by Of Night
Luka’s motley assemblage of sycophants came out from hiding. Their sniveling and groveling disappeared as they animatedly anticipated the evening’s promised festivities. Vampyres ran their tongues over their extended canines, awaiting the vulgar exhibition as Luka claimed his bride. Believers quivered in sexual expectation, openly masturbating in hopes of participating in a Romanesque orgy.
Silence ensued when Preacher appeared at the top of the stairs. As still as a statue, he surveyed the scene playing out before him. His stomach roiled in revulsion at the debauchery and corruption of those gathered to witness Luka’s “victory.” He was sickened at being a willing pawn in this squalid chess game, where Richelle was the queen sought by the black-and-white kings.
He could feel a change in the night, like the smell of the air when a thunderstorm approaches. The end was near. He just wasn’t sure if it was going to be the end of Richelle, Luka, or himself. Placing his long-surrendered faith in a faceless voice from the night, he pressed forward, waiting for Luka’s fanatical command.
“Bring forth…my bride,” Luka demanded darkly as his eyes flamed.
Preacher reluctantly motioned to three Vampyresses dressed in black carrying candelabras for light. They came forward, forming a single processional line as they came down the grand staircase, bridesmaids in this unholy ceremony, to take position along the wall. Preacher walked over and took one of the candelabras and walked to the head of the stairs. The assembly took their cue and came farther into the great hall, staring at the top of the stairs, waiting for their soon-to-be queen.
* * * *
Valya and the rest of the Immortals were hidden amongst the shadows, watching, waiting. Nicolae was troubled by the power he felt Selene exerting to keep their presence and mental conversations hidden from Luka. Although he was distracted, caught up in his self-inflated importance and seemingly uncontested success, Luka still was a powerful Vampyre. “Can you continue, Selene?”
“Y-y-yes,” she responded falteringly. She didn’t fool him. He could feel her strength waning, being sapped in her singular attempt to right the wrongs she had done. He opened himself and fortified her power with his own.
“Nicolae, no!” Selene tried to erect shields around her mind, adamant in an effort to block Nicolae’s assistance, but he was too powerful, and she was too weak, so she tried to appeal to his sensibility.
“Please stop. You and Valya are the key to Luka’s downfall. You will need to be at full force.”
“Take what I offer, Selene, as I offer it freely.”
“No. I am not worthy.” Choking back her tears, Selene was sincere in her plea, but they fell on deaf ears, and she felt the renewing energy flow through her, mingled with Nicolae’s concealed emotions of pride and love.
“Take what I offer as I offer it freely,” he repeated.
Graciously she accepted his gift, fortifying her diminishing power until she was once again at full capacity. She felt Nicolae’s mind withdraw as she reinforced the cloaking shield protecting them from Luka.
“Thank you, Nicolae.” Selene’s gratefulness was overshadowed by her concern when she felt Nicolae wavering at the sudden loss of energy.
“Do not fear for me. We need to reach Richelle.”
Selene silently agreed, and she mentally conveyed the vantage points each Immortal should take. Feeling Valya’s emotions beginning to rise, she tapped into his mind and constrained him before he could rush headlong into the throng below and reveal their presence.
“Release me! Richelle is near! I can reach her and take her away before—”
“Before what?” Nicolae interrupted. Despite how weak he was, his anger was unmistakable. “Before Luka sets his Vampyres and followers upon us? We are few against many and we are depending on the element of surprise to take the upper hand in this battle.”
Valya reined in his emotions as he spied Luka below demanding his bride. His bride! It took every ounce of constraint he could muster to keep himself from rushing forward and ripping Luka apart with his bare hands. Instead, he curbed his lust for revenge and infiltrated the castle, observed Luka’s actions, and waited for the right moment to lead the attack. The Immortals formed a united front as they turned their attention to the activity below.
Luka stepped forward to the foot of the staircase. Victory is mine, his mind raced triumphantly. Richelle is mine! He heard his chamber door close, followed by the slow and steady click…click…click echoing from the darkness. His cock pulsed steadily in expectation of his bride’s appearance, and he was not disappointed when she emerged into the flickering candlelight of the great hall.
