Embrace the Desire (30 page)

The swirling images settled, the landscape in the mist manifesting under his feet, glowing with the vivid greens and blues of some lost jungle. Swathed in white silk and flowing robes, his form appeared atop a towering mountain minutes before dawn. Known for his unshakable logic and meticulous approach to any situation, he swallowed hard, realizing his insides trembled and his hands shook.

Directly below the peak, hundreds of writhing vampires screamed in agony as the sun rose without mercy, slowly spreading the deadly golden hue. Their dead eyes looked up to him as they tried to claw their way into the ground. And those empty, dead eyes seemed to beg him for deliverance, even if it was at the end of his sword. A quick death by sword was degrees better than suffering the flaming torch of the sun.

And he stood as stone, watching and uncaring.

He twisted violently in his bed of black satin sheets. His mouth opened as if to scream. His long incisors gleamed in the darkness of his chambers as his back arched up from the bed. Still deep in the dream, he watched helplessly as his own skin began to melt and drip from his bleached-white bones. His ashes flew into the four winds and disappeared with the blinding sun's rays.

His eyes flew open, thankful they were looking into the blackness of his chambers. He clutched at his chest, his heart racing wildly.

Jackknifing off of the bed, Varick ran his shaking hands through his long, white hair. He strode across the windowless room, his topaz eyes seeing clearly in the pitch black. He reached for a glass and a bottle of brandy as he tried to collect himself. He swallowed hard, much harder than he had in the dream. Brandy was his preferred drink, blood was his necessary nutrient, and death was but a bittersweet dream.

Laughter rang out as he settled his thoughts. Death? Indeed!

He had experienced it once, and now he wondered when he would experience it again — even immortality had its end. Would his soul ever know peace? Or would Gyth capture it again, as he had so many years ago, when Varick had met his first death?

“Your dreams plague you,” a detached voice echoed around his room.

Cursing profusely, Varick spun around, barely managing to keep the glass in his hand. With a soft growl, he bowed slightly as Gyth appeared in the same long, white robes Varick had been wearing in the dreams. Suspicion crept up his spine as the god raised his hand and the overhead lights flooded the concrete and steel dwelling.

This was his sanctuary. It was deep underground and almost out of everyone's radars. All except for Gyth, of course.

“You're shaking,” Gyth stated flatly as he turned and inspected the chambers where Varick slept. “Do your dreams often plague you?”

The only time they didn't plague him was when he was blissfully intoxicated. Currently, he was extremely sober, but as soon as Gyth was gone, he was going to remedy that.

Gods, how many years had he been a Destroyer?

Two thousand, almost to the day. He thought back to the time when there had been ten Destroyers, ten who hunted the vampire, the witch, and the werewolf. For over a thousand years, the ten of them had killed without mercy, without pause, and without regret. Humanity had flourished easily with the decline of the demons, their sightings diminishing so much so that the humans had eventually considered the demons myths.

“What do you want?”

“Destroyer,” Gyth grunted. “You're not your usual self. I'll forgive you this one insolence, but dare not to make another.”

Trying to keep from rolling his eyes, Varick set the glass down. “Alexander is our leader — why come to me? I'm just a Destroyer, and I follow his orders.”

“He is only because you refused to accept leadership.” Gyth sat on the edge of Varick's bed, looking completely out of place. “Tell me, Varick — being part vampire, does that bother you? Does destroying other vampires plague you?”

A slow burn of bitterness welled up inside his heart. “How do you refuse to answer a god?”

“You don't.”

Gritting his teeth, Varick brought the glass to his lips and swallowed. “There's not one day that passes in my long life that I regret slaughtering any of them — not vampire, not werewolf, and not witch. And until I meet my end, I'll continue doing so.”

“Why, then, do you have these dreams that make your hands shake? You're a meticulous, calculating Destroyer, eager for battle and eager for the hunt of my enemies, yet when in the confines of your privacy, you have trouble sleeping.” Gyth stood, his robes pooling at his feet. “It seems highly illogical.”

