The Redeeming

by Jennifer Ashley

  “You would protect me?”

  “Only if you promise.”

  The vampire closed her mouth, her face contrite. “I promise.”

  “Very well then.” Tain held out his arm.

  She came to him, sinking to her knees in the mud and decayed leaves on the forest floor. She lowered her head to Tain’s outstretched arm, her eyes filled with need.

  The bite hurt, but not as much as Tain had thought it would. He felt the blood flow into her mouth, a sensation much like that when he had intercourse, but not quite. He understood now why the soldiers had died lying in bed with this woman—the sensations of sex and her taking their blood on top it must have been too wonderful to stop.

  The vampire woman raised her head and hissed, his blood staining her fangs. “What are you?”

  “A pig farmer, as you said,” Tain answered calmly.

  She shook her head. “Your magic is too strong—you think to kill me with it. Are you Sidhe?”

  “No.” Tain had glimpsed the beautiful race of Sidhe when he’d journeyed to the far north with his father, seen the white-hot heat of their life-magic auras shimmering in the cold. When he’d told his father about them, his father had snapped that Tain had a wild imagination, that the Sidhe didn’t exist.

  Tain knew better. He knew that the stories of Sidhe, demons, and vampires were true—he had living proof in front of him.

  The vampire hesitated, her hands uncurling. “You don’t know what you are, do you?”

  “I am Tain, son of a Roman centurion.”

  “You’re not human, boy.” The vampire got to her feet. “You are filled to the brim with life magic, the strongest I’ve ever felt, even more than a Sidhe.” She held out her hand. “Come with me. I’ll take you to my master, and he will tell you what you are.”

  “I’m no one special,” Tain answered with conviction.

  “You’re wrong.” The vampire moved closer to him, brushing her hand across his unmarred face. “You’re very, very special. My master will want to meet you.”

  “Who is your master?”

  “A demon. A great one, an Old One, from the mists of time. He is powerful. He can make you great too. Do you want to be great, boy?”

  Tain thought about the way he lived—the backbreaking work clearing and plowing fields, the sword lessons, the quiet nights listening to his father’s stories of his days as a soldier. Tain had always meant to leave home when he was ready, but parting from his father to have adventures in Rome was one thing; disappearing into the night without a word was something else.

  “I don’t want to meet him,” Tain said. “Drink and sustain yourself, or go.”

  “You will come with me.”

  Tain felt the woman’s death magic sliding into him, trying to twist his thoughts to obedience. He saw flashes of the pleasure she could give him—her body, her blood, her power. Tain easily brushed aside the enticing visions, seeing her as she was—a starving vampire, weak and pathetic.

  “No,” Tain said. He felt strange compassion for this woman, who hadn’t chosen to become a killer. She couldn’t help what she was, any more than a wolf could help stalking and killing a deer. He held out his arm again, the bloody holes she’d left already closing. “Drink of me, and heal yourself.”

  The vampire attacked him instead. Tain sidestepped and brought up his sword, scoring her across her shoulders. The vamp screamed and whirled for another attack, lunging for his neck, claws poised to tear out his throat.

  Tain had his second sword out, crossing it with the first, and the woman’s momentum propelled her right into them. One jerk, and her head fell, severed from her body. She folded in half and landed across the carpet of leaves.

  Her body decomposed before Tain’s eyes, becoming the dead thing she truly was, the stink turning his stomach. After only a few minutes she’d dissolved into dust. Tain swallowed his regret that the encounter had ended this way, then shouldered his swords and walked home.

  By the time Tain reached the small house he shared with his father, the bite on his arm had completely healed, and the vampire’s blood on his blades had dried to dust and disappeared.

  “I killed a vampire in the woods,” he announced to his father. “The one stalking the soldiers. She’s dead now, so they’ll be safe.”

  His father had looked at him sharply then turned away, but not before Tain had seen the tears in his eyes.

