by V L Moon
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The dream seemed to start as soon as his eyes shut. Darkness…a long and never ending alley of shadowy darkness, followed by a sense of watching his body as if from above as he was stalked like prey. The dreams were always the same, starting in the alley with the female popping open his fly, and then, the sudden realization of being watched. This time it played out in slow motion. The rise of the predator from the shadows, the feel of wet lips around his cock sucking madly. Anger, not his, but the strangers. Fangs glinting in moonlight, and the scream, but it didn’t come. Holy shit, mother of mercy, that scream woke him every damned time, just as he looked up into the void of soulless, glaring eyes. He thrashed as the dream changed its course.
Fitful and restless, Copi found himself in the darkened alley alone. There was no female on her knees before him. Copi mumbled in his sleep as the air in the alley grew thick and heavy around him. His pulse quickened and his body started to ache. Wake up, Dane. His mind flickered as he subconsciously tried to rouse himself, but his eyes were locked on the approaching male.
The width of his hips and his long thickly muscled thighs had Copi’s body humming with lust and fear. The feelings intensified as desire raced through his veins. Heat bloomed and built rapidly as he watched the stalking predator draw closer toward him. He stopped breathing when the male stood before him, smiling seductively, showing the barest glint of fangs. His body quivered at the feel of breath on his neck and his shaft punched tight against the fly of his pants.
The male growled hypnotically low as he laved over Copi’s pulsating vein. In an act of total submission, Copi turned his head and offered up the column of his throat. Eyes so deep, so lifelessly black bore into the hardened depths of Copi’s soul and he fell, soared through the dark empty void of the stranger’s eyes. Eyes that belonged to…
“Nooo!” Copi shot up, eyes open wide to focus on him, the male from his dreams. And, there he was, Vischeral Bourne. His eyes…oh God, those eyes…so like the eyes from his dream, they penetrated his soul. Black fathomless pits of pain, longing and despair.
It felt like forever that their stares remained locked together. A whirl of emotion flooded through his mind, and his mouth went dry as he reached up to touch the column of his own throat.
Fuck! Get a grip, Copi. It was just a God damn dream. He sat up on the soft leather sofa and tried to rake his brain back to the land of the living as Vischeral just stood there, eyes transfixed like he was rooted to the spot.
Pissed beyond measure that the man was not only in his dreams, but also in his house, Copi’s face flushed with heat as his temper finally flared. “How the hell did you get in here? I suppose you think you’re above the fucking law. Or, don’t the words breaking and entering come into that verbal dictionary of curses and four letter words you seem to be so good at spewing?” Copi rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face, and waited for an answer. “Are you going to just stand there all fucking night like some sort of freaked out junky, or are we going to go through any of these reports?”
Met with nothing but the same blank sneer, Copi reached for the Jack and poured a stiff measure. He didn’t bother offering his partner a drink, though it was rude, to say the least. Wasn't like he was going to win a fucking friend of the year award any time soon.
Vischeral’s smooth rich voice cut through the atmosphere like a hot blade through butter, all melty and husky. “Bring the fucking files to the table so we can spread them out and make notes. We’ll work from here tonight. The station gives me the fucking scratch.” The large man disappeared through the door causing Copi to glare at his retreating back.
“Didn’t realize I was your lap dog, ya surly bastard” Copi grunted as he bent to pick up the files before following Bourne into the kitchen.
The night passed quickly as they made still more notes and compared files. Within the first few hours, he noticed that Bourne refused to stay on the same side of the table with him. He tested his theory, trying to edge around closer to the hulking harbinger of darkness. No matter how stealthily he moved, Bourne maintained the same distance between them though he never once looked up. The bastard was uncannily aware of where Copi stood.
As the Jack disappeared and the sun crept closer, an ache started in Copi’s lower back. If Bourne felt anything, he never once let on. His mind and eyes remained focused on the case files. He sagged into a chair in relief when Bourne’s head finally rose and he bid Copi good night. The bastard sailed out the door and disappeared faster than Copi could reach the front door. He never heard a car engine, never saw any headlights. Where the fuck had Bourne gone so fast?
