Crimson Reign (3 page)

Fury's fire raced through his veins as Malachi waited impatiently for the dignitaries to take their seats. He shifted restlessly. The angel's fingers brushed up higher, his palm coming to rest on Malachi's neck. He settled somewhat, his temper calmed by Laziel’s touch, the angel’s very presence. Yet, other parts of him thickened and lengthened. A throbbing ache settled low in Malachi’s groin and he fought to keep his fangs from elongating any further. He needed blood, the angel's blood, and soon. He growled low and sat forward banging a fist on the table. Cowed by the dynamic display of Malachi's temper, the assembled vampires shuffled quietly to their seats.

The acrid scent of their fear, and one vampire's anger, stained the air. Malachi's nostrils flared at the stinging bite to his enhanced sense of smell. Finally, they all sat, or reclined as the case may be, in their chairs. Per the norm, Darklon was the last to slide insolently into his seat, the last to obey Malachi’s command. Leaning forward, Malachi deliberately tracked the circuit of faces, forcing each of them to make eye contact, reinforcing by his mere glare his role as their leader.

“Now, if you all have satisfactorily gotten your panties out of a twist, let's get this the fuck over with.” His voice, a barely controlled snarl, quelled any last murmurs from the gathered vampires, including Darklon. “Synta, your report.”

“All is…” Synta, Elder of the Asian region, stood and cleared his throat, “All is clear, Malachi-Sama. We have no issues.” Bowing slightly, the diminutive vampire took his seat and lowered his gaze to the table. The slight trembling of his slender frame irritated Malachi.

Of the assembled, Synta was one of the few that bore the weight of Malachi's favor. Always quiet and direct, Synta oversaw his area with a gentle but firm hand. On the opposite end of the spectrum, sitting on the first row directly before his King, was Darklon. Malachi’s greatest nemesis and a vampire who dominated with cruelty and power, Darklon Di Sangue always stayed just within the strictures of their race. He regretted scaring Synta; however, the ones such as Darklon required the dominant show of power and a reminder of Malachi's authority.

Malachi inclined his head acknowledging Synta's information before turning his attention to the next Council member. Three more all clear reports and malice filled green eyes clashed with Malachi's own. Darklon smirked as he rose sinuously to his feet. Older than Malachi by half a millennium, he balked at bowing to Malachi's dominion. Publicly, he supported Malachi's regime; he wasn't stupid, only twisted. Privately, he fought Malachi at every opportunity.

From across the room, Darklon's animosity rolled off him and slammed granite hard into Malachi. His lip curled in response to the unstated challenge exposing his fangs. The snarl boiling in his chest vibrated his ribs as he struggled to hold it in check. Behind him, the angel exercised no such self-control. A growl slithered into the air, daring the older vampire to act. Malachi lifted a hand from his lap and palmed Laziel's rock hard thigh holding the angel in place at his side.

“Report, Darklon.” Venom laced Malachi's words causing the other Elders to retreat deeper into their seats. A battle of wills would be futile, Darklon was destined to lose.

“The region is clear and well protected as you obviously already know. The Nephilim have kept a low profile in the last quarter.” Darklon's condescending tone set Malachi's fangs on edge, but he refrained for allowing his anger to show. Disappointed at the obvious lack of response, the other vampire steepled his fingers on the table before him. He contemplated his reflection in the highly polished black marble surface. “However, there has been rumor that one who was thought lost is… not.” Raising his head, Darklon's piercing gaze bore into Malachi's own carefully schooled, bland expression. After several seconds, Malachi arched a brow, but maintained his bored “put upon” façade.

“Not this ancient argument again, old man,” Malachi drawled, deliberately taunting the other male with his sarcastic tone. Nudging Laziel’s leg with his elbow, Malachi chuckled and commented, not to Darklon, but to the angel, “I do believe one is becoming senile. Haven't we been over this subject ad nauseum, Laziel? You would think by now, one would realize that He is no longer alive. Such obsession is so… human.” The utter disdain in the last word fell like a bomb in the crypt quiet room. The ripe scent of Darklon's fury billowed from his end of the table, actually making Malachi smirk. Leaning back in his seat, he crossed one booted foot over the opposite knee giving all appearances of being utterly unconcerned with the other male's' rage.