  Tain’s dream shifted. Three months after he’d slain the vampire, his father had told him to dress in his best tunic and follow him. The year was the ninth in the reign of the Emperor Domitian, and Tain assumed they were going to the Saturnalia celebration at the nearby camp.

  Instead his father led him to a clearing encircled with standing stones, odd upright boulders that sang of magic in the moonlight. The older man regarded Tain sadly then moved from him and sank to his knees in the middle of the stones, lifting his sword hilt-first. “Cerridwen, hear me.”

  Tain watched in surprise. His father had never shown an inclination to worship the strange gods native to Britain—like a good soldier, his father sacrificed to the warrior god Mars, and also to Minerva for wisdom, and to Zeus for strength.

  Wind blew through the circle, sending leaves and twigs swirling through the standing stones. Tain sensed a stab of intense magic, brighter and hotter than anything he’d felt before.

  When the light died, a woman stood in the clearing. She had wild hair as red as Tain’s own and wore a glimmering cloth that encircled her hips and covered her breasts. Tain darted forward, fear in his veins, as the woman reached down and touched his father.

  His father was crying. Tears streaked his weathered face, and he gazed at the woman with a combination of adoration and sorrow.

  “I did what you asked,” he said in a broken voice. “I raised him the best I could. My love, why did you never come back to me?”

  “Because he couldn’t know me until it was time.” The woman’s voice was rich and full, with a musical accent.

  “Time for what?” Tain strode forward, his heart pounding. “Who are you?”

  “Tain, she is your mother,” his father said softly.

  “My mother was a Gaul, a slave.”

  “No. She is a goddess.”

  Tain looked at the red-haired woman, and the life magic that flowed from her hit him with a hard impact. He remembered the vampire hissing when she’d tasted Tain’s blood, declaring that Tain had more life magic than even a Sidhe.

  “Why did you never tell me?” Tain demanded of his father.

  The woman, Cerridwen, turned to him. Her eyes were like fire, yellow orbs that made Tain both want to run away and stand gazing at her forever. “I wanted you to have a simple life, my son. Simple happiness before you must face what is to come.”

  “What will come?” Tain asked, his voice hard.

  “Danger,” Cerridwen said. “Darkness. Things from which I cannot protect you. You are a warrior, Tain, one of the greatest warriors in the world. But you must be trained.”

  “My father trains me.”

  “To fight with swords, yes. You need to learn so much more, how to defend the world from the darkness that walks it, how to use both your gift of healing and your powers of destruction.”

  “I’m to go to Rome and join the army. I am already past old enough, but I didn’t want to leave Father until I found someone to help him.”

  His father shook his head. “No, son. You must go with her now.”

  “And if I choose not to?”

  “You will come,” Cerridwen said. She stretched out her hand, and Tain found himself walking toward her, though every muscle in his body screamed for him to stop.

  His father watched, eyes wet, as Cerridwen reached out and pressed her palm to Tain’s unmarred cheek.

  A sudden, sharp pain seared through him, and Tain couldn’t pull away. His father cried out, but Tain held his ground, looking into Cerridwen’s beautiful and powerful eyes.

  When she took her hand aw
ay, he saw a black outline on her palm, a five-pointed star within a circle. He knew in that instant who he was—not the son of a slave woman and a Roman soldier, but a demigod who’d been raised as a human. His father was still his father, the chosen lover of a goddess.

  Mist shimmered between two of the standing stones and when it cleared, four tall men stood there.

  “Your brothers,” Cerridwen said. “They’ve come to take you home.”

  Tain hated them on sight. They were all big men, as tall as Tain but older, their bodies heavier and more muscular. One had dark hair and wore an armband in the shape of a snake. The second had tattoos covering almost every inch of exposed skin. The third had intense gray eyes and a look of arrogance; the last had tawny hair, green eyes, a wide grin, and a large sword strapped to his back.

  “Hey, baby brother,” the fourth one said in flawless soldier Roman. “I’m Hunter. Nice to meet you.”

  “How can they be my brothers?” Tain turned an accusing stare on Cerridwen. “Are they your sons?”

