The Legacy Series (Book 1): Legacy [Sanguis]

by Ray, Timothy A.

  Legacy:

  Sanguis

  Book 1 of the Legacy Series

  Timothy Ray

  Legacy: Sanguis

  A Ray Publishing Book/ Aug 2018

  Published by

  Ray Publishing

  Tucson, AZ

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2018 by Timothy Ray

  Also by Timothy Ray

  The New Age Saga:

  The Acquisition of Swords

  Phoenix Rising

  Coalescence

  Wrath of the Phoenix

  Nightstalkers: Origins (Available 2019)

  Rotting Souls:

  Charon’s Blight: Day One

  Charon’s Blight: Day Two

  Charon’s Debt

  Charon’s Coffers

  Charon’s Vengeance

  Slipstream:

  Focal Point

  Fifth Column

  Faith’s Embrace

  Hardwired (Available Soon)

  Rampant Fear (Available 2019)

  Legacy Series:

  Legacy: Sanguis

  Legacy: Luna (Available 2019)

  Compilation Novels:

  Rotting Souls: the Complete Series

  Charon’s Blight: Day One & Two

  Thus are we ministers of God's own wish:

  that the world, and men for whom His Son die,

  will not be given over to monsters,

  whose very existence would defame Him.

  He have allowed us to redeem one soul already,

  and we go out as the old knights of the Cross to redeem more.

  Like them we shall travel towards the sunrise;

  and like them, if we fall, we fall in good cause.

  Dr. Abraham Van Helsing

  Dracula

  for my Wife

  Chapter 1

  I

  He was no stranger to death. It had been with him most of his life; an unwanted traveling companion that he had been unable to shake. Having lost both parents in early childhood, and later the grandparents that had raised him as well, he had been indoctrinated into the tragedies of life long before his innocence should’ve come to an end. He had been to too many funerals in his younger years, always the silent observer, feeling more alone in the universe after each one came to a close and the mourners dispersed back to their ordinary lives.

  It was ironic fate that he had met his soulmate at one as well. It sounded like some redneck joke out of a Jeff Foxworthy standup. But unlike the hillbilly jokes the comedian made a living on, it wasn’t a family member’s passing that had brought them together. They weren’t related in the slightest; as far as he knew. Maybe some distant tree five hundred years old, but not anytime in the last hundred years, of that he was—relatively sure.

  The funeral had been for a former classmate in college. He had died in a drunk driving accident near the marshes east of town, or so the gossip mill whispered behind the family’s backs. He had too much self-respect to ask them straight out, and it didn’t matter anyhow; his friend was dead.

  The only good that came that fall afternoon amidst the sobs and wails of those mourning the loss of someone so young was that he got to meet the woman that would forever change his life. Despite the dire circumstances surrounding their first interaction, they had clicked, the world moving past while they hovered in a space inbetween; completely oblivious to anyone else that approached them. The universe finally made sense and all the pain of his past vanished with just one look into her bright blue eyes.

  As he sat on the edge of their bed, he shrugged off his black coat and threw it on the floor. The last twelve years had been the best of his life and now it was over, Death had once more ripped the soul from his body and left it in tatters for the crows to peck at.

  The anguish he felt at her loss was more than he could ever voice. It took a travesty of similar impact for a glimmer of understanding from those that looked at his now vacant eyes and lost expression. That he had gotten out of bed at all was a miracle, that he had stood in front of her casket was something altogether unbelievable to him, even now. The only thought that had gotten him through the day was that if she had been in his place, she’d have done it for him.

  Death had taken on a new meaning for him. The finality of it struck harder than it had ever done before, and he realized the final truth that every soul has to understand before the end; death was oblivion. There were no second chances, there was no coming back, once you stepped across that threshold you were forever lost to those that you loved. He had seen a lot of death in his life, but nothing had hit home as bad as this. He had been stripped of everything in his life that mattered, and he was nothing but an empty husk waiting to be put out of its misery.

  There had been a wake, but he had declined attending. Her side of the family had made up for the lacking numbers of his, and he hadn’t had the heart to face any of them. Most of her side had the uncanny ability to live to old age, something that had been a comfort to him during their marriage and was a travesty now that she was gone. They were a constant reminder of what he lost, how rare it was for one of them to be gone, and how horribly fucked up his life truly was.

  His heart ached, and he felt nauseated; he wanted to vomit. Lying down on the bed, he crawled to her side, letting his head rest on her pillow and took a long deep breath. The scent of her shampoo caused the lurch in his throat to let go; the dam finally broken. All the repressed rage and pain swelling within crested, and after a brief whimper of anguish, the rest escaped before he could shut it down, coming out of him in an uncontrollable torrent that refused to stop.

  With trembling fingers, he reached over and turned out the light, a duty that she had taken over since they’d moved in together. She liked to read before turning in for the night, and he had grown accustomed to it being on as he drifted off to sleep. It would have to be a conscious effort on his part to turn it off while he slowly adjusted to her absence; if he ever truly did.

  He held her pillow in tortured hands and let the pain flow through his gushing tears.

