Crimson Reign (12 page)

“I am yours, angel. Every wicked savage inch of me. This obsession you have with Him has to stop.” As quick as he’d kissed him, Malachi returned to the street, booted feet thumping on the pavement. He had to get away from the male, or the night would be lost. Hunting first, and then fucking. Because once he got Laziel naked, it would be a long fucking time before he came up for air.

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CHAPTER FIVE

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Laziel mutely seethed at the guilty imagery playing on Lachi's thoughts. An age had passed since the ulcerous wound of Vischeral Bourne had been opened up. But, here it arose yet again, festering inside him. It bathed Laziel's heart in an acid bath of fear and doubt that no amount of mental scolding erased. Dark thoughts tormented him. Visions of a kiss, so very tentative in its nature, sent a bolt of pain straight through the core of his angelic heart to bring a sheen of blistering tears to his sinister, brooding eyes. Laziel always wondered whether taking away Vischeral’s memory of that kiss was the right thing to do. He knew somewhere deep inside Malachi pondered the inevitable question. If he had stayed with Vischeral, would he have turned him?

Fuck. Just the thought of the two of them together all those years ago still hurt like a fucking bitch. Laziel couldn't breathe let alone gather another thought without seeing Lachi firmly pressed against the more than welcoming form of Vischeral fucking Bourne. Lachi's words, “This obsession you have with Him has to stop” tainted the angel's constricted throat with acrid bile. It burned.

It's not my obsession, motherfucker. Unspoken words, Laziel dared not speak, loitered in the confines of his celestial memory. Why, after all this time were the memories of that Godforsaken night still plaguing his mind as though it were only yesterday? Raw with the turmoil of emotion, Laziel’s mood plummeted. The air around him took on a palpable chill that radiated out from the pores of his skin. Laziel heard the words possessively spoken from the vampire's lips and damn near broke apart with need as that same lush mouth descended onto Laziel’s hungry ripe lips. The want and need to devour Lachi rose fast and only agitated Laziel’s foreboding mood when the vampire turned and stalked away.

Fists clenched Laziel jettisoned angelic molecules out into the night and appeared topside. The hilt of his trusty sword nestled against the line of his spine, waiting as always for the feel of its owner’s call to appear steadfast and held tight within lethal hands at the slightest inclination that trouble was near. Hot on the heels of Lachi’s ground eating stride, Laziel’s heightened senses screamed with alertness. Damn it to hell, what the angel wouldn't give for a good fight. Hand to hand combat against an opponent worthy of drawing blood. But alas, Laziel knew of none that would ever equal the capabilities of the Creator’s mighty Seraphim.

Instead, Laziel stalked the shadows for the want of prey. Unable to speak due to the agonizing lump stuck in his God damned throat, he searched in silence along the alley ways and rooftops in the hope of finding the Nephilim and coating the ground in the warmth of fresh blood. Mortals that the Nephilim cajoled wouldn't dare have the brass balls to confront Laziel’s kind. It was if they sensed the danger that leaked from the very well of each pore. But, the Nephilim had just the right amount of stupidity and gall, at least Laziel hoped they did, to engage him and he defiantly prayed they would.

With his thoughts momentarily splintered. Like the proverbial fork in the road, Laziel pondered over Darklon's depth of deceitfulness and his many traitorous deeds. The Elder vampire's treason strayed far beyond any form of redemption. In truth, Laziel had long known the devious bastard would worm his way into the religious realm of the Vatican's clergy and taint them with bitter lies that condemned the vampire King to yet more political shit.

Laziel berated himself for not having dealt with the motherfucking cocksucker centuries ago. But, as the Creator maintained, “Fate always finds a way.” And, so he waited; filled the lengthy days and even longer nights fighting the war on the Nephilim, while deep in his own subconscious, the angel wondered if all the training, the centuries of blood and pain had been worth it. Yes. Laziel had raised and trained an almost unstoppable killing machine, and a male worthy of any fucking throne. But for what? The vampire race was stuck; stale in its regimental beliefs and attitudes toward change. So much so, they stagnated, drowning in the pompous ceremony of their own self-righteous and old fashioned laws. Laws they refused to change.

