by N M Thorn
“The short answer is yes,” Damian said. “He’s a trader, but it’s not all black and white. I’ll tell you everything once you get out of the shower and change. Sorry, bro, but unlike you, I do feel cold, and right now I’m freezing my ass off, sitting with you here—wet, in a puddle of icy water.”
Damian got up and offered his hand to Cole. Taking it, Cole rose to his feet and walked out of the stall, dripping cold water on the floor. Damian pulled his own shirt off and grabbed a towel, drying his body as much as he could, shivers running through him.
“I’ll be right back,” he muttered and walked out the door. He ran to his own bedroom, leaving wet footprints on River’s carpet. Without slowing down, he stripped his wet clothes, throwing everything on the floor, quickly changed and returned to his brother.
By the time he came back, the vampire had changed into a fresh set of clothes and sat in a chair with his legs stretched, his face calm and relaxed. Damian sat down on the bed across from him, leaning forward with his arms resting on his lap.
“The guards talked. They just couldn’t keep their fucking mouths shut for a goddamn second,” growled Cole. “From their conversation, I got a pretty good idea of what Ricardo’s real business was.” An uneven smirk—a mix of undiluted fury and disdain—distorted his lips. “They couldn’t stand the idea that Ricardo decided to let us go, saying that someone as powerful as you and a vampire as old as myself could’ve been sold for a big buck and that would mean a happy payday for them.”
“Cole—,” started Damian, but his brother shook his head, interrupting him.
“Don’t get me wrong, all that was quite unpleasant, but not the end of the world,” he continued. “However, there was something they said that made me...” He froze for a moment, his fingers clenched into tight fists. “How do I put it... It made me want to tear their throats with my own fangs!”
Cole growled the last words, anger igniting his eyes with a bright scarlet glow. He laughed again, a cold and dangerous sound rumbling in his chest, and for a brief moment, Damian saw his brother for what he truly was—a deadly, ancient vampire.
“What did they say?” asked Damian, watching Cole close his eyes to force his anger under control.
“They spoke of a vampire who was even older than me. They ‘processed’ him a few years ago, taking a big chunk of cash in return.” Cole glanced out the window where the sky just started to lighten up with the grayish colors of the upcoming sunrise. “Anyway, I’m not going to repeat all the disgusting crap they said. The gist is, I’m positive they were talking about Ruslan, my maker. He disappeared without a trace a few years ago.”
“Cole,” Damian said softly, “you realize it could have been anyone. There are quite a few old vampires in Arizona.”
“No,” objected Cole. “Not as many as you think. With Roxana and Luciano gone and Ruslan missing, I’m the oldest vampire in the Greater Phoenix area now, as far as I know. I’m positive they spoke about him. Ruslan is a few thousand years old and an unmatched swordsman. It would make all the sense in the world to sell him to one of the Fighting Houses.” He fell silent and punched the air with his fist, anger darkening his features. “But I searched for Ruslan everywhere, including the underground fighting pits. I receive invitations to their high-level events all the time, and as much as I hate being there, I went to every single event—Ruslan wasn’t there. I checked every goddamn House in the United States personally, traveling from state to state. He wasn’t one of the Captive or Unattached fighters.”
“How can you be so sure the guards spoke about him?”
Cole chuckled. “I asked them a few questions, and they actually answered. They said that the Queen of the Vampire Court herself delivered this vampire to them. They said without her help they could never have captured someone like him. Roxana used to hate Ruslan, Dima. That goddamn vindictive bitch...” He bit his lip, a deep wrinkle crossing his forehead. “I’m positive. It was him. Now, the question is, would Ricardo be willing to help me save my maker?”
Damian let out a harsh breath, raking his fingers through his wet hair, feeling as if the noose Ricardo had placed around his neck just became tighter.
“Something tells me he might be quite agreeable,” murmured Damian, rising. “If your maker is alive, we’ll find him, Cole. One problem at the time, though. Let me take care of the necromancer issue first, and then we’ll see what needs to be done.”
