The Dominion Series Complete Collection

by Lund, S. E.

  I don’t hear him at first, so focused on what Julien is doing that I fail to notice the door opening. Then, I see him standing in the doorway with the guard behind him. Both of their eyes are wide.

  Michel is dressed in black vestments with a blood red stole and a huge wooden cross on a string. The metal collar—the kill collar—is visible beneath the jacket he wears. He wears no cap, so his head is bare, his longish hair falling down the back of his neck. He’s a devastatingly beautiful priest. Michel turns on his heel and walks away, out the door and down the hall. The guard follows, closing the door slowly.

  “Julien,” I whisper, pushing him off me.

  “What?” he says and frowns.

  “Michel saw us.”

  Julien turns to the doorway. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “He’s gone now,” I say, adjusting my blouse. I straighten my hair and leave Julien at the window.

  He follows me, sitting down across from me, an expression of frustrated humor on his face. “Fuck Michel,” he says. “He’s a priest now and wants this celibacy thing, Eve. There’s no reason why we can’t be together. He had his chance. He made his choice.”

  The door opens once more and Michel enters, barely looking at us. He stands by the fireplace and takes out a poker to move the logs around. “You’re to get ready, Eve,” he says, his voice quiet. “Soren wants more power so he can revive one of the Twelve. It will take a lot to revive them all and he wants to start tonight. We’re going to the park where there’s a makeshift stage set up under a tent.”

  “Sounds evangelical,” I say. “I hate to be a part of that, Michel.”

  Michel exhales in frustration. “This is necessary for the time being. Just be patient.” He sneaks a look at Julien and then goes to the door. “You have ten minutes to get ready. Julien, you’re to come as well.”

  “What about these?” he says and holds up his wrists with the shackles and chains.

  Michel shrugs. “You know how Soren loves to show off his power over people.”

  Before I know it, Michel is gone. Julien and I rise and stare at each other for a moment.

  “We’re finishing off what we started the first opportunity we get, Eve,” Julien says, pointing at me, his chains jangling, a lopsided grin on his lovely mouth. “Fair warning.”

  “Not if we’re anywhere near Michel and he can walk in on us,” I point out.

  “Eve,” Julien says, his eyes narrowing, “I’m asserting property rights since Michel gave up his.”

  I laugh and step closer to him. “In case you’re forgetting, I’m the one with property rights now that you’re mortal.”

  “Well,” he says and raises his fingers to my cheek, “I’m asserting rights as property—yours.” He grins and I smile back, glad that at least he still has his sense of play, despite everything that’s happened.

  * * *

  The drive to the park is slow, with a phalanx of security vehicles spread out back and front. People walk together in small groups to the park for the ceremony. They point and wave when they see the central vehicle with Soren just visible through the window. No doubt he arranged things so that people could see him.

  I sit between Michel and Julien across from Soren. I’m wearing a white gown that Soren’s guard brought to me and my hair is up the way Michel likes. Soren seems pleased that we’re all together again and while he waves to the passing crowds, he speaks to us.

  “This is how it’s going to go. Eve, you and I will share blood. I’ll suck up as much adoration from the crowd as possible, and then I’ll resurrect one of the Twelve. I’ve brought along Kael. He and I always saw eye to eye on things. He’ll be useful to have back first.”

  Kael. Is he referring to fallen angels?

  “Which one are you?” I say, trying to keep my voice from sounding patronizing. “Obviously, Soren is just your human name.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says. “Besides, you don’t really believe, so until you do, you can guess.”

  I turn away from his too-piercing gaze and watch the crowd. He wants us to think he’s an angel. I’m not going to argue with him. He could kill Michel in a second and I’d be helpless to do anything but watch him die…unless I turned him. But he wouldn’t want that.

  I’m acutely aware of being in between the brothers. Of course, Soren arranged it that way so he could gloat. He loves to see the three of us in close proximity, probably feeding off the angst we all feel in such close quarters—the suppressed desire, the jealousy. I can almost sense his triumph across from me.

