by CC MacKenzie
In reality, vampyres fought wherever the fight took them, and that included sacred ground.
The Cathedral of The Immaculate Conception in Shanghai was constructed of red brick. Each brick manufactured by the hands of the faithful. With its soaring twin spires it sat somewhat incongruously among skyscrapers of steel and glass. The historic monument was a testament to the tenacity of the human spirit.
The Centuri checked out the grounds, the entrance, before Marcus stalked through the great doors of the Cathedral.
The being who stood waiting for them on the pulpit had hair the color of black coffee pulled back in a plait that reached his waist. Ezekiel’s pale skin was stretched taut across high cheekbones. Under slashing brows, brown eyes slid insolently over Marcus. He knew they were assessing the number of lethal weapons concealed under his calf length duster of soft black leather.
The witch was dressed from head to toe in armour of oiled leather the color of claret. He was backed by three Legionnaires who looked exactly what they were, heartless, conscience-free cocksuckers.
Marcus hadn’t seen Ezekiel, up close and personal, for over a hundred years. If anything the passing of time, and indulging in nefarious activities, had done nothing to negate the impact of his physical presence. The fucker was still built like a bull. Those heavy thighs made his leathers creek as he sat on the red-carpeted step of the dais.
Ezekiel leaned back on his elbows as if they were best pals meeting for a quick beer after a busy day at work.
And Marcus was so not in the mood for any of Ezekiel's shit.
His fists clenched as his eyes slitted.
"Where is she?"
Ezekiel's dark eyes narrowed as he studied Marcus, the furious mask of his face.
Then he nodded, once, as if something had satisfied him.
"Manners, Marcus. Anais is safe and well. For the moment."
The voice was too low, too soft, too... affable.
Marcus merely ran his tongue over his fangs and gave the bastard big eyes.
"You have five seconds to bring her to me or you won’t see the dawn."
Expecting an argument and praying for a fight, Marcus blinked when Ezekiel snapped his fingers.
A Legionnaire walked from behind a side door carrying in his arms a lifeless looking Anais.
She wore a thin silk robe, which did nothing to disguise the delicate flesh of her beautiful body. Seeing her pale face as she was carried in the arms of his enemy brought him a swift and savage anger, and a cold, clammy fear. Marcus didn’t care what anyone thought, in less than a second he had her in his arms.
A hand that wasn’t quite steady cupped her face, stroked her icy features.
Christ, she was unconscious.
And he couldn’t get a bead on her thoughts, her dreams or a single emotion.
He turned to Ian.
"Give me your coat."
Ian removed his duster as Marcus placed the love of his life in black leather and wrapped her tight.
He kissed her cold mouth before handing her to the huge Centuri.
The look that passed between them said it all.
If things go wrong, get her out alive.
Ian nodded once.
"How... touching," the soft voice came again, this time dripping with scorn edged with utter contempt.
Marcus turned his head to give the witch a long, hard stare.
He swore an oath that if Ezekiel changed the habit of a lifetime and found a woman to care for, he’d get payback, in spades.
A commotion at the doors to the Cathedral had them turn.
"Step away from the Witch!"
Marcus couldn’t help it, he rolled his eyes and was more than shocked when he caught Ezekiel mirroring the move even as he shook his head.
Surrounded by her Centuri guard, Saira Pattullo looked like a seriously pissed off and armed to the teeth Lara Croft. She took one look at Anais and flashed over to check her vital signs. Her creased forehead, the sharp hiss through Saira's teeth, told Marcus they had a problem.
"Out!" Marcus commanded Saira’s Italian Centuri.
They snapped to attention, turned and marched out the way they’d come in.
He turned his head at a choking sound behind him, his enquiring eyes clashed with Ezekiel’s.
"Something funny?" he growled.
"I see Saira’s still not channelling her feminine side."
Water off a duck's back, Saira didn't look at Ezekiel, instead her worried eyes stayed on Marcus. "She is alive, but unresponsive. I think she is be-spelled."
At that piece of interesting information, Marcus turned his head to stare daggers at the witch.
Ezekiel simply shrugged.
"Bad timing. Anais is a newborn. The human mind is a fragile thing. Her, err... trip off the balcony was more than her psyche could handle. In her mind, she’s gone to where she considers is a safe place. Unfortunately, she is stubborn and refuses to leave. Someone she trusts will need to go into her mind and retrieve her."
Since he’d experienced Anais's moment of terror for himself, and could see where this was going, Marcus again promised severe retribution in Ezekiel’s near future.
His eyes narrowed as the question growled in his throat,
"What trip off the balcony?"
Those cold, remorseless eyes met his.
"My Legionnaires had a little... fun, with her. One threw her over the balcony and the other caught her. She was perfectly safe. However, it frightened her. You can rest assured they have been punished."
Marcus eye-balled the Legionnaires standing behind Ezekiel with a look that promised vengeance.
They stared right through him.
Bastards.
Now he turned to Ezekiel.
"What do you want?"
