by Amanda Jones
She opened her bedroom door, expecting more damage, but what she saw stopped her in her tracks. This horrible blast from the past still had the same debonair look about him. His hair was styled, he wore a black leather jacket and black jeans; the fashionable shoes on his feet were likely the best money could buy. Philippe. He hadn’t changed one bit in the past three centuries. It shouldn’t have surprised her, he was the vampire that had turned her, but being confronted by his timeless appearance was disconcerting nonetheless. After three centuries she hadn’t thought she’d ever see him again, yet here he was sitting on her bed with a bemused smile on his face.
“Lady Mary, as I live and breathe.” Philippe raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Or perhaps not as I live and breathe…it has been a while since I’ve needed to breathe.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Mara asked, her words coming out in a rush. “How did you find me?”
Philippe laughed as he got to his feet, swaggering slowly towards her. “You’re my child, my creation. I’ve always known where you are.
She shuddered as his smooth accent washed over her. It had changed over the years, but the touch of old French aristocracy was still there. His words seemed to slither around her ears like snakes, the evil behind the voice was finally apparent to her with her vampire senses.
“Why are you visiting me now? Why not before?” she asked, unsure if she really wanted to hear the answer, but information was power.
Philippe tapped his chin lightly with his forefinger, his look pensive. “That’s a good question. I guess it’s because you bored me.”
“You weren’t bored the last time we were together. You seemed to quite enjoy using me as your personal juice box.” Disgust laced her voice.
“What is it that human’s say when this happens? Ah yes, you were…an accident.” His smile was full of teeth.
Mara was knocked back by the revelation. Perhaps deep down she’d known that this was a cosmic mistake, but the idea of the last three centuries of her existence being unintended was difficult to hear. Every person whose life she’d saved, the money she’d given to charity and the poor…none of it was meant to have happened.
“So, you intended to kill me?” she said flatly. “I really was just a meal to you.”
“Oh, no,” Philippe said, taking another step closer as Mara matched him and took a step away. “You were far more than just a meal. It was a game, you see.” He smiled again, his fangs dropping with the remembrance of his vicious past. “It’s easy to find a meal. Back then the poor were everywhere for the taking, nobody looked for them. The world was a much easier place in which to hide. You were special. I took great pleasure in wooing the rich, feeding off aristocratic blood is much like drinking a glass of fine wine after living on cheap beer.”
“I see.” Mara looked down at the floor. “So, if I was just a fine vintage, why bother with the romance, why try to win my hand?” She raised her eyes, staring daggers at her killer. “Do you just enjoy toying with stupid young girls?”
He licked his lips slowly, as though remembering the taste of her blood. “Of course, that’s part of the fun. But the blood tastes so much better with a hint of despair and terror. The look in your eyes when you realized that it was your lover — the man you wanted to marry — who was going to be the instrument of your pain and demise. That makes the death so much sweeter.”
“You’re a sick psychopath.” Her disgust forced her to look away from his deceptively handsome face.
“But, of course!” He stepped towards her again, backing her up into a dresser. “What did you expect? But back to your other question…why did I not visit you before?” He placed his finger under her chin and tipped her head back to look into her eyes. “I watched you. You were beautiful to watch. Those green eyes of yours were so full of blood and death; you ripped into your victims with wild abandon. The bodies you left behind were like fine works of art. I thought, for a time anyhow, that I may have finally found my match in you, that perhaps the mistake was really a blessing from Sheol itself…a mate with a bloodlust that matched my own.”
Mara twisted her head away, the red that had begun to swim in his eyes made her physically ill. The idea of being watched while she was feral and violent, while she was her worst self was appalling. She’d dealt with her guilt long ago, she knew that the creature she’d been for those years was not of her own making, but the idea that he’d taken pleasure in her misery, in the blood of others was revolting.
He grasped her chin again, jerking her head back around so she was forced to look at him. “Imagine my disappointment when that milksop, Alexander, arrived and ruined you.” Philippe narrowed his eyes at her. “He was your ruination. I couldn’t bear to watch you become a shadow of what you were meant to be. I grew bored watching you as you fed from your victims with mercy and compassion, compensating them for their blood in good deeds and assistance. You disgusted me. You weren’t even worth the effort of killing anymore.”
Philippe released her chin with a shove, turning away from her and walking back across the room to pick something up from her nightstand.
“It seems things have changed now though.” He turned back to her, hiding whatever he’d grabbed in the palm of his hand. “I have to say that I approve of your new acquaintances. Perhaps there’s a way to turn you back into the killer you were meant to be after all.”
Mara frowned in confusion, but before she could utter a word of question, Philippe was flying towards her, his arm outstretched, a syringe in his hand. Spinning at top speed, Mara snatched a decorative knife off the top of her dresser. He’d killed her once, and if he was going to give it another go, she wasn’t going down without a fight. Mara raised her arm and swung with all of her preternatural strength, the knife whizzing through the air in a blur. Suddenly everything stopped. The knife was frozen no more than a millimeter from Philippe’s neck. He just stood there and laughed. Mara tried to force her arm forward but the knife wouldn’t budge. Philippe stood still, holding his arms out to his sides.
