Starla turned around to face the Witch Hunter, slowly opened her eyes, and dropped her hands to her sides. She remained silent for a long moment, and locked her suddenly murky, pale white gaze with Lilith’s eyes.
“Yes, I am afraid. I’m afraid for Kaelyn, I’m afraid for Tyrian, I’m afraid for this realm, for poor Caleb...” Starla trailed off, and turned away. The resoluteness in her tone shocked Lilith to the bone. The Druid was drowning in helpless despair, palpable in the space between them.
Lilith suddenly found herself burning with indignation. “Why don’t you say what you’re really afraid for?” She clenched her hands into tight fists at her sides. She wouldn’t play along with this ridiculous charade any longer. Whatever the little Druid harbored that had put them all in this damnable mess would come out, if Lilith had to pry it out herself.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Starla answered weakly. She turned away from her accuser, which in and of itself only confirmed what Lilith knew and Starla seemed reticent to reveal.
An invisible wave of energy suddenly surged toward the emotionally riled Druid, who barely had enough time to erect any defense. She prepared for the second blast, however, and negated the surge of power with one of her own.
“What do you think you’re doing, Lilith?” Starla warned, her tone a threat.
Lilith ran her tongue over her teeth, tossed a shit-eating grin at her boss, and pooled her magic in the palms of her hands once more. “Giving you a wake-up call,” she bit out. “I think it’s way past time for you to get up off your ass and quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
Starla narrowed her pearlescent eyes upon the Witch Hunter. “You haven’t the slightest idea what I’m feeling.”
Lilith shrugged. “You’re right, and I really don’t give a shit. The way I see it, you’re about one foot from the grave, sister. I’m thinking, why not give you a little push?”
As if punctuating her statement, Lilith let the magic she’d accumulated in her palms fly at the solitary Druid woman. It smacked into the walls of Starla’s defense with a deafening crack, spider-webbed out upon contact, and wrapped around the expanse of her shield. Pure white light fractured the bounds of the spell and poured outward, tearing away the magic tendrils. Lilith flinched away from the startlingly brilliant glare.
Practically glowing from the inside out, Starla pinned her Hunter with a hard, measuring stare. “I know what you’re doing, Lilith.”
“Knocking you off your damned high-horse once and for all, bitch,” Lilith seethed in response. She called forth several translucent magic daggers to float in the space around her. She flung them forward with a backhanded wave; each sheer blade sang through the air toward its target, who raised a single hand to shield against the barrage. Lilith’s magic met Starla’s with a blinding flash, the attack reduced to swirling effervescent smoke against the Druid’s solid defense.
Not to be deterred, Lilith smiled darkly. She reached deep within herself to where her Sleeper rested, and drew a darker magic from within those depths. Dark violet energy shot through with neon green swirled around her, dancing and crackling in the suddenly malevolent atmosphere. Intricate, thin black lines began to appear on every bit of the Witch Hunter’s exposed flesh.
This time, Lilith called forth tangible daggers: dark, jagged, and surrounded by the same violet-green aura that enveloped her. And this time, when they met their mark, they hit.
Angry red gashes opened all over Starla’s small frame, each one closing with a flash of white light almost as soon as it appeared. Indignantly, she called forth her own magic. It blazed like white fire across the rooftop, and licked vengefully at the edges of Lilith’s darker aura.
“Lilith—” Starla began. Something shot out from the swirling darkness opposite her, and wrapped around her wrist. The white fire surrounding the rooftop dimmed slightly in response as the darkness closed in around her, stamping out her fire like a malignant shadow devouring the light that created it. She widened her pale eyes, sank to her knees, and took one startled gasp before the darkness consumed her.
A pulse rippled through the dark fog on the rooftop of O’Shanahan’s. It expanded, one wave after another, and dispelled the sinister aura. Lilith’s now-ebony lips twisted into a wholly malicious smile.
A shower of blazing white light erupted from the darkness, drowning out the Witch Hunter’s aura in an instant.
