The End of Hatred

by Rebecca Hefner

  They both turned to scowl at her.

  With a harrumph she rolled her eyes and popped in her ear buds. This was going to be a long journey indeed.

  * * * *

  They made it to the foothills of the Strok Mountains in just under fifteen hours. Miranda grudgingly admired the Vampyres for keeping them on task and driving diligently. They had only stopped for short breaks when one of the passengers needed to pee—most of those times Miranda being the offender. Didn’t these guys hydrate? she thought as she’d squatted over a bush about thirty feet from the car. Guess they weren’t as up on the whole ‘eight glasses a day’ thing like she was.

  Once they made it to the foothills, dawn was barely stroking the horizon with a dull glow of blue and yellow.

  “Let’s set up camp,” Sathan said from the front seat. “Latimus, can you scope us out a good spot where we’ll be shielded from the sun and can build a fire?” With a nod, the Vampyre exited the car.

  “Grab your gear and everything you’ll need at camp. We’ll leave the Hummer here while we sleep during the day.”

  Miranda grabbed her pack and shoved it on her back after she exited the car. Upon hearing that Latimus had found them a place to camp, she followed the king into the nearby woods. The Vampyre commander had secured a spot about a hundred feet into the forest and was already working on lighting a fire. “You can set up over there,” he said to his brother. Sathan nodded and started unpacking.

  Miranda found a smooth spot about ten feet away and started to set up her tent. She made quick work of it and turned to the king, who was still kneeling down attempting to put his tent together.

  “Need help?” she asked, her tone baiting. “Since you’re busy murdering my people, you probably don’t get out to camp much.”

  Eyes narrowed, he scowled up at her. “I’m just fine, thanks. But you’re right. It’s been a while since I’ve been camping. We all don’t have our father to run our kingdoms for us. Some of our fathers were murdered so we have extra responsibilities.”

  Anger flashed through Miranda as she stared down at him. “I help my father run our kingdom just fine, you blood-sucking bastard.”

  “Right,” he said in a disbelieving tone.

  “Screw you,” she bit back, crossing her arms. “I’m going to watch the sunrise back by the Hummer. Something you’ll never be able to do. Enjoy putting up your tent for the next two hours.”

  With that, Miranda stomped her way back to the vehicle. Finding a soft patch of grass she sat and watched the sun grow higher and higher in the sky. What must it be like to never see such beauty? She wondered if the Vampyres missed the sun. Closing her eyes she inhaled the rich air of the woods and meadow around her. With all the chaos in her life, this moment of stillness was quiet perfection.

  * * * *

  “She put up her tent faster than you,” Latimus said.

  “Uh huh,” Sathan said, putting the finishing touches on the tent he would share with his brother. “Annoying.”

  “I’ll say,” Latimus replied and went to sit by the fire. Opening their thermoses, they sat in silence and drank the Slayer blood inside.

  “Pretty sure she’d have a conniption if she saw us drinking blood. How long do you think she’ll stay in the sunlight?”

  Sathan tilted back his head to look at the thick canopy of trees which gave them the much-needed shade. “I don’t know. But if I was lucky enough to watch the sunrise I wouldn’t waste even one day inside.”

  Latimus’ lips drew into a thin line. “My greatest goal is to find a way to let us walk in the sun again. I won’t rest until I do.”

  Sathan looked at his brother, his ice-blue eyes reminding him so much of Arderin. By the goddess, how he missed his sister. He hoped that she was safe and knew that they were doing everything they could to bring her home. “I know you won’t,” he said, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezing. “Since Etherya took away our ability to be in the sun so that we could only hunt the Slayers at night, perhaps by helping this Slayer we’re one step closer to seeing the sunrise again.”

  Latimus remained impassive. “You have a lot of optimism to think there’s hope in aligning with someone who kidnapped our sister.”

  “It’s her only hand. And she’s using it magnificently. I can’t imagine how much courage it took for her to come to us and demand I help her release the Blade. She says her father is on board but I have my doubts.”

