by Kristie Cook
Their hardest struggle at first, however, came with the summer heat. Cassandra had never felt so miserable, didn’t remember it bothering her so much. She felt sick and unable to eat much of the time. She’d taught Niko about edible plants and fruits and always double-checked his gatherings, just to be safe. Thinking the animals in that part of the land were contaminated, they moved on. With the end of summer, however, the sickness had passed and they understood. Her belly swelled with baby. Six months later, she gave birth in a cave by the sea.
“You are so pretty, Andronika, just as beautiful as your mother,” Niko cooed at the baby, sliding his finger over her cheek. He looked up at Cassandra. “In my old life, they often left baby girls at the doors of rich men to be raised as slaves.”
“They didn’t want daughters?”
“They can’t work like sons can. Many families can’t afford to feed them when they would receive nothing in return.”
Cassandra frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Daughters are just as precious as sons!”
Niko smiled down at Andronika. “Even more precious, right, my angel?”
Cassandra’s frown turned into a smile. She’d yet to convince Niko of one God, Satan, angels and demons, but perhaps there was still hope.
She was glad Niko loved their daughter so much because she never did bring him a son. She had been surprised enough to even be able to have Andronika at her age.
Time passed. Andronika grew. Niko began showing signs of age—a few gray hairs, lines around his eyes. Cassandra didn’t.
Shortly after Andronika’s ninth birthday, they stumbled onto a battlefield, the second one in two days. The fight had been over and all live soldiers already rescued, but the dead had not yet been retrieved. And there were many. The fighting had become more intense, evidenced by the number of fields of bodies they kept coming upon. And also by the quality of the soldiers.
“This one is too young to be out here,” Niko said, indicating a boy who couldn’t be more than twelve. He pointed to another body. “That one too old. The army’s in bad shape. The Romans are decimating us. We need better men.”
Cassandra swallowed down the lump in her throat. She understood his meaning. “Niko—”
“They need me, Cassandra. I owe it to our country. To our people.”
She inhaled a deep breath. What could she say? So do we? Although it was true, it was selfish. He was a warrior. Raised and trained to be a soldier. Even with the occasional fatigue, he was still stronger than these boys and elderly men. Boys whose mothers would never see them again. Men whose last days had been spent in the misery of war. She gave a sharp nod, turned and returned to Andronika.
But when the time came for Niko to leave, she could no longer hold the tears back.
“I’ll miss you, too, both of you,” Niko said, hugging them both.
“When will you come back, Father?”
“As soon as I can. Not long, my angel.”
Cassandra walked with him, out of Andronika’s hearing range. “You must come back, Niko. I need you. Andronika needs you. You do what you need to do and then come back to us.”
He pulled her into his arms. She pressed her tear-streaked face against his chest.
“Of course. Just don’t leave until I do, or I’ll never find you.”
“We’ll be right here.”
“And I’ll be back.”
He kissed her, long and heavy, and she soaked in the feeling, remembering it, hoping it wasn’t the last time.
Chapter 10
Jordan spent his years proving himself to the Ancients, doing their fighting and bidding. He learned their ways and their purpose: harvesting human souls for Satan. As Jordan gained the Ancients’ approval, they rewarded him with more power. But it still wasn’t enough. He wanted what all the other Daemoni had—the strength, endurance, speed and ruthlessness of the Weres; the magick of the mages; and, most of all, the invincibility and immortality of the vampyres. Father’s blood was not enough. Father had, after all, died. And Jordan did not want to die. He deserved more.
He and Eris began work on a potion to give him all the best qualities of the others. This was why he needed her—only she could provide the level of magick necessary and she believed in their goal. She was nearly as obsessed as he with his rise to the top, believing he’d take her and their son with him. Of course, he would take Deimos, knowing his son had immense potential to follow in his lead. Eris, on the other hand … he hadn’t yet decided. She’d been quite useful so far, but would she be once they achieved their goal? He wasn’t sure he could trust her then.
