Crimson Reign (10 page)

“At the same time, our own traitor is feeding them tidbits of information through someone in the Vatican.” Lachi took up the narration. “This person is then relaying coordinates of the smaller enclaves as bargaining chips to the Nephilim in the hope that all the chaos will spark an uprising in the ranks. They will call for my abdication and bring me down. But there's one thing they haven't banked on; the Pope’s not corrupt.” Lachi's voice held the fire of his vehemence, and he struck out hard, his fist connecting with the marble altar.

“Unlike that fucking idiot, Gabriel. Damn fool is going to get us all killed. I know what you scented from him, Laziel. He is the go between; he has to be. Our traitor is feeding him information to give to the Nephilim. What's the point of me leading when my own damned kind constantly conspire against me and want me for nothing more than a blood whore. FUCK!” Lachi's anger radiated out in a blistering cloud of anger and hate. “I should just leave the fidiots to rot in their coffins, dumb fuckin’ bastards.”

“Gabriel?” Arial's question emerged just above a whisper, but the unease in his voice was enough. “The brainless fucker.” Arial looked forlorn. Laziel picked up the slight hesitation in the Fallen’s face and inquired.

“You do know he’s tainted, don't you?” Laziel concentrated on the look in Arial's eyes, haunted, angry then flat and emotionless. Lachi came up behind him and placed a reassuring hand between the Fallen's broad shoulder blades.

“Arial, what is it?” Lachi spoke low, voice composed, but Laziel knew better. Underneath that calm raged an inferno of hatred and fettered rage.

“They’ve met already, Gabriel and the Nephilim, last week. I was there, not in the room itself, but topside awaiting my instruction from the clergy. I know the Nephilim were there. I can sense them, like I can Laziel. It’s the blood I think. Anyway, I was pacing the halls when there was a ruckus. Gabriel walked out, pale and shaking, the terror in his face evident. Another male, older, pulled him back inside. He was rambling that he had better things to hunt; one of his own was loose, and he was going to drag him back. He spoke a name, cursed and then the door slammed. He was one mean son of a bitch. Gabriel damn near pissed his pants when the old guy sneered and bared his fangs. Shit, my liege, I'm sorry, I should have...”

The room fell into complete and utter silence, the only audible sound was the deafening beat of Lachi's heart. The beat raced in Laziel’s ears. Absolute fury, but not directed at Arial, the Fallen had no way to know. The vampire’s voice emerged low, barely a whisper.

“Can you remember the name? The name of the person the older male was going to drag back?” Unbearable tension tightened Laziel’s shoulders. If he'd been found…God no, the thought was excruciating to imagine. All of what they’d gained would be forfeit. And Laziel, he would kill the whole fucking race rather than let them take Lachi away. Sure, they could try to take Laziel, more luck to them. He growled. An uneasy laugh followed, and then more silence as angel glared at angel.

“A name Arial, do you remember the fucking name?” Fists curled and uncurled as the temperature of the room skyrocketed from the heat of Lachi's veiled temper.

“Vis...Vischeral.”

The room swam and Laziel slumped onto the nearest pew. Eyes closed, he concentrated on his breathing. In, out, yeah that’s how it went. The incomprehensible notion that everything they'd built, all the training and knowledge now hung on the precipice of a proverbial knife edge robbed him of breath. Their traitor was known, no big shock there. Darklon was zealous in his constant claims. Laziel needed to know, needed to read the crazy assed fuck and see if something hadn't happened in the last week to give the traitorous male a lead on the one he sought.

Without even looking at Lachi, Laziel crossed the room and clasped Arial's hands in his own. The Fallen bowed his head and Laziel absorbed the tide of genuine remorse. Holding tighter, Laziel gave Arial his awaited instructions.

“I have a plan I need to talk through.” Laziel inclined his head and motioned to Lachi, and Arial nodded in understanding. “If it goes the way I think it will, remember the old guy, the one with Gabriel, is our traitor. If he takes my bait, expect him soon.” Arial's eyes widened as understanding dawned. He was the bait.

“And, what of the Nephilim? What are we to do with them? They grow stronger, yet I sense great disruption and fear. They know not their place in this world any more. They are ruled by an inherent evil that cares not if they lose their lives as long as they fight.” Arial’s passionate question tugged at Laziel’s heart. He closed his eyes; he clearly sensed Arial’s pain and confliction. To him, the Nephilim represented what he saw himself to be, unwanted offspring cast aside to be forgotten. A spark of recognition flared between them and Arial turned away. He didn't complain. This was a conversation for another time and day. With one more glance in the direction of Lachi's silent form, Arial silently bowed and duly disappeared.

