Crimson Ties

by V L Moon

  Celix was impressed by the human male’s fearless approach to the vampire king. He hoped the male listened to Gregori. Time was slipping away. As if Clariel realized the same thing, the usually timid male stepped out from behind Celix and approached Gregori’s side. Celix followed; his wings in full mount ready to protect Clariel. Those hypnotizing violet eyes turned his way, and Clariel held up his hand to halt Celix’s steps.

  “He won’t hurt me. He promised to protect me, and from what I’ve learned so far, Malachi Denali never breaks his promises. It’s ok, Celix. Please, step back; we don’t have time for this.” Clariel, as always, bore no malice in his words and Celix, as always, felt compelled to obey him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Clariel; he only wished the male felt the same about him.

  He watched apprehensively as Clariel approached Malachi. Arial stood at the King’s back. Malachi didn’t move except to straighten his stance. Those red eyes stayed locked on Celix; yet, Gregori’s words seemed to have calmed the male’s rancid temperament to a less torrid state. Still, Celix refused to relax. He didn’t trust the male. He was a vampire, and vampires killed. Period!

  Celix’s eyes widened with fear when Clariel stood before the male and explained about the upcoming threat to the wolves. Malachi reached back as if he instinctively knew where Arial was and grabbed the Fallen’s wrist.

  “Get Saul; let him know what we’re up against. Tell him to call every guard we can spare and get them to the Pack ASAP. And, get Lance the fuck out of there. I can’t have him hurt. I’ll get Jorn on the phone. Is Tobias with Roman, or is he with the pack? Do we know? Fuck if he gets hurt Roman will go nuclear.”

  Celix stepped up as Malachi issued orders to Arial and then palmed his phone. He took a fortifying breath and prayed for Gregori’s courage.

  “The Nephilim she’s sending, they don’t want to fight. That’s why I’m here.” Celix knew Malachi could easily tear him limb from limb, but he had to make the attempt. The fear etched on the faces of his Nephilim brothers made it his responsibility to at least try and make a difference. If he could, and if Malachi would listen, lives could be saved on both sides.

  “I wasn’t given a choice, none of the Nephilim are ever given a choice,” he said when Malachi stared at him. “I’ve seen the faces of the Nephilim Queen Onoskelis has chosen for the attack. I had to come. Clariel had no part in it and has never once betrayed his oath to you,” Celix stated and then stepped back when Malachi approached.

  “The ones she’s chosen are children, with no fighting or weaponry skills. They are terrified of what’s to become of them, but they’d rather die at the hands of the wolves than be at the mercy of Onoskelis and what she’ll do to them.” Celix shuddered and lowered his head. All the fight in him was gone. He didn’t care if Malachi took his pound of flesh; he’d offer himself willingly if it meant keeping the younger Nephilim safe.

  “Arial? What ails you my friend? You look decidedly pale. Are you sick?” Gregori asked and placed an aged hand to Arial’s brow. Arial shook his head, unable to speak and stumbled back to use the wall for support. Their earlier altercation was forgotten as Malachi quickly moved to support the male’s frame. He held Arial through what seemed to be a full on anxiety attack. The huge Fallen seemed to visibly shrink as he fought to control each labored breath.

  “Arial. What the fuck? Tell me what gives. What’s got you so damn riled up?” Malachi asked; concern for Arial evident on his face. Celix thought he’d get whiplash from the constant shift in moods and temperaments, but seeing Arial so utterly opposite of his usual deadly demeanor filled Celix with a sense of dread.

  “That name. The Nephilim Queen, it can’t be the same Onoskelis. Please, Creator, no. Anything but that; anyone but her.” Arial’s eyes darted to Celix as he gripped Malachi hard. The knuckles of his hand turned white from the strain.

  “What does she look like? Does she have wings the same putrid yellow as the color of her eyes?” Arial asked. Celix gasped and cursed his wayward tongue. Next to him, Clariel moaned and turned a sickly shade of green. Celix held him, hushing Clariel and promising him that he’d be alright. Arial hadn’t known his mother ruled the Nephilim, and Celix had just turned his world upside down.

  “Arial you want to enlighten us as to what the hell’s going on? How do you know who she is?” Malachi growled; his patience with the Fallen growing decidedly thin. Arial straightened himself up and wiped his hand across his ashen face.