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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VATICAN CITY, ROME
Behind Saul’s burly form, Roman carried Kimberly Stroner deeper into the private living quarters of the King’s enclave. Head still reeling from the events in the King’s office, he struggled to process the information. Arial had been right, the King did trust the Fallen, yet he despised Roman’s father. Surely, he knew Arial had allied himself with Darklon.
Darklon. The name brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Was the Elder responsible for the desecration of the South American enclave? Did he work to steal the throne of their King? A soft murmur drew his gaze down to the bloody face of his female burden. Did he prey on the innocent to achieve his goals? He couldn’t deny he’d felt something break away and crumble from his mind back in the King’s office. Ms. Stroner had certainly been different.
Saul stopped and keys rattled. The painted black wooden door swung open into a homey living room done in bright colors. His booted feet rang on the hardwood floor dotted with vibrantly woven rugs. When he didn’t hear the door close behind him, he stopped and turned to see Saul arms crossed over his chest watching him.
“I’ve got this. You can go.” Saul opened his mouth, a sure protest about leaving him alone with Ms. Stroner. “Look, the King ordered me take care of her. If she comes to harm, I have little doubt his majesty will skin me alive.”
Frustrated but unable to argue, Saul grabbed the door handle, and sneered at him. “Keep your hands to yourself, Di Sangue. Ms. Stroner is a special female, better than the likes of you.” Roman’s lip curled and he spun away. Everyone in the King’s court seemed to have a low opinion of him. What in the hell had he done to earn their disgust? Darklon. The name floated into his mind. Certainly, none of Malachi’s closest confidante’s liked the Elder. Hell, even his own second in Command didn’t like the Elder. “I swear to you, Roman. He’s not your father.” His mother’s words floated into his mind. He believed her; she’d never lied to him. But, Darklon had gotten him alone. Convinced him he spoke the truth. Enthrallment.
“Fuck!” He bit out the expletive. He needed time to think, but first, he had to deal with Ms. Stroner. Several doors opened and closed before he found the room rich with her scent. Crossing to the bed, he laid her carefully on the duvet. In the adjoining bathroom, he wet a wash cloth in warm water. Back at her bedside, he gently washed away the blood. Her beauty left him speechless.
Long sooty lashes lay in perfect crescents against pale, high cheekbones. Perfectly arched brows over eyes he knew were a beautiful shade of molten brown. When she smiled, a dimple appeared in her left cheek. Of their own accord, his fingers trailed over that cheek. He felt drawn to this female as he never had another. Her hatred confounded him until he put it together with the hatred the King’s closest confidantes held for his father. Pulling the chair from her desk, he arranged it beside her bed and took a seat. Although she slept at Malachi’s will, head injuries were dangerous. He’d stay until she awoke.
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The cold smack of wet cotton snapped Roman awake. “What are you doing in my room?” Kimberly Stroner stood at the foot of the bed, a white terry cloth robe wrapped around her tighter than a mummy’s bindings. Temper colored her cheeks a glorious red. “I’m sick of you Di Sangues strolling in here whenever you please.
Are you here to finish off what your father started?”
Roman rose; hands palm out and rose to show he meant no harm. “Whoa now. Easy Kimberly. I just…”
“Ms. Stroner.”
“Fine. Ms. Stroner, your King asked me to see you to your room. He and the angel had other duties to attend to.”
“I don’t believe you.” She clutched at the lapels at her throat, and he caught the tremors of fear, or anger, in her hand. He wondered if she was still fully clothed beneath the robe.
“You can call Saul. He let me in.” Roman raked a frustrated hand through the length of his hair. “Look, I just wanted to stay and make sure you woke up. You have a head wound.”
“Courtesy of your father. I’m fine, I’m up, now get out.” When he didn’t move, she stepped forward and shoved him hard in the chest. “Get out now.”
The hysteria in her voice grated along his nerves.
