He stopped and bowed. She refrained from scolding him.
"My Queen," he said, "Again, I must protest…"
She yawned and touched her hand to her open mouth. "Oh Vlady," she teased, "You bore me."
"But…"
"No buts, Vlady," she said, "The blood ceremony must happen."
He smiled at her. "My Queen, for centuries, you have sought my advice and I have given it willingly to you. Now, I offer you advice and you refuse it. One would question the wisdom of your actions."
"Okay, okay, okay, before you nag me half to life," she joked as she sat up and gave him her complete attention.
He bowed again. Lightning flashed and the lights flickered again. The lights returned as he stood, he adjusted his flawless black suit. His pale features accented his thinning widow's peak. His pure white hair was slicked back. Ever the picture of a distinguished gentleman took nothing away from the stern, wise mentor that had molded her from a young vampire into a powerful leader.
"My Queen, the man that you have chosen as your prince has been our greatest enemy," he stated calmly, yet sternly.
She remained calm, but she stared directly at her mentor. "He is one of us."
"And he has made it his personal war against us. He has killed countless numbers of his own…"
"And Vlady, from where does our existence begin?" she asked sternly.
"We were all originally human," he replied.
She smirked. "And what creature is the most adept at killing their own?" she asked.
He sighed and slightly lowered his head. "Humans," he answered.
She gave a knowing smirk. "Since the beginning of the human race, they have killed each other. They kill for wealth. They kill out of prejudice and, they even kill each other because of religious beliefs. We, as vampires, are no better or no worse. We have killed vampires who have failed us or betrayed us for their own gain. How is he any different?"
"He betrayed our kind and fought for, not against, our hated enemies," Vladimir replied.
"And now, he has joined with me."
"My Queen," Vladimir protested as he leaned forward and caressed her hands, "You have said yourself, after many battles with him, that he is your most formidable foe. This could be a trap."
She smiled. "Vlady, do you truly think that I haven't already thought of that?" she asked.
"My Queen, you are no fool. You are as wise as you are powerful. I needed to hear it for my own peace of mind."
She picked up their clasped hands and she kissed them softly. "Vlady, I thank you for being concerned…"
"I am concerned, My Queen because are we even sure that he is one of us? You have even said how he needs to mix his blood…"
She smiled again and patted his hands. "Tell me, how is our guest fitting in if he really isn't one of us?"
Her mentor looked away briefly before returning a sheepish gaze on his leader. "He appears to be fitting in quite well."
"Do tell," she pressed.
"I asked of his whereabouts prior to this meeting. He was regaling a group of our male minions over several bottles of distilled blood spirits about how he had feasted on many in the dungeons. When a vampire, who was highly inebriated, scoffed at his claim and stated that he couldn't kill anything, your prince, as you call him, promptly ripped out his throat."
She smiled. "And what did the others do or say?"
"They all laughed as your prince stuck a straw in the gushing wound and sipped the blood from the dying vampire like a child would drink a bottle of chocolate milk," he replied.
"Does that sound like the actions of a human?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No, I must admit that it does not."
"Good it is settled then," she said cheerfully. "Now will you be so kind as to pour me a glass of blood wine. I wish to toast my pending union."
"Of course, My Queen. Do you have any requests?" he asked.
"Yes, Vlady, is the ritual site prepared?" she asked.
He bowed. "I have taken meticulous care of it personally. It just awaits you and your prince."
"Excellent," she stated.
He bowed again. He walked promptly to her chilled bottle of blood wine and he filled two large golden chalices. He returned and handed her a chalice. She took it with both hands. She inhaled the sweet smell of the blood. She held the chalice in front of her and Vladimir extended his chalice to hers.
"A toast," she said.
"To the queen," he added.
"And to her handsome and powerful price," she said.
"And to the power that they may discover together," he added.
She smiled evilly. "Oh yes," she said lustfully, "To the power."
They touched glasses and they drank greedily. She licked her lips and cooed.
"Oh yes," she repeated lustfully, "To the power."
They both smiled.
* * *
The temperature continued to venture towards the freezing point. The rain was changing to wet snow. Higher elevations were pockmarked with white patches of snow. Grasslands were becoming covered in a slick, cold, thin layer of snow that made travel extremely dangerous. Visibility was virtually zero as the snow fell harder with every passing second. The team of warriors had stopped their mud splattered convoy as the roads were nearly impassible. They had pulled over an hour ago and they had trekked on foot to the forest edge that surrounded the castle.
Small whiffs of white air escaped from Jackson's nostrils as the battle hardened council warrior peered through his binoculars. The trees camouflaged the dark dressed figure and helped protect him from the elements. Despite the cold wind, his stance did not change. He adjusted the focus on his binoculars as he stared at the castle. He continued to adjust the magnification as he attempted to get a better view, Rowlett, the muscular African warrior, approached him.
"Anything?" he asked as he removed his customary toothpick from his mouth.
