Vampire vampire, p.2
Vampire, Vampire, page 2
And then his hand was fisting in her hair and his arm was sliding around her waist to bind them so closely together, they were nearly one. Her breath left her in a rush, a gasp of surprise and perhaps sudden apprehension, but it only fueled his hunger. His lips kissed the taut flesh of her throat a millisecond before his teeth found purchase, piercing fast and clean and digging deep. Darianna cried out, a small, surrendering sound that was swallowed up by the moon and the stars and echoed through Christopher’s mind while the first drops of her precious blood spilled across his tongue….
He’d tasted eternity that night. He’d known then and there that he would never have another woman in the same way. They parted minutes later, his hunger slated, her body deliciously weak, and he’d asked her to marry him.
She hadn’t answered. Ever the imp, ever the wild flower caught in the wind, she’d turned her face away – driving him mad.
Ten years had passed since that night. He’d asked a hundred times, and each time, she’d turned him down, always afraid that the duties and expectations of a queen would prevent her from continuing with the work she was allowed to do as a princess.
Finally, on a night when the moon was again full, Christopher left the castle to track down the princess he knew was waiting in that beckoning night. He found her in that same field she loved to visit in her solitude. She didn’t know he was there, could not sense him or scent him or see him. He was so much more the monster than she was now, so much more Empyrean, she was veritable prey.
He watched for a moment. Never in his long life had he wanted something so badly. He could feel his newfound strength surrounding him like a blanket, fortifying him in its Empyrean power as he made his way silently across the field until he stood behind her.
A beat passed. Another. And fate snapped its fingers.
Christopher gently grasped her, turned her around, and peered deeply into her eyes.
It wasn’t a question this time.
“Marry me.”
He laced the words with his need, infused them with his will, and waited without breath or heartbeat to hear what she would say.
She seemed almost mesmerized as she finally whispered, “Yes.”
Triumph surged through Christopher in what was the happiest, most hopeful moment of his life.
It was a month ago to the day that Princess Darianna Grace had promised herself to him with a single word and a surrendering of body and soul. One month, tonight.
Now Christopher glanced up through the window at the full moon, and his gaze narrowed. Without warning, apprehension thrummed through him. It was a wisp of nastiness, of darkness. And in a dawning kind of horror, he knew.
He looked back down at the winding strip of road that led from the castle grounds. They were empty. His guards should have returned with the princess by now.
Something was wrong.
The sovereign of the Thorn Kingdom spun from the window, stormed across his quarters, and flew through the double doors and out into the corridors. Once more, servants hustled to get out of his way, but because this was the king’s wedding night, there were banners and streamers and flowers to move aside as well. Hushed gasps of surprise went up, whispers permeated the halls, and a general air of agitated shock filled the massive castle.
Jonathan was hurrying into the castle’s receiving room through the front doors as Christopher neared them. The ancient manservant was flanked by guards, and the looks on all of their faces echoed the fear in Christopher’s heart. He didn’t wait for them to verify those fears, but instead simply continued through the front doors and out into the courtyard beyond.
He’d never run so fast in his life. His guards couldn’t keep up. He left everything spinning in his wake as he raced to where his instincts told him to go.
Her carriage door was open. The vehicle was crooked in the road, having been driven into a rut. Later, he would learn that there had been no driver; the carriage had been running free when his men came upon it and brought it to a fast halt.
It had also been empty.
Christopher rounded the carriage door, lifted himself inside, and gazed with burning eyes at the empty interior. Then he jumped back down, turned in place, and lifted his hands to cup his mouth. “Anna!” he bellowed into the dawning, darkening night. His voice echoed off of the mountain walls in the distance and sent scores of birds flying from their perches.
He could hear the hooves of his men’s horses approaching like thunder from behind him. A cavernous nightmare began to open up within his chest, sending numbness into his fingers and toes. She’d run from him.
Or she was taken, his inner voice reconciled. But there was no blood, there was no sign of a struggle, and it was too horrible a thought to entertain.
So, she’d left him instead. In jest? Or in fear – and this time for good?
Again, he called her name.
There was no answer.
There was no answer that time or the next – or the thousands of times that came to follow.
Chapter One
Many, many years later….
The general hadn’t spoken for many minutes now. His men could see the firelight from the torches reflected in the darkness of his eyes. His powerful gaze was trained on nothing in particular; he sat on a low-lying wall in the dungeon and slowly removed the more cumbersome articles of his armor.
The soldiers waited, growing more anxious by the moment. Their prisoner, for his part, remained bravely and stubbornly mute. He knew well why he had been brought in and chained to the wall between the two dungeon keepers who stood on either side of him. He knew why he’d been captured.
He said nothing, refusing to divulge the secrets for which he was surely about to be tortured.
The torch light wavered and flickered, crackling energetically in some unseen force as the general finally stood and turned his attention to his black gloves. With some emotion that seemed to waver between feigned nonchalance and stark impatience, he began to remove his left glove one finger at a time.