The witch nodded once, as if that was the opening he'd been waiting for, and stood.
"You and I need to talk, alone."
Silence.
"I cannot think of one thing you and I need to discuss."
Ezekiel’s eyes went cold, dark as jet, and Marcus read a wary anxiety in those inky depths.
Something was definitely up if it had spooked this piece of shit.
Chapter Eighteen
Ezekiel seemed to know his way around the Cathedral.
Which was something of a surprise, since vampyres, witches and the church mixed like oil and water. Marcus decided to file that little bit of interesting information to think on later.
He led the way to a small side room lit by church candles, which appeared to be a priest’s room. Then he settled himself in a plush chair of burgundy velvet.
The scent of beeswax and incense forcibly reminded Marcus of a time, in the dim and distant past, when he and Ezekiel had fought on the same side.
Until the day Ezekiel had discovered the truth of his birth and had betrayed his race by embracing magic.
Dark magic.
"We have a problem," the witch said.
Did they indeed?
If someone was giving Ezekiel a problem, Marcus wanted to shake their hand, buy them a drink, and give them a fucking medal.
Through narrowed eyes, he studied the being sitting across from him.
The strong jaw was clenched and those dark eyes were grave.
Interesting.
"I think you mean you have a problem."
Ezekiel shook his head.
He spread his legs, leaned forward to lean his elbows on his knees.
Those dark eyes never left his and Marcus read sincerity.
He felt the first tickle of anxiety at the base of his spine.
"It is imperative I speak with the council. I need your father's help."
Not gonna happen.
Not in this lifetime.
Marcus shook his head.
"You gotta death wish?"
Ezekiel’s hands fisted and then relaxed.
Marcus had the distinct impression the witch was struggling with his patience.
Again that little f
lutter of concern crept further up his spinal column.
Dear old Ezekiel was not known for his... forbearance.
"Have you noticed something strange about me?" the witch asked Marcus with a straight face.
"Is that a trick question?"
He had plenty of other smart comeback lines, but Marcus caught himself when he realised the question was indeed deadly serious.
So he went with his instincts and told the truth.
"You’re looking better than expected, considering you harvest humans, which is a disgusting habit by the way."
Ezekiel simply shook his head.
"No. We do not harvest humans. Like you, we use Constantine’s hemoglobin products. The swine flu scare taught us a salutary lesson. If humans ever discovered the outbreak came from vampyres they would hunt us down, destroy us."
Now then, this was news.
His brow creased.
"I do not believe for one moment that Constantine would sell you, of all people, blood products."
Ezekiel’s voice went silky soft.
"Unlike you, Constantine is not troubled by political dogma, but with the greater good and the containment of disease. Although I admit it pains me, he does have an unhealthy concern about the human population. However, I cannot put my physical appearance down to his products alone."
Marcus's mind turned to an unconscious Anais resting in the Cathedral under the watchful eye of Saira and his Centuri.
"I do not have time for riddles, witch."
Ezekiel stood and paced to the door and back.
Marcus had never seen him so agitated.
He narrowed his eyes fractionally as the witch stopped before him and simply stared.
"It has to do with magic."
At that Marcus raised a dark brow.
"If you have pissed off the dark side, what is my father supposed to do about it? There’s a fucking good reason why it’s forbidden to tamper with hubble, bubble, toil and trouble."
Ezekiel dropped into his chair, and closed his eyes, pressing his fingertips into his eyelids in a way that told Marcus he was at the end of his tether.
He opened his eyes and now Marcus read real fear.
"Five days ago, within a matter of minutes, I lost over two hundred and fifty Legionnaires."
Marcus blinked.
Whoa.
He hadn’t heard of a battle.
These days the Centuri used hit and run guerrilla tactics against the Legion rather than full frontal assault.
Before he could ask how, where and why, Ezekiel continued,
"We were training in the Gobi desert. A portal opened and… something came through. The punch of power was unlike anything I’ve ever felt or seen. I lost consciousness. When I came round, bones were all that was left of my Legion." He shuddered. "Then, the portal began to dissipate. The thing stepped through into its own dimension. But then it turned and looked right at me and... smiled."
If something had the hots for Ezekiel and his motley crew then that was fine with Marcus.
He barely managed to restrain himself from doing a bum boogie.
Instead, he shrugged.
"Can’t say I’m sorry to hear you had your ass kicked by something big and bad from the dark-side. Let it be a lesson to you to stop messing with nature."
For an unremitting moment, Ezekiel simply stared at him.
"It was a soul-eater."
Marcus blinked.
Bull. Shit.
Marcus stood and yawned with a big lazy stretch.
He'd no idea what game the witch was playing but he wasn’t interested in fairy stories.
Now he turned to Ezekiel.
Gave him a big toothy grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"You know, you almost had me there."
"Anais saw it."
Marcus stood absolutely still.
Excuse the fuck out of me?
Now the bastard had his full attention.
"What does that mean?"
Ezekiel stood.