Biting back his pride, Varick took a deep breath and nodded. “Seems that way.”

“I'll leave you with some advice, wanted or not.”

Perhaps he had not heard the god correctly, or maybe he was still dreaming.

“Advice?” Varick laughed bitterly. “I don't need your advice!”

“Careful, Destroyer. You threaten to step across a line that will lead you down a paved road to punishment.”

“Don't you mean pain? Because that is, after all, what you do when we defy you or threaten your tyranny.” Varick stepped toe-to-toe with the white-haired god. “I already kill for you — what else you want? My blood? Oh, wait, you got that already when you let me drain dry before I was reborn. My sworn oath? Oh no, you got that too. Let me guess — my skin hanging in your bedroom?”

A rumble of power echoed around the room as the Destroyer was lifted from his feet and slammed into the concrete and steel wall with unseen hands. Gyth grunted and held him against the wall with his powers.

Releasing him, Gyth announced nonchalantly. “For the next several weeks, perhaps months, you'll find yourself under distress as the Mating Rite lays siege upon your body.”

As his backside hit the floor, Varick groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thump. “What? No, I can't go through that.”

With a smirk and a quick laugh, Gyth answered. “You already are. Accept it as it is and don't fight it. The more you fight it, the worse it will be.”

The Mating Rite was every Destroyer's eventual torture. It was nature's simple way of taking them down a notch or two. The need to mate would overwhelm him, and his control would slowly melt away and leave him depressingly needful of a woman. According to Gyth, the Mating Rite was a necessary evil, the consequence of being reborn.

Must not be his lucky century.

“Why?” he grumbled under his breath. “Why did you come here?”

The god shrugged. “Morbid curiosity.”

Slowly, Varick stood. “Curiosity about what?”

Facing the Destroyer, Gyth narrowed his golden eyes. “Why do you not want to be the leader of my Destroyers?”

Destroyers. They were created by Gyth to protect the One Race, a race of people who resided on earth that were descendants of the gods. Members of the One Race were not considered true gods because they had only one parent that was. They were not allowed in the Heavens or in the Underworld. And there was always someone or something trying to eradicate the One Race. The Destroyers eliminated those threats.

Above protecting the One Race, the Destroyers were to obey Gyth, the king of the heavenly gods, in all things, no matter if those orders conflicted with protecting the One Race or not.

Of course, several pointed laws adhered to being a Destroyer. Do not stray into evil. Do not kill humans. Do not reveal your true nature to the humans. Do not rise against Gyth. Follow orders without pause.

“I'm not a leader. I'm a killer now, just as I was when you found me.”

An odd expression lingered on the god's face. “Your hatred of your mother's race intrigues me.”

“Does it? Then perhaps you should know that my hatred extends far beyond just the vampires. I hate everyone equally.” A muscle ticked in his strong jaw. “It keeps me indifferent and makes me a better killer.”

“And this hatred,” Gyth whispered. “Is eating at your soul.”

Varick turned and spat out, “My soul? I lost my soul when I watched my mother … ”

The words stuck in the back of his throat, his eyes burning. He wondered what in the nine hells was wrong with him as memories flooded his mind. Shaking his head, he turned back to the desk where he had set the glass and suddenly needed more of the potent sting of alcohol against the back of his throat.

Gyth, the Great Infallible One — not only was he a god; he was the head god, lord and king of the Heavens and Earth. He was an all-powerful, all-seeing, and all kinds of pain in the backside kind of guy. Yeah, well, the way Varick saw it, if Gyth was so all-powerful and lordly, why couldn't he take out all the demons himself?

He paused in his thoughts as Gyth vanished, blackness closing in, and for a mere breath of a second he wondered why Gyth had come to visit him and why he had announced that the Mating Rite was on his heels.

Who was he to try to understand a god? And why should he care to begin with? It was not in his preordained position to question the whys and how comes. He knew his path. He was a killer — always had been and always would be.

Looking down at his still-shaking hands, he cursed. He was out of his element, out of his usual demeanor, and he damn sure didn't like it. After all, why would a dream and an unusual visit from Gyth affect him this way? It shouldn't have. Yet it did.