There was a gasp of awe from the audience as Richelle stepped forward and placed her hand upon Preacher’s outstretched hand. Valya even drew a ragged breath as she was prominently displayed for all. Regardless of the significant change in her angelic appearance, he immediately recognized her—he would always recognize the other half of his heart.
She was compellingly beautiful.
No one in the castle could take their eyes off of her as she descended the staircase led by Preacher. Her hair cascaded like a waterfall from the top of the ornate crown upon her head with a teardrop ruby dangling from the widow’s peak. Her face was powdered while her lips were ruby red. Her eyes were exotic, painted with dark eye shadow, but no amount of makeup could hide her sea-green eyes.
The shimmering blood red dress was seemingly prim in its design, with its high collar and floor-length fabric covering Richelle, but sinfully hedonistic as it clung to her every curve, revealing every sinuous move of her hips. Valya’s eyes roved over her luscious figure. The fabric lovingly hugged her breasts. His eyes fell on the cutout of her dress over her left shoulder, revealing the evidence of Luka’s two blood takings.
Valya’s vision was tainted red and he growled low in discontent at Richelle being displayed like some battle trophy. His woman! He growled again, deeper, louder. As he watched her descend the staircase, his fury rose, threatening to overpower his Guardian breeding of control. His hands shook as he gripped the edge of the wall, his fingers biting into the stone, crushing it to dust beneath his incensed grasp.
“Steady, Valya. It is nearly time.”
Nicolae spoke reassuringly, fortifying Valya’s resolve as he released the wall, breathing deeply to push down his rage. Selene directed the others into fighting position behind the Vampyres in the Grand Hall below, while Nicolae and Valya stayed near Richelle. Watching. Selene disappeared and reappeared in the great hall. Waiting. She would need to time her entrance perfectly if she were to create a diversion.
Valya followed Preacher closely as he led Richelle down the staircase, keeping in step with them, being sure to stay hidden by the darkness created by the candlelit procession. His need for blood and revenge was as strong as his need for Richelle’s blood. He could feel his body clamoring for its mate, but he mutely followed Selene’s lead and watched.
Selene held herself in strict equanimity despite being besieged by Valya’s wild emotions surfacing erratically, Luka’s conceited self-assurance in his conquest, Preacher’s guarded manner at entering the arena, the lustful droning of the Vampyres and the Believers, mingling with the testosterone-laden heaviness from Immortals primed for battle. The air crackled with static electricity, setting her hair on end. And then there was Richelle.
Untouched by the imminent upheaval, Richelle regally descended the staircase. Selene recalled brief glimpses of Richelle’s childhood from her short reading at the carnival— living in the mountains, romping through the meadow surrounded by her guardian wolf pack. The contrast of her idyllic upbringing versus a potentially brutal future resulting in this surreal present, which would determine the future for the entire world, boggled her mind.
Richelle wore a blank expression as she descended the staircase, but Selene sensed that her spirit felt…troubled. With every step, it became increasingly difficult for her to breathe, each footfall becoming more and more heavy and lethargic. Staring
at the handsome face of her soon-to-be husband, through the haze of confusion, she couldn’t help but feel there was something…wrong…about this situation.
Even with the gaps in her memories, she knew expectant brides were supposed to be happy, almost giddy, their hearts pitter-pattering at the realization of spending the rest of their life with the man they loved. Yet when she looked at Luka, she felt…it felt wrong. Instead of being happy, she was filled with a longing she couldn’t name and couldn’t explain.
It was as if…he was wrong. She still had unclear flashes of a man with dark hair and eyes. The thought of the man from her visions made her legs weak and her womb flutter. She tried to focus on her intended, but her mind kept drifting to dark eyes that looked at her with such passion she could weep from its depth and devotion. Her anxiety increased with every trepidatious step, but she found herself unwillingly following Victor’s lead, like a lamb being led to slaughter.