“Fine, I’m going,” he growled. He reached up and ringed her wrists lightly. “I am not my father, Ms. Stroner. You shouldn’t judge someone you don’t know. In case you’re interested, I would never hurt you, or any other female.” Dropping her hands, he turned and stalked out. He felt her following him through the apartment. At the door, he paused and without turning addressed her one last time.
“Tell your King, I have gone back to the enclave. I’ll expect the Guards tomorrow at nightfall as he promised.”
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TWO WEEKS LATER
With a last embrace for his mother, Roman stepped back, smiled and ported from her cramped living space to the luxury of the court. Not wanting a confrontation from the vampire who claimed to be his father, he chose to arrive outside Ms. Stroner’s quarters. He refused to admit even to himself that he wanted to see her.
The female loathed him, yet Roman couldn’t stop thinking about her. How she’d lain against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder when he carried her to her room. The tingle of her scent, light and mysterious, had teased his nose when her soft hair brushed his cheek. Soft curves he shouldn’t have noticed imprinted on his memory. A curse escaped as he shoved the thoughts away. Get your shit together, Rom, the court is no place to be woolgathering.
Straightening his suit jacket, he set off down the hall in the direction of the King’s office. In the foyer outside the Council chambers, strong fingers closed around his bicep and forced him to stop.
“Where have you been, my son? I expected you back much earlier so we could discuss matters before you met with Malachi.” Darklon’s mesmerizing voice leeched into his ear, low and intimate. A chill raced up his spine, but he forced a welcoming smile to his mouth.
“Hello, Father.” The honorary title grated on his nerves. His mother had once again been adamant the male was not his Father. Her sincerity coupled with the enthrallment broken by his King forced Roman to accept something wasn’t kosher with the Elder. “You must be extraordinary friends with our Liege to address him with such familiarity.” Because he was watching for it, he caught the sneer that curled Darklon’s lip for a brief second. The older vampire resumed walking and propelled him toward the King’s office.
“I was an Elder long before that…before he took the throne. I remember when he toddled around the village holding that angel’s hand. Sometimes, I forget he is King.”
Roman felt it then, the probing of Darklon’s mind against his own. He wouldn’t be used against the King, not again. While in South America, he’d worked on protecting himself. He imagined the great double doors leading into his King’s office, imagined them slamming shut repelling any intruder. Darklon’s hand fell away, and he stumbled back, surprise on his face.
“You are his s…” Abruptly, the Elder snapped his mouth closed. His eyes darkened with a possessive gleam. When he reached for Roman again, Roman’s gut heaved. Madness shone in those eyes. He recoiled slamming into the very doors he’d just conjured in his mind.
“I am his what?” He gritted out between clenched teeth when Darklon crowded in closer. A name flashed into his mind, Darklon’s control slipping for a moment. Vischeral. About to ask who the fuck Vischeral was, he stiffened in shock when Darklon’s lips brushed over his cheek grazing the edge of his mouth. Was the old bastard crazy?
“Should I get you a room, or let the King know you’re here?”
Ms. Stroner’s voice jerked Darklon back to reality. He quickly stepped away, and Roman watched Ms. Stroner’s eyes go glassy and then clear. A smile replaced the frown, and she became all courtesy.
“Lord Di Sangue, so nice to see you again. And, Roman, you must be dreadfully excited about tonight’s ceremony.” She crossed to them both and hugged them warmly. If he hadn’t believed Denali’s claim of Darklon’s power before, he believed it when the female’s arms wrapped around him. All of the piss and vinegar evaporated; Roman found himself disappointed. He liked her spunk. “I’ll just inform his Grace you are here.”
When the female disappeared behind the double doors, Darklon’s magnetic gaze returned to him. “You will need a witness for this meeting. It is the official acceptance of your petition to be Elder before the spectacle of the Crescente di Ordinare Cerimonia tonight. I’m sure Malachi has chosen Laziel as his second. I will, of course, accompany you.”
A protest would have been futile. Roman nodded. “As you wish.” The doors swung open again, and Ms. Stroner emerged the glare back in her eyes.
