by Of Night
Over and over again, she said his name as he cocooned her in a warmth and love, in heat and passion. How could she have ever doubted, how could she ever believed she belonged to another? Linking her mind with his, their spirits became one. His joy and elation became hers as their souls communed, a blissful reunion. She felt her spirit rising, rising, rising higher, about to leave her body to join Valya when she was ripped away by a vicious pull on her arm, wrenching her back to reality.
“And so I present the future mistress of Tower of the Red Dragon!”
“Please, Luka!” Selene rushed forward
Luka turned up his nose at her debasing supplication. “Begging? Hardly the behavior one would expect from the mother of the master of the world.”
“Luka, for your sake as well as mine, stop this madness! Release Richelle.”
“Silence! I will hear no more of your pleas! Accept my decree and remain! Refuse and die!”
Selene sighed in defeat. Nothing would deter Luka from his path of destruction. Hanging her head in feigned obedience, she walked toward his throne and stood at the base of the steps in the appearance of acceptance.
In triumph, Luka paraded Richelle in a wide circle amidst the cheering of his followers before he led her to his throne. Looking ahead, she was bathed in a cold sweat as she spied Pieter standing to the right of the throne. He was dressed in black leather pants and jacket over a black t-shirt with a goblet in hand as Victor…no, not Victor…as Preacher came up and stood a step behind Pieter.
Her eyes grew wide as she was towed ever nearer. The recovered memory of his face covered in Jonathon’s blood was a dagger in her heart. Dragging her feet, she tried to slow Luka’s pace. He yanked harder until they stood before the throne, where Pieter stepped down to stand on her left.
She felt faint standing between Luka and Pieter, each taking an arm as Preacher came forward with a worn Bible in his hands. Disgraced and humiliated, Preacher opened the Bible and, in a final irony, prepared to give the rite of holy matrimony. His sorrowful eyes met hers, expressing his repentance for his actions.
Casting a sideways glance to Selene, she looked for a hint of what to do. Selene gave a curt nod as the Immortals closed in, taking their strategic positions, bottling the Vampyres and Believers in the center of the great hall with no means to escape.
“Luka cel Rau, master of Tower of the Red Dragon, has found his bride!” Preacher proclaimed the empty words. “We are here to bear witness to the bonding ritual and welcome the birth of a new order!”
Not bloody likely! Valya seethed, advancing, his sword in hand, his grip tightening on the hilt. He motioned to Nicolae. They both disappeared to rematerialize on the alcove overlooking the throne, hidden behind the draperies.
“Luka cel Rau, this be your bride. Will you take her as your mate, taking her life and power into your keep for all eternity?”
“I will take her.” No declaration of love or respect, no giving, only taking. Richelle squelched her need to retch.
“Richelle Sommers, this be your master. Will you accept him as your mate, to bear his children and obey his commands for all eternity?” Richelle opened her mouth to refuse, but not a sound came out. Her mind was screaming no, but she couldn’t utter the word. She looked at Luka. His head lowered as he focused his gaze upon her. He was preventing her from saying no.
“She is speechless,” she heard Pieter state, and she whirled to look at him. “Continue with the ceremony.”
“I cannot,” Preacher stated with a condescending smile. “You know as well as I, she must accept him as her life mate. She must say the words, otherwise they are not truly bonded.”
Luka grabbed her by the shoulders, his nails biting into her skin through the dress. She felt them puncturing her skin, and she threw her head back in pain. His angelic features had morphed into a horrifying gargoyle-like image, his eyes ablaze with hatred as his canines elongated. His putrid breath filled her nostrils as he lowered his face to hers and heatedly issued his command.
“Say the words, Richelle!”
Richelle could only make squeaking noises as she felt Luka probing into her mind, his will overpowering hers and trying to force her to accept him. Closing her eyes, she shook her head, trying to regain control. He shook her violently, forcing her to open her eyes.
“Obey me! Say the words!” He lowered his head toward the opening of her dress, revealing his previous two blood takings. Baring his fangs, he readied to take third blood and complete the ritual whether she accepted him or not.
