Crimson Ties

by V L Moon

“Holy shit!” Roman exclaimed. “Arial, I think you better tell him what he wants to know.”

  Malachi was losing it and losing it fast. With a savage curse, he ported. He raced through the night, his hunger leading the way. As he sailed over the Colosseum, the stench of Nephilim stampeded his senses. He plummeted to Earth and took form on the lip of the tallest point of the stone structure. Every sense attuned to the night and the deep shadows of the interior.

  The rustle of feathers combined with the aroma of evil intentions zeroed his focus. He ported again, taking form directly in the middle of a dozen of his enemy. His challenging roar echoed off the stone walls. Their stunned disbelief cost them the lives of three before they gathered themselves enough to react. Malachi used the time to focus. He shoved the dump of the night’s information to the far reaches of his mind.

  Feathers flinched, and it was all he needed. He waded into the mass of flesh, bone and steel without regard to the threat of injury. Fists flew, grunts reverberated off rock, and blades found soft flesh. The coppery scent of blood coated the air. Malachi danced through the enemy, a well-trained and well-oiled machine of destruction.

  The first pass found three more dripping the last of their life into the grassy expanse. The beast inside wailed his approval. Although not the nourishment he needed, the adrenaline fed the monstrosity inside him that thrived on death. The six remaining Nephilim ranged around him both on the ground and in the air.

  “Come on, motherfuckers,” Malachi shouted. “Are you warriors, or are you fairies?” Taunting them, he raised his blades, dripping with the blood of their brethren. “Have they given their lives so you can turn tail and haul ass back to your bitch queen?”

  A snarl preceded the leap by the male on his right. Malachi dropped a blade and caught him by the throat. He squeezed, mercilessly. Red eyes bore into brown. He watched as bravado and ego quickly gave way to fear and panic. The light of life flickered. Beneath his thumb, the pulse skipped and then stopped all together. When the male hung limp in his grasp, his vampiric nature rejoiced in his superiority. But, deep inside, something cried out at the callousness and hopelessness of the male’s death. His fingers loosened and the half breed slid to the ground. A furious cry snapped the thin thread of compassion.

  “Who dies next?” he asked while stepping over the fallen Nephilim. “One of you didn’t like him dying? Too fucking bad. He won’t be the last.” Malachi bent to retrieve his knife, keeping sharp eyes on the remaining fighters.

  “There were twelve and five remain. Your odds aren’t good.” He advanced on the three in front of him while his senses told him where the other two hovered. When none of them engaged, he shrugged one shoulder and held his hands out to his sides.

  “No takers?” He taunted. “More’s the pity. Look, I’ll even give you an advantage.” He tossed the blades away, leaving himself unarmed. The swift rush of wings called forth a predatory smile. All five converged expecting to have the advantage. Malachi was ready. More than. Laziel never overlooked odds and trained him well for just such an encounter.

  He met the first male, chest to chest. Strong arms locked around his chest and squeezed. Malachi’s legs were jerked from beneath him just as his head connected with the nose in front of him. A howl of pain heralded the arms falling away. Malachi caught himself on his hands. Horizontal to the ground, he pushed off and flipped himself, twisting his feet free from the Nephilims’ grip. He landed hard on his back, but both boots connected solidly with chins. The two half breeds sailed backward.

  Blows connected with his ribs and stomach. He relished the pain. It helped him focus. The mad dance of hand to hand raged across the interior of the Colosseum. Bare rock scraped skin loose. Jagged edges ripped into fragile flesh. Blades hit his ribs and dug into his side. The half breeds fared worse. Malachi twisted the head completely off of one and ripped the wings from a second. His anger gave him added power.

  Shouted cries of panic registered through the beast’s growls. Malachi whirled. Two forms bathed in the crimson fire of his gaze moved toward him. He sprang at them, clawed hands extended. Too easily, he punched through chest cavities and grasped the still beating hearts. He ripped them free and held them up to the moon. Blood ran in rivulets down his arms.

  “You really are one sick motherfucker.” A disgusted voice interrupted his celebration. He dropped the organs and twisted around to face the newcomer. “Before…I thought you were different than the tales told about you. But now, my Creator, you’re an animal. A savage.”