Laziel knew Arial could be counted on and would be in touch as soon as the bait was taken. Alone in the chapel, the angel turned on his bare heels to face a thunderous, brooding male. “We have work to do before you burn off that look; I suggest you hold onto your balls, gorgeous, this could get rough.” With that, Laziel stalked from the room. He headed out down the walkway toward the courts where the Elders and more elite of the race whiled away most of their money on humanly sourced blood, or gambled what was left of the night on talk of old times when they fed from the freshly tapped veins of the humans they kept as livestock.

~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~

Malachi’s gut churned. The ferocious roar of his rage drowned out Laziel’s farewell to the Fallen. Red haze clouded his vision as he fought to quell the monster that awoke and stirred inside him. Mutely, he followed Laziel when his angel guardian departed the chapel. His mind traveled backward. Harsh memories triggered by the name Arial had dropped surged to the surface for the second time that day.

Vischeral. A friend, a confidante, the one person who knew Malachi better than anyone save Laziel, despite the fact he had been born human. In the flash of a vindictive fang, the human became vampire. Because of Malachi’s friendship, an innocent life was snatched away, and a curse handed down. All of it was his fault, and there was no way to repair the damage except to help the newly turned vampire escape his Sire.

Malachi struggled to maintain control over the beast inside. It demanded blood, thirsted for Darklon’s death. Every instinct demanded he charge into the court and take the retribution he’d denied himself and Vischeral for over three centuries. Tension vibrated along his skin causing the tiny hairs to stand on end. Chest heaving, eyes glittering with bloodlust, he stopped and curled his hands into fists. If he entered that room, death would follow and everything he and the angel had worked for would be for naught.

“Laziel.” The one word, low and guttural conveyed the depth of Malachi’s turmoil.

“Fucking hell, Lachi. This sure as shit ain’t the place for you to lose your cool.”

“Vischeral. Memories. Won’t fucking stop.” Malachi’s hands unclenched, and he reached for Laziel. As always, the angel came to him willingly. Good thing. He was rapidly losing himself to the violence of his nature. With a vile curse, the celestial maneuvered them out of the main hallway. Viciously, he shoved Malachi into a recessed alcove tossing out the ornamental stand and priceless Ming vase. The shattering glass barely registered in Malachi’s awareness drowned out by the angel’s growl.

“Fucking thinking about that vampire again, are you? He can’t give you what I can…” Laziel’s voice died and he cleared his throat. “It’s a damned good thing he’s not here to see what he does to you, or the fucker would be running from me instead of that pathetic excuse of an Elder.” Rough hands slid around Malachi’s waist and yanked him tight into the other’s body. Laz ground his immense erection into Malachi’s thigh.

“You know if he touched you, I’d rip his balls off, and then come for you.” The menace in the statement brought Malachi’s head up. Eyes gleaming with lust, he stared in the angel’s molten eyes; his own growl threatening and low.

“You know I am only for you, angel. No one else can handle the… savagery of my lust, or the possessiveness of my attentions. But, with Vischeral…it’s hard to explain, he’s different.” Even as Laziel’s face darkened with resentment, soft feathers brushed against Malachi’s face as black satin wings sprouted from the angel’s back cloaking them. Cocooned by his protection, Malachi loosened his iron control and allowed the memories to unfold. Leeching the wound was the only way to ease it.

Two young men in their prime, one a vampire, the other human, but inherently alike. Impossibly young and still naïve about the world, Malachi lived and trained with Laziel in the small village of Praeneste nestled in the Italian mountains. Protected by the powerful Seraphim that harbored him, Malachi escaped the persecution of both the humans and Darklon; the vampire Elder who governed the region with an iron fist.

Malachi spent his days and nights with the angel in constant training. He prepared for a destiny he wasn’t sure he wanted, but which Laziel swore belonged to him. Hand to hand combat, weapons, marksmanship all interspersed with academia to ensure he was ready for the throne that loomed in his future. He fell into bed exhausted at the end of every night, his body screaming from the day’s exertions. His mind overflowed with the knowledge gleaned from the extensive library. Laziel was always there to massage away the cramps, answer questions and give him the liquid nourishment he needed to face the next day.

