by Of Night
We need to hang on for just a little longer. She hoped Jonathan was right about the Immortals coming. She had already had two run-ins with Preacher’s fanatics, and felt she wouldn’t be so charmed the third time around. With Jonathon’s injuries, there would be no escape. They’d kill him as a spy, and she’d be taken to Luka.
She shivered. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if Luka ever got his claws in her.
She was heading back to Jonathon when she spotted the first two Believers. She scurried between two vending stands, hoping to get lost among the crowd. She spotted another two walking over to join the first two. And then she sensed another two coming down the main fairway in a rush, knocking the passersby out of their way as they joined the others and started talking.
She was too far away to hear what they were saying, but she needed to know. The mental shields protecting her mind from invading thoughts and emotions had popped up automatically when she arrived at the carnival. She could try controlling that energy, to focus and hear the conversations she wanted to hear and filter out the rest. But if she couldn’t control it, she would be overwhelmed by all the turmoil going on around her.
As scared as she was, she needed to know what they were saying. Focus….focus…focus.
“Found Abel and Lot in a tent over there.”
“And we found Jacob and Joseph behind the truck.”
“What about Gad? He was wit’ them.”
“Don’t know. Chicken shit pro’bly ran off.”
“And Jonathon?”
“Got word from Preacher. Jonathon’s not a Believer.”
“He sure?”
“You kiddin’?”
“What’er we s’posed to do?”
“Orders ain’t changed. Find the woman. Kill anyone stands in yer way.”
Richelle covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her shocked gasp. Kill…anyone. How could they be so cruel? So pitiless? With or without the Immortals’ help, she had to get Jonathon out of here.
“Found a trail of blood. Led back here to the fair.”
“They gots to be ’round here someplace.”
“Couldn’t get far, losin’ that much blood.”
“Gotta find ’em fast. Night’s a’comin’.”
“Yeah, so’s Preacher. And he’s bringin’…Him.”
“You know what’ll happen if we don’t find her before they git here.”
“Spread out!”
“You two head towards the front entrance. You two head over to the rides. We’ll backtrack around the tents.”
Oh, Goddess. They went off in separate directions, but like vultures, they were circling where she left Jonathon hiding. It would be only a matter of time before they found him. She had to get to him and find another hiding place. They’d go back to the tent where she was attacked. She doubted the Believers would go back there and look for them.
Astutely she watched, waiting for an opening to get back to Jonathon. If she had to strap him to her back and carry him out of there, she would not let those men find him. Within moments, the six men had disappeared out of view. She made her way quickly to the back of the fun house. Although she knew she had locked it when they first slipped in, it turned on the first try and she entered the darkened building, closing the door with a click.
* * * *
Nicolae felt the strenuous effects of being out in the daylight rather than taking sleep. His powers diminishing, he made his way slowly to the abode of the Protectors. Much younger and not as highly skilled, Protectors did not lead the solitary life as Guardians did. They preferred to live in groups of two or three. Some had even found their mates and formed packs, like wolves, to serve man and Immortal.
Much like Valya’s industrialized loft, these Protectors lived in a loft architecturally functional and artistically designed with the main difference being in colors. While Valya’s had been in colors of black, gold, and wine, this loft was in shades of the woods, with forest green, midnight blue, and dark brown.
The sun had finally gone down. It was time to wake the Protectors.
“Roman. Stefan. Awake.”
Although there was no thunder clap or lightning strike accompanying his command, his authoritative voice left no doubt as to the urgency or the uncompromising tone of his demand, and, much to his surprise, three large figures appeared before him. All stood over six feet tall with the archetypal build of a warrior.
“Pieter? I thought you were hunting to the west.”
“I was. But I felt a need to be here.”
Pieter had long, dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He was a Guardian like Valya, hunting to the west in search of terrorists who had made a base camp in Montana. Nicolae wasn’t aware of any other Guardian in this vicinity as all preferred to work alone, but was grateful for his presence in case they needed help.
