The Reaping: Immortalibus Bella 2

by SL Figuhr

  They stared at each other, he unmindful he had lowered his sword and was no longer in a protective stance. Didn’t he owe it to the brothers to make sure she was right? To help find a cure, a way to wake him up if possible? But the last time she had drunk from him—no, he would not go there. He took a deep breath in, and sheathed his sword.

  “Do it.” He thrust his arm out, fist clenched so the tendons and veins stood out.

  Her touch was icy cold, and the swift slice of her nail made the wound itch more than hurt. Her frosted lips pressed firmly to his hot skin.

  Just the feel of her lips on his skin made him flush hotter, stirring his libido. Don’t think about it, think of something else, don’t give her a hold over you, he told himself and kept his face neutral, glad she couldn’t read his thoughts.

  Eron concentrated on controlling his breathing, but his heart speed up all the same and he hoped she attributed it to being nervous, as she concentrated on his flavor as she had Mica’s. He peeked at his wound, and it was healing by itself. He wanted to make some cheeky comment, or a flirtatious one; something along the lines of: “So, do I taste as good as you expected? Want another sip?” but refrained.

  “It is as I thought. He is no longer fully immortal, nor truly mortal, yet.”

  “What do you mean, yet?” His voice rising. “Is it possible for you to be clearer than mud?”

  “I get the, how do you say, fading notes of immortality, and the stronger base of rich iron, mortal blood.”

  “But, but,” Eron stuttered, “becoming Un-Immortal, it’s impossible! We die if we do, just like your kind.”

  “Don’t ask me how the demon accomplished what he did. I can only tell you Mica is no longer fully immortal, and as time goes by, his mortal scent grows stronger. If he wakes up, he will have a chance to live a mortal life; perhaps have children, grow old, and die.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think it will be a comfort to him, not when he learns how he lost his Immortality.”

  She merely shrugged and turned to go. “If and when he wakes, I will offer him the same opportunity I gave you.”

  He scowled at her as she left the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Hello, darling! It’s been years!” the smoky velvet voice purred in his ear.

  Mica jumped and jerked away, almost bumping into a patron behind him as merry laughter rang out over the pulsing music. He swore as his drink spilled onto the already sticky floor. The man looked over his shoulder to see his personal pain-in-the-ass posing before him.

  “Damn it, Illyria! Must you do that?” he inquired as he slammed his glass down onto the bar top.

  The woman signaled to the bartender to refill it, and slapped a bill down in payment. “I like knowing I can sneak up on a warrior such as yourself,” she laughed.

  The drink came faster than it would have for anyone else. “How ‘bout you? Can I get you anything? A drink, water, my number?” The bartender smiled at the model-gorgeous woman in a swingy, glittery, sexy red dress and killer strappy heels, as high as the skirt was short.

  “Maybe later, darling.” She blew him an air kiss, slid an outrageous tip across the bar, and turned back to the man before her. “Don’t tell me you’re here all alone? At a dance club?”

  “I like the music,” Mica deadpanned.

  She looked out over the floor, crowded with couples all showing off their moves, the flashing lights, the live salsa band; “Come dance with me, show these mortals what perfection looks like.” She leaned in close so she didn’t have to shout.

  He caught a whiff of her perfume, spicy and expensive, and his glimpse of her perfect cleavage let him understand Eron’s obsession with her, though he knew his friend swore he’d die before letting her know.

  “Has it occurred to you I may be here with someone? And you could be disrespecting her?”

  “I’ve been watching you. You dance with any single female who will consent, and there’s only one glass before you—no partner out on the dance floor with someone else. Please?” She pouted. “Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

  He rolled his eyes and finished his drink, setting the glass on the bar. Sometimes consenting was the quickest way to get rid of her, and occasionally she did have useful information. She may have been an unprincipled blood-sucking fiend, but she loved to dance and it had been a while since he danced with anyone of a professional caliber.

  They immediately swung into the dancing crowd, adding their own little spins, and twists. Soon a space had cleared for them in the center, and the lead singer of the live band was crooning lyrics to them.

  “¡Tiene calor! ¡Mover como un fuego, le quema con deseo! Tenga cuidado, tome cuidado, señorita atractiva”

  She’s hot! Moving like a fire, burn you with desire! Beware, take care, sexy lady!

  “What’s so important you had to go stalking me? I’m not one of your prey!” He spoke normally, knowing her superior hearing.

  She waited until they came together again to speak. “I have heard disturbing rumors that something called the Great Hunt is taking place.”

  Her long, rich brown hair fanned out as she twirled, the large silver hoops she wore in her ears catching the light, as did the stacked bracelets on her wrists. Her outfit glittered, making her appear like a flame. He couldn’t believe she had worn it out in public, a professional-grade performance costume. What material it did have was covered in sequins, fringe, and rhinestones.

  “Someone is always screaming the end of the world is nigh.”

  “No dear friend, this is only slightly less worse,”

  “Oh well then. No worries there.” He was sarcastic as she shimmied her body to wolf-whistles, applause, and cheers of an appreciative audience.