She felt as if she were falling into a bottomless abyss, flailing for something to hold onto to stop her descent. She searched within herself and just when it seemed she didn’t have any will left, the cloud of confusion lifted. She remembered…everything. All that she had been through, good and bad, had made her the person she was. Being with Valya had given her the strength to accept herself and to give her love to him freely.
She was imbued with an astounding sense of peace. It radiated out from her core like a white-hot star, energizing her. Luka released her arms as if he was burned and stared at her in confusion.
“No. I do not accept Luka as my life mate.”
“You are my bride!” Luka screeched in disbelief. “Obey me!” He transmitted his mental commands, but Richelle deflected his control with no more thought than swatting a mosquito.
She had found her power. Through Valya. It was through their love that she had found her inner courage and the strength to defy Luka.
“I do not accept you as my life mate. I am Richelle Sommers and I am the destined life mate of Valya cel Mare of the Immortals.”
“Valya,” Luka spat, “is dead!”
At that moment, Valya sprung into action, leaping from the alcove, his feet landing on the arms of Luka’s throne. He held his sword before him with both hands. Preacher ran over to where Selene and Richelle stood while Luka stared in outrage, taking a step back.
“You! You’re dead!”
“No, Luka. I am very much alive.” Valya grinned menacingly as he pointed his sword directly to where Luka’s heart would have been. “And I have come for my bride.”
“You shall not have her,” he jeered. “Pieter!”
* * * *
Richelle ran to Selene’s arms. Pieter stepped forward, removing his jacket and tossing it aside as a sword appeared in his hand.
“You’re a fool, Valya,” Pieter mocked. “To come here alone. You should have stayed dead.”
“You are the fool if you thought I would allow another to take my life mate,” Valya retorted. “Or that I would come here alone.”
On cue, the other Immortals appeared, weapons in hand. Richelle watched as the great hall exploded in battle. The Immortals faced insurmountable odds against the Vampyres and Believers…and were defeating them. Luka fisted his hands, his nails cutting into the palms of his hands. He spun, pointing his bony finger at Valya.
“I command you to destroy him!”
Pieter wasted no time and lunged toward Valya with a howl, his sword raised overhead. Valya flipped over Pieter, landing behind him as he turned to face his attacker. Held at bay by Selene, Richelle watched from the sidelines as Valya fought, his skill with the sword evident with every thrust and block. What lasted only a few moments seemed like an eternity to her.
They were in a tight clinch until Valya gave Pieter a succession of three head-butts, which sent him staggering back. Pieter reached his fingertips to his forehead and drew them back bloody from a small cut above his eye. He licked the blood from his fingers and scowled at Valya.
“You will pay for that, Immortal!”
“No, Pieter, it is you who will pay…with your miserable excuse for an existence!”
Pieter held his sword like a lance and drove at Valya. With the skill of a superior swordsman, Valya deflected the blow, twisted around with sword in hand, and, with one final blow, lopped off Pieter’s head. Screaming, Richelle covered her eyes and buried her face in Selene’s sh
oulder as Pieter’s head rolled about to lie at Luka’s feet.
Wide-eyed, Luka stared down at the dismembered head of his best warrior. Heaving, Valya widened his stance, facing Luka, and again pointed his sword at his absent heart.
“Now, Evil One. It is your turn.”
“I don’t think so…Immortal.”
Using his telekinetic powers, Luka began hurling furniture and weapons at Valya, the wind rising in the great hall as objects went flying through the air. While Valya deflected the objects, Luka turned on his heel and ran toward Richelle. Selene quickly thrust herself between Luka and Richelle. She struggled, only be thrown twenty feet and sent crashing into his throne.
Luka spun to face Richelle. Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a jeweled dagger and raised it above his head. Richelle raised her hands in defense as Luka glared at her. Shrieking, he brought the blade down, meaning to destroy her, but instead, the dagger was thrust between the shoulder blades of Preacher, who had thrown himself in front of Richelle.