As he did, he paced toward the bound prisoner. Without looking up, he addressed the helpless, bleeding man. “I realize that you and your little group of boat rockers believe yourselves important,” he said calmly. “I know you think you can make a difference and that this difference means everything to you.” He stopped in front of the prisoner and glanced up, briefly meeting his eyes. “I also fully comprehend that you are under the impression Darianna Grace is tantamount to the success of your tiny revolution.” His tone was now tight with irritation and weariness.
His men watched him turn, offering his back to the prisoner, who wished for a blade and a loosening of his bonds in that moment. The general peeled off his other black leather glove and then placed them both atop a nearby barrel before he slowly paced away. His handsome face was damp with the sweat of pursuit; all of his men were drenched with it, as was the prisoner, whose torn clothing was also marred by stains of dirt and blood.
“However, I wish to make it abundantly clear to you, captain,” the general hissed the title through clenched teeth in what was obvious distaste, “that I care little about your so-called resistance or the petty plans you entertain.” Here, he turned and once more faced the prisoner. There was a reflective quality to his gaze that hadn’t been there a moment before.
The infamous monster in him that made him different from every other man in Wolfen Down was once more rising to the surface.
Captain Colby Sturn tried very hard not to flinch. Christopher Thorn was the notorious general of the Knights Shade, and when Colby looked into his powerful eyes, he could see a bit of Hell within them. Thorn had well earned his place as general, and the darkness, pure and vast, that beckoned in the core of his gaze was proof of it.
“You know what I want,” Thorn said. This time as he spoke, the tips of his fangs were visible behind his lips. All patience had at once fled the hardening angles of his deceptively beautiful face. He was all shadows and warnings now, the general. It was clear to Colby that Thorn had reached the end of his rope.
But it mattered little to Colby.
“I will die before I tell you where she is,” the captain hissed through bloodied, swollen lips. A loose tooth at the front of his mouth afforded his words the slightest lisp. He was broken and beaten, but what he said was true. He did indeed know what it was that the general wanted.
He wanted Grace. Lady Darianna Grace, the leader of Broken Darkness, a rebel group responsible for overthrowing despotic governments in more than a dozen cities across Wolfen Down. Thorn had been hunting her for so long and so hard, Colby had lost track of how many times she’d escaped him.
Darianna was too important. She was different, brought to them from the same strange world that had seen Thorn’s arrival. They were the same, she and Thorn. Another race, another kind of being. But unlike Thorn, Grace used her powers for the good of their cause. She was everything to them. Without her, all hope would be lost and any attempt at continuing the resistance would be futile and pointless. There was no way in hell that Colby would betray her to the general.
He really would die first.
Thorn’s men were clearly tense and agitated where they stood in their various positions around the small, barely ventilated room. The air had suddenly grown thicker and felt difficult to breathe. They looked from the prisoner to their general and waited to see what the tall, dark, and infamous man would do next.
*****
Alexander Dax had served under Thorn for a mere ten months. However, he’d seen enough of his general in that time to recognize that Christopher Thorn had never before been this fed up or determined. He’d never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Grace. There was a rather infamous history there to which neither Dax nor anyone else in Wolfen Down was privy.
Darianna Grace, the leader of Broken Darkness, was certainly said to be charismatic, but tales did not so much speak of a physical beauty, which was understandable. Any time she was in public, Grace hid her face behind a simple white mask, and as a result, not many knew what she looked like. She was tall for a woman, though nowhere near as tall as Thorn, and she appeared to be lithe and fleet of foot. She had thick golden hair that caught the sunlight and shimmered clear to her waist. She also had eyes the color of a frozen sea. This was more or less the extent of anyone’s knowledge as to her appearance.
Instead, stories of the enigmatic leader told of a woman of vast intelligence, great strength and physical prowess, wisdom and presence. She was like Thorn; they were two of a kind, strange more-than-human beings in a world where their kind of powers were otherwise unheard-of. Grace had appeared in Wolfen Down fifteen years ago, give or take. Thorn had only appeared on the scene recently, less than a year ago. But he’d been hunting Grace ever since his arrival.
The general could have had his choice of any woman he wanted. Truth be told, sometimes he did just that. But always he returned to his pursuit of Grace. Their struggle had evolved into a harrowing chess match: She advanced a plan, and he expertly foiled it. Then he set a trap and she either brilliantly escaped it or avoided it altogether. It had gone on relentlessly since Thorn’s arrival, so Dax was under no misconception that Thorn’s consent to take over and lead the Knights Shade had anything to do with the welfare of the government currently in charge of Wolfen Down. It was all about Grace.
He’d ordered his men to bring her in alive, and Dax was unsure of what that meant. He hoped that it only meant the animosity between the two was so strong, the general wished to punish or execute her himself. Fortunately, regardless of whether he killed her or not, taking her out of the picture would destroy Broken Darkness. The sooner the better as far as Dax was concerned.
Broken Darkness had been making a mockery of cities all over Wolfen Down for nearly two decades. Grace and her resistors didn’t care for the way the lands were being ruled. They had their own ideas about law and justice, and they fought to protect those ideals.