  “Things just got seriously fucked up in a hundred and ten ways, Denali,” Arial muttered. “We’re going to need everyone we’ve got. Fuck, we need Laziel. Why does she show up now with him away?”

  Celix hazarded a glance at Malachi’s face when the Seraphim angel that fought at his side was mentioned. He winced and pulled Clariel tighter against him ahead of the explosion. Malachi grabbed Arial tight around the throat and slammed the Fallen up against the wall. “ YOU. DO. NOT. GET. TO. MENTION. HIS. NAME. Now what the fuck is going on around here? Who the mother fuck is Onoskelis? And what the fuck does she mean to you?” Celix heard the fury in Malachi’s voice and wondered at the rapid shift in moods yet again.

  Arial pushed at Malachi who willingly stepped back. There was a glow in the depths of Arial’s eyes that Celix recognized. Arial spoke.

  “Mother is right, Lachi and she ain’t no Queen,” Arial sneered. “But, she is evil, stronger than anyone here and ruthless as well. She will not stop until she has decimated every last one of you, including me. If she can throw her own son out of Heaven and curse him to live off of the souls of the demons she so willingly fucks, the likes of the wolves won’t stand a chance. We need Laziel. Unless you know of any demons who ain’t liking it in Hell. Otherwise, we’re fucked. And, Darklon’s in on it as well.”

  The silence in the room was deafening as the dire nature of the circumstances surrounding them began to take shape. Malachi paced, Gregori sat on the steps of his altar, his aged face a mask of growing concern. To the side of him, Clariel shook with fear, his eyes darting between Celix and Arial. Celix swallowed against the dry lining of his throat.

  “We all know you are her son. She wants you captured. That’s why she has demons training the older, more skilled Nephilim. She wants to use you to breed a new army for her sick and twisted war,” Celix spoke up. Sorrow for Arial filled Celix’s heart, but as much as he wanted to protect the Fallen from his mother’s unholy regime, his first priority was to keep Clariel safe.

  “I’m sorry Arial. I should have told you already. When the time comes, I will fight at your side against her.” Celix’s eyes flickered to where Malachi watched him. “I have to keep Clariel safe. She can’t find him, not now, not ever. Please Malachi, I will swear my own oath of loyalty to you if you would but protect him for me. Please. I beg you.” Taking to his knees, Celix found no shame in swearing his allegiance to the vampire king. Hell, he’d have sold his soul to the devil to keep his Clariel safe.

  “Clariel stays for now. Go get your men. Act out the fight. We’ll inform the wolves, and try to keep any injuries on the low to non-existent side. Just make sure your side knows the rules. Anything changes, you let us know. Gregori, you keep Clariel safe. I’ll appoint you a guard, but I think you’ll be fine. Arial, you’re with me.” With his piece said, Malachi stepped back and disappeared with a shocked looking Arial locked securely in his arms.

  ~*~*~*~

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  ~*~*~*~

  Anchorage, Alaska

  Descending, weightless and enveloped within a shroud of iridescent mist, the mantel of death called out Copi's name, beckoning him toward an emanating flame of soothing peace. Lost, alone and racked by the burning desire to fight for his life, Copi yanked on the shredded threads of yearning despair. Momentary flashbacks, like the flickering reel of a broken film, flipped endlessly through his shattered life. It reeled on fast forward through a childhood filled with misery and shame, showing him the bitter disdain of the system’s many repugnant care homes
that churned him out to a life lived on the streets.

  Reeling, flipping, turning the pages. A young man, blessed by the good fortune of being pulled from the streets. Found and given a chance of a new life; one made better by the shining badge of rank and a sense of pride found in an officer’s uniform as he wished the streets good-bye. An honorable male at his side, his chief, mentor, and lifelong friend. Jack Connolly. He showed Copi a life of worth, working to protect, to govern and serve.

  More flashes, only this time the shadows played across the planes of Copi's face as the war on crime started to wear him away. Back to the streets where the only way out was at the end of an alley, he cursed as fate and the bitter stench of rot and decay that gripped his life took on a new form, the all too familiar void of a fearless, empty stare.

