Crimson Ties

by V L Moon

  Everything shrank to the point where his hand rested on the distended swell of what they had created. Anger and betrayal swam in the background of his mind, but something far stronger whirled in the depths. Malachi wrestled with the burgeoning force but maintained contact with the life growing within. His child. The words rang like church bells in his mind. An innocent being nestled just beneath the flesh, yet the unborn babe was already cursed. Only a twisted motherfucker would saddle a babe with a soulless, sadistic monster for a father. A growl escaped the tight hold he maintained on his temper.

  He’d never intended to produce the heir the Elder’s craved so vehemently. Laziel was all he wanted, all he needed to fulfill his duties. Why was an heir necessary when he was immortal with Heaven’s own protection at his side? But with a child a reality, something inside of him awakened and grew with such ferocity it dumbfounded him. Its power surpassed even his hunger.

  “The babe must be protected at all costs,” Loz’s voice jerked him from stunned thoughts. She was as beautiful as ever despite the sadness that wreathed her face. The anger ramped up as she took his male from him even in the dream state.

  “How did this happen?” he demanded.

  A wry smile appeared on her face followed by a soft snort of laughter. “Well now, Batman, I think you know how it happened. Sex is one of your fine points.” Laziel’s voice nearly sent him over the edge. He growled a warning, and the smile on her face dropped immediately. Her much smaller hand rose to cover his where it rested on her belly.

  “I do not know.” The words were whispered and full of anguish. With his other hand, Malachi lifted her chin so their eyes met and held.

  “Your Creator is fucking with our lives,” he gritted. Her gaze dropped, and she tried to pull away. “There is something else. Tell me.” When Loz only bit her lip and shook her head, he gripped her chin and leaned down so they were nose to nose. “Tell me.”

  A shudder rippled through her and a fierce longing filled her eyes. She took a deep breath. “For the first time in my long existence, I’m terrified.”

  “Of what?” Confusion seeped into Malachi. The angel was nearly invincible; not even Lucifer had stood against Laziel. A spark of fear lit. Was something wrong with Laziel? Had the pregnancy weakened the angel? “What are you scared of Lorenza?” Her soft lips parted.

  “Malachi!” A fierce banging followed the explosion of his name. The hazy mist of the dream evaporated though he tried desperately to cling to sleep. When it slipped away quieter than a breath, he sprang from the bed his ferocious temper beating against his temples. His childhood home stood sentential around him. The spicy aroma of his rage stained the air. He’d spent the entire night in the underground training area trying to alleviate the fury. Without the angel, he’d been left no choice but to work out his anger through the harsh training regime he’d followed his entire life.

  Every blow to the homemade punching bag had reverberated through his soul. Each word spoken in the dream, all of Laziel’s actions were dissected time and again. Lessons and stories drilled into him while he lived between these walls swirled together with his immense love for the angel. In the end, it had boiled down to a single request. Laziel asked Malachi to trust him, and there was no one in Heaven or on Earth, Malachi trusted more. He wanted so badly to believe in the angel, in the relationship they shared despite the agony that ripped at his soul. He didn’t know why the angel refused to come home, but he’d bet his fangs it had to do with the unborn babe. The resurgence of the dream re-ignited the fuse he’d fought to douse.

  On the other side of the bedroom door, Saul paced back and forth. “Go back to the enclave. I’ll be right behind you,” Malachi yelled through the thick wood.

  “I’ve heard that shit before, Denali,” Saul shot back.

  “Fucking stubborn ass bastard,” Malachi grumbled and shoved to his feet. He grabbed his jacket and slung it around his shoulders before snatching the door open. “You dare disobey an order from your king?” he snarled. Saul didn’t bat an eye or budge.

  “When he’s acting the ass and leaving himself without protection, yeah, I guess I am,” Saul said, crossing his arms over his chest. His calm façade was just that, a veneer to hide the agitation Malachi smelled all too clearly.

  “You have my word I will be right behind you,” he said realizing Saul waited for an answer. “Now go.” The guard shot him a skeptical look, but in the end, he followed the command. He ported away leaving Malachi alone.

