Shining in Crimson: Empire of Blood Book One (A Dystopian Vampire Novel) (30 page)

"My Lord."

The Emperor nodded and gestured his blessing for Lotinger to leave. Hank followed him, saying nothing more to the Emperor as he went. Once they were back in the bland hallway, Lotinger swung around violently, the sling holding his left arm lifting slightly from the movement. He grabbed hold of Hank's throat with his right hand, pushing him up against the wall.

"Next time you will show His Holiness the respect that is due to him."

Hank held his breath. He wasn't afraid anymore. He knew he was stronger than this man. Now that he had drunk the blood, he was sure he could break any one of this man's other bones with very little effort. But, strong as he was, he feared the man would not take him to Toby if he fought back. When Lotinger finally let go, he turned and Hank followed him through the hall. They took the same elevator they went through before, going back up, a few floors further than Hank had been.

When they arrived in front of cell number 076458, Lotinger typed in a code and opened his right eye wide as he leaned toward what looked to Hank like a nozzle. It shot a red beam of light into Lotinger's eye, and a sound, sort of like a chime, went off. The door then made the sound that Hank remembered his making when it opened. Once the door was open, Lotinger stepped aside, gesturing for Hank to enter. But the look on his face was one of hatred. Hank tried to ignore it as he entered the room.

When he was inside, he saw that Toby was not as he had been when Hank saw him on the screen in the Emperor's chambers. He realized then that it must have been a recording, for the boy lay motionless and breathing deeply on his slab of concrete. Hank sat next to him at the edge of the slab quietly, so as not to wake him. He brushed his hand against his son's face and then put his own face in his hands and began to cry, partly from joy and partly for fear of the future, but mostly for what he had done to his son and himself by making this deal. Remembering the capsule he had taken, he wondered if there would ever be a way that they could escape.

Chapter 24

Baptism by Fire

A
fter Ishan finished drinking from him, Simon laid him back down on the bed. He couldn't believe what Ishan had done. Simon had offered Ishan his blood back, but Ishan had only taken half. Something else had happened, too. Some strange connection formed between the two, beyond anything that Simon could comprehend. It started before Ishan drank from him, but it was much fainter then. The difference between before and now was like listening to someone through a bad radio signal compared to standing right in front of them, face to face. He could see, hear, and smell everything in the infirmary. He even reached out and touched the cold side bar of the hospital bed that Ishan lay in. And yet he was also feeling all of these senses through Ishan simultaneously. Ishan had been experiencing Simon's memories for hours now. If it had only been Simon's life, it would have been over in a matter of minutes. But, Ishan's own history was now a part of Simon's memory. Simon knew, however, through this new link between them, that Ishan wanted to experience the cycle of his own past in private. It was almost as if they could think with the same mind.

He left the room to begin assessing the damages that had been sustained to the nest and to the ancestor's tunnels. He knew that he was doing as Ishan would have done if he
were
conscious and able to move, but he did not mind. He wanted to give Ishan his privacy and things would need to be rebuilt soon. He had accepted this place as his home from the moment he woke up in that infirmary next to Ishan. After he was finished examining the mess, he checked the sleeping chambers. Most of them were occupied. Of course the rooms that belonged to Peter and the other vampires who had taken up with him were empty. But, upon checking, Simon was surprised to find the rooms of Rachel, Boris, Yavo, and Rodney all vacant as well. Had Peter's men killed them? A strange pang of anguish filled him as he not only felt Ishan's loss, but felt it himself as well. Living through Ishan's life, he felt as though they were his family, too.

But, still another possibility existed. One in which Simon knew all too well, that Ishan did not want to accept. However, regardless of how it had happened, they found themselves hoping that Hank had made it out of the city alive and in the custody of the Empire. It was the only chance they would get. It had been one of Ishan's better ideas to include a clause in the blood pact giving him the option to choose a mediator. At the time, the Emperor had seen no reason to prevent it. But by now, Ishan and Simon were sure he was now concerned about the choice Ishan had made. They wondered if the Emperor had any clue what made Hank so special.

* * *

Lotinger entered the Emperor's chambers, bowing low as he came. The Emperor looked up from his desk and raised his right hand in a gesture of acceptance. Then Lotinger stood up stiffly as the Emperor turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.

"You asked to see me Your Holiness?"

"Yes, Mr. Lotinger, and I suspect that you know exactly why as well," the Emperor said, not bothering to look up this time.

"Yes, my Lord. I acted against your will by striking the convict, and for this sin I should pay the penalty." Sweat began to bead on Lotinger's forehead.

"Yes, Charles, you should, and you will. I cannot afford to have someone so close to me who cannot prove themselves completely and utterly faithful."

"But Lord, I am faithful. I am your most faithful servant. I would follow you through the gates of hell. I would lay down my life for you." Lotinger's voice shook with devotion and desperation.

The Emperor looked up at him then. Lotinger staggered backwards a little as he noticed that the man's eyes were completely black.

"Lord, please!" he begged. "Everything I've done, I did for you."

With the swiftness of a tiger, the black-eyed thing was on him. Lotinger’s back slammed into the floor. The Emperor's hands wrapped around Lotinger’s throat and he began to asphyxiate. As he fought for air, he thought of his all-time favorite kill, Roger Tresney, and how he murdered him. It was so sweet that he would die the same way. He was no longer afraid. His Lord was delivering him. And what better way to go? Trying to ignore the pleading signals of his brain and body, Chuck Lotinger focused on the black eyes of his master. It was like they were one now. He wondered if Roger, looking up at him that night, had felt the same.

