streets of Boston. People stay in off the streets for there is a heavy police presence on horseback to enforce order.

  "What's going to happen? Why am I attending?"

  Vasquez leans closer to me. "You must join with the Twelve today. Try out those skills of yours we value so highly."

  "I drink their blood and they drink mine?"

  "Precisely. We need a test run of your abilities. We don’t want any snags when we do this publicly."

  I stare out the window at the scenery and then my stomach is all butterflies as we approach the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. It's a beautiful old cathedral, and I'm nervous, wondering what it will be like to drink the blood of twelve fallen angel-Ancient-vampires and share their consciousness. If what I felt with Soren is any indication, it will be intense.

  I don't want to do this, but I know I must.

  Before Michel left for his meeting, we shared blood, because he wants to be able to access my mind at all times, to make sure I'm all right. He then calmed my nerves, assuring me that this dry run would be important. Soren has to believe I'll do it – that I'll help him get power. Otherwise, he'll kill me and create someone else, but he wants to seize the day now that Blackstone has struck.

  I want to kill him. Nothing more. But I'll cooperate because I trust Michel. Despite the fact he hasn't told me everything from the start, I know now that it was to protect me. He wants to stop Soren as much as I do. He's wanted this since Soren killed Danielle so long ago.

  Vasquez and I arrive and enter the cathedral through the side entrance and go immediately into the nave where the Twelve and their entourages have already gathered.

  They turn expectantly when Vasquez and I arrive.

  "My Lords, please excuse our delay," Vasquez says, all obeisant to them. "But Lord Soren has been detained due to some urgent business and will be another fifteen minutes or so. Please, partake of refreshments, if you need any. We will get underway soon."

  Vasquez leads me to a seat next to a large throne on a dais at the front of the boardroom. There's a chair on either side of the throne, where I expect Michel and Julien will sit as Soren's two lieutenants. My own seat is a stool to the right of Michel. Vasquez sits on Michel's chair and glances around the room.

  I'm dressed in something a bit more conservative than the usual revealing gown Michel prefers, but still, I look like I'm attending a medieval ball rather than a secret meeting in a cathedral in the center of Boston. Michel directed that my hair should be styled in an up-do. I sit quietly and wait, my stomach in knots as I survey the Twelve, as Soren refers to them. They're his equals, vampires, Fallen Angels all of them. Why they would choose this existence I don't understand except, as Soren said, to get revenge on the god who punished them because of their refusal to worship mortals.

  Now, they feed off us like cattle and want our subordination as their worshippers.

  I don't know what Michel's planning but I hope it works. I can't stand the thought that these monsters will be our gods. No wonder the Romans thought the gods were devious and under them, life was precarious. They are monsters with more power than morals.

  Finally, the doors open and a balding priest in vestments rushes in and goes right to Vasquez. He bends down and whispers in his ear and Vasquez nods. The priest leaves, closing the doors behind him.

  Vasquez stands and addresses the Twelve.

  "There's been a delay. Our Lord Soren and his entourage were attacked on their way here. Lord Soren is unharmed, of course, but Michel has been injured in an attack with Molotov Cocktail bombs infused with liquid silver. I'm told his injuries are not serious. They will arrive momentarily."

  A murmur rises from the Twelve and their advisors as everyone discusses this development. My heart races when I think of Michel being injured in the attack. It must have been Blackstone.

  Vasquez leans over to me and takes my hand. "Don't worry, Eve. Michel's wounds were minor."

  Finally, a few moments later, the double doors open once more to admit Julien and Michel, their wings extended fully. Michel limps over to the dais at the front of the room, Julien holding him by the arm. His clothes are burned, the skin on one cheek scorched and he has a large wound on his calf. I stand and concern flows through me. He sits beside me on the chair and immediately, I bend down and pull the ripped fabric away from his calf.

  "It's nothing, Eve," he says, waving me off. "A piece of glass cut me and some liquid silver burned me. I'll heal."

  "It must hurt."

  I ignore him and go to the anteroom where there's a small kitchenette and search through the cupboards to find a basin and a roll of paper towels. I fill the basin with warm water and take them to the room, kneeling down at Michel's feet.

  "Let me wash your skin."

  "It’s really not necessary," he says, but I insist. I remove his shoe and sock, then daub the wound that runs from his mid-calf to his ankle with a moistened paper towel to wash off the remnants of silver nitrate from burned skin. Michel grimaces and inhales sharply from the pain. As I kneel administering to Michel's wound, his foot in my hand as I clean the damaged skin, I feel the eyes of the Twelve on me. I can almost feel their thoughts from here, despite not having drunk their blood. Michel looks down at me indulgently.

  Then the doors open again and Soren enters. I know because someone announces him and when I crane my head around, I see all the Twelve stand and bow low to him.

