Darkness Embraced

by Pennington, Winter

  In my mind, I saw Cuinn give a vicious little snap.

  The short sword in Baldavino’s hands began to glow, burning soft gold.

  “I will tell you one more time, Underling. Get out of my way.”

  “No.”

  “So be it!”

  Cuinn gave a little bark of laughter. Nothing but an overgrown chicken —

  His words were interrupted as Baldavino chose to take a two-handed swing at my head. The fox and eagle blade met in a clash of white and golden sparks. The impact sang up my arms and to my shoulders.

  Baldavino gritted his teeth, glaring at me over our crossed swords. Before he could shove me away, I set my feet and pushed first. Distantly, in some part of myself, I was aware of the orange glow standing beside me, as if I could see Cuinn’s fox form in my peripheral vision.

  The piercing cry of an eagle sliced through the room. Golden light hit orange and our fight broke out in earnest.

  As Gaspare had done, Baldavino took the offensive. He put me on the defensive, making me parry, sidestep, and use the sword to sweep his blows away from my midsection. I used Vasco’s memory of footwork along with Cuinn’s powers to guide my hands. The two skills together made us fairly well-matched. But I was not like Baldavino or Gaspare, who anxiously sought an opening, who rashly went on the offensive and tried to beat his opponent down with the might of his weapon and ego.

  A deep calm settled over my mind and body.

  Your greatest weapon is your mind, Renata’s honeyed voice whispered, calm and steady, like an anchor securing my body against thrashing waves. She was my Siren and my lover. I drew on the calm she offered. I let my own abilities absorb her quiet reserve, her steady and unflinching calculations.

  Baldavino went for my leg. I leapt as the sword sang inches in front of me, barely missing.

  He gave a growl of frustration and his pupils shrank to tiny points, swallowed by the color of dark evergreen.

  His power was like something scratchy and rough against my skin as he focused it on me.

  Which is why he never saw Vasco coming. Baldavino raised his sword and was about to rush me when his mouth opened but no sound came out. Baldavino gaped like a fish.

  The point of Vasco’s blade protruded from his tunic, skewering him.

  Vasco grabbed him by the neck and leaned in close enough to whisper, “I haven’t killed you yet, Baldavino, but if you don’t drop your blade, I will.”

  The sword slipped from Baldavino’s hand and clattered to the ground.

  I moved forward, kicking the eagle blade, sending it spinning away from us.

  Renata approached, flanked by Iliaria and Anatharic. Anatharic was taller than Renata, but Iliaria, in her more human form was near the same height, perhaps an inch shorter. Renata met my gaze and reached out to touch my hair. I resisted the urge to throw myself at her, to wrap my arms around her and cling to her as if she were the last solid thing in the world. Instead, I focused on Baldavino.

  “Baldavino,” she said, giving him a look that was as cold as an arctic winter. “You?”

  He gave a sly smile that I certainly would’ve never given were the situation reversed. “Yes,” he said. “Are you surprised, Renata?”

  She did not answer his question. “Why?”

  He coughed, sending blood and spittle down his chin. “You had something I wanted.”

  “What would that be, Baldavino, the throne?”

  “What else would it be?”

  “And what about Lucrezia?” she asked. “How did you sway her from her oath to me?”

  “With not much difficulty,” he said. “I promised her a crown and vampires to rule. I promised her power.” For some reason, he looked at me briefly before turning back to the Queen. “I would not have given it to her. It would have been mine in the end.”

  “If you could have,” I said. “I am certain Lucrezia was thinking to do the same to you, Baldavino. She would not have hesitated to kill you, given the chance.”

  He smiled and there was rage in it. “I know.”

  “And yet,” I said, “you loved her. You loved her enough to try and avenge her death.”

  He turned away from me then. Renata laughed and said, “Iliaria, ask your questions.”

  Iliaria slipped between Renata and me to kneel in front of Baldavino. He tried to move back and Vasco twisted the blade, forcing a cry of pain from his lips.

  “Who is the Dracule you are working with?”