  Something about the male was familiar. Malachi tried to place it, but the beast was in no mood for logic. Instinct and centuries of battle experience propelled him across the gap. Both hands wrapped around the Nephilim’s throat. His mind locked onto the male’s psyche, freezing his voluntary movement. Oh so easily, Malachi lifted him clear of the ground.

  “You should have listened half-breed. Now your ignorance will bring about your death,” he snarled. One hand loosened. His arm drew back. “Better call your Creator. Good luck getting a fucking answer.” His fist snapped forward. No connection. He stumbled.

  A solid and extra-large male crashed into his back. They tumbled forward as a group with Malachi trapped between two of his enemies. He jerked an elbow back into the ribs of his assailant. A furious grunt echoed in his ear. A fist slammed into his solar plexus. He sucked air once before something soft covered both his nose and mouth.

  Laziel.

  The angel’s scent raced across his synapses. The fight went from physical to internal. He struggled, but the weight on his back didn’t budge. The material across his face was pressed tighter. Another inhale and he moaned. His body went limp as the beast retreated, chased into submission by the angel’s hold on Malachi’s sanity. He panted, almost hyperventilating with the need to draw Laziel into him. Cognizance returned and he blinked. Immediately, he knew the male atop him was not his male. Beneath him, Celix lay bleeding from puncture marks in his throat.

  “Get off me, motherfucker,” Malachi growled. Arial didn’t budge. Pressed full front to Malachi’s back, the curve of his hips rode Lachi’s ass, a perfect spoon position. A thickly muscled arm wound around his neck while the other hand held some article of the angel’s garb close to his face. Tree trunk legs entangled with his.

  “Who’s the President?” Arial snapped. Malachi’s eyes narrowed.

  “How the fuck should I know?” Malachi shot back. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”

  “That’s what the humans ask in the movies. It seemed appropriate,” Arial deadpanned though his breathing wasn’t quite steady. “You were a fucked up mass of destruction. You chill now?”

  “You’re still breathing aren’t you?” Malachi shifted, or tried to move. Fuckin’ hell the Fallen was heavy. “I promise not to kill Celix, but if you don’t get the fuck off me now, I’m keeping your balls as souvenirs.”

  “What the fuck is it with you and Laziel wanting my damned balls,” Arial growled, but pushed off of him. He gained his feet and moved over when Malachi rolled away from Celix. While Arial checked the downed Nephilim, Malachi surveyed the battle grounds. Similar to the time of the Colosseum’s glory days, blood coated the grass and rock around him. Broken bodies littered the ground. Dislodged feathers drifted in the breeze. Dread rose up to choke him.

  The savageness of his nature gained ground every day. It was harder and harder to drag the beast back into its cage. The thirst for blood shadowed every thought. The thrill of the kill provided a high so addictive he craved it more every time he woke. The anger had been more than enough to shove him into a frenzy.

  With his emotions in tumult and hurt and fear supplementing the fury, no one around him was truly safe. Too fucking bad, Darklon couldn’t be found. With a last glance at the only living beings left in his vicinity, Malachi ported away. Arial, or a cleanup crew would erase the evidence of the fight and his descent into depravity long before the humans ventured out. But nothing would remove the stain from his alre
ady blackened soul.

  ~*~*~*~

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ~*~*~*~

  Anger at Malachi grounded Arial, rooting him amid the carnage of broken wings and dismembered body parts. He refused to fight, however much the need to teach Malachi a lesson tempted him. He’d promised Laziel and didn’t that just stick in his God damned throat like a bad case of feather rot.

  “Watch over him, brother. Hold your oath to protect him from others as well as from himself.” The words drifted on the night air, reminding Arial, taunting his patience with the belligerent king who seemed to be lost in the frenzy of his own dark curse. He didn’t know how Laziel’s clothing came to be in his hand, didn’t rightly care. All he knew was the scent engrained within the handful of cloth seemed to ease the raging fury racing through Malachi’s veins. If he needed to, he’d have rammed the fucking rag down Malachi’s throat if it would help stop him from slaying Celix.

  For some reason, it seemed wrong seeing the immense Nephilim broken like the ones now lying dead at Arial’s feet. Arial wasn’t sure why. Maybe, it was the beauty of Celix’s wings or the flawless perfection of his cherubim face. But, there was definitely something about the Nephilim that made Arial want to protect him.