“Enough!” came Starla’s resonating shout. The resulting shockwave blew Lilith back onto the far edge of the rooftop. Her head slammed into the unrelenting concrete ledge as her back hit the brick beneath. The blows effectively knocked the rest of her power out of her control, and back into the dark chasm from whence it came.
After cracking her eyes open with a chuckle, Lilith regarded her companion hazily. “Now that’s the boss lady I remember.”
Starla heaved a haggard sigh, placed her hands firmly on her hips, and glared exasperatedly at Lilith. She shook her head. “You always were my biggest problem child, Lilith.”
Lilith struggled to raise herself from her seated position. After quickly giving up on that notion, she settled back down against the edge of the roof, and shot her boss another shit-eating grin. “But that’s why you love me best. I don’t take your shit.”
“Let me—” Starla offered, clearly moving to heal Lilith’s injuries.
Lilith held up a hand to stop her. “No, I got it.”
No doubt recognizing Lilith’s rampant stubbornness, Starla pulled back reluctantly. She seated herself next to the other woman, and tucked her knees under her chin before turning her head to regard her companion. “Was it entirely necessary for you to use such profanity?”
Lilith responded indignantly, “Was it entirely necessary for you to get over this ridiculous pity party you’ve been throwing yourself for the past week? I’m going to go with a resounding yes.”
Starla opened her mouth briefly, then closed it once more and turned away. After a pause, she replied, “I haven’t been ‘throwing a pity party,’ as you put it.”
Lilith raised one thin, dark brow.
Clearly ignoring the poignant look, Starla rose to her feet and turned to look out over the city. “I’ve been trying to ignore the inevitable,” she finally said, her pale, aged eyes seeming to behold much more than the landscape before her.
Lilith leaned forward, trying to appear as if it took much less effort than it really did. She rested her chin on her knee and stared, unfocused, out across the roof, to where the young Vampire Medium had disappeared not more than twenty minutes earlier. “The prophecy: it’s about more than the Mediums, isn’t it?” she asked.
A long moment later, Starla responded.
“I don’t know. That’s what scares me. I have absolutely no idea what’s coming. I’ve never felt so blind.” Her voice uncharacteristically tenuous, the uncertainty laced therein resounded heavily in the space between the two.
Lilith rocked her head back on her shoulders to gaze up at the sullen Druid. “Welcome to humanity,” she said succinctly, “and yeah, it pretty much sucks like that all the time.”
Starla chuckled, and smirked down at the woman with an incredulous glare. “You are far from human, Lilith,” she admonished lightly.
Lilith shrugged, and looked away. “Was once.”
Starla sighed heavily and replied cryptically, “No, you weren’t, though neither was I. Perhaps it is time that I remembered that.”
“What are you going to do?” Lilith asked the retreating back of the Druid.
Starla turned to gaze at her over her shoulder, a resoluteness in her stare that it had lacked lately, and replied, “Whatever is necessary.”
Leaving those words hanging in the air, the Druid vanished.
Smirking to herself, Lilith whispered, “Attagirl.”
Once again, Lilith attempted to raise herself from the pebbled surface of the roof. After failing miserably, she half-seriously considered spending the rest of the night there. Concluding that she prob
ably had the mother of all concussions, she silently resigned herself to her situation.
A familiar gravelly tone sounded to her left, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“You never were the smartest pick of the litter.”
Lilith shot her gaze over to the shrouded visage of the dauntingly gruff Necro Hunter. His dark blue eyes shone in the glow of the lit cigar clenched between his teeth as he took a hefty drag.
“What are you doing here?” Lilith asked caustically. Grimacing, she rolled over to pick herself up on all fours. Jagger was the last person she would ever allow herself to show weakness towards. They shared a bit of an unstated premise, both dancing around each other in regard to the persistent, rampant attraction between them. Somehow she knew that if he ever actually felt inclined to act upon it, he would consume her, and she simply would not allow that.
