The Chariot: Brothers at Arms

by Desiree Lee

  Luke. The memories of him flooded back and she squinted her eyes tightly to try to shut out the pain. He had been gone for so many years now but the heartache did not cease. She wondered where he was today, if he was even still alive. If one of Pierre's House had got hold of him ... She shook her head. She never liked it when her mind drew that conclusion. She vainly tried once again to convince herself that he was safe somewhere in the country, far away from either of the Arcée Houses. After he had left, she believed that he would return and that François would accept him back. As the years dragged on with no word from him, her hope waned. Now it was all but gone completely.

  Her reverie was shattered by a knock on her bedroom door. “Come in,” she growled, not really wanting company.

  The door opened slowly and a young woman stepped inside. “Can I help you with anything?"

  Michelle did not bother to look over at her. She knew who it was by the voice and by her scent. “No. I just need to start packing.” Her words were forced.

  "I think he was wrong to pass you over."

  "Thank you, Avra. I will be fine. I know you have work to do too. I won't keep you from it."

  The woman knew it was a dismissal and stepped backward in to the hallway, closing the door. Michelle stared at the doorway for more minutes than she intended to before standing. She pulled open her drawers and started stuffing her clothes in to a suitcase. She kept few possessions so it would not take her long to pack. She was permitted more, but had little desire for them. Michelle liked everything in her life to remain uncluttered, straightforward. This setback threw her off. She was not happy in the least.

  She threw her frustration in to her work and it wasn't long before she had her entire room packed and ready to go. The only thing left was the furniture. Now it was only a matter of waiting. She looked around at the almost sterile appearance of the room and wondered if she was too hasty with her packing. They did not even know what city they were going to yet. In her mind, it was still a little premature to move. No matter. François would order the trucks prepared tomorrow anyway. She moved her boxes downstairs to the living room and stacked them up so the mortals could move them in the morning. She refused to make eye contact with anybody in the house for the rest of the night. When dawn approached, she welcomed it for once, knowing that the sleep she'd get during the hours of day would be a boon for her mood.

  She was awakened just after sunset by a frantic knock. The door opened before she could even say anything in response. “Come, quickly!” Avra's voice sounded near panicked.

  Michelle leapt to her feet. Her vampire reflexes were acute, even if she wasn't fully awake yet. She followed the woman down the stairs, clearing the cobwebs from her mind as she went.

  François was waiting in the living room. His expression was darker than a thundercloud. “Zelma is dead. You will take the southeast.” He stated the point bluntly.

  "Who does Pierre have going to the southeast?” She wondered who she'd have to challenge for the city, if indeed it was there.

  "I don't know. Zelma dueled with Edgar and they both died. He has to be replaced also. Go now. Prove yourself to me, Michelle."

  "Thank you François.” Knowing that Zelma was dead pained her. This was Zelma's first task as a Seeker also. Michelle felt a pang of loss but she had to quell it. She must hurry to get ahead of Edgar's replacement. She went back upstairs and dressed, choosing something easy to blend in no matter what city she encountered. Carrying the suitcase with the rest of her clothes back downstairs, she put it with her boxes. She couldn't be burdened by it while she was Seeking. It would have to be brought by the movers.

  With a nod of approval from François, she left the house for the last time. Giving one final look back at her home for the past fifty years, she ran and leapt in to the air. The delta breeze blowing across the American River caressed her body like the cool touch of silk. She took flight.

  It was another misconception that vampires had to turn in to bats in order to fly. No, it was just a matter of exerting power to overcome the forces of gravity. She probably should have fed before she left, but she was too eager to get the jump on Pierre's Seeker, and to win François’ approval that she left without even thinking of it. Flying took a lot of power though and vampires replaced their power through feeding, no matter whether they were a blood feeder or a psychic feeder. Michelle was a blood feeder. She'd have to hunt. She'd have to bite. She might even have to kill.

  Flight was quick for a vampire under usual circumstances but once she had reached Texas, she knew she had to descend. She was approaching her territory and up this high she would not be able to smell the card well enough. The air was too thin to carry the scent. Once she landed Michelle took a look around to survey her surroundings. She wasn't sure what city she was in so she walked a couple blocks to a phone booth. Inside, she looked at the phone book. She was in Austin. Medium to large cities were easier for vampires. There were more people around, but it was easy to blend in to the crowd. It was dark of course. Her pale skin was not as stark in the moonlight. She stepped out of the phone booth and glanced around once more, angling for a potential feed. Her ears picked up the cacophony of loud country music blaring a couple blocks away. She was in luck. She briskly traversed the distance toward the bar and stepped inside. This place is shit-kicker heaven, she thought to herself.

  Her own clothes were form-fitting and immediately caught the attention of many men in the bar. Michelle sported black jeans, snug-fitting girl-cut t-shirt with 5% spandex to hug her curves and black Reebok high-tops. Her natural D-cup bust size and the set of her hips formed a curvaceous, hourglass figure. She strode in with a sway to her hips that also gave her breasts a slight bounce. She knew she looked good and milked it for all it was worth.