"When she arrived here, she was traumatized. So I... entered her mind, to calm her." He took another breath and their eyes met. "You are a lucky man, Marcus. Anais is... special."
Marcus didn’t like the tone of Ezekiel’s voice or the way his eyes went soft when the witch talked about his woman.
"Spit it out"’ he growled low in his throat.
Ezekiel took a breath.
"Think of it like a computer download of a file. I used a little magic to implant a sense of calm in her mind. I don’t know how she did it, but Anais slid right into my mind, into my memories. Marcus, she imprinted too fast and saw too much before I closed her down."
Bloody hell.
Nausea roiled in Marcus's gut.
Christ, Ezekiel was four hundred and twenty years old.
He’d done things, seen things that...
A cold sweat prickled on Marcus's top lip.
His baby would never be able to cope with seeing, hearing, smelling, touching...
Desperate to remain calm and not tear the bastard limb from limb, Marcus pointed at the witch and spoke very slowly and very carefully,
"Then you can just go back into her mind and wipe her memory clean."
Ezekiel shook his head and gave him that dead-on stare that drove Marcus fucking crazy.
"Anais is a ferociously clever woman with a big heart and an innocent soul."
Fisting his hands, which wanted to wrap themselves around the witch’s neck, Marcus's vampyre rose and took over the discussion.
His bones, his muscles, expanded and so exponentially did his anger.
"She is mine. If you have harmed her in any way, a soul-eater will be the least of your fucking worries."
Ezekiel took a deep breath.
"She’s refusing to let me in and is constantly calling for you."
Tricky son of a bitch.
"So you want to use magic on me? Not a chance. Nice try."
"It’s merely a simple case of my hand placed on your head and the other on hers."
Marcus got up close and in his face.
"So you can read my mind? Do I look fucking stupid to you?"
An icy disdain entered Ezekiel’s dark eyes.
He showed his fangs.
"Believe me, there is nothing in your mind I'd either want or need. If you are afraid, we’ll have your Centuri and Saira ready to slice out my heart if anything goes wrong. Trust me, Saira would greatly enjoy it. The longer you leave Anais trapped in her mind, the harder it will be to bring her back," he warned in a low voice filled to the brim with frustration.
Checkmate.
Marcus didn’t trust the bastard further than he could spit him.
But what choice did he have?
The thought of Anais, trapped, terrified and calling for him was too much for him to bear.
He strode to the door and threw it open to find the medic still fussing over Anais.
"Bring her in, Saira."
When Anais was laid on the low couch, Marcus lay on his side next to her, and pulled her, unresponsive, into his arms.
Saira, no surprise, was not happy with the plan.
But for once she didn’t argue.
Her dark eyes flashed with fury and a deep anxiety that matched the emotions balling in Marcus's gut.
Ezekiel knelt on the floor next to the couch and placed his hand on his woman's soft, fragrant hair.
And Marcus thought he’d implode with an impotent rage mixed with... jealousy.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath as a heavy hand was placed on his head.
Chapter Nineteen
She stood, all alone, among the dead.
Under a scorching sun Anais stared out over the vast wasteland of the Gobi desert.
The air crackled with a residual electrical charge.
The scent of it forcibly reminding her of spent fireworks.
Magic.
This was the world with magic.
Who’d have thought it had a sm
ell or that the hair on her arms would stand to attention.
So this was horror and terror - hundreds of leather clad skeletons turning to dust in the heat of a swirling desert wind.
The gritty remains of their bones bit her cheeks, stung her eyes.
Her gaze was frozen to the spot where a portal had opened. Like a computer, memories downloaded instantly, filling her mind with data. A rip in the space-time continuum, whatever the hell that was. Flashes of information - alternative realities - parallel universes - along with how mathematical facts and research now proved the science via experiments in the Hadron Collider at CERN in Geneva. Physics, laws of nature and the Universe all fought for dominion in her stunned brain.
It was information overload.
It was all too much.
The too heavy weight of Ezekiel’s personal memories, his emotions; his inner torment was an agony beyond pain, a pain that no being should ever endure, threatened to bring her to her knees.
Her fingertips pressed hard into her skull and Anais wondered if this was what insanity felt like.
"Marcus!" she called out again to the man she'd stubbornly refused to admit she loved.
Her voice was hoarse now. The desert wind whipped her hair around her face and like a thief snatched the sound of her voice.
She would never leave this place.
Unless and until the one she loved came for her.
But no matter how loud she cried his name, she was trapped as she stood among the dust of the dead.
Alone.
And deep in her heart, she was losing hope.
"Anais," the voice she loved more than life itself, the tone a low, throaty growl, brought her back from the brink.
She turned and there he was, Marcus.
A river of tears flowed unheeded down her face as he caught her close to his strong body. She did her level best to burrow inside his skin. If only this awful trembling of her bones would stop. She inhaled deeply. The scent of him was so familiar and real. By his presence alone he centred her reeling emotions.
"My wee darlin’, let me get you out of this place."
Still buried in his arms, Anais shook her head before lifting her drenched face to his.