“Fuck it, and fuck them,” Laziel bit out. The grind of his jaw was hard enough to break teeth. “Stupid fools!” Laziel’s head snapped upward when an upsurge of wind brought with it the divine scent of at least five or maybe six Nephilim all zeroing in on Lachi's coordinates. Laziel thought the thought and in a flash shifted the expanse of muscle and bone to where Lachi grimaced, fangs salivating with the realization of what was on its way.

“Looks like Darklon took the bait. He must have had these jackasses on fucking speed dial and gone after Arial himself.”

Lachi grunted. “Fuck them, Arial will be alright, but for now, my angel, we dance...shed blood. Then I'll hold you to that promise of a good long fuck.” At the inclination of the vampire’s head, Laziel turned. Back to back, Laziel and the vampire King waited, the beat of their hearts pumping in unison rose like a dark tide of death, beating, pounding, pushing the same surge of blood that flowed like fire through their veins. The seconds ticked down and the air around them bristled, raising the hairs on the backs of their necks. Laziel felt every sensation running through the heavily muscled male standing at his back. From the chilling grin now forming on Lachi's chiseled face, to the pent up aggression growing inside him, making each and every inch of Lachi's body thrum with unreleased energy. Dust rose up from the ground, indicative of the Nephilim descending with the line of their wings arched as they reached their battle ground. A roar of frustration blasted into the air, the force of which rocked the angel on his heels until he recognized the sound of his own ancient war cry.

It didn't matter to Laziel that Lachi was his own male, a vampire born to the noble arts of blood and war. Laziel would risk purgatory rather than see any other mar the vampire’s flawless flesh. Malachi belonged to Laziel.

“Yes I do, mine angel, just you hold that thought.” The words drifted into Laziel’s mind and spread a gentle stream of something wonderful through his thoughts. Laziel exhaled on a sigh. He reached back to tentatively brush his fingers against Lachi’s clenched fist, an unusual sign of affection for Laziel, especially when they were about to go to war on the small group of Nephilim riding the gentle jet stream of wind to land around them.

“Focus. Angel.” The mental image of them entwined was shoved into Laziel’s mind almost painfully. But, with the depths of his mood so dark, the image didn't last. Instead, it contorted; Laziel’s wings faded away and an image of Vischeral took Laziel’s place. The bastard vampire’s heavily muscled arms enveloped Lachi in a powerful embrace. Laziel roared his distain and dark thunderous clouds closed in above them to crash together in a storm fuelled burst of angered energy. Laziel’s eyes took on the same color as the rolling clouds and darkened from the intensity of rage. Faster than the Nephilim could breathe, Laziel become a force of death. Shifting the weight of his thick heavy thighs onto the balls of his feet, he didn't call forth the sword from its back. He assumed a fighter’s crouch causing his muscles to twitch and flex. Hand to hand battle was a must for the mood Laziel was in this dark and deadly night.

Lachi shifted into gear and launched himself forward. Laziel couldn't see the male in action, but definitely heard the grunts of exertion coming from the enemy as the stupid fools engaged the vampire King. Darklon’s stupidity astounded Laziel. A direct attack on the King minutes after he stormed through the Council chambers. Although Laziel knew there would be no proof, he couldn't stop the malevolent grin spreading across his face. All they needed was for that bat shit crazy bastard to take the bait with Arial, and Darklon's future was doomed.

The ferocity of Laziel’s anger churned back to the surface, boiled up inside and sent a blast of scalding heat out toward the three approaching Nephilim. As one took a direct hit and fell to the ground amidst the stench of burnt wings and flesh, the other two wannabes cautiously split and approached from different angles. Laziel rolled his sardonic, glowing eyes and let them approach. His body practically hummed with energy, and none of it was intent on doing something good.

The bitter memory of Lachi and his first taste of love fuelled the fire of Laziel’s anger caused by his doubts. Inside, Laziel mentally centered the core of energy and drew it down into the ball of his hands. Intense light blazed in an arch of undiluted power from the tightly clenched fist, the physical manifestation of the angel’s power grew into a fire ball of pulsing heat and flew at the Nephilim approaching from the right side. As soon as the bolt of power touched the approaching enemy’s skin, the Nephilim instantly turned into a fine cloud of ash that disintegrated into the breeze. Laziel sneered and turned left to face the last Nephilim who looked beyond terrified.