  “They are your half-brothers, of a sort. They were all born of a human father with an aspect of the Mother Goddess of the world as their mothers.”

  “We’ll take you to Ravenscroft,” the one called Hunter said. “And I’ll teach you to be as much of a shithead as Adrian is.”

  “Leave him be,” the one with the snake armband said.

  “Big brother’s pet,” Hunter growled, but with a smile.

  The smile made Tain feel a little better. The four of them reminded him of the garrison soldiers: rough, foul mouthed, and close-knit, although that didn’t mean Tain wanted to get to know these men any better.

  “Go with them, Tain,” his father said.

  Tain turned to the only person he’d ever loved, the only person he knew how to love. “I can’t leave you, Father.”

  “You have to. The Roman soldiers will never leave you in peace if they learn how magical you truly are. Go and be who you need to be.”

  Tain was several inches taller than his father, and he bent his head to look into his father’s eyes. “There’s more than that, isn’t there? More than going with these people to train. What aren’t you telling me?”

  He saw fear flicker in his father’s eyes and sorrow beyond measure. At the time, Tain had only thought his father sad that his son had to leave him. With distance, knowledge, and time, even in the dream, Tain knew his father had been told of the pain and darkness Tain would have to bear. And still his father hadn’t tried to stop Cerridwen taking Tain away.

  “Father, why?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His father wept openly, his body crumpling in on itself as he looked upon his son for the last time.

  Two mortal years after Tain had left for Ravenscroft, his father had died of a cancer. Tain had returned to find him dying, his body wasted. Tain had flooded him with healing magic, but it was far too late, and all he could do was soothe the pain and let his father die in peace.

  Tears rained down Tain’s face as he looked at his father’s still and lifeless body. He’d realized then what being Immortal meant—that he would lose every person important to him. He’d go on, and they’d die. Like Samantha.

  The chirp of Tain’s cell phone jerked him out of sleep, and he jumped awake. He found himself flat on his back on the living-room floor in his shabby apartment, breathing hard, his face wet, the candles guttering.

  Tain wiped his eyes as he sat up and plucked the phone from the table with a shaking hand. It was Samantha. She sounded strained and awkward, and she started speaking before he could say a word.

  “Hello, Tain. Remember when I said I didn’t have enough for a search warrant for the No More Nightmares’ office? Well, I do now. Melanie Atkins, the super-assistant to Ms. Townsend has been murdered. Heart cut out, just like the others.”

  Tain started to answer, but Samantha hurriedly said that she just thought he ought to know, and hung up. Tain remained sitting on the floor, staring at the phone, lost in thought. Then he rose, took up his swords, and left the apartment, heading for the matriarch’s mansion.

  What he’d seen there and in the desert canyon connected, and he thought he knew now the secret the dead matriarch had been hiding from her clan.

  The previously quiet office of No More Nightmares now teemed with police. Samantha ducked under police tape to join Logan and Lieutenant McKay in the front where Tain and Samantha had interviewed Melanie. Logan told Samantha as soon as she entered that Melanie had been found in a large supply closet in the back.

  “More of a supply room, with the photocopier in it,” Logan explained. “She was stretched out on the floor in front of the copy machine, very dead, heart cut out.”

  “I never sensed she was demon,” Samantha said. “Was she?”

  “Possibly part demon,” Logan said. “The scent was very faint. I never would have smelled it if her body hadn’t been wide open—she might have had one grandparent who was demon.”

  “Yet she worked for No More Nightmares,” Samantha said. “Interesting.”

  “Maybe she didn’t like her own demon blood,” McKay suggested. “Thought railing against demons would make her more accepted by humankind, maybe?”

  Samantha shook her head. “That wouldn’t have worked. If the humans in No More Nightmares found out she was demon, they’d be even angrier at her betrayal. It’s hell being half-blood.”

  “Tell me about it,” McKay said. “I’m a short part-Sidhe. Don’t think that doesn’t get me into trouble.”