It didn’t take long for Damian and Cole to tell everything that had happened since they left Paradise Manor. For the most part, it was Cole speaking. Now calm and relaxed, Cole delivered the story in such a lighthearted and humorous manner that even though everything he said was true, it didn’t seem as terrifying as it really had been.
Too tired to go through the motions, Damian sat on the couch next to River, barely able to keep his eyes open, his fingers threading through Gypsy’s long fur absentmindedly. When Cole was done, Damian filled in some blanks, only skipping the parts of his conversation with Ricardo that he considered confidential. He didn’t want to get into the explanation of how the underground fighting pits worked and what part Ricardo played in delivering new fighters to the Heads of Houses, so he left all of it out.
“So, now that you have the dagger, what’s your next step?” asked River when they finished their story.
Damian sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes. “What time is it?” he asked, too tired to raise his hand and look at his wristwatch.
“Ten to five,” replied Ace, stifling a yawn.
“I need to get some sleep,” he said. “The gray stone magic drained me, and I need to get some rest to restore my power. As soon as I wake up, I’ll visit Az. Let’s see if he can scry for the necromancer.” He got up with a low groan and rolled his sore shoulders. “Cole, if I’m not up by five P.M., wake me.”
Damian walked out of the living room, barely understanding what his friends were saying. All this time, the stress of the mission had charged his system with adrenalin, and he didn’t feel how truly tired physically and drained magically he was. He staggered along the hallway, supporting himself with his arm against the wall, and when he finally made it to his room, he dropped on top of his bed, dead to the world.
“Damian, wake up... wake up...”
At the first touch of his shoulder, Damian jolted upright. With his mind frazzled by the infinite loop of nightmares, he couldn’t see clearly right away. Terrifying visions were flashing before his wide-open eyes nonstop. Cries of pain, screams of terror and pleas for help invaded his hearing, turning into a continuous cacophony. Acting on pure instinct, he rolled over his shoulder, sliding to the floor on the other side of the bed, and crouched in a defensive position with his back pressed against the wall, his daggers blazing in his hands.
“Damian! Wake up!”
The voice sounded familiar, but through the overwhelming noise in his ears, he couldn’t recognize it.
“Dima!”
A strong arm yanked him away from the wall and wrapped around his neck, cutting his air. Someone’s hand applied brutal pressure to the back of his head, forcing it down. He struggled against the hold, but as his oxygen-deprived brain fogged, he lowered his arms powerlessly, and his daggers dropped to the floor with a loud clatter.
“Dima, wake up, brother... You must wake up!”
The voice was familiar. He knew it... he recognized it.
“Cole...” he whispered, his fingers clutching at his brother’s arm wrapped around his throat. The blood-curdling pandemonium in his hearing dwindled to nothing, and the visions slowed down, gradually disappearing. “Cole, I’m awake... let go... you’re suffocating me.”
Cole released the pressure on his head and throat just a little. “Easy now,” he whispered into his ear. “Can you stand on your own?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, tapping Cole’s arm.
The vampire let go slowly, supporting him with his shoulder. Damian straightened and blinked a few times. What he saw made him stagg
er a step backward, running into Cole, and he froze in place, unable to believe his eyes. His mattress and blanket were destroyed, cut to shreds. Pillows were ripped apart, feathers covering everything around him. River stood a few feet away, clutching her upper arm with her hand, blood trickling between her fingers. She stared at him, her wide eyes overflowing with sympathy.
“Did I do it?” he whispered, feeling cold sweat dripping down his back. He glanced down to see his daggers lying on the floor, the tip of one coated in a bright red liquid. He approached River and gently moved her hand away to expose a shallow cut on her upper arm. “I’m sorry, River. Please, let me heal it.”
“It’s okay,” she said calmly with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Just a scratch.”
Cole walked around the destroyed bed and frowned as he stared at Damian, crossing his arms. “Do you wanna talk?”