  Time passed without his knowledge. Only the setting sun and the slight rumble in his stomach made him aware that the world had continued on without him, forcing his screaming soul forward in time, as if that alone could heal his pain. He should eat, but he didn’t have the strength. All he wanted to do was curl up and die. Half of him was there already; he would never meet anyone that would complete him like she had. They could finish each other’s sentences, anticipate reactions, lived a damn near synchronistic life. Now, his soul was stripped bare and gutted; dying in anguish.

  He rolled over and a flash of white caught his eye.

  Rubbing a hand across his face, he fully opened his tearful eyes and stared into the darkness, trying to find whatever it was that caught his attention. Near the doorway was the silhouette of a female body and a pale white face staring back at him. Startled, he snapped fully awake and shoved himself to a sitting position.

  What the fuck? Maybe Death had come for him after all. “Who’s there?” he demanded, left hand reaching for the light. His ears were straining but he couldn’t hear anyone breathing, no indication other than that brief glimpse to suggest that he was not alone in the room. His fingers found the switch, but flipping it yielded nothing; the light wouldn’t turn on. He looked to his right and noticed that the alarm clock was off as well.

  There was no power. Why’s the power off?

  How long had he been out of it? Long enough for the power company to notice a non-payment? Shouldn’t they have at least called about that first? He should have had a few weeks before the next bill was due. No way that much time passed u
nnoticed; he’d be dead from starvation long before then. Wait, that made no sense, he just turned the light off a short time ago, right? It was on then. What was going on? The faint light coming through the bedroom window told him that the street lamps were working, so it wasn’t a blown transformer or area blackout, the rest of the world around him would be nothing but darkness as well.

  There was a malicious sense of purpose behind it that made his skin crawl. His body tensed in expectation, his mind fully alerted to the fact that something was seriously wrong here, that he might yet meet his wife in the afterlife at the hands of a serial killer or burglar; it would keep with the luck life had so happily thrust upon him.

  Slipping out of the bed on his wife’s side opposite the door, he felt the eyes on him, the intensity of their glare penetrating his soul. His mind was racing for possible weapons but came up empty; she had never let him have a gun in the house. Hell, he didn’t even own a baseball bat. Maybe there was a nail file nearby, but even if it was, he’d never find it rummaging around in the dark.

  “I thought you’d be happy to see me,” came the soft purr from across the room. The figure stepped forward and the moonlight streaming through the blinds made the woman’s body shimmer into existence, becoming less of a phantom with every movement. She was wearing the dress she had been buried in and his heart lurched into his throat with recognition, his mind paralyzed with the shock of what he was seeing.

  There’s no fucking way! Only the impossibility of it kept him from running into her beckoning arms. Laws of nature forbade this from happening, it couldn’t be real! His mind rebelled against what he was seeing, refusing to believe he was awake, that this wasn’t some sort of nightmare torturing his already aching heart.

  He whimpered in anguish, the longing in his heart so strong that he could not prevent himself from taking a tentative step forward. “Amanda?” he called, a fresh tear dripping down his cheek. He saw a grin appear on the face of his beloved as she drifted closer, moving silently and gracefully, despite having been dead for the last week and buried beneath six feet of dirt.

  Run! That’s not your wife! “How is this possible?” he whispered, more to himself than to her. It’s not, his mind insisted; fighting to keep him sane. The dead did not rise from the grave, not outside of fiction; it had to be his imagination.

  “Come to me, my lover,” she purred again.

  He felt a tug in his mind, willing him to move in her direction. Even though every part of him was wary, shaken, and upset, he felt his yearning for her grow even stronger. He was taking a step in her direction before she had even finished the sentence. He reflexively resisted, the logical part of his brain screaming at him to stop, and his footing faltered, making him nearly spill to the floor. One hand shot out for balance on the edge of the bed and he saw her face change in the moonlight; it had turned feral, her eyes blazing even through the shadows of the night.

  She was on him before his mind registered movement, throwing him down on the bed with force he’d never known her to have, her legs straddling his hips as her hands forced his wrists against the mattress. Like some strange sexual fantasy her hips locked on his, her face peering down at him in a way he had never imagined her capable of. Her eyes focused on his and he felt the fight in him dissolve, his resistance turning to mush beneath her fiery gaze. Indifferent to the warnings of danger tearing across his consciousness, he relinquished all that he was to her embrace, giving himself over to whatever darkness that was about to consume him.

  He was ready. If Death came for him, he would go without a fight. Whatever it took to be with his beloved again. If he had gone mad, at least he wasn’t alone in his insanity any longer. He would live within the fantasy world of his resurrected wife being at this side until the day he died; he loved her that much.

  Watching helplessly as her head bent towards his exposed throat, he almost cried out her name in joy.

  Lights flooded the room, instantly blinding him and making him yelp with surprise. Her weight was gone, he was inexplicably freed of her embrace and his soul cried out in despair at the loss. Come back!