  The sense of betrayal hadn’t lessened despite his exhaustion, or the grip of the Sole Dormire. What had changed was his focus. The Creator saw fit to make him a father, and by all that was holy, he would be a part of his child’s life. But first, he had to find the angel and the child. With a last glance around his childhood abode, he threw himself into the ether.

  He’s barely returned to his form when the office door swung open. Ms. Stroner entered with a stack of mail. Her gasp of surprise was quickly swallowed.

  “I have the mail if you’re ready to respond,” she said recovering quickly and crossing the room.

  “No time,” he snapped. He grabbed the scroll from the desk and strode toward the door. “Arial will be here shortly. Send him to the chapel.” He grasped the door knob and twisted.

  “Denali!” Her exclamation and the use of his name brought him up short. His head swiveled until their eyes clashed. Her shoulders were squared, her posture set as if in stone. The only sign of her nervousness was the flick of her tongue over dry lips.

  “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Ms. Lorenza and Laziel. Everyone is tiptoeing around the situation. He’s been gone for months, she’s still missing and you’ve been a ticking time bomb.” She swallowed hard, pinned by his glare. “You aren’t the only one who’s experienced loss. We all have. Your subjects need you. Whether Laziel or Lorenza are here or not, it’s you we need. You are our king. We need you to remember that.” She placed the mail on his desk and took a breath. Her hands trembled where they rested against the stack. He studied her for a moment and again marveled at her courage and bravery. Still, she overstepped.

  “Your concerns are noted,” he growled. “When, and if, I decide to handle the mail tonight, I will let you know.” She recoiled as if slapped, but nodded. He took another step out of the door and paused. “Lorenza is safe. Arial can confirm. She chooses not to return and I can’t say I blame her. As for Laziel, the angel was and remains off limits. Do not bring him up again. I discuss him with no one.” The door slammed behind him.

  He stormed through the enclave, the scroll clutched in one hand. He passed Saul and glared, daring the male to follow him. The Guard grimaced, but didn’t move. The sounds of the busy enclave slowly faded the deeper he fled into the tunnels. He ducked through the door into the chapel and stumbled over loose debris. He eyed the chaos and huffed out an angry breath. Ms. Stroner was right; he needed to get his shit together and fast.

  Carefully, he laid the scroll in one of the intact pews and set to work on the broken benches and crumbled rock. When the scattered remains were stacked in a corner, he moved toward the cracked altar. He studied the beautiful stone and wondered if it could be repaired. Laziel adored the altar and would be heart sore to see it broken. Malachi circled it. He bent and wedged a finger into the wide slit where the scroll had rested. Nothing else met his exploring fingers. New cracks in the Serendibite gave him pause.

  “What the hell?” He leaned forward. The floor beneath his boots cracked. Before he knew what was happening, the cement gave way. Quick reflexes kept his feet under him, and he landed in a crouch. He blinked while the dust settled. Recessed lighting flickered on triggered by the movement.

  Malachi stood dumbfounded. A long corridor stretched out before him; so long he couldn’t see the opposite side. His own face stared back at him from paintings lining the walls. Showcases and podiums lined the lower part of the tunnel. He stepped over the collapsed ceiling chunks to peer into the closest glass enclose
d box. A bloody crown rested on a white satin pillow. Malachi recognized it immediately. King Mortiemer had been wearing it when Malachi claimed the throne.

  What the hell? He wandered deeper into the passageway. The faces above him became younger and the treasures in the showcases ranged from swords and clothing to letters and toys. The significance of his find settled on him when he reached the end of the long corridor.

  The back wall showcased one painting. Laziel stood bare feet braced shoulder width apart. All six of his wings were in full mount; the black shiny feathers a perfect contrast to the flowing white robes. A look of supreme love shone on his face. In his arms, lay a dark haired babe. Malachi knew it was him even though the infant’s face was in profile. Beneath the enormous portrait, a lone glass case sat. Locked inside, a book lay open. The well-worn pages were wrinkled with age, their brittleness evident to the naked eye. Malachi didn’t have to look to know the story, but he did.

