The view wasn’t half-bad either. Hiking behind her, with Latimus bringing up the rear, he had a first-class ticket to the fine show her backside was putting on. She’d opted for some sort of black yoga-legging looking things today and they surely didn’t disappoint. Regardless of the species—Vampyre, Slayer, human or Deamon—he was sure every male could appreciate a great ass in yoga pants.
He imagined placing his large hands on the juicy globes, one on each cheek, and spreading her apart from behind. That, unfortunately, made him grow rock hard and he rushed to adjust himself so he could keep up the pace. His brother gave an asinine “ahem” behind him and Sathan turned his head to give him a hateful glare. Latimus just jutted an eyebrow at him as if to say, keep it in your pants, asshole, we’ve got work to do here. Bastard.
They hiked about twenty miles and decided they would camp for the day and trek the remaining twelve miles to the Cave the next evening. As usual, Miranda made quick work of putting up her tent and then disappeared.
“Where did the Slayer go?” Sathan asked, trying to conceal any care or concern for her from his voice.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” came his brother’s sardonic reply. “Careful, Sathan. She’s not one of your war widows. She’s the princess of our sworn enemy.”
Sathan felt a muscle clench in his jaw. “I’ll choose not to honor that with a response.” Rummaging in his pack, he found the bottle of vodka and stalked from the camp.
He found her sitting on a clearing of green grass, arms around her tucked-in knees, head tiled to the sky, eyes closed. A perfect picture of tranquility. It made him long for his grassy spot on the hill at Astaria, under the large elm tree, the only place he ever felt peace.
Judging by the dim light on the horizon, the sun wouldn’t rise for an hour or so.
“Mind if I join you?”
Annoyance clattered inside him as she scowled and turned her head toward him, drilling that lush-green gaze right into his. “As if I have a choice? You seem intent on invading any moment of privacy I have so why not this one?”
Arching a dark brow and lifting his lips into a grin, he held out the bottle. “I brought vodka.”
Narrowing her eyes, she contemplated. “Good negotiating. C’mon over.”
With a chuckle he sat beside her. Her tiny hand palmed the bottle, unscrewed the cap and she took a long swig. Her neck was long and smooth in the waning moonlight and he imagined tracing a finger lightly down the vein he saw pulsing there.
When she lifted the bottle to take another shot, he cautioned her. “Whoa, slow down, killer. We’ve still got a decent hike tomorrow.”
Holding the bottle in her left hand as that elbow perched on her upturned knee she looked over toward him. “You’d love my father.”
“I don’t think so,” he said derisively.
“Seriously. I’ve never met two men who like to scold me more. It’s absolutely fucking annoying.” Lifting the bottle to her lips she sputtered when he grabbed it away and took a large swig himself. “Hey!”
“Maybe someone should’ve taught you to share. Having many siblings, this is something I learned early on. It’s called manners, princess. And you could also say ‘Thanks for the vodka, Sathan’.”
She pursed her lips and regarded him. “You’re so full of yourself, you know that?”
“And you’re a brat.” He took another sip from the bottle.
Her laugh washed over him like a warm wave in a calm ocean. Looking over at her, he found himself mesmerized by her smile. All of those white teeth surrounded by her bronzed skin. It had been so long since his people had seen the sun that he barely remembered what tanned skin looked like. He ached to run his hands over her, to feel her golden-brown complexion. Instead, he took another swig.
“Hey! Who’s not sharing now?”
Smiling, he handed the bottle back to her.
“Aren’t you going to burn up and die or something, being out here at dawn?”
Sathan shrugged. “As long as I get back to camp before the sun rises I’ll be fine. I always liked the dawn. When I was a kid, after we lost the ability to walk in the sun, I’d stay outside before the sunrise as long as I could to see how far I could push it. I think I hoped that one day I would discover that Etherya had lifted her curse. Eventually I gave up hope.”
Miranda was silent for a moment, a rarity for her. “If you stop hunting my people won’t she lift the curse?” Her gaze was focused on the faint horizon but her posture indicated that she knew the gravity of what she was asking.
“Probably,” he said softly.
“Then why haven’t you?”
He inhaled deeply, followed by a long exhale. Sad and contemplative. “I wish nothing more than to stop abducting your people. A few centuries after the Awakening we tried to negotiate with your father. Unfortunately, our attempts at negotiating peace were unrequited.”
Miranda took a long swallow from the bottle and handed it back to him. “Drink,” she commanded. “And then tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”
After complying, he continued. “I was only ten years old at the Awakening. When I assumed the throne everyone in the kingdom was upset about my parents’ murder. Of course, I was furious too but what does a ten-year old child know? I let my advisors council me that war was the only option. That it was my duty to attack the people of the man who had murdered my parents and drain their blood.”
Miranda shivered next to him. “Are you cold?” he asked.
“No,” she shook her head, pushing her boot-clad toe into the ground, “it’s just so surreal. I was only eight at the Awakening. I was deemed too young to ascend to the throne, even though I was the rightful heir as Valktor’s remaining blood descendent, so my father stepped in. I can’t imagine how you took over a kingdom at ten years old.” She lifted those amazing eyes to his. “You never got to be a child.”