He had also become less attracted to her as the years passed. The power she put into the potions drained her and her true age began to show. Her body lost its luscious curves, creases lined her face and her once silky, raven hair was streaked with coarse, gray strands. At the same time, her potions appeared to have stopped him from aging at all. His speed increased, his power grew, his senses became nearly equal to those of the vampyre, and his own appeal and the effect he had on women improved even more. Why should he settle for the old witch Eris when he could have anyone?
For now, he still needed her. Although he had gained many of the others’ qualities, he still lacked invincibility and immortality. They continuously tested his skin and it still bled under the blade. Unlike the vampyres, whose skin, he’d noticed, was impossible to penetrate.
“Zardok wants to see you,” Eris said as soon as he returned home after several weeks at battle.
“Perfect timing,” he muttered. All he wanted to do was clean himself and sleep, but not even he could ignore the summon of Zardok, an Ancient. The magickal pull was very real and physical, like a hook in his gut, reeling him to the Ancients. The longer he waited, the stronger and more painful the pull.
“It is, actually,” Eris said, bringing him a bowl of stew. “I believe I’ve figured out the potion and we just need one more ingredient. Just one and you will have immortality.”
“And then you can take over the Daemoni army,” Deimos said, appearing in the doorway with a satchel overflowing with herbs. “Just what you’ve always wanted.”
Jordan eyed his son, surprised that he seemed to have grown again just in the short time he’d been gone. Only a few more years and a few more inches and Deimos would be a man. His son sat on the floor next to him and Eris handed him a bowl.
“So what is this one ingredient and what does Zardok have to do with it?” Jordan asked before taking a bite.
“We need his blood,” Eris said matter-of-factly.
Jordan spewed stew out of his mouth. Deimos laughed. Jordan ignored him.
“Are you crazy, woman?” he demanded. “He’s an Ancient. The most powerful vampyre.”
“The original vampyre,” Eris added. “That’s why we need it. We can finish the potion and then you’ll be nearly as powerful as the Ancients.”
Jordan stared at her for several long moments, not knowing whether to shake some sense into her or admire her for such tenacity. He finally just shook his head.
“How do you expect me to get blood from Zardok? I doubt he’ll just give it to me.”
“Of course not. But you’re clever, Jordan. You’ll figure it out, if you want this badly enough.”
He growled. She already knew just how badly he wanted it. He would have to find a way.
***
Zardok scared Jordan, not an easy thing to do. Jordan towered over the vampyre’s ancient body, so it wasn’t his size, or the stark contrast of his dark hair against his pale, nearly transparent skin or even his red eyes. Just as some people exuded love or anxiety or hostility, Zardok exuded overwhelming terror. With time and his own power, Jordan had learned to block vampyres’ powers, so he no longer felt fear when he was around them. Except for Zardok. The vampyre was too old and too powerful—a demon in human form.
Eris had once explained that a true demon offered Zardok, the human, eternal life in exchange for his soul. Zardok had been the leader of his clan and
ruled them with cruelty and fear while leading them to attack and destroy other clans. He wanted power over everyone and the demon’s offer was one he couldn’t reject. He’d be superior to all the others. No one could kill him. He’d rule all the lands. So he surrendered his soul, accepted the evil spirit into his body and transformed. Now, rather than a kingdom of humans, he fathered a family of the fiercest and most dangerous predators on Earth. But they had their problems.
“We need to build our army, Jordan,” Zardok said from his throne in the circular room far underneath the Earth’s surface. The other thrones sat empty, most of the Ancients absent, except for a few who stood in shadows near the fires. “There is a prophecy that God himself will be coming to Earth in human form. He will be called God’s son, if the prophecy is true.”
Not all prophecies were, but apparently this one had the Ancients worried.
“So you would like an army who can kill him, defeat God, so Our Lord may reign?” Jordan asked.