  Several men started toward her but the first one to reach her was a hulking, blond oaf with a brown cowboy hat cocked slightly askew atop his head. “Well hello there, pretty lady,” he drawled, his accent made thicker by the numerous beers he had already consumed.

  "Ain't you just a tall drink of water?” Michelle let her own Georgia roots come forth in her voice. She'd lost some of her accent from living away from the south for so long, but it was very easy to fall back in to her natural manner of speech.

  "That I am,” he smirked, his ego puffing up. “Can I buy you a drink?"

  "Ain't here to drink,” she murmured softly.

  "How ‘bout you dance with me?"

  "Ain't here to dance either.” She shook her head. Her lips curled in to a mischievous grin. “You free for a while, cowboy?"

  "I got all night, baby."

  "No sense in wasting time though, huh?” She gave a tiny jerk of her head, indicating the door.

  The oaf's expression was that of surprise. He couldn't believe his good fortune. This incredibly sexy woman was leaving the bar with him. Of course he wouldn't take her home. He couldn't do that with his wife there. He'd drive her to a motel and one of his buddies would cover his alibi to his wife.

  Michelle led him out the door then stepped aside and let him show her to his pick-up truck. Figures, she thought as she climbed in to the gigantic machine with oversized tires and a gun rack in the back window. She scooted over on the bench seat, sliding right next to him. Her hand moved up behind his neck and she pulled him down closer to her. She heard him chuckle as he turned his head to kiss her but she caught his cheek with her own. “Indulge me,” she whispered as she kissed her way down to his neck. The stench of cheap beer on his breath was nearly nauseating to her but she could also hear his heartbeat thumping with anticipation. He was expecting a free fuck tonight but she knew he'd be disappointed there. However, she did move her other hand between his legs and began stroking him through the denim. She heard his pulse quicken as his arousal increased, though her lips didn't move from his neck. His hands were on her, but she paid them no mind. She didn't care what he touched. He wouldn't be touching it for long anyway.

  She pushed his head up a little
more and positioned her fangs. A few more caresses on his bulge ensured that he was ready. Her fangs pierced his skin and she held him tightly behind the neck so he could not pull away. He groaned loudly at the pain, not realizing that she broke skin.

  His blood coursed in to her mouth, replete with the taste of endorphins and alcohol. If it were possible for her to get drunk, this would probably do it. It was a disgusting feed but easy to obtain. Vampires called bar feeds ‘fast food.’ Thank you, come again.

  As she drained him, he relaxed in her grip. His erection waned and she knew he was near the point of passing out. She licked the puncture marks and healed them up with a bit of her power. She didn't have to kill him. He didn't fight her and he'd never see her again. With as drunk as he was, he probably wouldn't even remember her in the morning. He'd wake up with a hell of a hangover, but no real worse for wear. The important part was that she got her feed and was back on the hunt for the card. “Thanks, cowboy.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and got out of his truck, reaching in to lay him down across the seat to rest.

  She walked a few blocks, away from the bar. She needed time to Seek. If the card had passed this way she should be able to tell. A Seeker's job was like finding a needle in a haystack. She only hoped that she was in the right haystack.

  There it was. The odor hit her nostrils and her senses sparked to life. It was the card! It was in her territory! She closed her eyes and tried to pinpoint the direction it was coming from. It was faint, very faint so it was either far from here or had passed through. East. It was to the east. She wanted to tell François she was on the right track but didn't dare speak the information aloud, not until she had the Keeper safely in her grasp. She didn't know what underhanded tricks Pierre's House might be employing. She had to move again. If she could smell it here, it was a strong possibility that his Seeker could also. She wished she knew who was Seeking for him. If it was one of his younger, inexperienced Seekers she might have an advantage. Then again, she herself could be considered a young, inexperienced Seeker. She knew her skill was well honed. She wasn't certain that all of his Seekers could make the same claim.

  She took to running, sticking to alleyways to obfuscate her preternatural speed. Sure, some mortals might see her but she'd be long gone before they got a good look at her. She was on the trail, like a bloodhound.

  The scent was not getting any stronger as she left Austin. She'd have to take to the sky again. She frowned at this, knowing that she'd have to get high enough to lose the scent in order to avoid detection. It was a necessary evil. Bolstered by her earlier feed, flying would be much easier now. She looked around to make certain she was not being watched as she ascended. The view below was nothing more than a smattering of lights dotting the landscape. She passed over many towns before settling on what looked like a medium-sized city to land in to check the scent once more. She lowered herself in to a deserted lot and closed her eyes, searching for the scent. It was only a little stronger now than in Austin but she knew she was on the right track. She walked until she found another phone booth to see where she was.

  "Shreveport, Louisiana,” she muttered. “It's still further east though.” She exited the booth and looked at her watch. “Shit, what time zone am I in?” She wasn't sure so she kept walking, searching for a public clock. “Come on, there has to be a bank or something with one of those signs that displays the time and temperature on it.” She rounded another corner and saw one, then compared the time to her own watch. “I'm in Central time zone. Shit!” She had forgotten that as she moved east, she'd be losing hours. Judging by the time, sunrise would be very soon. She would have to take cover for the day.

