Templar Vampires 02 - The Daystar

by Lyons, Rene

  THE DAYSTAR

  Templar Vampires Book 2

  By Rene Lyons

  "World of Shadows"

  By Jeff Holmes of The Floating Men: From the CD Tall Shadows

  Don't say a word

  Words won't change things

  Cause if I thought it was right, you could stay every night from now on

  I don't need a friend

  And you ain't gonna save me

  You can romanticize and fantasize at night but some things you can't own

  You're so damn young

  Thrills come so easy

  When you've been kicked around the underground like I have you might turn to stone

  Don't swallow the lies

  The hallow glamour

  Cause if you think it's all handshakes and earthquakes, girl you got it wrong

  Don't you fear the darkness?

  Let your dreams be dreams

  You don't need what you want

  I don't know how to make you go home

  How do I turn off what I never meant to turn on?

  Go spend all your time out in the sunshine

  Girl, you don't belong here in my world of shadows.

  Don't get me wrong

  I know how love feels

  And if I couldn't care I wouldn't dare pretend that it's time to move on

  You might be strong

  But you're never strong enough

  See, I was born with the clean heart of a child but now look how I've grown

  Chapter One

  Wiltshire, England—Draegon Castle

  September 1293

  Constantine Draegon scurried down the length of the great hall, his hands thrown over his head in an attempt to protect himself from the brutal blows raining down on him. He dared to steal a peek to the right and saw, as always, she was watching.

  Her beauty made him want to weep.

  She wore an ornate tunic the color of rich wine. Her hair, the color of new wheat, hung in a thick plait down her back. She stood with arms crossed over her bosom as her cold blue gaze took in the scene in the hall. By the way her arching brows were drawn together in a deep, disapproving frown, Constantine knew it would get worse before this finished playing out.

  “I will not tolerate a weak son.” Her tone held no affection.

  “Nor I,” Henry Draegon thundered. He stopped for a moment to regard his wife. “This wretch can be no spawn of mine.”

  Aislin rolled her eyes heavenward. “God’s teeth, Henry, not that argument again.”

  By this time Constantine, a mere eight years of age, had made it to the doors. He pressed himself against the wall and eyed the huge metal-banded double doors of the main entrance. So close that if he dared, he could attempt to escape this beating.

  Lack of bravery wasn’t what kept him frozen to the spot. For a young lad he already possessed an abundance of courage. What kept him from running was trail by error. He’d tried running in the past. Bones were broken in punishment. He’d not risk such pain again.

  When his father gave him a hard kick, Constantine grunted from the impact and fought back tears. He prayed vehemently for the strength not to cry. Tears were not permitted in Henry and Aislin Draegon’s hall—especially if those tears came from the eyes of their only child, Constantine.

  “You have yet to explain what you were doing in the stable with young William all those years ago.”

  “That, dear Henry,” Aislin drawled, “should have been obvious even to you.”

  Henry grabbed him by one arm and hauled him off the floor. Constantine dangled like a bruised and bloody rag-doll in Henry’s grip. “My seed could not have spawned this.”

  “Believe me, the boy most certainly is yours.” His mother passed a frosty look over Constantine. “I should have cleansed my womb of him before he came screaming out of my body.”

  “Yes, well, too late for that now, wife.” Henry’s mix of regret and disgust was palpable as Constantine was tossed aside. “We can only hope Ulric will beat the manhood into him. Lord knows I’ve tried.”

  “One can hope. Though I doubt anything can turn the sniveling creature into anything more than what he already is.” Unfurling her arms, Aislin stalked from the hall, her long legs carrying her up the stairs. Before she reached the top, she turned and regarded Constantine from head to foot. “Two more years with Constantine will seem like a lifetime.”

  She spun with the grace of a queen and disappeared in the shadows. Constantine knew the only place she would go was her chamber, where she spent much of her time with whatever young soldier she could lure there with her beauty.

  After Henry took himself out into the courtyard and the servants hurried away, Constantine let out a breath of relief.

  He bit back tears and puffed out his chest with false bravado. “I am not weak,” he whispered, but there was no one was left to hear him.

  I am a dragon.

  Now, if only it were true. Maybe then his father and mother wouldn’t hate him. Maybe he would feel his mother’s arms wrap around him and hold him close as a mother should. And maybe, his sire would ruffle his hair and give him an affectionate clap on the shoulder as they walked off the lists, as he’d seen him do with his knights.

  “I am a dragon.”

  He needed the strength of a dragon, he told himself. He willed it to be so. Dragons didn’t cry because their fathers beat them and their mothers hated them. Dragons were strong and thus far in his short life, Constantine learned he’d need such strength in order to survive.

  “I am a dragon,” Constantine repeated as he pushed himself off the floor.