Stefan was the typical Hollywood blond, blue-eyed, pretty boy resembling a young Robert Redford, while Roman bore the resemblance of his warrior namesake, with black hair and eyes, his classical features sharply cut as if carved from marble.
Roman was the older of the two Protectors, although looking at him you would believe him to be forty instead of six hundred and twenty-five. Stefan, a baby at two hundred and fifty, was learning his role as a Protector as Roman’s apprentice.
“What brings you to us?” Stefan questioned.
All Immortals lived with the knowledge that Nicolae’s powers were beyond imagining, so he did not need the assistance of Protectors nor Guardians. It was whispered that centuries ago he brought trial against an Immortal female and demanded her banishment from their mountain home, but everyone knew he did not need a decree of punishment from the Triad. It was merely an ingrained code of chivalry preventing him from harming a female that spared her from his wrath.
“She has been found.”
“Who?” Pieter asked.
“The woman from the prophecy.”
“Truly?” Hopefulness laced Stefan’s voice.
“Are you sure?” Roman interjected, not as optimistic as his compatriot.
“Her name is Richelle Sommers. She is under our protection. And, she has been claimed…by Valya.”
They all nodded in stunned silence. Immortals had searched for centuries for the woman destined to save two worlds, wondering who her intended life mate was. But no longer. Before they could ask any questions, Nicolae relayed the grim news.
“The Believers have found her. Jonathon was able to save her from capture, but he has been injured. They have been trapped at the carnival at the State Fairgrounds. We go to their rescue before Luka cel Rau reaches them.”
“Valya has completed the bonding ritual?” Pieter was somber in his question.
“No,” Nicolae replied, angered Valya had not done so. Their bonding would remove the immediate danger to Richelle.
In taking blood, whether it was during feeding or bonding, the use of pheromones was common, to allay fear, decrease resistance, remove the memory, and minimize pain. But in minimizing the pain, it heightened the pleasure lingering beyond the encounter.
The pheromones would be absorbed in the blood and released slowly, affecting anyone around that person. With a surge in testosterone, men would become more powerful and virile. And woman became more alluring, more sensual and desirable. The more pheromones released during the taking of blood, the more compelling the reaction. As he was taking first blood as part of the bonding ritual, Valya would have unconsciously released huge amounts of pheromones to heighten her arousal and pleasure.
Until they were fully bonded as life mates, Richelle was a walking sex magnet, attracting every male near her.
But still unknown to the Immortals, Valya and Richelle’s bonding would be the key to destroying Luka’s plot to rule the world. Nicolae needed to get to Valya and tell him the truth behind the prophecy. But first, they had to get to the carnival.
“We must return Richelle to Valya without delay.”
“Valya is not search
ing for her?”
Nicolae glared at Stefan, causing him to take a step back. While Nicolae had never harmed an Immortal, it didn’t mean he couldn’t. And there was always the persistent fear that without a life mate, he would turn Vampyre.
“I have commanded Valya to sleep. Until the bonding is complete, we cannot risk a confrontation with Luka. He will remain asleep at his loft until our return. With Richelle.”
“Then let’s go,” Pieter chirped eagerly.
“No,” Nicolae replied. “You need to be available to warn Valya, in case we are not successful with our mission.”
“You need me at the carnival to fight Luka and the Believers.”
Nicolae shook his head. “Do not be so eager for battle. It will come soon enough. Stefan and Roman will accompany me. Wait here until our return.”
Pieter curtly nodded, obviously perturbed at not being able to go.
“Yes. It’s time to settle some old debts.”
Nicolae knew Stefan was out to prove himself being a new Protector. Roman also had ulterior motives for facing Luka, as he was responsible for the death of Roman’s brother. Nicolae did not want the focus to be on revenge or validation. “No!” Adamant, Nicolae threw up his hand to stay their leaving. “This is not the time for retribution. Focus on the task at hand. We will return Richelle to Valya. When the bonding ritual has been completed…” Nicolae lowered his hand, trying to rein in the uncontrollable rage welling within him before his beast became unleashed. “…then we will deal with Luka and his followers.”