“Have you anything else, Loni?” The hated nickname rolled smoother than honey off of Malachi's tongue, drawing a throb of laughter from Laziel. To Malachi's secret delight, Darklon swallowed the bait. He disappeared in a blinding flash of light and reappeared with clawed hands extended for Malachi's throat. Although Malachi didn't budge, Darklon never reached his target. Utter and complete faith in his angel kept Malachi seated despite the very real threat. His trust was rewarded.

Taller and broader than most vampires, including Darklon and Malachi, Laziel agilely flashed between them, catching Darklon one handed by the throat and lifting him clear of his feet. In the other hand, a wickedly curved dagger appeared and pressed into the vampire's jugular. A whine of pain at silver's merciless bite echoed in the silent room.

“Shall I dispose of him now?”

“You can't, you bast...Sire. You deliberately provoked me. The Council is witness,” Darklon wheezed through the angel's punishing grip. Malachi cast his eye over the assembled and chuckled derisively.

“You've done nothing to encourage loyalty from your peers, Loni. I would speculate that if I chose to end your miscreant life right this moment, none here would oppose my decision. However, to prove to you once again why I am the better vampire to lead our race… you are free to go. By rights, I am entitled to your heart in my hands. You make the mistake of attacking me again; Laziel has my permission to extract it… painfully.” Malachi surged gracefully to his feet, and turned his attention to the last remaining Elder.

Like Synta, Mendeeto had earned Malachi’s respect. With his wife and young son to protect, Mendeeto had proven himself a ferocious warrior and fearless leader. He encouraged his enclave to embrace the changes Malachi introduced and willingly embraced the technology and modern day convenience that would see their race into the new century. “Men, I’ll have your report in my office later. I believe that concludes our meeting. Laziel, release him before I change my mind.”

With a vicious shake, Laziel tossed Darklon across the room. Malachi didn't wait to see him sprawl in an inglorious heap. Turning his back on the other vampire, he strolled from the room, his action a deliberate insult to Darklon's prowess. A large shadow engulfed him and though the angel made no noise, Malachi knew Laziel followed him from the room. A roar of outrage erupted behind them.

“You should have let me kill him.”

“I know... maybe next time. Right now, I do believe you have something that needs to be tended to?”

Wicked laughter filled the tunnel and Laziel disappeared in a flash of sparkling light. With a growl of arousal, Malachi followed quickly behind him.

~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~

CHAPTER TWO

~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~

Laziel took form deep in the catacombs leading to Malachi’s private chambers. Lonely corridors led down into the underground maze of ornate walkways that dissected the enclave. Stretched out before them, portraits of every great vampire king decorated the partitions. Antique rugs and furniture lined the walls and floors of the arched walkways; some so old they predated even the oldest vampires living in similar opulent surroundings hidden around the globe. Laziel knew because the angel pre-dated everything and everyone in and above them, and had since the dawning of time.

As they walked, Laziel hung back and watched as the broad expanse of Lachi's shoulders gradually started to relax and unwind. Staying silent, Laziel’s senses all bargained against each other, warring for that metaphysical top slot that protected Lachi from the deadly intentions that came hand in hand with his legitimate role as the vampire King.

Laziel knew the chambers where the vampire race and their King resided were guarded better than the human’s fabled Fort Knox. But, that didn't stop Laziel’s constant vigil where Lachi’s safety was concerned. Although he’d trained each one of the specifically chosen guards and they’d sworn to give their lives to protect their liege, Laziel relied solely on himself to keep Lachi safe. The idea of Lachi ever being harmed caused a scowl to work its way across Laziel’s face.

Darklon, or Loni as Lachi liked to call him, was just the sort of motherfucker Laziel constantly watched. The renowned, aged vampire was dangerous and smart. However, the bastard was also prone to erratic bouts of violent psychotic delirium that would eventually see him put in silver lined box until his body withered and rotted. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

But, for now, Lachi tolerated the Elder. Truth be known, Darklon maintained his own little band of right-wingers who took great pride in hounding Lachi. Purposely, they instigated doubts within the Elders' community until the populace questioned their King's willingness to take the hand of a female vampire. They maintained their vigilance was solely for the purpose of keeping Lachi’s bloodline as close as possible to the undiluted force running inside Lachi's veins.