  When Baldavino did not answer, Vittoria and Vito stepped up. They were both carrying long swords anointed with blood. Vittoria grabbed one of Baldavino’s arms and Vito grabbed the other. They pushed the sleeves of his tunic up, exposing his wrists.

  Iliaria grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and ripped the tunic open wide, exposing his pale and muscled chest. Blood was smeared across his skin.

  There, on the clean skin of his pectoral muscle, was a mark of flowing black lines.

  “Damokles,” she said.

  Anatharic took a step forward, casting his glance at the sigil. I thought he was going to say something, when a serpentine hiss rode the currents of air, echoing throughout the throne room.

  “Traitoresss ssspawn.”

  Iliaria whipped around, searching for the body that went with the voice. I followed the line of her sight to the double doors that spilled into the greater hallway. Beneath the archway stood a tall figure, cloaked in a pair of leathery wings.

  Iliaria’s spaded tail thumped against the floor behind me, an inhuman growl rumbling in her chest. When she spoke, her words were clear and carrying despite the growl. “I should have guessed it was you, murderer of your own sister.”

  The figure’s ears swiveled, tail twitching. The tension in the air was thick enough it felt as if I could reach out and touch it. I sensed more than saw Anatharic lower himself to his clawed-hands and move up beside me like some great guardian beast from the depths of Hades.

  “Ssshe wasss a traitor like you and traitorsss mussst die.”

  Anatharic’s long ears flattened smoothly against his skull, a rumbling growl pouring from his Draculian lips.

  Iliaria stood perfectly still, and even her tail slowed its fidgeting motion. I felt it as she put a steady hand over her emotions, going to some cold and dark place inside herself.

  Baldavino’s voice was thin, holding a thread of pleading excitement and hope. “Master!” he said, and the figure ignored him. “Master, please!”

  Renata brought the back of her hand down across Baldavino’s face. Blood flew in an arc from his mouth.

  “Hold your tongue, dead man. The Great Sire will not save you from your fate.”

  “They are all dead!” Damokles’ face contorted with a ferocious hiss.

  “I think not.” Iliaria’s voice was an angry growl, and then she was moving in a black blur, as if darkness traveled faster than light.

  A high-pitched screech, the sound of blade slicing flesh, a cloud of black smoke…

  Iliaria stood beneath the archway, holding weapons in both hands. One of the crescent shaped blades dripped with blood.

  “Damn you, Damokles! You coward!”

  Anatharic was crawling on all fours toward her, long tail held slightly above the stone floor. “Figuresss,” he grumbled. “He did murder hisss sssissster while ssshe ssslept.”

  Her eyes met mine, briefly. She growled again, not at me, simply at her own frustration. Her wings snapped open and she turned, ducking down as if in a dance.

  There was a cloud of smoke with flashes of lightning in it and she was gone. Anatharic followed, but before he too vanished, he said to me, “We will find him.” Then he was gone, swallowed by the smoke of his own power.

  “Epiphany,” Renata said, calling me back to myself. “We have a certain matter to which we must attend.” She lowered her face to Baldavino.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Iliaria and Anatharic returned some hours later to inform us that they had not found Damokles. They would continue to s
earch, albeit quietly. At my insistence, Iliaria agreed to be cautious and discreet.

  Before Baldavino had been executed, we learned that they had indeed been waiting for us. Baldavino had not only convinced Lucrezia to join him in his treachery, but some of the Underlings as well. The Underlings that had managed to survive the battle were executed at the hands of Vittoria, Vito, and Nirena.

  When Lucrezia had seen Iliaria’s sigil on my wrist she had warned Baldavino. They and their Underlings meant to ambush us. But they had not succeeded in killing Renata. Damokles, as Renata had predicted, was not willing to spare Baldavino of his fate, whose ambition made him an easily used pawn.

  When we finished interrogating him, Renata moved up behind me, her hand trailing down my arm. She folded her hand over mine where it gripped the fox blade. As if she had given him orders, Vasco moved, withdrawing his blade.

  I followed the line of Renata’s body against mine and with her hand wrapped around mine, guiding the sword, we buried the blade in Baldavino’s heart.

