Surrender the Dark

by Tibby Armstrong

  The man’s arms dropped to his sides and so did the façade. Rather than his uncle, Benjamin now faced the Morgan in all his so-called glory.

  “Pity,” the Morgan said. “I was hoping to see the War King’s face up close when I helped you slit his throat.”

  Coven members and keres rushed Tzadkiel at some unseen signal. Pigeons flew from the surrounding warehouse-like structures as Benjamin yanked his ninjato from its sheath. Visions of a broken War King lifting his head to ask for a drink of water replaced the nightmares of all Benjamin had suffered. He didn’t care who stood before him now—he would fight this battle for the compassionate boy he’d once been and the honorable man he should have become.

  “You’re the monster,” Benjamin growled, assessing where to strike the first sword blow. “Not him. You.”

  The Morgan threw back his head and laughed. Benjamin lunged, but met only air. He stumbled, turning to find the man behind him now.

  “He really has gotten under your skin.” The Morgan shifted so he resembled Benjamin’s uncle once more and stretched out his arms. “Come. Play the champion for your vampire lover, hunter.”

  “You don’t have to pretend to be my uncle. I hate you enough for the way you’ve treated Nyx to kill you regardless of what you look like.”

  The fighting was more distant now, with the entire undead mob focusing its efforts on Tzadkiel. Grunts and indistinct shouts told Benjamin the War King still stood.

  The widespread arms dropped, and the Morgan’s lips formed a disappointed line. “But wouldn’t it be more fun for me to kill you like this? Just as you’ve always imagined?”

  Though Benjamin had never truly imagined his own death at his uncle’s hands, the thought suddenly loomed large. Him, writhing in pain, clutching a mortal wound in his abdomen as tainted vampires and keres looked on in glee. He shook his head with violence, dispelling the vision.

  “Get out of my head, asshole,” he said through clenched teeth.

  The Morgan laughed again and with a wave dispelled the illusion. His form shimmered, a mirage of many faces, all of them indistinct until they coalesced into that of the witch once again.

  “It would be less work to allow my army to drain you.” Several of the slavering keres joined the Morgan. “They have fangs you know. Just like the vampires. I do so enjoy a good science experiment.”

  Benjamin shivered at the imagined descent of the beasts upon his body. Clothes would tear as fangs pierced major arteries. He’d never been bitten by a vampire. Would there even be anything left of him when the keres were done? Nervous, he glanced over his shoulder.

  Tzadkiel’s sword cut the night air with its silvered glow. Shadows flickered beyond one of the trailers, signaling the probable arrival of several other coven members. Benjamin forced back a groan of dismay. A quick count said sixteen of the creatures surrounded Tzadkiel. The War King’s blade arced over his head in a lethal dance that brought his adversaries quickly to their knees, but even this failed to stop them. Then, the nearest of the undead rushed Benjamin.

  It came at him with a high blow aimed at his throat. Free arm out, Benjamin swept the thing past its target, and followed up with a sword slash to its neck. The monster fell back, gripping its own throat with a silent scream. Snarls erupted from the others. Two lunged at him at once. Benjamin foiled a chokehold, and spun his assailant to the ground. He aimed a blow to the creature’s midsection.

  Blood sprayed, coating Benjamin’s face. Undeterred, the thing came at him again. They circled. The sounds of fighting—thumps and grunts—drifted from behind one of the trailers. Tzadkiel was cut off from Benjamin’s view, but Benjamin thought he detected the War King’s black leather-clad legs in the fray. From across the parking lot, several more forms approached.

  “What’s the matter?” Benjamin egged on the thing closest to him, and tried not to calculate his own odds. “Afraid to die?”

  The keres came at him in a sloppy attack. Benjamin dropped to the pavement and rolled out of the way. Bounding to his feet, he realized his mistake too late. Four of the things had closed in, tightening their perimeter. He would be vulnerable to a strike from the other three while he took down the fourth, if he could.

  Benjamin’s fist met putrid flesh. The ker’s head snapped back, but it shook off the blow and growled something obscene, its fangs warping the words. He made short work of its neck with his blade. It didn’t quite detach, but it was a close thing. While that one flailed in search of him, the other three rushed in. As a group, they brought him to the ground. The sharp crack of his skull against pavement might have echoed from the distant convention center’s swooping architecture. A damp chill that had little to do with the weather penetrated his back. He rolled, but was divested of his sword and pinned. Shit. All these years, he’d been trying so hard to make sure he died of liver failure, a bottle of top shelf Scotch dangling between his fingertips. This was so not the way he’d wanted to go.

