The Arrival (Children of the Morning Star Book 1)

by Kastie Pavlik

  Jonathan caught the bloody fabric and set it down beside him with an absent nod. He remained silent as Eric examined his bloodstained body.

  Wooden splinters protruded from Eric’s back, but the punctures in his chest and shoulders had closed. The gash in his throat felt sticky and his swollen hand throbbed. Jonathan’s attack had weakened him enough to impair his healing process.

  Returning to the cottage in his current state would frighten Paresh, so he called Molly. “Can you discreetly take a moist towel to your car and meet me?” At her affirmative answer, he said, “I’ll be there soon.”

  He met Jonathan’s eyes with a stern gaze. “I trust we have a deal or that you’ll at least give me the courtesy of a warning next time. If anyone comes for me before this thing with David is done, they’re going to have a hell of a fight on their hands.”

  As he turned to go, Jonathan said, “Beware of that woman. The Devil lurks in her heart. She may be human, but she is cunning.”

  “What woman?” Eric asked, stopping to pick up his shoes without looking back.

  “Nicole.”

  “Jonathan... Paresh dreams about a man in a red cloak chasing her with a dagger. Do you have anything to do with that?”

  “No.”

  “Very well, then.” Eric resumed his advance along the trail, leaving Jonathan alone in the clearing.

  II

  Jonathan watched him go with abnormally guilty eyes. Sparring with such raw inhibition had excited him until the temptation to drink from Eric had become overwhelming. That had been his mistake. Paresh’s blood in his brother’s veins had been the subduing mechanism that had acted more efficiently than any attack Eric could ever throw at him. The tranquil effect had not struck immediately, but when it hit, it packed power, and emotions he had never felt had crashed over him.

  Eric’s parting question further disturbed him. Along with the weapons suggested by Lord Corben, he had taken several Aegis Cloaks. The garments, made from red wool, protected the wearer against the venomous auras of angered vampires. He couldn’t account for Paresh’s ability to have a premonition about a man wearing one.

  Clutching Eric’s tattered shirt, Jonathan stood. Doubt about his orders plagued him. He agreed with Eric and the thought of her demise upset him greatly. He knew she was the one. He could feel it. No, he could feel her, inside him—but loyalty, thousands of years old, chained him to Lucien and he did not intend to defy his master now.

  He pulled a small, hard case from his pocket. He gazed upon the pins within before removing them and attaching them to his bloodied shirt. Ever since the day Lucien had given him the symbols of their freedom from Lucifer, he had worn them proudly. To him, allegiance to the Vampiric Nation was secondary—the pins reaffirmed his devotion to the one man he obeyed without question. He took them off only in rare instances to prevent damage.

  He and Lucien shared a unique kinship for their kind, and his master would not approve of him risking his life as he had just done. The Shadow Hounds were far more expendable for such “at any cost” orders—although this one had never existed. Jonathan had woven deliberate diversions within his attack to play on Eric’s emotions. Fragments of honesty had lain within those deceptions, though—he truly had not intended to kill Eric, just learn of his capabilities.

  He had long suspected that Eric’s strength rivaled his own, but the power behind his fist had been surprising. Eric had shattered his cheekbone after losing a large amount of blood, and Jonathan doubted even that had revealed Eric's full potential.

  He had not meant for their battle to escalate to such heights, but the rush had consumed him. And yet, despite the dire consequences his actions could have wrought, that very deviation made his plan a success.

  Now he knew how high to set the voltage on the Ivor Bow. Designed with powerful true bloods in mind, the VaSH had not tested the weapon on beings with the strength he and Lucien possessed. Jonathan left the clearing, hoping the maximum setting would be enough. If not, then only Lucien himself could overpower Eric without lethal intent.

  Chapter Fourteen: Checkmate

  I

  U nable to shake his thoughts, he slid his feet to the floor and sat on the bed with his head in his hands. He had physically recovered, but Jonathan’s bite still reverberated in his throat like a pulsing tickle that sent occasional, subtle ripples of pleasure coursing over each nerve ending in his body—the same pleasure he had shared with Paresh. Now, he hated it.

