But there was a small percentage, like Sebastian, who had managed to bring their faith with them through the making, through death. To these vampires, coupled with (some speculated) their angelic blood, holiness became power rather than their bane. All of them in the coven had descended one way or another from the same source, long before history began to be recorded. It was commonly believed that their existence was the result of a mating between an angel and a demon, though none living among them could confirm it. As the story went, the same demon impregnated a multitude of angels, and each resulting child began one of the vampire covens. Certainly as a species they embodied both aspects--light and darkness--with some leaning more toward one than the other.
The dawn threatened them both with pale fingers that clawed up from the eastern horizon. Across from him, the Serpent hissed, flicking out a forked tongue. It stared at him with dead snake-eyes that burned with the desire for vengeance. His head was completely devoid of hair, and the dark brown robe he wore slashed and torn in places. Sebastian's once-white shirt was likewise ripped and bloodied, as were the tailored trousers he wore.
Squaring off, Sebastian took up a crouched stance, ready when the snake lunged forward to slash at him with wicked, curving claws. His own claws were extended, and the two predators met mid-air with a clash, one growling and the other hissing around their fangs.
Neither vampire gave ground. Neither wanted to be on the defensive. They both came thudding back to the rooftop, only to regain their footing and clash again, their movements faster than the human mind could comprehend.
Around the perimeter of the rooftop, other vampires bled from the waning night, standing aside to watch their Prince do battle. Some, like Eric, wore the obvious desire to step in and help while others watched dispassionately. In either case, Sebastian would not have welcomed the interference. It was his duty to end this creature, and his honor would not allow him to win through greater numbers.
As he hoped, being in a consecrated place weakened the Disciple, slowing him down just enough to give the Prince the edge. Before he could track Sebastian's intent, he leaped in a flash of movement to one of the tall spires. With a crack of splintering wood, he broke free one of the crosses decorating the top. He swung it over his head just as the sun broke over the horizon, limning him in damaging light.
Two sounds broke the silence of the dawn. Sebastian's pained howl, and the sick, wet slurp that accompanied the end of the cross embedding itself in the serpent's heart.
Sebastian clung to the spire long enough to watch as the serpent arched and fell paralyzed to the ground, his blood spraying in an arc around the pristine white of the cross. The disciple saw his death coming when Eric stepped forward, claws unsheathed and, at Sebastian's nod, sliced the head clean from his body.
One after the other, the vampires began to slink away from the threat of the rising sun, dropping down over the side of the building. As Eric watched on, shielding himself as best he could with a sweatshirt held over his head, Sebastian met his gaze. Smoke rose up from the Prince as he stood momentarily bathed in the rays of a newborn day.
The next second he was gone, his hand slipping away from the spire as he plummeted toward the ground below. In the lull that followed the cessation of all that violence, the vampire community jockeyed for control under the assumption that their leader was dead.
Underneath Madrid in a cold, hidden cave, Sebastian woke to find Isabella hovering near. He knew his injuries were grievous before she had a chance to tell him. Bad, but not life threatening. Not anymore. Isabella had seen to that. He'd been out for several days, she said, guarded by his closest allies until he could recover.
In the interim, his voicemail filled up with messages from Laurel:
You have reached the voicemail box of Sebastian Thorn. He is unavailable to take your call, please leave a message. Beeeeeep.
“Hi, it’s Laurel. Just calling to see how you are, what you’re doing. I’m off for the next few hours, so call me back. Bye.” Click.
“I took a picture of myself in that one outfit you bought me, but I want to wait til we’re on the web-cam to send it, see what you think. Call me soon.”
“It’s Laurel again. You must be really busy. Anyway, I’ve got my phone on me. Call any time.”
It took another day of blood feeding and the black sleep to rouse him enough to secret him through hidden tunnels to his sanctuary. Here, where the walls were thick and the grounds guarded by hundreds instead of a select few, he healed and recovered.
The first thing he did when he was mobile and had a moment of privacy was call Laurel back.
“Sebastian! Oh thank god. How are you? I want to be there, will you let me come? Isabella called and told me you'd been injured in an accident,” she said, voice riddled with anxiety.
Standing shirtless on a balcony overlooking the cityscape at night, he drew his hand over the bandages that swathed his midsection.
“I would love nothing more than to see you, Laurel,” he said. “But the climate in the city at present is tenuous for me. I believe I will be able to return soon.”
He could hardly tell her the truth.
Leaning down, he rested his elbows on the balcony railing, cradling the phone to his ear. The sound of her voice was a balm on his world-weary soul.
“I can’t help it, Sebastian. I have a feeling that if I were stuck in another city, that you would move heaven and earth to try and be there, too. How soon is soon?”
“You know I would,” he said, concealing a grimace as he straightened up and paced toward the opened French doors. “Two weeks at the most, and then you can show me how much you missed me.” Absent from her for too long, his words brimmed with more sensual promise than they should have. “Now, tell me what you’ve been doing.”
He heard a quiet exhale on her end and smiled. It sounded like surrender.
“All right. I’ll wait for you. But I can’t wait to see you. - I’ve been busy with work and taking the camera out during my time off to practice. I really enjoy it,” she said.