Thorn’s arrival on the scene came just in time – just before Broken Darkness would have otherwise made it into the very seat of Wolfen Down, Lanthos, and infiltrated it with their resistance.
The tall, dark, and handsome general may have irritated Dax to a certain extent; after all, the man was a complete stranger but was so physically strong and skilled in battle, he’d been granted by the king the position that Dax had been working hard toward for years. But Thorn was also the answer to the problems Grace posed.
And with any luck, as soon as Thorn had dealt with this little issue, he would be on his merry, supernatural way.
Alexander watched his general now and imagined he had an inkling of what he was thinking. Broken Darkness had long ago made it clear that they would never barter for a prisoner and never acquiesce to a hostage situation. It was yet another smart move on Grace’s part, eliminating what would have otherwise been a terrible weakness.
However, Alexander knew as Thorn most likely did too, that the rule in and of itself had thus far conveniently eliminated any need to put the claim to the test. Thorn was not gullible and he never took anything for granted.
“You would prefer to die?” the general re-iterated, as if just to make certain that he had heard his prisoner correctly.
Captain Colby Sturn remained silent.
The general shook his head and his expression took on a cast of dark promise. “I’m sorry to disappoint you then, captain. Because you’re far more valuable to me alive.” He approached the bound prisoner and Sturn’s hands flexed nervously where they were manacled to the cold stone at his back.
“The thing is,” the general continued, “something tells me your leader is prone to… impulsive decisions.” He lowered his gaze. “Following her heart rather than her head and so forth.” He paused, giving great weight to his next words. “She’s a free spirit isn’t she?”
At this, the prisoner visibly blanched and gritted his teeth. He didn’t bother responding; he wasn’t that stupid apparently, and he knew when he was beat.
Thorn’s smile broadened just a little.
Alexander watched as his general studied the prisoner for several silent beats. There was a vast store of knowledge glittering in Thorn’s dark eyes. It was unsettling, especially when combined with those fangs.
“Dax,” Thorn turned to his colonel now and Alexander immediately stepped forward, nodding in salutation. “See our guest to a holding cell and bring me a messenger right away. I want a letter delivered.”
*****
Darianna had a sinking feeling. It had been riding her all day, but hardened into ice in her gut when the courier came through the door of her cabin that afternoon. He carried a letter from a messenger in Lanthos, and it was clear by the seal it bore that it had been sent by the Knights Shade.
Anna took the note and glanced darkly at the black wax symbol on the outside before she pulled it open with slightly trembling fingers. It was only a few seconds later that she re-folded the note and closed her eyes.
Minutes later, she was pacing across the small wood cabin, her fingers curling themselves painfully around each other, her lips pressed tightly over straight, white, and decidedly sharp teeth. Upon her forty-fifth route across the trodden floor, she briskly rubbed her hands over her face and sighed heavily.
Then she made her way to the dresser against one wall and sat down. She frowned at the reflection in the mirror.
There was a knock at her door.
“Come,” she called absent-mindedly. The only people who knew where she was were her own soldiers. She was safe here.
The door opened to reveal a tall, bearded man in the uniform of Darianna’s second in command. He entered the cabin, a kind smile on his face, and Anna smiled back at his reflection in the mirror. But her smile was close-lipped, weary, and barely hid her building apprehension.
“Rafe, answer me a riddle,” she said.
The man’s brows rose as he closed the door behind him. He waited, a questioning look on his face.
“Why do I never age?” She fingered the lineless corners of her ice-blue eyes and made a face in an attempt to produce wrinkles. She was unsuccessful.
Rafe shook his head and shrugged. “It’s a gift from the gods, Anna. So that you may continue to do the work of freeing the people of Wolfen Down.”
Anna frowned at this as well. She turned in her chair and stood. “Are you so sure, Rafe? Is that what you would say to my having fangs as well? To my thirst for blood?” She felt sick as she admitted it. Worse yet was the fact that she shared this abominable trait with her worst enemy. What did it mean?
She sighed and pressed her fingers to her closed eyes.
Rafe made his way to her, taking her hands in his. “What is this about, Anna?” he asked.
“They have Colby,” she said. “The Knights Shade. I can’t beat them, despite all of these supposed god-given gifts. Thorn is more than my equal. And now they claim they’ll publicly execute Colby unless I turn myself in by midnight tomorrow night.”
At this, Rafe’s green-brown eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on Darianna’s hands. He took a slow, deep breath through his nose, his gaze never wavering from hers. “We will figure something out,” he told her softly. Then he released her hands and cupped her chin between his fingers. “Turning you in is not an option, Darianna. Do you understand me?”
Anna looked up at him, very much unsure. She understood what she meant to the people of Broken Darkness. She knew all too well how much they depended upon her. She had skills that none of them possessed, strength and speed that to them seemed inhuman, and maybe they were right. Whatever she was, she was the glue that kept them bound together in the effective resistance they’d become.
But Colby was a friend as well as a fighter, and he was going to die a gruesome, public death unless General Thorn was slapping manacles on Anna’s wrists by the witching hour tomorrow night.