Or perhaps it was the Mating Rite closing in? It had nothing to do with his vampire half, nor did it have anything to do with the memories of his long-dead mother. And it sure didn't have a damn thing to do with his past, his present, or his future.

He was what he was. Easy as that.

Agreeing to disagree with himself, he shelved his emotions and forced himself to get a grip. He was a Destroyer, well known for his flawless accuracy and unbending logic and control. He was not going to allow the Mating Rite or anything else to interfere with his life.

Turning on his heel, he grabbed the bottle from the desk and stretched his six-foot-six frame out onto his bed. His rebirth, the day he had become a Destroyer, lay in the back of his thoughts, and that was just where the hell he wanted it to stay. His life before his rebirth was not something he spoke of, nor did he want to rehash those bitter, burning memories.

Closing his eyes, he yawned, his incisors slipping back into their sheaths as sleep once again demanded his attention. The dawn did that to a Destroyer and, unfortunately, it did that to a half-breed vampire as well.

• • •

The
Book of Creation
lay at the Tree of Life's deeply rooted trunk. The book's silver cover had been inscribed with the eight signs of the true zodiac in a perfect figure eight. The eight symbols depicted the original gods of Creation. Within the book's pages lay ancient knowledge that legions upon legions had fought and died for, that many a soul had given up home, family, and love for.

But the book was just one of many. Many that now needed to be found and brought together with the
Book of Creation
.

The book's caretaker stood on the edge of the small island, his black and silver robe softly fluttering against his long, powerful legs. Shrouded within his robes, his face was hidden, his emotions as unreadable as the wind. His demeanor was indifferent; his stance was that of a seasoned warrior, ever ready, ever deadly. There was but one purpose at all times, to protect and obey the written word of the
Book of Creation
at all costs and protect the Tree of Life.

The book's original owner and creator, an ancient god called Jaiden, was inconceivably missing and thought dead. He alone had protected the sacred words; he alone would have massacred the entire human and god-born races if the book so commanded.

Except now, the books were demanding Charon's attention.

Charon had lived on this island hidden in the translucent waters of the River Styx many years before the book had suddenly appeared. His only true companions were the Tree of Life, the book, and the River Styx. And here he had remained since the downfall of the Olympian gods, waiting, preparing, and watching until recently when he had felt the pull of Jaiden's soul.

The island floated in the invisible river that separated the Heavens, the Earth, and the Underworld; there was no better hiding place. He turned and stared at the silver palace towering above the granite hillside as his mind wandered with thoughts he had never had before. Thoughts that now puzzled him.

The robe covering his face fell away, his red eyes glowing in an ashen, yet beautiful face. With one hand curled around a red-and-black bone scythe, he held out the other and called forth the book. Hundreds of years had passed since he had read from the pages he so precariously protected.

One corner of his lip lifted as the book appeared open in his palm, eager for him to read. He watched the pages turn until midway a page fluttered, its soft glow shimmering as words appeared before his eyes. The translucent waters of the River Styx bubbled and whispered to him, a vortex of water opening at the edge of the island.

The page turned, the words churning in his mind as he slowly closed the book. The fate of the Universe hung in the balance of good and evil, dangled on many single choices, and Charon managed a cold laugh. And now the world's hope lay within the Destroyers' choices, as they had free will if they chose to use it.

He paused before turning to Styx.

Styx bubbled and gurgled around him announcing a visitor. Charon's eyebrow rose. No one had ever visited this place.

With a purple flash and a wisp of smoke, Terror Sky of the Elemental gods appeared before Charon in full dragon glory. Large red scales melted and molded into human flesh. His body contorted and decreased in size until standing before him was a man with long black hair and a single red braid hanging from his temple.

“What brings you to my world?” Charon asked suspiciously.

“As much as I don't want to trust you, Isten informs me that I must do so. He has seen a vision of a new age, insists that you be made aware of the importance of a male known as Varick. His destiny is uncertain, leaving the future uncertain as well.”