Zardok laughed. “We wish it were so simple. Our Lord will use his spirits to try to tempt the son, but we would still not defeat God so easily. Our worry is in the rest of the prophecy—that the son’s death will allow humans to give their souls to God by a simple decision. Good deeds, which are so easily thwarted by us now, will no longer be necessary to join God in Heaven. They will simply have to choose to believe in him, accept the son’s sacrifice and repent for their so-called sins for Our Lord to lose their souls forever.”
“We must keep them from believing then,” Jordan said.
“Yes. In case this prophecy comes true. We can kill them before they believe and Our Lord will have their souls. Or we can make them one of us and they can see that Our Lord is the better god.”
“You want to convert more humans into Daemoni?”
“Perfect, isn’t it? We win their souls and grow our army at the same time and eventually, we rule all humans. They will bow to only us, forgetting their God.” Zardok stood and paced, his excitement growing. “Vampyres will create more vampyres. Weres will create more of their own by infecting humans. We will release the bind on mages that prohibit them from mating with humans and allow them to spread their magick. Our numbers will grow until we outnumber humans and those that remain will be our slaves. We will have conquered Earth and God will have no choice but to relinquish his power. Our Lord will win!”
“What about the other gods—Zeus and the others? We will need to defeat them first.”
Zardok stopped his pacing and laughed. “There are no other gods. Our Lord sent faeries into this realm to pose as gods and goddesses, distracting the humans and making them unbelievers in the truth. The faeries do it for the attention and adoration.”
Jordan pondered this for a moment—first, that faeries existed, which he had not known, and second, the distraction they’d been providing to the very people he had lived among.
“Since they are unbelievers, we should target them first,” he said. “I know firsthand they have very strong warriors and they’re always fighting each other for power over the land I come from. We should take those soldiers, make them us.”
“Excellent idea!” Zardok said, rubbing his long, bony hands together. “Do not forget, however, the strongest of the believers. Turning them from God to us is a dual win.”
Jordan bowed his head in agreement. “But what do you want of me?”
Zardok put his hands on Jordan’s shoulders and although he’d just been rubbing them together—an action that should have warmed them—their iciness crept right down into Jordan’s bones. He fought the urge to shiver. Zardok’s red eyes pierced into Jordan’s.
“I need you to lead this army.”
Jordan’s heart leapt but his brow furrowed. This was what he’d always wanted. What he had been working so hard for. But it didn’t make sense.
“I thought you would want one of your own to lead.”
Zardok let out a frozen sigh against Jordan’s face. “My children are the greatest predators. They can be strong leaders, too, but only of themselves. The others will not respect their leadership enough for something so important. We need someone who is not any of them, yet is all of them. We know of your and Eris’s potions. We see you taking on qualities of all of us.”
Jordan broke the hold of Zardok’s gaze, looking past him into a purple-flamed fire. He and Eris had tried to keep their work covert, not knowing what the Ancients’ reaction would be. They wanted to wait to show them the results until it was too late for the Ancients to order them to stop.
“We approve of it, Jordan!” Zardok said, shaking him. “We are anxious to see the final outcome. The prophecy said you would lead our army, but we didn’t see how, as weak as you were. But look at you now! You and your descendants will be the best of all of us. You are our future.”
Jordan held his stony face, even while his heart raced with excitement and even knowing Zardok could not only hear his heart rate but also sense his emotions. He tried to control the urge to celebrate because there was still one missing piece. He inhaled deeply, trying not to gag on the mix of odors in the cavern that left a nasty taste in the back of his throat, and exhaled slowly, gathering his courage.
“We’re not quite there, though,” he finally said. “And without this last ingredient, I do not believe your army will respect me. They will see me as too weak to be their leader. Especially your children.”
Zardok’s back straightened and he lifted an eyebrow. “What ingredient would that be? Surely Eris can get her hands on just about anything.”