“Cleaning up your mess, as usual,” Jagger growled. He walked over and wrapped one heavily muscled arm around her waist, then lifted her effortlessly against his leather-encased chest.
“I don’t need your help, jackass,” Lilith seethed with a hiss. The swiftness of the action had nearly blacked out her vision. Blinking rapidly to hold onto consciousness, she clutched the side of her head gingerly, and swallowed the nausea that threatened to spill her stomach contents all over her reluctant rescuer.
“What’s it you always say? I don’t give a shit,” Jagger replied indifferently. He turned and headed toward the door that led back down to the main level of the bar.
Unable to muster the energy to glare at the Necro Hunter, Lilith settled for wrapping her knuckles against his black biker vest with much less force than she had intended.
Jagger scoffed cynically at the pitiful action. “She really did a number on you, huh?”
“I was asking for it.” Lilith’s voice sounded muffled and groggy to her own ears.
She felt him shrug. “You always do.” He threw open the door.
At that, she did muster the strength to shoot him a glare. “Are you gonna help me or judge me?” she asked, her tone more pouty than vindictive.
She scowled at the sound of Jagger’s chuckle, the vibrations rolling over her and reluctantly relaxing her nerves.
“Probably a little of both,” he replied, a slightly jovial lilt to his gravelly voice.
Smiling softly to herself, Lilith scoffed out, “Ass.”
“Brat,” came his swift reply, the familiarity lulling her into unconsciousness as they descended the stairs into the throng of Saturday night life at O’Shanahan’s.
* * * *
Deq’on, seventh son of Tal’on and third-youngest brother to the current leader of the Vampire race, stared at his eldest brother’s weathered face grimly through the makeshift missive on the wall of his private quarters. He himself had not participated physically in the battle outside the cavernous mouth of the primary ore mine of Torehj. The inevitable consequences of his decision to unleash all of the White Devil’s monstrosities for his brothers and the Vampire Hunter to prey upon, though, weighed heavily on his mind.
“How are you faring?” Deq’on asked solemnly. Having borne witness to the great majority of the battle, he had a fairly good idea already.
“Kel and Sin are nursing regrowing limbs. Vor, Tu, and Ji have numerous deep lacerations that should heal within the night. En and I are well.” El’on’s ever-present joviality made it seem as though he spoke of the weather, not the grievous injuries inflicted on his own brothers by one of their own. Although Deq’on knew his brothers would never place the blame on his shoulders, he carried more than enough that he’d piled on himself.
Not missing the elder’s omission, Deq’on candidly asked, “And the Hunter?”
El’on twisted his lips into a small smile, and turned his eyes downward. “He fought well, as well as we anticipated. It was the right call to invite him into the fold,” he conceded.
Deq’on, in fact, had initially posited the idea that the ’On house should enlist the aid of the fabled slayer of their kind. He had met blade to blade with the hulking menace once before, and had barely escaped with his life. Despite his reticence, Deq’on had grown resigned to the need for the Hunter’s help to drive the twisted maniac he now served out of their lands.
Deq’on simply nodded at his brother’s admission. He’d witnessed the Hunter’s prowess on the battlefield with his own eyes. To see that the man held no recollection of their prior acquaintance had not surprised him. They had encountered each other very briefly, twenty-five years before. It was only through utter coincidence that the Hunter had even stumbled upon him.
The event wasn’t something that made Deq’on feel very proud of himself. As had many of their kind, he’d failed to resist the overwhelming allure of human blood. Although he had drunk his fill, he’d never taken a human’s life. Too many times he’d gone to the human realm with several comrades, only to return home the next morning with fewer. The Hunter had proven himself quite efficient at picking off rogues. Not eager to incur that wrath, Deq’on learned to temper his thirst, only taking enough to sate his hunger and leave the human in a delirious, semiconscious state.
One night, however, he nearly slipped.
