by Of Night
She showed no fear as he towered over them, raising the knife to drive it down. She waited, but he never completed the downward stroke. His arm began to shake as he tried to force the blade down into Jonathon’s heart, but he stood immobile, as if someone or something were holding his arm in midair.
“The…Immortals,” Jonathon whispered.
Then suddenly from thin air, two figures appeared behind the Believers, their eyes red as flames of fire. Each flailed an arm and Believers went flying through the air in all directions, and then each of the two figures went after the men individually. Richelle watched in awe as each man was handled efficiently…and permanently.
“Noooo!” the leader wailed as he tried to strike with the knife. “He cannot be allowed to live!” Laboriously, he took a step forward with a malicious curl to his upper lip. Then his sneer disappeared and was replaced by confusion and hatred. “He must die.”
Richelle pulled Jonathon tighter against her as the leader’s eyes bulged out. Gasping for air, he dropped the knife to clutch his throat. After a moment he fell to his knees and then after a few more moments he fell prostrate on the ground, motionless.
He was dead.
Richelle buried her face against Jonathon’s head, her hair falling forward to block her view of the dead man who lay at her feet. In her heart she wanted to feel a pang of regret for the men’s demise as they fell under Immortal justice. Instead, she cried with relief, kissing Jonathon’s forehead and hugging him. The wind died down as the Believers either lay dead on the ground or had run away. She looked up to see the two Immortals approaching her, one dragging the boy along with him. But before they could reach her, another hooded figure materialized before her.
He was dressed differently than the other Immortals. While they wore black contemporary clothing, he was clad old-worldly breeches and a poet shirt covered by a long robe. The first two radiated a passion and intensity rivaling the Believers’ fanaticism. But when this one removed his hood, his long silver hair and eyes gave him a serene and ethereal appearance.
Despite the immense power he emanated, Richelle could sense a deep sadness and vulnerability in his wise soul. She could feel the pain cutting him to the bone as he skirted the edge of dark and light, of Immortal and Vampyre. And as she peered deeper into his memories, she was shoved out of his mind, and the walls locked down tight. But she didn’t need to see any more. She had recognized him immediately from Madame Selene’s visions. With a breathy quality in her voice, she whispered his name in reverence.
“Nicolae.”
Chapter 10
“Awake, Valya.”
Feeling sluggish, Valya slowly awoke to the commanding voice calling to him from a distance. He was finding it difficult to come fully awake and then he remembered. Nicolae.
“Awake, Valya.”
“Nicolae, you son of a …”
“It would not be wise to insult she who was my mother.”
“Wait until I get my hands on you!” Valya sat up quickly, resulting in a bout of dizziness he was unaccustomed to. Nicolae must have exerted a great magnitude of energy to send him into a deep sleep, so deep he could not awake without help.
“We have Richelle.”
Valya closed his eyes and sighed with relief. There was no one more powerful than Nicolae. She would be safe with him until she was in his arms again.
“We have to tend to the wounded, and then I will return with her.”
Valya tensed immediately at the mention of injuries.
“Is she hurt?”
“She is not hurt.”
“I will come to her.”
“No. You will remain there until I bring her to you.”
“You press your luck, Great One. She is my life mate.”
“Yes, she is,” Nicolae concurred. “And as such, she is at risk as long as she is un-mated, from Luka as well as other mortals. You need to prepare to complete the bonding ritual.”
Valya reluctantly agreed. At this moment, he felt like he had imbibed large amounts of spirits. As Immortals were not immune to the effects of alcohol, he was always careful not to ingest the blood of those who had been drinking, as it also diminished the potency of the blood. It was his supposition that this was what a hangover felt like. Why do mortals do this to themselves?
“Because they are fooled by the delusion that they are in control,” Nicolae replied to Valya’s rhetorical question.
With any luck it would not take long for the effects of the sleep inducement to dissipate. He didn’t like feeling as if his head were immersed in a vat of mud.
“How long will you be?”
“Not long. Roman and Stefan will take care of the bodies. Richelle will help me take Jonathon back to the Protector’s lair so I can heal him. Then I will return her to you.”
Valya didn’t respond, but he grew agitated, like a caged tiger smelling blood. He didn’t like the idea of waiting, sitting on his hands so to speak. But Nicolae had spoken. After the Triad, Nicolae’s word was law.
So he would do as he was told.
“Bring her safely back to me. I will wait.”
* * * *
Richelle was a little wobbly materializing across town to the Protector’s home, and though Nicolae offered to carry Jonathon, she refused to relinquish her hold.
“Where should I put him?”
“Follow me.”
Nicolae led her through the apartment to two closed doors. Opening the one on the right, he waved his arm and Jonathon disappeared from her arms to materialize on the bed, his clothes removed but covered from the waist down by a sheet. Richelle, her eyes downcast, blushed and Nicolae chortled.
“After all you have been through, you blush.”
She ignored him as she went over to Jonathon and sat on the edge of the bed. Brushing his damp hair away from his forehead, she was struck by how much he resembled a little boy sleeping. When Nicolae removed Jonathon’s clothes, he must have cleaned him in some way as well. His dirty face and hair were washed and the odor indicative of the Believers was gone, although he hadn’t reeked as the others did.