Swallowing, he drilled his gaze into hers, silently thanking her for understanding. Perhaps she was the only other person on the planet who could. “No. But I didn’t have time to focus on that. So, I just went about my duties, full-force. One of them being hunting the Slayers.”
She grabbed the bottle from him. “Go on.”
“It was thrilling for a while, growing into my immortality, going through my change, watching my brother build a powerful army.” He began absently pulling at the grass, looking down at the ground as he continued, “But eventually it became burdensome. I found it hard to sleep before each raid, knowing I was separating Slayers from their family for what would certainly be forever.”
“My father’s suicide decree,” she said softly.
Sathan nodded. “I don’t understand why he would issue such a decree knowing that it will mean that we will have to continually replenish our supply of blood.”
“Because capitulating to you and allowing our soldiers to stay alive is a form of surrender. I assure you my father would never allow that.”
“And what about you?” he asked, regarding her in the shadowy light. “Do you agree with the suicide decree?”
Miranda propped her head on her hand, her elbow resting on her pulled-up knee. “I do,” she said. “We have to show you that we’re not weak. That we will never surrender and will be a worthy opponent ‘til the death.”
He felt a severe sadness at her words. “Well, that seems shortsighted to me. In a world where we have a more powerful army than yours, it’s just a matter of time until your people are exterminated.”
“And what will you do then?” she asked angrily. “If our species dies, yours will as well.”
“True. This is why I tried to form a truce with your father centuries ago. I wrote him many official letters explaining that I understood that both of us were on a trajectory of eradicating our people if we let the war continue. I told him that I was open to any possible solutions and would be honored to sit with him in a royal summit and discuss. My letters went unanswered. After a few years of trying I gave up. Then the Deamons s
tarted attacking us too and I refocused on protecting our people at all costs.”
“Son of a bitch,” Miranda said, the last word drawing out with a long “shhhhh” and he realized she was buzzed. “My father never told me that.”
“I wish he had. Perhaps you could’ve talked some sense into him. Whether you want to admit it or not, I believe we have similar aspirations. We both want our people to live in peace, without war and destruction.”
“And how do I know you’re not lying?” she asked. “Perhaps you’re feeding me false information in order to drive a wedge between me and my father.”
“I think you’re smarter than that, Miranda.”
“Don’t mansplain to me how smart I am, you arrogant ass!” Standing up, she thrust the bottle into his chest. “My father would never omit to tell me something like that! I don’t believe you as far as I can throw you. I know you hate me for holding your sister hostage but if you think I’m dumb enough to believe your lies then you’ve severely underestimated me.”
She stalked away from him but not before turning and yelling, “Oh, and thanks for the vodka, you arrogant fucking asshole. I hope you burn to death while I sleep!”
Letting her go, Sathan sighed and took another long swig from the bottle. Tiny wisps of red and yellow were on the brink of becoming brighter. He needed to return to camp.
Whether the Slayer realized it or not, they had made some progress tonight. He now understood that she was the one he should’ve attempted to negotiate with all those centuries ago. When he had spoken about their people living in peace an expression of longing had come over her face. She wished to end the war as much as he did. That made them comrades of sorts. A plan began to form in his mind, one he knew would take much convincing on the part of his brothers, his advisors and his people. But one he also knew would work.
He was going to have to align with the Slayer princess and convince her to overthrow her father. It wasn’t going to be easy but it was going to end the war. In the big scheme of things, that was all that mattered.
It was imperative that he plant the seed of their alliance before they finished their journey. Once she returned home it would be extremely difficult to influence her from Astaria. He screwed the top back onto the bottle and walked back to the camp, confident in his strategy.
Excerpt from The Post-Awakening Vampyre Archives
Archive #354 – The Last Entry
Let it be known that this will be the last entry in the Vampyre archives.
Until the war is over, our great King Sathan does not wish to record the instances of death and hate.
King Sathan believes that there can be peace again and the sun will shine upon us once more.
We, the Vampyre archivists, leave you with wishes of prosperity and hope.
If, in the future, you find fault with some of our entries, please know that we did our best to put our people and our kingdom first.
It is sometimes better to record what is right in your heart than what is right in the moment.
We look forward to resuming our important work once harmony reigns and the sun shines again.
Until then, peace be with you, with our great King Sathan, and with Etherya above all.
Chapter 11
Heden held his palm to the stone wall at the edge of the compound and the invisible door opened. Stepping through, he approached the Slayer on the other side. Tall and fit, he must be one of their soldiers.
“I have your banked blood for the evening,” he said, motioning his head to the three wooden barrels beside him. “You’re not the soldier who has been coming to meet me to collect the shipment.”
“No, I decided to come in his place tonight.” Stepping closer, he extended his hand. “I’m Heden, brother to King Sathan.”
The Slayer seemed surprised at the kind gesture of the greeting. “Kenden,” he said, joining his hand and giving a firm shake.
“The Slayer commander,” Heden said, a bit of surprise in his voice.
Kenden nodded.
“I didn’t think you would actually deliver the barrels yourself.”