Jordan crossed his arms over his chest and braced himself, putting forth as much power as he could against this Ancient. “Your blood.”
Zardok’s eyes widened and glowed a brighter red. Then they narrowed and he rubbed his chin as he seemed to truly consider this.
“What will my blood do for you?” he asked thoughtfully.
“Eris says it will give the final touch to invincibility and immortality. If I can’t be killed and I have all the traits of the other creatures, they will have to respect and obey me.”
Zardok paced again, but this time silently. Jordan stood his ground and waited, watching the vampyre’s shadows shift on the wall in the flicker of the various fires. Zardok finally stopped right in front of Jordan.
“I will do it,” he said, but Jordan didn’t respond, sensing the ultimatum. “But first, you will bring me someone you once cared deeply about. Prove to me one more time that you are worthy.”
Jordan’s brows pushed together again. “I care about no one. Unless you want my son?”
“No. There is too much potential for your son.”
“Eris?”
Zardok rolled his eyes in a very human way. “Her father would never allow it. But I don’t want her either. Even if you actually cared for her. I want a human. Someone I can turn.”
“I know no humans. The only other would be my sister and I would be happy to bring her to you.”
“I don’t want you to be happy about it,” he growled. “That’s part of the point. But I don’t want your sister, either. Again, she’s not human. Not fully. And she’s too weak and pathetic. Human, Jordan. Bring me a human you and yours have loved … and one that would make a great vampyre, possibly as great as me.”
“But—”
“If you want my blood, that is my order.” Zardok waved his hand, clearly dismissing him. “In the meantime, begin building our army.”
***
Jordan had no idea how to fulfill Zardok’s wish. Eris said she could try to create a love potion for him to fall in love with a human, which she only offered because she knew he would have to sacrifice that woman in the end, but she also said love potions never worked. Not truly. And he didn’t have time to play such games. He had an army to grow and lead.
Given small numbers of troops at a time—they couldn’t turn too many people at once without creating alarm that would sabotage their efforts—Jordan took them to the battlefields, joining in the fights until
the last soldier fell and he and his men could pick through those who barely lived. He hand-selected the soldiers he wanted turned and his troops did the biting, the bleeding and the changing. But then he lost them while they took their new children back to teach them their ways and Jordan would have to wait for the next troops to arrive.
He stepped through the sea of bodies after one such battle, wanting to get this over with. He was distracted by the thought of seeing his sister, a thought he hadn’t had in years. He’d squelched his need to prove her wrong, nearly forgetting her completely. The Ancients said they had no use for her—too weak to do them any good and Jordan had almost come to believe it. But his conversation with Zardok had sparked an idea. It was time to pay her a visit, let her see what he’d become and finally convince her of the truth. Perhaps after this round left with their newborns, he could find her.
He bent down to a soldier whose chest barely rose and fell and felt for a heartbeat. He was still alive enough to be turned, but as Jordan examined his body, his nose wrinkled. Not a good specimen. Too old and weak. He stood and cast his eyes around, looking for any other signs of life, but there seemed to be none. Until he heard someone choking.
Jordan rushed over to the fallen warrior. His body looked strong and powerful, and, although shallow wrinkles spread from the corners of his closed eyes, the face was not too old for his use. But it was familiar. Jordan knelt down and the man grabbed for his hand, scrunching his eyes shut tighter and pursing his lips against a wave of pain.
“Do you believe in God?” Jordan asked him.
“Zeus,” the man gasped, blood bubbling out of his mouth and down his chin. “Unless … you can … convince me now … . My wife … ”
Jordan was sure he knew his wife. As he studied the man’s face, he became more certain of the recognition and an idea occurred to him. This man was a prime candidate for the Daemoni and his soul perfect for their lord. But he could also serve a purpose for Jordan. He cared nothing for this man, but Zardok didn’t need to know this. And hurting this man’s wife … it would be the ultimate revenge and perhaps enough of a sacrifice for Zardok.