  "Stand and bow, Eve," Michel commands. I do, standing in front of Michel's chair on the dais, and feel his hand on my shoulder for support as he stands behind me. Soren strides in, nodding his head to everyone he passes and then he steps up onto the dais and stands in front of his throne. His wings are fully extended as well and he looks formidable, dressed in something vaguely resembling military fatigues, as if he's always prepared for war.

  "Please be seated," he says after folding his wings and seating himself, his arms outstretched on the armrests of his ornate wooden throne. The Twelve and their advisors follow his lead. I return to my ministrations to Michel's wounds, which are already healing before my eyes.

  Finally, Soren turns to Michel and me.

  "How fitting that Eve is kneeling at your feet like a good slave, Michel. I know it pleases my brethren to see her so subservient to you. I can feel their pleasure from where I sit for they can feel your love, Eve. They long to feel such love from their own mortals. Once we join through blood, it will be even more amazing to share your emotions for him. Speaking of which, Eve, I'm impatient. Let's get this started."

  I put my paper towel away and sit on my stool, smoothing
my skirts.

  Soren motions to one of his servants at the side of the room, who brings a tray with a large glass goblet in the center and what looks like a very sharp knife. I imagine they'll bleed me and each other and then we'll all drink from the goblet. My hands are shaking as I wait.

  "You first," Soren says and extends his hand. I take it and stand in front of him. He takes the knife and holds my wrist over the goblet. Then he runs the knife's edge over my skin, beside the scars from my own self-inflicted wounds. The image of them side by side makes me feel so small and helpless. Here I am, some instrument of power by these fallen angels, a girl who hurt herself to deal with her pain.

  I grit my teeth as the blade slices through my skin and my blood drips into the goblet. He lets it drip for quite a while – not quite a pint of blood, but close. Then he runs his fingers over the wound and it closes up so that there's only a thin pink seam where the cut once was. He follows with his own blood and then goes from one of the Twelve to the next until the goblet is quite full. Finally, he takes some of Michel and Julien's blood.

  "This will unite us as we once were united," he says, and then drinks from the goblet before passing it to the others. "As we drink, let us rejoice that we are once again as we were before we were cast out, condemned to this plane of existence."

  After Michel and Julien, I'm last to drink and there's only a mouthful left. I swallow it down and when I do, the effect is immediate. I feel as if I've been hit by a truck of emotion, my body almost slammed with the minds of thirteen fallen angels, and I'm nearly struck unconscious from the intensity of their emotions as they connect once again after thousands of years alone. I feel little else but their euphoria, their ecstasy, and my knees give out. Michel grabs me and holds me in his arms. I have no idea what's going on in the room around us, for my hearing is dulled, the sounds drowned out by the minds meeting in what feels like my own skull.

  This seems to go on and on forever, and there are no words to describe how I feel and what I experience. Finally, it's too much and darkness closes in.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  "A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green."

  Francis Bacon

  I wake up long after the meeting with Soren and the Twelve when Michel sits on the bed beside me.

  "Eve," he says, a hand shaking my shoulder.

  "What?" I sit up and rub my eyes. "Is something wrong?"

  "Soren wants us back tonight for a special mass."

  "Mass?" I say, frowning. I look him over. He's wearing vestments and a clerical collar, a large wooden cross on a thin leather strap around his neck. "Don't tell me you're going to say Mass?"

  "He wants me to. I'm the only priest—"

  "Former priest."

  "Eve, once God has you, He has you forever."

  "How can you do this?" I say, anger filling me. "Pretending to be his priest. Or, do you really want this? Do you really want to be his High Priest? Head his bastardized church?"

  He sits in silence for a moment and I can see I've upset him. He takes his hand away from my cheek, where he's been stroking my skin with his thumb.

  "Have you forgotten our contract, Eve?"

  I don't say anything. He just sits and stares at me, waiting. I wait him out. Of course, I've forgotten the contract. I just don't want to admit that I've forgotten it once more or be submissive to him right now.

  Finally, he exhales and leans in closer to me, pressing his forehead against mine. It makes my heart soften.

  "Please just trust me," he whispers.

  "I'm sorry," I say. "You have to understand…"

  "I do. Now please, try to follow the contract from now on. I don't want to have to remind you in public. Not tonight."

  "Yes, my Lord," I say, nodding. He kisses me and it's such a tender kiss, so gentle that it makes my throat constrict. He's afraid for me.

  "Why are you afraid?" I say.

  He shakes his head and just kisses me again, this time more intense, as if he's trying to make me forget his fear and my own. A thrill of desire goes through me when he joins with me, and I want to fuck him right now, but we have to go.

  "Just knowing you want me is enough for now," he says. "Later tonight, when we come back."

  I smile and tuck his hair behind his ear but I know he's afraid there won't be a later tonight and I wonder if this isn't something dangerous – what we'll be doing at the cathedral.

  "Wear the long black dress in the armoire and put your hair up."

  I nod and get up from the bed, dressing quickly.

  He stands watching me, and I don't feel lust from him. I only feel fear.