The human woman he’d selected to for his evening meal apparently had plans of her own. She’d dosed herself with enough of her human drugs to fell even one of his own kind, despite their healing capacity to quickly burn through such vile substances. He managed to rid her of enough of it to keep her barely alive. Unfortunately, draining her stopped her heart. Panicking, and heedless of the consequences, Deq’on sliced his own wrist and fed the woman his blood.
Contrary to popular human belief, ingesting the blood of a Vampire would not magically transform them into one. Deq’on considered the notion as ridiculous as expecting to turn into a cow after eating a hamburger. It would, however, temporarily imbue the human with certain immunities and characteristics unique to the Vampire race. In this case, it was like injecting a shot of adrenaline directly into the woman’s heart. She resuscitated almost immediately.
However, the damage had already been done.
He felt it first, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. It settled down upon him with a tangible weight. His instincts immediately kicked in, a white-hot flash of belligerent anticipation lancing through his gut and stealing the breath from his lungs. Years of training in the royal guard had honed his formidable reflexes. Still, he barely caught the edge of the Hunter’s hook sword with his own as it swung out from the shadows of the alleyway, aimed squarely at his neck.
This Hunter did not beat around the bush. Every time, he struck with the intent to kill.
The woman he’d resuscitated had come to her senses by then, and let out a blood-curdling scream. With the Hunter momentarily distracted, Deq’on swiftly and quietly fled from the area.
Although he would have liked to claim that his near brush with death had tempered him away from returning to the human realm, this was not the case. Whether he felt an obligation to check up on the woman, or plain curiosity as to how she’d fared after he left her in the alley, didn’t matter. She still carried his blood inside of her.
He’d returned to find her incredibly clear-eyed, memory intact, and very grateful for his forethought to save her life. He had meant to tell her that he’d only saved her life to ensure his own survival, but could not get a single word out around her rampant kissing and groping. He still had great difficulty remembering very much of the whirlwind encounter.
He hadn’t thought of her for several years. He’d never returned after that, couldn’t even rightly remember her name.
Her face, however, he did remember.
He’d been abruptly reminded of her when the monster he served led a small human woman to the cage he kept his hybrid pet project in, and tossed her inside with the boy. It had taken nearly all of his willpower not to react. She looked nearly identical to the woman he’d bedded all those years before, and he’d realized at that moment that he had
fathered the Vampire Medium.
“Deq,” came El’on’s soft exclamation of his given name. Startled out of his musings, Deq’on ran a shaky hand through his pale locks, and swallowed hard. Concern colored his brother’s violet gaze; El’on obviously sensed his upset.
“I’m fine,” Deq’on assured his brother, though the words sounded flimsy even to his own ears. He saw plainly that he had not fooled El’on.
“You’re not. You’ve done enough, Deq; it is time for you to come home.” El’on spoke with a tone of finality, as though the decision had already been made.
In truth, it had. The moment Deq’on’s child fell into the hands of the Druid monster, his fate was sealed. His expression must have betrayed his thoughts, for he watched El’on draw his brow down in a consternated frown. It was an expression El’on usually donned when he dealt with his third-youngest sibling’s rampant rebellious streak.
Steeling himself against the resistance he would likely encounter, Deq’on shook his head. “No, I cannot leave yet,” he replied vaguely, unsure if he wanted to divulge the true reasoning behind his reticence to leave his mission.
“Why not?” El’on urged. “We have dealt a blow to the Devil’s army of beasts—”
“He will make more!” Deq’on interrupted in a hushed shout. “It will never be enough until that monster lies dead at my feet.”
El’on sighed dejectedly. “Deq, please, do not do anything foolish. We are too close to victory now. We must be united if we are to succeed in this war.”
“Do you truly believe we are going to win this war?” Deq’on asked in a low tone, his chin lowered. He glared at his brother’s visage on the wall.
El’on softened his expression, and regarded his most troublesome brother forlornly. “I have to...or we have already lost.”
* * * *
El’on rested his palms on the table, and stared down at it. The missive that he’d shared with his stubborn brute of a younger brother had gone dark, the surface of the wall shifting back to plain black glass.
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