  “Many think that he’s a false leader. That Miranda should’ve been made queen after the Awakening since the blood of Valktor does not run through him, as it does her.”

  Sathan contemplated his brother. “Where did you hear this?”

  Latimus shrugged. “Sometimes we torture Deamons before we kill them to get information they’ve gained by observing the Slayers.” Sathan grimaced. “Well, brother, someone has to do it. We have a functioning army with the best intelligence of the immortals. Sometimes that information has to be coerced. It’s not for the faint of heart but it does yield valuable info.”

  “I wish that you didn’t have to do such things,” Sathan said softly. “I feel that it’s hardened you to a point where you’ve forgotten how to feel.”

  Latimus scoffed. “Feelings are overrated. Believe me. I’m fine, thanks.”

  “You’re not. You’re completely closed off and you’ve turned into a pretty big asshole.”

  “Well don’t blow up my ego all at once, bro,” Latimus said. “Like I’ve told you in the past, the army is what I am. It’s what I was put here for. Being commander is my greatest accomplishment and the other shit is just crap that I’m not cut out for.”

  Sathan was saddened that his brother only focused on his army. He was fiercely loyal and trustworthy, good qualities in a potential husband and father. “You could have so much more.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this shit.” Standing, Latimus took his empty thermos to his backpack and pulled out a bottle. “Macallan 18,” he said, waggling his eyebrows up and down.

  “Now there’s the good stuff,” Sathan said, lifting his empty thermos so that his brother could pour some in. “I knew you wouldn’t leave the good Scotch behind.”

  Latimus took a swig straight from the bottle. “If you’re going to ask me to leave my army for over a week to camp with a Slayer, I need this.” Sitting back down beside his brother they chatted in the darkness and waited for the princess to return.

  Excerpt from The Book of the Goddess, King Markdor Edition

  Article 6 – Drinking Directly From Slayera

  Let it be known that drinking directly from a Slayera’s vein will allow access to that Slayera’s thoughts, memories and emotions as long as the blood flows through the Vampyre’s body.

  Being that Etherya wished to protect the privacy of the Slayera, our valiant King Markdor declared direct drinking illegal.

  All blood is to be banked and stored in barrels during the annual Blood-

  Banking Festival.

  Anyone found violating the decree will be sentenced to death.

  And all was peaceful on Etherya’s Earth.

  Thanks be to the Goddess.

  Chapter 8

  Dusk arrived and the three packed up their camp and climbed into the Hummer. The road that connected the foothills of the Strok Mountains to the Portal of Mithos was unpaved and winding. Miranda clutched the door handle so hard that her knuckles were white. Swaying back and forth, even with the seat belt on, she worked furiously to eradicate her mind of images of the vehicle overturning…with them inside.

  “How much longer?” she asked.

  “Thirty minutes,” came Latimus’ terse reply. His driving was aggressive to say the least.

  When they arrived at the Portal, daylight was just beginning to peek out from behind the mountaintops. As they had done the day before, Latimus scouted a campsite for them in the nearby woods and they went to set up their tents.

  “I’ll race you,” Miranda taunted Sathan, pulling out he
r tent. “First one to set up gets the first swig of the good Scotch your brother’s been hiding.”

  Sathan smiled, the first real smile of his Miranda had ever seen, and her heart jumped like a hot popcorn kernel in her chest. His teeth were white against his full lips and she could see the slight points of both of his fangs. It should’ve disgusted her. Instead, she felt hot.

  “Good try, but I’m not in the habit of making bets I can’t win.” Lowering down, he began setting up his tent. “Didn’t peg you for a Scotch drinker.”

  “Why, because I have a vagina?” she replied, angry that she noticed how nice his smile was.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “No, but I can’t say that I know many women who like Scotch. I just figured that you’d gravitate toward fine wine or whatever else you all drink when you have your royal parties.”

