Unanswered questions tumbled in his head as he stumbled from the empty house. He ran straight into his father and choked on his own shock.
Seth smiled evilly at Pyre, and the son knew in an instant that whatever spilled from his father's lips would be a lie. The visions were real. Yet, he wisely kept his mouth shut as Seth offered Pyre his weak explanation.
"Dionesia found work in another city, son. They had to leave quickly."
Pyre just stared at Seth, swallowing the accusing words that he wanted to spit in his father's face. His lips pressed together as an unbreakable vise gripped his heart. His father had pushed him over the edge for the last time.
Without a word, Pyre brushed past Seth and fled into the night. The Nile River called to him. Its quiet whispers would help ease his pain as nothing else would.
* * * *
Pyre sat up in his bed, shaking off the antique memories. It was the twenty-first century now. He had avenged Ambrea's loss, but he still carried the wound like it had happened yesterday. He would never find peace.
He did feel immense sympathy for Vincent and Kate, always had, but something inside of him pulsed with irresistible evil desire. In the past, he had never denied himself the pleasure of human blood. Lately, however, Pyre's taste buds had changed. He began to find the taste of humans bitter. Sometimes, he even found himself throwing up after feeding. So he turned his appetite to animals and found that he liked the wilder taste.
It had taken him awhile to realize the source of his new outlook on food: Bianca's spell. His anger had flared, and he had been tempted to kill her because of it. Yet, something held him back. Deep down, he didn't really want to kill anymore. Was it more of the spell's doing or was it merely his old age creeping up on him? Pyre wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.
His thoughts scrambled through his head while he showered. Now he stood before the bathroom mirror. He blew on it, and the fog cleared to reveal his brown Egyptian face. He smirked as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror.
He knew it was ludicrous of humans to believe vampires had no souls. A mere parlor trick had convinced them of that. Shaking his head, Pyre tested his own ability, and his image faded from the mirror. Then, just as abruptly, he was staring into his dark brown eyes again. The problem with humans was they tended to believe almost anything they read.
Fools.
Pyre rubbed his hand along his smooth cheek. He was forever grateful that he had no hair on his face when he died the first time. What a pain in the ass it would have been had he been forced to shave every night for the past several thousand years. He thanked the gods for that.
After fixing his hair and throwing on some cologne, Pyre dressed in a pair of black cotton pants and a matching shirt. The material was crisp and clean and unobtrusive. He would blend in with the night perfectly.
His panthers followed him to the kitchen where he pulled a pint of animal blood out of the refrigerator. It was cold and thick. So he warmed it in the microwave before drinking it. Once done, Pyre retraced his steps to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. No sense having the smell of blood on his breath. People tended to shy away from that.
His plans for the evening began with a walk on the river front. The season was perfect for it. Perhaps he would investigate the gambling boats docked on Baton Rouge's Mississippi River. He wasn't sure. He simply longed for something adventurous to do but wasn't sure where to find it.
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Thirty-one
Pyre allowed the brisk wind to caress his skin. He breathed in the fresh Mississippi River air, licking the wetness from his lips. He stood on the levee in front of the Centroplex, gathering in his surroundings.
In the pre-Bianca days, Pyre would have made this venture into a hunt for nourishment. Cursed as he now was, he felt only the need for companionship. He searched the faces of passing people, finding none that piqued his curiosity enough. He felt no desire to interrupt their self-centered lives, and so he let them pass in complete oblivion to the monster in their midst.
Sighing, Pyre strolled slowly in the direction of the USS Kidd. His loneliness sent out signals that only his own kind could hear. Yet, he did not wish to frolic with another doomed creature such as he. He wanted a fresh un-beguiling human for companionship. Fate answers her own call.
Pyre stopped as a crowd of youthful teenagers passed by. Their carefree joy spilled over into him, and he smiled at their silly antics. He locked eyes with a young girl, and she stopped in her tracks. Her friends continued on, not realizing they were leaving her behind. She waited expectantly for Pyre's command.