"Nothing," Jackson said flatly. "The weather isn't doing us any favors."
"You know what that means don't you?" Rowlett asked before he placed the toothpick back in the corner of his mouth.
Jackson exhaled heavily. His rapidly freezing breath encircled his head. He adjusted the magnification again. "Yes," he replied flatly.
"Without them, we are flying even more blind than usual."
Jackson sighed. "Rowlett, we've been in worse situations before."
Rowlett removed the toothpick from his mouth and chuckled. "Jax, we don't have archers. Our team is the best but even they cannot hit targets that they cannot see."
"As I said," Jackson replied impatiently, "I know that. Even if they can see them, they still wouldn't be able to hit their targets in this wind."
Rowlett tossed his mangled toothpick on the wet forest floor. He removed another from a compartment on his belt. He began to gnaw on the wood. His eyes, despite the occasional wet snowflake hitting him in the face, did not look away from Jackson who was still adjusting the magnification on his binoculars.
"You know what we need to do," Rowlett said.
"Yes, but it is not possible."
"Jax, send me in. I will get some intel and…"
"We need to stick to the plan," Jackson replied.
Rowlett sighed. "Jax, you know as well as I that the plan has been compromised by the weather. We are already blind."
Jackson turned away from his binoculars, but he did not lower his arms. "We aren't in charge here."
"We need to take charge. They are rank…"
"They have fought along side Bloodheart. They are not amateurs," Jackson said coldly as he turned back to his binoculars.
"But they have never led a mission like this one," Rowlett protested.
"And we have?" Jackson said as he lowered the binoculars to clear snow from one of the lenses.
"We have gone into many nests before…"
"But the queen bee has never been home," Jackson said as he corrected his friend's logic. "They have fought her. We haven't. We have
to trust them. Besides, even if we were to take over, I can't spare a unit. We don't have the numbers."
"I don't need a unit…"
"Rowlett, you're good. You're the best that I've seen since I was trained by Bloodheart himself, but you're not that good. Even you will need backup."
"Give me The Difference and The Russian," he pleaded quietly. "You know that we need to do this."
Jackson handed his binoculars to Rowlett. He removed a cell phone from belt. He flipped it open and quickly began pressing buttons. He called up Larry's contact information and he pressed the send button. He placed the phone to his ear.
"This hacked phone that he provided had better work or your protests are already going to be in vain. They will know that we are coming…"
"Yes?" Larry asked.
"Put me on speaker so David can hear," he ordered.
He placed his hand over the phone. "David," he called.
David, who had been huddled under a tree as they waited for the signal that the archers were in position, quickly ran to Larry.
"What is it?" he asked as the snow pelted his black uniform.
Larry pointed to the phone. He pressed a button and the sound of the storm was amplified. "Go ahead," he said.
"We need to scrub," Jackson stated.
"WHAT?" David asked as angrily and as loudly as he could.
"Do you think that screaming helps our cause?" Jackson asked.
"Do you fucking think that they can hear us over this storm?" David asked angrily.
"Of course not which is why we need to scrub," Jackson said.
David rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't that be to our advantage?" he asked.
Larry held up a finger. "What is keeping our archers?" Larry asked.
"The same thing that is keeping them from hearing us: The storm. Visibility from their safe distance is zero. Even if they could see their targets, they wouldn't be able to hit them in this wind."
"Understood," Larry said.
"WAIT!" David protested. "There has to be another way. We can't leave Chris in there. We're too close. We can end this war if we get the queen."
Silence. The wind could be heard whipping through the phone. A few garbled mumbles were heard. Larry and David looked at each other. Moments later, Jackson cleared his throat.
"There could be another way," he said.
"Go ahead," Larry urged.
"Rowlett is the best stealth warrior that I've met. If he can get close, he might be able to cause a distraction."
"No way," David said. "He can't go it alone."
"Men would slow me down," Rowlett said coldly over the bitter wind.
"You need at least someone to watch your back," David ordered. "No one is that good."
Rowlett smirked. "Give me The Russian and The Difference. They are the only two that can keep up with me."
"What is the plan?" Larry asked.
"We get in and distract the guards. That will allow the archers to move closer and provide cover. They will be able to see targets through the windows," Rowlett said.
"Do I have a choice?" David asked.
"No," Rowlett said coldly.
"You have an hour," David said firmly. "Then we are going in regardless."
"I will only need thirty minutes," Rowlett replied. "Be ready."
"We are ready."
The connection ended. Rowlett looked at Jackson who nodded. Rowlett returned the nod. He picked up his backpack and he disappeared into the darkness. Jackson returned his attention back to the castle. His breath encircled his head as he continued to search for any sign that would give them an upper hand. Still, the weather blocked his view. He knew that their only hope was that their new plan had to succeed. He can't fail, Jackson thought as he glanced at the ground. He looked back up at the castle.