* * *

When Toby woke up, he saw nothing at first. After a few minutes, his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. It wasn't his room, and yet it was filled with all of his things. He sat up and looked around. He saw that he was even lying in his own bed, with his own sheets and blankets. Half sprawled out in a wood-stained chair to the left of the bed, his father slept. A book lay open on his chest as he snored mildly. The wound in Toby's neck was now only a dull ache. He put his hand there and felt the gauze that covered it.   He remembered vague moments of waking several times since he had left the orphanage. He remembered the Imperial sentries taking him, on a stretcher, to the cell. He remembered crying out painfully with joy when he awoke to find his father holding him gently. He also had a vague recollection of waking in the backseat of a car he had never ridden in before, and watching the sunset through the side window above his feet. But he had no idea where they were now.

He looked up at the walls of the room. It was much larger than his father's room in their home. He wondered how his father had survived the city of the dead. He looked over at him, then. A chill went through his body as he realized, truly, for the first time, that his father was okay. He thought of waking him and telling him how much he loved him. But he couldn't bring himself to interrupt such a peaceful sleep. Then he remembered the message that Diana had asked him to give to his father. He told himself there would be plenty of time for that. He would tell him tomorrow. He watched one more time, as his father's chest rose and sank with the rhythm of his breathing, and then lay back, closed his eyes, and slept.

* * *

When Ishan had completely woken, Simon carried him to his chamber to prepare for the great sleep. Simon was hungry now, but he knew his first real taste of human blood would have to wait until the sun went down. Simon laid the other vampire down onto the bed and sat down on the floor beside it. The two vampires looked at each other, with the same curious expression. Simultaneously, they both thought of how much their lives had changed in the span of one single night. They knew that the next night would bring many challenges. There was much to investigate. First of all, they knew that Peter's followers must be found. It was imperative to discover how Peter had managed to enter the nest. Peter's body would have to be autopsied as well. But more important than all of this was finding out what had happened to Hank and his guides. If Hank survived and the Emperor held his part of the blood pact, there just might be a chance.

All of this was going through both of their heads as if they were one mind. It seemed to be happening more and more. Simon wept. Ishan nodded at him, and then turned around to give the man some privacy. After seeing centuries of the horrors that had been caused by the
Roman
Empire
,
and many others after it, Simon could not hold back his shame for having been a part of one himself. He saw patterns now, within the American Empire, that only many hundreds of years of experience could train the eye to see. He also saw many that should have been obvious to him in the first place. But this was not the biggest reason that he wept.

He knew now that his Emperor was by far not the savior he claimed to be. In seeing this vast history through Ishan's eyes, he had learned many things. That knowledge had forged a sense of doubt within him. In all of those many centuries, Ishan had not once come across any evidence of God.
Quite the opposite.
He had found, time and time again, nothing more than any human had ever found. Year after year, century after century of disease, suffering, death, hope, treachery, love, betrayal, kindness, and vengeance. Simon realized then that he was grieving for the loss of his god. Knowing this, he lay down, pulled his knees to his chest, and wept even more.

* * *

The sound of birds singing obnoxiously brought Hank back to consciousness. Every muscle and bone in his body ached more fiercely than he could ever remember. He was aware of the hunger gnawing at him. It wasn't his stomach that was telling him it was time to be fed either. He had been unable to miss the fact that this hunger seemed to come from within his chest. It reminded him of the way he felt when he had been addicted to nicotine. Only, this was much worse. He wondered if it was anything like the stories he had heard about heroin addicts. He was willing to bet this feeling was much closer to that.

Toby lay in the bed, sound asleep. Hank stood up quietly and set the book he had been clutching on the dresser behind his chair. He tiptoed out of the room and down the hall toward the master bedroom. He didn't like this house. It was too sterile. He would have gladly kept his home, but the Empire had already auctioned it off along with most of his things. Only the items that were of little or no value were returned to him. Lucky for Hank, these were the things of most importance to him. Of course the Emperor had made arrangements for a new place, a new car, a new everything, it seemed. At least with the salary he could go out and buy himself some clothes that he would want to wear. His closet was filled with Imperial branded suits. When he arrived in his room, he found the bathroom inside, and went in, closing the door behind him. He opened the closet door to reveal a nearly full size refrigerator. He opened it, and reached for the first vial he saw out of hundreds that occupied each and every shelf. He pulled out the stopper and swigged the dark red liquid quickly. As much as he wanted to savor it, he knew that Toby would likely wake up soon, and he did not want Toby to know what his father had become. He looked at himself in the mirror with utter hatred at what he saw. His blood-tarnished fangs were beginning to shrink back to their normal size. He turned on the water and brushed them vigorously. When he was finished, and satisfied that his teeth looked human, he went back to Toby's room. Toby was awake already when Hank came in. He looked up at Hank with a weak smile.

"Hey Dad."

"Hey!" Hank said, smiling widely at Toby.
"Looks like somebody is starting to come out of their coma."

Toby laughed a little and then started coughing as he sat up in the bed.

Hank sat down in the chair and patted Toby on the back in mid cough.

"So, where the hell are we?"