“No,” Damian snapped, glancing at his wristwatch showing a quarter to five. “I need to clean up this mess and leave.”
“Not before I have a word with you,” River objected dryly and turned to Cole. “Cole, please give us the room.”
Cole threw a glance at Damian, a smile of a trickster stretching his lips. “My pleasure.” He bowed, hiding the humorous twinkles in his eyes, and headed toward the exit. “Dima, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“I doubt it’s possible,” Damian murmured, following his brother with his eyes.
The door closed with a soft thud, and Damian flinched, meeting River’s icy-blue eyes. Taking a deep breath, he threw the shredded sheets, blanket and pillows to the floor, shaking his head. He didn’t remember doing any of it.
“What was it? PTSD?”
Damian heard River’s voice and snapped his head up. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“It was almost five, and you were screaming in your sleep, making the entire house shake,” River said, pulling a chair closer to the bed and lowering herself on it. “So, I thought I’d wake you up from whatever nightmare you were having...” Her voice trailed, and she looked away, readjusting the strap of her tank top.
“Magnus is right,” he whispered. “I need to protect my mind.”
“Who’s Magnus?” asked River, gazing at him with curiosity.
“Hard to explain. He’s the Head of the Destiny Council and my superior. As a Shadow Enforcer, I report directly to him.” Damian stopped talking, running his fingers over his chin, the new stubble prickling the tip of his fingers. “But he’s also...” He sighed, chewing on his lip. “When Cole and I were killed in the year nine hundred ninety-six, he was the one who brought me back, taught me everything I know, supported me when I was grieving, thinking my only brother was dead. In a way, he was like...”
He cut himself off, his mind skipping through centuries of the love-hate relationship he’d had with Magnus. Then he lifted his face, and a guilty smile touched his lips.
“River, if you hear me screaming like this again, don’t try to wake me up,” he said with a sigh. “Could be dangerous, and I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.”
“When I walked into your room,” she continued, ignoring his statement, “the entire room was flooded with a blinding light.” She pointed at him, her eyes alight with awe. “Your light or your daggers’, or both. You were screaming as if someone was tearing your beating heart out of your chest.”
“River—”
“I’ve seen men suffering from PTSD before, but I swear to God, I’ve never seen so much pain in one human being.” She looked away, her hands clenched on her lap. “What was it, Dima? You can tell me. You can trust me to do whatever it takes to help you.”
“I know I can trust you.” He got up and approached her, taking one knee by her side. “But I don’t want to talk about it, River. And as cliché as it sounds, it’s truly not you. It’s me.”
He channeled the power of Earth, collecting some of the healing energy in his right hand. She looked at him, her large blue eyes surrounded by long copper lashes just inches away from his. Without breaking their eye contact, he moved his right hand over the laceration on her upper arm, channeling the healing energy of Earth through it. As a soft, orange glow surrounded his hand, she gasped, her gaze turning slightly drunk, and a tender smile touched her full lips.
“Your eyes are glowing orange,” she whispered in one breath.
He ignored her, watching her wound close up slowly. Once it was completely healed, he removed his hand, ready to get up, but she turned slightly in her chair to face him and seized his chin with her fingers, lifting his face.
“Look at me, soldier,” she whispered, gently moving the long strands of his hair drenched with sweat to expose his face. “You’re beautiful.”
“That’s new... no one has ever told me something like that yet...”
She lowered her face a little, just enough for him to feel the warm touch of her breath to his skin, and he froze in place, unable to move. The Destiny Enforcer in him screamed, fighting, demanding to get up and leave, but he couldn’t, his heart thumping in his chest. She leaned forward, and her lips touched his. It wasn’t even a kiss. The connection was so light and so fast that he barely felt it, but everything inside him buzzed with desire, with the need the likes of which he hadn’t felt in centuries. It wasn’t just sexual desire. For the first time in many years, he needed and wanted more than just physical connection, and that scared him.
Destiny Enforcers can’t have attachments... The words he had said to Ace a while ago rang in his fogged mind. This rule was placed there for a good reason.