  Miranda ran her fingers over the soft fabric of her tent as she contemplated. “We don’t have parties anymore,” she said softly. “We did when I was very young but my father stopped once he realized my mother wasn’t coming back. He said that it was disrespectful to her memory to enjoy fine things when she had suffered death at the hand of Crimeous.”

  Sathan was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t realize…”

  “It’s fine,” she said with a shrug, picking up one of the tent poles. “There hasn’t been a lot to celebrate over the past, oh, thousand or so years. What with my mother being kidnapped and murdered, the Vampyres raiding our compound for blood and the Deamons doing their best to end our species. Parties aren’t really our jam in the big scheme of things.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” she said and they continued their tasks in silence. “There,” she said triumphantly a few minutes later. “All set. Now how about that Scotch?”

  Giving her another one of those annoyingly gorgeous smiles, he poured her a generous amount.

  * * * *

  Sathan studied Miranda as she sat by the fire, her back propped up on a log that Latimus had found nearby and dragged to the campsite. He was exhausted from driving so he had already headed into their tent to sleep.

  Watching the Slayer, he had to admit that she was stunning. As king of his realm he had first pick of any of the beautiful women he chose to fraternize with. Wanting to respect Lila, he usually would go to the cottages at the edge of the compound where the army widows lived. They were all quite pretty and still very attached to their husbands’ memory, which led to very uncomplicated, no-strings-attached liaisons.

  But none of them were as striking as the woman sitting across from him. Everything about her was so tiny, but a resolute strength also pulsed from her. Cute, pert ears, perfect cheekbone structure and those olive eyes…he had never met anyone with eyes as deep green as hers. They reminded him of the wet grass that had glistened with rainwater on sunny days when he was a child. Her nose was slightly crooked but that only added to her appeal somehow.

  “How did you break your nose?” he asked.

  She looked up from her thermos, her eyes glassy in the light of the fire, and he realized that his little Slayer was well on her way to being plowed. “Huh?”

  He stood up and walked over to sit next to her by the log. “Your nose is crooked. How did you break it?”

  “Which time?” she asked and promptly proceeded to hiccup.

  “Okay,” he said, gently pulling the container from her hand. “Enough Scotch for the day. We have a long trek ahead of us.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, waving a hand, but let him sit the thermos down beside him. “The first time was when Kenden began training me.”

  “Your cousin teaches you to fight?”

  “Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically and he fought not to snicker at how tipsy she was. “What kind of Slayer princess would I be if I couldn’t defend my kingdom?”

  “Indeed,” he said with a nod. “So you were fighting your cousin…”

  She sat up straighter. “He was getting so pissed at me because I wasn’t protecting my face and kept telling me he was going to teach me a lesson if I kept it up. Of course, I did and, of course, he whacked me—bam!—right in the knocker. I bled like a motherfucker,” she said, gently rubbing her nose with her finger, “but I never forgot to protect my face again.”

  Sathan chuckled, thoroughly charmed by her story. And maybe by her, but he’d be loath to admit it. “Not a very nice way to learn a lesson.”

  “Screw that,” she said. “I never want any special treatment because I’m the princess. I told Ken that from day one. You can’t learn if you’re being shielded. Your enemies certainly won’t hold back. I got what I deserved and it made me stronger for it.”

  Even though he tried to tamp it down, admiration for this tiny creature crept through him. As the princess, she had every right to live a luxurious life and let her army fight her battles. Instead, she chose to train alongside them. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a nobleness to that.

  “And the second time?” he asked.

  “Um, yeah, that story is not so grand. One of the diplomats was visiting from Restia and my father had promised him I would show him around. My father is always trying to put me in the position of showing around eligible men,” she said, making quotation marks out of two fingers on each hand, “so that I’ll do my duty and procreate. I was showing him the back lawn after dinner one night. He got the wrong idea and leaned down just as I was lifting my head to say something and his chin hit me right on my nose.”

  “Yikes,” Sathan said.