Those early morning hours, Malachi remembered fondly. His lips on the angel’s neck, his fangs deep in the vein and the angel’s arms holding him close. Yet, it was those very moments of peace that made him yearn for more. The scholars wrote of love, friendship, a world Malachi only dreamed about.

He’d started to buck the routine, demanded more freedom. Given his volatile temper, they’d fought, verbally and physically. The celestial tried without success to make Malachi understand the importance of what they worked toward. Rebellious and angry, Malachi refused to listen. He was invincible, destined to be King so Laziel had told him over and over again. It became a challenge to outwit his guardian and escape into the village. On one such excursion, he met Vischeral.

Sprawled at a corner table of the local tavern, Malachi had watched and listened to the human customers. As it was early afternoon, the vampires were lost to the Sole Dormire, or the sun sleep. Empowered by the angel’s blood, Malachi did not suffer the ill effects of the sun’s kiss. An untouched pint sat on the table before him. He knew from past experience that he didn’t care for the ale the humans served, but it provided a reason for him to be in the pub. Several of the patrons cast wary eyes over him, but none save the barmaid approached. On prior visits, he’d tried to strike up conversations, but the locals recognized the predator in him and shied away. The irony of the situation was laughable. He’d escaped Laziel’s tight fist only to be shunned. By humans.

On that particular visit, he’d risen to leave when the door swung open and a newcomer appeared. Tall, with shaggy black hair and midnight eyes, the male squinted in the gloom after the bright sunshine.

“Vischeral, over here.” A patron to Malachi’s right called out drawing the man’s attention. When that onyx gaze collided with his, Malachi had felt an instant connection. The man must have felt it too. Instead of joining the others, Vischeral crossed to Malachi’s table and sat down, hand stuck out in greeting. Malachi didn’t regret accepting that handshake, nor the intricate friendship that developed afterward. After he took his seat, they shared several pints; the first of many.

Educated and possessing a dark humor similar to Malachi’s own, Vischeral intrigued him. They had talked until just before midnight on a wide range of topics including their mutual desire to attend the Università degli Studi di Padova to study law. When they’d parted and he’d returned to the villa, Laziel was nowhere to be found. Malachi had thought nothing of it at the time. He’d gone to the training arena and picked up on the exercises he’d skipped out on that afternoon, but couldn’t quite contain the eager anticipation to meet the human man again and very soon.

Over the next year, they’d developed a steadfast friendship, meeting several nights a week to toss back a brew or to visit the village whores. After the first few clandestine meetings, Laziel appeared in the tavern, a frown on his angelic features.

“What the fuck’s going on, Lachi?” The quiet voice had riveted Malachi to the wooden floor beneath his feet. The disapproval ran like leeches over his flesh.

“I’ve made a friend angel. Laziel, meet Vischeral.” He’d been almost belligerent, his black eyes flat. He hadn’t expected the hand slammed over his mouth or his head bouncing off the wall behind him.

“Shut up, you dumb fuck. He’s human.” The voice had crashed into Malachi’s skull and the brutal treatment inflamed his temper. He’d shoved back, his own scathing response flashing into the celestial’s mind.

“No shit, but he’s a friend. So either join us or fucking leave.” Vischeral had intervened sliding a palm against each of their chests and stepping between them. Damned male had never been afraid of anything, and at that moment, his life hung in the balance though he never knew it. Malachi calmed instantly, afraid of hurting his friend, but the angel sneered, his eyes ominous. Malachi feared Laziel would smite the human where he stood, but instead, he’d whirled away leaving them alone.

From that night on, Laziel often accompanied Malachi to the pub or bordello, always staying in the shadows alert and wearing a constant frown. The human became a bone of contention between them, one Malachi hadn’t understood and still didn’t. Every outing drew the two males closer together. Malachi’s respect and admiration grew as did Laziel’s animosity.

Over time, he grew tired of the angel’s continual reminders of the frailty of the human male and warnings about the distraction he brought into Malachi’s life. Laziel tried to scare Vischeral away, and when that didn’t work, he resorted to vitriolic sarcasm. In the end, Malachi’s perverse stubbornness and Vischeral’s absolute refusal to abandon their friendship wore down the celestial’s objections and an uneasy truce existed between the three of them. In hindsight, Malachi should have heeded the angel’s wisdom. It might have saved the human. But, Malachi just could not walk away. Something about the male drew him like a lodestone, and it wasn’t his blood.