The storm had increased.
* * *
Mikhaeli Lanaova had retired to her private quarters. Her beauticians and stylists had created a vision of loveliness. Her light purple gown which was sewn in an eighteen century style accented her feminine charms. Her hair had gone through several style changes until it perfectly matched the historical style of her dress. Her fingernails were painted with a darker shade of purple to match the dark purple accents on her gown. Dark purple silk ribbons were weaved into the curls that that hung around her ears. Her make-up finished the purple theme. They had created a light purple eye shadow to match her gown and her lipstick, another dark shade of purple, to match the accents.
However, she had tired of the attention. She had grown weary from the fawning from her stylists. Her head was sore from having her hair pulled, heated, and pulled again. She had decided that time away from her overly attentive minions was the perfect remedy for her tired state. They had offered her massages, but she wanted quiet. She ordered all of her modern amenities to be removed from her room prior to her arrival. She wanted some alone time.
Her room, like the rest of her castle, retained the same period furnishings from her vampire birth. A Grand Style Victorian fourposter bed, constructed out of mahogany, was the central piece of the room. A purple silk canopy had been designed to match the style of the bed and the vampire queen's love of the color. Mahogany tables, a large plush chair, and bookshelves completed the room. Her chest, filled with her tomes, rested at the end of her bed. Her most precious archived books, including Lord Viktor's writings, were always kept in her room. No vampire, with the exception of Vladimir, was allowed to venture into her most private domain. Swift death followed when she learned of their trespassing. She smiled at the sight of her true home.
She stretched. She picked up the edges of her gown as she walked across the hardwood floors. Her high-heels clicked and the old floor creaked as she walked across the room. She paused at the chest long enough to give it a loving pat. Her collection, except for the mysterious tome of Lord Blackraven, was complete. Also, her collection was locked safely inside the chest. She had the only key.
"Maybe a little light reading," she said softly as she patted the top of the chest again.
She turned away from the chest. She walked to a painting by Vincent van Gogh. It was one of his lesser known paintings. It was a portrait that Mikhaeli had ordered him to paint of her. The painter had initially refused the commission. She tried her feminine charms and he reluctantly refused again. He stated that he was trying to focus on another work which he believed would be the defining moment of his struggling career. Mikhaeli offered the financially struggling, but mentally unbalanced, painter enough gold to buy a small country. Again, he refused. With her anger at its peak, her vampire face appeared. The painter turned pale. Trembling, he asked if she was ready to have her portrait done. She sat down and the painter went to work. A couple days later, during which time he refused to sleep or eat, he had finished her portrait. It was indeed his masterpiece. She offered to pay him, but he fled while she admired her painting. She was slightly saddened when she learned that many months later, during a time when he was completely unable to paint; the Dutch impressionist painter took his own life. She had hoped to have another portrait done for another room, but, alas, he was gone.
She shrugged at the memory. She removed the painting from its hanger to reveal a safe hidden within the wall. She began to turn the dial. Because of the importance of the key to the chest, she had permitted a modern safe to be placed within her room. Slowly, she turned the dial. The tumblers clicked loudly.
"No," a voice whispered.
She paused. She shook her head and turned the dial.
"No," a voice whispered again.
She stopped. She picked up the painting and returned it to the wall. Her movements were slow as if she was being controlled by puppeteer. She turned and walked back to the center of her room. She glanced to her left and then to her right. Her eyes traced the entire room. Her gaze fell on her bookshelf. Entranced, she slowly crept to the rows of books.
The large bookcase loomed in front of her. The ancient texts, most of which predated the
printing press, had a distinct aroma which offered a hint to their age. This was her personal collection. The books ranged from ancient vampire texts, similar to the tomes locked in her chest, to Council of the Light archives stolen in raids to some of the rarest books in the world. Since she was a young human girl, Mikhaeli loved stories. She had spent a great deal of money on acquiring some of the world's rarest and most expensive books.
Her shelves contained First Folio by William Shakespeare, a nine hundred page anthology of the playwright's works. Also, she had Geographia, which was a second century compilation of cartography. Only two were still known to exist and she had purchased her copy at a private auction in 2006 for nearly four million dollars. As well, she bought a copy of Birds of America by John James Audubon. It was a scientific book about the native birds of North America. It had been sold to Sheikh Saud of Qatar for nearly nine million dollars making it the most expensive printed book ever sold at auction. Mikhaeli, who had been bidding by phone, was outbid at the last moment. Years later, he was placed under house arrest under the suspicion of misusing public funds. Mikhaeli offered to help Sheikh Saud clear his name in exchange for the book. He readily agreed. The book was turned over to her. Several days later, it was reported that a London art dealer had supplied Sheikh Saud with several invoices with greatly inflated prices. His name was forever ruined. It was the same auction house that Mikhaeli had visited just days prior to the newspaper report. Besides her tomes, it was her favorite book.
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