by Lily Luchesi
“With that?” Mabuz gestured to Brighton’s gun. “How dense have you become in this new century? You can’t kill me with that thing.” He giggled.
Brighton squeezed the trigger and a silver bullet embedded itself in Mabuz’s right shoulder. “I know. But it will slow you down enough for me to finish the job.”
“You underestimate me still, my old friend,” Mabuz said, clutching the wounded shoulder. “That is what will be your downfall this time. And what do you think I’ll do once I’ve drained you dry? That’s right, I will find your precious Mark and you’ll be together again...in Hell.” His voice changed octaves three times, going from a normal pitch, to a high mocking, and then low and deadly.
“No. No, you will never touch him again, that I promise you.” Brighton fired again, but Mabuz dodged.
He maneuvered his way through the ageing bird corpses and dried excrement, grabbing Brighton by his coat collar and slamming him against the wall.
Pain radiated down his back, stinging his spine, but he shot into Mabuz, getting a round off in his gut. It would not kill him, but the holy water-fused gunpowder inside the bullets would prevent him from healing.
That gave him a way to get out of Mabuz’s clutches and across the pigeon coop, which ran almost the entire length of the roof. He slid lightly in the decayed feathers beneath his feet, but maintained his balance as Mabuz rushed at him.
“You didn’t even come prepared,” the vampire hissed. “A bloody gun? Come on, you can’t expect me to believe you’re that stupid!”
Claws sank deep into Brighton’s side, and he felt his liver being lacerated as he screamed, unable to contain himself. That was precisely what Mabuz wanted as he sank his fangs deep into Brighton’s throat.
Painfully, but knowing he had to do it before he died, he shot Mabuz again, his right hand piercing the one Mabuz had used to claw his way into Brighton’s innards.
Instead of recoiling in pain, Mabuz began to laugh as blood rushed out of his now severely deformed hand, dripping into the wounds he had created in Brighton’s torso. “You disappoint me, Brighton. I never thought you of all people could be so gullible! Or would that be reckless? I think that’s closer to the mark. You’re just like me deep down. You crave danger and get high on the hunt.”
Breathing hard, trying not to panic, Brighton shoved Mabuz a foot away and shook his sleeve, revealing his hidden blade. “I’m nothing like you, you psychotic bastard. I just needed you to get closer and so confident you were too full of yourself to see your own death coming!”
With that, Brighton lunged forward, right arm outstretched and he swung his blade in a high arc, feeling the sharp metal connect with flesh, tendon, and bone. Mabuz choked, blood frothing at his mouth, but he would not die!
Panicking now, worried everything was going wrong, Brighton made one final push, sending Mabuz to the railing looking over the darkened London street and dug deeper, grabbing his hair with one hand and yanking his head farther to the side. He heard skin and muscle tearing, unable to believe he was actually doing this as the knife finished its job, leaving him holding Mabuz’s severed head in one hand.
His breath was coming hard, his body now drained of adrenaline as he threw Mabuz’s head across the coop.
Brighton fell hard against the railing that surrounded the rooftop and watched as Mabuz’s body slowly aged and turned to dust, swept away by the cold wind of a typical London night.
His body was becoming weaker by the second as the wounds in his throat and side continued to bleed profusely. It wasn’t the lacerated liver or sliced large intestine that worried him, however. It was the deep bite mark in his jugular that made him know he was in deep trouble. That, and the side wound Mabuz had bled into after he’d bitten him.
In this new world, being a vampire was no big deal. He could easily become adjusted to living a night-time existence, and he was sure that Mark would love him anyway. However, Brighton was one-hundred-percent certain that he would not be a vampire like Angelica Cross was. No, he would not be an asset to the PID, but rather a target.
“You’re just like me deep down. You crave danger and get high on the hunt.”
Mabuz’s words echoed in Brighton’s head. Mabuz was right, and Brighton knew it. He lived off of adrenaline, and for a vampire the biggest adrenaline rush was catching its prey. He might be a good, law-abiding vamp for a while, maybe even for years, but he knew that, eventually, he would succumb and kill someone.