  He rose with a heavy, frustrated sigh and retrieved his pants, crumpled on the floor. After slipping them on, he paced along a narrow swath of the floorboards and stopped in front of the window. The clouds blotted out the moon, leaving the land in the grasp of gloomy darkness. It matched his mood perfectly.

  The late evening brawl had left him exhausted and sullen, even more so after meeting Molly at her car. Upon recognizing the darkness looming in his eyes, she had recovered from his shocking appearance and gone to work. Neither ever forgot his inhuman nature nor her true role in his life. Ultimately, they shared a vampire-servant relationship and her self-avowed duty was to aid him whenever he needed it. In matters involving that side of him, she knew not to ask questions.

  Therefore, she barely spoke. She simply handed him the damp towel and then, wearing latex gloves taken from her purse, removed the wooden slivers from his back and a chunk of bark she found lodged into his scalp. Her touch was as delicate and skilled as someone who had done the same task dozens of times, despite this being her first, and her concentration was focused so tightly that Eric knew she depended on it to keep her mind from wandering.

  Surely, she must have wondered about the beast capable of inflicting such damage to him, but not a trace of worry appeared on her face as she worked—not even when he realized that he was too weakened and covered with too much blood to return to the cottage. She promised to watch after Paresh while he went home.

  Nearly three hours after embarking on his jog, he returned to Sunset Grove hoping Paresh would miss the angst in his eyes. Molly had performed superbly, having already explained that he had gone home to shower and change. He added only that he had pushed himself too hard on his run and needed sustenance—purposefully omitting his encounter. Later, as he and Molly walked to her car, he instructed her to stay away unless summoned. For the first time, anxiety manifested in crinkles that cut across her forehead as she bid him goodnight.

  After Molly’s departure, he had found it difficult to revive himself from his funk. But then Paresh met him at the door wearing her robe and nothing else. Her innocent essence lifted his spirits even though the knowledge of his imminent departure tore at his soul. An unknown future awaited him, but he had known, at that moment, exactly what she wanted from him.

  Now he stood in her room just hours after making love with her. Unlike the raw urgency of the night before, it had been tender and sensual, as if both had known time was offering one last intimate embrace. Her pureness had intoxicated him and he had drunk of her, reveling once more in succulence that affected him like a drug and made his world teeter and spin until the calm set in. Everything slowed down and all his cares disappeared until only she mattered—but this time, Jonathan’s “tickle” and his own heavy heart had eaten away at the feeling, leaving only a bare trace of her warmth to outline a feeling of cold dread.

  He turned from the window and sat on the edge of the bed. Burying his face in his hands, he closed his eyes and emptied his mind. At the slightest glimmer of a thought, he counted from his age backward. Too much had happened. He needed a break to refocus. His hand rose to his throat to press against the light throbbing in a vain effort to stop it. He couldn’t escape Jonathan. He never would.

  He clenched his teeth and waited for the feeling to subside. Though frequent in their early years, it was uncommon for his brother to surprise him like this. Jonathan rarely lost his temper, preferring instead to use sarcasm and wicked wit to get under Eric’s skin. He had forcefully bitten Eric before, but had neve
r almost lost control in the process. A brief flash of savagery had crossed his eyes as Eric struggled to fend off his attack.

  Eric’s anger had risen to the same feverish level, but when he reached the edge of the beast’s insanity, something had restrained him, like a wall separating him from madness. Losing control was a dire infraction of the Vampiric Nation’s laws and a very real threat they all faced. Jonathan had stepped over the threshold, but something had pulled him back before his other foot had landed.

  What would make you cross that barrier, Jonathan? Eric wondered, wiping his face. You live to serve Lucien.

  Nothing made Jonathan happier than the self-gratification that came from making his master’s wishes a reality. And, Lucien’s mysterious new order had finally given Jonathan exactly what he desired; although, even when Eric joined him at the Arc of True Blood, he would never be the partner his brother truly wanted.