  “Oh, Eve, Eve, Eve…” he says, smiling. “I always love a doubter who has a conversion on the road to Damascus. So damn compelling. I can’t look away and will love so much the moment when you finally believe.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I mutter.

  He says nothing else as we drive through the streets.

  I see a white canvas tent in the distance when we arrive at the park. Beside the tent, a crew of men are busy digging in the dirt. A small crowd of people dressed in winter clothing have flocked to the tent and mill around, speaking in groups, forming lines to get inside under the cover. There might be fifty or sixty people in all, and they walk down a path lit by fiery torches. They seem happy, their breath visible in the chilly air as they speak to each other.

  Does Soren really give them hope? I imagine he’s far more of a comfort than the usual religious officials, for none of them can do miracles. Soren has resurrected the dead and executed the guilty with ball lightning. If I didn’t know it was all projection and some kind of mass hysteria, I’d be impressed as well.

  * * *

  We exit the vehicle on a side road to the north of the tent and a line of guards forms a narrow row that Soren walks through, dressed in a white robe, his pale hair long and shiny, his skin white. His wings unfold behind him as he walks through the rear of the tent and a collective gasp moves through the crowd when they see him in all his glory.

  I hear sighs, weeping, and stifled cries.

  He knows how to put on a show.

  We follow him through the flap in the tent and inside. There’s a full marble altar at the head of the tent, surrounded by tall candles. Religious statues and artifacts stand behind the altar—an angel bending over the virgin with the baby Jesus, a crucifix with Jesus looking up to the heavens, a medieval painting of John the Baptist baptizing Jesus. Michel stands at the altar and moves a collection of items around that I don’t recognize—reliquaries, chalices, and a huge Bible opened with a silk ribbon down the center.

  A guard positions me beside the altar and I stand and stare at the congregation, aware of their adoration and awe of everything they see. Soren is formidable, sitting on a huge marble throne at behind the altar, his wings spread out to their full width. What must people think when they see him?

  They truly must believe this is the apocalypse and Soren is God’s angel come down to rescue the faithful. With the technological plague destroying modern civilization and vampires roaming the streets at night, unafraid of retribution, I can understand their fear and their desire to turn to the Church, though I don’t share it.

  Of course, it’s not the apocalypse, not in the biblical sense. It’s humanity battling vampires and vampires battling each other. It’s more akin to something out of Mary Shelley or Bram Stoker than the Bible, angel wings notwithstanding.

  While I waiting for the blood ceremony to begin, I notice that men are moving portable metal barriers into place around the tent in sections of chain link fence five feet tall and at least ten feet wide. I wonder why. Is it to prevent people from coming in during the ceremony?

  Several guards wheel in one of the cement tanks from the SCU’s underground facility—I recognize it immediately. In it is one of the Ancients—Kael, from what Soren said. I see him as he passes. Lying beneath the liquid that keeps him in stasis is a very strange and otherworldly-looking man with the same white skin and fair hair as Soren. Nordic in heritage, probably ch
osen for their distinctive appearance, well aware of humanity’s preference for genetic rarity. It’s a show, nothing more.

  The ceremony progresses without any fanfare. Michel goes to Soren with a knife in his hand and cuts Soren’s wrist, angling it so that the blood trickles into the chalice. He collects blood from my wrists and holds the chalice high above his head as if asking for a blessing of the contents. His eyes are closed and he’s whispering something to himself. I can barely make it out, but it’s in Latin.

  “Accìpite et bibite, ex eo omnes. Hic est enim calix sanguines mei.”

  Then he repeats it in English, his voice loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. “Take this, all of you, and drink from it; this is the cup of my blood.”

  He passes the chalice to Soren, who takes a drink. I shudder to think about how Soren has perverted this rite. Do the faithful understand how they’re being manipulated? How Soren is using the Church, its teachings, history, and rites to gain followers so he can increase his power?