He grunted as the knife entered his body. Richelle stared into Preacher’s eyes as she watched the life spark dim. Luka pulled the dagger out, and Preacher collapsed into Richelle’s arms. Gently, she lowered them to the floor. His eyes watery, he gazed up at Richelle.
“I’m so sorry…for everything. I didn’t know…or maybe I…didn’t care. But believe me…I’m sorry.” He coughed violently and spit up blood.
Cradling his head in her lap, she murmured words of encouragement, saying he would be all right. He merely smiled and shook his head as he coughed up more blood.
“It’s all right. I don’t fear death anymore.”
In truth, he didn’t fear death. What she sensed was his fear he was beyond redemption.
“You helped save me.” She chastely kissed his forehead. “There is nothing to fear.” He felt the numbing chill of death pass as he basked in the warmth of her gaze.
Preacher smiled longingly. With everything he had done to her, she still had forgiveness in her heart, for him. The unrecognized heaviness of guilt weighing him down dissipated. He was ready to die. He took a deep breath and then slowly closed his eyes, willingly surrendering his soul to whatever lay beyond this life, whether it be purgatory or hell.
There was no time for Richelle to weep. Luka grabbed at her, knocking the unwanted crown off her head. Fisting her hair, he dragged her to her feet until her back was at his front. He wrapped his arm around her throat, cutting off her oxygen as he leaned in, whispering heatedly in her ear.
“Do you think they can stop me, bitch! Everyone who has stood between me and my plan of world supremacy has been destroyed—your mother, Jonathon, Preacher. No one can defeat me or stop me in my conquest. And now this pathetic band of obsolete Methuselahs think they can defeat me. They will perish like all the others. You, and the world, will be mine to command and control!”
Richelle shivered in disgust when he licked the shell of her ear. She desperately clawed at his arm, trying to obtain some leeway, some type of leverage to get away, but he just tightened his grip. Yanking her head back to expose her neck, his teeth grazed along the column and her fear intensified.
He forced her to look at him. When their eyes met, she could feel every negative emotion bottled within him— envy, jealousy, hatred, and something deeper, a self-loathing so profound and unfathomable she couldn’t help but feel pity for what he had become.
He became incensed. “Pity! Pity! I don’t need your fucking pity! I am in control, not the Triad. I have defeated all who have challenged me!” he screamed, shaking violently, his rage barely contained as the walls reverberated with his intensity. “I have proven to them all that I am the superior warrior.” Contemptuously, he spat his loathing.
“So pious and so self-righteous, espousing the laws of the Immortals as absolute and then he breaches them to suit his own intentions. He refuses to bond with Selene. Then he fathers a child with Adelaide even though she is married to someone else and is unable to bond with him.”
The meaning of his statement was a slap in the face and explained so much—her apparent ease around Nicolae, the almost unseemly bond she felt with him. Nicolae was her father! It explained why she was able to control the speed of the Ferris wheel and get into the fun house at the carnival. She was part Immortal! She and Valya were not so different, and she was euphoric at the prospect. She struggled against his grip until she freed her hand and raked at his arm around her throat several times, leaving deep lacerations in his appendage, causing him to howl in pain. Free from his grip, she headed toward Valya, who was using the sword to swat flying objects away. But in an instant, Luka’s arm was around her waist, and he pulled her against his body.
Richelle pushed down the need to vomit, disgusted by the feel of his cock pressing against her buttocks. Sensing her revulsion, he ground his hips into her backside. Wrapping her locks around his hand, he pulled her head back until she thought he was going to snap her neck. He lapped up her fear-induced perspiration, nipping along her neck.
He stopped short of taking her blood, ceasing his mental attack upon the Immortals so all could watch as he claimed his final victory. His head bent over her throat, fangs bared for the Final Blood. He looked up to catch Valya’s fearful stare as he hovered over the pulsing vein of his lover. Valya gripped the hit of his sword and with a roar, raised it over his head and prepared to charge when Luka touched his mind.
“Stop! Or I won’t stop at third blood. I’ll kill her.”