“Go on, then. Kill me,” he said.
“Gladly.” Mara stepped forward again, her knife raised.
She thrust her arm forward, driving the knife towards his heart only to have it stop again, the tip resting innocently against the leather of his jacket.
“What the…?”
“I see there are some things you have yet to learn about being a vampire.” He grabbed her wrist and squeezed until her bones ground together and she opened her hand, the knife clattering to the floor. “You can’t kill me.”
“Why the hell not? If anyone on earth needs killing, it’s you.” Mara hissed through clenched teeth.
Philippe twisted her arm around her back, forcing her hand up towards her shoulder blades. They were plastered up against each other; there was no way for her to break his hold.
“I’m your sire, love. Vampires are incapable of killing their sires…a law of the magic that sustains us I’m afraid.” Philippe bent his head down and licked up her neck.
Mara shuddered at his touch, the cold wet trail on her skin made her wretch. Philippe brought his free hand up into her field of view. Mara’s eyes widened as she saw the contents of the syringe. The congealed rusty substance was the stuff of vampire nightmares. Dead blood.
“No. No!” Mara shook her head as the needle drew closer.
“Oh, yes.” Philippe smiled menacingly.
Mara struggled in vain, her joints screaming in agony as she tried to break Philippe’s iron grip on her. She closed her eyes in defeat as she felt the tiny pinprick in her neck as the needle found its way home. A slow burn wended its way through her veins as the dead blood entered her body. The paralysis was immediate. Her body went numb; her limbs became useless. She was no more than a life-sized doll. Mara was locked in, awake and aware, but unable to make a move to defend herself or escape.
Philippe shifted his hold on her and hefted her over his shoulder, taking her weight easily, like she weighed no more
than the feather from an angel’s wing. He walked her through the apartment to the living room and threw open the window. The room looked out over the back courtyard of the building. He swung them out onto the ledge and began to scale the building back down to the ground, his fingers grasping the tiny spaces between the stones with ease. It was time to take his old flame to meet his old friend.
Chapter Thirty
Bataryal
B glanced at Sergei’s wall clock for what must have been the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. He’d been fine for the first hour and a half, but now he was downright antsy. She’d said she lived close by and that she’d be right back, but that was three hours ago now and she was nowhere to be found. He’d asked Sergei for her mobile number an hour ago, but had discovered that she’d left her phone in the bedroom when he’d followed the sound of her ringtone and found it under their bed. The phone must’ve fallen out of her pocket during their extra-curricular activities earlier. He’d give it another fifteen minutes and then he was heading out to find her.
Sighing, B looked over at his best friend. Yetarel seemed to be a good deal calmer than he’d been earlier, but he was definitely not in a good headspace. It seemed that recent events were proving too much for Yetarel to handle, between seeing B captured again, and being injected with demon blood for a second time, he looked like he was ready to snap. B had tried talking to him, but Yetarel had done everything short of leaping off the balcony to avoid him. History was repeating itself for Yetarel, and the dark memories of his past seemed to be rearing their ugly heads again. He’d decided to give his buddy some space for a while so he could wrap his head around what had happened, but the two of them needed to have a serious chat very soon. He had to make Yetarel understand that, though they would never be fully normal, there was a light at the end of the tunnel and a bright future was still possible. Finding Mara and pulling off what must have been a statistically improbable self-rescue had proven that.
The sound of the sliding balcony door shutting drew B’s attention. Sergei had stepped into the apartment and was holding something dark in his hand. B shoved himself back from the breakfast bar and made his way over to Sergei’s side.
“Whatcha got there?” he asked.
Sergei held up the beautiful black feather, it was shot through with streaks of midnight blue.
“I found it on the balcony.” he said.
B raised his eyebrows. “That must have come from one really big bird; it’s almost the size of a feather from an angel’s wing.”
Sergei looked up at B, a brief flicker of surprise streaked across his face before it settled. “Who knows, I’ve never been much of a bird watcher.” He shrugged and stuffed the feather into his jeans pocket.
B wasn’t quite sure what to make of Sergei’s reaction to the feather, but gave an internal shrug. They’d all been through a stressful couple of days; it was no surprise that they’d all be a bit off their game.
Sam sauntered over to join the two men. “No word from Mara?” he asked Sergei.
Sergei shook his head. “Nothing. I know she left her phone here, but she knows my number by heart.”
“I can’t sit here any longer doing nothing.” B turned to Sergei. “You need to give me her address. I’m going over there to check on her.”
Sam nodded at his two friends. “I hate to say it — but there’s definitely something wrong. An hour ago, I’d have said she was taking a long bath and lost track of time, but now I’d say something’s off.”
B clenched and unclenched his jaw from the stress. “All right, Sergei. Time to cough up that address.”
“Yeah. I can do that.” Sergei frowned. “I just don’t think you should go alone. There seems to be a major hit out on you guys. It might be safer for everyone to travel in groups for the time being.”
“Look, I’ll bring a small army with me if that’ll make you guys happy, but let’s get moving, I need to make sure Mara’s okay.” B was clearly agitated.