  I must say, it was much quicker and a great deal less messy than Lucrezia’s execution had been, as the fox blade worked on intent and our intention to kill was most effective. But such an execution had brought me to my own personal realization: I did not enjoy killing.

  The eagle blade was destroyed. Vasco had pried the amber stone out with his bare hands and said, “He craved power and wanted more than this.”

  “Vasco?” I asked. “Did the sword or the spirit in the sword shape Baldavino’s ambitions?”

  He seemed thoughtful. In the end, he shrugged and said, “I do not know, colombina.” He smiled. “I do not think we have to worry about your little fox corrupting you, if that is what you are asking.”

  Cuinn had chosen that moment to offer his opinion on the matter. Methinks your Queen does enough corrupting for the both of us. There was a playful lilt to his tone that implied he was teasing, but still, it did not allay my fears. I was not so certain what repercussions the bond between my little fox and I would have, if any. Had Baldavino slowly taken on personality traits of the eagle spirit? Were eagles ambitious?

  At court that night, Renata asked the nobles to cast a vote as to whether I was to become an Elder or not, without me going through any further challenges. I do not think any of us really trusted my safety during the trials. And so, the Elders had voted. Those that had voted in my favor had been Vasco, Vittoria and her brother Vito, Nirena, and Sognare. Yet, the vote that had surprised me the most had been Severiano. Severiano, my captor, who had ridden at the head of the Cacciatori and taken me from my human world so long ago.

  Alessandra, Lorrenzo, Rosabella, and Gaspare had unsurprisingly voted against me.

  Of course, I paid careful attention to my empathy to discern why. The wound in Gaspare’s pride was far too big. Rosabella discriminated against me for the simple fact that I had taken a Draculian lover. Lorrenzo merely did not like me, for whatever reason, and Alessandra strangely seemed to fear me.

  I became the eleventh Elder within the Rosso Lussuria. Renata made the Elders cast a vote by a show of hands. Since she had put them on the spot, she gave them no time to argue or quibble or scheme about the matter. After it was decided and declared, she offered me her hand and announced before the Rosso Lussuria, the Underlings, and the Donatore that I was her Inamorata, her consort, her beloved.

  To harm me was a death sentence.

  It was quite a change from being the Queen’s beloved pet and a quiet Underling.

  Elder and Inamorata, I wore the title as proudly as the mark upon my wrist. At long last, I was finally embracing my strengths as well as my weaknesses. I had made Vasco proud, so very proud. I saw it in his eyes every time he looked at me, the brother of my heart.

  I gave the Stone of Shadows back to Iliaria for safekeeping. The sword never left my side and Cuinn never left my head, but as I had begun to embrace both my strengths and weaknesses, so Cuinn was learning to embrace that little thing called silence. Well, occasionally, when it suited him.

  We talked, of course. I enjoyed getting to know the honorable, clever, and feisty little fox. I learned that he had once been one of the Fatas, a type of fairy creature or nature spirit. He had fallen in love with a druid’s son and the druid had grown angry with him, for he feared losing his only son to Cuinn. I had not learned how he had the ability to wake me.

  Cuinn had been trapped and bound to the sword by the earth, by the air, by the fire, and by the sea, a powerful and unbreakable spell.

  When I had asked if there was any way I could set him free, he had told me, I am free, Epiphany, though I do not live in your world. I am free, and for the first time in a thousand years, I am happy.

  Oddly, for the first time in what seemed a thousand years, I too, was happy.

  Iliaria visited often, though the nights were dedicated to Renata. When Iliaria wished to see me, she appeared with the Stone of Shadows and consulted with Renata out of courtesy and respect.

  I was growing fond of my Draculian lover, very fond. It was not yet love, but something akin to it. There were nights when Renata shared me, reveling in my reaction to being trapped, aching and trembling between the two of them. Truth be told, she certainly was not the only one reveling.

  Tonight was Renata’s night and as such, I knelt in the middle of her room while she set about tying a sash over my eyes. The long tails of the sash trailed down my back, mingling with the fall of my hair. I heard her go to the corner of the room and open the armoire.