  He skulked from the hall, past the courtyard and down to the rolling stream cutting through the dense forest. It sat on the edge of his sire’s land. This was the place where he found his strength even as he washed away the blood. Here, he imagined the days to come, when he would be a knight and fierce enough to keep his sire from hurting him.

  His body sore and bleeding, Constantine sank down on the bank of the stream. He fisted his hands in the damp earth and squeezed his eyes shut as he sent a silent prayer to God. He begged his Lord for courage. But most of all, he implored God for his father and mother’s love.

  The only answer was the dull ache in his heart God refused ease.

  Chapter Two

  Damascus, Pennsylvania

  September 2005

  Raphael de Vere watched as the lithe brunette passed in front of them. She did a double take before stopping dead in her tracks, arching a brow in appreciation of his dark and dangerous looks. The tip of her tongue peeked out from between blood-red lips. Such was the usual reaction of women when it came to Constantine Draegon.

  Dressed in baggy charcoal pants, complete with an array of chains dangling from them, and a black tee that read, You laugh now... But you won’t be laughing when I crawl out from under your bed, Constantine looked every bit the Goth-God.

  Black hair, an ashen complexion, and a black leather collar with razor-sharpened spikes around his neck completed the look. If Raphael had dared that getup, he’d look like he dressed early for Halloween. Even here at The Gate, a gothic themed club in Scranton, Constantine stood out among the like-dressed crowd. He just had a look about him that screamed, “don’t fuck with me”.

  Over their clothes, both he and Constantine wore ankle length black trenches. One was forced to wear such a coat when one was strapped to the fangs with weaponry.

  A quick glance at Constantine warned Raphael this night was going to be hellishly long. The expression on Dragon’s face was downright murderous, never a good thing when they were on the hunt for food. The woman appreciating Constantine either didn’t notice the look he wore or
else she chose to ignore it.

  Sauntering toward them, her hips swaying seductively, the woman had no idea the trouble she was courting by approaching Constantine. The unflattering black velvet gown hid whatever curves might lay hidden beneath it. She gave Constantine an alluring grin as her gaze raked over him. Raphael almost saw her mentally stripping Dragon of his clothes. The moment she noticed the wicked scar that cut down the left side of Constantine’s face her step faltered. She regained her composure and continued her advance. When Constantine gave her one of his more vicious of scowls, she smartened up and hurried away.

  Raphael muttered a curse under his breath. “Jesus Christ, Constantine, is this what we’re doing tonight? Scaring off potential females?”

  “Leave off, Rogue. I’m in no mood for your shit tonight.”

  “I just want to know if you’re going to snarl at every women who comes near you.” Raphael ignored the nasty scowl Constantine directed at him. After seven centuries of dealing with Dragon’s attitude, he was used it to. “I don’t want to waste more time here than necessary, that’s all.”

  Looking around the club, Raphael released a dramatic sigh. He hated it here. He’d avoid it altogether if this wasn’t the easiest place to feed.

  If not for their god-awful pasty completions, the crowd of vampire-wannabes would blend in with the black decor. If they wanted to know what a real vampire looked like, all they had to do was look at him and Constantine.

  “What part of ‘fuck off’ didn’t you understand?” Constantine’s glare intensified. “And I’m not throwing around attitude.”

  “Obviously not,” Raphael retorted when Constantine sneered at him.

  Constantine looked away with a grunt. He fingered the long, jagged scar that ran down the left side of his face—a “gift” from his past. “It’s the scar. I can’t help it if it scares the women away.”

  Raphael sincerely hoped Dragon didn’t think he believed that bullshit. Hell, all Constantine needed to do was crook a finger at a woman and she’d come running. He had the whole badass thing working in his favor. The ladies seemed to love it, which made feeding relatively easy for him provided he was in the mood to make it easy.

  Tonight clearly wasn’t one of those nights.

  “Balls,” Raphael snorted. “It’s that puss of yours. Do you even remember how to crack a smile?”

  Constantine leveled him with a droll stare. “My face would break if I tried.”

  Raphael rolled his eyes. “I’m doomed, aren’t I? I’m forever to be surrounded by brooding bastards.”

  “Shut the hell up before I’m forced to shut you up.”

  Any retort Raphael might have shot back was put on hold when the bartender inquired for the fourth time if they wanted drinks. The way Constantine sent him away ensured it would be the last time the man bothered them.

  They might be sitting at the bar, but it wasn’t for the drinks. Here, they had a clear view of the entire club, which was always a good thing when one had as many enemies as the Templars did.

  With time being of the essence, they couldn’t linger here all night. They needed to feed and get the hell out of there and continue their hunt for the vampires responsible for the recent rash of murders. True, no other women had been murdered since the night Lucian disappeared, but until they found the Daystar, they had to assume more humans would be sacrificed in the quest for the ancient Druid relic.

  No one wanted out of the club more than Constantine did. He eyed the brunette, who was still giving him looks from over her shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to act on the hunger and be done with it.

