Resurrection

by Lissa Kasey

  He snarled in frustration even as the spell completed and the golem stopped moving. The roll of Seiran’s magic retook the golem, sliding the appearance of a human back over it. Gabe still held on as though the thing were a wriggling leviathan, instead of stone still as it was now.

  “Gabe?” Seiran called softly. The vampire’s eyes were closed and he seemed to be breathing hard, while motionless as only a vampire could be. Seiran took a couple slow steps backward, putting the counter between him and the vampire. The Focus bond meant that Gabe probably wouldn’t kill him. Maybe even couldn’t since Sei was the Pillar of Earth. But that didn’t mean Seiran couldn’t experience physical pain. He’d survived gunshot wounds to the head, being absorbed back into the earth, and a dozen other attacks over the years. He’d never experienced having his throat torn out, drowning in his own blood, while a revenant fed at him, and he hoped to never have to.

  “Gabe?” Seiran called again.

  One second Gabe was across the room on the floor, holding the golem. And the next, he was inches away from Seiran, only the giant marble island slowing him down as he reached for blood, his black eyes glazed over with a red edge of madness.

  Seiran’s heart flipped over, thinking he’d have to put Gabe back in the ground, and likely ruin his kitchen doing so. But the vampire grabbed the knife Seiran had used, and licked the tiny bits of blood from the blade.

  It clattered to the floor with a metal clang, and Sei expected Gabe to reach for him next, but he was gripping the counter, eyes closed.

  “Maybe… you could go wash off the blood?” Gabe asked in a very tight voice.

  Seiran’s gaze swept from the vampire to the golem. “There’s blood in the freezer for you.”

  “There is,” Gabe agreed quietly, but didn’t move from his spot, plastered to the edge of the marble island. Seiran really hoped he didn’t damage the stone.

  “The golem?” Seiran backed away, toward the stairway that led upward.

  “Bound for now. Yours… ours.”

  “Forest, go sit in that chair until I get back,” Seiran commanded, feeling the magic rip through him like a fist of energy rather than a request.

  Gabe sucked in air and squatted down beside the counter like the command had made it harder for him to hold back. “Go, clean… please?”

  “Okay, going, sorry. Be right back.”

  “Don’t run,” Gabe squeezed out, his face below the counter edge now. “Might chase…”

  Predatory instinct. Vampires were predators after all. Seiran knew that. The few he interacted with most days were so human-like that he sometimes forgot. But he moved slowly, backing toward the door, counting to keep his heart rate as even as possible until he reached the stairs and headed upward. He would have to get ready for his day anyway. He’d need to get to the office, and put the entire task force on finding who had killed vampires, not humans, to create a golem.

  Chapter 8

  It took Gabe a while to regain control. Hunger expanded in his gut in horrible, rippling pain. He heard the shower turn on upstairs and breathed deep with the hope that the scent of blood would soon fade.

  He estimated it probably took a good ten minutes to move from the counter. But he found the freezer with blood in it, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Old blood. And not the witch’s.

  There was a handwritten note on the microwave with instructions on how to warm it. Gabe followed them to the letter, trying to focus on the rotating cup warming, rather than the sound of Seiran moving upstairs. The need to find him was intense. Like distance was a bad thing. Gabe hoped it was due to the lack of blood, whether that meant in general he needed to eat, or that he craved Seiran’s blood, he wasn’t sure. The latter he knew would not be welcome.

  The tiny droplet that had remained on the knife he’d licked didn’t satisfy him so much as intensify the craving. And it couldn’t be correct anyway. No one tasted that good. Blood wasn’t like regular food. It couldn’t be rich and decadent like a piece of chocolate fudge cake drizzled in ganache and topped with the sweetest, juiciest strawberries imaginable.

  He didn’t even know what that was—those flavors, the texture—as he was sure he’d never eaten it. Yet he could vividly recall every detail of the dish, as though it had been a long time favorite. Perhaps not his favorite, but the witch’s.