And another thing: what about Mark, his mortal husband? He’d die in just forty years or so, while Brighton would be doomed to live for centuries without him. He could turn him, but Brighton could never bring himself to corrupt such a sweet-natured man. Never in a million years. Brighton was already corrupted; he was already dark deep down inside. Most hunters were. Mark was an exception. He could never bring Mark down with him.
Reaching into his pocket with his uninjured arm, he was relieved to find that his mobile was still intact. He pressed Mark’s speed dial number and listened as it rang. It was four in the afternoon in Chicago, so Mark was probably at work.
“Brighton? Hey, what’s up?” Mark said when he answered. The brightness of his voice sent a stab of pain right to Brighton’s heart.
“It’s done,” Brighton said, trying as hard as he could to keep the pain and anguish from showing in his voice. “I killed him. Staring at his dust as we speak.”
Silence. And then, “You did it? ...You did it! Oh, Brighton, I am so proud of you!” Mark cried. “I knew you had it in you. I knew I could count on you, love.”
Brighton smiled, though Mark could not see him. The implicit trust and pure love in those words were the only light at the end of this dark tunnel that was his entire existence. Mark gave him a reason to live and be happy; always had, always would.
“I love you. I did this for you, Mark. To avenge you finally, after all this time,” Brighton said. “Everything I have ever done was for you.”
Mark tutted. “There’s no need to seek vengeance. I am here, Brighton. And soon enough you’re going to come back here and we’re going to be together again. Forever. The way we were always meant to be.”
Brighton felt unprecedented tears come to his eyes knowing he would never see his amazing, wonderful Mark ever again. “I hope...I hope we do see each other soon.”
“Huh? Brighton, what does that mean?” Mark asked. “I’m sure you and Linwood will have a lot to do, but it won’t be that long before you’re home.”
Brighton looked up into the starry sky. Was there a home waiting for him on the other side of the veil? He hoped so. He’d never put much stock in religion, but now he was hoping he’d been mistaken all these years. “Yeah, you’re right: I’ll be home soon. We’ve been through so much, Mark. Thank you for loving me, for forgiving me, and for being not just my lover, but my best friend, too.”
Mark laughed. “You are my everything, you silly git. I’m so glad it’s over. I can’t wait to hold you again. It’s been one month, and that’s thirty days too long to be apart.”
Yes. Now imagine thirty years, Brighton thought sadly. He felt his vision blurring and his head getting heavy. If he passed out from blood loss, that would ensure his turning. He could not have that. “Mark, I must go. I just wanted to tell you what happened and that I truly love you. You made both of my lives so wonderful by your mere presence.”
“I love you, too,” Mark replied.
“Goodbye, Mark.”
Brighton disconnected the call and let out a sob that came from deep in his chest. If it were possible, he thought his heart was literally breaking and he could feel it. The emotional pain he was now enduring was much worse than his physical wounds.
With a shaking hand, he texted Linwood: “Mabuz dead. Bring holy water to wash away the remainder of his ashes. And tell my brother and Mark I am very sorry.” He tossed his phone to the side. He kept on crying, hot tears scalding his face, making the superficial cuts on his cheeks burn with the salt.
Of course h
e had doubts about his next action. In the space of less than a minute, he mulled over all of his possibilities. Especially of living as a vampire and maybe one day turning Mark. After all, who wouldn’t want to spend eternity with their soulmate? But the fact remained that Mabuz was correct about Brighton’s true nature, and he could not allow himself to break Mark’s heart by becoming an evil monster. Not only that, but he would also hurt Angelica, Linwood, Danny, and yes, even his brother.
Better he went now like a hero, rather than have them kill him as a villain.
He clutched his side, looking up at the sky. Mark, Danny, and Angelica were so sure Heaven existed, and that there was forgiveness and eternal peace for those who wanted and deserved it. He wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he wanted it. He craved it.