  He’d never hesitated to feed. When it came to his body’s needs Constantine sated them without any qualms and devoid of remorse. Any willing woman would do as far as he was concerned. He usually forgot them as soon as he finished with them.

  The brunette looked back over at him. The feel of her gaze made his skin crawl. The smell of her desire would have gagged him did he still possess such a reflex. If it weren’t for the scent of her blood coupled with his growing hunger, he would have put her out of his mind completely.

  “Fuck it all.” He pushed away from the bar. “Hurry up and find a female. I want out of here as soon as possible.”

  As he strode away he heard Raphael mutter, “It’s about time.”

  He stalked toward the brunette as if he were heading into battle. When he reached her, she gasped with surprise even as she smiled with pure sexual excitement. He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out of the club. Her friends gaped in shock as they watched him drag off their friend. Yet not one of them made any motion to follow after her, especially not when Raphael joined them and made a move on the remaining three women. Rogue would have them all if there were time.

  Constantine had every intention of taking her hard as he drank her blood. Hard enough to drive the haunting imagine of Lexine Parker clean out of his mind. Unfortunately, like everything else when it came to him, it didn’t work out as he’d planned.

  * * *

  To bring beauty to Seacrest, Tristan had called in the best landscapers. They’d created a beautiful haven of flowers to break the austere feel of the dreary gray castle. It helped to bring life to the otherwise bleak fortress. Lexine Parker knew he’d done it for her, since he’d lived here for centuries without it.

  Sitting in that garden, hidden behind the keep, the night crawled over Lex. Restlessness and anxiety festered in her. The chronic itch above her navel was driving her insane and added to her unease. As much as she ignored it, the truth was, it grew worse every day.

  Though she welcomed the night, since it was the only time she saw Allie and the Templars, lately the sun and her soul seemed one entity. Its glory infused her with so much energy it charged her entire body. When the sun slipped below the Adirondack Mountains, it was if a part of her went with it.

  Unable to leave the castle alone, her days were spent out in the courtyard basking under the loving caress of the sun. Come the night, she threw herself into learning all she could about vampires and the Knights Templar. She poured over books and spent long hours lost in history and folklore on the computer. Some nights, however, when she secured herself an escort, she went out on ghost hunts.

  Though she didn’t quite pick up where Allie left off, Lex took up the job now that Allie was a vampire. Thus far she’d gone on four hunts, each of which Raphael accompanied her on. Of those hunts, she’d detected the presence of two spirits, both of which had run from her as if she were the baddest thing this side of Hell.

  The ghosts hadn’t disappeared or refused to show themselves. No. They ran from her as if a vampire had invaded their territory. Though Lex made a lame attempt to explain it away by telling herself it was possible some of the Templars’ energy rubbed off on her, she knew better. The truth was, a spirit would sense her lifeforce and know she was of the living.

  With another investigation set for tomorrow night, Lex promised herself she’d quit her newfound occupation if such an event occurred again. The last thing she wanted was to torment an already tortured soul by driving it out of its sanctuary.

  A cool breeze passed over her and Lex shivered. Late September always brought with it the first breath of winter here in the mountains. How different life was in Damascus than it had been in Florida. Life was slow here and though she was surrounded by death, Lex was more alive now than ever she had been living with her parents.

  Though glad she’d stayed in Pennsylvania, this wasn’t exactly the best place for a person who worshiped the sun and despised winter. The summers were short and the winters brutal. And yet, this was where Lex knew she belonged. Something had pulled her back to Damascus and compelled her to stay. As much as Allie assumed it was Lex’s fascination with the mysteries of the night, the truth was, there was more to this rural area than the Templars dared to admit.

  When Allie attempted to bribe her into staying a month ago, Lex had to assume the last thing Allie had anticipated was for her to be thrust
into the Templar’s world rather than eased in. What Allie hadn’t known at the time was, Lex and Constantine had met the night before they’d gone to Seacrest.

  Standing over six feet tall, with a mess of spiky black hair, tattoos and piercings, Constantine had stopped her dead in her tracks as soon as she’d emerged from the church. His scars, and he had plenty of them, somehow only added to his appeal.

  From that first night, though he never outright ignored her, Constantine kept his distance from her. Allie explained that Sebastian had behaved much the same way toward her when they’d first met. Not that it helped in easing the pain of Lex’s broken heart at Constantine’s rejection of her.

  Voices broke the silence of the courtyard. Lex didn’t bother to look around for the source of the chorus of female voices. They were in her head, whispering, a jumble of sounds too loud to discern one from the other. Lex slapped her hands over her ears in a futile effort to block them out.

  Crazy people heard voices; especially with the clarity Lex heard these. And yet, she knew she was sane. The voices came to her from someplace out of her scope of understanding. They invaded her mind with growing frequency over the last months, their voices louder, becoming almost urgent.