Almost immediately, he realized his mistake. He had not held his powers in check and was about to set the young girl free when a voice stopped him cold.
"There was a time when you would have feasted upon her, Pyre, not set her free."
An image flashed in Pyre's mind—that of the young girl in his arms, her neck sweetly beneath his lips. He shook his head to clear it.
Pyre turned his head slowly to the right. Cleo, lovely, deceitful Cleo.
Pyre moved his head negatively. “I wondered who my loneliness would call."
Cleo's dark brown eyes managed to sparkle in the night. She smiled seductively at Pyre. “Your wish has always been my command, Pyre. You know that."
Pyre sighed, remembering a time when that had been his deepest desire—to have Cleo completely as his own. He had gotten his wish. Too bad it had turned around and bit him in the ass, like most wishes do.
"Cleo."
He whispered her name as if it were a precious flower. Yet his voice held regret. The essence of Cleo that he had wanted to capture for eternity had flown the moment he made her a vampire. Now he looked at the nine hundred year old vampress before him without besotted eyes. Time has a way of nourishing love or killing it.
Guess our love had traveled the wrong road. Cleo was definitely not Ambrea.
The moment was interrupted as a young boy touched the arm of the entranced girl. “Jill? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Pyre turned back to the teenagers, raising his arm as if to swat at a mosquito. The trance broke, and the girl blinked at Pyre in confusion. He turned the tables on the situation.
"Is there something you wanted, miss?” he asked.
Confused, the girl looked from the vampire to the boy. “No. I ... I don't know why I stopped."
Pyre smiled. “Think nothing of it, child, and be on your way."
Without hesitation, both teenagers hurried away from the strange man and woman. Neither consciously realized what a close brush with death they had come. Their souls knew. For the rest of the evening, they stuck closer to their friends, both silently frightened of something they couldn't name.
Pyre turned wearily to Cleo. “I want no quarrel with you."
The Egyptian woman wore a close-fitting brown and black dress with Egyptian symbols covering it. Wide gold bracelets encircled both wrists and a matching necklace encircled her throat.
Once a slave, always a slave. Pyre was wise enough not to mention her choice of style in reference to her past mortal life.
Cleo batted her lashes and looked subserviently at his feet. “I came to serve, not to fight."
Pyre crossed his arms and smirked at her. “It has not been so long that I have forgotten your ... acting abilities, Cleo. Please—"
Cleo grabbed his arm and pulled his ear close to her mouth. They were of the same height, so it was no effort on her part. Her breath tickled the inside of Pyre's head as she whispered urgently.
"Help me kill him."
Startled, Pyre stepped back. Cleo had resumed her subservient attitude, not daring to lift her face to his. “Kill who, Cleo?"
"My Master."
Pyre stifled a bitter laugh. “As if anyone can be your true master, Cleo."
Boldly, Cleo raised her brown eyes to his. “There has been only one."
Her chin trembled, and she left the statement hanging in the air, both knowing it
was true. Pyre let the comment slip by without commenting.
"Who is this...” he hesitated, “master you wish to murder?"
"He is Alak, and he is cruel."
"Is that not the way of masters, Cleo?"
Her chin lifted a notch. “I am a vampeer.” Her Egyptian accent peeked through the English words.
"Meaning you think yourself dominant to others? Especially those you bring over?"
"Aren't I?"
"You are, first and foremost, a slave, Cleo. Your soul knows nothing else. I am sorry. I tried to free you from your prison, but I fear the prison is you. Short of death—"
The slap was lightning fast and cracked the air around them. More shocked than hurt, Pyre looked into the fury of Cleo's face. “No philosophical bull shit, Pyre. Will you help me or not?"
Pyre's eyes darkened at her impunity, and he stopped his own hand in mid-air. He was of course stronger than she, even in his weakened state. Bones would still break.
With controlled rage, Pyre lowered his hand to his side. Where once the sky was clear, now dark clouds floated quickly at their master's bidding, covering the stars ominously.