  Fangs scraped his wrist, cheek, neck. Curling in on himself, Benjamin shielded his more tender middle. Gods, this was going to hurt. He wished he could close his eyes. Pain bloomed in his shoulder, and he arched. They were killing him in little bites. One moment they toyed with their food, the next—at some apparent signal—they fed in earnest, latching on with feral intent. Black spots danced before Benjamin’s vision.

  “Tzadkiel!” Benjamin cried out, a last gasp against a dark and lonely death.

  Golden fire lit up the night sky and the keres catapulted off Benjamin and into the air.

  That was Nyx’s aura!

  Benjamin’s skin crackled with the spell’s residual energy, glowing like his own personal aurora borealis. Behind Nyx, Akito was an elegant blur. Long leather trench coat whirling about him, the fighter slashed and hacked until every one of the nearby keres fled in fear of his sword. Benjamin, who had never seen his friend fight before, watched transfixed even through pain’s haze. When Akito fought, he really did look like a superhero.

  Behind Akito, a crowd of true vampire auras glowed their signature blue. Nyx followed the zombies with a few zaps to their retreating backsides—an effect that would have been comical if it weren’t for the burning pain in Benjamin’s wrists and neck and thighs. Her father fled, a coward in the face of so much unexpected opposition.

  Gingerly, Benjamin propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. Nyx knelt beside him. Several paces away, Akito bent, hands on his knees to catch his breath.

  “Are you all right?” Nyx asked.

  “Ungh.” Benjamin’s tongue flopped in his mouth like a dying fish, his lips seeming not to want to form an answer. Finally, he managed, “That sucked,” realized his pun, and groaned, lying back on the pavement. “I thought you couldn’t use magic so far from the Common?”

  “What? Aren’t you even going to say ‘thank you’?” Nyx teased, then smiled. “My father used so much energy on that illusion spell, I was able to skim a ton of magic off him without his noticing.”

  “Nice work.” He examined the dark circles under her eyes, and his weak grin slipped from his face. “Did he recognize you?”

  She shook her head and held up her arm. “Nah. The cuff did its job.”

  “Good.” At least that was one thing they didn’t have to worry about. “Did you follow us all the way here?”

  “Mostly,” Akito said, coming up behind her.

  Benjamin peered past Nyx at Akito. Inky hair cascaded about his shoulders. Mouth drawn, he appeared hesitant to approach. Their parting words rang in his head, and Benjamin cringed.

  “I’m glad you didn’t buy my story back on the Common,” Benjamin said, skirting the subject of their last meeting. It was a guess, but an informed one. “Which one of you was watching the house?”

  “We took shifts.” Nyx passed a hand around the back of Benjamin’s shoulders, helping him sit up. “I was on duty when you left with the other hunter.”

  The world wobbled, and Benjamin tucked his head between his knees, breathing dee
p. Time to come clean.

  “He’s not a hunter,” Benjamin said, voice muffled.

  “We know, Benj.” Akito hefted his sword. “Want us to do him for you?”

  Benjamin lifted his head so fast he nearly passed out. “What? No!”

  Scanning the parking lot, he searched for the spot where the purple aura’s glow was brightest. Around it the blue ones congregated. As he took in the situation, Akito, the trailers, and what he could see of the nearby buildings began to dim. Benjamin frowned. Was Tzadkiel leaving?

  No. The aura wasn’t moving. It was…dying.

  “Shit.” Benjamin stood. His knees buckled, threatening to puddle him to the ground. Akito was there, his shoulder propped under Benjamin’s arm, keeping Benjamin on his feet. “Over there. Get me to him. Now.”

  Leaning heavily on his two friends, Benjamin hobbled to the trailer. Tucked near a makeshift foreman’s building, the vampire lay in a heap, his chest ripped open in a gory display, and a stricken vampire by his side.

  At their approach, the vampire looked up at Benjamin, gaze shifting in frantic indecision. “Keep back, hunter.”