“River, please,” he moaned, somewhere in the depth of his mind realizing he was on one knee, begging for mercy. “Please, I can’t—"
She cupped his scarred cheek with her hand, and he seized her wrist but had neither strength nor desire to pull it away. A warmth expanded in his chest, his body responding to her tender touch despite the commands of his mind. She pulled away just a little, taking in his appearance, and a dreamy smile ghosted her lips.
“Maybe you can’t, but I can...” She lowered her face to his and kissed him, her tongue forcing his lips apart, her hand seizing his hair on the back of his head, pulling him closer.
A low growl rumbled somewhere in his throat, and in one motion, he got up and scooped her off the chair, pressing her to his chest. He made his way to the bed, lowered her on top of the shredded mattress and leaned over her, bracing his arms on either side of her body. She looked up at him, and her lips parted with a soft gasp. Her eyelashes fluttered, her gaze drunk with desire, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
Heat coursed in his veins, fogging his mind, and passion took hold of him. He kissed her, his kiss demanding and hard, a lot harder than he intended, but he had a hard time controlling himself. In response, she moaned and encircled his neck, pulling him down.
“Dima...” she breathed, and hearing his real name on her lips sent electricity down his spine.
He moaned, every inch of his body craving her touch. “River, please stop...” Gathering whatever willpower he still had in his body and mind consumed by desire, he pulled away slightly, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “I shouldn’t... I can’t...” He couldn’t speak, he could barely think.
Her arms unlocked, releasing his neck, but her hand slipped down, grazing his side before settling on his groin. A low growl rumbled in his chest, turning into a hiss as she stroked him gently.
“Ahh... I think you can...” She chuckled, sounding a little intoxicated. “You so-so-so can...”
She let go of him and slipped down from the bed, moving to the side to escape the prison of his arms. His elbows wobbled and gave in, and he fell flat on the bed, turning on his back. She glanced at him, and a tender smile touched her lips.
“Well, as you wish then.” She tapped her wristwatch and flicked her eyebrow at him. “I think you may need to take a nice, cold shower before you go to see Az.” She waved her hand and headed toward the door. Halting in the doorway, she turned
around and added, “Don’t worry about cleaning your room. I’ll take care of it for you while you’re away.”
As soon as she left, Damian scrabbled into a sitting position and shook his head, rubbing his cheeks with his hands.
“Dammit. How did I let it happen?” he asked himself out loud and got up, heading toward the shower, his mind still scrambled, thousands of thoughts rushing through it at the same time.
I can’t get attached... I can’t let her get... Sam is going to kill me if he finds out... and he’ll be right... It’s too dangerous... For her and for me... What if... what if...
What if...
Chapter 18
~ Damian Blake ~
The sun disappeared behind the horizon, and bluish shades of early dusk colored the surroundings, giving everything a mysterious look. A gust of cold wind made Damian shiver in his light leather jacket as he halted in front of Az’s door. The neon ‘Open’ sign in his window was off, and Damian could only hope that the old man was home. He quickly scanned the house and the neighborhood with his other sight. As before, he didn’t find anything alarming and knocked on the door.
A soft shuffling noise announced that Az was home, and a moment later, the lock clicked, and the door opened no more than an inch. A giant eye behind a thick lens of eyeglasses peered through the crack, and the door closed again. The chain jingled, Az opened the door and peeked outside, observing the street in front of his house before ushering Damian in.
As soon as he walked inside, Az slammed the door shut and turned to face him. “Do you have it?” he asked, shoving his skinny arms into the pockets of his robe. Unlike last time, he was fully dressed beneath his robe, but the addition of jeans and a shirt didn’t do him any favors, instead making him look even frailer.
“I have it.” Damian reached in his pocket and produced the dagger, holding it at his shoulder level where Az couldn’t reach it.
Az’s gaze darted to the dagger and for the briefest of moments, a gluttonous light ignited in the bottom of his enlarged eyes. However, it was so fast that Damian wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it.