"My patience has limits, Cleo."
"So does the slave in me, Pyre."
They stared each other down, as former slave challenged former master. The air around them snapped with electric power. Lightning flashed across the sky, and Cleo jumped. Pyre grabbed her by the arm before she could kneel submissively at his feet.
"Don't."
An understanding passed between the two, and Cleo smiled. “You will help me, then."
It was more of a statement then a question.
"Cruelty does not constitute death, Cleo."
"My fledgling has proven stronger than I. He is also quite possessive, and short of death...” Cleo purposefully mimicked Pyre's own words.
"So you have left him before."
"Many times. My punishment becomes more severe each time that he catches me."
"Modern women would say that he is stalking you,” Pyre noted.
Cleo nodded. “Yes, I am familiar with the term, Pyre. I am not stuck in my birth century. I have adapted to the times."
Her words were sassy and sharp. He overlooked the tone as he seriously considered helping her rid herself of a true monster.
"It will not be easy,” Pyre said.
"I know."
"And it will take time."
"I know this too."
Cleo took his hand, and Pyre allowed her to kiss it. “Thank you, master."
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Thirty-two
The black Corvette raced down Greenwell Springs Road, going north past Sullivan Road in a flash of light. The car blended with the night, and Cleo drove it like a professional race car driver. She swerved in and out of traffic, barely missing their bumpers. She was one with the road, and Pyre realized she'd been driving since cars were first invented. It was hard to beat over a hundred years of practice.
The four-lane narrowed down to a two-lane stretch of road, and Cleo swerved in front of an old white pickup just in time. Pyre had nerves of steel, and he looked at her with a bemused smile.
"If you think you are scaring me, Cleo, think again."
Her sultry laugh bounced around the inside of the car. “I wasn't, Pyre. Speed is a drug for me."
Taking her eyes off the road, she looked calmly at him. She felt the road more than she saw it, and she took each curve with knowing hands.
"What of the police, Cleo?"
"A little clouding of the mind, and they always seem to forget why they've stopped me.” Cleo licked her lips in some distant memory, and Pyre was certain that she'd done more than just mess with their minds. He let her feeding habits slide. To each their own.
Ten minutes later, Cleo slowed the car and turned onto a dirt road. It was an ordinary road, hard to notice if one wasn't looking for it. The car moved slowly, and it seemed they drove forever before coming to a dead end. With a flip of Cleo's hand, the brush on the left side moved to reveal a hidden driveway.
A large mansion loomed in the night. It was dark, and trees crowded around it protectively. Not a single light shone in any window, but vampires, of course, had perfect night vision.
Cleo parked the car in the garage, and silence wrapped around them. They both hesitated, searching for sounds. Pyre's senses picked up on insects and animals but that was all.
"He's not here,” Pyre murmured.
Cleo opened the door and slipped out of the car. “Am I relieved or disappointed?"
"You tell me."
Pyre followed her to the house. Cleo touched the doorknob, and the lock clicked open. They moved like ghosts through the mansion as she gave him a silent tour. She stopped at a set of stairs.
"We sleep in the attic,” she whispered, trembling. She laughed nervously. “I'm afraid in my own home."
Pyre placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. Without another word, Cleo led him into their sleeping place.
The moment he crossed the threshold, he knew something was terribly wrong. Evil surged like a living being through and around him. He gasped and sank to the floor clutching his chest. Magic vibrated in the immense attic.
Through a painful red haze, Pyre watched as Cleo knelt beside him. She brushed his dark hair back from his forehead. The strong magic paralyzed him, and he was powerless as she gently touched his jaw line.
She turned his head to the side, baring his neck. She then pressed her warm tongue against his jugular vein. Adrenaline pumped through him, but it was useless against the spell. She felt his fear thumping in that big thick vein, and she laughed cruelly. It was then that he knew there was no abusive lover ... except her.
Cleo inhaled the scent of him. “Ooo, Pyre. You've been a very wicked boy. Or should I say good boy? Does this goodness taste as sweet as it smells? You have the smell of something innocent."