  The surge of emotion stirring within him startled Arial. For centuries, all he’d felt was anger and guilt. Sure, he’d allowed himself some semblance of honor, but it had been a gift, bestowed on him by the oath of allegiance to stand by the side of the vampire’s king and Laziel. The wind stirred behind him as Arial bent to one knee. The Nephilim was hurt but breathing, albeit weakly. Arial looked back. Anger at Malachi’s behavior was evident on his face, but only a subtle gust of wind met his glare. Malachi was gone.

  “Motherfucking, God damned son of a bitch.” Arial let loose with a vulgar string of profanities blue enough to make a nun blush and pulled out his phone. As much as he hated modern technology, it came in handy when dealing with errant vampires that persisted in pissing him off.

  “I take it he slipped the net?” Saul’s voice held no hint of surprise.

  “I’d follow, but the mess he left behind needs to be dealt with.” Arial replied dryly as he absentmindedly stroked his fingers through Celix’s hair. “Can you locate him?”

  “I won’t stop until I do. Do you need help? I can send a clean-up crew. It won’t be the first time they’ve had to do this. Usually the Nephilim take care of their own, but if there’s no one left…” Saul left the question hanging, and the line went quiet.

  In the back ground Arial heard Miss Stroner’s voice, but her words were muffled. Arial’s brow quirked. He didn’t know the King’s secretary and Laziel’s guard were so close, but then, it wasn’t something he usually paid attention to when in the enclave. Relationships were a taboo subject for the likes of Arial. He wasn’t relationship material. End of.

  “My apologies for disturbing your evening, Saul, but I don’t know if any of your guard have the same absence of fear that you have, especially where Denali’s concerned.” Arial finally broke the silence.

  “I’m on it Arial. I’ll contact you when I’ve locked down his location. Shouldn’t be too hard. Apart from him searching for Laziel, there are only a handful of places he frequents. And, if he’s done with fighting for the night, that narrows things down further still. Be safe and watch your back.” The line went dead before Arial could reply.

  He pocketed the cell phone Malachi issued him and looked down feeling slightly aggrieved. He should have suspected Malachi would look for Laziel. Christ. Arial sat on his heels his thoughts finally catching up with him. Malachi forcing him to read from the scroll had thrown him. With trepidation, Arial remembered the vampire’s words. “That’s my fucking child she’s carrying, and I demand to know where she is.”

  He knew. Somehow the canny fucking vampire had cottoned on to the fact he was going to be a daddy. No wonder he’s pissed. The hows and whys surrounding the child’s conception combined with the obvious danger to its life pre-occupied Arial’s mind.

  Keeping Lorenza safe and the location of their hiding place secret until the birth took place was of the utmost importance. Arial would kill any and all who attempted to harm Laziel while he was stuck in his present state. Not that he thought Malachi was a danger. But, if Lorenza grew distressed, Arial had no knowledge of what was needed for a celestial birth. Hell, he had no clue about birth period!

  “You keep stroking me like that, and I might slip something else in your hands instead of my hair.” The bold comment snapped Arial out of his train of thought. He cocked a brow, his mouth fighting against the want to smirk.

  “That smart mouth of yours is going to get you killed one day. How bad are you hurt? Think you can stand up, or do you need me to play nurse maid and help?” Arial bit back and waited for Celix to reply.

  The male’s Heavenly scent drifted up to greet him, reminding Arial of his celestial home. The ache that ensued made his eyes sting. Thankfully, Celix’s grunts of pain helped to distract him from the painful line of thought. Crouching down, Arial eased Celix onto his ass and assessed the damage to his far too beautiful face. The minor bruising and swelling would heal quickly enough. Arial was more concerned with the way Malachi had attempted to tear out Celix’s throat.

  The ragged wound in Celix’s throat looked bloody and painful. Arial’s fingers hesitated over the pulsing vein. Celix’s sweet scent tantalized Arial’s taste buds, and his tongue absently licked at his lips. Arial’s eyes drifted to the Nephilim’s kissable, bow shaped mouth. His fingers inched up to cup the Nephilim’s face. Arial’s thumb delicately traced the line of Celix’s jaw.

