Standing, she entered her condo through the glass doors, closing them behind her with her mind. Choosing one of her sexiest dresses and styling her hair and makeup, she headed out into the night. Nervous energy coursed through her. She hadn’t had a truly great lay since Francesco, all those decades ago. Oh how she had cared for him, a rarity for her. Dematerializing, she reappeared inside his living room, within the tiny house that stood on the Italian hill.
He was old now, and gasped from his cushioned chair.
“Evie,” he said, slowly standing on his crooked bones. “Bella.”
“Hello, Francesco. How nice to see you.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I should not have told him where to find you. I’m sorry, my dear.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. His presence has dredged up things in me that I longed to push away. You’ve made me very angry.”
Fear entered his blue eyes. “So, you have come to kill me.”
She nodded. “I have.”
“I always knew you would. Somewhere deep inside.”
Approaching him, she caressed his wrinkled cheek. “I will show you mercy so that you don’t suffer.”
His thick fingers touched her hair. “You have goodness in you, bella. Don’t let the darkness win.”
Tears prickled her eyes, causing the rage inside her to enflame more. She hated feeling emotion of any kind.
“I wish that were true.” Lifting her face, she placed a soft kiss on his red lips. Grasping his head with both hands, she snapped his neck, quick as lightning.
As he crumpled to the ground, she felt a small bit of something in her gut. Perhaps pain, perhaps regret, perhaps the thrill she always felt when killing. It had been a while since she’d done that as well.
Lifting her thin fingers to her lips, she blew him a soft kiss. Dematerializing back to Paris, she entered a fancy restaurant and sat at the bar. The male bartender smiled at her with undisclosed lust. Smiling back, she decided she would let him have her tonight. She would lay with him and imagine he was Francesco, all those years ago when he’d been in his prime.
Lifting her wine glass to her lips, she drank and allowed the man to flirt with her for the next few hours until he took her home and fucked her emotionless body.
* * * *
The next week was a whirlwind as Miranda instituted her new policies. More Slayers than she could’ve imagined volunteered to bank blood and she felt extremely grateful. She began completing the paperwork her father always had, finding she had a knack for approvals and budgets and licenses, but she still didn’t like them all the same.
She preferred being with her people. Hearing their fears and assuring them that peace was coming.
Unfortunately, her respite was short-lived.
On the first day of her second week home, her father’s supporters marched upon the castle. They came wielding weapons and threatened to rip her from the building. Her soldiers gathered them up and placed them in the cells that were used to hold the occasional Deamon or Vampyre prisoners of war.
Once they had been sequestered for a day, she went down to address them. Standing in front of their cells, she had urged them to fight for peace. To see that aligning with the Vampyres was the only way to prosperity.
The men, forty-two of them in all, spat at her from their cells and groaned of their hatred for her and the Vampyres. Saddened, she had to acknowledge to herself that they were truly lost. Even Kalil had joined them and she thanked the heavens that she had plotted a different course that didn’t include marrying him. She wished she knew how to handle the dissenters. To make them see her vision.
At night, she would have dinner with Sadie or Aron. Sometimes, she invited other Slayers to eat at the castle’s large dining room table so that she could listen to their worries and fears. As she sat with them, trying to put on a brave face, she couldn’t help but feel that something was missing.
Only in the dead of night, when she was alone under her covers, would she think of him. His corded muscles, thick neck, heated gaze. In her dreams he came to her, soothing away her fears and loneliness.
And in the morning she would rise, realizing that she was stuck in a fantasy that had no future. She berated herself constantly, angry that she had latched onto something that wasn’t real.
On the second night of her third week home, the Deamons attacked.
She would never forgive herself for being unprepared.
Their screams rang out as the sun sat low in the sky, about to be pulled into the horizon by the clouds.
Hundreds of them scaled the compound wall, unprotected by Etherya as the wall at Astaria was. They wielded weapons of all sorts but none deadlier than the semi-automatic weapons that killed multiple Slayers with one swipe.
Her soldiers fought valiantly, and she alongside them. The twenty Vampyre soldiers were extremely helpful and finally, under the darkness of the night sky, Larkin shot the last Deamon dead.
The battle lasted for hours. The Deamons had been murderous. They had entered some of the homes near the wall and raped the women inside before killing them and their families.
Miranda toured the compound, tallying the dead. One hundred and forty-one. Seventy-one soldiers, thirty-four men, twenty-one women, fifteen children. The bastards had slaughtered children.
As she and Larkin toured the cottages by the wall, documenting the damage, she felt sick. Thankfully, he gave her privacy as she leaned her palm against the stones and retched.
Hours later, the cleanup had begun. Miranda walked toward the entrance of the castle, Larkin beside her.
“Miranda,” a deep voice called.
Turning, she cried out, not even caring how desperate she sounded.
“Sathan!” she said, jumping into his arms. It felt so good to be held by him. Someone so strong who cared about her.
“I’ll leave you two to debrief,” Larkin said.