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, she stared at Luka’s outstretched hand. Slowly, she removed her hand from Victor’s to place it in Luka’s, but then she stopped, pulling it back haltingly as she debated what to do. Luka’s expression turned intense, and he raised his hand a bit higher. She stared at his open palm, but she could not bring herself to accept his gesture. Overcome by an inescapable fear, she took a step back, preparing to turn and run up the stairs.
Sensing her panic, he took a step forward and used his mind to control Richelle, forcing her to stop. He probed deeper into her mind, commanding her to take her hand. A bead of perspiration formed on his brow as he met the challenge of Richelle’s will resisting him. Her own brow furrowed, refusing to surrender, while her mind reached out to seek assistance.
Nicolae was the first to feel Richelle’s power reaching out for help. He was buoyant that she was able to fend off Luka’s power, but his hopefulness turned to alarm as Valya was straining to respond to her cry for help. Acting quickly, Nicolae encompassed Valya in a force field to prevent him from rushing in and revealing their positions. Valya struggled in vain, but it took almost every ounce of power to restrain him.
His mind reached out to calm Valya but to no avail, so he turned his attention to Richelle instead. If he couldn’t put out the fire, he would stop the one fanning the flames.
“Be at ease, Richelle. We have arrived.”
Richelle stilled and listened to the rich, melodic tones of a voice speaking to her mind. Although she did not recognize the voice, it felt…familiar. Still not the rightness she hungered for, but more secure, safer than she felt in Luka’s presence. With the gaps in her memory, she had to rely on her emotions and instinct, and with every fiber in her being, she sensed this marriage was wrong. She needed to escape.
“Help me, please.”
“We will help but you must trust in us.”
The sound of his voice, the strength in his words filled her with a positive energy erasing all her fears. She inherently did trust him.
“What must I do?”
“Take Luka’s hand.”
“No!” Fear gripped at her throat. Maybe she was a little hasty in her decision to trust him. The more she thought on it, the more she believed Luka was…there was no other word for it…evil.
“Trust in us. We will not let Luka harm you.”
Slowly, he began to release Valya from his constraints, giving Richelle his trust that she would comply with his wishes. Valya did not dare speak as he stalked his bride. When this is over, he thought heatedly, I am going to kill Nicolae. Nicolae was steadfast despite Valya’s mental outburst, watching for Richelle’s response to his plea for trust.
Richelle hesitated, weighing his words before meeting Luka’s gaze, as she gave the appearance of compliance and smiled warmly at him. Luka’s superior grin when she took his hand and let him lead her onto the dance floor of the great hall made her stomach roil in repulsion. Making a wide sweep, he paraded Richelle before his obsequious underlings, showing off the spoils of his conquest.
“Behold, my bride!” he announced victoriously.
“The time has come,” Selene announced to the Immortals. “Be ready.”
She walked slowly from the shadows, lowering her shields as she approached Luka. He turned and sneered at her. “Welcome, Mother. So nice of you to join us on this, my wedding day.”
A wave of protectiveness washed over her. Despite all he had done, what he was planning to do…he was still her son. And what he had become was her fault. Her bitterness and anger at Nicolae for his refusal had denied Luka his mother, and her a son. For both their sakes and for what could have been, she had to beseech him this last time.
“Please, Luka. Forget this vendetta. Forgive me, forget your hatred, and embrace peace.”
Luka laughed haughtily, his minions joining in until the raucous laughter filled the hall with an intimidating thrumming. With a wave of his hand, the laughter was cut short, and he walked over to stand before her with his bride in hand.
“Forgive and embrace peace, Mother? And how would you suggest I do that? Should I give you a kiss? Forgive Nicolae for his treatment of you? Embrace peace by facing the Dawn? You are a fool! I stand upon the threshold of victory as the midnight hour approaches, and you want me to throw it all away on the obsolete beliefs of a dying race and the delusion of love?”
Selene kept her voice soft, pleading her case.
“Nicolae did no wrong. I had no right to do what I did—try to trick him into bonding. The Triad was right in sending me to exile. Everything I suffered was because of my own actions.”