  Blood was usually warm, metallic, and slightly bitter. Though the taste… small as it had been, and the lingering scent of the witch, claimed otherwise. A memory tied to the witch, perhaps? It had felt more real than that. Tasted like things Gabe couldn’t possibly remember. Vampires didn’t eat regular food. Their systems were too delicate for that. But Gabe could recall how the cake would melt on his tongue, the rich decadence of the chocolate topping, a lingering bite of sweetness with an edge of the bitterness.

  Maybe that was why vampires were warned to stay away from witches. Their blood was addicting. The power in it? Or, something more? Perhaps it was the witch himself that was different, appealing to Gabe because they were bound? Even some part of the death magic that animated vampires?

  The microwave beeped, and he carefully took the cup out, the ceramic hot enough to burn, but he didn’t loosen his grip on it. The pain was welcome, clarifying, grounding. It pushed back the edges of the revenant. He waited, letting the liquid cool a little before taking a sip. It was foul. Old, dead, weak, human blood. He could live this way, he knew he had in the past, but it would take more of these packets, and the lingering edge of the revenant would remain.

  His gaze fell on the golem. They weren’t all that different. The golem needed blood to be controlled, and Gabe would need blood to solidify his sanity. How long could he wait? Would he become like that animated toy and throw himself at the power soon? Maybe he shouldn’t have risen yet. He shouldn’t be this unsteady if he’d been ready to return. Had something pulled him back early? He vaguely recalled a tug of something while he’d lingered between worlds. Not the witch. He’d have recognized that. Death magic.

  He stared at the lines of magic tying up the golem. Part of the witch now, but so much death magic. Creating that, perhaps? Powerful enough to drag him out of the grave early? That couldn’t mean good things.

  Then there was that unusual overlay on the golem. Like there were things inside it. Golems were empty vessels of intent, fueled by death. It shouldn’t have anything inside. He tried to clarify what he was seeing, the swirling lines of three distinct colors. Not ties to Seiran or even the creator, something else. Souls? Not human ones either as they almost felt like… revenants.

  Was something trying to pull revenants out of vampires? Was that why he’d awoken?

  The witch hadn’t been willing to destroy the golem. Needing to find who created it. Gabe understood that. Death magic was never kind. Though Gabe was not as convinced of a crime as the witch seemed to be.

  Vampires used to hunt necromancers. No one much liked the idea of being controlled by some magic puppet master. Gabe could vividly recall a battle or two with a particular monster of mortal making. They were called the Dark Ages for a reason. The wars of magic wielders, and beings provoking a war, that had almost eliminated humanity. Witches and their ilk on one side. Shifters, and a dozen other monsters, on the other side. The vampires hadn’t begun on a side. Until their food sources began to die out.

  Gabe sipped at the nasty blood, letting it remind him of a battlefield of corpses, reanimated, as a particular nasty witch had sought to destroy the stronghold Gabe had created for himself and a handful of his children. He’d been obsessed, not with power back then, but safety. And there was safety in numbers, distance, and stone walls. At least until the darkness came.

  Having come into the world before the insanity of Christianity had taken over global religions, he hadn’t worried much about good or evil. People were food, be they lords or peasants. The only real evil was poverty and starvation, and death was often a kindness.

  For a while he’d followed the fringes of the movement, an almost hip
pie-like sense of love and peace, which would crop up over and over throughout history, only to be quashed by whoever the ruling class was, with war and death. He seemed to recall becoming familiar with the organized portion of the religion that grew up around him because it wielded power. And again, his thoughts returned to the ultimate goal, safety for him and his.

  The witches had created their own movement in direct opposition to the church. Again, vampires were caught in the middle, accepted by neither, as most of the other supernaturals fought back and died. Pointless destruction. That’s what humans did best, be they religious humans or magical ones. Which was why it struck him as weird that he’d be married to a witch, in the metaphysical sense at least.

  Survival? Or something more?

  The scent of Seiran’s blood still lingered. A long wafting of the most decadent of perfumes, leading like a trail upward, not fading as he’d hoped. He sipped the blood until the cup was empty, knowing the taste was not at all what the witch would be.

