The Princess' Dragon Lord (14 page)

They were placing their hopes on the wrong
demon. Frederik would never dare transform any living thing into a
vampire. Not with the threat that it would become a soulless
creature of the night.

Frederik was a Belial vampire. Different from
other vampires in that he was born with half a soul. His belief,
and that of other Belials, remained strong that, if they wanted any
eternal peace once their long lives ended, they were to never,
ever, create any more vampires.

Jo took in a breath and gathered his calm,
forcing his fingers to relax. “Frederik, I have stayed as long as I
am able, but I can wait no longer.” He lowered his voice to keep
the servants from hearing. They may be comfortable with serving a
vampire, but the knowledge an angel was before them in such a time
of fear, when all mortals seemed to think the end of days was upon
them, would likely terrify them. Even though Jo wore the
traditional armor of angels, his breastplate and cape were
invisible to them, like his wings. They saw only a mortal man in
mortal garments, begging his lover not to cast him out. “Heaven
calls to me. I can barely fight it any longer now that my wings are
healed. I will become mortal for ye, Frederik. I wish to stay.”

That...and a mortal body would allow him to
share himself in ways only mortals could.

Frederik seemed hardly impressed by his
declaration. His arms remained crossed over a long-sleeved blue
waistcoat, and he planted his black boots steady in the grass as he
stood with a stiff back. “Jo, I apologize if I have misled you in
my affections. If Heaven calls to you, then you must stop ignoring
it.”

“Ye...what are ye saying? How could I have
been misled? I know perfectly well what yer affections are.”

As an angel, Jo had no sexual organs with
which he could experience physical affection. But Frederik had
kissed Jo and done other things with his mouth, again and again,
enough to heat Jo's blood and enough to leave no doubt of the
vampire's intentions.

“It seems you do not. Go home, Jo.” With
that, Frederik turned and began walking back toward the relatively
cooler air of his house.

The angry heat swelling inside Jo's chest
threatened to consume him. “Do not turn yer back on me!”

He made to follow the vampire, but a quick
hand on the metal sleeve of his breastplate halted him. He jerked
his shoulder away and spun, hand on his sword, ready to draw it.
The servant who stalled him stepped back, uncertainty on his face.
The second man, some steps farther back, watched the scene
carefully, waiting in case he should be needed.

Jo could see the goodness of these men. He
had spent the last week under Frederik's roof and had seen them
occasionally setting tables and giving gentle commands to the
maids. Jo did not know them and had barely even spoken two words to
them, but he did not want to give them any cause for grief. Perhaps
that was the reason Frederik had chosen them to witness this
exchange. He knew Jo would not fight them just for the privilege of
following the other man like a lost puppy.

“Frederik, have I truly misjudged the
situation?” he called.

The vampire stalled, gave a half-turn of his
head, and then continued on as though Jo hadn't spoken at all.

The strangest, mot uncomfortable sensation
ripped through Jo's chest. Never in all his years of battling
demons had he ever experienced such pain. He looked down, half
expecting to see a clawed hand punching through his armor and
straight into his soul.

Naught was there. The pain existed only
within him.

“Milord?” asked the one servant with the
light hair and pleading eyes. The other, darker-haired one was
directly behind him now. “We are to see you out.”

Their tones begged Jo not to make a scene of
it. A door slamming had him turning back towards the direction
Frederik had gone in. The heavy wooden door now separated Jo from
the goings-on inside.

Bitterness began growing inside of him once
again.

“I need no escort.” Jo walked away from the
house. He needed no direction. In this countryside where everything
was surrounded by forest, he would be alone soon enough.

“Forgive me, milord, but we are to see you
out,” repeated the servant.

This time, Jo could not contain his scowl.
Both men stepped back, but continued to follow at a distance as he
marched off.

Soon, the cool night air overcame the heat,
and he sensed a halt in their steps.

Away from the bonfires, the countryside was
much darker and also much more dangerous for mortals who sought to
avoid the cats and rats and fleas—and the disease they carried.

Jo walked into the woods, limbs buzzing from
the insult of being walked off the property. It was as though
Frederik wanted to be absolutely certain he would not return and
attempt to sneak through a window or some such nonsense. His spirit
sank just a little as the realization he might very well have done
exactly that had those servants not escorted him.

The anger Jo had felt toward Frederik, he now
twisted toward himself.

Humiliation and shame followed, pressing so
heavily upon him that he hunched his back. He threw his hand out to
the nearest tree to steady himself.

A crack of thunder sounded above. Jo's head
shot up. The trees were not so thick that he lost sight of the sky.
The sky was important to one such as him.

'Twas black as night, but the moon and stars
were still bright. No hint of storm clouds, and no brush of a
violent breeze to suggest a coming rain.

He knew what he had heard. He wished he had
not.

“I am so sorry,” he said.

What had he done? He'd fallen to earth from
an injury in battle, and yet his wings had been healed enough for
him to fly home for days now. Heaven had called to him, yet he
remained in the house of a lower-level demon. He had allowed
Frederik to touch him, kiss him, had put himself on his knees—he
did not want to think of how perversely he'd behaved.

Jo had loved a vampire and offered to
sacrifice his immortality, his wings, his very self. Perhaps 'twas
just he be turned away. How dare he even entertain the thought of
turning his back on his brothers? His responsibilities?

His fist punched into the dirt and scattered
grass. He had not been aware of falling to his knees. The thunder
clapped again. Jo winced. If this had been a test, then, surely, he
had failed it, and he despised himself for that.

He wanted to scream. He wanted...he
needed...
argh
! He did not know what he needed! How could he
return home after what he'd done? He'd nearly turned his back on
his family for a demon. They would never have him back. He did not
wish to go back. The shame was too great.

Then, the answer, his punishment, became
clear. He would not return.

Jo sighed heavily, eyes returning to the
stars. He had wanted to become mortal, and, now, he would be, but
without the luxury of a lover by his side. Even Heaven had its
balance to maintain.

Jo reached behind himself, his fingers
finding the softer feathers that grew along the slim bones of his
wings nearest his shoulder blades. His hands wrapped around the
stems, where the feathers were so fine that the pink flesh of his
skin was visible beneath.

He gripped tightly and pulled.

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