* * * *
Richelle supported Jonathon’s head as she helped him to drink the water she had brought, which was difficult. With the loss of blood, he kept lapsing into unconsciousness. She had to shake him several times in order to get him to drink half a bottle, which she knew wasn’t enough. She had to find help. She had to get Jonathon to a doctor or else he could… No! No one else is going to die because of me.
Tearing another strip from her dress, she poured half of the remaining water over his head and the other half she used to soak the fabric remnant. She wiped his face and forehead, brushing his hair back. She turned to wring out the cloth, and when she turned back, Jonathan was staring at her, his eyes dull and empty.
“You will…tell my father…I tried.” His lips were chapped, and his voice gravelly as he forced the words. She laid the cloth against his lips, wiping the spittle and dirt from the corners of his mouth.
“You’ll be able to tell him yourself.”
Jonathon captured her hand in his and held it close to his cheek.
“But you…will tell…him.”
She swallowed hard. She refused to let him lose hope, but she wasn’t able to refuse the pleading in his eyes. She nodded quickly, refusing to say the words lest they became a self-fulfilling prophecy. She dashed away the tear that was about to fall before giving him a weak smile.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “If only…I had met someone like you…before. So sweet. Things could have been…different…for me.”
“There’ll be time. You’ll find her.”
He shook his head as he coughed violently. “No. Too late. Not fair.”
“That’s enough, Jonathon. I won’t listen to any more. You are going to make it, do you hear me?”He closed his eyes without responding. Pulling her hand from his cheek, she placed it on his forehead.
“You’re going to make it, Jonathon,” she repeated, but he still didn’t respond. She shook him lightly and he opened his eyes to meet her gaze. “Jonathon, we need to go.” The concern in her voice was evident as she helped him to a sitting position. He winced in pain, placing his hand over the blood-soaked bandage while he struggled to his feet with her help. He stumbled at his first step, and would have tumbled to the floor had it not been for Richelle’s firm grip around his waist supporting him.
“Leave me…Richelle,” he groaned, unable to muster the effort or stifle the pain of each step. “Slow you down…you can…make it…without me.”
“No,” she grunted, grabbing his arm and placing it over her shoulder. “We are getting out of here. The both of us…together.”
Straining, she half-carried, half-dragged Jonathon to the rear entrance. Opening the door cautiously, she scanned the outside, making sure the coast was clear before exiting the building. Not quite night, the shadow of evening was edging out the daylight. If Jonathon was right, then the Immortals should be here soon.
She was turning around the corner onto the main fairway when she caught sight of the first group of them, two Believers coming from the front entrance with a young boy leading the way. He didn’t look old enough to have graduated high school, with his slight form and stringy hair, but that made no difference as he was leading the Believers to the fun house. She tried backing them up before they were spotted, but it was too late. The Believers began sprinting to where they were.
As she changed directions, she saw another two coming from the left and then finally from the right, all converging on her and Jonathon. There was no choice now. She would have to lead them toward the woods and take their chances against the foreboding forest.
Jonathon did his best to keep pace with Richelle as she dragged him toward the carnival’s edge. He made it as far as the semi-trailers before his legs gave out and he fell to the ground, rolling over onto his back as his head rolled from side to side. Richelle grabbed the front of his shirt, trying to lift him, but he was a dead weight.
“Run…to the forest…get away…run.”
“Not without you!” she shouted. “Now get up!” As he made it to his hands and knees, she was grabbed roughly by her hair and pulled around to face the man who appeared to be the leader of the group.
“You led us a merry chase, didn’t you, my little witch? But it’s over now.”