  “This is different!” Illyria persisted as only an undead could. “Some group is rumored to have started exterminating your kind, along with large percentages of the population in out-of-the-way countries.”

  “I don’t believe you. We would have heard about it by now if humans were being killed off in such a manner,” Mica insisted. “And how can you have learned rumors about my kind that I have not heard?”

  “It has been spoken of, only no one in the mainstream press is taking it seriously. Only the fringe element will report it; besides, this country has such a tumultuous history with those areas only certain groups seem to care what really happens over there.”

  He spun her again, wondering why she cared about the state of the world, or his kind, and said as much when they came together again.

  “Do you know how hard it is to feed when most of your food source is dead?” The indignation in her voice would have had him laughing if she hadn’t been referencing humans. “Allika told me that she narrowly escaped some of them. They call themselves The Immortal Wolves.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing; it will finally force your kind into extinction,” he temporized.

  “And expose those of your kind left alive as well.” she spat back. “If the humans don’t discover how to kill you, they may enslave you for eternity. Is that what you want?”

  He had been a slave for over a hundred years, an experience he didn’t plan to repeat any time soon. He got a chill at her words. He asked a few more questions, and her answers sounded convincing. He promised to keep his ears and eyes open, and to make plans to keep himself and those he cared about safe in case the rumors were true.

  * * *

  I curse you! Illyria Sasha Nicolette Caladonea Maison du Corbeau! I curse you and everyone with you! You will not remember them, nor they you! I curse you!

  * * *

  The siren shrieked relentlessly, and the driver laid on the horn as he approached intersections, cursing traffic which couldn’t or wouldn’t move out of his way fast enough. The men inside the cab and body of the truck hung on and swayed from side to side with the movement, tense and on edge. The first reports coming in sounded bad. The crackle of the radio as police and other emergency personal reporting the situation had th
e anxiety ratcheting up a notch. Finally the sleek red truck pulled up, its big diesel engine rumbling as the men spilled out and got their first look at the building before them.

  “Holy Mother of God!” one of the men swore and someone else whistled.

  Their team leader was barking out orders as they finished suiting up. “Listen up! We’ve got to get any survivors out before the next inbound strike in four hours! We’re gonna concentrate on this segment of the building.”

  A cop had run up to them, along with a few of the medical staff.

  “We got out patients as long as we could before it became too dangerous.”

  “There’s still a lot of people trapped inside!”

  A dizzying profusion of numbers followed, but the men, looking like astronauts, strode into what remained of the lobby.

  Cries, screams, and moans from the wounded and trapped echoed in the twisted wreckage. Mica’s breath sounded harsh in his sealed helmet, foreign even after ten years as a professional firefighter. Fragmented bodies had to be ignored, shut out as they made their way deeper into the building in pursuit of the living. Up the men climbed to the next floor. Lights hung from the ceiling, some dead and dark, others flickering, a few bravely shining. The screams and cries were louder now.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” was a repetitious refrain.

  Doors blocked needed to be cleared, the team leader cracked out orders, and the men split into units and got to work. They had been told this section of the hospital was filled with children. The men and women worked steadily, headsets and mikes crackling.

  “Out, out, everybody out! We’ve got inbound in forty minutes!”

  Mica ignored the cries over his headset; he was almost through one more door. He crashed through, the room in darkness. His powerful beam stabbed the darkness, illuminating cheerful animals painted on the walls.

  “Hello! I’m a fireman! My name’s Mica! Is anyone here?” he called out over his external speaker.

  He systematically searched the room, still talking in a soothing tone, describing what he was wearing, trying to entice the child to come out. All the while his captain was screaming in his ear to leave. Mica found the girl, huddled under the bed, coaxed her out, and once he had hold, he moved as fast as the suit would allow him through the door to the corridor beyond. The immortal had just cleared the second floor when the whole building rumbled. The child’s scream was lost in the sound of the missiles hitting the building. The man did his best to shield the girl as they were hurtled through the air, debris whipping past them. He felt chunks of stuff hit him, and a wrench and pulling in his arms, before he was knocked out by the collapsing building.

  * * *

  I curse you and everyone with you! You will not remember them, nor they you! I curse you!

  * * *

  Mica dragged the scrap of cloth higher across his face, so only his eyes were uncovered. Ash and other charred matter still drifted on the air from the recent fires which swept parts of the old city. The cracked pavement had disappeared under the reclaiming vegetation. He knew what had once been there by the almost straight swathes of meadow, interrupted here and there by mounds of covered debris. He had to be careful. Everyone did nowadays; strangers were regarded with suspicion and in some cases barely concealed hostility.

  He had stayed in the crumbling cities, gathering supplies as the world broke down. He was good at scavenging, and having lived as long as he had, he had many skills he could rely on. His only concern was getting to the meeting spot prearranged with his brother. Every twenty-five years they met, no matter what.

  Mica was behind on his promise; he hadn’t taken the attacks seriously at first, thinking it just another war. When he realized it predicted the end of civilization, he had started making his way to the coast. It took a combination of bribing and working to make his way across the Atlantic.