  Amanda was backed into the corner on her side of the bed, hissing, her face contorted with rage and her teeth bared. She had the form of his wife, her facial features, but that was were the resemblance came to an end. Never had he seen such fury on her face, never had she reacted like a corner cougar about to strike, her hands clenched like claws, the nails tearing at the painted sheetrock on either side of her.

  Startled, he followed her furious gaze towards the doorway. A figure garbed in black riot gear was standing just inside the room, a shotgun and flashlight in hand, the light near blinding as it shifted from him to her. Who had called SWAT? Why would they? It was just his wife! Surely, they had no cause to be there?

  His eyes fell once more on the shotgun. He had seen what his grandfather could do to a flock of quail with one of those, and he wasn’t about to be in the pathway of that.

  Coward! That’s your wife!

  Is it?

  He leapt off the opposite side of the bed, unsure if he should attack the intruder or let them do whatever they came here for. He should come to the defense of his wife, bodily block the officer from firing upon her, even if it cost him his life, but was that who she was? The contrast between the woman he loved, and this crouching tigress of teeth and claws was so vast it could have just been an evil twin loosed from an asylum by Batman’s archnemesis, the Joker.

  This is fucking insane. Can I wake up now?

  Whatever spell she had put him under was wearing off and he could once again think clearly, though he wished for the moment that he couldn’t. Ignorance being described as bliss was something he never agreed with until now. He had spent the last week praying that she would come back to him, that it had all been some elaborate prank and he would not have to go through the rest of his life without her. And there she was, standing in the corner of the room, moving like a cornered cat trying to find a safe path to freedom while a Rottweiler circled and prepared to pounce.

  With the bright-ass flashlight trained on her he was able to finally see his wife as she truly was, and his heart nearly stopped. The dress she had been buried in was torn and covered in dirt, more of a light-brown than the color of snow. A long strip of cloth dangled by her bloodied knees, looking to have been torn free by a nail or other sharp object while extricating herself from her coffin.

  The paleness hadn’t been the moonlight; she still had the look of death upon her. Her cheeks had bits of dirt upon them, but he could still see the make up the funeral home had applied before the viewing two days before. Her mouth was frozen in a sneer and he could see there was something different about her teeth. The top canines looked longer than they should have been; they were like those of a fierce Doberman. He was staring at the love of his life and a shiver involuntarily snaked down his back with sheer revulsion.

  Look at her eyes! It’s Amanda!

  I need to wake up, he inwardly moaned, because even though his first thought was vampire, he knew for a fact they didn’t exist. He thought himself to be a rational person, grounded in a reality where the supernatural simply did not exist, and that was why he was struggling so hard to come to terms with what he was seeing; it couldn’t be real.

  Amanda’s eyes never left the figure at the door and as soon as she twitched the shotgun went off. In close quarters it was deafening, and he felt his heart explode within his ears. The spot she had been cowering in was empty; she’d crossed the room in a blink of an eye and was busy struggling with the armored figure in the doorway.

  All I had time to do was blink!

  Screaming, he watched in confusion as her hands began to steam and she let go with a look of extreme anguish, her face filled with terror as she took a few faltering steps backwards. Casting him one final look of rage, she leapt on the bed and out the open window.

  II

  “Hoops, she’s on her way to you,” a female voice uttered as the armored
figure walked to the window and looked out, her gun lowering as she pushed the white drapes aside and poke her head out the window.

  “On her way to who? If she’s going anywhere, it’s back to the morgue. We are on the third floor, that fall would have killed her—again,” he told the woman sarcastically, his voice coming out in a rush as he tried to make sense of what was going on. Had his dead wife just come back to life and attacked him? Had this unknown figure just saved his life? Or had a miracle happened and they were preventing her from returning to her place at his side?

  The woman briefly glanced his way, then back outside, “we’re going to need Benji up here to talk to the husband. Ezio, cover the south side of the parking lot in case she heads that way. I’m on my way, the apartment is secure.”

  Standing there in his boxers, he moved to the right and blocked her exit. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. Was that my wife?” He didn’t know what he was going to do to stop her; he was in his underwear, she had on armor and was loaded to bear, but he also wasn’t going to let her leave without answering his questions.

  The Hispanic woman was a few inches shorter with brown eyes and a pitted scar over her left eye. Her thin cheekbones pulled together as she ground her teeth in frustration, her nose twitching as she considered her options. She was sporting a black helmet with the faceplate up, and her gaze chilled him just as much as the sight of his undead wife cowering in the corner. The black armor had originally looked like SWAT gear, but now after closer inspection he knew it had to be a custom job, tailor made for some unknown purpose. It was the shoulder plates on the pads that gave that away, it protected her neck in a way that only old platemail armor had been known to do.

  The shotgun had disappeared into a holster on her back and an AR-15 swiftly replaced it. “¡Tienes cojones, gilipollas! I don’t have time to fuck with you,” her stern voice snapped. “My associate will be here momentarily to discuss tonight’s events. Until then, get some fucking clothes on and get out of my way or you’ll be on the floor holding your nutsack, begging me to kill you to end your pain.”