  “Shut up. I want to help him.”

  Thunder rumbled, and Benjamin realized the strategoi growled. Fangs bared, he crouched low. Benjamin prepared to draw his sword for the second time that evening.

  “Let the hunter approach, Dryas,” Tzadkiel said.

  Even though weak, the War King’s voice rang with an inherent authority his mora obeyed.

  After a brief hesitation, the vampire straightened and glared at Benjamin. “Hurt him and you will die.”

  “You guys need to get a new threat,” Benjamin grumbled, but turned his attention to Tzadkiel. The vampire, however, appeared unconscious now.

  Eyes closed, features pale, Tzadkiel—from the neck up at least—seemed every bit the sleeping prince. Benjamin knelt and skimmed fingers over the contours of Tzadkiel’s regal cheekbones, full mouth, and strong chin.

  “Ben?” Akito questioned.

  “Yeah?” The word broke like he was fifteen and his voice was changing. He swallowed a painful lump and cleared his throat. “What is it?”

  “Want me to help you get him back to your place?” Akito’s offer was so unexpected that it took Benjamin a moment to parse the words.

  “I think we need a cab. And…” Gods help him. “I think if he’s going to live, he needs to feed. I wish we had his kylix. It would help him get the magic he needs to regain his strength. Or so he’s said.”

  “Kylix?” Akito asked.

  “It’s a cup. It’s what the vamps use in their rituals—especially the ones involving turning. The Morgan has it.” Benjamin waved his hand in the direction where Nyx’s father had made his retreat. “He’s making those fucked up creatures with its magic and some blood from a few rogue vampires. We think.”

  Next to Benjamin, the vampire rolled up his sleeve and bit into his own flesh. He pressed his wrist to Tzadkiel’s mouth. Benjamin stilled, barely daring to breathe. A few drops escaped onto Tzadkiel’s lips, turning deathly pale skin to something like crimson. At least everything remained tinted with the War King’s purple glow. As long as Benjamin’s vision held, Tzadkiel lived.

  Tzadkiel swallowed convulsively, then shot up a hand and knocked Dryas’s wrist away. “No.”

  “You have to feed,” Benjamin insisted.

  Tzadkiel’s eyes fluttered open, and he panted as he spoke. “I’ll not lower myself to this sacrilege, even to live. We do not feed from those we have turned—unless we are mated. Dryas is my trusted general.”

  “Okay…Got it. No vampire incest.” Frowning, Benjamin turned his attention to Akito. “Call that cab?”

  He nodded and went off to do as he’d been asked. Clearly neither of Benjamin’s friends was going to offer their own blood, and he couldn’t blame them. Benjamin returned his attention to Tzadkiel, and tried to ignore the black spots in his vision from his own loss of blood.

  “Dryas or one of your men are the only ones here right now who can help you.”

  “It is forbidden,” Tzadkiel rasped, taking a deep, juddering breath. “Promise me…Dryas…Benjamin…” Hearing his name on this man’s lips compelled Benjamin to lean in. “Kill the Morgan and keres. Promise you’ll kill them all.”

  Benjamin jerked away, pulse spiking. Kill the Morgan? Even if Nyx were to back the plan, he didn’t know where to begin with such a task. If he had, he would have done it years ago when Nyx’s father had tried to control her in unthinkable ways, and he’d possessed more of a stomach for vengeance than he now did.

  Running a hand over his face, Benjamin at first thought he’d blocked his etheric sight when the world went dark. Startled, he dropped his palm and realized he couldn’t see at all.

  “No.” Reaching down, Benjamin grabbed for Tzadkiel’s shoulders. A literal dead weight met his shake. “Tzadkiel. You asshole. Vampires don’t die like this.”

  Frantic, Benjamin tore at his own sleeve and bit into his wrist as he’d seen Dryas do. The taste of old pennies and salt burst over his tongue. He spat it away, and pressed the pulsing wound to Tzadkiel’s mouth.

  Flesh he remembered as almost too hot to touch rapidly cooled with death’s pall.

  “Drink, damn you.” If he could have shoved his wrist down Tzadkiel’s throat, he would have. “He wasn’t beheaded. How can he be dead?”

  Bring back the light. He needed Tzadkiel’s light.