Pyre closed his eyes and murmured ancient words of magic, but the black beast had cast him off. He was tainted with the scent of Heaven. His black magic had fled, and he had no knowledge of any white magic. If he survived, he would seek Bianca out and demand her teaching. He needed to know for future defense tactics.
"You've been practicing,” Pyre whispered. His mouth went suddenly dry, and he licked his lips nervously.
"I've done my best,” Cleo smirked. “Given the exception that you refused to teach me."
Pyre snorted in disgust. “You can't handle all the spells, Cleo. You're not strong enough."
She sat back on her heels and glared down at him. “You still refuse me? Do you realize what I can do to you, Pyre?"
"No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me."
Cleo shook her head, quickly losing her patience. She put her face close to his. “First, I'm going to rape your mind for all your spells, and then, when all your blood is gone and you're unconscious, I'm going to cut off your arms and legs and hide all the parts where no one will ever find them. And so, if by chance you are brought back, you'll be a vampiric paraplegic. Now, wouldn't that be a funny sight?"
"Hilarious, Cleo, just hilarious."
"Now, you could just teach me all you know, Pyre, but,” and at this Cleo pouted, “that would not be as much fun as destroying your soul."
"So I take it that I get no choice in this matter?” A dreadful feeling suddenly swept over Pyre as he realized how utterly helpless he had become, all thanks to Bianca.
"Nope."
Bianca, if ever I needed your help, now is the time.
"She can't hear you, Pyre. Part of the spell, you see,” Cleo whispered.
He was shocked that she could read his thoughts, as well as disturbed. “Bitch."
Cleo sighed. “Now, now, Pyre, compliments will get you nowhere."
Cleo jabbed her finger into his cheek. It sank through his flesh, and she scraped her fingernail at his cheekbone. He made a quick gasp of pain. Blood gushed down his face. Cleo leaned in and lapped it up with her tongue.<
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The next thing he knew, Cleo was spitting out blood on the floor. Her face held a look of distaste, and it was all she could do not to spill her cookies.
"Animal,” Cleo whispered. “You haven't feasted on a single human in months, have you?"
Now it was Pyre's turn to gloat. “What's the matter, Cleo? Am I not sweet enough for you?"
She got to her feet and stared at him with her hands on her hips. “Don't worry, Pyre. I'm going to fatten the pig up for the feast."
"If you think that I'm going to dine on humans, think again. In case you haven't noticed, I've already been the victim of a witch's spell."
Cleo frowned. “A good spell. Yes, I know, Pyre, but evil still lurks in the pit of your soul. I will nurture it and watch it grow. Then, I will snatch your very soul from under you."
Cleo clapped her hands together as a plan formed in her mind. “I have to leave for a bit. Make yourself at home, but you won't be able to leave the attic."
Without another word, Cleo left, not bothering to shut the attic door. If Pyre tried to cross it, she knew the spell would shock the hell out of him and throw him back in. It was sort of like a supernatural electrical doggy fence.
Once Cleo left, Pyre was able to move. The spell she had invoked gave her certain powers over him but only in her presence. He knew the spell and knew its rules. He hadn't been sure about it until she had read his mind. That had clenched it.
Bet you can't read my mind now, you slave-bitch.
He dusted off his clothes. He felt attic dust travel up his nose, and it was all he could do not to sneeze. Human afflictions hadn't bothered him until recently. He'd discovered that the less he drank of their blood, the more he became prone to certain human ailments. For instance, two weeks ago, he had gotten a cold: runny nose, headache, the works. Imagine, a vampire with a common cold. It was ridiculous.
Apparently, his immune system was deteriorating because his diet consisted only of animal blood. It also meant that his powers were decreasing.
The joys of being good.
Sighing, Pyre turned his attention to his new jail. The huge attic was empty except for a menacing chair at the other end. Upon closer inspection, Pyre realized it was an electric chair and plugged into a nearby generator.
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