“Thank you,” she said to him, disentangling herself from Sathan and feeling a bit embarrassed.
“You’re welcome, Miranda. Today was a setback but don’t let it deter you. We support you.”
Smiling, she grabbed Larkin’s hand and squeezed, thanking him for his unwavering support.
He left them and she turned to Sathan. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“I can breach your walls, Miranda. We’ve been doing it for centuries.”
“Right,” she said, blowing out a breath with her bottom lip so that it fanned her hair. “Probably best not to remind me right now that you abducted and killed our people for centuries. It’s been a long day.”
“Come,” he said, extending his hand to her. “Let’s go inside.” She grabbed on for dear life and led him to her bedchamber.
Once inside, Miranda grew nervous. It seemed so long since she had seen him and she didn’t trust her emotions after the brutal attack she’d suffered that day. Rubbing her hands on her upper arms, she shrugged. “I really messed up.”
“How so?” he asked.
“I let those bastards breach my compound. Fuck,” she said, angry at the world. “They killed our people and raped our women. One of the soldiers told me they raped a twelve-year-old girl. Who does that?” Unable to control her anger, she shoved everything that sat on her dresser to the floor with one furious swipe of her arms.
Hearing the metal objects clank on the floor made her feel better somehow. Sathan gave her an unreadable look. Reaching down, he began to pick up her metal trinkets and place them back on the dresser.
“Forget it,” she said, not even trying to control her irritation. “Did you come to help? You’re a little too late.”
Pulling her toward the bed, he pushed her down and sat beside her. “I came for you. We heard of the attack too late. Latimus and I led a battalion of two-hundred here but by then all the Deamons were dead. Why didn’t you call me?” Pain swam in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “It just all happened so fast and then I was figh
ting and Larkin threw a rifle in my hands…I couldn’t think. I just fought.”
Sathan inhaled a deep breath, holding her hand in his lap. His thumb rubbed gently back and forth over her skin, comforting her.
“I won’t leave you vulnerable again. We need to station troops here. I know you want to give your people time to accept us but after today’s events that can’t happen. We have to start acclimating our people to yours.”
She regarded him as she pondered. “I agree,” she said finally.
“No argument?” His dark eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“None,” she said, shaking her head. “I want your army’s protection.”
“Good.” He clenched her hand. “Let’s talk details. Where will the soldiers stay?”
They discussed logistics for the next thirty minutes, deciding that Sathan would station two-hundred troops at the compound. They would bunk in the abandoned hospital that sat three-hundred yards from the main house. It had been neglected after the Awakening, when Marsias had implemented his suicide decree and the people realized that abducted soldiers would never return to be nursed back to health. Miranda would assign a staff of laborers to the building to quickly restore the running water and utilities and to complete repairs.
Once everything had been decided, Miranda stood. “Sorry, but I need to brush my teeth and take a quick shower to wash all the blood off. I blew chunks by the wall and I feel disgusting. I have a balcony although it’s not as nice as yours. You can wait there if you like.” She gestured to the double glass doors beside her bed. Nodding, he stepped outside, giving her privacy.
Undressing, she brushed her teeth and then climbed into the shower, hoping to wash away the evil of the day. Her people deserved better than this. She had let them down immensely. Intense pain shot though her body and she began to cry. Long, sobbing wails that forced her to crumble into a tiny ball on the floor of her bathtub, water streaming over her. In that moment, she didn’t care if she drowned. Clutching her knees to her chest, she buried her face in them and shook with the agony of her cries.
She didn’t feel the draft of air when he opened the shower door, too lost to her suffering. She only noticed him when he sat behind her, unfazed by the water and hugged her back to his chest. The heat of his skin enveloped every inch of her shaking body.
Beefy arms held her, offering her silent support. He wrapped his legs around her, enclosing her inside his massive frame, giving her strength.
There, under the spray of the shower, he comforted her in her greatest moment of need. They rocked together, silent, until her tears subsided. Soft lips grazed the back of her neck and she squeezed his forearms, thanking him wordlessly since her throat was raw.
Disengaging from her, he stood and led her out, turning off the shower and handing her one of the towels that lay on the nearby rack. He took the other and dried himself. They were both naked, no barriers left between them. She averted her eyes, embarrassed that he had seen her so vulnerable.
When she was dry, he pulled her by the hand and urged her into bed. Turning off her bedside lamp, he climbed in. In the darkness he soothed her and she fell asleep with her head on his chest, comforted by his embrace.
* * * *
Sathan felt her jolt awake on his chest. He had let her sleep, his own body unable to relax, infuriated that the Deamons had succeeded at such a targeted attack on her people.
“Sathan?” she asked groggily.
“I really hope you’re not trying to decipher whose chest you’re waking up on. Is there someone else I should know about?”
Lifting her head, she scowled at him. “Asks the man who has the fiancée at home.” She really was cranky when she woke up.
“Betrothed. And I’m getting pretty tired of rehashing that, if you don’t mind.”