“No! They had no right! Sanctimonious prigs all of them with their holier-than-thou attitudes.”
“They are protecting the Immortal teachings to give a sense of heritage and purpose—to protect mankind from evil.”
“What gives them the authority to tell us how to spend our existence? What gives them the right to pass judgment on others?”
“They are Immortals. It is their duty.”
“Fuck duty!” Luka became red-faced, tightening his grip on Richelle’s hand. She grimaced in pain but remained silent. “All my life, I had to watch the Immortals from afar, spouting their Ethics Code and duty to protect mortals. Nicolae, that self-righteous hypocrite, cast you out to pursue an idealistic notion of a life mate. Well, I defy that notion!”
He grabbed Richelle by the arm and shoved her in front of Selene. Richelle stifled a surprised gasp as she recognized the woman—the tarot reader from the carnival. Madame Selene! Selene mentally cautioned Richelle to remain silent. It was difficult, as Luka’s fingernails had grown and were biting into her skin through the skin fabric of her gown. “You see this! The woman from the prophecy, the key to my supremacy over the world! My bride, not the destined mate of Nicolae’s favorite Guardian, Valya, but my bride! Do you hear? My bride!”
Luka whirled Richelle around, dragging her to the middle of the great hall. Standing in the middle of the room he raised his arms overhead, strutting around Richelle like a peacock.
“Hear me!” he bellowed into the night, mentally casting his commands thousands of miles to the mountain home of the Immortals. “I welcome you to witness the bonding ritual of Richelle Sommers to Luka cel Rau, master of Tower of Red Dragon.”
Richelle’s stomach lurched but she stood fast, unwilling to let Luka know the idea of him touching her, of being his wife sickened her. At first, standing in the center of the room being gawked at, she felt a little shaky, but then she felt a warmth, as if someone had wrapped her in a blanket.
As Luka continued his condescending proclamation, Richelle sensed another presence—stronger, imposing, more…dominant.
“Remember me, mio dusa, for you are mine.”
Richelle raised her hand to clutch her throat. I know that voice. Her legs trembled as his husky voice touched something deep within her, making her feel all shivery. This is how a bride should feel, she affirmed and in that moment she knew. That voice… He was the dark-eyed man from her dreams. She was meant to b
e his bride.
“You are mine.”
She listened as he mentally conveyed his love with his elegant and courtly words of devotion, the underlying passion sparking a flame within her that had been all but extinguished with her arrival at Red Dragon. Madame Selene was here. So was her mysterious lover. Were there others? She reached out and sensed the presence of several others, all focused, determined, and prepared for battle.
And so was she.
Ignoring Luka’s narcissistic oration, Richelle focused her will to communicate with Madame Selene and the mounting presence of justice entering her unguarded mind. Following her growing confidence, she welcomed the presence without hesitation or regrets.
“Madame Selene!”
“Yes, my dear child. It is I…and I brought help.”
“I know,” she acknowledged. “I feel them. I feel…him.”
“Feel…who?” Selene knew who Richelle was referring to, but Richelle had to freely choose him to complete the bonding ritual—she had to remember and say his name. “Him…I can’t remember his name but I know him.”
“Think, Richelle…who?”
“The man from my dreams. The dark warrior. My…my…” Richelle grasped for the right word for her faceless dream man. In a flash, it came to her. “My Guardian…Valya.”
Hearing her call, Valya growled and his chest puffed in satisfaction. Selene was right. Richelle did recognize him. Dangerously close to rushing forward and destroying all who stood between him and his bride, he wanted to complete the ritual that he had irrationally delayed in his shame and stubbornness. But instead, he closed his eyes and astrally projected himself to her side.
“I am Valya. I am with you. You are mine.”
Richelle gasped in astonishment as she felt his arms wrap around her. Feeling his spirit holding her in his arms and then flowing through her, filling her mind and body in a tender caress that could not be seen, only felt, she sighed in pleasure. The shattered bits of her memory and fractured segments of her soul melded together.
“Valya. Valya.”