  Eric’s eyes opened at the memory of Jonathan’s seductive smile. Perhaps Jonathan’s lust was Destiny’s way of keeping Eric in the Realm of Man, staying the fated course that had led him to Daniel and Andrew.

  The platonic camaraderie Eric and Andrew shared had prompted a strangely aloof jealousy in Jonathan. Until then, he had never staked personal interest in a specific Hawthorne or ever asked questions about them. He had always worked in the background, which made Eric fear that Jonathan had been plotting a way to kill Andrew directly. Eric had given Jonathan a stern ultimatum: leave Andrew alone or live without “his prize” forever. Unable to envision a future with Eric outside his reach for eternity, Jonathan had heeded the threat and had not interfered in Andrew’s life until Paresh’s kidnapping.

  Now they were embroiled in a situation unlike anything either had faced and their emotions were higher than ever before. Eric didn’t like knowing that his fate depended on a cold-hearted creature’s whims, but Lucien had snatched control away from both of them the moment he changed Jonathan’s orders. Quite possibly, Eric could spend the rest of his life fighting to regain control and never win.

  Suddenly, noise at the front door pricked his attention. Someone was entering the cottage. He closed his eyes and listened. There were five intruders: two inside, tiptoeing toward the hall, and three outside, scattering around the cottage—all human.

  The footsteps within grew closer. His eyes snapped open, blazing with fury. David had moved sooner than expected. Adrenaline surged and augmented his heightened senses to transform him into the hunter once more.

  The dead of night held no moon to illuminate the darkness, yet everything was lit with crimson light. A glance at the clock told him it was almost three a.m. He rose from the bed like a specter, making no sound, nor disturbing the sleeping girl, and crept to the closed bedroom door.

  He hesitated only to judge the outside locations. Two men waited between the master suite’s windows and another was by the guest room. As Eric grabbed the doorknob, he picked up a faint conversation to the south, possibly in the Grandfather Wisdom clearing. There were three voices, one of which was disturbingly familiar.

  The handle turning in his hand did not allow him time to ponder Jonathan’s continued involvement, nor its implications. He acted fast, throwing the door open and catching it with his foot before it slammed into the wall. Clamping his fingers tightly against the flesh of their throats, he thrust the man and woman down the hall before their startled cries could awaken Paresh. He forced them to the floor and held them until they went limp, but left them with beating hearts.

  He bound them with the phone cord from the dining room and checked on Paresh. Thankful to see that she was still asleep, he slipped outside and scouted the area. He heard only the three other threats in the immediate area.

  Like a shadow passing in the dark of night, he crept up behind the man lurking beneath the guest room window. Whispering in a soothing voice, Eric commanded the man to turn around and then bore into him with swollen eyes as though searching through every dusty corner for his soul. Heat poured into Eric’s palm as he made a circular motion in front of the man’s chest and drained his energy until he slumped against the cottage.

  Eric listened for the positions of the two men guarding the master suite. He selected a smooth, brown stone from the flowerbed and sent it sailing over the roof. It landed in the rocks on the other side with enough noise to draw their attention. One man headed to investigate while the other waited. Eric ran up behind him without making a sound and used his voice to steal his will power. The man went rigid.

  Eric moved his palm in a circular motion near the man’s heart. Within seconds, the man’s knees buckled. Eric caught him before he crashed completely and was lowering his unconscious form to the grass as the other sentry returned.

  Hesitating only long enough for Eric to straighten, the last man tensed and charged forward. Eric flicked his eyes up and waited until the man could see his face. When he was just shy of arm’s reach, Eric flashed a devilish grin that revealed his augmented canines. He had resisted the hunter’s natural desire to kill thus far, but the darkest part of his soul enjoyed the man’s horrified expression. Narrowing his eyes, Eric slid his tongue along his teeth and whispered, “You are not of the flock.”

  The man froze and paled, and a timid scream squeaked between his lips. An instant later, he blazed into fear-filled action, shouting for help and racing for the forest’s edge—due south.