  She hoped that Pierre's Seeker had not got this far yet. She wouldn't know until at least tomorrow. She was exhausted, having expended a lot of power to fly such a vast distance in one night. She walked until she found a motel and paid for two days so that she could stay past the noon checkout time. After hanging the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside door handle, she adjusted the curtains so that they'd block out the light. Even though a little might get through the edges, it wouldn't stream directly on to the bed so she'd be safe. It was passable.

  She went in to the bathroom and flipped on the light. “I look like shit,” she deadpanned. Her lip liner was long worn off, probably on the neck of the cowboy in Austin. Her hair looked like a rat's nest but she didn't have a brush to fix it with. She'd take care of that later.

  She undressed, carefully folding her clothes and laying them on the counter. She didn't have another set to change in to so she'd have to put these back on later. Right now she wanted a bath before going to bed. She'd traveled all night, plus the smoky smell from the bar in Austin still lingered in her hair.

  She turned on the water and put the stopper in the drain hole. She opened the small, complimentary bottle of bath gel sitting on the counter and smelled it. The aroma was pleasant, clean. At least it wasn't vanilla. She hated the smell of vanilla. She poured some in the churning water coming out of the spout and the bubbles multiplied. She grabbed the washcloth, along with the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner, then lowered herself in to the steaming pool of relaxation, letting out a soft groan as her muscles reacted. Her emotions had been out of whack in the past 24 hours. She couldn't believe she had actually stood up to François. It was so unlike her. Not to say that Michelle was not a bold, confident woman but copping an attitude with François was a different story. He was the leader of their vampire House and at least twice her age. He could kill her in the blink of an eye. It was not a good precedent to set either. If he had capitulated to her demand and let her be the first Seeker, it would have painted him in a bad light to the rest of the house. He had to keep order and control. She knew this. She felt guilty for challenging him in front of the entire household. She also realized how truly fortunate she was that he had let her off with only a warning.

  She turned off the water with her toes, then lathered up the washcloth and scrubbed her pallid skin. It felt good to get all of the grime off of her. The air isn't as clean as one might think. While flying she did get dirty. Going to bed clean would help give her a more restful sleep, or so she felt. Perhaps it was just psychosomatic. Either way, this scrub felt good.

  She leaned back in to the water, wetting her hair. The shampoo smelled good. She massaged her scalp, working the cleansing lather through her thick layers of hair. Dipping back to the water once more, she rinsed it then repeated the gesture with the conditioner. It would still be a mess without having a brush to tame it once it was dry but at least the acrid aroma of smoke had been erased.

  She dipped the washcloth down in to the water and cleaned between her legs. She had not had a man in a long time, but it did not stop her from seeking sexual release on her own. The texture of the terry cloth tantalized her clit and she gave a gasping moan. While the cowboy in the bar hadn't turned her on earlier, she did recall the feel of his hard cock as she rubbed it through his pants. He was a big man and she knew from the feel of it that his cock was of size to match the rest of him. Her finger kept pressing the cloth against her sensitive nodule, but her fantasizing mind turned from the cowboy to an entirely different man, Luke.

  Her thoughts always turned to Luke when she masturbated. She remembered his taut body, chiseled from hard work before he was turned. He had long, dirty blond hair that he never could keep from falling in front of his amber eyes. Even when he tucked it up under his hat, it would still somehow work its way out. It gave him an impish look that Michelle adored. He had a sizeable manhood and knew very well how to please a woman with it. Her fingers moved quicker, heightening the physical sensation as she ached to feel his erect shaft inside her once more. She knew that it was unlikely she would ever see him again and it made the pain of her loneliness even greater. Still, it was always him that inspired her sexually. The relaxation of the bath was gone.

  Her back arched and her free hand gripped the edge of the tub as she peaked. Her whimpering moan sounded l
ouder than it really was because of the closed shower doors. She shuddered and let go of the washcloth, settling back down in to the hot water for a few minutes to relax. After the water cooled off, she got up and pulled the plug, draping the wet washcloth over the spout. She'd rest well now for sure. Tonight, she'd find the Keeper.

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  Chapter Three

  Sparks flew as the flame of the torch connected with the metal. Julio pulled the torch away and lifted his welding mask, observing his work. He'd woken up early today so that he could get this piece finished. He wanted to pour himself in to his hobby in order to take his mind off of the strange events from the day before. The card was tucked safely away in his desk. The desk was an antique that had been in the family for at least four generations. One of the drawers had a false bottom. When he received it from his mother, the secret compartment was empty but Julio always wondered what mysteries it may have held in the past.

  His garage was his studio. His hobby, his passion, was his art. He was a mixed-media sculptor. Today he was working with several different metals. The piece was something that had been painful for him to begin, yet necessary he thought. Most who looked at it could tell it was a woman, though the face was not fully defined. It could be any woman. It was several metals welded together to form the curve of womanly hips, the swell of breasts, long hair suggested by strands of tarnished copper. Only he knew who it really was. Evelia.