  “The Brahmin and the Mongoose” one of the oldest fables in creation and his favorite story as a child. The small tome, a miniature version of the Panchatantra frame storybook, had been pulled out every night. Laziel had read to him by firelight and never tired of reading the story over and over even when Malachi could recite every word with him. As he’d grown older, the story stuck with him. Despite his temper, he strove to make informed decisions, to not act rashly, but with wisdom.

  Malachi turned slowly to stare back down the passageway. His life with the angel lay before him, including the first whip used the fateful night Laziel offered himself for Malachi’s perverse sexual needs. Malachi felt as if the skin had been flayed from his bones. Raw. Naked. And loved. The careful preservation, the portraits, the love required to maintain such a tribute to them. The angel’s love wrapped around him and shook him to his core. The last threads of doubt shriveled and died.

  He’d been selfish and stupid. Denying what he felt, denying them both a true union that would only make them stronger. His stubbornness put them in the present situation. How Laziel must have suffered at his hands. Not physically, but emotionally. Arial’s words chipped at his conscious. His refusal to acknowledge what he felt was slowly killing the angel. Determination squared his shoulders.

  Jogging back down a literal memory lane, he reached the spot in the ceiling where he’d fallen through. A mighty leap brought him back to chapel level. He rounded the broken altar just as the door swung open, and Arial stepped inside. Roman followed close on his heels.

  Malachi’s smile was almost feral. His eyes shone a bright shade of red. “Just the person I need to see,” he said to Arial. The Fallen went still as the threat registered. Roman flicked glances between the two of them.

  Arial squared his shoulders, standing defiant in the small entryway. “Well, well. It seems time has changed your tune, Vampire King. Last time I was here, you threw me out.” His eyes narrowed. “If you think to bite me again, you best be prepared for one hell of a fight.” At Arial’s side, Roman choked on air.

  “Maybe, uh…maybe you were right, Arial,” Roman sputtered. “My business can wait.” He started to back out of the room.

  “Hold it right there, Elder,” Malachi ordered. Blood red eyes locked on the younger vampire. Malachi retreated behind the cracked altar careful to stay clear of the hole in the floor. “The Fallen seems a bit nervous in my company.” Arial snorted his disdain to the statement, but Malachi continued. “You can provide a buffer. Grab the rolled parchment behind you and bring it here.” He patted the cool stone. “And, if Arial has on his big boy boxers, we can get down to business.”

  “I don’t wear fucking boxers,” Arial growled. “I prefer to swing free.” Roman stumbled. The smell of his blood rushing to the surface of his throat and face teased Malachi’s volatile hunger. Fumbling fingers soon had the scroll uncoiled and stretched across the uneven surface. Malachi used chunks of broken cement to pin down the edges. Roman hastily backed away when Arial approached. The Fallen’s face drained of color when he eyed the parchment.

  “You should wait for Laziel.” He shook his head and tried to back away. Faster than Arial could blink, Malachi lunged across the expanse of black stone and snagged him by the lapels of his leather coat. Jerking the male off balance, he drew him across the Seredebite dangerously wrinkling the old scroll.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Fallen.” Malachi bit out, barely leashing his fury. “Wasn’t it you who told me the angel wasn’t coming back? Wasn’t it you who told me I was a fuck up?” Remembering their last confrontation, the pain rose again to cloud his mind. He shoved it back, but the distraction was enough for the Fallen.

  Arial braced both palms against Malachi’s chest and shoved. They stumbled apart. “I didn’t say that,” he snarled. His own anger sparked to match Malachi’s ire.

  “Nope, not in so many words,” Malachi agreed bitterly. “But, there was no mistaking your message.” He pointed at the crumbled parchment. “I want to know what that says, and you’re the only one that can read it to me. Unless of course, you can’t read,” he taunted. Arial bristled just as he wanted him too.

  “I’ll read it on one condition,” he replied. Malachi arched a brow in question. “You give it to me when I’m done.”