“That is because his odor was of dirt and sweat. Much like the Guardians, you were able to smell the evil corrupting the Believers’ souls like an infected wound,” Nicolae remarked.
“But how could I—”
“How could you smell their evil? Your gifts.”
Richelle shook her head.
“My gifts are empathic and telepathic in nature.”
“Your gifts are so much more than that.” Their eyes locked. His gaze was kind and gentle, like a father’s. Like Duncan’s. She mulled over things that had happened, transporting from the carnival to the loft, the door lock, the bullet, the gun not working. Was it really me who did all that? She shook her head again as if denying it would make it not so.
“Believe me, little warrior witch, your gifts are more than you have imagined. Within you lies an untapped power that will be realized as you complete the bonding ritual with Valya—enough power to destroy Luka and thwart his evil plans.”
“To feel and hear thoughts and emotions in both man and beast is enough.” She harrumphed softly as she checked Jonathon’s wounds. She wasn’t surprised to find that they were healed, leaving jagged scars as reminders.
“It’s funny. We call them animals and yet their thoughts and emotions are so open. Wolves don’t cruelly hurt each other or kill for sport. They hunt for food and fight to protect the pack. They say man is superior, and yet, how often do we hurt and maim and kill for nothing more than empty prizes as glory…lust…power?”
“But yet, there is a power struggle in the pack to see who will dominate as the alpha wolf.”
Her eyes shot to Nicolae. Infuriated, she defended her wolves the same way she defended them to critics who were against Dr. Samuels’ wolf re-population program.
“It’s their nature. And once the alpha male has been established, he doesn’t try to dominate or take over other packs. He simply leads t
he pack in their daily search for food, shelter, and protection. In this way, they are no different than man. They want to live a peaceful existence.” She turned her attention back to Jonathon, brushing a stray lock away from his forehead. “It is man who goes against nature and destroys what he touches to satisfy his own selfish needs of self-worth.”
“Not all men,” he chided calmly. Richelle looked down at Jonathon and placed her hand over his heart.
“No. Not all men.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Will he be all right?” She touched her forehead to his, trying to sense his thoughts, but he was as blank as Valya was when he came to her in the meadow as a wolf.
Nicolae watched her gentle act. So good and kind, she would breathe fresh air into his people. But as a woman alone, she needed protection. Jonathon would heal and be available to aid Valya, but he could use help, especially during the daytime.
“You miss your wolf friends,” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I miss them.”
Nicolae closed his eyes as Richelle watched, not sure what he was doing. After a moment he stretched out his arms and leaned his head back. He brought his hands together creating a loud clap. The lights flickered for a moment, and the next thing she knew, a black fur ball came jumping against her almost knocking her from her seat.
* * * *
“Shadow?” she asked incredulously before throwing her arms around her black wolf. “Oh, Shadow!” She laughed and cried, not realizing how much she had missed her friend from the mountain.
“Richelle, loosen up. You’re choking me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said as she let go to sit back and look at him. His wolflike eyes filled her with relief. He had been so brave to offer his blood to Valya, but then they had to leave before she had seen to his recovery. “I’m sorry we left you the way we did.”
“It was necessary.”
“But still, after what you did…”
“It was my choice. My gift.”
She kissed his nose, happy to see him, and he retaliated by licking her face before she gave him another hug.
“Tell me, Richelle. Are you happy?”
“I’m not sure I know what happy is, Shadow. But I think I may be,” she replied mentally as she scratched behind his ears.
“Who is this one?”
“His name is Jonathon. He saved me. He is…my friend.” Richelle stumbled over the words. She had never had a human friend before. Duncan was more like the codgerly grandfather from Heidi and Alma was the kindly grandmother. It was a unique sensation, the feelings she felt for Jonathon. One she didn’t intend to lose. She directed her attention back to Nicolae.
“You never answered me. Is Jonathon going to be all right?”
“He will be fine. He will sleep for an hour and then, as humans say, he will be right as rain.”
Richelle sat up smiling, glad that her new friend would be all right, but still, she wouldn’t leave until she saw for herself.
“I don’t think that would be wise.”
Cocking her head to one side and raising a brow, she peered at Nicolae.
“You don’t think what would be wise?”
“Staying here. Valya awaits your return.”
“You know,” she reprimanded, “it isn’t polite to read other people’s thoughts. And don’t hand me that garbage about me ‘broadcasting’ them. I have been very careful about placing my mind shields.”
“My apologies, little warrior witch,” Nicolae replied, looking appropriately contrite at his actions. “Much like you with your gifts, I cannot always control my powers of telepathy, and I instinctively read those around me. That is a part of my nature.”
Richelle nodded in understanding. Until she met Valya, she fought against her gifts by avoiding the use of them, so she had little control. Nicolae had lived for centuries where his gifts were accepted, as much a part of him as his unique hair and eye color. Embracing his gifts, he would use them as naturally as breathing, sleeping, and feeding.