  When I'm finished, I go to the bathroom and wash my face. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, his brow furrowed.

  "No makeup," he says.

  "Why?" I say and look at his reflection in the mirror. "My Lord?"

  "Just don't."

  I shrug. I look much younger without makeup but he must want that. I brush my hair and twist it up, securing it with a few clips. I turn to him and hold my arms out at my sides.

  "Well, here I am, for what it’s worth."

  "You're priceless, Eve."

  I smile. "You're exaggerating."

  "No, I'm not." He comes to me and puts one arm around my waist, pulling me against him, and gently he pulls a few tendrils of my hair out of my makeshift bun. "You look … angelic. The way they're supposed to be."

  "Obviously, I'm no angel."

  "You are. Now, let's go. Just follow my lead. Remember to keep your eyes down."

  "What are you planning?"

  He places his finger over my lips. "Shh," he says. "Just obey tonight."

  I nod. "Yes, my Lord."

  We drive to the cathedral in the old vehicle rigged up with a hydrogen cell battery. It's a rough ride through a dark city, only a few lights in a few locations where once there were thousands of offices lit all night. We arrive at the Holy Cross Cathedral and once more I'm struck by a deep sadness, remembering the last time I was here, for Mass the Sunday before my mother died. I stop at the door at the side entrance reserved for clergy.

  "Don't be afraid," Michel says and squeezes my hand. "Tonight's just a dry run. There will be only a small congregation to see how things will go. Just do as you're told and we'll be finished soon and will go back home. Soren's not planning anything big for a while."

  "You were nervous earlier, my Lord," I say. "I could feel it."

  "There is always danger, Eve. I'm always concerned for your safety, given who and what you are. We'll be fine."

  He pulls me inside and we go to a small office, where we sit for a moment. Finally Soren enters and strides over to us. He's dressed in something military, an old Roman uniform with blood-red leather breastplate and split leather skirt, greaves and has a Roman crested helmet under his arm.

  "Well, here they are, my lovely couple. Priest and Priestess looking all holy and ready for Mass."

  I want to shout at him that I'm not his priestess, but Michel squeezes my hand and I avert my eyes.

  "Soren," Michel says. "I imagine we will proceed as we discussed."

  "Yes." Soren turns to me and takes my chin in his hand so that I have to look in his eyes. "Tonight, Eve, we'll test-drive your channeling powers. I have a congregation filled with believers. I want to perform a little miracle so they can be given proof of my godly powers. After we share blood, the Twelve and I will join our powers and let's just say, a few sparks will fly. My followers need to see me smiting evildoers. This country seems to love seeing them suffer. I'll give them some and you'll help channel their adoration and faith, giving me even more power."

  I nod and say nothing, a bit scared now at this ability I have.

  "Good. Let's get this show on the road."

  He puts on his helmet and Michel and I follow him out of the small office and through a narrow hallway to the side entrance to the altar where the Twelve are already assembled, standing with their wings unfurled. Soren
unfurls his own as does Michel and I see Julien standing beside the altar, waiting, looking like a Roman warrior wearing a uniform similar to Soren.

  Soren takes his place on a throne behind the altar, with Michel to his right and Julien to his left. I stand between Soren and Michel. Michel takes my hand and leads me to the altar where a crystal goblet sits on a gilded cloth. He takes a sharp knife and cuts my wrist, letting blood drip into it as we did yesterday. Then, Michel takes the vessel and goes to each of the Twelve in turn and repeats this until the goblet is once again filled. We repeat the process. I drink last from the goblet and an overwhelming sense of emotion fills me as I connect with all thirteen.

  I barely hear what Michel says as he speaks to the congregation, some words of Latin mixed in with English, something about the blood of the sacrifice uniting all the angels of the Lord but I'm too overcome with the Twelve and Soren to really make much of it. I stand staring out at the congregation and I can feel their awe when they regard Soren and the Twelve with their wings outstretched. In that moment, I understand how awe-inspiring the sight must be to a group of humans in fear from the calamity around them, the red rain, the destruction of technology, and now, the apparent return to earth of angels.

  Then I see what Soren is planning – he's amassing the power of his flock's worship, joining it with the powers of the Twelve, and will create a miracle in front of his follower's eyes. There are several hundred in the nave. I can almost feel each and every one of their emotions, their fear and worship entering me, making my heart pound. I glance to my left and right and Soren and the Twelve have their eyes closed as they feel the congregation's worship fill them, making them stronger.

  The side door opens and soldiers dressed in uniform with weapons enter, and following them are a dozen men dressed in prison orange. They’re shackled together in chains and shamble inside the nave, their faces dark. They stop in front of the altar and wait, glancing around nervously.

  "My children," Soren says, his voice booming as if coming from a loudspeaker. "Before you, see twelve sinners. They're all killers and rapists and child molesters. They have forsaken the commandments for their own pleasure and gain. They deserve holy fire, and that they shall receive."