  “Why do you want it?” Malachi punched back.

  “Because, it doesn’t belong to you.” The simple response was a red flag in front of the beast.

  “The fuck it doesn’t,” Malachi growled. “If it says what I think it does, it pertains to me. It’s in my fucking enclave; therefore it’s mine.”

  “Technically, it was in Laziel’s chapel, and it was given to him by the Creator to safeguard,” Arial challenged.

  “And, I should give a fuck what the Creator wants?” Malachi’s temper bucked hard against his control. The beast wanted out, wanted blood and chaos, but Malachi needed answers. The frame from the storybook depicting the wife killing the mongoose etched itself on his frontal lobe reminding him rash acts resulted in disheartening rewards. He gritted his molars.

  “You play dangerously, vampire. One day he’s going to put you in your damn place.” Arial took another step back as if expecting Heaven’s fire to rain down around them.

  “He’s taken his shot once already; nothing I couldn’t handle.” Malachi tapped the document. He remembered vividly the agony he’d suffered after his last confrontation with the Almighty. It dulled in comparison to the ache caused by the angel’s absence. Maybe, if the Big Bastard took him out, he’d escape the hell that had become his existence.

  Arial’s skin went ashen and Roman, almost forgotten in the heated exchange, sank into the closest bench with a look of stunned fear. Before either of them could form questions, Malachi slapped a palm down on the scroll. “We’ve wasted enough time. You can have the damned thing. I just want to know what it says.”

  He stepped back as Arial moved closer. The Fallen studied the writing for a few minutes and then began to read. It was exactly what Malachi had expected. The words Arial had thrown at him were in fact truth. He’d been created, given life, brought into being by Laziel. Arial’s deep voice recounted every detail including his placement on Earth and Laziel’s descent from Heaven’s gates to care for his creation. By the time Arial stopped reading, Malachi’s temper hovered at the nuclear level.

  Neither of them had stood a chance. Their lives had been set on one course with no room for deviation. Sure, the angel had been given a gift—the creation of life. Only, the Creator tied him to that life, to the soulless vampire. And for what? To produce a new race? The Creator didn’t need them for that. The babe could have come into existence the same way as he had himself.

  Sweat broke out on his brow as the air around him heated along with his temper. All of the time he’d spent fighting the Elders, fighting their demands, and none of it mattered. The Creator had fucked them over. Their destinies had been set before Laziel ever breathed life into the orb. Was that the reason the angel refused to return to him? Did Lorenza believe him unfit to raise th
e child? Did they believe the babe was better off without him? Malachi’s thoughts twisted and jumbled together, feeding the frenzy of his beast.

  “Where is she?” Malachi asked, barely remembering to use the correct pronoun with Roman in the room.

  “For fuck’s sake, Denali, you know I can’t tell you,” Arial huffed.

  “She’s fucking pregnant!” He roared. His fist slammed down on the altar. “That’s my fucking child she’s carrying, and I demand to know where she is.”

  “Been here, done this already and obviously your tee shirt didn’t fit, Your Highness,” Arial snarled. “She does not want to come here, and I won’t be the one to make her. Leave her in peace.”

  “Excuse me, are we discussing an heir to the throne?” Roman’s question snapped both of their heads around to focus on him. He sat forward on the bench, elbows on knees, hands and head down. “Because that’s like fucking huge news. If Darklon finds out, it puts Ms. Lorenza in more danger than she was in before.”

  Malachi and Arial growled in unison. “He won’t touch her ever again,” Malachi vowed. “She’ll be safe as soon as this bastard tells me where she is.”

  “That ain’t happening, vampire. And, remember what I said. You try to bite me again, it’s going to get ugly fast.” Arial backed away, eyes wary.

  Barely restrained by the shreds of his will, Malachi’s vampiric nature clawed to be free. Like guitar strings strung to tight, the bands of his control started to snap against the continuous onslaught. Everything went blood red; his fangs lengthened and punctured his lower lip. The hint of blood drew a growl of hunger.