“I will stay until I see for myself Jonathon is all right.” She stood and went into the living room with Shadow trailing close behind, the tic-tic-tic of his paws ticking like a clock indicating the passage of time.
Giving an exasperated sigh, Nicolae nodded.
“Whether mortal or Immortal, there is no sense in arguing with a woman once she has set her mind. Valya will have to wait a little longer.”
* * * *
Luka’s roar could be heard throughout the tower. The Protectors had returned the young boy to the Tower of the Red Dragon, and Preacher had brought him before Luka to relate what had happened at the carnival. Needless to say, he was not pleased.
“Imbeciles! Nine men and a boy couldn’t handle a female and a traitor!”
Preacher said nothing when the boy rushed forward and fell to his knees, groveling before Luka. All his boasting and crowing dissipated as he had to face Luka’s wrath.
“There was n-nothin’ we c-could do! They h-had h-help!” He cowered.
“Nothing you could do? The Immortals did not arrive until after the sun had set! You should have found her before nightfall!” he screeched. “I will not listen to your excuses!” He spun to face Preacher.
“And you should have known there was a spy in your midst,” he spat. Preacher was terrified as Luka’s ice blue eyes changed to blood red, but to his credit, Preacher didn’t offer any explanations or excuses. He didn’t flinch from Luka’s rage.
Luka whirled and began flailing his arms, sending Vampyres and loose stone flying as he directed his rage onto others.
“Damn those Immortals!” A few of the Believers tried to escape the main room, only to find themselves dragged back and then thrown high in the air into the stone walls. He continued his rampage until most of his rage had been spent and he stood in the middle of the great hall, panting and heaving.
“What is your bidding, master?” Preacher dared to ask, risking Luka’s anger.
“Nothing’s changed! Find her, dammit! Send your followers into the city and find her! Kill anyone standing in your way, but I want Richelle found! Now!”
Preacher bowed at the waist as the Believers left the great hall, some limping after suffering Luka’s temper tantrum. Even the boy had tried to leave the hall, only to be stopped by two Vampyres blocking his path.
“No…not you, boy,” Luka growled. He waved a hand toward the boy, and two minions brought him forward. Preacher looked on, knowing what was going to happen and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“You failed me, boy.” The boy’s eyes grew wide with fright as he began to whimper.
“All your puffing and crowing like a rooster, and yet you failed me.” Luka pointed his finger at the boy, who began to twist and contort in pain, growing smaller and smaller. Feathers sprouted from his body, and his cries of pain and fear turned to squawking cackles until he was gone, transformed to a rooster. One of the Vampyres caught him and took him to Luka.
“Take him away,” he cooed as he stroked the back of the rooster. “Take him to the kitchen. Tell the cook I want roast chicken for tonight’s feast.” The Vampyre did as he was commanded, the rooster screeching and flapping its wings, trying to escape as it was taken from the room. “As for the rest of you, begone!”
* * * *
Preacher and the remainder of the followers left the hall until only Terezia remained. As always, she was hauntingly beautiful, dressed in midnight blue, which emphasized her white skin and ebony hair. But Luka felt only disdain when he looked at her, sauntering her way across the room to stand before him. She was not what he wanted—she was not Richelle.
“Perhaps there is a better way we can work off your…negative energy.” She ran her hand over his chest, the black silk brushing against her hand. She brought up the other and removed the shirt from his body, admiring how his muscles rippled beneath her touch.
He grabbed her wrist, pulling it back behind him, and drew her body
hard to him, her breasts squashed against his chest as she rubbed herself against him like a cat in heat. He could smell her arousal as his nostrils flared, but it did nothing to fire his loins.
He bent down and brutally kissed her, trying to ignite a flame that had long since been snuffed. Nothing. She was merely a vessel. He felt no passion, and his mind was filled with dark fantasies and how he would fulfill them with Richelle’s fresh blood and form.
Yet tonight, he needed to find release and Terezia would not be enough.
“I need more,” he snarled.
“I thought you might. Pamela.”
Luka looked over and saw a blond Vampyress dressed in a matching shade of midnight blue come out from the shadows. While her angelic appearance had transformed into one of a sultry vixen, he recognized her as the young girl he had enjoyed so thoroughly the night before. So thoroughly, he was not aroused by the thought of taking both.
“I need more!” he emphasized, pulling on Terezia’s arm harder, causing her to wince.
“I have a brother.”
Luka’s head jerked up as Pamela spoke. A brother, eh. Yes…that might do nicely. He released Terezia and stepped back, anticipation lighting his dead eyes.
“A brother.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“It has been several seasons since you last enjoyed an evening with a young man, hasn’t it, my love,” Terezia teased. “Just think…a young, virile man and the nightfall to take your pleasure.”
“Yesss,” he agreed, his tongue slithering out to lick his lips. “I would enjoy that immensely.” His mind began to spin at the possibilities.
“Of course, my lord,” Pamela continued, “he is not as innocent as I.”
“Are you saying he’s not a virgin, my dear?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes, my lord.”