“Forgive me,” he said, sending the words out into the universe before he reached into his coat and took out the twenty millilitre syringe filled with holy water. He had brought it along to inject into an adversary’s veins were he to have to. Now, it would serve a better use.
He emptied it of its contents and sighed, shrugging his coat off and groaning at the pain in his wounds. He rolled up the left sleeve and felt around, remembering his medical training from centuries ago. The brachial artery ran through the arm, and an easy way to get to it was near the crook of the arm.
Positioning the needle over his pale, thin skin, he pressed the thin silver tip as deep as it could go. He knew he hit the artery when he saw blood welling up around the wound. His analytical mind told him that this would be quicker through the subclavian artery, but that was too risky to do on his own. He could not afford any screw ups.
He closed his eyes, letting his last tears fall as he pictured his sweet Mark, waiting for him in Chicago, and injected twenty millilitres of air directly into his artery.
***
“Why the fuck is your brother not answering?” Linwood asked Mahon over the phone as he sped to the location Brighton had given him.
“How should I know? Perhaps he was injured, in which case you’d better hope you get there in time,” Mahon replied.
“You’re such an arse. Why do I love you, again?” Linwood asked rhetorically. “I’m almost there. I’ll call you soon.”
He haphazardly parked his car and dashed into the building. Of course Brighton, or someone, picked the locks to get there. Of course Brighton had left them unlocked. For a brilliant man, he was sometimes very careless and extremely stupid. Linwood could not believe it had been Mabuz who had left the doors unlocked unless there was a more nefarious plan afoot, and he brandished a blade just in case it was a trap.
In his other hand he held a bag with multiple bottles of holy water and now he slung it over one broad shoulder, and it bounced against his body with every step he took. As a Psi, he had a wonderful intuition, and right then it was telling him to hurry the Hell up.
He reached the coop, and the first thing he saw was a pile of yellow-y dust. Mabuz’s remains. But where was Brighton? He opened the door further and looked around. When he looked to his right, he nearly passed out.
“Brighton!” he cried, dropping the bag with a thud and dashing across the filthy coop to the lifeless body of his old friend. He sensed no life within him, but stubbornly tried to find breath, feel a pulse, anything to contradict what he already knew: Brighton Sands was dead.
Linwood saw the gaping wound in his abdomen, but that could have been healed. It was the large, jagged bite mark in Brighton’s swanlike neck that had been Brighton’s undoing. Psis are not actually psychic, but Linwood had no trouble figuring out what had happened once he saw the needle. Rather than be turned by Mabuz, Brighton had chosen oblivion.
“You fucking idiot!” he swore, knowing Brighton could not hear him, but venting anyway. “We would have helped you! Your brother, Angelica...Mark. You just left him! You selfish bastard!”
Linwood fell back on his haunches and covered his face. He’d lost the man who was essentially his brother-in-law once to suicide. To have it happen again, after Brighton’s life was so happy, was too much. He regretted the fact that Mabuz was dead. He wanted to murder him himself.
He tried to quell his tears as he looked at Brighton. His lips were turning blue. The needle was still in his veins, giving the illusion he had overdosed on drugs rather than an air embolism. It was so unfair. Brighton was a hero and he deserved a hero’s finale. Killing himself in a dirty London pigeon coop was not the way his life should have ended. “Why?” Linwood gasped, knowing he’d never receive an answer. “Why would you do this to everyone who loves you?”
Linwood felt the familiar presence of Mahon Quinn behind him. Though Mahon was not blood related to Brighton any longer, their souls were connected through reincarnation. They were brothers in everything except blood.
Linwood stood and went to embrace his Psychic Bondmate. Mahon was amazing at schooling his facial features to hide his emotions, but George could easily feel the utter devastation Mahon was feeling.
“I’m sorry. I should have been here,” he apologised. “I should have sent backup. Anything but let him go here alone. I should have guessed it might be Mabuz.”
“It’s not your fault, love,” Mahon said, his voice hitching. “I should have known this would happen. Self-destructive, reckless idiot my brother was back then, I should have known something like this would occur when he and Mabuz came face-to-face again. It is my idiocy that made me think this life would be any different for him than his previous one.”