  “Nothing’s broken,” Celix whispered. His breath caressed Arial’s face. Celix’s lips parted, and Arial feared he was losing it. Fast. A tremor ran over the mounts of his broken wings. He lifted his gaze from Celix’s lips only to be held breathless by the look on the Nephilim’s face. The beautiful crystal blue Arial remembered had almost disappeared. His pupils were blown. They acted like magnets to Arial’s senses. The pain and longing he sensed in Celix matched his own.

  Arial knew the chemistry between them was wrong. Celix’s heart belonged elsewhere, and as for Arial, he refused any outward displays of emotion, or the tactile contact of such weak displays. So why now? And why Celix? One look at the Nephilim’s angelic features turned Arial inside out. When the glistening pink tip of Celix’s tongue snaked out to moisten his lips, Arial released a strangled moan.

  Time seemed to slow down around them. Celix blinked. His long dark lashes were a total contrast to the waves of unruly blonde hair framing his face. The apex of his wings rose behind him, pale, shimmering light like the first rays of sun catching the morning dew. Transfixed by their beauty, Arial’s chest constricted. His eyes closed. The reminder of what he’d lost was a constant well of anguish and pain. The soft stroke of feathers brushed against Arial’s face. He lost himself to the once familiar sensation their touch brought.

  “They’re all dead.” The pain and utter aguish held within the context of those few whispered words speared Arial right through the heart. “They never stood a chance against him. I’d heard he was the epitome of death and destruction, but what he did—I’ve never witnessed such savagery.” Celix dropped his head against Arial’s chest. Arial felt helpless as Celix openly wept amid the remains of his race.

  “War is an ugly affair, Celix. The slaughtered surrounding our feet are the consequences from centuries of misguided loyalty and hate. Tell me, honestly, Celix. If the Vampire King hadn’t been so fortunate to have been trained by the elite, would you have spared his life or taken it?” When Celix failed to reply Arial pushed. The Nephilim needed to know what they were facing if they went up against Malachi.

  “Remember, Celix. Malachi isn’t just a king. He has the heart of a warrior and a thirst for blood. Do not underestimate him. Beneath the fine suits, he is as deadly, if not more so, than any preternatural I’ve ever met. These will not be the last lives to be lost.
Both sides have suffered under the reign of this so called queen you so loyally serve. You best get used to it. Malachi had to.”

  Arial knew his words were harsh. They were meant to be. As ominous and as large as Celix appeared, beneath the façade lay a very young and very afraid male. Arial could tell by looking at Celix that the war between the two races hadn’t rubbed off on him yet, hadn’t dulled the look in his eyes and taken away the brightness that Arial imagined would shine there when the beautiful Nephilim smiled.

  Celix’s grief melted Arial’s icy persona. Hushing the male, Arial attempted to sooth his fraught mood by stroking a hand through his hair and down his back. He looked across the destruction caused by Malachi’s ruthless mood. From what Arial could make out of the remains, the lost Nephilim were young. Not quite children, but by no means, old enough or experienced enough to be out in the field fighting against the likes of the vampire king. Their Queen needed to fall and soon. How she condoned the loss of her own without any semblance of remorse left Arial at a loss for words. Something the Fallen definitely wasn’t akin too.

  Celix’s hands circled the circumference of Arial’s waist and held on as though he were anchoring himself to something solid. Arial felt the heat from the Nephilim’s skin; yet, the male trembled in his arms like a lost child seeking comfort or strength. Arial felt awkward. It had been so long since anything remotely emotional affected him in the way Celix did. He could see why Clariel felt so deeply for him, even though the wingless Nephilim constantly denied it. There was something about Celix; his purity along with his strength made him beautiful on the inside as well as on the outside.

  Arial’s breath caught in his chest at the brush of warm lips ghosting over his neck. Dumbstruck, he couldn’t move as Celix’s hands smoothed up his back, and then proceeded to run the soft pads of his fingertips over the mounts of his wings. It had been centuries since someone, anyone, had touched him in such a way. The gesture made his flesh heat and his heart race. Surrounded by death, he hoped the male in his arms wouldn’t stop. Arial knew it was wrong, but a part of him wanted to plead with Celix. He longed to press the beautiful golden haired male up against him and breathe in the angelic scent of his flawless flesh while running his fingers through those beautiful wings as they wrapped around him.