“He will see you, Roman Di Sangue, but Lord Di Sangue will not be granted an audience.”
Beside him Darklon growled in outrage. “My son has the right to a second. He has chosen me. Malachi cannot forbid me entrance.”
“On the contrary, Loni, I can forbid you anything I damn well wish.” Malachi Denali strolled out of the office, one hand casually tucked into the pocket of his black leather pants. The long sleeved black cable knit sweater hugged a heavily muscled chest. Eyes blacker than midnight slammed into Roman. “If you’ve made the unfortunate mistake of choosing Loni Boy as your witness, I’m afraid you’ll have to attend alone or chose another. The Elder will not step foot in my office.”
Shoving Ms. Stroner aside, Darklon surged forward. Roman caught the secretary as she stumbled and yanked her tight to his chest when a roar of pure savagery shook the walls around them. A glow brighter than the sun had him blinking as Laziel materialized in front of Malachi, a rabid sneer on angelic lips.
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Instinct, or the notion of it whether human or vampire, paled in comparison to Laziel’s intuition. Time slowed, and between one heartbeat and the next, Laziel became one with the Earth. Fury hotter than the deepest depths of Hell erupted within him, turning the blood in his vein’s toxic with rage. The air around Lachi crackled and filled with the noxious scent of Laziel’s vicious vehemence. The Earth shifted, and as Laziel took shape so did his rage. Intense light blazed in an arc from his celestial eyes, sending Roman and Ms. Stroner running for cover under the secretary’s desk. Nonchalant behind the towering form of his angel, Lachi remained unmoved.
Slowly, and with deliberate intent, Laziel raised a solitary finger, and as if by magic, lifted Darklon until the Elder hovered in midair to come face to face with a seething Laziel. Any attempt to use the power Darklon possessed as a vampire proved futile as Laziel merely blinked and Darklon’s form turned limp. Robbed of his abilities, Darklon turned sickly pale, his eyes shone with fear and his lips moved in silent pleading to Laziel’s menacing form.
“I should crush you, Loni. You are nothing but a sycophant that refuses to learn his place. You have no power over me; therefore, you shall never have power of Malachi,” he sneered at the quaking male. “I should bend you until every bone in your body breaks and your screams for leniency echo throughout Rome.” A wicked smile curved his lips. “But this shall prove much more fun. Kneel Loni…kneel before your rightful King and beg his forgiveness, and I will spare you this night.” He formed a tight fist and the Elder crumbled to the floor. A second passed, and then two before an in
ert Darklon took to his knees. He wobbled a bit before lowering his head in defeat and kissed the ruby ring of sovereignty adorning Malachi’s outstretched hand.
Delving into the Elder’s mind, Laziel read the overwhelming degree of psychotic animosity the Elder held toward his King. But, what astounded Laziel more was the extent Darklon was willing to go to assuage his delusional aspirations.
A jolt of fear turned the inferno racing through his veins into ice. Darklon’s treachery knew no bounds, and as Laziel plundered the vampire’s sickening thoughts, the Elder’s body trembled. Allied to the Nephilim, Darklon saw himself appointing Arial as the Nephilim’s future King. Celix was likely to take umbrage to that plan which meant an inner conflict among the Nephilim. Chaos loomed on the horizon, and Darklon believed he held the superior knowledge and power control the melee and use the vampire’s only known enemies to bring about the decimation of his own fucking race.
“Ms. Stroner, kindly escort Mr. Di Sangue inside.” Laziel’s eyes never moved from where they bore into Darklon. When the soft click of the door shut firmly behind them, Laziel tore from Darklon’s thoughts with vicious intent. The Elder cast a panic stricken gaze between Lachi and Laziel before his hands scratched at the invisible hold clamped around his throat. Bones crunched under Laziel’s watchful glare, and Darklon shrieked in fear just before his body was lifted and hurled through the air. “Heed my words, Loni; this was your last warning. One more encroachment against your King, and I’ll see to it personally that the next angel you meet will be the angel of death.”