Valya halted. He looked about the room, dismayed by the carnage left in the wake of Luka’s dishonorable ambitions and treachery. It had been a bloodbath. The Believers had all been destroyed while only a handful of Vampyres lay dead about the great hall. Ivan had fallen and would be a great loss, while the remainder of the Immortals came forward to join Valya, a united front against their common enemy.
“You have nothing to gain from Richelle’s death. Release her!”
“I have nothing to lose, either!” His Vampyres were gone—lying dead or fleeing the castle. His Believers were gone. He was alone as he faced Valya, his plans on the brink of ruination and his absolute faith in his omnipotence faltering, but he still had the upper hand in his battle with Valya. Richelle was Valya’s Achilles’ heel, and if he was to be thwarted, then he would destroy the thing that Valya valued more than his own life—his woman.
There was no reasoning with Luka. Valya recognized the crazed glint of his eyes from other madmen who had been lured by the promise of power and were drunk on the taste of dominated blood. Luka would never willingly release Richelle for any reason. Valya would have to take her. He motioned the other Immortals back. He would have to face Luka…alone.
Dropping his sword, he took a step forward with his arms opened wide in surrender. Luka arched a brow, but let Valya continue to come forward. Valya moved cautiously with no sudden movements to spook Luka, who still lingered over Richelle’s throat like a viper ready to strike at the first sign of danger.
“You don’t want to kill Richelle. You don’t want to bond with her, either. She is merely a tool, a weapon to be used to obtain your true desire.”
“Don’t use that humanistic psychobabble on me!” Luka snapped. He didn’t like how close Valya was getting. “Stay back! Or I will rip out her throat and let her bleed to death slowly while you watch!”
Valya stopped, not willing to take the risk. The air was charged with a heady testosterone as the Immortals began to encroach silently upon Luka and Richelle while Valya diverted Luka’s attention. Selene added to the diversion as she came forward to stand beside Valya.
“Please, Luka. It is not their fault. It’s mine. In my bitterness and hatred, I poisoned you against your own people. I did wrong by you, focusing on the sins of others and the punishment they deserved. I never taught you about the sins I committed, the karmic rules I disobeyed and then used you to exact my revenge. Do not blame Nicolae and the Immortals for having learned frailties from those they protected. If y
ou must blame someone, then blame me.”
She stretched out her hand to him, wishing he would take it. “For the man you should have been, forgive them and me. Release Richelle. Take my hand and we will face the Dawn and find atonement for our sins.”
Luka stared at her open hand with the bewildered look of someone who had never seen snow before. She could understand his confusion. Looking back, she had always been so angry…at him, at the world. She never spoke a kind word, never held him, never told him she loved him as all mothers loved their children. She had given all that up for revenge, and it was an empty trade.
But his confusion passed quickly, enraged by her offer.
“I told you before, woman! Why should I embrace peace on the eve of my victory! Begone!” With a nod, he sent her flying across the room to crash into the wall while Valya, Nicolae, and the others watched on, helpless. Nicolae rushed to her side where she landed.
Nicolae motioned toward Valya. “She’s alive,” he stated as he laid her down, making her as comfortable as possible.
Valya raised his sword and turned to face Luka, who was grinning sadistically.
“There is only one way you will be able to save Richelle.” Luka’s eyes narrowed as he fixated all his hatred on Valya. “Toss aside your sword and face me.”
Valya knew Luka would never release Richelle no matter what he did. He tossed aside his sword to the lamented outcries of his brothers, but he could do nothing else. It was his only way to get close enough to Luka to strike. He took several steps forward until he stood an arm’s length from Luka.
“Stop!”
Valya reluctantly stopped. Just another two steps and he could wrap his hands around Luka’s throat.
“Now…kneel before me. Kneel before your master.”
Richelle watched as Valya slowly fell to his knees. Although he was in a supplicant position, his expression was set in grim determination. Luka was a coward who could never have made Valya fall to his knees. He would only do so because he was using her against Valya. Tears spilled down her cheeks, frustrated and angry that she could be used as a pawn in Luka’s twisted game.