“I can’t wait to see you either. Soon, I promise.” With the hand not holding the phone, he reached up to snag the door frame. Arching his back, he stretched his still healing torso.
“I miss you,” she said. “What is that saying? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? I think it must be true.”
While he was pleased to hear that she'd missed him, he was aware of their growing closeness, the obvious danger he was putting her in. The vicious killing field and his brush with death were constant reminders.
"I've missed you, too," he found himself saying anyway. “Are you getting any good pictures?”
“Maybe one or two decent shots. I’m still learning, but it’s wildly fun.” He could hear the excitement in her voice. “I’d love to take some of your home whenever you get back. At sunrise and sunset.”
“Sunrise and sunset? It sounds like you will be spending the night.”
“Will you see me off to sleep again if I do?” It was sultry, come-hither, even if she hadn't meant it to be.
Despite his injuries, his body tightened with predictable tension.
“Anytime,” he growled. She hitched a breath and it tripped sensation down his spine.
“I will hold you to that, you know. I loved it when you held me while I fell asleep.”
“You are brave with your promises from several thousand miles, minx.”
“Maybe I will make them when you are closer, hm? Yes, I think I will. Close enough to act upon, even.”
He listened to her laughter bubble across the line as she bantered with him, and his body hardened for her. “So sweet,” he murmured, not really meaning to speak aloud.
“Did you just call me dessert?”
“No, but I would not mind taking a bite.” Sebastian’s voice dropped to a silken purr while she continued to push his buttons.
“And where would you bite, darling?”
“Where would I not bite?” He was torn
between the desire to get his hands on her and the desire to laugh at her playfulness. With his sensitive hearing, he detected more in the background than she could have imagined. Like the sound the bed springs made when she laid down.
“Are you tired?” While the question was still falling from his tongue, Sebastian conjured an image to mind… and shared it with her. Sort of a mental overflow he sent across the miles, one that she would think she had dreamed up on her own.
They were standing in a room not unlike the hotel room in the city. Sheer curtains blew on the evening breeze, swaying on their rods like ghosts. Sebastian stood behind her in the shadows, a phantom lover with knowing hands. He whispered her hair aside, leaning down to bring his mouth to the back of her neck.
Sebastian let the image fade away in time to hear her quiet gasp. His tension increased, and he closed his eyes, picturing what she must look like laying across her bed with her pale hair tumbled across the covers. And then …
He was on his knees in front of her, shirtless. The moonlight glinted on his wide shoulders, mapping their breadth like lovers hands. The sheers licked silkily around her bared arms and shoulders.
Holding her bent back over one steely arm, he leaned in to brush his mouth against the delicate ridge of her collarbone. His teeth barely grazed her skin --
“Mm, no. No, Sebastian, I’m not ti--red.” Her voice broke over a breathless groan. “I could talk to you all night long. But you… probably need your rest.”
“What I need is you.” Desire thickened the words on his tongue. He heard her whisper his name as though in a daze, an unconscious plea. It was easy to bring her deeper into the dream scenario he created with nothing more than his thoughts -- and his want of her.
Sebastian curled her body against his in bed, snug against his masculine heat. He brought his hand up, brushing aside the strap of her nightgown. His mouth traced the ridge of her shoulder blade, canines scraping in an erotic sting against her flesh.
“But you have me.” Her whisper sounded surprised. Drugged.
He heard her moving restlessly on the bed and his body grew taut with passion. Wanting to bring her a little higher with him, he rolled one vision into the next, not letting one fully die before the other began.
He tightened his hand on her belly, shifting her until she was on her stomach. Sebastian loomed above her. He guided the satiny nightgown down the graceful line of her spine with deft hands, and each inch he revealed he marked with the drag of his tongue on her skin.
“Not nearly as much as I want.” Sebastian knew he should have stopped, that he was stepping over the line. But the little sounds she made, the way she whispered his name in excitement, intoxicated him. In response to the visions he continued to give her, he heard her move on the bed, a depression of the springs suggesting that she had rolled onto her stomach.
Her voice was a purr in his ear. “Don't stop.”
She was incredibly responsive, which only induced him to continue weaving his seductive magic around her.
“Never, Laurel. I’ll never stop.” His words were dark with sexual promise, rife with heat. Listening, he conjured up the next vision in the dream he was creating just for her.
..one hand opened underneath her, spreading open on her stomach and pressing her hips up toward his mouth. His teeth continued to drag against her skin, peeling back the silk that couldn’t hold a candle to her naked flesh. He paused his mouth on the sensitive spot just above her tailbone and sucked, teasing the nerve endings with nips that stung. His tongue came right behind the stings, soothing them with long, promising laps.
He could hear her shifting on the mattress, hear the groan she released followed by a begging, soft whine. His body throbbed with a corresponding ache of its own. “I need you.”
Moving her with ease, he slid her over onto her back like she weighed next to nothing. Braced on one hand above her, the set of his broad shoulders blotted out the room. He dipped his head, leaving the skin of her collarbone scored with the sting of his teeth, his mark. From there he drug his mouth between her breasts, lingering on the soft curve.