Sam nodded. “Agreed. The three of us will head to Mara’s.” He leaned around B to shout over at Bill and Al. “Can you guys stay here and keep an eye on things?” He surreptitiously tipped his head in Yetarel’s direction.
The other two fallen angels nodded in unison, shooting worried looks at Yetarel. He was sitting in a chair in a lonely corner, staring out the window. He hadn’t moved in quite some time, lost in thought.
B shook his head sadly as he looked over at his friend. “All right, guys. Let’s get moving.”
Sergei led them out of his building and down the street. B didn’t register anything around him — the world whizzing by as he walked beside his friends, his mind locked on all of the possibilities that they might discover upon reaching Mara’s apartment. What if she’d been hurt? What if she’d been killed? What if she’d changed her mind about him and was hiding in her house to avoid coming back to see him? All of the above made his heart beat faster and caused a thin line of sweat on his forehead. B watched as Sergei reached out to knock on the door, turning the handle and opening it when no answer came from inside. When the door opened, B’s stomach dropped as he took in the destruction. Her apartment had been tossed and she wasn’t answering the door. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he stepped over the threshold into a fresh nightmare.
“No. No. No. No.” B muttered as he ran through the apartment. “Mara!” He shouted as he threw open the bedroom door.
He stood there, standing in the empty bedroom among the tattered remains of her life. Clothes were strewn over the floor, drawers were upended, and the closet doors hung limply on their broken tracks. Sergei and Sam charged in after him, stopping dead when they saw the empty room. B turned slowly to face his friends, a look of devastation and pure agony on his face. He felt as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest and crushed in front of him.
“Shit,” Sam whispered softly.
B opened and closed his mouth, as though he were trying to formulate a sentence, but couldn’t.
“Guys, there’s something on the bed,” Sergei said softly as he rounded the room and leaned down to pick up the piece of paper that had been carefully laid out on the rumpled duvet cover.
Sergei glanced over the note as he walked back over to the guys. “Um, B, I think you’re gonna want to read this.” He held the paper out to his friend.
B snatched it up. It was addressed to him, a note written with blood used as ink, demanding his presence at a specific address at a specific time in exchange for Mara’s life. Part of him was relieved that she hadn’t run from him and that his desire for her hadn’t driven her to leave, the other part of him shuddered in fear at what might be happening to her at this very minute.
That address was familiar to him — it was the mansion where he’d been held and tortured.
His long, painful crawl to freedom had allowed him to familiarize himself with the neighborhood. He glanced over at the bedside clock and realized it was almost time for the meet. He had to leave right away if he was going to make it on time. He’d already put Mara at risk just by being in her life. There was no way he was going to be late when he had a chance to save her.
“I’ve got to go.” B said, tossing the paper on the floor. “I’m going alone; you guys need to stay out of this. I’m not letting anyone else get hurt because of me.”
Without waiting for an answer, B charged out of the apartment. Sam and Sergei stood there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway. Finally, Sam turned to Sergei.
“What did the note say?” he asked.
“It’s a trade, B for Mara’s safety.” Sergei bent down to pick the paper up from the floor. “There’s an address,” he said as he held it out to Sam.
Sam reached out and took the note, perusing it quickly before setting it on the dresser beside him.
“All right. Let’s get moving. There’s no way we’re letting him do this alone.” Sam turned to leave.
“Damn straight, but it’s gonna be a trap,” Sergei s
aid from behind him as they walked out the front door into the hallway.
Sam chuckled. “Of course it is. But we’re not leaving any angel behind.”
Chapter Thirty One
Mara
Mara stared up at the bedroom ceiling in frustration. The dead blood was starting to wear off, but not fast enough. The burning in her extremities was excruciating, but she refused to cry out in pain. Philippe would like that too much; it would surely cause him to come back into the room to toy with her. A single tear slid out of her eye and rolled down the side of her face. She would never give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d managed to hurt her again. Gritting her teeth, Mara turned her head to the side slowly, allowing the agony to wash over her in waves. The only way to hasten her recovery would be to feed. There was no way she was going to consume Philippe’s blood; the idea of taking any part of him into her body was revolting and made her shudder. He’d left her alone here until the dead blood wore off. He was just the type of psycho to be more excited if she was fighting back…sick fucker.
She squeezed her eyes shut and took herself to her happy place. B’s hands sliding along her body as he kissed her with his pent-up passion, lying in bed with him laughing about his snoring. Mara knew she had to free herself, that she was being used as bait to lure the fallen into this house. Philippe had laughed about it earlier, taunting her with what was in store for them when they staged their inevitable rescue. The mansion was surrounded by a strong magic that would lock any of the fallen within the confines of the home. Keir and Nyx were lying in wait with arrows whose tips were poisoned with the blood of hellhounds. The toxic blood would burn through their veins, rendering the fallen immobile and locked in a state of hallucination. With the fallen unable to move, it would be a simple task to infect them one by one with Satan’s blood, binding them to his will for eternity. They would be chained by Wolframite, condemned to suffer as they watched each other succumb to the darkness of Satan’s poison. Philippe had laughed as he described their trap. The joy on his face had made her sick to her stomach. How had she not been able to see the evil that lurked within him when she was young? It seemed to ooze out of his every pore.