Sighing, she dropped her head back onto his chest. “I don’t want to be queen anymore. It sucks.” He knew she was attempting a joke because thinking about the Slayers who’d perished was too much to bear.
“Seeing war and death close up is horrible. When my parents were killed my mother’s blood was spattered from my face down to my shoes,” he said, absently stroking her silky hair. “It happened right in front of me. I still remember the disappointment in my mother’s eyes. Because I didn’t save her.” He swallowed, hating that memory more than any other.
Lifting her head again, she propped the side of her face on her hand, her elbow resting on his chest. “She wasn’t disappointed that you didn’t save her,” Miranda said, compassion swimming in the depths of her leaf-green gaze. “She was heartbroken, knowing that would be the last image you would remember of her.”
“How do you know?” he asked, running his fingers through her hair.
“Because I know.” She shifted her body over his, slowly, seductively. Placing her hands on his face, one on each side, she straddled him. “I missed you.” She gave him a gentle kiss. “I wasn’t gonna tell you but who knows if we’ll survive tomorrow? So, there it is.”
He felt encompassed by her, enthralled by her beauty. There wasn’t one bone in her body that wasn’t genuine and pure. It led to bouts of passion and anger, but he’d take a thousand of those outbursts for the handful of small moments when she looked at him as she was now.
Whispering her name, he slid higher underneath her, bringing his engorged shaft to her wetness. Pushing herself down his chest, anchoring on his biceps with her fists, she slid over him, sheathing him in her wetness.
Exhaling deeply, he moved under her. Rising up, she lifted her hands, fanning her hair out behind her as she began to ride him. Every fantasy he’d ever had paled in comparison to watching his Slayer moan, open-mouthed, as she gyrated over him.
Moving her hands down, she grabbed her breasts, squeezing them as she held his gaze. Groaning, she pinched her nipples, panting as she increased her pace.
With a growl he grabbed her hips, helping her move up and down on his shaft. Determined to let her stay in control, he urged her on with silken words of passion.
She cried out with pleasure and moved her hand to where they were joined, rubbing her tiny nub. It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, moving her on top of his hips. “By the goddess, you feel so good.”
Convulsions began to rock her body and he pushed into her faster, deeper. Unable to control his wail, he thrust into her, emptying himself as his body shook.
Spent, she collapsed on top of him.
Circling her with his arms, he held her to his chest. She fit there so perfectly. Fuck. She was becoming an addiction that he was increasingly afraid he couldn’t control. Holding her, he waited for their breath to settle back to normal.
An hour later, they showered together and he reveled at the softness of her skin as he ran the soapy cloth over it. Afterward, they dressed and headed downstairs. Arriving at the large foyer, she turned to face him.
“How will you get home?” she asked.
“Latimus will pick me up outside the wall in the Hummer. I’ll be sending the troops to you tonight. Takel can help them get acclimated since he already knows the compound.”
She nodded, looking down at his chest.
“You want to ask me something,” he said.
She tilted her head back so she could see him fully. “What are we doing, Sathan? This can’t keep happening. We’re rulers of two different species. We can’t produce heirs. We have no future.”
“Our future is in negotiating peace. We do that by getting along. We seem to get along best when I’m fucking you so we must be on the right track.”
“Asshole,” she said, scowling.
“See?” he asked. “We’re already fighting. Maybe I should take you to bed so you’ll be nice to me.”
“Quiet,” she said, looking around. “Someone might hear.”
He regarded her, two red splotches of embarrassment glowing on her cheeks. “I understand your question. I just don’t have an answer. Let’s agree that we don’t have
to decide anything right now. Take it day by day, week by week. Eventually I’m sure you’ll get tired of me.”
“I’m already tired of you,” she snapped, turning to open one of the massive front doors. “Get out.”
Smiling at how quickly she became angry, he shuffled out the door. Behind him, she called his name. He turned toward her. The sun was about to rise and her eyes glowed in the waning light of dawn. “Thank you.”
“I’m always here for you, Miranda.” And then he left her.
A few minutes later he breached the wall and climbed into the Hummer, not addressing his brother behind the wheel. “You’re creating a problem that we don’t need, Sathan.”
“Just drive.” He didn’t want to discuss his trysts with Miranda with his brother.
Latimus started the car and began the trek back to Astaria.
“She’s the fucking Slayer queen and stubborn as hell. This will lead to disaster.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Sathan said, unable to hide his defensive tone.
“Don’t fuck this up. If you do I’ll cut off your dick myself.”
Shaking his head, he refused to honor that with a response. His brother really was a huge jackass. They drove the rest of the way in silence.
Chapter 28
Rage vibrated through every pore of Darkrip’s muscular body. His father had attacked Uteria without his knowledge. Without his council. It could only mean that the Dark Lord was losing trust in him, and that was something he’d worked too hard to let happen.
He must regain his father’s confidence if his plan was going to succeed. As strong as Miranda had become, there was no way she could defeat Crimeous without his help. To offer her that, he had to ingratiate himself to the Deamon Lord.
The End of Hatred Page 24