  They don’t know and I’m sick that I’m part of this perversion. I hate that everyone— Michel, Julien, my mother, even Dylan—expects me to accept that I can’t be told details of the plan to destroy Soren and that I must go along blindly. When did Dylan accept what Michel says as gospel?

  I take the cup from Michel and drink, squeezing my eyes shut because I know I’ll be assaulted with the emotions of the congregation once I drink. Before I’ve finished, it happens. Our blood mingles and whatever abilities I have as an Adept and as an ascended vampire meld together to amplify the usual effect this sharing of blood has on me.

  I feel as if a shroud of adoration has engulfed me. It takes my breath away, choking me with emotion. My knees weaken and Michel has to grab the chalice out of my hands, taking one of my arms and leading me to a chair on the dais beside Soren. I slump into its plush cushions and watch what happens from beneath my half-closed eyes, drugged from the endorphins and unable to move.

  Soren stands on the dais beside me, his body glowing with an unnatural white light. Or is that my vision, affected by the blood? I can’t tell, but he appears to grow in size, his wings expanding to almost fill the space around him—twenty feet around.

  The people cower in awe when he stands to full height, stretching his arms above his head. I feel the crowd’s fear and awe even more intensely now and I expect that was Soren’s purpose in showing them his magnificence. He walks to the tank where Kael is suspended and stands beside it, staring down at the contents.

  “Behold,” he says in a booming voice. “Mine enemies would destroy me and my kind in the hopes of preventing the birth of a new world, but they have failed. If you believe, if you truly believe, I will resurrect my brethren and together we will rid the world of all vampires and usher in a world of peace and prosperity for all.” He glances at the crowd as they gather at the foot of the dais, watching him with a mixture of eagerness and fear apparent in their blanched faces and wide eyes. “Do you believe?”

  A few nod, but most of them appear too afraid to speak.

  “I said DO YOU BELIEVE?”

  “Yes!” they respond as one, and the wave of emotion they emit collectively knocks the air out of me.

  Soren reaches into the tank and I can see from where I sit that he’s touching Kael’s body to stop the nanovirus and help him fight it off so he can regain consciousness.

  The light surrounding the two increases in brightness, almost blinding me with its brilliance. There’s a crackle in the air like electricity in a light bulb, an audible hum as if from a generator, and the scent of sulfur burns my nose. Before us, Kael rises out of the gel that has encased him in the tank and steps out with Soren’s help, his body dripping with goo. He’s naked, the perfection of his body and its pale whiteness striking, his wings soaked with gel. Some internal heat warms the gel so that it evaporates, steam rising off his body as if he’s burning from an inner fire. It leaves him clean and dry and perfect. His wings spread out and the mortals surrounding the tank gasp and step back in fear.

  Each time the crowd gasps or responds, I see that it gives Soren even more power, the light surrounding him brightening appreciably.

  “How are you, my brother?” Soren says once Kael is completely dry and standing beside him a few feet from the crowd.

  “I feel as if I could eat the whole world,” Kael says in a deep, mellifluous voice.

  “We will,” Soren says, smiling. “But first, you can start with them.” Soren turns to the crowd and waves his hand. A jolt of fear goes through me.

  What does he mean, start with them?

  Kael strides over to the closest man and grabs him by the scruff of his shirt, lifting him up by it before biting the man’s neck. He feeds like a wild animal, almost growling as he does; it takes barely a few seconds for Kael to drain the man. He discards the body to the floor and turns to the woman beside him.

  She screams and tries to flee, as do the others now that they know their purpose, but Kael is fast and there are armed guards and a high metal gate surrounding the tent, preventing any escape. Before us, Kael moves from one mortal to the next, draining each one efficiently before throwing the bodies unceremoniously to the ground. I try to sit up straight, but I’m still under the influence of the crowd, whose only emotions are fear and dread and panic. My heart races in my chest. If anything, the fear and dread and panic feeds Kael and Soren and they both appear almost gigantic, eight feet—ten feet—tall if not taller, the mortals in Kael’s grip like children as he holds them up to drink their blood.