  “The War King’s blood was tainted with iron and acid. It made him weak.” Dryas, who had drawn closer, finished with a whisper. “It made him mortal.”

  “Ben.” Nyx laid a gentle hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. “You’re already too weak from blood loss. You’re going to bleed out.”

  As if in confirmation, Benjamin listed to the side. When Nyx pried his dripping wrist from Tzadkiel’s lips, Benjamin was too weak to protest. In a daze, he let Nyx bandage his wrist with the shreds of someone’s shirt. Everything else hurt so badly inside that he’d ceased to notice any pain in his other wounds. Why did it hurt so much?

  Akito returned, his booted footfalls impacting with his long strides across the pavement. “Is he…?”

  “Yeah,” Nyx said.

  Akito knelt, his hair brushing Benjamin’s arm. “The cab is on its way. I don’t think we’re going to be able to pass this off as a drunk guy and get him out of here.”

  “Why didn’t his body disappear like the others?” Nyx asked.

  Dryas paced, his blue aura flickering with his agitation. “Iron taints his spirit. Holds him here.”

  “Iron?” Nyx asked, passing soothing fingers through Benjamin’s hair.

  “The hunters cut him, injected his blood. They use a mixture of iron and acid to make sure we can’t heal. It’s potent and effective. We use it sometimes for—” Dryas growled, then finished with, “for traitors.”

  “So, if I remove the iron from his blood, will he, uh, move on?” Nyx asked.

  No!

  Benjamin’s mind screamed, but he remained silent.

  “There’s a spell for that?” Akito asked.

  “There’s a spell for just about everything.” Nyx unzipped her bag. “This just happens to be a weird one that I might know that doesn’t involve too much power on my part. I can supplement with herbs and the like to remove the poisons from his blood.”

  “You will not defile his body.” The sharp statement came from Dryas.

  “I just want to help release his soul.” Nyx’s voice was gentle, compassionate.

  The saying about misery making for strange bedfellows flitted through what remained of Benjamin’s awareness. His heart fluttered with a sluggish thub-dub. He might have passed out, he wasn’t sure, but when he came to, chanting and the scent of herbs and incense swirled on the air. Sparkling pinpricks of light pierced his vision. Nyx must have convinced the strategoi to accept her help. Listless from lack of blood and a dearth of hope, he willed himself to let go of consciousness once more. He didn’t have to be aw
ake to witness this. The last thing he saw as he drifted into merciful oblivion was Tzadkiel in quiet repose—a sleeping prince, awaiting his kiss.

  Chapter 20

  Honeyed warmth slid down Tzadkiel’s throat, earthy sage and sweet elderflower singing across his taste buds. His tongue tested the inside of his mouth where he found more of the elixir and greedily swallowed it down. Life coursed through him, rushing into limb and vein with the intensity of a spring flood. His being opened and stretched, face upturned to its internal sun. Balance and harmony found him, and he sat in their garden for long moments simply soaking them in. Gradually, he became aware of sounds and sensations—a car engine, the rocking of a vehicle.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the emergency room?” A man in the front seat spoke, his Boston accent thick with concern.

  “He’s just sleeping off a bender.” A woman…He shook his head to clear it of double vision. A form resolved. It was Nyx. “He’ll be all right.”

  Tzadkiel attempted to piece together the situation. He’d been fighting the coven and lost. Involuntarily, his hand went to his sternum. He recalled the upward thrust of a knife through his solar plexus. Though Tzadkiel’s fingers came away sticky with blood, there appeared to no longer be a wound beneath the hole in his shirt.

  “He’s awake,” Nyx observed.

  A tinny voice registered from the phone the witch held. “I’ll be fine. Is Ben still out?”

  Tzadkiel breathed deeper, struggling to detect the hunter’s scent. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. Blood. The air was thick with it—the hunter’s and Tzadkiel’s own. Tzadkiel even tasted it on his tongue. Gods. Had he bitten Benjamin?

  Opening his eyes fully, he searched the cab for the hunter. “Where is he?”

  “With Dryas.” The witch spoke to him with the phone tucked under one ear. “You’re my hostage, and he’s yours.”

  Tzadkiel shot upright. “You left him with one of my mora?”

  “We couldn’t all fit in one cab.” Nyx spoke into the little box. “I gotta go. Call if anything changes?”