She struggled against his hold, trying to see where Jonathon was. He cast her aside and one of the others caught her, spinning her around and holding onto her wrist with a vise-like grip. She watched as the leader walked over to Jonathon and kicked him in the stomach, making him land face forward in the dirt.
“No, leave him alone!” she screamed, but she was ignored. Jonathon tried to stand up but could only make it to his knees. The Believers began circling around him like Indians around a wagon train, while she watched helplessly.
“So what have we here?” one taunted.
“Thought he was gonna git that bitch fer hisself.”
“Is that it, Jonathon? Did ya think you would get a chance to fuck her before giving her to Preacher?”
“Too selfish to share?”
“Did she seduce you?”
“She’s a witch castin’ dem evil spells. Bewitchin’ a man to do things.”
“Damn purty witch, though. Damn purty.”
Richelle could feel lustful urges rising as the men began eying her, some licking their lips while others blatantly rubbed their crotches. Oh, Goddess, not again. She struggled against her captor’s hold but could only watch helplessly as the Believers taunted Jonathon.
“Is that it, Jonathon? Did you fall in love with her?”
“No. I think the answer is much simpler.” All the men stopped as the leader walked over and bent over to be face to face with Jonathon, his reeking breath blowing in his face as he spoke. “I think what we have here is nothing more than a disbeliever…a traitor.”
He backed off a few steps and sneered as Jonathon swayed on his knees.
“Is that it?”
“Get an attack of conscience?”
“Nah, he a chicken-shit coward,” the boy who had led the others to them sneered. “Just turned yeller.”
“’Fraid of dem ’mortals?”
“I’m not afraid,” the boy emphatically declared as he puffed up his chest in a prideful gesture.
“It makes no difference. There is only one punishment for his betrayal.”
“Just make sure you tell them all,” the boy whined, “I was the one that found ’em.”
“They will know, Isaac.”
“An’ I wanna be there when he goes before Him. I wanna watch him be punished.”
“He will not be going before Him.”
Jonathon struggled to get to his feet, forcing his body to stop swaying as he looked into the eyes of his accuser.
“There is only one punishment. Death,” the leader stated coldly. Reaching into his back waistband, he pulled out a gun and pointed it at Jonathon.
“No!” Richelle screamed.
“May you rot in hell, traitor.” The leader raised his gun, smiling vindictively as he aimed it at Jonathon’s heart. With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Richelle yanked free from her captor. She broke through the ring of men rushing forward to stand between Jonathon and the leader.
“Good-bye, Jonathon.” As the leader fired the gun, Richelle threw her arms around Jonathon, her mind envisioning an invisible shield surrounding them to protect them from the bullet. She closed her eyes as she clung to Jonathon, waiting for an explosion of pain from a bullet finding its mark, which never came. Opening her eyes, she turned to see the bullet hovering in midair no more than six inches from her face. And then it fell harmlessly to the ground. The Believers began to fidget and the wind began to rise. Richelle still clung to Jonathon as he toppled to the ground. She shifted so she could cradle him in her arms, his head lying against her chest. She used her hand to cover his face, protecting it from debris swirling in the air.
The wind began whipping her hair wildly, and the Believers began to back away into a group before Richelle with fear in their eyes. All except for one.
The leader stepped forward and aimed his gun at Jonathon’s head. Richelle cradled him closer but didn’t hide her eyes this time. Instead, her gaze bore into his head as if daring him to pull the trigger, realizing he was nothing more than a cowardly bully. He wouldn’t be so brave if he didn’t have a gun.
She kept repeating that thought—He doesn’t have a gun, he doesn’t have a gun. She felt her face grow hot. He doesn’t have a gun. His hand trembled at first until he took a deep breath, and with great effort, he pulled the trigger. Click. He stared in frustrated disbelief at the gun in his hand. He aimed again. Click… Click. Nothing happened. Click, click, click. His rage evident, he threw the gun aside and pulled a knife from a bootstrap.