  Maybe he could seduce the witch. The vague memory of past seductions indicated he’d used that to feed. Perhaps even on the attractive man who was tied to him. Anger and betrayal were strong emotions, a delicate line walked with love. Gabe knew he had done something wrong. He didn’t know what. Mike hadn’t known specifics when he’d asked and there had been nothing in the media he could find. Whatever had happened, they’d kept it private.

  He wished he remembered more. The few things he’d found on his phone, before napping under the pull of the rising sun, were scattered, somewhat political, and very censored. The Dominion had erected Seiran Rou as some sort of golden boy of men practicing magic. Gabe suspected a lot of that was editing and spin. The impression he’d gotten from the witch himself, was of a man less patient with the bullshit of people, any people, witches or otherwise.

  He was also the type of man who got shit done. Dozens of articles about solved magic crimes testified to that. Which was something else that led Gabe to believe that the by-the-book persona portrayed to the world, was not who Seiran Rou was. It wasn’t like they could remove him, so instead they used him.

  Having the power of a Pillar, meant he would be in control of that element until that element reclaimed him. Death for a Pillar rarely came in sleep from old age. It also meant that others would hesitate to cross him. And that pleased Gabe for some reason. He hated the idea of anyone tormenting the witch, though he suspected it still happened from time to time.

  Their short time together made Gabe believe that Seiran had a backbone of steel, even if he didn’t always act like he was the most powerful in the room. How easily could the Pillar of Earth take a vampire like Maxwell Hart and put him in the ground? He could probably unravel a vampire as easily as the golem. But he didn’t.

  Everyone indicated that Gabe had harmed him. Why not unravel him? Or take vengeance on all vampires? The answer, Gabe suspected, was humility. Seiran Rou didn’t need to be power hungry because he had more power than anyone else on the planet. He didn’t need people to worship him or fear him, the entirety of the Dominion watched his every move. Like they would slap him down if he stepped out of line. Maybe they sent him strongly worded letters regularly. Gabe would have to do more research.

  The sad part was, that the more he looked into the witch, the more Gabe hurt. Physically and emotionally. It had begun with a headache, and the constant echo of his old sire’s admonishments about witches, mixed with tiny pops of memories, and images, all a chaos of broken puzzle pieces. The emotional bits were harder to explain. His rising worry, and an almost visceral desire to touch had awakened with the bashing of the golem on the wards. Gabe could sense the wards now, his senses tickling with their energy, as though they were a part of him, but separated by a barrier.

  It was their tie. The Focus bond, stretched between them, weak, and unfed from years of distance. But not all that unlike the tie to the golem, a bond of firm magic, extending only so far.

  Gabe rinsed out the cup while studying the magic wrapped around the golem. The new spell, written in blood and strong green ribbons of earth magic, wouldn’t have been visible to most anyone else. The golem sat in the chair, motionless, more like a statue than a person, though it appeared human. The bonds holding the golem was stronger, detailed in blood magic. Gabe could separate out the colors of magic, those of its creation, and those of Seiran’s spell; a web of woven lines, colors, and pulsing magic, that felt alive.

  He had a sort of visceral longing for those strands to encase him. The Focus bond would be deeper than a handful of pretty ties. It should encase them completely, much like he imagined the witch would feel right now, with water running over his skin.

  For a second, Gabe was upstairs, thoughts laced over Seiran’s, feeling the heat of the water, almost too hot, as it pounded over their skin in a fierce rhythm. Standing for a long time under the spray, more than to wash physically. Was he washing away the memories? The blood? Or the tears that blended with the water?

  Gabe withdrew as though burned by the thought. Back a day, and already tearing the witch apart. Maybe they hadn’t been well suited. He’d have to ask Max if there were other options. Perhaps they could maintain distance as a sort of partnership. He didn’t want to force himself on the man, even if they were bound.

  The golem began to fidget. Odd. He’d been so still before. Gabe could feel the golem tied to him through the witch, faint as it was. The sudden action almost felt like a tug on their connection. The golem tapping its feet and drumming its hands on its thighs seemed abrupt. Gabe stared another moment longer, then he heard the shower turn off upstairs.