  Locked and held within the hungered gaze of soulless eyes, Copi witnessed what he'd lost as light infused the very essence of his soul, filling his heart with the scent of Vischeral's warmth and love. Yes, love! The scent of rich wood smoke and seductive cinnamon encased his whole being, wrapping Copi in all that he'd ever wished for—a male of truth and worth.

  Grasping onto the profanity of his demise and pushing back on the visual disorientation of death’s skilled hand, Copi, with the covenant of love and embodiment of Vischeral engraved for an eternity into his heart, relinquished the hold on his final breath. And then, came the pain.

  If Hell could be explained by the rational contemplation of pain, there were no given words to truly describe the unfathomable degree of sufferance endured within its fiery grip. Surely, there was no other place Copi could have been. Pain beyond redemption seared through every orifice, traversing a pathway through every vein with liquid fire. It wrapped the shell of Copi's heart within the icy cold fingers of death’s firm grip.

  With no notion of time or place, Copi floundered until the blistering revelation of Vischeral's exquisitely exhilarating and intoxicating hold captured him. Copi hung on, pulling, climbing and tearing at the remnant shreds of the tattered remains of his life. He steeped himself in everything Vischeral, from the scent of his skin to the taste of his sex. Hungrily, he drew into himself every memory, every thought and shared revelation that joined him and bound him eternally to the male, the vampire, and Copi's rightful Sire.

  Penetrating warmth, so languid in its motion, washed away the influx of pain, smoothing its balm over Copi's skin. Effortlessly, it worked, healing, knitting and joining together every tethered nerve and ventricle pathway until all that remained was the statuesque sculpture of immortal liberation and unquenchable thirst.

  Copi breathed, but only because of instinct. With no need of air to fill the expanse of his lungs, his chest rose and fell out of habit. And yet, his heart still beat, slow and erratic. It skipped, stopped, and then started again to the same melodic rhythm. A pulse. He had a fucking pulse.

  The abnormality of such a confounded occurrence given his death rendered Copi speechless. Somehow, Copi knew from the moment he'd fought to hold on to the essence of Vischeral's undeniable will, he'd experienced the passing and the loss of his mortal soul. The rawness of power left in its place consumed him, eating away from the inside out and driving forth the intolerable need—to feed. With a shuddering jolt, neurons flared, sparking the remnants of his body to life. Copi writhed from the agonizing onslaught, arching his spine when his whole body began to spasm.

  ~*~*~*~

  The quiet peace of the bedroom shattered when Copi convulsed in Vischeral's arms. His body seized hard enough to arc his back clear off of the mattress. Vischeral tightened his grip around Copi's chest while his mind dived into his male's psyche. A slide show of Copi's life registered as Copi's subconscious fought to justify the information his body sent it. Through the bond and aloud, Vischeral whispered softly, nonsensical words in English and Italian, hoping to soothe his male.

  Preparing to bite into his own wrist, Vischeral froze when an alien presence nudged the woven threads of his bond with Copi. With absolute dread, he recognized the taste and stamp of wolf as it was birthed inside of Copi. The wolf's toxins multiplied rapidly as the vampire venom healed Copi's mangled nervous system. The foreign consciousness stretched and growled when it felt the sting of Vischeral's fury.

  Awareness dark and predatory tested its boundaries. Cursing, Vischeral plunged his will and his mind deeper into Copi. He had to beat the wolf's nature to Copi's core, or all would be lost; for the both of them. The wolf sire was a psychotic serial killer. His blood, his genetics reproduced inside Copi at an alarming rate. Vischeral wasted no time. Via their bond, he lunged through Copi's mind. The wolf roared and slammed against the mental barrier Vischeral erected in his wake. In his arms, Copi thrashed harder. The back of Copi's head nailed Vischeral in the nose, bringing tears to his eyes. His arms loosened and Copi hit the floor.

  “FUCK!” The curse exploded from Vischeral when their bond wavered. The mental shield cracked. Scenting victory, the wolf seized the opportunity to dart through the barrier. Vischeral growled and followed Copi to the floor, straddling the male's chest and placing his forehead against Copi's clammy one. Again, he spoke aloud and into Copi's mind.