  I turn to Michel, barely able to speak, finding his face as white as a vampire despite him being mortal, his cheeks wet with tears. His grimace tells me everything I need to know—he hates this as much as I do. Beside him, Julien stands mute, his face dark, his fists clenched.

  I had no idea I would be helping Soren resurrect Kael only for the monster to kill dozens of humans.

  “Michel!” I cry, reaching out to touch him from where I sit. “Did you know?”

  He only shakes his head, unable to meet my eyes—probably out of shame. His shoulders shake, but he makes no sound. Or if he does, I can’t hear it above the shrieks and screams, the tat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire as the guards shoot those who try to scale the fence to escape.

  It’s a massacre.

  “Julien, do something!” I yell, but Julien is like a statue, shackled in chains watching everything that happens without acting. “Julien!” I scream, but it’s like he can’t hear me, or if he can, he can’t respond.

  Has Soren compelled his compliance?

  When the last mortal is dead, the bodies in a heap in the center of the tent, guards appear and drag the bodies out. I watch through tear-blurred eyes as they dump the bodies into the large pit they’ve dug just outside the tent.

  Kael appears to have drunk his fill. He’s ten feet tall and spilled so much blood that it stains his chest and abdomen and legs.

  He’s the kind of being described in the Book of Enoch. As I watch in shock, trying to take it all in, I remember reading a passage from the Book of Enoch while searching through my mother’s files..

  And they became pregnant, and they bare great giants, whose height was three hundred ells: Who consumed all the acquisitions of men. And when men could no longer sustain them, the giants turned against them and devoured mankind, devouring one another's flesh, and drinking the blood."

  He is Nephilim.

  * * *

  Michel pulls me out of the tent towards the waiting vehicle and I fall into his arms. He has to carry me, so weakened by the horrors I experienced while watching Kael kill more than four-dozen humans. There’s no way he drank all their blood—even though he appears to be ten feet tall, he couldn’t have digested all that blood.

  Julien follows us, dragging his chains behind him.

  “Michel,” I begin as the car drives off, leaving the scene of carnage behind, “you never said anything to me about this. Did you know this would happen?”

&
nbsp; “People die in war, Eve.” He doesn’t look in my eyes when he speaks. “In every war it’s the same.”

  “But it’s my fault!” I cover my face with my hands and weep, horrified that I enabled that bloodbath. “Soren would never have been able to resurrect Kael without my help. Their deaths are my fault.”

  Michel puts his arm around my shoulder, but he knew this would happen and he let it! He let me help Soren resurrect a murderer.

  “Don’t touch me ever again.” I push him away, barely able to see through my tears, and move towards Julien, who slips an arm around me.

  I move as close to Julien as I can, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my gown, unable to bear seeing Michel’s face,.

  “I mean it, Michel. I can’t forgive you for this. I can’t forgive myself for trusting you.”

  “It had to be this way. To get where we want to be, we had to go through this. I know it’s horrible,” he says and shakes his head slowly, staring at his hands, which are open in his lap, “but this leads directly to other events that must take place if we’re to rid the world of him and the others like him. Eve, you have to trust me. You’ll know in the end that I was telling the truth.”

  I say nothing. There’s nothing possible to say in response to that. Either he’s right and I will know or he’s crazy and I’ll know that as well.

  We drive the rest of the way to Soren’s mansion in silence.

  Chapter 104

  “Only the brokenhearted know the truth about love.”

  Mason Cooley

  I rush up the stairs to my room in Soren’s mansion and slam the door before throwing myself onto the bed in the darkness. I weep inconsolably, pulling the covers over my head, horrified with what I’ve been party to. When Julien and Michel enter the room and Julien comes to the side of the bed, I wave him away and turn my back to him, not wanting to face either of them now.