  Eric straightened and watched him go. He had heard Paresh awaken. Getting her to safety came before anything else.

  But then an emerging form on the southern path and a fresh surge of adrenaline quickly realigned his priorities. Thirty-one years had passed since their last encounter, but he instantly recognized the slender, aged man with shaggy hair and piercing dark eyes. Only three hundred yards and a fleeing prowler stood between him... and David.

  David’s emotionless eyes traced his subordinate’s escape path back to Eric’s silhouette against the cottage. Eric’s pulse ignited. His lungs burned. His fury surged. The beast roared within its cage. That man had stolen so much from him.

  His anger should have turned him into an instinctual monster, should have loosened the beast’s chains. But as before, a barrier blocked the way. Fresh within him, Paresh’s calming essence held him so that he hovered just over that point. Even so, the desire to spill David’s blood was overwhelming.

  A low, steady growl escaped his throat. Sharp teeth tore into his lower lip as he clenched his jaw, fighting against his instincts. Paresh’s scared heartbeat galloped in his ears, but the urge to follow David was too powerful.

  Random words, faint over the distance, sailed from the south, though not much more than his name and “get the bow ready” navigated to him clearly. Fear of losing his only chance to end the ordeal forced him through his indecision.

  Eric darted toward the path with grim determination, telling himself that Paresh was safe—he had locked the door and would return before any of the intruders awoke. Only three humans and Jonathan waited ahead—and his fury stood between her and them. He may have taken mercy on the sentries, but David Hawthorne deserved no such consideration. He had walked the Earth for far too long.

  II

  Paresh awoke with a start. Someone was shouting outside. Her heart thumped wildly, trying to beat its way out of her chest. Surrounded by blackness, she could barely make out the faint shapes and outlines of her furniture, but she knew Eric was gone.

  She grasped the sheet, drawing in deep breaths and closing her eyes. Exhaling slowly, she willed herself to calm down and tried to steady her heart, but her mind reeled. The man in the crimson cloak had chased her dreams once more and now she could feel him nearby.

  She strained to hear Eric’s voice. The yelling had faded farther into the distance, leaving only the ticking of the hall clock to count the long seconds she waited until the noise disappeared all together. She rose and peered out the window. In the moonless night, she saw a shirtless man in black jogging pants dash into the forest.

  Thi
s isn’t really happening. Wake up, a voice within her head commanded. But she was already awake, and Eric was truly running down the southern trail just as he had in her nightmare. Fright licked her gently, leaving her legs trembling.

  Call the police and stay inside. She grabbed her robe and shuffled down the hallway, intentionally leaving the lights off. Darkness clung to the floor and ceiling, and only the dimmest glow of an overcast night outlined the windows of the living area.

  She suddenly hit a large mass and tripped, screaming and dropping her robe as she tumbled down. Her hands slammed into lumpy material, soft in some areas and hard in others. Horrified, she hesitantly explored the mass and screamed again when her fingers swept over a nose, eyes, and hair. She awkwardly scrambled over the bodies in a panic and scurried back along the floor, clutching her mouth.

  Get to the phone! the voice yelled. But she couldn’t move. Fear held her paralyzed, her legs folded beneath her, her eyes frozen on the shadowed, fleshy pile.

  Somehow, without feeling herself stand, she backed away until she hit the door. With heavy breaths coming from her mouth, she swallowed hard and reached a quivering hand toward the phone on the sideboard.

  Clinging to it as a lifeline, she hit the talk button only to find dead silence on the other end. A small cry came from her mouth as she stared at the phone. She was about to reach for its base when the sudden scraping of metal on metal stopped her cold. She snatched her hand back.

  Someone had slid a key into the lock. Her heart thumped so hard it shook her whole body. Without thinking, she stepped to the side, finding feeble shelter in the area behind the door. She clutched the phone and held her breath as the handle turned and the door slowly opened. Burning heat consumed her chest, but she didn’t dare breathe.