  The currents of air shifted. Her footsteps sounded again, light and soft. I heard her place a chair not too far from where I knelt.

  “Epiphany,” she said, her voice sweet and cruel, promising tender pain and excruciating pleasure. “There are two items on the floor in front of you. Choose one.”

  I knew what she wanted.

  In some part of me, I had always known.

  I folded my hands behind my back and leaned forward. My cheek brushed an item that was long and thin. I caressed the item, turning my face and feeling the wood of the rattan cane glide between my half-parted lips.

  I moved to the next item. The leather was as smooth as suede against my cheek. I followed the line of rich cowhide tassels. I knew by the feel of the leather against my cheek that it was a versatile flogger, capable of producing either a sharp, stinging slap or a light, erotic tickle. It all depended on how Renata chose to wield it.

  I trailed my face to the base and opened my mouth, catching it between my teeth. Only then, only when I had selected the flogger, did I place my hands on the floor and crawl to her.

  The edge of her skirts brushed the tops of my hands and I raised, letting the flogger fall from my lips into her lap.

  She laughed and I knew she had retrieved it. “Ti amo,” she said, caressing my face. “Ti amo, cara mia.”

  Those fingers tickled down my cheek, sweeping lower to the line of my throat.

  There are those Elders that thought less of me because I had been the Queen’s beloved pet, because they believed that love and submission were for the weak of heart and faint of will. On the contrary, I had learned that to love, one must carry a reservoir of great strength. Their judgments and frowns did not trouble me overmuch. Behind the doors to Renata’s bedchambers, she allowed me to be all that I am and more.

  She accepted the whole of my being without question, without doubt, and most importantly, without judgment. She did not ask that I restrain any aspect of myself, both the strong and the weak.

  I was simply her Epiphany.

  About the Author

  Winter Pennington is an author, poet, artist, and closeted musician. She is an avid practitioner of nature-based spirituality and enjoys spending her spare time studying mythology from around the world. The Celtic path is very close to her heart. She has an uncanny fascination with swords and daggers, and a fondness for feeding loud and obnoxious corvids. In the shadow of her writing, she has experience working with a plethora of animals as a pet care
specialist and veterinary assistant.

  Winter currently resides in Oklahoma with her partner and their ever-growing family of furry kids, also known as, The Felines Extraordinaire.

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Darkness Embraced by Winter Pennington. Surrounded by harsh vampire politics and secret ambitions, Epiphany learns that an old enemy is plotting treason against the woman she once loved, and to save all she holds dear, she must embrace and form an alliance with the dark. (978-1-60282-221-4)

  78 Keys by Kristin Marra. When the cosmic powers choose Devorah Rosten to be their next gladiator, she must use her unique skills to try to save her lover, herself, and even humankind. (978-1-60282-222-1)

  Playing Passion’s Game by Lesley Davis. Trent Williams’s only passion in life is gaming—until Juliet Sullivan makes her realize that love can be a whole different game to play. (978-1-60282-223-8)

  Retirement Plan by Martha Miller. A modern morality tale of justice, retribution, and women who refuse to be politely invisible. (978-1- 60282-224-5)

  Who Dat Whodunnit by Greg Herren. Popular New Orleans detective Scotty Bradley investigates the murder of a dethroned beauty queen to clear the name of his pro football–playing cousin. (978-1-60282- 225-2)

  The Company He Keeps by Dale Chase. A riotously erotic collection of stories set in the sexually repressed and therefore sexually rampant Victorian era. (978-1-60282-226-9)

  Cursebusters! by Julie Smith. Budding-psychic Reeno is the most accomplished teenage burglar in California, but one tiny screw-up and poof!—she’s sentenced to Bad Girl School. And that isn’t even her worst problem. Her sister Haley’s dying of an illness no one can diagnose, and now she can’t even help. (978-1-60282-559-8)

  True Confessions by PJ Trebelhorn. Lynn Patrick finally has a chance with the only woman she’s ever loved, her lifelong friend Jessica Greenfield, but Jessie is still tormented by an abusive past. (978-1- 60282-216-0)