  “Fight, Copi. Fight for us. I need you to be vampire. You can't let the wolf win.” Once more, he flooded Copi with all of his will, taking full advantage of the bond and demanding Copi respond. A ragged moan slipped from Copi's lips. Vischeral almost cheered when he felt Copi's mind respond to him.

  The force of the wolf's fury slammed into their bond, but Vischeral held strong. The glimmer of Copi's cerebral cortex beckoned. Vischeral raced toward it and wrapped it tightly in his will. The very essence of Copi lay inside that cortex. The wolf would violate his male, strip him of his sense of self and force him to seek out a pack. Vischeral would lose him.

  Over and over the wolf's psyche slammed into the barricade Vischeral maintained. Agony screamed along Vischeral's neurons, but he maintained the shield, waiting for the vampire to take hold. He knew the wolf would have to get through in order for Copi to survive, but the vampire half of him needed to be dominant.

  “Vischeral, you fucking idiot,” he scolded himself. Copi needed his blood. Sweating, muscles straining, Vischeral scored his own wrist before placing it flush against the seizing male’s mouth. He pressed firmly, as hard as he dared without hurting Copi.

  “Drink, Copi. Drink now!” The words exploded in a rush of agony through Vischeral’s clenched teeth. When Copi failed to respond, Vischeral shoved his bloody arm harder against the male’s lips and growled in frustration.

  “I fucking said DRINK, Copi.” He leaned down close to his male’s ear. “Obey your Sire, vampire and drink.”

  Slowly, so fucking slowly, Copi’s cold lips parted. Vischeral tensed. “Please God,” he whispered, closing his eyes to afraid to look upon Copi’s face and not see fangs. He couldn’t lose Copi to the wolf, not this late in the game. Copi was his damn it. HIS!

  Vischeral’s large shoulders sagged when the sharp sting of Copi’s beautiful fangs slid neatly into his wrist. Joy screamed through his veins at the first draw of life-giving crimson. The blood flowed down Copi’s throat immediately easing the tremors. The tightness in Vischeral’s shoulders and chest loosened as Copi relaxed into his arms. Releasing his hold on Copi's mind, he moved off of Copi's chest and cradled the male's head in his lap as Copi continued to drink. The wolf's howl of outrage echoed in Vischeral's mind through the link, bringing a savage smile to his chiseled lips.

  “I win, fucker. You may have a part of him, but I will delight in eradicating you bit by fucking bit,” Vischeral vowed.

  The draws on his vein slowed, and Copi's mouth broke suction. His large body shuddered once and then stilled. Amazingly, he retained a heartbeat, legacy of the wolf's blood. Vischeral stroked Copi's face with one finger wiping a smear of his own blood from Copi's full bottom lip. Copi's eyes rolled and his lids jumped. Vischeral held his breath and watched as the male's eyes flicked open. The amber stare, familiar yet
different, locked onto him.

  “Copi?”

  ~*~*~*~

  From the moment the voice ordered him to drink, Copi felt the rising compulsion within him to obey the command. The sharp sting and glide of teeth speared from his gums in a slow hungered draw. Salivating, the taste buds in Copi's mouth revealed in the knowledge of what was to come. Warmth more comforting than any open fire coursed through Copi's veins. The joyous familiarity of its enticing flavor saturated the parched cavern of his hungry mouth and ran as a smooth enticing balm, coating his tongue and filling Copi with the gift of immortality.

  He drank. As he gratefully took the gift of life into his own veins, the influx of memories came barreling into the midst his mind to forge the impenetrable link to the vampire feeding him, sealing the bond that tied together the outcome of their fates. Except, while Copi drank deeply of crimson’s familiar gift, a darkness prevailed, looming up from the shadows to repress his undeniable bond to the male quenching his thirst.

  Underneath the surface, Copi's skin prickled. Flourishing heat boiled in awareness. Fleeting glimpses of shadow crawled inside of him growling its disgust and abhorrent contempt for the contamination of its will. Unsolicited fear tore through Copi's senses as the meet and greet with his brain kicked into gear and put the reverse part of his life on a downward roll.

  The commanding voice inside of Copi's mind urged him to fight, to claw above the ominous darkness and hold on to what his heart deemed real. Copi knew the voice pulling him through. The deeply rich erotic pitch drew Copi forth as he wrapped himself in the eloquent warm tones and freed himself from shadows that rose around his feet.