  He would need to find a safe spot to rest soon; preferably one by a small stream, and easily defendable. The next morning, refreshed, fed, and watered, the man got underway. Mica wanted to be away from even the outskirts of what had once been thriving city centers. Too many times he had encountered small bands of survivors with less than honest intentions.

  Mica continued his hike, stripping down a nice-sized branch to provide a handy walking stick, thick enough to serve as a make-shift staff to back up his sword. He continued his hike at a swift, steady pace he had learned from his days in the military. So many miles per day, with quick rest and refuel breaks, before he would stop for the night. He had calculated a journey which should take him another six months to reach the meeting spot.

  The man crested a hill and saw his ancestral family home, or at least where it had once stood centuries before. Whatever remained of the sleepy little village was long gone, buried under the land. There was no inhabitants now, either having left long ago, or been killed in the post-cataclysm wars. Mica made his way down the hill and through what had once been the center of the village, each step a bittersweet memory.

  There was where he’d stolen a kiss from lithe Else. That small rise was the site of the blacksmith with whom he had apprenticed before the fever of war had swept the village. This little stream had supplied water to his cottage before his wife and the babe had died in childbirth. That meadow had been a field his father and siblings had tilled. He continued to the spot at which he and his brother always met.

  * * *

  “Hey, doesn’t he look like Eron to you?” Colin nodded in the direction of a group of men sitting around a table drinking.

  Mica looked, and saw in the firelight the sharp profile of their friend. “I believe so. What’s he doing here?” He wanted to go over, but wasn’t sure what identity the man was using.

  The two brothers made their way over to the bar, and standing at its edge, ordered mugs of ale. After some time had passed, most of the men at their friend’s table had left. The man himself stood, and carried his mug over to the bar. He leaned against the edge a few paces down from the brothers, and waited until the bartender had noticed him.

  “How’s it going, Erik? One more?” he was greeted.

  The immortal nodded his thanks and idly glanced up and down the bar. He noted the brothers, but made no greeting until he had his filled mug in hand.

  He took a sip, remarking, “Lotta new people coming in. How’s your business been, Rolf?”

  Rolf shrugged as he wiped a mug out. “Not bad. How’s Evony doing after her scare with the kid?”

  “She has her family taking care of her.”

  “Lucky her. If I see the little brat again?” The man made a wringing motion with his hands and went to check on the brothers. “That little Nicklos, he is a very evil little boy. I hope you and your men ran him out of town proper.”

  “Yes, Rolf, he won’t be back.” Erik finished his drink and left his mug as he wished the bartender a good night.

  Mica took another sip, when what he really wanted to do was run out after the man; how many kids still bore the name Nicky? How many of them could be called evil? His brother glanced at him, as if knowing what he thought.

  The night wind felt like knives cutting through even the fur of the men’s coats. Their breath came out in puffs as they spoke.

  “Come on. Eron!”

  “Erik!” the man hissed.

  Mica ignored his friend’s groan, “I know it’s the kid! What’d he do to the girl?”

  “Mica, it’s not your nemesis. Look, the kid’s probably dead by now. The wars of our kind decimated us. Why can’t you move on? Forget about him and whatever he’s done to you. Settle down!”

  “I’ve tried telling him for years now, good luck with it.” Colin chimed in.

  “What did he look like? What story did he tell to account for why he was alone?” Mica persisted, blocking his friend’s path when the man tried to leave.

  “I don’t advise that, not with my men watching.” Eron/Erik warned him.

  “Then just tell me what I want to know!”

 
“Fine. But you’re wasting your time and energy. The kid called himself Nichlos, said he was an orphan. His parents had been killed by raiders. They were farmers or something, living in the outer reaches. He managed to escape and hide and was trying to get to his relatives.”

  “That matches what he always says!” Mica exclaimed.

  “What did he look like?” Colin inquired.

  “I dunno, twelve? Thirteen? A teenager. Reddish-blond hair, gray eyes, about this high.” Eron/Erik held his hand up to demonstrate.

  “That’s him! That’s Nicky! I can’t believe you just ran him out instead of capturing him and going for his gem,” Mica ranted.

  “I have no beef with the kid, that’s your deal. Look, we put him on the Austrian Road, told him not to come back.”

  “You have to come with us,” Mica said, “I need your tracking skills. You know the region better than I do now civilization’s ended.”

  “Mica...” Eron/Erik began.

  “You owe me, remember?” Mica said meaningfully

  “Dammit!” he swore, glancing at his men, who were paying the three of them an unhealthy amount of attention.

  “Either you come with me, or the next time I find an Immortal Wolf, I may just forget myself enough to drop your name to them,” Mica hissed.

  “Just think about it. We’ll be here as long as it takes to complete some repairs and stock up again.”

  * * *

  “Worm!” The guttural voice sent icy shivers through his body. “You dare cheat me out of what is rightfully mine. I will have the boy and his soul! I take your immortality, so the boy will be mine, so I shall have my revenge.”

  Mica felt pain lance through him, would it never stop? He was suspended in darkness. Below unseen things roiled, laughed, and gibbered; above, a gentle yet bright clear light shone. He would be OK if he could reach it. Where was his brother? Where was Colin? He would help, he always did.