“This mission is too important to allow subordinates. We have your sister and your brothers are sequestered with my cousin in dense woods with no cell service. I felt it important that I keep an eye on as much as I can without interfering with her mission.”
“Do you have an update on Arderin? Is she okay?” Heden asked.
“She’s fine, I assure you. Two of my best soldiers and our compound’s physician are with her, making sure she stays strong and healthy. We have no desire to hurt her. My cousin only wants to free the Blade so that she can challenge and ultimately kill Crimeous. She has grown tired of endless war and has finally decided to take action.”
Heden studied the brown-haired Slayer, noting that he looked nothing like the black-haired Slayer he had seen depart with his brothers through the opening in the wall several nights ago.
“She and I are related on her father’s side. Her father and mine were brothers. The blood of Marsias’ line runs through me. The blood of Valktor runs through her.”
“I didn’t—”
“I could see the question churning in your mind,” the Slayer said.
“My brother Latimus has spoken to me of you.”
Kenden lifted an eyebrow, his expression skeptical.
“He says that you’re the greatest strategist he’s ever seen. That it would’ve been almost impossible to create a competent army from a weaker species, unaccustomed to fighting before the Awakening, but that you were able to do it magnificently. He has studied your practices and although he wouldn’t admit it, I think he admires you a great deal.”
“Weaker species comment aside, thank you,” Kenden said.
“It is hard for us, knowing that we were created to protect you,” Heden said, looking down at Kenden from his six-foot-six height. Although he estimated that the Slayer was probably six-foot-two, he still towered over him and outweighed him by a good seventy-five pounds.
“We never asked for this war. It is a product of the mistakes that the generation before us made. Hopefully my cousin, and perhaps your brother, can succeed in finding a solution.”
Heden found his words encouraging. “I hope so. My brother has grown long-tired of the fighting and we spend much time battling the Deamons now. Our people deserve more.”
“We find ourselves fighting the Deamons with increasing regularity as well,” Kenden said, his expression grim. “I have developed a weapon, comparable to the eight-shooter for Vampyres, that has been quite effective at killing them in one shot.”
“No shit,” Heden said, his technological mind spinning into overdrive. “Is it based on the irregularity of their third eye?” Deamons had a vestigial third eye that had never evolved into an organ. Located on their forehead, between their two normal eyes, it was a thick patch of round skin said to be extremely vulnerable and sensitive.
“Yes,” the Slayer responded.
“How does it work? Is it shot directly into the head? Or leveed by a contraption that is attached? I have schematics for something that I tinkered with centuries ago. I could show you tomorrow evening when you deliver the barrels.” He could barely contain the excitement in his voice. His love of invention ran deep.
“I think it’s best that we wait to see how my cousin’s and your brother’s mission turns out before we start sharing secrets,” Kenden said, his voice deadpan.
Wow, this guy’s a real barrel of laughs. But he did have a point. “Sure, sure,” Heden said, reminding himself that they were sworn enemies. “Well good luck with it. Those Deamons are a bunch of bastards.”
“Truer words.” Extending his hand, Heden shook it firmly. “Nice to meet you, Heden.”
“Nice to meet you, Kenden.”
The Slayer got into a black four-wheeler, revved the engine and drove off, following the road along the river.
Heden loaded the barrels onto the crate and then pulled it back through the ope
ning, the stones materializing behind him.
Neither of them noticed the pair of deep green eyes watching them from the darkness behind the trees of the nearby forest.
* * * *
Miranda awoke with a mixed sense of excitement and trepidation. This was the night she would unearth the Blade. She would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that there was a small amount of fear that she wouldn’t be able to extricate it. What if the soothsayers were wrong and the prophecy was false? What if her and Sathan’s shared blood couldn’t free the weapon?
Pushing her doubt aside, she arose and walked outside, disappointed to realize that it was still daytime. She walked further from the thick canopy that hung over the campsite and saw that the sun was still close to two hours from setting. Deciding to use the time to her advantage, she grabbed her toiletries bag and set out to find a pond or river to bathe in.
She found one about a hundred and fifty feet away, a large lake whose water seemed to be clean. Lucky for her, the waning sun was still shining on the shore and, knowing that her companions would never come anywhere close to the sun, she stripped off her clothes and set to bathing.
As she ran the soap-sudded cloth over her skin she reveled in how good it felt. Other than the hand-rinses she’d done with her cloth and water rations over the past few days, she hadn’t had a decent bath since she’d left the Slayer compound.
She also thought about what a lying bastard the Vampyre king was. As if she was stupid enough to believe for one second that her father wouldn’t inform her if their greatest enemy had contacted him offering to negotiate a truce.
Something nagged at her, though, as she ran the wet cloth over her arm. He would tell her…wouldn’t he? She had always known that her father had his issues with her but she assumed that for the most part he trusted and wanted her council. If for nothing more than the fact that she was Valktor’s granddaughter and by tradition that meant that she must be recognized as at least a partial ruler of the realm. Her father was nothing if not a traditionalist. That was for damn sure. Resolute in her belief that the Vampyre must be lying, she dismissed the doubt.
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