“Need me. Want me,” he whispered.
“I do. I do want you.”
His mouth forged a burning path down her body, dragging silk with it until her nightgown pooled dangerously low around her hips. With his tongue, he plied pleasure along the sweet flesh just above the apex of her thighs. Her phantom lover dipped lower, hands possessive on her hips, a growl in his throat. He took her with languid laps and swirls, with lightning licks and flickers. Slow, fast, driving her toward the edge of oblivion. She arched and cried out, one hand in his hair, tangling his name in whispers and exhales.
"Sebastian!"
It culminated in a flood of heat and shuddering aftershocks that he held her through, dragging out every last mewl of pleasure.
In Madrid, Sebastian felt a satisfying sense of possessiveness rocket through him. For all the danger, the doubt and the knowledge that he could bring nothing but pain and heartache to her life, he couldn't resist the temptation of feeding her passion through the ether just this one time.
“Someday,” he said into the phone, “ I will possess you utterly.”
“Are you blushing, Laurel?” Pepper asked.
Laurel glanced up from the tray on the counter. “...what? I'm not blushing.”
Pepper toyed with the bar in her lip. A habit Laurel was used to by now. She also knew that it meant Pepper was trying to decide whether she was lying or not. Grinning, because she had been caught thinking about the phone call with Sebastian a few days ago, Laurel picked up the tray and balanced it on her palm. Only one glass sat on the surface.
“I don't know what I'd have to be blushing about,” she said.
“Starts with an S, ends with an N.” Pepper, unrepentant about her blunt ways, looked amused and smug.
Laurel bit back a laugh. “We haven't done anything to blush about.”
The humor faded when thoughts of the...dream...re-surfaced. It was the best term she knew to describe the incredibly real images that had flashed through her mind that night. So real, that she'd woken up the next morning with a sore throat from groaning his name. One minute they were having a conversation on the phone and the next-- it was another day and she couldn't recall saying goodbye or hanging up. How humiliating to think she'd simply fallen asleep on him.
“Well maybe when he gets back. He's been gone a while, yeah?” Pepper asked.
Distracted from her thoughts, she met Pepper's eyes and smiled. “Almost six weeks. Feels like six years sometimes,” she admitted.
“Man, girl. You got it bad.” Pepper nodded, agreeing with herself.
That time, Laurel didn't try to contain a laugh. Or deny that she had it bad. “I know, I know.”
She stepped away from the bar, holding the tray in front of her, and made her way toward a booth against the far wall. The dark haired, dark eyed man sitting within was the only customer they had. Arriving an hour after nightfall, he'd come in from the rain and shown himself to a booth. This was his second glass of wine and Laurel set it on the table with a napkin beneath.
“That'll be four-fifty,” she said, glancing over to find him watching her. He had a direct stare, she noticed, and an efficient way of handling himself whenever he moved. From the pocket of a blazer, he removed a wallet and then a ten dollar bill.
He set the money on her tray. “Thank you. Keep the change.”
“Thanks,” she said, trying to place his accent. He looked Italian or Spanish, she thought. Definitely a foreigner. A good tipper, too.
“Is it always this slow?” he asked, holding the wine glass around the stem. He leaned back in the seat, regarding her steadily.
Tucking the tray against her hip, she smiled and glanced around the empty room before meeting his eyes again. “Depends on the day. And it's raining, so I don't expect we'll see much traffic tonight.”
She saw him look at her left hand and wondered if he was checking for a ring
. There was none. Not even a pale circle where one once sat. He lifted his gaze a moment later.
“Unfortunately, it makes a slow night for tips, does it not, Laurel?” Lifting the glass, he took a slow sip of the wine, watching her over the rim.
The casual use of her name startled her. She wore no name tag.
He rumbled a low laugh, like he'd read her mind, and gestured with his other hand toward the bar. “I heard the bartender say your name earlier.”
“Oh, of course,” she said, feeling ridiculous for being wary. His booth wasn't that far away from the counter.
“I'm Luceph,” he said, extending a hand across the table.
Laurel paused. It wasn't often guests introduced themselves like this. But she saw no harm in his kindness and shook his hand. Firm, brief, to the point. It was better than being groped or propositioned.
“Nice to meet you, Luceph.”
“Will you have a seat--”
“Laurel, may I speak with you a moment?” Sasha, her boss, who appeared from the back, spoke at the same time as Luceph.
By some miracle, Sasha hadn't fired her for taking a whole week off after Christmas. Business was slow anyway, she'd assured her. Laurel wondered if that was the reason for the impromptu meeting. Already her mind started doing the equations between savings and hotel room charges in case she was about to be let go.
“I'm sorry. Excuse me,” she said to Luceph, who held up a hand to acknowledge her duties.
“Another time,” he said.
She forced a smile and stepped away. Leaving the tray on the counter, she followed Sasha up the stairs to the second floor. Once they were in her office, a room with spare furnishings and a trio of windows, Sasha wasted no time getting to the point.
“Business has been pretty dismal, as you've noticed. Unfortunately, Laurel I have to let you go.” Sasha, a tall woman with impeccable fashion sense, gave Laurel an apologetic look.
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