  “Let’s just say that he was of the many bachelors who ran away once they realized what a disaster I really am.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent. I am completely unmarriable. Is that a word?” She looked up at the trees above, contemplating. “Well, I say it is. And maybe they can put my name next to it in the dictionary!” She lifted her index finger in the air, accentuating her point.

  Sathan couldn’t stop his grin. “But you’ll have to marry eventually. All good rulers must in order to fulfill their duty.”

  She exhaled loudly, her lips vibrating together. “Duty, schmooty. I’m over it. My father is a great ruler. He’ll do just fine if I never procreate. And who are you marrying anyway?” she asked with a skeptical expression.

  “Etherya declared my betrothed to be the aristocrat Lila, daughter of Theinos and Gwen,” Sathan replied.

  “Sounds like a real love match,” she said, one dark eyebrow raised sarcastically.

  “Not all of us get to bond for love. Or marry, as Slayers call it. I think very highly of Lila and will be honored to be her bonded once we decide to move forward.”

  “You’ve had a thousand years. What are you waiting for?”

  Sathan considered her question. Why had he waited so long to bond with Lila? When they were young he’d sat her down and given her some excuse about wanting to bond with her under the sun, but that had been centuries ago. Truth was, he could’ve done it many times over the years. The time had just never seemed right to him. But why?

  “It just isn’t time yet,” he said, unwilling to search his feelings further. “But she is a wonderful woman and any man would be lucky to have her.”

  “Says every man who breaks up with a woman. Man, your love life is as whack as mine. Good lord. Give me back the Scotch.” Her hand outstretched, she wiggled her fingers.

  “Not today, Miranda,” he said, lifting to his feet and offering her a hand. “We have a long journey when the sun sets.”

  “Buzzkill,” she murmured but grabbed his hand and let him lift her up. “Tomorrow we drink the vodka.”

  “How do you know my brother has vodka?”

  “He doesn’t. You do. Don’t play dumb. I saw it fall out of your pack when you were failing miserably at putting your tent together.” And with that, she entered her tent and zipped up the fabric behind her.

  Observant little minx, he thought a
s he checked to confirm the vodka was still in his pack. At least she hadn’t stolen it. Yet. He wondered what other talents, besides snooping, he would discover in the Slayer. With surprise, he realized that he was looking forward to finding out.

  Excerpt from The Post-Awakening Vampyre Archives

  Archive #7 – The Son of the Dark Lord Crimeous

  Let it be known that the Dark Lord Crimeous has borne a male heir named Darkrip.

  The son of the Dark Lord possesses many of the abilities of his father, including object manipulation, dematerialization and the ability to read images in others’ minds.

  Take heed as he is quite powerful.

  Now that we are at war with the Slayers, and our young king is only seventeen years old, we must be extra cautious.

  Thanks be to the Goddess.

  Chapter 9

  The lone man walked quickly and solemnly through the caves of the Land of the Deamons. When he reached the twenty-foot wooden doors he commanded them to open with his mind. They flew open as if made of toothpicks.

  He walked into the murky, dreary lair, hate flowing through his veins as it always did. Hate for himself. Hate for what he was. Hate for an infinite future that would never end. Hate for his father. He hated the Dark Lord most of all.

  “My lord,” he said firmly, coming to stand before the large wooden desk. “I have information on the Slayer princess and the Vampyre king.”

  Slowly, the high leather-backed chair turned, revealing the Deamon King sitting on the other side. Pale, pasty skin the color of cement covered a shriveled body shrouded in a flowing purple robe. A bald head sat atop beady black eyes with razor-thin eyebrows and no soul. A narrow, long nose led to lips paler than the moon, slim and chapped, forming a humorless smile.

  “What is this news you bring me, son?” he asked in his raspy baritone.

  Darkrip gritted his teeth. He hated when he called him “son,” not wanting to be reminded that he was spawned from this hateful creature. “They have fared well on their journey so far and have set up camp at the entrance of the Portal of Mithos.”