Laziel needed to stay alert and keep Lachi safe, especially from the likes of Darklon. The Elder wasn't past trying to do the job himself as evidenced by his display in chambers only moments before. Laziel and Lachi both knew the crazy bastard harbored the initiative to destroy Lachi the first chance he got. Darklon was old and on one of his better days still yielded the power of his will like an iron rod.

“You know Darklon and his cronies are never going to let up, don't you?” Laziel’s voice stayed low out of habit, not that he was worried. They were well out of earshot of the Elders and the guards of the court. The only guards found this far into Lachi's quarters were Laziel’s own chosen. They held century against the solid oak doorway sectioning off the private domain of Lachi's living chambers. These sentinels were the most elite and loyal to the crown. Picked and trained by Laziel himself for their honor and strength, they held a trust beyond all others to serve and die for the life of their King. Lachi's fixed black stare rose slowly to meet the angel's knowing gaze. Holding it, Lachi refused to deflect from the question at hand.

“They can go fuck themselves. I'm not ready to mate, not now, maybe not ever. They want me to procreate, produce young, for fucks sake, when they refuse to bring our race out of the dark ages. It’s a double edged sword, angel; one that cuts but ways. They want something and I want something. We’ll see who gets bloodied first. And as for Loni...” Lachi's shoulders stiffened again under the burdening weight of a secret they'd both willingly taken an active part in keeping safe.

Moving up alongside him, Laziel placed a slightly glowing palm to the center of the vampire's back, feeding him through the touch of his flesh the very essence of his angelic will.

“The Elders think He's dead, that Loni killed Him in a violent fit when he couldn't break through the fucker’s iron tight will. He's safe, Lachi. He's free. Let Loni ramble. There's no need to worry on that one, not yet.”

Lachi's weight settled against Laziel’s palm, trusting the angel’s wisdom and soaking up the energy being poured into him. Although the male in question raised the angel’s own violent tendencies, Laziel held his tongue and offered only reassurance. It would only serve to place the male and Lachi in danger if the King took it upon himself to ensure He was safe. Despite Lachi’s sadistic streak, his unparalleled training, and his feral temper, he was by no means immortal, thus Laziel’s vigilance to protect him and keep him safe.

Once they entered the private walkway, two guards closed in behind them, while two stayed at the outer door and locked it after Laziel and their King. Two more stayed central in the walkway before the last four took their own century posts to double guard the inner silver lined door that led down to Lachi's sequestered anti chamber. Once inside, the only guard needed was Laziel. For, if protocol was breeched and their elite guards taken by force, Laziel would rain down chaos and mass destruction of such magnitude Rome itself would not survive the fallout. Such was the might of his passion and rage for the creation of Lachi's soul.

With Lachi still showing a few visible signs of diminishing stress, Laziel passed him heading deeper into their private domain, knowing Lachi would follow.

“I take it I'm not the only one needing to unwind, angel.” Lachi's thick, deep voice rippled over Laziel’s wings and clenched parts of his male anatomy that needed to stay as they were.

In answer, he entered the library, throwing open the hand carved doors and headed straight for the bar. With its enormous fire place, beautiful hand woven rugs and rich wooden surroundings, the room’s opulence welcomed them into its warmth. The soft yet lingering aroma of books and candle wax instantly soothed Laziel’s tethered anger. The room’s radiating ambiance succeeded in gifting him with a wondrous sense of comfort that stretched over the centuries of their life together. This was Laziel’s favorite room, where the more intimate and secret part of both of their lives lay engrained into every nook and fiber of thread. Breaking the seal on a fresh bottle of Glenfiddich, Laziel reached for the set of tumblers sitting side by side and froze. The silent tap of fingers on a cell phone had Laziel gripping the glasses much too tight.

Rigid with adrenaline, he listened intently. Each breath deepened to become husky with need as Lachi ordered up his own brand of pleasure. He knew the vampire's choice of bitter sting wouldn't come from the mellow flavorsome bite of oak ripened wine or vintage whisky. Lachi's tastes were a lot more complex and required a willing accomplice; one with extreme masochistic tastes to quench the vampire’s carnal thirst and withstand the exquisite infliction of merciless pain. The tightening knot gripping Laziel’s gut showed in the slight glow of his eyes and the permeating scent that signified Laziel’s own carnal need. Refusing to turn, fearing the glow of his eyes would give away the rising affliction of his own hardening sex, Laziel opted for the usual façade, a nonchalant smirk and a very smart mouth.