  Something yanked hard on the tie to the golem. Gabe gasped, reacting by grabbing that tie for himself, and holding it in place. He could vaguely recall spells. Binding things, more vampire related than he thought actual magic. It was the type of things a sire could use on a fledgling vampire to control it. Gabe extended that strength over the golem, trying to keep it from going nuts again. If he had some of the Focus’s blood himself, he’d have been stronger, or even if the golem had been a vampire rather than a creature made up of magical death, he might have been able to hold it firmer. But it did stop moving, gaze turning Gabe’s way, eyes dark and vacant, like a revenant waited there.

  Okay, that wasn’t a good sign. Gabe set the empty cup in the sink and slowly moved around the counter. The golem’s attention firmly on him, but Gabe didn’t feel like he had any better control of it. The witch’s magic was threaded through the spell as though Gabe had pulled from a well not his own. Had Seiran noticed? Would he be mad? Maybe that was what Gabe had done before, perhaps not accidentally.

  He wondered how far the control went, but wasn’t about to start pushing his boundaries. The last thing he needed was a witch on the warpath any more than he needed the golem to go nuts right now.

  What had they named the creature again? Names had power. He studied the scattering of symbols, finding the one on its forehead glowing a little with power. Was someone else using its name?

  Gabe sorted through memories like wading through high tide until the symbol popped up with recognition. Forest. That was it. “Forest,” Gabe said, addressing the golem. “Stand.”

  The creature stood, though the fidgeting returned, his… its gaze remaining on Gabe. Gabe kept his grip on the bonds tight, like holding a brand-new vampire back from its first kill. That had never been easy. Vampires often found themselves back home, slaughtering loved ones because the memories of humanity mixed with those of the revenant. Was this one trying to return to those who had once loved it? Or was it merely being called?

  Gabe glanced upward. Maybe they should stay close to the witch. At least until Gabe was strong enough to hold a baby vampire again. Or until he tasted the witch from a vein.

  His body reacted to that in a way that almost startled him. And he found himself suddenly standing on the stairs instead of beside the counter. That small amount of blood, and the idea of drinking from the witch made him hard, needing,
and almost brought the revenant to the surface to take it.

  He sucked in air, gripping the railing, and hearing it crack beneath his strength.

  The golem moved behind him, standing at the bottom of the stairwell looking up, still fidgeting, but gaze solely on Gabe. Fuck. Distance for the golem seemed to be bad, meanwhile, Gabe was fighting to keep himself in place. Maybe they both had to stay near the witch.

  Gabe swallowed hard and said, “Forest, come,” as he headed up the stairs. Maybe the witch would put him back in the ground today. And that might just be okay.

  Chapter 9

  Seiran emerged from his shower to find Gabe and Forest in his room. The golem sitting in a chair near the door, and Gabe staring at the contents of Sei’s bookcases.

  At least he hadn’t emerged naked from the shower. Years with kids taught him that naked around the house meant someone was getting an eyeful. But the robe still made him feel vulnerable near Gabe. He had to work not to grip it tight like his virtue was in question.

  He headed to his closet, a giant walk-in thing, which was better organized because Jamie was sort of obsessive about everything in its place these days. Not that Sei’s wardrobe had lots of color to work with anymore, or variety. Most everything was work related. He had a few suits, but did so few formal affairs anymore, he didn’t know if they would fit.

  His mother had talked of having an old school coming out party for his kids, like one of the balls of yesteryear. He had put the kibosh on that fast enough. The point of those things was to make good matches among the witch families. Teenagers didn’t need to be married off like cattle, and he’d told his mother if she tried something like that, she’d find herself on his bad side, and cut off from access to her grandchildren.

  She was much more wary of him than she’d been when he was a child. But he’d also done a handful of pretty damn near impossible things that had made her realize the true strength of his magic. Tanaka Rou had always been a ball-busting tiger mom, but she treated his kids with a lot more compassion and grace than he’d ever seen as a child. Fear of him? Or love for the babies? He didn’t care as long as it produced results.