He extricated himself from Linwood’s grasp and bent down before his brother’s body. George watched as Mahon pressed a kiss to Brighton’s forehead, and held his baby brother for the last time.
“Vale, vir fratrem suum. Convertet ad pacem, et scitis te amo.” He stood up, hand shading his eyes as steady tears rained down his face. He did not shout or sob, he cried as quietly and as dignified as he lived.
Linwood had always seen how Mahon and Brighton had a volatile relationship. They were brothers and they fought like brothers, despite their vast intelligence and disparate abilities. For centuries they had been at each other’s throats, and none but Linwood had seen the lengths Mahon went to, to protect his brother, and vice versa.
He grasped Mahon’s hand in his, forcing himself to look away from Brighton’s body. “It’s a shame. A bloody shame. And this...it’s worse than last time. Much worse. How can we tell Mark what happened? That Brighton killed himself again?”
“We don’t,” Mahon said. “My brother died a hero. Let him be remembered as such. To us, to everyone. We can grieve, but we must remember that this was his choice. You know what would have happened if he let himself live as a vampire.”
Linwood looked back at the face he had beheld so many times in his long life. Always haughty, sharp, and calculated, in death Brighton looked like the little boy he really was. He thought he was a monster, and made everyone else think so as well with the way he acted. Even Mahon thought so at times, both then and now.
Mark knew the difference. Mark had always seen the good, the light, in Brighton. He had seen it in both lives. He had embraced it, had brought out the humanity buried inside the reckless, violent hunter. Linwood saw it now, too.
Unfortunately, he saw it too late.
Part Two:
Fear Awaken
Chapter One
Chicago, Illinois
January, 2016
Angelica had been gone for a month, and Danny could not wrap his mind around it. Certainly, he knew loving a vampire while he was a human would end in heartbreak. If she did not die on a decidedly reckless and overly ambitious mission for the Paranormal Investigative Division of the FBI, then his mortal life would run its natural course. However, those were outcomes he had expected, outcomes he had mentally prepared himself for. He had always thought that he and Angelica would be together until one of them died.
He had never expected that she would leave so soon, hunted. His beloved was hunted by the Lieutenant of the Underworld, a
nd all he could do was sit here with a drink in his hand and a jagged hole in his heart, praying for her safety.
She had not even told Mark Evans, the director of the main division of the Paranormal Investigators here in Chicago, where she planned to go or what she planned to do. She had not even bothered to say goodbye to any of them in person, disappearing like a thief in the night with a hastily written letter to Danny, explaining that she would most likely not return before his mortal life came to an end. That hurt.
But what hurt the most was the fact that she had had the nerve to tell him to find a woman, to find love again. It was one thing to find warmth and comfort in the arms of a woman, but it was an entirely different thing to ever think he could fall in love again. No, he knew that he’d had his once chance at true love and now that was gone and he could never give his heart away to anyone other than Angelica.
He had come back, reincarnated, for her. He was certain of that. His soul had been given a second chance at what he had lost in the early nineteen-hundreds, and he had lost it once again.
“Danny? Yoo-hoo, you in there?”
Danny jumped, having been taken away by his thoughts. That happened often in the past month since she’d gone.
Mark was giving him a quizzical look across his desk. He had invited Danny to the PID offices, despite Angelica having asked him to leave Danny well away from the organization. Mark had just received the best news from his husband, Brighton Sands. Brighton has just killed a vampire that had been terrorizing the couple since their first incarnations, in the early eighteen-hundreds. The vamp had been the cause of Mark’s untimely demise in that past life, leading directly to Brighton’s as well.
Mark had invited him over for a celebratory drink, despite it being mid-afternoon. Danny did not drink much since Angelica feeding him Undead blood had helped him get sober two years prior, but he wanted to be nice and have a drink with his friend and ex-colleague.
“Sorry,” Danny said. “I guess my mind just wandered. It does that a lot lately.”