  Logan laughed, but with strain.

  “Can I take a look?” Samantha glanced toward the knot of police in plastic gear in the back.

  “Logan and I have, but suit yourself,” McKay answered. “Three heads are better than one.”

  Melanie’s body was much like that of the matriarch, untouched but for the bloody, gaping hole in her chest. A woman knelt next to the body, taking swabs from it and placing them carefully into tubes.

  “Logan said you didn’t find the heart,” Samantha said to her. “Like with the Lamiah matriarch.”

  “Nope.” The forensics woman looked up. “Maybe they use it for rituals.”

  “Not if they claim they’re against death magic. But who knows?”

  “Who knows?” the woman repeated, wiping another swab through the dead woman’s mouth. “These people are nuts.” The forensics woman was a witch, fire-magic, Samantha knew. Technically she was life magic, but those against death-magic creatures often had it in for witches as well.

  Samantha turned away without answering and sought Logan. “I hate that this happened,” she said to him. “But it’s a good excuse to go over these offices with a fine-toothed comb. Beginning in the file room.”

  Officers had already started to box up files and the few PCs in the back. Samantha looked around at the mountain of folders and grimaced.

  “Finding Ms. Townsend and questioning her might be easier,” Logan suggested.

  “Oh, you never know what interesting details files hold,” Samantha said with conviction. “I assume you’re already looking for Ms. Townsend?”

  “McKay is on it,” Logan answered. “That Nevada county sheriff might be more willing to cooperate now that Ms. Townsend is a murder suspect.”

  “Yes, if she discovered that her faithful assistant was part demon, she might have lost it and taken out the knife.” Samantha glanced around the room and the crowded office outside. She’d thought Tain might come downtown, interested in a connected death, but she didn’t see his tall form among the police.

  “There’s another similarity between the two women’s deaths,” Logan said, bringing Samantha’s attention back to him. “Neither of them struggled.”

  Both women had been on their backs, but they hadn’t fallen that way. The expressions on their unbruised faces had been ones of surprise, not fear.

  “Melanie probably didn’t have enough demon in her to be able to change and fight,” Samantha mused. “But the matriarch certainly
did. It was almost as though they let themselves be killed.”

  “Drugged?” Logan asked.

  “Maybe, with something like Mindglow,” Samantha said. “You take that, you smile and let others do anything they want to you.”

  “Does it work on demons?”

  “I think so, but I’m not sure. On the other hand, we know someone who would know.”

  “Our friend Merrick,” Logan said.

  “Exactly. Want to pay him a visit with me?”

  Logan shot her a look. “Oh, I’d like nothing better.”

  Samantha led the way back out, told McKay what they meant to do, and got the nod to leave. As they rode down the elevator to the ground floor, Samantha folded her arms across her chest and frowned at the numbers lighting as they descended.

  “Tain not showing up doesn’t mean jack,” Logan said to her.

  Samantha turned her scowl on him. “Did I say anything?”

  “You don’t have to, partner. I know you called him about this, but Tain doesn’t work for the police—he does what he damn well pleases. I’m happy he’s interested in the case and giving us information, but I don’t expect anything from him beyond that.”

  “I’m worried about him, that’s all. We had a fight.” Samantha broke off, knowing that wasn’t quite true.

  Not a fight. A revelation. We can pretend all we want, but what we have isn’t normal, and it isn’t what either of us needs.

  That thought triggered another: What do I need?

  The answer was Tain, but they couldn’t go on as they had been.

  The elevator doors rolled open. Samantha and Logan walked through the lobby and out of the building. Police cars and vans lined the streets, attracting the curious. It had attracted more than the curious, Samantha saw, spying a long black limousine a little way down the street.

  Samantha told Logan she’d catch up with him, made her way to the limo, and tapped on its back passenger window. The window slid down to reveal Septimus sitting in deep shadow, well out of the way of any stray beam of sunlight.

  “Did you come to watch the police in action?” Samantha asked him.