Crooking a finger, Laziel beckoned the Halfling with a mocking glare, daring the winged half breed to at least try. Laziel watched as rage swamped the enemy's face, and in a heartbeat, the Nephilim swung into action. Wings whipped up dirt as the male attacked, fists clenched, open in front of its face showing the lack of training and no sign of grace. Laziel allowed the first point of contact, and drank in the pain the Nephilim inflicted on his angelic face. Blood pooled and dripped from the gaping wound gauged deep over Laziel’s cheekbone.

Without so much as a flinch of recognition, Laziel took each well aimed strike of the Nephilim’s fist. The bastard sported a victorious grin as he fooled himself into believing Laziel had somehow weakened. The dumb fuck had no way to know that the punishment he was so gleefully dishing out was no more than an appetizer for Laziel. Smeared with the sweet scented sustenance that fuelled his male’s lust, Laziel shivered when an arctic blast of air slammed against his back.

“What the fuck are you doing, Laziel? Move, you stupid motherfucker, or I'll take you out myself.” Lachi spat the harsh words through grinding teeth as he pummeled his thick meaty fist into the face he'd locked beneath his other arm. Bone crunched as Lachi's fist connected with the Nephilim’s nose and the male howled in pain as its face imploded and its body went limp.

In slow motion, Laziel turned and caught the well-aimed upper cut headed for Lachi’s ribs in his open hand and twisted the heavy limb. Muscle and sinew tore and the creature in Laziel’s powerful grip screamed for mercy until the splintering bone cracked under the strain. The Nephilim’s scream exploded in the air around them. Laziel continued to the next opponent, avoiding the bastard’s clumsy attempts and pounding his fist into the Halfling’s face. Tears of pain blinded Laziel’s opponent. Behind them, Lachi ordered him to finish it.

Laziel’s mood intensified until everything surrounding them took on the visual haze of a static storm. Electricity filled the air and light spilled from the tips of Laziel’s fingers as he opened up the Nephilim’s chest and tore out the bastard’s rancid black heart. Hot steaming blood dripped from Laziel’s hand as the powerful Seraphim stood and watched the last beat of the Nephilim’s heart held tight in his grip.

Laziel closed his eyes and visualized where Darklon sat. The image materialized behind his eyelids. The vampire’s face, as usual, held that all too familiar sadistic smirk. Laziel’s eyes snapped open and met Lachi's black gaze. He pulled the vampire King into his thoughts to let him see the treasonous bastard as he sat amongst the Elders of the vampire court and to witness the look of absolute fear etched onto his face when out of nowhere the Nephilim’s lifeless heart, dripping with the remains of its foul tainted blood, appeared upon the crisp white table cloth before Darklon and the attending court.

Brown blood purged of any semblance of the innocence bestowed on life poured from the torn open aortic valve and spewed its foul toxicity over the table to land in a shocked Darklon’s lap. Laziel didn't wait for the aftermath, he heard Darklon's roar without stretching the expanse of his senses. Instead, he shoved Lachi out of his thoughts and turned on his heels.

Bereft of any feeling of euphoria, Laziel stalked from the alley mouth and took the very next turn before opening up the expanse of midnight black wings and taking to the sky. “Bordello. Now!” Only two words, but definitely a command. In the time it took for Lachi to phase himself out, Laziel was gone; a whisper on the wind that left behind the despairing scent of an angel's unshed tears.

Cold penetrated the core of Laziel’s soul. Numb from yet more brutality, he saw no end to the merciless slaying of Nephilim or Darklon's treasonous deeds. The infliction of a life's demise still affected him greatly. After all his centuries on Earth, Laziel still saw the loss of life, any life, as defective. The nucleus of Laziel’s whole celestial being was built on innocence and compassion. But, the centuries of fighting the war alongside the male Laziel worshipped and adored was starting to take its toll.

Weariness seeped into his soul, and Laziel secretly wept for the loss of life, even Nephilim life. As an angel and a blessed manifestation of the Creator himself, he could never understand why the Nephilim were as tainted as they were. They were the begotten children of angels, and after having known Arial for so long, he knew not all the Fallen were inherently evil. Even though Laziel never saw Arial as a true Fallen, the brooding male did. Yet, Laziel knew Arial was still a warrior at heart, one who held the grace and purity of an angel’s true heart, even though the poor bastard was cursed. So why? What was it that made the Nephilim so fundamentally bad?